many ears,
And some, methinks, are calling for the Friar.[263]

_Enter_ LITTLE JOHN _and_ SCATHLOCK, _calling the_
FRIAR, _as before_.

LIT. JOHN. The Friar! the Friar!

SCATH. Why, where's this Friar?

_Enter_ FRIAR TUCK.

FRIAR. Here, sir: what is your desire?

_Enter_ ROBIN HOOD _and_ WARMAN.[264]

ROB. H. Why, Friar, what a murrain dost thou mean?
The king calls for thee; for a mighty stag
(That hath a copper-ring about his neck
With letters on it, which he would have read)
Hath Scarlet kill'd. I pray thee, go thy way.

FRIAR. Master, I will: no longer will I stay.

[_Exit_ FRIAR TUCK, LITTLE JOHN, _and_ SCATHLOCK.

ROB. H. Good uncle, be more careful of your health,
And yours, Sir Doncaster; your wounds are green.

BOTH. Through your great kindness we are comforted.

ROB. H. And, Warman, I advise you to more mirth.
Shun solitary walks, keep company:
Forget your fault; I have forgiv'n the fault,
Good Warman, be more blithe; and at this time
A little help my Marian and her maid.
Much shall come to you straight: a little now
We must all strive to do the best we may.
[_Exit winding_.[265]

WAR. On you and her I'll wait until my dying day.

[WARMAN _is going out_; DONCASTER _pulls him_.

DON. Warman, a word. My good Lord Prior and I
Are full of grief to see thy misery.

WAR. My misery, Sir Doncaster? why, I thank God,
I never was in better state than now.

PRIOR. Why, what a servile slavish mind hast thou!
Art thou a man, and canst be such a beast,
Ass-like to bear the burthen of thy wrongs?

WAR. What wrong have I? is't wrong to be reliev'd?

DON. Reliev'd, say'st thou? why, shallow-witted fool,
Dost thou not see Robin's ambitious pride,
And how he climbs by pitying, and aspires
By humble looks, good deeds, and such fond toys,
To be a monarch reigning over us,
As if we were the vassals to his will?

WAR. I am his vassal, and I will be still.

PRIOR. Warman, thou art a fool. I do confess,
Were these good deeds done in sincerity--
Pity of mine, thine[266] or this knight's distress,
Without vain brags--it were true charity:
But to relieve our fainting bodies' wants,
And grieve our souls with quips and bitter 'braids,
Is good turns overturn'd: no thanks we owe
To any whatsoever helps us so.

WAR. Neither himself nor any that he keeps
Ever upbraided me, since I came last.

DON. O God, have mercy on thee, silly ass!
Doth he not say to e