LEI. What was't thou smiledst at in Austria?
RICH. Leicester, he shook--so help me God, he shook-- With very terror at the lion's look.
LEI. Ah, coward! but go on, what Richard did.
RICH. Richard about his right hand wound a scarf (God quite her for it) given him by a maid: With endless good may that good deed be paid! And thrust that arm down the devouring throat Of the fierce lion, and withdrawing it, Drew out the strong heart of the monstrous beast, And left the senseless body on the ground.
LEI. O royal Richard: Richmond, look on John: Does he not quake in hearing this discourse? Come, we will leave him, Richmond: let us go. John, make suit For grace, that is your [only] means, you know.
JOHN. A mischief on that Leicester! is he gone? 'Twere best go too, lest in some mad fit He turn again, and lead me prisoner. Southward I dare not fly: fain, fain I would To Scotland bend my course; but all the woods Are full of outlaws, that in Kendal green Follow the outlaw'd Earl of Huntington. Well, I will clothe myself in such a suit, And by that means as well 'scape all pursuit, As pass the danger-threatening Huntington; For, having many outlaws, they'll think me By my attire one of their mates to be.
_Enter_ SCARLET, LITTLE JOHN, _and_ FRIAR TUCK.
FRIAR. Scarlet and John, so God me save, No mind unto my beads I have: I think it be a luckless day, For I can neither sing nor say; Nor have I any power to look On portace or on matin book.
SCAR. What is the reason, tell us, Friar?
LIT. JOHN. No. God defend that you should lie: A churchman be a liar?--fie!
FRIAR. Then, by this hallow'd crucifix, The holy water and the pix, It greatly at my stomach sticks, That all this day we had no gues',[226] And have of meat so many a mess.
MUCH _brings out_ ELY, _like a countryman with a basket_.
MUCH. Well, and ye be but a market, ye are but a market-man.
ELY. I am sure, sir, I do you no hurt, do I?
SCAR. We shall have company, no doubt: My fellow Much hath found one out.
FRIAR. A fox, a fox! as I am friar, Much is well worthy of good hire.
LIT. JOHN. Say, Friar, soothly, know'st thou him!
FRIAR. It is a wolf in a sheep's skin. Go, call our master, Little John; A glad man will he be anon. It's Ely, man, the chancellor. [_Aside_.]