[_To FITZWALTER, as he raises WIDOW SCARLET gently to her feet._]
Sir, has not the King Come home from the Crusade? Does not your heart Fling open wide its gates to welcome him?
Robin, you set me riddles. Follow your conscience. Do what seems best.
I hope there is a way, Mother. I knew Will Scarlet. Better heart There never beat beneath a leather jerkin. He loved the forest and the forest loves him; And if the lads that wear the forest's livery Of living green should happen to break out And save Will Scarlet (as on my soul I swear, Mother, they shall!) why, that's a matter none Shall answer for to prince, or king, or God, But you and Robin Hood; and if the judgment Strike harder upon us than the heavenly smile Of sunshine thro' the greenwood, may it fall Upon my head alone.
[_Enter the SHERIFF, with two of his men._]
In the King's name! Thou, Earl of Huntingdon, by virtue of this writ art hereby attainted and deprived of thine earldom, thy lands and all thy goods and chattels whatsoever and whereas thou hast at divers times trespassed against the officers of the king by force of arms, thou art hereby outlawed and banished the realm.
It puts an end to the great question Of how I shall dispose my wealth, Fitzwalter. But "banished"?--No! that is beyond their power While I have power to breathe, unless they banish The kind old oaks of Sherwood. They may call it "Outlawed," perhaps.
Who let the villain in Thro' doors of mine?
[_The guests draw swords and the SHERIFF retreats thro' the doorway with his men._]
Stop! Put up your swords! He had his work to do.
[_WIDOW SCARLET falls sobbing at his feet._]
O master, master, who will save my son, My son?
Why, mother, this is but a dream, This poor fantastic strutting show of law! And you shall wake with us in Sherwood Forest And find Will Scarlet in your arms again. Come, cheerly, cheerly, we shall overcome All this. Hark!
[_A bugle sounds in the distance. There is a scuffle in the doorway and LITTLE JOHN bursts in with his head bleeding._]
Master, master, come away! They are setting a trap for thee, drawing their lines All round the castle.
How now, Little John, They have wounded thee! Art hurt?
No, no, that's nothing. Only a bloody cockscomb. Come, be swift, Or, if thou wert a fox, thou'dst never slip Between 'em. Ah, hear that?