THE SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM.

FITZWALTER Father of Marian, known as "Maid Marian."

SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF A Fool.

ARTHUR PLANTAGENET Nephew to Prince John, a boy of about ten years of age.

QUEEN ELINOR Mother of Prince John and Richard Lion-Heart.

MARIAN FITZWALTER Known as Maid Marian, betrothed to Robin Hood.

JENNY Maid to Marian.

WIDOW SCARLET Mother of Will Scarlet.

PRIORESS OF KIRKLEE.

Fairies, merry men, serfs, peasants, mercenaries, an abbot, a baron, a novice, nuns, courtiers, soldiers, retainers, etc.

ACT I

SCENE I. _Night. The borders of the forest. The smouldering embers of a Saxon homestead. The SHERIFF and his men are struggling with a SERF._

SERF

No, no, not that! not that! If you should blind me G.o.d will repay you. Kill me out of hand!

[_Enter PRINCE JOHN and several of his retainers._]

JOHN

Who is this night-jar?

[_The retainers laugh._]

Surely, master Sheriff, You should have cut its tongue out, first. Its cries Tingle so hideously across the wood They'll wake the King in Palestine. Small wonder That Robin Hood evades you.

SHERIFF

[_To the SERF._]

Silence, dog, Know you not better than to make this clamour Before Prince John?

SERF

Prince John! It is Prince John!

For G.o.d's love save me, sir!

JOHN

Whose thrall is he?

SHERIFF

I know not, sir, but he was caught red-handed Killing the king's deer. By the forest law He should of rights be blinded; for, as you see,

[_He indicates the SERF'S right hand._]

'Tis not his first deer at King Richard's cost.

JOHN

'Twill save you trouble if you say at mine.

SHERIFF

Ay, sir, I pray your pardon--at _your_ cost!

His right hand lacks the thumb and arrow-finger, And though he vows it was a falling tree That crushed them, you may trust your Sheriff, sir, It was the law that clipped them when he last Hunted your deer.

SERF

Prince, when the Conqueror came, They burned my father's homestead with the rest To make the King a broader hunting-ground.

I have hunted there for food. How could I bear To hear my hungry children crying? Prince, They'll make good bowmen for your wars, one day.

JOHN

He is much too fond of 'Prince': he'll never live To see a king. Whose thrall?--his iron collar, Look, is the name not on it?

SHERIFF

Sir, the name Is filed away, and in another hour The ring would have been broken. He is one of those Green adders of the moon, night-creeping thieves Whom Huntingdon has tempted to the woods.

These desperate ruffians flee their lawful masters And flock around the disaffected Earl Like ragged rooks around an elm, by scores!

And now, i' faith, the sun of Huntingdon Is setting fast. They've well nigh beggared him, Eaten him out of house and home. They say That, when we make him outlaw, we shall find Nought to distrain upon, but empty cupboards.

JOHN

Did you not serve him once yourself?

SHERIFF

Oh, ay, He was more prosperous then. But now my cupboards Are full, and his are bare. Well, I'd think scorn To share a crust with outcast churls and thieves, Doffing his dignity, letting them call him Robin, or Robin Hood, as if an Earl Were just a plain man, which he will be soon, When we have served our writ of outlawry!

'Tis said he hopes much from the King's return And swears by Lion-Heart; and though King Richard Is brother to yourself, 'tis all the more Ungracious, sir, to hope he should return, And overset your rule. But then--to keep Such base communications! Myself would think it Unworthy of my sheriffship, much more Unworthy a right Earl.

JOHN

You talk too much!

This whippet, here, slinks at his heel, you say.

Mercy may close her eyes, then. Take him off, Blind him or what you will; and let him thank His master for it. But wait--perhaps he knows Where we may trap this young patrician thief.

Where is your master?

SERF

Where you'll never find him.