Volume Viii Part 43 (1/2)

ELY. First I accurse thee; and if thou persist, Unto d.a.m.nation leave thee, wretched man.

DON. What do I care for your d.a.m.nation?

Am I not doomed to death? what more d.a.m.nation Can there ensue your loud and yelling cries?

PRIOR. Yes, devil! hear thy fellow-spirit speak-- Who would repent; O, fain he would repent!-- After this body's bitter punishment, There is an ever-during endless woe, A quenchless fire, an unconsuming pain, Which desperate souls and bodies must endure.

DON. Can you preach this, yet set me on, Sir Prior, To run into this endless, quenchless fire?

PRIOR. High heavens, show mercy to my many ills!

Never had this been done, but like a fiend Thou temptedst me with ceaseless devilish thoughts.

Therefore I curse with bitterness of soul The hour wherein I saw thy baleful eyes.

My eyes I curse for looking on those eyes!

My ears I curse for hearkening to thy tongue!

I curse thy tongue for tempting of mine ears!

Each part I curse, that we call thine or mine; Thine for enticing mine, mine following thine!

DON. A holy prayer. What collect have we next?

[_This time_ ROBIN _stirs_.

FITZ. My Marian wanteth words, such is her woe; But old Fitzwater, for his girl and him, Begs nothing but world's plague for such a foe, Which causeless harm'd a virtuous n.o.bleman, A pitier of his griefs, when he felt grief.

Therefore, bethink thee of thy hateful deed, Thou faithless Prior, and thou this ruthless thief.

PRIOR. Will no man curse me, giving so much cause?

Then, Doncaster, ourselves ourselves accurse, And let no good betide to thee or me!

[_All the Yeomen_, FRIAR, MUCH, JENNY _cry_.

ALL. Amen, amen! accursed may he be For murdering Robin, flower of courtesy.

[ROBIN _sits up_.

ROB. H. O, ring not such a peal for Robin's death!

Let sweet forgiveness be my pa.s.sing bell.

Art thou there, Marian? then fly forth, my breath: To die within thy arms contents me well.

PRIOR. Keep in, keep in a little while thy soul, Till I have pour'd my soul forth at thy feet.

ROB. H. I slept not, uncle; I your grief did hear, Let him forgive thy soul that bought it dear: Your body's deed I in my death forgive, And humbly beg the king that you may live.

Stand to your clergy, uncle;[286] save your life, And lead a better life than you have done.

PRIOR. O, gentle nephew! O, my brother's son, Thou dying glory of old Huntington!

Wishest thou life to such a murderous foe?

I will not live, since thou must life forego.

O, happy Warman! blessed in thy end; Now too-too late thy truth I do commend.

O, nephew, nephew! Doncaster and I Murder'd poor Warman, for he did deny To join with us in this black tragedy.

ROB. H. Alas, poor Warman! Friar, Little John, I told ye both where Warman's body lay, And of his burial I'll dispose anon.