I'd rather see her
Begging in rags with outlawed Huntingdon
Than that one finger of yours should soil her glove.
JOHN
So here's an end of fawning, here's the truth,
My old white-bearded hypocrite. Come, take her,
Waste no more time. Let not the old fool daunt you
With that great skewer.
FITZWALTER
[As John's men advance.]
By God, since you will have it,
Since you will drive me to my last resort,
Break down my walls, and hound me to the forest,
This is the truth! Out of my gates! Ho, help!
A Robin Hood! A Robin Hood!
[There is a clamour from the upper room. The doors are flung open and the Foresters appear at the head of the steps.]
FRIAR TUCK
[Coming down into the hall and brandishing his quarter-staff.]
A Robin?
Who calls on Robin Hood? His men are here
To answer.