FITZWALTER
Drive these villains out of my gates.
FRIAR TUCK
[To Prince John.]
Sir, I perceive you are a man of wisdom,
So let me counsel you. There's not a lad
Up yonder, but at four-score yards can shoot
A swallow on the wing. They have drunken deep.
I cannot answer but their hands might loose
Their shafts before they know it. Now shall I give
The word? Ready, my lads!
[The Foresters make ready to shoot. John hesitates for a moment.]
JOHN
My Lady Marian,
One word, and then I'll take my leave of you!
[She pays no heed.]
Farewell, then! I have five-score men at hand!
And they shall be but lightning to the hell
Of my revenge, Fitzwalter. I will not leave
One stone upon another. From this night's work
Shall God Himself not save you.