O children, children, this is thirsty weather!
The heads I have cracked, the ribs I have thwacked, the bones
I have bashed with my good quarter-staff, to bring
These bits of womankind through Sherwood Forest.
ROBIN
What, was there scuffling, friar?
FRIAR TUCK
Some two or three
Pounced on us, ha! ha! ha!
JENNY
A score at least,
Mistress, most unchaste ruffians.
FRIAR TUCK
They've gone home,
Well chastened by the Church. This pastoral staff
Mine oaken Pax Vobiscum, sent 'em home
To think about their sins, with watering eyes.
You never saw a bunch of such blue faces,
Bumpy and juicy as a bunch of grapes
Bruised in a Bacchanalian orgy, dripping
The reddest wine a man could wish to see.
ROBIN