Sire, you will pardon me,
For I am only a fool, and yet methinks
You know not half the meaning of those words—
The King, the King comes home from the Crusade!
Thrust up your swords, heft uppermost, my lads,
And shout—the King comes home from the Crusade.
[He leaps on a seat, and thrusts up the King's sword, heft uppermost, as if it were a cross.]
ROBIN
Pardon him, sire, poor Shadow-of-a-Leaf has lost
His wits!
SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF
That's what Titania said you'd say,
Poor sweet bells out of tune! But oh, don't leave,
Don't leave the forest! There's darker things to come!
Don't leave the forest! I have wits enough at least
To wrap my legs around my neck for warmth
On winter nights.
RICHARD
Well, you've no need to pass
The winter in these woods—
SHADOW-OF-A-LEAF