THE LADY
Where is Robin Hood?
I have never seen him, but from all one hears
He is a wood-god and a young Apollo,
And a more chaste Actæon all in one.
MASKER
Oh, ay, he never watched Diana bathing,
Or, if he did, all Sherwood winked at it.
Who knows? Do you believe a man and maid
Can sleep out in the woods all night, as these
Have slept a hundred times, and put to shame
Our first poor parents; throw the apple aside
And float out of their leafy Paradise
Like angels?
LADY
No; I fear the forest boughs
Could tell sad tales. Oh, I imagine it—
Married to Robin, by a fat hedge-priest
Under an altar of hawthorn, with a choir
Of sparrows, and a spray of cuckoo-spit
For holy water! Oh, the modest chime
Of blue-bells from a fairy belfry, a veil
Of evening mist, a robe of golden hair;
A blade of grass for a ring; a band of thieves
In Lincoln green to witness the sweet bans;
A glow-worm for a nuptial taper, a bed
Of rose-leaves, and wild thyme and wood-doves' down. Quick! Draw the bridal curtains—three tall ferns—
Across the cave mouth, lest a star should peep
And make the wild rose leap into her face!
Pish! A sweet maid! But where is Robin Hood?
MASKER
I know not; but he'd better have a care
Of Mistress Marian. If I know Prince John
He has marked her for his own.
LADY
I cannot see
What fascinates him.