FRIAR TUCK
Cares less,
Thou rotten radish? Nay, but a vast deal more!
God's three best gifts to man,—woman and song
And wine, what dost thou know of all their joy?
Thou lean pick-purse of kisses?
ROBIN
Take him out,
Friar, and let him pack his goods and go,
Whither he will. I trust the knave to thee
And thy good quarter-staff, for some five minutes
Before he says "Farewell."
FRIAR
Bring him along,
Give him a quarter-staff, I'll thrash him roundly.
[He goes out. Two of the Foresters follow with the prisoner. Others bring the Abbot before Robin.]
ROBIN
Ah! Ha! I know him, the godly usurer
Of York!
LITTLE JOHN