FRIAR. Mistress, he knows you: what is he?
JOHN. Like to amazing wonder she appears,
And from her eye flies love unto my heart,
Attended by suspicious thoughts and fears
That numb the vigour of each outward part.
Only my sight hath all satiety
And fulness of delight, viewing her deity.
MAR. But I have no delight in you, Prince John.
FRIAR. Is this Prince John?
Give me thy hand, thou art a proper man:
And for this morning's work, by saints above,
Be ever sure of Friar Tuck's true love.
JOHN. Be not offended that I touch thy shrine;
Make this hand happy: let it fold in thine.
Enter ROBIN HOOD, FITZWATER, ELY, WARMAN.
ROB. H. What saucy woodman, Marian, stands so near?
JOHN. A woodman, Robin, that would strike your deer
With all his heart. Nay, never look so strange,
You see this fickle world is full of change:
John is a ranger, man, compell'd to range.
FITZ. You are young, wild lord, and well may travel bear.
JOHN. What, my old friend Fitzwater, are you there?
And you, Lord Ely? and old best-betruss'd?[242]
Then I perceive that to this gear we must.
A mess of my good friends! which of you four
Will purchase thanks by yielding to the king
The body of the rash, rebellious John?
Will you, Fitzwater?