[Stabs him, WARMAN falls.
WAR. O, forgive me, God,
And save my master from their bloody hands!
PRIOR. What, hast thou made him sure?
DON. It's dead—sure he is dead, if that be sure?
PRIOR. Then let us thrust the dagger in his hand,
And when the next comes, cry he kill'd himself.
DON. That must be now: yonder comes Robin Hood.
No life in him?
PRIOR. No, no, not any life.
Three mortal wounds have let in piercing air,
And at their gaps his life is clean let out.
Enter ROBIN HOOD.
ROB. H. Who is it, uncle, that you so bemoan?
PRIOR. Warman, good nephew, whom Sir Doncaster and I
Found freshly bleeding, as he now doth lie.
You were scarce gone, when he did stab himself.