QUEEN. Why, take this sovereign powder at my hands:
Take it, and live in spite of poison's power.
DON. Ay, set him forward. Powders, quoth ye? hah!
I am a fool, then, if a little dust,
The shaving of a horn, a Bezoar stone,[281]
Or any antidote have power to stay
The execution of my heart's resolve.
Tut, tut! you labour, lovely queen, in vain,
And on a thankless groom your toil bestow.
Now hath your foe reveng'd you of your foe:
Robin shall die, if all the world said no.[282]
MAR. How the wolf howls! Fly, like a tender kid,
Into thy shepherd's bosom. Shield me, love!
Canst thou not, Robin? Where shall I be hid?
O God! these ravens will seize upon thy dove.
ROB. H. They cannot hurt thee; pray thee, do not fear:
Base curs will couch, the lion being near.
QUEEN. How works my powder?
ROB. H. Very well, fair queen.
KING. Dost thou feel any ease?
ROB. H. I shall, I trust, anon:
Sleep falls upon mine eyes. O, I must sleep,
And they that love me, do not waken me.
MAR. Sleep in my lap, and I will sing to thee.
JOHN. He should not sleep.