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JOHN. (musing.) No:-Men will
say I fear'd him, if I killd him. Live still, and be a traitor in thy wish, But never act thy thought, being a coward. That vengeance, which thy soul shall nightly
thirst for, And this disgrace I've done you cry aloud for, Still have the will without the power to execute. So now I leave you, Feeling a sweet security. No doubt My secret shall remain a virgin for you !
(goes out, smiling in scorn.)
LOVEL. (rising.) For once you are mistaken in your man. The deed you wot of shall forthwith be done. A bird let loose, a secret out of hand, Returns not back. Why, then 'tis baby policy To menace him who bath it in his keeping. I will go look for Gray; Then, northward ho ! such tricks as we shall
play Have not been seen, I think, in merry Sherwood, Since the days of Robin Hood, that archer good.
ACT THE FOURTH.
Scene-An Apartment in Woodvil Hall.
A weight of wine lies heavy on my head,
ne'er leave me? Some men are full of choler, when they are
LOVEL. Sir, we are sorry we cannot return your French salutation.
GRAY. Nor otherwise consider this garb you trust to than as a poor disguise.
GRAY. Therefore, without much induction of superfluous words, I attach you, Sir Walter Woodvil, of High Treason, in the King's name.
LOVEL. And of taking part in the great Rebellion against our late lawful Sovereign, Charles the First.
SIMON. John has betrayed us, father.
LOVEL. Come, Sir, you had best surrender fairly. We know you, Sir.
SIMON, Hang ye, villains, ye are two better known than trusted. I have seen those faces before. Are ye not two beggarly retainers, trencherparasites, to John ? I think ye rank above his footmen. A sort of bed and board worms locusts that infest our house; a leprosy that long has hung upon its walls and princely apartments, reaching to fill all the corners of my brother's once noble heart.
GRAY, We are his friends.
SIMON. Fie, Sir, do not weep.
How these rogues will triumph! Shall I whip off their heads, father? (draws.)
LOVEL. Come, Sir, though this shew handsome in you, being his son, yet the law must have its course,
SIMON. And if I tell you the law shall not have its course, cannot ye be content ? Courage, father; shall such things as these apprehend a
Which of ye will venture upon me ? Will you, Mr. Constable self-elect? or you, Sir, with a pimple on your nose, got at Oxford by hard drinking, your only badge of loyalty !
It w An
Lea "Tis a brave youth-I cannot strike at him.
Gri SIMON. Father, why do you cover your face with your hands ? Why do you fetch your breath so bard? See, villains, his heart is burst! O villains, he cannot speak. One of you run for some water : quickly, ye knaves; will ye have your throats cut?
(They both slink off.) How is it with you, Sir Walter ? Look up, Sir,
Wh the villains are gone.
He hears me not, and this deep disgrace of treachery in bis son hath touched him even to the death. O most distuned, and distempered world, where sons talk their aged fathers into their graves! Garrulous and diseased world, and still empty, rotten and
On hollow talking world, where good men decay, Tak states turn round in an endless mutability, and still for the worse, nothing is at a stay, nothing abides but vanity, chaotic vanity.-Brother, adieu !
There lies the parent stock which gave us life,