This tale of me, the Tub of Totten-Court,
A poet first invented for your sport.
Wherein the fortune of most empty tubs,
Rolling in love, are shown; and with what rubs
We are commonly encountered: when the wit
Of the whole hundred so opposeth it,
Our petty Canon's forked plot in chief,

Sly justico' arte, with the high constable's brief

And brag commands; my lady mother's care,
And her Pol Martin's fortune; with the rare
Fate of poor John, thus tumbled in the cask;
Got In-and-In to give it you in a masque :
That you be pleased, who come to see a play,
With those that hear, and mark not what we say.
Wherein the poet's fortune is, I fear,

Still to be early up, but no or the near

ACT 1.

ROBIN HOOD, having invited all the shepherds and shepherdesses of the vale of Belvoir to a feast in the forest of Sherwood, and trusting to his mistress, maid Marian, with her woodmen, to kill him venison against the day: having left the like charge with friar Tuck, his chaplain and steward, to command the rest of his merry men to see the bower made ready, and all things in order for the entertainment: meeting with his guests at their entrance into the wood, welcomes and conducts them to his bower. Where, by the way, he receives the relation of the SAD SHEPHERD, Æglamour, who is fallen into a deep melancholy for the loss of his beloved Earine, reported to have been drowned in passing over the Trent, some few days before. They endeavor in what they can to comfort him: but his disease having taken such strong root, all is in vain, and they are forced to leave him. In the mean time, Marian is come from hunting with the huntsmen, where the lovers interchangeably express their loves. Robin Hood enquires if she hunted the deer at force, and what sport he made? how long he stood, and what head he bore? All which is briefly answered, with a relation of breaking him up, and the raven and her Done. The suspect had of that raven to be Maudlin, the witch of Paplewick, whom one of the huntsmen met in the morning at the rousing of the deer, and [which] is confirmed, by her being then in Robin Hood's kitchen, in the chimney-corner, broiling the same bit which was thrown to the raven at the quarry or fall of the deer. Marian being gone in to shew the deer to some of the shepherdesses, returns instantly to the scene, discontented; sends away the venison she had killed, to her they call the witch; quarrels with her love Robin Hood, abuseth him, and his guests the shepherds; and so departs, leaving them all in wonder and perplexity.

ACT II.

The witch Maudlin having taken the shape of Marian to abuse Robin Hood, and perplex his guests, cometh forth with ner daughter Douce, reporting in what confusion she had left them; defrauded them of their venison, made them suspicious each of the other; but most of all, Robin Hood so jealous of his Marian, as she hopes no effect of love would ever reconcile them; glorying so far in the extent of her mischief, as she confesseth to have surprised Earine, stripp'd her of her garments, to make her daughter appear fine at this feast in them; and to have shut the maiden up in a tree, as her son's prize, if he could win her; or his prey, if he would force her. Her son, a rude bragging swineherd, comes to the tree to woo her, (his mother and sister stepping aside to overhear him) and first boasts his wealth to her, and his possessions; which move not. Then he presents her gifts, such as himself is taken with, but she utterly shows a scorn and lothing both of him and them. His mother is angry, rates him, instructs him what to do the next time, and persuades her daughter to show herself about the bower: tells how she shall know her mother, when she is transform'd, by her broidered belt. Meanwhile the young shepherdess Amie, being kist by Karolin, Earine's brother, falls in love; but knows not what love is: but describes her disease so innocently, that Marian pities her. When Robin Hood and the rest of his guests invited, enter to Marian, upbraiding her with sending away their venison to mother Maudlin by Scathlock, which she denies; Scathlock affirms it; but seeing his mistress weep, and to forswear it, begins to doubt his own understanding, rather than affront her farther; which makes Robin Hood and the rest to examine themselves better. But Maudlin, the witch, entering like herself, comes to thank her for her bounty; at which Marian is more angry, and more denies the deed. Scathlock enters, tells he has brought it again, and delivered it to the cook.

The witch is inwardly vext the venison is so recover'd from her by the rude huntsman, and murmurs and curses; be. witches the cook, mocks poor Amie and the rest; discov ereth her ill nature, and is a means of reconciling them all. For the sage shepherd suspecteth her mischief, if she be not prevented and so persuadeth to seize on her. Whereupon Robin Hood dispatcheth out his woodmen to hunt and take her.

ACT III.

Puck-Hairy discovereth himself in the forest, and discourseth his offices, with their necessities, briefly; after which, Douce entering in the habit of Earine, is pursued by Karol; who (mistaking her at first to be his sister) ques tions her how she came by those garments. She answers, by her mother's gift. The Sad Shepherd coming in the while, she runs away affrighted, and leaves Karol suddenly;

glamour thinking it to be Earine's ghost he saw, falls into a melancholic expression of his phant'sie to Karol, and questions him sadly about that point, which moves compassion in Karol of his mistake still. When Clarion and Lionel enter to call Karol to Amie, Karol reports to them Eglamour's passion, with much regret. Clarion resolves to seek him. Karol to return with Lionel. By the way, Douce and her mother (in the shape of Marian) meet them, and would divert them, affirming Amie to be recovered, which Lionel wondered at to be so soon. Robin Hood en ters, they tell him the relation of the witch, thinking her to be Marian; Robin suspecting her to be Maudlin, lays hold of her girdle suddenly, but she striving to get free, they both run out, and he returns with the belt broken. She following in her own shape, demanding it, but at a distance, as fearing to be seized upon again; and seeing she cannot recover it, falls into a rage, and cursing, resolving to trust to her old arts, which she calls her daughter to assist in. The shepherds, content with this discovery, go home triumphing, make the relation to Marian. Amie is gladded with the sight of Karol, &c. In the mean time, enters Lorel, with purpose to ravish Earine, and calling her forth to that lewd end, he by the hearing of Clarion's footing is staid, and forced to commit her hastily to the tree again; where Clarion coming by, and hearing a voice singing, draws near unto it; but glamour hearing it also, and knowing it to be Earine's, falls into a superstitious commendation of it; as being an angel's, and in the air; when Clarion espies a hand put forth from the tree, and makes towards it, leaving Eglamour to his wild phant'sie, who quitteth the place. and Clarion beginning to court the hand, and make love to it, there ariseth a mist suddenly, which darkening all tho place, Clarion loseth himself and the tree where Earine is inclosed, lamenting his misfortune, with the unknown nymph's misery. The air clearing, enters the witch, with her son and daughter, tells them how she had caused that late darkness, to free Lorel from surprisal, and his prey from being rescued from him: bids him look to her, and lock her up more carefully, and follow her, to assist a work she hath in hand of recovering her lost girdle; which sho laments the loss of with cursings, execrations, wishing can fusion to their feast and meeting, sends her son and daughter to gather certain simples for her purpose, and bring them to her dell. This Puck hearing, prevents, and shews her error still. The huntsmen having found her footing, follow the track, and prick after her. She gets to her dell, and takes her form. Enter [the huntsman,] Alken has spied her sitting with her spindle, threaus, and images. They are eager to seize her presently, but Alken persuades them to let her begin her charms, which they do. Her son and daughter come to her; the huntsmen are aflighted as they see her work go forward. And overhasty to appre hend her, she escapeth them all, by the heip and delusiona of Puck.

Enter The Prologue.

He that hath feasted you these forty years,
And fitted fables for your finer ears,
Although at first he scarce could hit the bore;
Yet you, with patience hearkening more and more,
At length have grown up to him, and made known
The working of his pen is now your own:
He prays you would vouchsafe, for your own sake,
To hear him this once more, but sit awake.
And though he now present you with such wool
As from mere English flocks his muse can pull,
He hopes when it is made up into cloth,
Not the most curious head here will be loth
To wear a hood of it, it being a fleece,
To match or those of Sicily or Greece.
His scene is Sherwood, and his play a Tale,
Of Robin Hood's inviting from the vale
Of Belvoir, all the shepherds to a feast:
Where, by the casual absence of one guest,
The mirth is troubled much, and in one man
As much of sadness shown as passion can :
The sad young shepherd, whom we here present,
Like his woes figure, dark and discontent,

[The Sad Shepherd passeth silently over the
stage.

For his lost love, who in the Trent is said
To have miscarried; 'las! what knows the head
Of a calm river, whom the feet have drown'd?·
Hear what his sorrows are; and if they wound
Your gentle breasts, so that the end crown all,
Which in the scope of one day's chance may fall;
Old Trent will send you more such tales as these,
And shall grow young again as one doth please.
[Exit, but instantly re-enters.
But here's an heresy of late let fall,
That mirth by no means fits a pastoral;
Such say so, who can make none, he présumes:
Else there's no scene more properly assumes
The sock. For whence can sport in kind arise,
But from the rural routs and families?
Safe on this ground then, we not fear to-day,
To tempt your laughter by our rustic play;
Wherein if we distaste, or be cried down,
We think we therefore shall not leave the town;
Nor that the fore-wits that would draw the rest
Unto their liking, always like the best.
The wise and knowing critic will not say,
This worst, or better is, before he weigh

Wher every piece be perfect in the kind.
And then, though in themselves he difference find.
Yet if the place require it where they stood,
The equal fitting makes them equal good.
You shall have love and hate, and jealousy,
As well as mirth, and rage, and melancholy.
Or whatsoever else may either move,
Or stir affections, and your likings prove.
But that no style for pastoral should go
Current, but what is stamp'd with Ah! and O
Who judgeth so, may singularly err;

As if all poesie had one character

In which what were not written, were not right;
Or that the man who made such one poor flight,
In his whole life, had with his winged skill
Advanced him upmost on the muses' hill.
When he like poet yet remains, as those
Are painters who can only make a rose.
From such your wits redeem you, or your chance,
Lest to a greater height you do advance
Of folly, to contemn those that are known
Artificers, and trust such as are none !

Egl. Here she was wont to go! and here! and here!

Just where those daisies, pinks, and violets grow.
The world may find the spring by following her.
For other print her airy steps ne'er left.

Her treading would not bend a blade of grass,
Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk!
But like the soft west wind she shot along, [root,
And where she went, the flowers took thickest
As she had sow'd them with her odorous foot.
[Exit

What 'tis that keeps your master, Robin Hood,
So long, both from his Marian, and the wood?
Tuck. Forsooth, madam, he will be here by
noon,

And prays it of your bounty, as a boon,
That you by then have kill'd him venison some,
To feast his jolly friends, who hither come
In threaves to frolic with him, and make cheer:
Here's Little John hath harbor'd you a deer,
I see by his tackling.

John. And a hart of ten,

I trow he be, madam, or blame your men:
For by his slot, his entries, and his port,

His frayings, fewmets, he doth promise sport,
And standing 'fore the dogs; he bears a head
Large and well-beam'd, with all rights summ'd and
spread.

Mar. Let's rouze him quickly, and lay on the hounds.

John. Scathlock is ready with them on the grounds;

So is his brother Scarlet: now they have found His lair, they have him sure within the pound. Mar. Away then, when my Robin bids a feast,

'Twere sin in Marian to defraud a guest.

[Exeunt MARIAN and JOHN with the Woodmen. Tuck. And I, the chaplain, here am left to be Steward to-day, and charge you all in fee, To d'on your liveries, see the bower drest, And fit the fine devices for the feast: [trim, You, George, must care to make the baldrick And garland that must crown, or her, or him, Whose flock this year hath brought the earliest lamb.

George. Good father Tuck, at your commands To cut the table out o' the green sword, [I am Or any other service for my lord; To carve the guests large seats; and these lain in

[skin With turf, as soft and smooth as the mole's And hang the bulled nosegays 'bove their heads,

Have you swept the river, say you, and not found her?

Much. For fowl and fish, we have.
Eg. O, not for her!

You are goodly friends! right charitable men! Nay, keep your way and leave me; make your toys,

Your tales, your posies, that you talk'd of; all
Your entertainments: you not injure me.
Only if I may enjoy my cypress wreath,
And you will let me weep, 'tis all I ask,
Till I be turn'd to water, as was she!
And troth, what less suit can you grant a man?
Tuck. His phantasic is hurt, let us now leave
him;

The wound is yet too fresh to admit searching. [Exit.

Eg. Searching! where should I search, or

on what track?

corn;

Of those rich shepherds, dwelling in this vale
Those careless shepherds that did let her drown!
Then I did something: or could make old Trent
Drunk with my sorrow, to start out in breaches,
To drown their herds, their cattle, and their
[their weirs,
Break down their mills, their dams, o'erturn
And see their houses and whole livelihood
Wrought into water with her, all were good.
I'd kiss the torrent, and those whirls of Trent,
That suck'd her in, my sweet Earine!
When they have cast her body on the shore,
And it comes up as tainted as themselves,
All pale and bloodless, I will love it still,
For all that they can do, and make them mad,
To see how I will hug it in mine arms!
And hang upon her looks, dwell on her eyes,
Feed round about her lips, and eat her kisses,
Suck off her drowned flesh! and where's their

malice!

Not all their envious sousing can change that. But I will still study some revenge past this[Music of all sorts is heard. I pray you give me leave, for I will study, Though all the bells, pipes, tabors, timburines ring,

That you can plant about me; I will study.

Enter ROBIN HOOD, CLARION, MELLIFLEUR, LIO-
NEL, AMIE, ALKEN, TUCK, Musicians, &c.
Rob. Welcome, bright Clarion, and swee!
Mellifleur,

The courteous Lionel, fair Amie; all
My friends and neighbors, to the jolly bower
Of Robin Hood, and to the green-wood walks!

Now that the shearing of your sheep is done,
And the wash'd flocks are lighted of their wool,
The smoother ewes are ready to receive
The mounting rams again; and both do feed,
As either promised to increase your breed
At eaning-time, and bring you lusty twins:
Why should or you or we so much forget
The season in ourselves, as not to make
Use of our youth and spirits, to awake
The nimble horn-pipe, and the timburine,
And mix cur songs and dances in the wood,
And each of us cut down a triumph-bough?
Such are the rights the youthful June allow.

Cla. They were, gay Robin; but the sourer sort Of shepherds now disclaim in all such sport: And say, our flock the while are poorly fed, When with such vanities the swains are led. Tuck. Would they, wise Clarion, were not hurried more

With covetise and rage, when to their store
They add the poor man's ycanling, and dare sell
Both fleece and carcass, not gi'ing him the fell!
When to one goat they reach that prickly weed,
Which maketh all the rest forbear to feed;
Or strew tods' hairs, or with their tails do sweep
The dewy grass, to do'ff the simpler sheep;
Or dig deep pits their neighbor's neat to vex,
To drown the calves, and crack the heifers' necks;
Or with pretence of chasing thence the brock,
Send in a cur to worry the whole flock!

Lio. O friar, those are faults that are not seen,
Ours open, and of worst example been.
They call ours Pagan pastimes, that infect
Our blood with ease, our youth with all neglect;
Our tongues with wantonness, our thoughts with
lust;

And what they censure ill, all others must.
Rob. I do not know what their sharp sight
may see,

Of late, but I should think it still might be
As 'twas, an happy age, when on the plains
The woodmen met the damsels, and the swains
The neat-herds, ploughmen, and the pipers loud,
And each did dance, some to the kit or crowd,
Some to the bag-pipe; some the tabret mov'd,
And all did either love, or were belov'd.
Lio. The dextrous shepherd then would try
his sling,

Then dart his hook at daisies, then would sing;
Sometimes would wrestle.

Cla. Ay, and with a lass:
And give her a new garment on the grass;
After a course at barley-break, or base.

Lio. And all these deeds were seen without Or the least hazard of their innocence. [offence, Rob. Those charitable times had no mistrust. Shepherds knew how to love, and not to lust.

Cla. Each minute that we lose thus, I corfess, Deserves a censure on us, more or less; But that a sadder chance hath given allay Both to the mirth and music of this day. Our fairest shepherdess we had of late, Here upon Trent, is drown'd; for whom her mate, Young Eglamour, a swain, who best could tread Our country dances, and our games did lead, Lives like the melancholy turtle, drown'd Deeper in woe, than she in water: crown'd With yew, and cypress, and will scarce admit The physic of our presence to his fit.

As we doubt hourly we shall lose him too. Rob. You should not cross him then, whate'er you do. [burn For phant'sie stopp'd, will soon take fire, and Into an anger, or to a phrensie turn.

Cla. Nay, so we are advised by Alken here, A good sage shepherd, who, although he wear An old worn hat and cloke, can tell us more Than all the forward fry, that boast their lore.

Lio. See, yonder comes the brother of the Young Karolin: how curious and afraid [maid, He is at once! willing to find him out, And loth to offend him.

Enter KAROLIN.

Kar. Sure he's here about.
Cla. See where he sits.
[Points to EGLAMOUR, sitting upon a bank hard by.
Eg. It will be rare, rare, rare!

An exquisite revenge! but peace, no words!
Not for the fairest flecce of all the flock :
If it be known afore, 'tis all worth nothing!
I'll carve it on the trees, and in the turf,
On every green sword, and in every path,
Just to the margin of the cruel Trent.
There will I knock the story in the ground,
In smooth great pebble, and moss fill it round,
Till the whole country read how she was drown'd;
And with the plenty of salt tears there shed,
Quite alter the complexion of the spring.
Or I will get some old, old, grandam thither,
Whose rigid foot but dipp'd into the water,
Shall strike that sharp and sudden cold through
out,

As it shall lose all virtue; and those nymphs,
Those treacherous nymphs pull'd in Earine,
Shall stand curl'd up like images of ice,
And never thaw! mark, never! a sharp justice!
Or stay, a better! when the year's at hottest,
And that the dog-star foams, and the stream
boils,
[sparkle,

And curls, and works, and swells ready to
To fling a fellow with a fever in,
To set it all on fire, till it burn
Blue as Scamander, 'fore the walls of Troy,
When Vulcan leap'd into him to consume him.
Rob. A deep hurt phant'sie!

[They approach him

g. Do you not approve it? Rob. Yes, gentle glamour, we all approve, And come to gratulate your just revenge: Which, since it is so perfect, we now hope You'll leave all care thereof, and mix with us, In all the proffer'd solace of the spring.

Eg. A spring, now she is dead! of what

of thorns,