Now, Robin, don't forget the grace, my son.
It is our custom, sir, since our repast Is borrowed from the King, to drain one cup To him, and his return from the Crusade, Before we dine. That same wine-bibbing friar Calls it our 'grace'; and constitutes himself Remembrancer--without a cause, for never Have we forgotten, never while bugles ring Thro' Sherwood, shall forget--Outlaws, the King!
The King and his return from the Crusade!
You did not drink the health, sir Knight. I hope You hold with Lion-Heart.
Yes; I hold with him. You were too quick for me. I had not drawn These gauntlets off. But tell me, Lady Marian, When is your bridal day with Robin Hood?
We shall be wedded when the King comes home From the Crusade.
Ah, when the King comes home! That's music--all the birds of April sing In those four words for me--the King comes home.
But you're not eating! Your helmet's locked and barred! Will you not raise Your visor?
Ha! ha! ha! You see I am trapped! I did not wish to raise it! Hunger and thirst Break down all masks and all disguises, Robin.
[_He rises and removes his helmet, revealing the face of RICHARD COEUR DE LION._]
But oh, my liege, I should have known, when we were hard beset Around Will Scarlet by their swarming bands, And when you rode out of the Eastern sky And hurled our foemen down, I should have known It was the King come home from the Crusade! And when I was beset here in the wood By treacherous hounds again, I should have known Whose armour suddenly burned between the leaves! I should have known, either it was St. George Or else the King come home from the Crusade!
Indeed there is one thing that might have told you, Robin--a lover's instinct, since it seems So much for you and Marian depends On my return.
Sire, you will pardon me, For I am only a fool, and yet methinks You know not half the meaning of those words-- The King, the King comes home from the Crusade! Thrust up your swords, heft uppermost, my lads, And shout--the King comes home from the Crusade.
[_He leaps on a seat, and thrusts up the King's sword, heft uppermost, as if it were a cross._]
Pardon him, sire, poor Shadow-of-a-Leaf has lost His wits!
That's what Titania said you'd say, Poor sweet bells out of tune! But oh, don't leave, Don't leave the forest! There's darker things to come! Don't leave the forest! I have wits enough at least To wrap my legs around my neck for warmth On winter nights.