Scarlet and Scathlock murder'd my young son:
Me have they robb'd and helplessly undone.
Revenge I would, but I am old and dry:
Wherefore, sweet master, for saint Charity,
Since they are bound, deliver them to me,
That for my son's blood I reveng'd may be.
SCAR. This old man lies: we ne'er did him such wrong.
ROB. H. I do not lie: you wot it too-too well.
The deed was such as you may shame to tell;
But I with all entreats might not prevail
With your stern, stubborn minds, bent all to blood.
Shall I have such revenge then, Master Sheriff,
That with my son's loss may suffice myself?
[ROBIN _whispers with them_.
WAR. Do, father, what thou wilt, for they must die.
FRIAR. I never heard them touch'd with blood till now.
WAR. Notorious villains! and they made their brags,
The Earl of Huntington would save their lives:
But he is down the wind, as all such shall,
That revel, waste and spend, and take no care.
ROB. H. My horn once winded, I'll unbind my belt,
Whereat the swords and bucklers are fast-tied.
[_To_ SCARLET _and_ SCATHLOCK.
SCATH. Thanks to your honour. [_Aside_.] Father, we confess,
And were our arms unbound, we would upheave
Our sinful hands with sorrowing hearts to heaven.
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