Free liberty of Sherwood, And leave to take her lot with you in the forest.
_Sir W_.

A scant petition, Margaret; but take it, Seal'd with an old man's tears .-- Rise, daughter of Sir Rowland.
[_Addressing them both_.
O you most worthy, You constant followers of a man proscribed, Following poor misery in the throat of danger; Fast servitors to crazed and penniless poverty, Serving poor poverty without hope of gain; Kind children of a sire unfortunate; Green clinging tendrils round a trunk decay'd, Which needs must bring on you timeless decay; Fair living forms to a dead carcass joined;-- What shall I say?
Better the dead were gather'd to the dead, Than death and life in disproportion meet .-- Go, seek your fortunes, children .-- _Simon_.

Why, whither should we go?
_Sir W_.

_You_ to the court, where now your brother John Commits a rape on Fortune.
_Simon_.

Luck to John! A light-heel'd strumpet when the sport is done.
_Sir W_.