Give Unto Robin

 

Where Robin Hood steals from everyone in England and gives it all to himself.

Act 1

Word on the Street

Be not downtrodden my miserable waifs, I’ve come with a tail to give you voluminous chafes.   The coinage was struck with the face of a hammer, but Robin refused to go into thoust slammer.  He stands with his bow and quivering arrow, his laughter be merry, but his outlook be narrow.  With heart like a rock and hands like a sparrow, he’ll have you in stitches and over a barrel.  He gives unto Caesar the gold be so true, and gets it from Fias and Treborne and you.  From the forest of Sherwood his history doth flow, with a limb of Birch tree and a vest made from doe.  Heartily, heartily when the evil rum floweth, he lives in wind and his seed he doth seweth.  Ride by the moon light and sleep with the sun, Robin Hood torments with rapturous fun.  On Blitzen and Nixon and Rudolph of Ire, he whips them with flames sprouting forth from his fire.  Give onto Caesar his breasts they do boast, or find thee well vented and lashed to a post.  The King and his armies could not cease the fray, so he beckoned his wizards and doubled thoth pay.  Alas to the right of me and alas to the left, merry old England will soon be bereft!

 

Act 2

The King is Pissed Off

Now the King and his Sheriff were not without scheme, and the capture of Robin Hood became their thoust dream.  The Sheriff was greedy and ugly and stanketh, but the good King was desperate and generous with thanketh.  He said from his thrown with terrible cries, I can live with betrayal, the plague and the lies.  I can live with mosquitos and the miserable din, but stealing my gold is a crime and a sin.  The gallows await who might think them so bold, who bolted with evil to covet my gold.  I’ll lash them and stretch them and boil them in oil, then crush them and burn them and stick them with foil.  Heaven forbids the tools I might use, but I am the king so that I might choose.

 

 

 

Act 3

Enter the Girl.

The good lady Mary was blissful this day, for she trekked to the meadow where the antelope play.  Her lady in waiting lit fire from doth wood, and that’s when come visit did Robin the Hood.  He was dashing and handsome and quick with a word, his arrows not troubled with hitting a bird. I seek only water to give to my steed, his countenance wearied from breathing with reed. In water of swamp from death we did hide, with amorous foul of continence snide.   The King and his horsemen spread out like a fan, he had spared no expenses and brungeth every man.  When his mood it did sour, and his whip it did crack, it was only one hour, before they went back.  Well, the King is my father, sayeth Mary with glare.  At the end of an hour, thou willst be lashed to my chair.  Her voice cut sunlight on the flesh his brow.  But first came the gold, he wanteth it now.   Just yonder quite plainly lay royal her purse, and scorned him so angry so wicked thoth curse.  I hate you so deeply, my rude stranger, please.  Your crystalline eyes put me nary at ease.  This day I’m yet virgin and ripe for the spring.  He said he was sorry, no love could thouth bring.   But he would be back when his purse strings were tight, and sweep her away no matter the fight.

 

Act 4

One of Many

In water so muddied crossed great lengths of wood.  On rocks from the river thouth toll master stood.  Imbibing the spirits on thoth early morn, the toll master belched like a sheep to be shorn.  Come hither, and thither, and from every abouts, were men dressed as bandits, with torches and shouts.   Fanfare from Heaven provided them glee, the leader of many, so restless and free.  The raven has spoketh, to the King on this path.  The coins please or suffer, of Robin Hood’s wrath.  Stand smartly my quarry, be quick with thouth feet.  For Caesar’s great tribute am I to replete.   Yon toll master freteth but acteth not rash, his purse was well hidden in his secreteth stash.   You bait me and rape me and give not clue, for a smidgen of silver what keeps in my shoe.  Thoth arrow did split him with nary a scream, tis Robin who loosed it, or so it would seem.  I’m weary and dreary and lack of aplomb, we’ll retire to Yorkshire and steal us a room.

 

 

 

 

Act 5

A Sprung is Trapped

Doth Sheriff had bitten thoth dog out of spite.  What starteth so cheery wrought so blerry a fight.  Thoth bitch is a demon and shall taste of my sword, then live on forever once spiked to my board. My table woth revel when severed you be, from stem to thoth sternest, and every last flea.  The Sorcerer watcheth whilst sat on his stool, doth magically spicing his cold meal of gruel.  For croners and tenpence and shiny dabloons,  I care not for riches to thouth lowliest spoons.  That beast in doth forrest delivers thy gloom, nigh for bitch I brought sharp to her doom.  A bait of stronger odor be what thoust should know.  Begin with a treasure and end with a bow.  Thoust debt is forgiven, doth land is increased.  Doth celebrate wildly whence our villain deceased.

 

Act 6

Bo Regard

Ye approacheth Robin, with nary a care, ye men are doth fed and found cage for the bear.  Whence spied be a man of girth and great measure.  His fist held a bo staff whence wielded great pleasure.  Come Hades high water, he sayeth with snicker.  Thoth bear is six pence, and I don’t mean to dicker.  The arrow did strike him, but first through his bo, and then in his left fist, and one in thoth toe.  He broke off thoth arrows with bite of doth mouth.  He spit one arrow north. He spit one arrow south.  Doth horses were startled whence with mighty great fury, doth bo staff found soft flesh, from which they did scurry.  Twas Robin caught napping to first taste that bo, cut cleanly, on Sabbath, by a witch with no soul.  Parlay came swiftly doth seven gold coins.  Surrendering swiftly spared Robin doth loins.  We honored our battle, but now it is done.  We’ve taken our measure.  Thoust timeth for fun.  Of what shall we call you?  Of what is thoust name?  I am called Big John.  Don’t ask thoust again.

Act 7

The Duke of Earl Massacre

Ye Peter, ye Patty, ye Rastus, and Kate, all passed together, from arrows of eight.  Ye Gertrude, ye William, ye Robert and Jack, all passed together, doth arrows in back.  Ye arrows were falling like ye rain from the skies.  Ye Albert surrendered doth one in his eyes.  Thoust came at doth worst and thoust leave without sorrow!   And Robin retuned, with his very last arrow.  Think not of dost self, as more than a squirrel.   I’ve slain me a Duke, but doth are of Earl.  The wicked plead ugly, the good man prays clean.   They both get an arrow, my wench painted green.  Whence purses were pilfered and screaming subsiding, they mounted doth horses, and went back into hiding.

 

Act 8

Grin and Bear It

Doth fat man in burlap, with mules old and mean, hauls wine to the city and all in between.  It happened Sir Robin, was thirsty this day.  Upon thy poor Padre, doth bold Robin did prey.  Nary were contest, put forth by doth Friar.  For the least he could do, was brand Robin a liar.  To the mother and the father and the baby he pray.  But only doth arrow hold robbers sway.  Doth Friar cried foul and proclaimed it unfair.   Ye Big John thought other, and pointed at doth bear.   Sir Robin bides loosely regard of his gain, but tarries not Big John, when wanting doth pain.  The ale or the whiskey, the gin or the wine.  Doth Friar’s pretentions, will do them just fine.  With a mighty HI HI, and a baritone HO, doth good Friar curtsied, the reins he let go.  Yon timber be quaking with pass of doth cloud, so furious the battle and sweaty and loud.  Thouth good Friar hearty, with nary a quiver, dragging forth doth a bear cage, to the depths of the river.  A great peel of laughter, eyes shining as sea, doth good Friar bellows, what next you of thee?  Thoust pantaloon pussies what fights with doth arrows, shant scurry away with my horse and doth barrels!  Sayeth Robin of Loxly, for were it my druthers, we’d burn down doth churches and gang slake thy mothers.  Afore there came slaking and arrows and more, a bargain was reached, on their mothers they swore.  And Good Friar Tuck, joined merry and more, he was first to yon barrels, but last to doth whore.

 

Act 9

Nobody Can Split An Arrow

The contest was entered, with pieces of eight, smelted from tin cans, and covered in paint.  Doth Robin, ye Big John and the good Friar Tuck, all waiting silently in the place they had snuck.  As fan fares were blowing and the crowd it did cheer came Robin in sack cloth, with a bone in doth ear.  The archers were many and held tight doth bow, and Mary the virgin sat in the first row.  The King and the Sheriff, and many more kin, stood all at the ready, for the archer to win.  In glory before them sat guards of the realm, like old broken sailors, asleep at doth helm.  The arrow doth triumphed what painted in green, but nary the archer be found on doth scene.  Tumultuous commotion, rang hard into the air, when the good virgin Mary, went missing from doth chair.

 

 

 

 

 

Act 10

No Plan Survives The Battle

Back in the Forrest, where shadows run deep, took Mary Sir Robin, where sometimes he sleep.  Sir Robin yorned tautly, his chest proudly bared, dost all gold in England, he boldly declared.  With all fires blazing and throwing out light, doth virgin be the Mary, and she be my right!   Doth arrows came flying, from every doth tree, just when Sir Robin, bent down on one knee.   The Merry Men fell silent, the mood like a dream, when suddenly an arrow, pierced Sir Robin’s bared spleen.  Followed by a hundred, though it was hard to tell, they blotted out the Heavens, from whence doth arrows fell.  The King and his horses, the King and his men, following doth Sheriff, against Robin’s one to ten.   Doth Sorcerer predicted, and it did come to be, that in doth bloody battle, there was no victory.  For fortune’s a wicked bitch, and destiny a whore, and when the treasure’s golden coins, a man’s senses are no more.  They found them on a sunny day, when one thousand years had passed, covered in vines and surrounded by grass.   But how to split this booty, caused faces turned to blue.  Afore doth cock could croweth, the tale began anew.