Robin Hood Page #3

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Ah, come on, Robby.

Climb the castle walls.

Sweep her off her feet.

Carry her off in style.

It's no use, Johnny. I've thought it

all out, and it just wouldn't work.

- Besides, what have I got to offer her?

- Well, for one thing, you can't cook.

I'm serious, Johnny.

She's a highborn lady of quality.

- So she's got class. So what?

- I'm an outlaw. That's what.

That's no life for a lovely lady.

Always on the run.

- What kind of a future is that?

- Oh, for heaven's sake, son.

You're no outlaw.

Why, someday,

you'll be called a great hero.

A hero? Did you hear that, Johnny?

We've just been pardoned.

That's a gas.

We ain't even been arrested yet.

All right, laugh,

you two rogues...

but there's gonna be

a big to-do in Nottingham.

Well-done, ain't it?

Old Prince John's havin' a championship

archery tournament tomorrow.

Archery tournament?

Old Rob could win that

standin' on his head, huh, Rob?

Thank you, Little John,

but I'm sure we're not invited.

No, but there's somebody who'll be

very disappointed if you don't come.

Yeah. Old Bushel Britches,

the Honourable Sheriff of Nottingham.

No. Maid Marian.

- Maid Marian?

- Yeah.

She-She's gonna give a kiss

to the winner.

Kiss to the winner!

Oo-de-lally. Come on, Johnny.

What are we waiting for?

Wait a minute, Rob. Hold it. That place

will be crawlin' with soldiers.

Aha. But remember...

faint hearts

never won fair lady.

Fear not, my friends.

This will be

my greatest performance.

Hiss, this is a red-letter day.

A coup d'etat,

to coin a Norman phrase.

Ooh. Oh, yes, indeed, sire.

Your plan to capture Robin Hood

in public is sheer genius.

Hiss, no one sits higher

than the king.

Must I remind you, Hiss?

Do... Do forgive me, sire.

I didn't mean to...

My trap is baited and set.

And then revenge!

Ah! Revenge!

Shh. Not so loud, sire.

Remember, only you and I know.

And your s-secret is my s-secret.

Stop. Stop hissing in my ear.

Secret? What secret?

Why, the capture

of Robin Hood, sire.

That insolent blackguard.

Ooh! I'll show him

who wears the crown!

I share your loathing, sire.

That scurrilous scoundrel who fooled you

with that silly disguise...

who dared to rob you

and make you look so utterly ridiculous.

Enough!

Hiss, you deliberately dodged.

But-But-But, sire, please...

Stop snivelling and hold still.

Thank you, sire.

Oh, Klucky, I'm so excited.

But how will I recognize him?

Oh, he'll let you know somehow.

That young rogue of yours

is full of surprises, my dear.

There she is, Little John.

Isn't she beautiful?

Cool it, lover boy. Your heart's

runnin' away with your head.

Ah, stop worrying.

This disguise would fool my own mother.

Yeah. But your mom ain't here.

You gotta fool Old Bushel Britches.

- Sheriff, Your Honour?

- Yeah.

Meetin' ya face-to-face

is a real treat. A real treat.

Well, now, thank you.

Oh... Excuse me. I gotta go

win this tournament.

Hey, old Rob's not a bad actor.

But wait'll he sees this scene

I lay on Prince John.

Ah! Me lord.

My esteemed royal sovereign

of the realm.

The head man himself.

You're beautiful.

He has style, hey, Hiss?

Ya took the words

right outta my mouth, P.J.

P.J. I like that.

Do you know, I do.

Hiss, put it on my luggage. P.J.

P.J. Yes.

And you?

Who might you be, sir?

I am Sir Reginald,

Duke of Chutney.

And don't stick

your tongue out at me, kid.

And now, Your Mightiness,

allow me to lay some protocol on you.

Oh, no. Forgive me,

but I lose more jewels that way than...

- Please sit down.

- Thanks, P.J.

Couldn't get a better seat

than this, could ya? The royal box.

Oh! Hey! Hey, what the...

Oh, uh, excuse me, buster.

"Buster"? You, sir,

have taken my seat.

Hiss, with you around,

who needs a court jester?

Now get out there and keep

your snake eyes open for you know who.

You... You-You mean, l...

I'm being dismissed?

You heard His Mightiness.

Move it, creepy. Get lost.

Be gone, long one.

What cheek! "Creepy.

Buster. Long one."

Who does that dopey duke

think he is?

- Now, he's up to somethin', Friar.

- Yeah. Come on.

Ah, Your Ladyship.

Beggin' your pardon,

but it's a great honour...

to be shootin' for the favour

of a lovely lady like yourself.

- I hopes I win the kiss.

- Oh!

Well, thank you,

my thin-legged archer.

I wish you luck

with all my heart.

Hmm. I wonder.

Your Highness, with your royal

permission, we are ready to begin.

Proceed, Captain.

The Tournament of the Golden Arrow

will now begin.

Yea, Dad.

Boo!

A perfect bullseye.

Well, well.

Yeah. That's what ya call

pullin' it back and lettin' it go, P.J.

I'm gonna win

that golden arrow...

and then I'm gonna present meself

to the lovely Maid Marian...

Listen, scissor bill, if you shoot

half as good as you blabber-mouth...

you're better than Robin Hood.

"Robin Hood," he says. Wowee!

I'm tip-top, all right,

but I'm not as good as he is.

That kid's got class,

ain't he, P.J.?

Indeed he has, Reggie.

Bravo! Bravo! Yes.

Oh, um, by the way...

I hear you're having a bit of trouble

gettin' your hands on that Robin Hood.

He's scared of me. That's what he is.

You notice he didn't show up here today.

Heh! I could spot him

through them phoney disguises.

It's him! It's Robin Hood!

I just can't wait

till I tell His Majesty.

Unhand me, you...

Please. Please. I don't drink.

Attention, everyone.

The final contestants are:

The Honourable Sheriff of Nottingham.

And the spindle-legged stork

from Devonshire.

My dear, I suspect you favour

the gangly youth, hmm?

Uh... Why, yes, sire.

Well, at least he amuses me.

Coincidentally, my dear young lady...

he amuses me too.

For the final shoot-out...

move the target back 30 paces.

You heard him, Nutsy. Get goin'.

Move it, you birdbrain.

And remember

what you're supposed to do.

Yes, sir, Sheriff, sir.

Well, that shot

wins the golden arrow...

the kiss

and the whole caboodle.

Yea! He did it!

He did it! He did it!

Archer, I commend you.

And because of your superior skill

you shall get what is coming to you.

Our royal congratulations.

Oh, thank you kindly,

Your Highness.

Meetin' you face-to-face,

Your High and Mighty, is a real treat.

Release the royal fingers. Ah!

And now, I name you the winner.

Or more appropriately...

the loser.

Seize him.

I sentence you to sudden...

instant and even immediate death.

Oh, no! Oh!

Please. Please, sire.

I beg of you to spare his life.

Please, have mercy.

My dear, emotional lady,

why should I?

- Because I love him, Your Highness.

- Love him?

And does this prisoner

return your love?

Marian, my darling,

I love you more than life itself.

Ah. Young love.

Your pleas have not fallen

upon a heart of stone.

But traitors to the crown

must die!

Traitor to the crown?

That crown belongs to King Richard.

- Long live King Richard!

- Long live King Richard!

Enough! I am king!

King! King!

Ah! Off with his head!

Oh, no.

Stop! Executioners, stop!

Hold your axe!

Okay, big shot. Now tell 'em

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