SCENE I.
Hereford. A street.
Enter lord Herbert, lord Powis, Owen, Gough, Davy,
and several other followers of the lords Herbert and
Powis; they fight. Then enter the sheriff of Herefordshire
and a bailiff.
Sher.
My lords, I charge ye, in his highness' name,
To keep the peace; you and your followers.
-- 270 --
Her.
Good master sheriff, look unto yourself.
Pow.
Do so, for we have other business.
[They attempt to fight again.
Sher.
Will ye disturb the judges, and the assize?
Hear the king's proclamation, ye were best.
Pow.
Hold then; let's hear it.
Her.
But be brief, ye were best.
Bail.
O—yes.
Davy.
Cossone, make shorter O, or shall mar your yes.
Bail.
O—yes.
Owen.
What, has hur nothing to say, but O yes?
Bail.
O—yes.
Davy.
O nay; py coss plut, down with hur, down
with hur. A Powis, a Powis.
Gough.
A Herbert, a Herbert, and down with
Powis.
[They fight again.
Sher.
Hold in the king's name, hold.
Owen.
Down with a' knave's name, down.
[The bailiff is knock'd down, and the sheriff runs away.
Her.
Powis, I think thy Welsh and thou do smart.
Pow.
Herbert, I think my sword came near thy heart.
Her.
Thy heart's best blood shall pay the loss of mine.
Gough.
A Herbert, a Herbert.
Davy.
A Powis, a Powis.
As they are fighting, Enter the Mayor of Hereford, his
officers and townsmen, with clubs.
May.
My lords, as you are liegemen to the crown,
-- 271 --
True noblemen, and subjects to the king,
Attend his highness' proclamation,
Commanded by the judges of assize,
For keeping peace at this assembly.
Her.
Good master mayor of Hereford, be brief.
May.
Serjeant, without the ceremonies of O yes,
Pronounce aloud the proclamation.
Ser.
The king's justices, perceiving what publick
mischief may ensue this private quarrel, in his majesty's
name do straitly charge and command all
persons, of what degree soever, to depart this city
of Hereford, except such as are bound to give attendance
at this assize, and that no man presume
to wear any weapon, especially Welsh-hooks3 note, and
forest bills;—
Owen.
Haw! No pill, nor Wells hoog? ha?
May.
Peace, and hear the proclamation.
Ser.
And that the lord Powis do presently disperse
and discharge his retinue, and depart the city in the
king's peace, he and his followers, on pain of imprisonment.
Davy.
Haw? pud her lord Powis in prison? A
Powis, a Powis. Cossoon, hur will live and tye with
hur lord.
Gough.
A Herbert, a Herbert.
[They fight. Lord Herbert is wounded, and falls to
the ground. The mayor and his attendants interpose.
Lord Powis runs away.
Enter two Judges, the Sheriff and his bailiffs before them.
1 Judge.
Where's the lord Herbert? Is he hurt or slain?
Sher.
He's here, my lord.
2 Judge.
How fares his lordship, friends?
Gough.
Mortally wounded, speechless; he cannot live.
-- 272 --
1 Judge.
Convey him hence, let not his wounds take air;
And get him dress'd with expedition.
[Exeunt Lord Herbert and Gough.
Master mayor of Hereford, master sheriff o'the shire,
Commit lord Powis to safe custody,
To answer the disturbance of the peace,
Lord Herbert's peril, and his high contempt
Of us, and you the king's commissioners:
See it be done with care and diligence.
Sher.
Please it your lordship, my lord Powis is
gone past all recovery.
2 Judge.
Yet let search be made,
To apprehend his followers that are left.
Sher.
There are some of them: Sirs, lay hold of
them.
Owen.
Of us? and why? what has hur done, I
pray you?
Sher.
Disarm them, bailiffs.
May.
Officers, assist.
Davy.
Hear you, lord shudge, what resson is for
this?
Owen.
Cossoon, pe'puse for fighting for our lord?
1 Judge.
Away with them.
Davy.
Harg you, my lord.
Owen.
Gough, my lord Herbert's man, is a shitten
knave.
Davy.
Ice live and tye in good quarrel.
Owen.
Pray you do shustice, let awl be prison.
Davy.
Prison! no; lord shudge, I wool give you
pail, good surety.
2 Judge.
What bail? what sureties?
Davy.
Hur cozen ap Rice, ap Evan, ap Morice,
ap Morgan, ap Lluellyn, ap Madoc, ap Meredith,
ap Griffin, ap Davy, ap Owen, ap Skinken, ap Shones.
2 Judge.
Two of the most sufficient are enough.
Sher.
An it please your lordship, these are all but
one.
-- 273 --
1 Judge.
To gaol with them, and the lord Herbert's men:
We'll talk with them, when the assize is done.
[Exeunt bailiffs, Owen, Davy, &c.
Riotous, audacious, and unruly grooms,
Must we be forced to come from the bench,
To quiet brawls, which every constable
In other civil places can suppress?
2 Judge.
What was the quarrel that caus'd all this stir?
Sher.
About religion, as I heard, my lord.
Lord Powis detracted from the power of Rome,
Affirming Wickliff's doctrine to be true,
And Rome's erroneous: hot reply was made
By the lord Herbert; they were traitors all
That would maintain it. Powis answered,
They were as true, as noble, and as wise
As he; they would defend it with their lives;
He nam'd for instance sir John Oldcastle,
The lord Cobham: Herbert reply'd again,
He, thou, and all are traitors that so hold.
The lie was given, the several factions drawn,
And so enraged that we could not appease it.
1 Judge.
This case concerns the king's prerogative,
And 'tis dangerous to the state and commonwealth.
Gentlemen, justices, master mayor, and master sheriff,
It doth behove us all, and each of us,
In general and particular, to have care
For the suppressing of all mutinies,
And all assemblies, except soldiers' musters,
For the king's preparation into France.
We hear of secret conventicles made,
And there is doubt of some conspiracies,
Which may break out into rebellious arms,
When the king's gone, perchance before he go:
Note as an instance, this one perilous fray:
What factions might have grown on either part,
To the destruction of the king and realm?
-- 274 --
Yet, in my conscience, sir John Oldcastle's
Innocent of it; only his name was us'd.
We therefore from his highness give this charge:
You, master mayor, look to your citizens;
You, master sheriff, unto your shire; and you
As justices, in every one's precinct
There be no meetings: when the vulgar sort
Sit on their ale-bench, with their cups and cans,
Matters of state be not their common talk,
Nor pure religion by their lips profan'd.
Let us return unto the bench again,
And there examine further of this fray.
Enter a Bailiff and a Serjeant.
Sher.
Sirs, have ye taken the lord Powis yet?
Bail.
No, nor heard of him.
Ser.
No, he's gone far enough.
2 Judge.
They that are left behind, shall answer all.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Eltham.
An anti-chamber in the palace.
Enter the duke of Suffolk, bishop of Rochester, Butler, and
sir John of Wrotham.9Q1349
Suff.
Now, my lord bishop, take free liberty
To speak your mind: what is your suit to us?
Roch.
My noble lord, no more than what you know,
And have been oftentimes invested with.
Grievous complaints have pass'd between the lips
Of envious persons, to upbraid the clergy;
Some carping at the livings which we have,
And others spurning at the ceremonies
That are of ancient custom in the church:
-- 275 --
Amongst the which, lord Cobham is a chief.
What inconvenience may proceed hereof,
Both to the king, and to the commonwealth,
May easily be discern'd, when, like a frenzy,
This innovation shall possess their minds.
These upstarts will have followers to uphold
Their damn'd opinion, more than Henry shall,
To undergo his quarrel 'gainst the French.
Suf.
What proof is there against them to be had,
That what you say the law may justify?
Roch.
They give themselves the name of Protestants,
And meet in fields and solitary groves.
S. John.
Was ever heard, my lord, the like till now?
That thieves and rebels, s'blood, my lord, hereticks,
Plain hereticks, (I'll stand to't to their teeth)
Should have, to colour their vile practices,
A title of such worth, as Protestant?
Enter a Messenger with a letter, which he gives to the duke of Suffolk.
Suf.
O, but you must not swear; it ill becomes
One of your coat to rap out bloody oaths.
Roch.
Pardon him, good my lord; it is his zeal.
An honest country prelate, who laments
To see such foul disorder in the church.
S. John.
There's one, they call him sir John Oldcastle;
He has not his name for nought; for, like a castle,
Doth he encompass them within his walls:
But till that castle be subverted quite,
We ne'er shall be at quiet in the realm.
Roch.
That is our suit, my lord; that he be ta'en,
And brought in question for his heresy.
Beside, two letters brought me out of Wales,
Wherein my lord of Hereford4 note writes to me,
-- 276 --
What tumult and sedition was begun,
About the lord Cobham, at the 'sizes there,
(For they had much ado to calm the rage)
And that the valiant Herbert is there slain.
Suf.
A fire that must be quench'd. Well, say no more;
The king anon goes to the council chamber,
There to debate of matters touching France.
As he doth pass by, I'll inform his grace
Concerning your petition. Master Butler,
If I forget, do you remember me5 note.
But.
I will, my lord.
Roch.
Not as a recompence,
But as a token of our love to you,
By me, my lords, the clergy doth present
This purse, and in it full a thousand angels,
Praying your lordship to accept their gift.
[Offers the duke a purse.
Suf.
I thank them, my lord bishop, for their love,
But will not take their money; if you please
To give it to this gentleman, you may.
Roch.
Sir, then we crave your furtherance herein.
But.
The best I can, my lord of Rochester.
Roch.
Nay, pray you take it, trust me sir, you shall.
S. John.
Were ye all three upon New-market heath,
You should not need strain curt'sy who should have it;
Sir John would quickly rid ye of that care.
[Aside.
Suf.
The king is coming. Fear ye not, my lord;
The very first thing I will break with him,
Shall be about your matter.
Enter king Henry and the earl of Huntington.
K. Henry.
My lord of Suffolk,
Was it not said the clergy did refuse
To lend us money toward our wars in France?
-- 277 --
Suf.
It was, my lord, but very wrongfully.
K. Henry.
I know it was: for Huntington here tells me
They have been very bountiful of late.
Suf.
And still they vow, my gracious lord, to be so,
Hoping your majesty will think on them
As of your loving subjects, and suppress
All such malicious errors as begin
To spot their calling, and disturb the church.
K. Henry.
God else forbid!—Why, Suffolk, is there
Any new rupture to disquiet them?
Suf.
No new, my lord; the old is great enough;
And so increasing, as, if not cut down,
Will breed a scandal to your royal state,
And set your kingdom quickly in an uproar.
The Kentish knight, lord Cobham, in despite
Of any law, or spiritual discipline,
Maintains this upstart new religion still;
And divers great assemblies, by his means,
And private quarrels, are commenc'd abroad,
As by this letter more at large, my liege,
Is made apparent.
K. Henry.
We do find it here,
There was in Wales a certain fray of late
Between two noblemen. But what of this?
Follows it straight, lord Cobham must be he
Did cause the same? I dare be sworn, good knight,
He never dream'd of any such contention.
Roch.
But in his name the quarrel did begin,
About the opinion which he held, my liege.
K. Henry.
What if it did? was either he in place
To take part with them, or abet them in it?
If brabbling fellows, whose enkindled blood
Seeths in their firy veins, will needs go fight,
Making their quarrels of some words that pass'd
Either of you, or you,9Q1350 amongst their cups,
Is the fault yours? or are they guilty of it?
Suf.
With pardon of your highness, my dread lord,
-- 278 --
Such little sparks, neglected, may in time
Grow to a mighty flame. But that's not all;
He doth beside maintain a strange religion,
And will not be compell'd to come to mass.
Roch.
We do beseech you therefore, gracious prince,
Without offence unto your majesty,
We may be bold to use authority.
K. Henry.
As how?
Roch.
To summon him unto the arches6 note,
Where such offences have their punishment.
K. Henry.
To answer personally? is that your meaning?
Roch.
It is, my lord.
K. Henry.
How, if he appeal?
Roch.
My lord, he cannot in such a case as this.
Suf.
Not where religion is the plea, my lord.
K. Henry.
I took it always, that ourself stood on't9Q1351
As a sufficient refuge, unto whom
Not any but might lawfully appeal:
But we'll not argue now upon that point.
For sir John Oldcastle, whom you accuse,
Let me intreat you to dispense a while
With your high title of preheminence.
Report did never yet condemn him so,
But he hath always been reputed loyal:
And, in my knowledge, I can say thus much,
That he is virtuous, wise, and honourable.
If any way his conscience be seduc'd
To waver in his faith, I'll send for him,
And school him privately: if that serve not,
Then afterward you may proceed against him.
Butler, be you the messenger for us,
And will him presently repair to court.
[Exeunt King Henry, Huntington, Suffolk, and Butler.
-- 279 --
S. John.
How now, my lord? why stand you discontent?
Insooth, methinks the king hath well decreed.
Roch.
Ay, ay, sir John, if he would keep his word:
But I perceive he favours him so much
As this will be to small effect, I fear.
S. John.
Why then I'll tell you what you're best to do:
If you suspect the king will be but cold
In reprehending him, send you a process too,
To serve upon him; so you may be sure
To make him answer it, howsoe'er it fall.
Roch.
And well remember'd; I will have it so;
A sumner shall be sent7 note about it straight.
[Exit.
S. John.
Yea, do so. In the mean space this remains
For kind sir John of Wrotham, honest Jack.
Methinks the purse of gold the bishop gave
Made a good shew, it had a tempting look:
Beshrew me, but my fingers' ends do itch
To be upon those golden ruddocks8 note. Well, 'tis thus;
I am not as the world doth take me for:
If ever wolf were cloathed in sheep's coat,
Then I am he; old huddle and twang i'faith:
A priest in shew, but, in plain terms, a thief.
Yet let me tell you too, an honest thief;
One that will take it where it may be spar'd,
And spend it freely in good fellowship.
I have as many shapes as Proteus had;
That still when any villainy is done,
There may be none suspect it was sir John.
Besides, to comfort me, (for what's this life,
-- 280 --
Except the crabbed bitterness thereof
Be sweeten'd now and then with lechery?)
I have my Doll, my concubine as 'twere,
To frolick with; a lusty bouncing girl.
But whilst I loiter here, the gold may scape,
And that must not be so: it is mine own.
Therefore I'll meet him on his way to court,
And shrive him of it9 note; there will be the sport.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
Kent.
An outer court before lord Cobham's house. A publick road
leading to it; and an alehouse appearing at a little distance.
Enter two old Men, and two Soldiers.
1 Sold.
God help, God help! there's law for punishing,
But there's no law for our necessity:
There be more stocks to set poor soldiers in,
Than there be houses to relieve them at.
1 Old M.
Ay, house-keeping decays in every place,
Even as Saint Peter writ, still worse and worse.
2 Old M.
Master mayor of Rochester has given
command, that none shall go abroad out of the parish;
and has set down an order forsooth, what every
poor housholder must give for our relief; where there
be some 'sessed1 note, I may say to you, had almost as
much need to beg as we.
1 Old M.
It is a hard world the while.
2 Old M.
If a poor man ask at door for God's
-- 281 --
sake, they ask him for a licence, or a certificate from
a justice.
1 Sold.
Faith we have none, but what we bear
upon our bodies, our maim'd limbs, God help us.
2 Sold.
And yet as lame as I am, I'll with the king
into France, if I can but crawl a ship-board. I had
rather be slain in France, than starve in England.
1 Old M.
Ha, were I but as lusty as I was at
Shrewsbury battle, I would not do as I do:—but we
are now come to the good lord Cobham's, the best
man to the poor in all Kent.
2 Old M.
God bless him! there be but few such.
Enter lord Cobham and Harpool.
Cob.
Thou peevish froward man, what wouldst thou have?
Har.
This pride, this pride, brings all to beggary.
I serv'd your father, and your grandfather;
Shew me such two men now: no, no; your backs,
Your backs2 note
, the devil and pride, has cut the throat
Of all good house-keeping; they were the best
Yeomens' masters that ever were in England.
Cob.
Yea, except thou have a crew of filthy knaves
And sturdy rogues, still feeding at my gate,
There is no hospitality with thee.
Har.
They may sit at the gate well enough, but
the devil of any thing you give them, except they'll
eat stones.
Cob.
'Tis 'long then of such hungry knaves as you:
Yea, sir, here's your retinue; your guests be come;
They know their hours, I warrant you.
-- 282 --
1 Old M.
God bless your honour! God save the
good lord Cobham, and all his house!
1 Sold.
Good your honour, bestow your blessed
alms upon poor men.
Cob.
Now, sir, here be your alms-knights: now are you
As safe as the emperor.
Har.
My alms-knights? Nay, they're yours: it
is a shame for you, and I'll stand to't; your foolish
alms maintains more vagabonds than all the noblemen
in Kent beside. Out, you rogues, you knaves,
work for your livings. Alas, poor men, they may
beg their hearts out; there's no more charity among
men than among so many mastiff dogs. [Aside.] What
make you here, you needy knaves? Away, away,
you villains.
2 Sold.
I beseech you, sir, be good to us.
Cob.
Nay, nay, they know thee well enough; I think
That all the beggars in this land are thy
Acquaintance: go bestow your alms, none will
Control you, sir.
Har.
What should I give them? you are grown so
beggarly that you can scarce give a bit of bread at
your door. You talk of your religion so long, that
you have banish'd charity from you. A man may
make a flax-shop in your kitchen chimnies, for any
fire there is stirring.
Cob.
If thou wilt give them nothing, send them hence:
Let them not stand here starving in the cold.
Har.
Who! I drive them hence? If I drive poor
men from the door, I'll be hang'd: I know not what
I may come to myself. God help ye, poor knaves,
ye see the world. Well, you had a mother; O God
be with thee, good lady, thy soul's at rest: She gave
more in shirts and smocks to poor children, than you
spend in your house; and yet you live a beggar too.
[To lord Cobham.
Cob.
Even the worst deed that e'er my mother did,
Was in relieving such a fool as thou.
-- 283 --
Har.
Ay, I am a fool still: with all your wit
you'll die a beggar; go to.
Cob.
Go, you old fool, give the poor people something.
Go in, poor men, into the inner court,
And take such alms as there is to be had.
Sold.
God bless your honour!
Har.
Hang you rogues, hang you; there's nothing
but misery amongst you; you fear no law, you.
2 Old M.
God bless you good master Ralph, God
save your life; you are good to the poor still.
[Exeunt Harpool, Old men, and Soldiers.
Enter lord Powis, disguised.
Cob.
What fellow's yonder comes along the grove?
Few passengers there be that know this way.
Methinks, he stops, as though he staid for me,
And meant to shroud himself among the bushes.
I know, the clergy hates me to the death,
And my religion gets me many foes:
And this may be some desperate rogue, suborn'd
To work me mischief:—as it pleaseth God.
If he come toward me, sure I'll stay his coming,
Be he but one man, whatsoe'er he be.
[Lord Powis advances.
I have been well acquainted with that face.
Pow.
Well met, my honourable lord and friend.
Cob.
You are very welcome, sir, whate'er you be;
But of this sudden, sir, I do not know you.
Pow.
I am one that wisheth well unto your honour;
My name is Powis, an old friend of yours.
Cob.
My honourable lord, and worthy friend,
What makes your lordship thus alone in Kent?
And thus disguised in this strange attire?
Pow.
My lord, an unexpected accident
Hath at this time enforc'd me to these parts,
And thus it happ'd. Not yet full five days since,
-- 284 --
Now at the last assize at Hereford,
It chanc'd that the lord Herbert and myself,
'Mongst other things, discoursing at the table,
Did fall in speech about some certain points
Of Wickliff's doctrine, 'gainst the papacy
And the religion catholick maintain'd
Through the most part of Europe at this day.
This wilful testy lord stuck not to say,
That Wickliff was a knave, a schismatick,
His doctrine devilish, and heretical;
And whatsoe'er he was, maintain'd the same,
Was traitor both to God, and to his country.
Being moved at his peremptory speech,
I told him, some maintained those opinions,
Men, and truer subjects than lord Herbert was:
And he replying in comparisons,
Your name was urg'd, my lord, against his challenge3 note,
To be a perfect favourer of the truth.
And, to be short, from words we fell to blows,
Our servants, and our tenants, taking parts;—
Many on both sides hurt; and for an hour
The broil by no means could be pacified;
Until the judges, rising from the bench,
Were in their persons forc'd to part the fray.
Cob.
I hope no man was violently slain.
Pow.
'Faith none, I trust, but the lord Herbert's self,
Who is in truth so dangerously hurt,
As it is doubted he can hardly scape.
Cob.
I am sorry, my good lord, for these ill news.
Pow.
This is the cause that drives me into Kent,
To shroud myself with you, so good a friend,
Until I hear how things do speed at home.
Cob.
Your lordship is most welcome unto Cobham:
But I am very sorry, my good lord,
-- 285 --
My name was brought in question in this matter,
Considering I have many enemies,
That threaten malice, and do lie in wait
To take the vantage of the smallest thing.
But you are welcome; and repose your lordship,
And keep yourself here secret in my house,
Until we hear how the lord Herbert speeds.
Enter Harpool.
Here comes my man: sirrah, what news?
Har.
Yonder's one Master Butler of the privy
chamber, is sent unto you from the king.
Pow.
Pray God, that the lord Herbert be not dead,
And the king, hearing whither I am gone,
Hath sent for me.
Cob.
Comfort yourself, my lord; I warrant you.
Har.
Fellow, what ails thee? dost thou quake?
dost thou shake? dost thou tremble? ha?
Cob.
Peace, you old fool. Sirrah, convey this gentleman
in the back way, and bring the other into
the walk.
Har.
Come, sir, you're welcome, if you love my
lord.
Pow.
Gramercy, gentle friend.
[Exeunt Powis and Harpool.
Cob.
I thought as much, that it would not be long
Before I heard of something from the king,
About this matter.
Enter Harpool and Butler.
Har.
Sir, yonder my lord walks, you see him; I'll
have your men into the cellar the while.
Cob.
Welcome, good master Butler.
But.
Thanks, my good lord. His majesty doth
commend his love unto your lordship, and wills you
to repair unto the court.
Cob.
God bless his highness, and confound his enemies!
-- 286 --
I hope his majesty is well.
But.
In good health, my lord.
Cob.
God long continue it! Methinks you look
As though you were not well: what ail ye, sir?
But.
'Faith I have had a foolish odd mischance,
That angers me. Coming o'er Shooter's-Hill,
There came one to me like a sailor, and
Ask'd my money; and whilst I staid my horse,
To draw my purse, he takes the advantage of
A little bank, and leaps behind me, whips
My purse away, and with a sudden jerk,
I know not how, threw me at least three yards
Out of my saddle. I never was so robb'd
In all my life.
Cob.
I am very sorry, sir, for your mischance;
We will send our warrant forth, to stay all such
Suspicious persons as shall be found:
Then Master Butler we'll attend on you.
But.
I humbly thank your lordship, I'll attend you.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
The same.
Enter a Sumner.
Sum.
I have the law to warrant what I do; and
though the lord Cobham be a nobleman, that dispenses
not with law: I dare serve a process, were he
five noblemen. Though we sumners make sometimes
a mad slip in a corner with a pretty wench,
a sumner must not go always by seeing: a man may
be content to hide his eyes where he may feel his
profit. Well, this is lord Cobham's house; if I
cannot speak with him, I'll clap my citation upon
his door; so my Lord of Rochester bad me: but methinks
here comes one of his men.
-- 287 --
Enter Harpool.
Har.
Welcome, good fellow, welcome; who
would'st thou speak with?
Sum.
With my lord Cobham I would speak, if
thou be one of his men.
Har.
Yes, I am one of his men: but thou canst
not speak with my lord.
Sum.
May I send to him then?
Har.
I'll tell thee that, when I know thy errand.
Sum.
I will not tell my errand to thee.
Har.
Then keep it to thyself, and walk like a
knave as thou cam'st.
Sum.
I tell thee, my lord keeps no knaves, sirrah.
Har.
Then thou servest him not, I believe. What
lord is thy master?
Sum.
My lord of Rochester.
Har.
In good time: And what would'st thou have
with my lord Cobham?
Sum.
I come, by virtue of a process, to cite him to
appear before my lord in the court at Rochester.
Har. [Aside.]
Well, God grant me patience! I
could eat this conger4 note. My lord is not at home;
therefore it were good, Sumner, you carried your
process back.
Sum.
Why, if he will not be spoken withal, then
will I leave it here; and see that he take knowledge
of it.
[Fixes a citation on the gate.
Har.
'Zounds you slave, do you set up your bills
here? Go to; take it down again. Dost thou know
what thou dost? Dost thou know on whom thou
servest a process?
Sum.
Yes, marry do I; on sir John Oldcastle,
lord Cobham.
Har.
I am glad thou knowest him yet. And
sirrah, dost thou not know that the lord Cobham is a
-- 288 --
brave lord, that keeps good beef and beer in his
house, and every day feeds a hundred poor people at
his gate, and keeps a hundred tall fellows5 note?
Sum.
What's that to my process?
Har.
Marry this, sir; is this process parchment?
Sum.
Yes, marry is it.
Har.
And this seal wax?
Sum.
It is so.
Har.
If this be parchment, and this wax, eat you
this parchment and this wax, or I will make parchment
of your skin, and beat your brains into wax.
Sirrah, Summer, dispatch; devour, sirrah, devour6 note
.
Sum.
I am my lord of Rochester's sumner; I came
to do my office, and thou shalt answer it.
Har.
Sirrah, no railing, but betake yourself to
your teeth. Thou shalt eat no worse than thou
bring'st with thee. Thou bring'st it for my lord, and
wilt thou bring my lord worse than thou wilt eat
thyself?
Sum.
Sir, I brought it not my lord to eat.
Har.
O, do you sir me now? All's one for that;
I'll make you eat it, for bringing it.
Sum.
I cannot eat it.
Har.
Can you not? 'sblood I'll beat you till you
have a stomach.
[Beats him.
-- 289 --
Sum.
O hold, hold, good master Servingman; I
will eat it.
Har.
Be champing, be chewing, sir, or I'll chew
you, you rogue. Tough wax is the purest honey.
Sum.
The purest of the honey!—O, Lord, sir!
oh! oh!
[Eats.
Har.
Feed, feed; 'tis wholsome, rogue, wholsome7 note
.
Cannot you, like an honest sumner, walk
with the devil your brother, to fetch in your bailiff's
rents, but you must come to a nobleman's house
with process? If thy seal were as broad as the lead
that covers Rochester church, thou should'st eat it.
Sum.
O, I am almost choak'd, I am almost
choak'd.
Har.
Who's within there? will you shame my
lord? is there no beer in the house? Butler, I say.
Enter Butler.
But.
Here, here.
Har.
Give him beer. There; tough old sheepskin's
bare dry meat8 note.
[The sumner drinks.
-- 290 --
Sum.
O, sir, let me go no further; I'll eat my
word.
Har.
Yea marry, sir, I mean you shall eat more
than your own word; for I'll make you eat all the
words in the process. Why, you drab-monger, cannot
the secrets of all the wenches in a shire serve your
turn, but you must come hither with a citation, with
a pox? I'll cite you.—A cup of sack for the summer.
But.
Here, sir, here.
Har.
Here, slave, I drink to thee.
Sum.
I thank you, sir.
Har.
Now, if thou find'st thy stomach well, because
thou shalt see my lord keeps meat in his house,
if thou wilt go in, thou shalt have a piece of beef to
thy breakfast.9Q1352
Sum.
No, I am very well, good master servingman,
I thank you; very well, sir.
Har.
I am glad on't: then be walking towards Rochester
to keep your stomach warm. And, Sumner,
if I do know you disturb a good wench within this
diocese, if I do not make thee eat her petticoat, if
there were four yards of Kentish cloth in it, I am a
villain.
Sum.
God be wi' you, master servingman.
[Exit Sumner.
Har.
Farewel, Sumner.
Enter Constable.
Con.
Save you, master Harpool.
Har.
Welcome constable, welcome constable;
what news with thee?
Con.
An't please you, master Harpool, I am to
make hue and cry for a fellow with one eye, that
has robb'd two clothiers; and am to crave your
hindrance to search all suspected places; and they
say there was a woman in the company.
Har.
Hast thou been at the ale-house? hast thou
sought there?
-- 291 --
Con.
I durst not search in my lord Cobham's liberty,
except I had some of his servants for my
warrant.
Har.
An honest constable: Call forth him that keeps
the ale-house there.
Con.
Ho, who's within there?
Enter Ale-man.
Ale-man.
Who calls there? Oh, is't you, master
constable, and master Harpool? you're welcome with
all my heart. What make you here so early this morning?
Har.
Sirrah, what strangers do you lodge? there
is a robbery done this morning, and we are to search
for all suspected persons.
Ale-man.
Gods-bore, I am sorry for't. I'faith, sir,
I lodge no body, but a good honest priest, call'd sir
John a Wrotham, and a handsome woman that is
his niece, that he says he has some suit in law for;
and as they go up and down to London, sometimes
they lie at my house.
Har.
What, is she here in thy house now?
Ale-man.
She is, sir: I promise you, sir, he is a
quiet man, and because he will not trouble too many
rooms, he makes the woman lie every night at his
bed's feet.
Har.
Bring her forth, constable; bring her forth:
let's see her, let's see her.
Ale-man.
Dorothy, you must come down to master
constable.
Enter Dorothy.
Doll.
Anon forsooth.
Har.
Welcome, sweet lass, welcome.
Doll.
I thank you, good sir, and master constable
also.
Har.
A plump girl by the mass, a plump girl. Ha,
Doll, ha! Wilt thou forsake the priest, and go with
me, Doll?
-- 292 --
Con.
Ah! well said, master Harpool; you are a
merry old man i'faith; you will never be old. Now
by the mack, a pretty wench indeed!
Har.
You old mad merry constable, art thou advis'd
of that? Ha, well said Doll; fill some ale here.
Doll.
Oh, if I wist this old priest would not stick
to me, by Jove I would ingle this old serving-man9 note
.
[Aside.
Har.
O you old mad colt, i'faith I'll ferk you:
fill all the pots in the house there.
Con.
Oh! well said, master Harpool; you are a
heart of oak when all's done.
Har.
Ha, Doll, thou hast a sweet pair of lips by the
mass.
Doll.
Truly you are a most sweet old man, as ever
I saw; by my troth, you have a face able to make
any woman in love with you.
Har.
Fill, sweet Doll, I'll drink to thee.
Doll.
I pledge you, sir, and thank you therefore,
and I pray you let it come1 note
.
Har. [Embracing her]
Doll, canst thou love me?
A mad merry lass; would to God I had never seen thee!
Doll.
I warrant you, you will not out of my
thoughts this twelvemonth; truly you are as full of
favour, as a man may be2 note
. Ah, these sweet grey
locks! by my troth they are most lovely.
-- 293 --
Con.
Cuds bores, master Harpool, I'll have one
buss too.
Har.
No licking for you, constable; hands off,
hands off.
Con.
By'r lady, I love kissing as well as you.
Doll.
O, you are an old boy* note, you have a wanton
eye of your own: Ah, you sweet sugar-lip'd wanton,
you will win as many women's hearts as come in
your company.
Enter Sir John of Wrotham.
Sir John.
Doll, come hither.
Har.
Priest, she shall not.
Doll.
I'll come anon, sweet love.
Sir John.
Hands off, old fornicator.
Har.
Vicar, I'll sit here in spite of thee. Is this
fit stuff for a priest to carry up and down with him?
Sir John.
Sirrah, dost thou not know that a goodfellow
parson may have a chapel of ease, where his
parish church is far off?
Har.
You whorson ston'd vicar.
Sir John.
You old stale ruffian, you lion of Cotswold3 note
.
-- 294 --
Har.
'Zounds, vicar, I'll geld you.
[Flies upon him.
Con.
Keep the king's peace.
Doll.
Murder, murder, murder!
Ale-man.
Hold, as you are men, hold; for God's
sake be quiet: put up your weapons, you draw not
in my house.
Har.
You whorson bawdy priest.
Sir John.
You old mutton-monger4 note.
Con.
Hold, sir John, hold.
Doll.
I pray thee, sweet heart, be quiet: I was
but sitting to drink a pot of ale with him; even as
kind a man as ever I met with.
Har.
Thou art a thief, I warrant thee.
Sir John.
Then I am but as thou hast been in thy
days. Let's not be asham'd of our trade; the king
has been a thief himself.
Doll.
Come, be quiet. Hast thou sped?
Sir John.
I have, wench; here be crowns i'faith.
Doll.
Come, let's be all friends then.
Con.
Well said, mistress Dorothy.
Har.
Thou art the maddest priest that ever I met
with.
Sir John.
Give me thy hand, thou art as good a
fellow. I am a singer, a drinker, a bencher5 note
, a
wencher; I can say a mass, and kiss a lass: 'faith,
I have a parsonage, and because I would not be at
too much charges, this wench serveth me for a
sexton.
-- 295 --
Har.
Well said, mad priest; we'll in, and be friends.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
London.
A room in the Axe Inn, without Bishop-gate.
Enter sir Roger Acton, Bourn, Beverley, and Murley.
Act.
Now, master Murley, I am well assur'd
You know our errand, and do like the cause,
Being a man affected as we are.
Mur.
Marry God dild ye6 note, dainty my dear: no
master, good sir Roger Acton, master Bourn, and
master Beverley, gentlemen and justices of the peace;
no master, I, but plain William Murley, the brewer
of Dunstable, your honest neighbour and your friend,
if ye be men of my profession.
Bev.
Professed friends to Wickliff, foes to Rome.
Mur.
Hold by me, lad; lean upon that staff, good
master Beverley; all of a house. Say your mind, say
your mind.
Act.
You know, our faction now is grown so great
Throughout the realm, that it begins to smoke
Into the clergy's eyes, and the king's ears.
High time it is that we were drawn to head,
Our general and officers appointed;
And wars, you wot, will ask great store of coin.
Able to strength our action with your purse,
You are elected for a colonel
Over a regiment of fifteen bands.
Mur.
Phew, paltry, paltry! in and out, to and fro,
be it more or less upon occasion. Lord have mercy
upon us, what a world is this! Sir Roger Acton, I
am but a Dunstable man, a plain brewer, you know.
-- 296 --
Will lusty caveliering captains, gentlemen, come at
my calling, go at my bidding? dainty my dear,
they'll do a dog of wax,9Q1353 a horse of cheese, a prick
and a pudding. No, no; ye must appoint some lord
or knight at least, to that place.
Bour.
Why, master Murley, you shall be a knight7 note.
Were you not in election to be sheriff?
Have you not pass'd all offices but that?
Have you not wealth to make your wife a lady?
I warrant you, my lord, our general,
Bestows that honour on you, at first sight.
Mur.
Marry God dild ye, dainty my dear. But tell
me, who shall be our general. Where's the lord
Cobham, sir John Oldcastle, that noble alms-giver,
house-keeper, virtuous, religious gentleman? Come
to me there, boys; come to me there.
Act.
Why, who but he shall be our general?
Mur.
And shall he knight me, and make me colonel?
Act.
My word for that, sir William Murley knight.
Mur.
Fellow, sir Roger Acton knight, all fellows,
I mean in arms, how strong are we? how many partners?
Our enemies beside the king are mighty: be it
more or less upon occasion, reckon our force.
Act.
There are of us, our friends, and followers,
Three thousand and three hundred at the least;
Of northern lads four thousand, beside horse;
From Kent there comes, with sir John Oldcastle,
Seven thousand: then from London issue out,
Of masters, servants, strangers, 'prentices,
Forty odd thousand into Ficket field,
Where we appoint our special rendevouz.
-- 297 --
Mur.
Phew, paltry, paltry, in and out, to and fro.
Lord have mercy upon us, what a world is this!
Where's that Ficket field, sir Roger?
Act.
Behind St. Giles's in the field, near Holbourn.
Mur.
Newgate, up Holbourn, St. Giles's in the
Field, and to Tyburn; an old saw. For the day,
for the day?
Act.
On Friday next, the fourteenth day of January.
Mur.
Tilly vally8 note, trust me never, if I have any
liking of that day. Phew, paltry, paltry! Friday,
quoth-a, a dismal day: Childermas day this year was
Friday.
Bev.
Nay, master Murley, if you observe such days,
We make some question of your constancy:
All days are alike to men resolv'd in right.
Mur.
Say amen, and say no more, but say and
hold, master Beverley: Friday next, and Ficket field,
and William Murley and his merry men, shall be all
one. I have half a score jades that draw my beer
carts; and every jade shall bear a knave, and every
knave shall wear a jack, and every jack shall have a
skull9 note
, and every skull shall shew a spear, and every
spear shall kill a foe at Ficket field, at Ficket field.
John and Tom, Dick and Hodge, Ralph and Robin,
William and George, and all my knaves, shall fight
like men at Ficket field, on Friday next.
Bourn.
What sum of money mean you to disburse?
Mur.
It may be, modestly, decently, and soberly,
and handsomely, I may bring five hundred pound.
-- 298 --
Act.
Five hundred, man? five thousand's not enough:
A hundred thousand will not pay our men
Two months together. Either come prepar'd
Like a brave knight and martial colonel,
In glittering gold, and gallant furniture,
Bringing in coin, a cart-load at the least,
And all your followers mounted on good horse,
Or never come disgraceful to us all.
Bev.
Perchance you may be chosen treasurer;
Ten thousand pound's the least that you can bring.
Mur.
Paltry, paltry, in and out, to and fro: upon
occasion I have ten thousand pound to spend, and
ten too. And rather than the bishop shall have his
will of me, for my conscience, it shall all go. Flame
and flax, flax and flame. It was got with water
and malt, and it shall fly with fire and gun-powder.
Sir Roger, a cart-load of money, till the axletree
crack; myself and my men in Ficket field on Friday
next: remember my knight-hood and my place:
there's my hand, I'll be there.
[Exit Murley.
Act.
See what ambition may persuade men to:
In hope of honour he will spend himself.
Bourn.
I never thought a brewer half so rich.
Bev.
Was never bankrupt brewer yet but one,
With using too much malt, too little water.
Act.
That is no fault in brewers now adays:
Come, let's away about our business.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
An audience-chamber in the palace at Eltham.
Enter king Henry, the duke of Suffolk, Butler, and lord
Cobham. He kneels to the king.
K. Henry.
'Tis not enough, lord Cobham, to submit;
You must forsake your gross opinion.
-- 299 --
The bishops find themselves much injured;
And though, for some good service you have done,
We for our part are pleas'd to pardon you,
Yet they will not so soon be satisfy'd.
Cob.
My gracious lord, unto your majesty,
Next unto my God, I do owe my life;
And what is mine, either by nature's gift,
Or fortune's bounty, all is at your service.
But for obedience to the pope of Rome,
I owe him none; nor shall his shaveling priests9Q1354
That are in England, alter my belief.
If out of Holy Scripture they can prove
That I am in an error, I will yield,
And gladly take instruction at their hands:
But otherwise, I do beseech your grace
My conscience may not be incroach'd upon.
King Hen.
We would be loth to press our subjects' bodies,
Much less their souls, the dear redeemed part
Of him that is the ruler of us all:
Yet let me counsel you, that might command.
Do not presume to tempt them with ill words,
Nor suffer any meetings to be had
Within your house; but to the uttermost
Disperse the flocks of this new gathering sect.
Cob.
My liege, if any breathe, that dares come forth,
And say, my life in any of these points
Deserves the attainder of ignoble thoughts,
Here stand I, craving no remorse1 note at all,
But even the utmost rigour may be shown.
K. Henry.
Let it suffice we know your loyalty.
What have you there?
Cob.
A deed of clemency;
Your highness pardon for lord Powis' life,
-- 300 --
Which I did beg, and you, my noble lord,
Of gracious favour did vouchsafe to grant.
K. Henry.
But yet it is not signed with our hand.
Cob.
Not yet, my liege.
K. Henry.
The fact you say was done
Not of pretensed malice2 note
, but by chance.
Cob.
Upon mine honour so, no otherwise.
K. Henry.
There is his pardon; bid him make amends,
[Signs the pardon.
And cleanse his soul to God for his offence:
What we remit, is but the body's scourge3 note.
How now, lord bishop?
Enter bishop of Rochester.
Roch.
Justice, dread sovereign:
As thou art king, so grant I may have justice.
K. Henry.
What means this exclamation? let us know.
Roch.
Ah, my good lord, the state is much abus'd,
And our decrees most shamefully prophan'd.
K. Henry.
How? or by whom?
Roch.
Even by this heretick,
This Jew, this traitor to your majesty.
Cob.
Prelate, thou ly'st, even in thy greasy maw* note,
Or whosoever twits me with the name
Of either traitor, or of heretick.
K. Henry.
Forbear, I say: and bishop, shew the cause
From whence this late abuse hath been deriv'd.
Roch.
Thus, mighty king. By general consent
-- 301 --
A messenger was sent to cite this lord
To make appearance in the consistory;
And coming to his house, a ruffian slave,
One of his daily followers, met the man;
Who, knowing him to be a paritor4 note
,
Assaults him first, and after, in contempt
Of us and our proceedings, makes him eat
The written process, parchment, seal and all;
Whereby his master neither was brought forth5 note,
Nor we but scorn'd for our authority.
K. Henry.
When was this done?
Roch.
At six a clock this morning.
K. Henry.
And when came you to court?
Cob.
Last night, my liege.
K. Henry.
By this, it seems he is not guilty of it,
And you have done him wrong to accuse him so.
Roch.
But it was done, my lord, by his appointment;
Or else his man durst not have been so bold.
K. Henry.
Or else you durst not be bold to interrupt
And fill our ears with frivolous complaints.
Is this the duty you do bear to us?
Was't not sufficient we did pass our word
To send for him, but you, misdoubting it,
Or which is worse, intending to forestal
Our regal power, must likewise summon him?
This savours of ambition, not of zeal;
And rather proves you malice his estate,
Than any way that he offends the law.
Go to, we like it not; and he your officer
Had his desert for being insolent,
-- 302 --
That was employ'd so much amiss herein.
So, Cobham, when you please, you may depart.
Cob.
I humbly bid farewel unto my liege.
[Exit Cobham.
Enter Huntington.
K. Henry.
Farewel. What is the news by Huntington?
Hun.
Sir Roger Acton, and a crew, my lord,
Of bold seditious rebels, are in arms,
Intending reformation of religion6 note;
And with their army they intend to pitch
In Ficket-field, unless they be repuls'd.
K. Henry.
So near our presence? Dare they be so bold?
And will proud war and eager thirst of blood,
Whom we had thought to entertain far off,
Press forth upon us in our native bounds?
Must we be forc'd to handsel our sharp blades
In England here, which we prepar'd for France?
Well, a god's name be it. What's their number, say,
Or who's the chief commander of this rout7 note?
Hun.
Their number is not known as yet, my lord;
But 'tis reported, sir John Oldcastle
Is the chief man, on whom they do depend.
K. Henry.
How! the lord Cobham?
Hun.
Yes, my gracious lord.
Roch.
I could have told your majesty as much
Before he went, but that I saw your grace
Was too much blinded by his flattery.
Suf.
Send post, my lord, to fetch him back again.
But.
Traitor unto his country, how he smooth'd8 note
,
-- 303 --
And seem'd as innocent as truth itself!
K. Henry.
I cannot think it yet he would be false;
But if he be, no matter;—let him go:
We'll meet both him and them unto their woe.
[Exeunt king Henry, Suffolk, Huntington, and Butler.
Roch.
This falls out well; and at the last I hope
To see this heretick die in a rope.
[Exit.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
An avenue leading to lord Cobham's house in Kent.
Enter the earl of Cambridge, lord Scroope, sir Thomas Grey, and Chartres.
Scroope.
Once more, my lord of Cambridge, make rehearsal
How you do stand entitled to the crown:
The deeper shall we print it in our minds,
And every man the better be resolv'd,
When he perceives his quarrel to be just.
Cam.
Then thus, lord Scroope, sir Thomas Grey, and you
Monsieur de Chartres, agent for the French:
This Lionel, duke of Clarence, (as I said)
Third son of Edward (England's king) the third,
Had issue, Philip, his sole daughter and heir;
Which Philip afterward was given in marriage
To Edmund Mortimer, the earl of March,
And by him had a son call'd Roger Mortimer;
Which Roger likewise had of his descent,
Edmund and Roger, Anne and Eleanor,
Two daughters and two sons; but of those, three
Dy'd without issue. Anne, that did survive,
And now was left her father's only heir,
My fortune was to marry9 note; being too,
-- 304 --
By my grandfather, of king Edward's line:
So of his sir-name, I am call'd you know,
Richard Plantagenet: my father was
Edward the duke of York, and son and heir
To Edmund Langley, Edward the third's fifth son* note.
Scroope.
So that it seems your claim comes by your wife,
As lawful heir to Roger Mortimer,
The son of Edmund, which did marry Philip,
Daughter and heir to Lionel duke of Clarence.
Cam.
True; for this Harry, and his father both,
Harry the fourth† note, as plainly doth appear,
Are false intruders, and usurp the crown.
For when young Richard was at Pomfret slain,
In him the title of prince Edward died,
That was the eldest of King Edward's sons.
William of Hatfield, and their second brother,
Death in his nonage had before bereft:
So that my wife, deriv'd from Lionel,
Third son unto king Edward, ought proceed1 note
,
And take possession of the diadem,
Before this Harry, or his father king,
Who fetch their title but from Lancaster,
Fourth of that royal line. And being thus
What reason is't, but she should have her right?
-- 305 --
Scroope.
I am resolv'd our enterprize is just2 note.
Grey.
Harry shall die, or else resign his crown.
Char.
Perform but that, and Charles the king of France
Shall aid you, lords, not only with his men,
But send you money to maintain your wars.
Five hundred thousand crowns he bade me proffer,
If you can stop but Harry's voyage for France.
Scroope.
We never had a fitter time than now,
The realm in such division as it is.
Cam.
Besides, you must persuade you, there is due
Vengeance for Richard's murther, which although
It be deferr'd, yet it will fall at last,
And now as likely as another time.
Sin hath had many years to ripen in;
And now the harvest cannot be far off,
Wherein the weeds of usurpation
Are to be cropp'd, and cast into the fire.
Scroope.
No more, earl Cambridge; here I plight my faith
To set up thee and thy renowned wife.
Grey.
Grey will perform the same, as he is knight.
Char.
And, to assist ye, as I said before,
Chartres doth gage the honour of his king.
Scroope.
We lack but now lord Cobham's fellowship,
And then our plot were absolute indeed.
Cam.
Doubt not of him, my lord; his life pursu'd
By the incensed clergy, and of late
Brought in displeasure with the king, assures
He may be quickly won unto our faction.
Who hath the articles were drawn at large
Of our whole purpose?
Grey.
That have I, my lord.
Cam.
We should not now be far off from his house.
-- 306 --
Our serious conference hath beguil'd the way3 note
;
See where his castle stands. Give me the writing;
When we are come unto the speech of him,
Because we will not stand to make recount
Of that which hath been said, here he shall read
Our minds at large, and what we crave of him.
Enter lord Cobham.
Scroope.
A ready way. Here comes the man himself,
Booted and spurr'd; it seems he hath been riding.
Cam.
Well met, lord Cobham.
Cob.
My lord of Cambridge!
Your honour is most welcome into Kent,
And all the rest of this fair company.
I am new come from London, gentle lords:
But will ye not take Cowling for your host4 note,
And see what entertainment it affords?
Cam.
We were intended to have been your guests:
But now this lucky meeting shall suffice
To end our business, and defer that kindness.
Cob.
Business, my lord? what business should let
You5 note to be merry? We have no delicates:
Yet this I'll promise you; a piece of venison,
A cup of wine, and so forth, hunter's fare:
And if you please, we'll strike the stag ourselves
Shall fill our dishes with his well-fed flesh.
Scroope.
That is indeed the thing we all desire.
Cob.
My lords, and you shall have your choice with me.
-- 307 --
Cam.
Nay, but the stag which we desire to strike,
Lives not in Cowling: if you will consent,
And go with us, we'll bring you to a forest
Where runs a lusty herd; among the which
There is a stag superior to the rest,
A stately beast, that, when his fellows run,
He leads the race, and beats the sullen earth,
As though he scorn'd it with his trampling hoofs;
Aloft he bears his head, and with his breast,
Like a huge bulwark, counter-checks the wind:
And, when he standeth still, he stretcheth forth
His proud ambitious neck, as if he meant
To wound the firmament with forked horns.
Cob.
'Tis pity such a goodly beast should die.
Cam.
Not so, sir John; for he is tyrannous,
And gores the other deer, and will not keep
Within the limits are appointed him.
Of late he's broke into a several9Q13556 note,
Which doth belong to me, and there he spoils
Both corn and pasture. Two of his wild race,
Alike for stealth and covetous encroaching,
Already are remov'd; if he were dead,
I should not only be secure from hurt,
But with his body make a royal feast.
Scroope.
How say you then? will you first hunt with us?
Cob.
'Faith, lords, I like the pastime: where's the place?
Cam.
Peruse this writing, it will shew you all,
And what occasion we have for the sport.
[Presents a paper.
Cob. [Reads.]
Call ye this hunting, my lords? Is this the stag
You fain would chase, Harry, our most dread king?
-- 308 --
So we may make a banquet for the devil;
And, in the stead of wholsome meat, prepare
A dish of poison to confound ourselves.
Cam.
Why so, lord Cobham? See you not our claim?
And how imperiously he holds the crown7 note?
Scroope.
Besides, you know yourself is in disgrace,
Held as a recreant, and pursu'd to death.
This will defend you from your enemies,
And stablish your religion through the land.
Cob.
Notorious treason! yet I will conceal
My secret thoughts, to sound the depth of it.
[Aside.
My lord of Cambridge, I do see your claim,
And what good may redound unto the land,
By prosecuting of this enterprize.
But where are men? where's power and furniture
To order such an action? We are weak;
Harry, you know, is a mighty potentate.
Cam.
Tut, we are strong enough; you are belov'd,
And many will be glad to follow you;
We are the like8 note, and some will follow us:
Nay, there is hope from France: here's an ambassador
That promiseth both men and money too.
The commons likewise, as we hear, pretend9 note
A sudden tumult; we will join with them.
Cob.
Some likelihood, I must confess, to speed:
-- 309 --
But how shall I believe this in plain truth?
You are, my lords, such men as live in court,
And have been highly favour'd of the king,
Especially lord Scroope, whom oftentimes
He maketh choice of for his bed-fellow9Q13561 note
.
And you, lord Grey* note, are of his privy-council:
Is not this a train laid to entrap my life?
Cam.
Then perish may my soul! What, think you so?
Scroope.
We'll swear to you.
Grey.
Or take the sacrament.
Cob.
Nay, you are noblemen, and I imagine,
As you are honourable by birth, and blood,
So you will be in heart, in thought, in word.
I crave no other testimony but this:
That you would all subscribe, and set your hands
Unto this writing which you gave to me.
Cam.
With all our hearts: Who hath any pen and ink?
Scroope.
My pocket should have one: O, here it is.
Cam.
Give it me, lord Scroope. There is my name.
Scroope.
And there is my name.
Grey.
And mine.
Cob.
Sir, let me crave
That you would likewise write your name with theirs,
For confirmation of your master's words,
The king of France.
Char.
That will I, noble lord.
Cob.
So, now this action is well knit together,
And I am for you: where's our meeting, lords?
Cam.
Here, if you please, the tenth of July next.
-- 310 --
Cob.
In Kent? agreed. Now let us in to supper,
I hope your honours will not away to night.
Cam.
Yes, presently, for I have far to ride,
About soliciting of other friends.
Scroope.
And we would not be absent from the court,
Lest thereby grow suspicion in the king.
Cob.
Yet taste a cup of wine before ye go.
Cam.
Not now, my lord, we thank you; so farewell.
[Exeunt Scroope, Grey, Cambridge, and Chartres.
Cob.
Farewel, my noble lords.—My noble lords!
My noble villains, base conspirators!
How can they look his highness in the face,
Whom they so closely study to betray?
But I'll not sleep until I make it known:
This head shall not be burthen'd with such thoughts,
Nor in this heart will I conceal a deed
Of such impiety against my king.
Madam, how now?
Enter lady Cobham, lord Powis, lady Powis, and Harpool.
L. Cob.
You're welcome home, my lord:
Why seem you so unquiet in your looks?
What hath befall'n you that disturbs your mind?
L. Pow.
Bad news, I am afraid, touching my husband.
Cob.
Madam, not so; there is your husband's pardon:
Long may ye live, each joy unto the other.
L. Pow.
So great a kindness, as I know not how
To make reply;—my sense is quite confounded.
Cob.
Let that alone; and, madam, stay me not,
For I must back unto the court again,
With all the speed I can: Harpool, my horse.
L. Cob.
So soon my lord? what, will you ride all night?
Cob.
All night or day; it must be so, sweet wife.
Urge me not why, or what my business is,
-- 311 --
But get you in.—Lord Powis, bear with me;
And, madam, think your welcome ne'er the worse;
My house is at your use. Harpool, away.
Har.
Shall I attend your lordship to the court?
Cob.
Yea, sir; your gelding mount you presently.
[Exit Cobham.
L. Cob.
I prithee, Harpool, look unto thy lord;
I do not like this sudden posting back.
[Exit Harpool.
Pow.
Some earnest business is a-foot belike;
Whate'er it be, pray God be his good guide.
L. Pow.
Amen, that hath so highly us bestead.
L. Cob.
Come, madam, and my lord, we'll hope the best;
You shall not into Wales till he return.
Pow.
Though great occasion be we should depart,
Yet, madam, will we stay to be resolv'd
Of this unlook'd-for doubtful accident.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A road near Highgate.
Enter Murley and his followers2 note.
Mur.
Come, my hearts of flint, modestly, decently,
soberly, and handsomely; no man afore his leader:
follow your master, your captain, your knight that
shall be, for the honour of meal-men, millers, and
malt-men. Dun is the mouse3 note. Dick and Tom, for
the credit of Dunstable ding down the enemy to-morrow.
Ye shall not come into the field like beggars.
Where be Leonard and Lawrence, my two
loaders? Lord have mercy upon us, what a world is
this! I would give a couple of shillings for a dozen
-- 312 --
of good feathers for you, and forty pence for as many
scarfs to set you out withal. Frost and snow, a man
has no heart to fight till he be brave.9Q1357
Dick.
Master, we are no babes, our town footballs
can bear witness: this little 'parel we have,
shall off, and we'll fight naked before we run away.
Tom.
Nay, I'm of Lawrence' mind for that, for
he means to leave his life behind him4 note; he and
Leonard, your two loaders, are making their wills,
because they have wives; and we bachelors bid our
friends scramble for our goods if we die. But, master,
pray ye let me ride upon Cut.
Mur.
Meal and salt, wheat and malt, fire and tow,
frost and snow; why Tom thou shalt. Let me see,
here are you: William and George are with my
cart, and Robin and Hodge holding my own two
horses; proper men, handsome men, tall men, true
men.
Dick.
But master, master; methinks you are mad
to hazard your own person, and a cart-load of money
too.
Tom.
Yea, and master, there's a worse matter in't;
if it be, as I heard say, we go to fight against all the
learned bishops, that should give us their blessing:
and if they curse us, we shall speed ne'er the better.
Dick.
Nay by'r lady, some say the king takes
their part; and, master, dare you fight against the
king?
Mur.
Fye, paltry, paltry, in and out, to and fro
upon occasion; if the king be so unwise to come
there, we'll fight with him too.
Tom.
What, if you should kill the king?
-- 313 --
Mur.
Then we'll make another.
Dick.
Is that all? do you not speak treason?
Mur.
If we do, who dare trip us? we come to
fight for our conscience, and for honour. Little know
you what is in my bosom; look here, mad knaves, a
pair of gilt spurs.
Tom.
A pair of golden spurs? Why do you not
put them on your heels? Your bosom's no place for
spurs.
Mur.
Be't more or less upon occasion, Lord have
mercy upon us. Tom thou'rt a fool, and thou speak'st
treason to knighthood. Dare any wear gold or silver
spurs, till he be a knight? No, I shall be knighted
to-morrow, and then they shall on. Sirs, was it ever
read in the church-book of Dunstable, that ever
malt-man was made knight?
Tom.
No, but you are more: you are meal-man,
maltman, miller, corn-master, and all.
Dick.
Yea, and half a brewer too, and the devil
and all for wealth: you bring more money with you
than all the rest.
Mur.
The more's my honour; I shall be a knight
to-morrow. Let me 'spose my men; Tom upon
Cut5 note, Dick upon Hob, Hodge upon Ball, Ralph
upon Sorrel, and Robin upon the fore-horse.
Enter Acton, Bourn, and Beverley.
Tom.
Stand; who comes there?
Act.
All friends, good fellow.
Mur.
Friends and fellows indeed, sir Roger.
Act.
Why, thus you shew yourself a gentleman,
To keep your day, and come so well prepar'd.
Your cart stands yonder guarded by your men,
-- 314 --
Who tell me it is loaden well with coin.
What sum is there?
Mur.
Ten thousand pound, sir Roger; and modestly,
decently, soberly, and handsomely, see what
I have here against I be knighted.
Act.
Gilt spurs? 'Tis well.
Mur.
Where's our army, sir?
Act.
Dispers'd in sundry villages about;
Some here with us in Highgate, some at Finchley,
Tot'nam, Enfield, Edmonton, Newington,
Islington, Hogsdon, Pancras, Kensington;
Some nearer Thames, Ratcliff, Blackwall, and Bow:
But our chief strength must be the Londoners,
Which, ere the sun to-morrow shine6 note
,
Will be near fifty thousand in the field.
Mur.
Marry, God dild ye, dainty my dear; but
upon occasion, sir Roger Acton, doth not the king
know of it, and gather his power against us?
Act.
No, he's secure at Eltham.
Mur.
What do the clergy?
Act.
They fear extremely, yet prepare no force.
Mur.
In and out, to and fro, bully my boykin,
we shall carry the world afore us. I vow, by my
worship, when I am knighted, we'll take the king
napping, if he stand on their part.
Act.
This night we few in Highgate will repose;
With the first cock we'll rise and arm ourselves,
To be in Ficket field by break of day,
And there expect our general, sir John Oldcastle.
Mur.
What if he comes not?
Bourn.
Yet our action stands;
Sir Roger Acton may supply his place.
-- 315 --
Mur.
True, master Bourn; but who shall make me knight?
Bev.
He that hath power to be our general.
Act.
Talk not of trifles; come let us away;
Our friends of London long till it be day.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
A high road in Kent.
Enter sir John and Doll.
Doll.
By my troth, thou art as jealous a man as
lives.
Sir John.
Canst thou blame me, Doll? thou art
my lands, my goods7 note
, my jewels, my wealth, my
purse: none walks within forty miles of London, but
'a plies thee as truly as the parish does the poor
man's box.
Doll.
I am as true to thee as the stone is in the
wall; and thou know'st well enough I was in as
good doing8 note when I came to thee, as any wench
need to be; and therefore thou hast tried me, that
thou hast: and I will not be kept as I have been, that
I will not.
Sir John.
Doll, if this blade hold, there's not a pedlar
walks with a pack, but thou shalt as boldly
choose of his wares, as with thy ready money in a
merchant's shop: we'll have as good silver as the
king coins any.
-- 316 --
Doll.
What, is all the gold spent you took the last
day from the courtier?
Sir John.
'Tis gone, Doll, 'tis flown; merrily come,
merrily gone. He comes a horseback that must pay
for all; we'll have as good meat as money can get,
and as good gowns as can be bought for gold: be
merry wench, the malt-man comes on Monday.
Doll.
You might have left me at Cobham, until
you had been better provided for.
Sir John.
No, sweet Doll, no; I like not that.
Yon old ruffian is not for the priest; I do not like a
new clerk should come in the old belfry.
Doll.
Thou art a mad priest, i'faith.
Sir John.
Come Doll, I'll see thee safe at some alehouse
here at Cray; and the next sheep that comes
shall leave behind his fleece.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Blackheath.
Enter King Henry disguised, Suffolk, and Butler.
K. Henry.
My lord of Suffolk, post away for life,
And let our forces of such horse and foot
As can be gathered up by any means,
Make speedy rendezvous in Tothill-fields.
It must be done this evening, my lord;
This night the rebels mean to draw to head
Near Islington; which if your speed prevent not,
If once they should unite their several forces,
Their power is almost thought invincible.
Away, my lord, I will be with you soon.
Suf.
I go, my sovereign, with all happy speed.
K. Henry.
Make haste, my lord of Suffolk, as you love us.
[Exit Suffolk.
Butler, post you to London with all speed:
Command the mayor and sheriffs, on their allegiance,
-- 317 --
The city gates be presently shut up,
And guarded with a strong sufficient watch;
And not a man be suffered to pass
Without a special warrant from ourself.
Command the postern by the Tower be kept,
And proclamation, on the pain of death,
That not a citizen stir from his doors,
Except such as the mayor and shrieves shall choose
For their own guard, and safety of their persons.
Butler away, have care unto my charge.
But.
I go, my sovereign.
K. Henry.
Butler.
But.
My lord.
K. Henry.
Go down by Greenwich, and command a boat
At the Friars-Bridge attend my coming down.
But.
I will, my lord.
[Exit Butler.
K. Henry.
It's time, I think, to look unto rebellion,
When Acton doth expect unto his aid
No less than fifty thousand Londoners.
Well, I'll to Westminster in this disguise,
To hear what news is stirring in these brawls.
Enter sir John and Doll.
Sir John.
Stand true man, says a thief.
K. Henry.
Stand thief, says a true man: how if a thief?
Sir John.
Stand thief too.
K. Henry.
Then thief or true man, I must stand, I
see. Howsoever the world wags, the trade of thieving
yet will never down. What art thou?
Sir John.
A good fellow.
K. Henry.
So I am too; I see thou dost know me.
Sir John.
If thou be a good fellow, play the good
fellow's part; deliver thy purse without more ado.
K. Henry.
I have no money.
Sir John.
I must make you find some before we
-- 318 --
part. If you have no money, you shall have ware; as
many sound blows as your skin can carry.
K. Henry.
Is that the plain truth?
Sir John.
Sirrah, no more ado; come, come, give
me the money you have. Dispatch, I cannot stand
all day.
K. Henry.
Well, if thou wilt needs have it, there
it is. Just the proverb, one thief robs another.
Where the devil are all my old thieves? Falstaff that
villain is so fat, he cannot get on his horse9 note
; but
methinks Poins and Peto should be stirring hereabouts.
Sir John.
How much is there on't, o' thy word?
K. Henry.
A hundred pound in angels, on my word.
The time has been I would have done as much
For thee, if thou hadst past this way, as I
Have now.
Sir John.
Sirrah, what art thou? thou seem'st a
gentleman?
K. Henry.
I am no less; yet a poor one now, for
thou hast all my money.
Sir John.
From whence cam'st thou?
-- 319 --
K. Henry.
From the court at Eltham.
Sir John.
Art thou one of the king's servants?
K. Henry.
Yes, that I am, and one of his chamber.
Sir John.
I am glad thou'rt no worse; thou may'st
the better spare thy money: And think you thou
might'st get a poor thief his pardon, if he should have
need1 note?
K. Henry.
Yes, that I can.
Sir John.
Wilt thou do so much for me, when I
shall have occasion?
K. Henry.
Yes 'faith will I, so it be for no murder.
Sir John.
Nay, I am a pitiful thief2 note
; all the hurt
I do a man, I take but his purse; I'll kill no man.
K. Henry.
Then, on my word I'll do't.
Sir John.
Give me thine hand on the same.
K. Henry.
There 'tis.
Sir John.
Methinks the king should be good to
thieves, because he has been a thief himself, although
I think now he be turned a true man.
K. Henry.
'Faith, I have heard indeed he has had
an ill name that way in his youth; but how canst thou
tell that he has been a thief?
Sir John.
How? because he once robb'd me before
I fell to the trade myself, when that foul villainous
guts3 note
, that led him to all that roguery, was in his
company there, that Falstaff.
-- 320 --
K. Henry.
Well, if he did rob thee then, thou art
but even with him now, I'll be sworn. [Aside] Thou
knowest not the king now, I think, if thou sawest him?
Sir John.
Not I, i'faith.
K. Henry.
So it should seem.
[Aside.
Sir John.
Well, if old king Harry had liv'd, this
king that is now, had made thieving the best trade in
England.
K. Henry.
Why so?
Sir John.
Because he was the chief warden of our
company. It's pity that e'er he should have been a
king, he was so brave a thief. But sirrah, wilt remember
my pardon if need be?
K. Henry.
Yes, 'faith will I.
Sir John.
Wilt thou? well then, because thou shalt
go safe, for thou may'st hap (being so early) be met
with again before thou come to Southwark, if any
man, when he should bid thee good morrow, bid thee
stand, say thou but Sir John, and they will let thee pass.
K. Henry.
Is that the word? then let me alone.
Sir John.
Nay, sirrah, because I think indeed I
shall have some occasion to use thee, and as thou
com'st oft this way, I may light on thee another time,
not knowing thee, here I'll break this angel: take
thou half of it; this is a token betwixt thee and
me4 note.
K. Henry.
God-a-mercy; farewel.
[Exit.
Sir John.
O my fine golden slaves! here's for thee,
wench, i'faith. Now, Doll, we will revel in our
-- 321 --
bever5 note
; this is a tithe pig of my vicarage. God-a-mercy,
neighbour Shooter's-Hill, you ha' paid your
tithe honestly. Well, I hear there is a company of
rebels up against the king, got together in Ficket
field near Holborn; and, as it is thought here in
Kent, the king will be there to night in his own person.
Well, I'll to the king's camp, and it shall go
hard, if there be any doings, but I'll make some
good boot among them* note.
[Exeunt sir John and Doll.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
A field near London. King Henry's camp.
Enter king Henry disguised, Suffolk, Huntington, and Attendants with torches.
K. Henry.
My lords of Suffolk and of Huntington,
Who scouts it now? or who stand sentinels?
What men of worth, what lords, do walk the round?
Suf.
May it please your highness—
K. Henry.
Peace, no more of that:
The king's asleep; wake not his majesty
With terms, nor titles; he's at rest in bed.
Kings do not use to watch themselves; they sleep,
And let rebellion and conspiracy
Revel and havock in the commonwealth.
Is London look'd unto?
-- 322 --
Hunt.
It is, my lord;
Your noble uncle Exeter is there,
Your brother Gloucester, and my lord of Warwick;
Who, with the mayor and the aldermen,
Do guard the gates, and keep good rule within.
The earl of Cambridge and sir Thomas Grey
Do walk the round; lord Scroope and Butler scout:
So, though it please your majesty to jest,
Were you in bed, well might you take your rest.
K. Henry.
I thank ye lords; but you do know of old,
That I have been a perfect night-walker.
London, you say, is safely look'd unto,
(Alas, poor rebels, there your aid must fail;)
And the lord Cobham, sir John Oldcastle,
Quiet in Kent. Acton, you are deceiv'd;
Reckon again, you count without your host;
To-morrow you shall give account to us:
Till when, my friends, this long cold winter's night
How can we spend? King Harry is asleep,
And all his lords; these garments tell us so;
All friends at foot-ball, fellows all in field,
Harry, and Dick, and George. Bring us a drum6 note;
Give us square dice; we'll keep this court of guard7 note
For all good fellows' companies that come.
-- 323 --
Where's that mad priest ye told me was in arms,
To fight as well as pray, if need requir'd?
Suf.
He's in the camp, and if he knew of this,
I undertake he would not be long hence.
K. Henry.
Trip Dick, trip George.
Hunt,
I must have the dice: what do we play at?
Suf.
Passage, if you please8 note.
Hunt.
Set round then: so; at all.
K. Henry.
George, you are out;
Give me the dice, I pass for twenty pound:
Here's to our lucky passage into France.
Hunt.
Harry, you pass indeed, for you sweep all.
Suf.
A sign king Harry shall sweep all in France.
Enter sir John.
Sir John.
Edge ye, good fellows9 note; take a fresh
gamester in.
K. Henry.
Master parson, we play nothing but gold.
Sir John.
And, fellow, I tell thee that the priest
hath gold. Gold! what? ye are but beggarly soldiers
to me; I think I have more gold than all you
three.
Hunt.
It may be so; but we believe it not.
K. Henry.
Set, priest, set: I pass for all that gold.
Sir John.
You pass indeed.
K. Henry.
Priest, hast any more?
Sir John.
More! what a question's that?
I tell thee I have more than all you three.
At these ten angels.
K. Henry.
I wonder how thou com'st by all this gold.
How many benefices hast thou, priest?
-- 324 --
Sir John.
'Faith, but one. Dost wonder how I
come by gold? I wonder rather how poor soldiers
should have gold. For I'll tell thee, good fellow; we
have every day tithes, offerings, christenings, weddings,
burials; and you poor snakes come seldom to a
booty. I'll speak a proud word; I have but one
parsonage, Wrotham; 'tis better than the bishoprick
of Rochester: there's ne'er a hill, heath, nor down,
in all Kent, but 'tis in my parish;—Barham-down,
Cobham-down, Gads-hill, Wrotham-hill, Black-heath,
Cocks-heath, Birchen-wood, all pay me tithe.
Gold quoth-a? ye pass not for that.
Suf.
Harry, you are out: now, parson, shake the
dice.
Sir John.
Set, set, I'll cover ye;—at all:—a plague
on't, I am out. The devil, and dice, and a wench,
who will trust them?
Suf.
Say'st thou so, priest? set fair; at all for once.
K. Henry.
Out, sir; pay all.
Sir John.
Sir, pay me angel gold:
I'll none of your crack'd French crowns nor pistolets;
Pay me fair angel gold, as I pay you.
K. Henry.
No crack'd French crowns! I hope to
see more crack'd French crowns ere long1 note
.
Sir John.
Thou mean'st of Frenchmen's crowns,
when the king's in France.
Hun.
Set round; at all.
Sir John.
Pay all. This is some luck.
K. Henry.
Give me the dice; 'tis I must shred the priest* note:
At all, sir John.
Sir John.
The devil and all is yours. At that.
'Sdeath, what casting's this?
-- 325 --
Suf.
Well thrown, Harry, i'faith.
K. Henry.
I'll cast better yet.
Sir John.
Then I'll be hang'd. Sirrah, hast thou
not given thy soul to the devil for casting?
K. Henry.
I pass for all.
Sir John.
Thou passest all that e'er I play'd withal.
Sirrah, dost thou not cog, nor foist, nor slur?
K. Henry.
Set, parson, set; the dice die in my hand.
When, parson, when2 note? what, can you find no more?
Already dry? was't you bragg'd of your store?
Sir John.
All's gone but that.
Hun.
What? half a broken angel.
Sir John.
Why, sir, 'tis gold.
K. Henry.
Yea, and I'll cover it.
Sir John.
The devil give ye good on't! I am blind:
You have blown me up.
K. Henry.
Nay, tarry, priest; you shall not leave us yet:
Do not these pieces fit each other well?
Sir John.
What if they do?
K. Henry.
Thereby begins a tale.
There was a thief, in face much like sir John,
(But 'twas not he—that thief was all in green,)
Met me, last day, on Black-heath near the Park;
With him a woman. I was all alone
And weaponless; my boy had all my tools,
And was before, providing me a boat.
Short tale to make, sir John—the thief I mean—
Took a just hundred pound in gold from me.
I storm'd at it, and swore to be reveng'd,
If e'er we met. He, like a lusty thief,
Brake with his teeth this angel just in two,
To be a token at our meeting next;
Provided I should charge no officer
-- 326 --
To apprehend him, but at weapon's point
Recover that and what he had beside.
Well met, sir John; betake you to your tools,
By torch-light; for, master parson, you are he
That had my gold.
Sir John.
'Zounds I won it in play, in fair square
play, of the keeper of Eltham-park; and that I will
maintain with this poor whynniard. Be you two honest
men, to stand and look upon us, and let us
alone, and take neither part3 note.
K. Henry.
Agreed; I charge ye do not budge a foot:
Sir John, have at ye.
Sir John.
Soldier, 'ware your sconce.
[As they are preparing to engage, Butler enters, and draws his sword to part them.
But.
Hold, villain, hold; my lords, what do ye mean,
To see a traitor draw against the king?
Sir John.
The king? God's will, I am in a proper pickle.
K. Henry.
Butler, what news? why dost thou trouble us?
But.
Please your majesty, it is break of day;
And as I scouted near to Islington,
The grey-ey'd morning4 note
gave me glimmering
Of armed men coming down Highgate-hill,
Who by their course are coasting hitherward.
K. Henry.
Let us withdraw, my lords; prepare our troops
To charge the rebels, if there be such cause.
-- 327 --
For this lewd priest, this devilish hypocrite,
That is a thief, a gamester, and what not,
Let him be hang'd up for example sake.
Sir John.
Not so, my gracious sovereign. I confess
I am a frail man, flesh and blood as others are;
but set my imperfections aside, you have not a taller
man, nor a truer subject to the crown and state, than
sir John of Wrotham is.
K. Henry.
Will a true subject rob his king?
Sir John.
Alas, 'twas ignorance and want, my
gracious liege.
K. Henry.
'Twas want of grace. Why, you should be as salt
To season others with good document;
Your lives, as lamps to give the people light;
As shepherds, not as wolves to spoil the flock:
Go hang him, Butler. Didst thou not rob me?
Sir John.
I must confess I saw some of your gold;
but, my dread lord, I am in no humour for death.
God wills that sinners live; do not you cause me to
die. Once in their lives the best may go astray; and if
the world say true, yourself, my liege, have been a thief.
K. Henry.
I confess I have;
But I repent and have reclaim'd myself.
Sir John.
So will I do, if you will give me time.
K. Henry.
Wilt thou? my lords, will you be his sureties?
Hunt.
That when he robs again he shall be hang'd.
Sir John.
I ask no more.
K. Henry.
And we will grant thee that.
Live and repent, and prove an honest man;
Which when I hear, and safe return from France,
I'll give thee living. Till when, take thy gold,
But spend it better than at cards, or wine;
For better virtues fit that coat of thine.
Sir John.
Vivat rex, & currat lex. My liege, if ye
have cause of battle, ye shall see sir John bestir himself
in your quarrel.
[Exeunt.
-- 328 --
SCENE II.
A field of Battle near London.
Alarum. Enter king Henry, Suffolk, Huntington, and sir
John bringing forth Acton, Beverley, and Murley, prisoners.
K. Henry.
Bring in those traitors, whose aspiring minds
Thought to have triumph'd in our overthrow:
But now ye see, base villains, what success
Attends ill actions wrongfully attempted.
Sir Roger Acton, thou retain'st the name
Of knight, and shouldst be more discreetly temper'd
Than join with peasants; gentry is divine,
But thou hast made it more than popular5 note.
Act.
Pardon, my lord, my conscience urg'd me to it.
K. Henry.
Thy conscience! then thy conscience is corrupt6 note
;
For in thy conscience thou art bound to us,
And in thy conscience thou shouldst love thy country:
Else what's the difference 'twixt a Christian,
And the uncivil manners of the Turk?
-- 329 --
Bev.
We meant no hurt unto your majesty,
But reformation of religion.
K. Henry.
Reform religion? was it that you sought?
I pray, who gave you that authority?
Belike then we do hold the scepter up,
And sit within the throne but for a cipher.
Time was, good subjects would make known their grief,
And pray amendment, not enforce the same,
Unless their king were tyrant; which I hope
You cannot justly say that Harry is.
What is that other?
Suf.
A malt-man, my lord,
And dwelling in Dunstable, as he says.
K. Henry.
Sirrah, what made you leave your barley-broth,
To come in armour thus against your king?
Mur.
Fie, paltry, paltry, to and fro, in and out
upon occasion, what a world is this! Knighthood,
my liege, 'twas knighthood brought me hither:
they told me I had wealth enough to make my wife
a lady.
K. Henry.
And so you brought those horses which we saw
Trapp'd all in costly furniture; and meant
To wear these spurs when you were knighted once.
Mur.
In and out upon occasion, I did.
K. Henry.
In and out upon occasion, therefore
You shall be hang'd, and in the stead of wearing
These spurs upon your heels, about your neck
They shall bewray your folly to the world.
Sir John.
In and out upon occasion, that goes
hard.
Mur.
Fie, paltry, paltry, to and fro. Good my
liege, a pardon; I am sorry for my fault.
K. Henry.
That comes too late. But tell me, went there none
-- 332 --
Of this your late unnatural rebellion?
Speak, for I dare the uttermost you can.
Mur.
In and out upon occasion, I know you not.
K. Henry.
No! didst thou not say, that sir John Oldcastle
Was one with whom you purpos'd to have met?
Mur.
True, I did say so; but in what respect?
Because I heard it was reported so.
K. Henry.
Was there no other argument but that?
Act.
To clear my conscience ere I die my lord9 note,
I must confess we have no other ground
But only rumour, to accuse this lord;
Which now I see was merely fabulous.
K. Henry.
The more pernicious you to taint him then,
Whom you know was not faulty, yea or no.
Cob.
Let this, my lord, which I present your grace,
Speak for my loyalty; read these articles,
And then give sentence of my life or death.
K. Henry.
Earl Cambridge, Scroope, and Grey, corrupted
With bribes from Charles of France, either to win
My crown from me, or secretly contrive
My death by treason! Is it possible?
Cob.
There is the platform, and their hands, my lord,
Each severally subscribed to the same.
K. Henry.
Oh never-heard-of, base ingratitude!
Even those I hug within my bosom most,
Are readiest evermore to sting my heart.
Pardon me, Cobham, I have done thee wrong;
Hereafter I will live to make amends.
Is then their time of meeting so near hand?
We'll meet with them, but little for their ease,
If God permit. Go take these rebels hence,
-- 333 --
Let them have martial law: but as for thee,
Friend to thy king and country, still be free.
[Exeunt king Henry and Cobham.
Mur.
Be it more or less, what a world is this?
Would I had continued still of the order of knaves,
And ne'er sought knighthood, since it costs so dear:
Sir Roger, I may thank you for all.
Act.
Now 'tis too late to have it remedied,
I pr'ythee, Murley, do not urge me with it.
Hunt.
Will you away, and make no more to do?
Mur.
Fie, paltry, paltry, to and fro, as occasion serves:
If you be so hasty, take my place.
Hunt.
No, good sir knight, e'en take it yourself.
Mur.
I could be glad to give my betters place.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Kent.
Court before lord Cobham's house.
Enter the bishop of Rochester, lord warden of the cinque
ports, Cromer, lady Cobham, and attendants.
Roch.
I tell ye, lady, 'tis not possible
But you should know where he conveys himself;
And you have hid him in some secret place.
L. Cob.
My lord, believe me, as I have a soul1 note,
I know not where my lord my husband is.
Roch.
Go to, go to; you are an heretick,
And will be forc'd by torture to confess,
If fair means will not serve to make you tell.
L. Cob.
My husband is a noble gentleman,
And need not hide himself for any fact
That e'er I heard of; therefore wrong him not.
-- 334 --
Roch.
Your husband is a dangerous schismatick,
Traitor to God, the king, and commonwealth;
And therefore, master Cromer, shrieve of Kent,
I charge you take her to your custody,
And seize the goods of sir John Oldcastle
To the king's use; let her go in no more,
To fetch so much as her apparel out:
There is your warrant from his majesty.
L. War.
Good my lord bishop, pacify your wrath
Against the lady.
Roch.
Then let her confess
Where Oldcastle her husband is conceal'd.
L. War.
I dare engage mine honour and my life,
Poor gentlewoman, she is ignorant
And innocent of all his practices,
If any evil by him be practised.
Roch.
If, my lord warden? Nay then I charge you,
That all cinque-ports, whereof you are chief,
Be laid forthwith2 note; that he escapes us not.
Shew him his highness' warrant, master sheriff.
L. War.
I am sorry for the noble gentleman.
Roch.
Peace, he comes here; now do your office.
Enter Cobham and Harpool.
Cob.
Harpool, what business have we here in hand?
What makes the bishop and the sheriff here?
I fear my coming home is dangerous;
I would I had not made such haste to Cobham.
Har.
Be of good cheer, my lord: if they be foes,
we'll scramble shrewdly with them; if they be friends,
they are welcome.
Crom.
Sir John Oldcastle, lord Cobham, in the
king's name, I arrest you of high treason.
-- 335 --
Cob.
Treason, master Cromer!
Har.
Treason, master sheriff! what treason?
Cob.
Harpool, I charge thee stir not, but be quiet.
Do you arrest me of treason, master sheriff?
Roch.
Yea, of high treason, traitor, heretick.
Cob.
Defiance in his face that calls me so:
I am as true a loyal gentleman
Unto his highness, as my proudest enemy.
The king shall witness my late faithful service,
For safety of his sacred majesty.
Roch.
What thou art, the king's hand shall testify:
Shew him, lord warden.
Cob.
Jesu defend me!
Is't possible your cunning could so temper
The princely disposition of his mind,
To sign the damage of a loyal subject?
Well, the best is, it bears an antedate,
Procured by my absence and your malice.
But I, since that, have shew'd myself as true
As any churchman that dare challenge me.
Let me be brought before his majesty;
If he acquit me not, then do your worst.
Roch.
We are not bound to do kind offices
For any traitor, schismatick, nor heretick.
The king's hand is our warrant for our work,
Who is departed on his way for France,
And at Southampton doth repose this night.
Har.
O that thou and I were within twenty miles
of it, on Salisbury plain! I would lose my head if
thou brought'st thy head hither again.
[Aside.
Cob.
My lord warden of the cinque-ports, and
lord of Rochester, ye are joint commissioners: favour
me so much, on my expence, to bring me to
the king.
Roch.
What, to Southampton?
Cob.
Thither, my good lord:
And if he do not clear me of all guilt,
-- 336 --
And all suspicion of conspiracy,
Pawning his princely warrant for my truth,
I ask no favour, but extremest torture.
Bring me, or send me to him, good my lord;
Good my lord warden, master shrieve, entreat.
[They both entreat for him.
Come hither, lady;—nay, sweet wife, forbear
To heap one sorrow on another's neck.
'Tis grief enough falsely to be accus'd,
And not permitted to acquit myself;
Do not thou, with thy kind respective tears3 note
,
Torment thy husband's heart, that bleeds for thee,
But be of comfort. God hath help in store
For those that put assured trust in him.
Dear wife, if they commit me to the Tower,
Come up to London, to your sister's house;
That, being near me, you may comfort me.
One solace find I settled in my soul,
That I am free from treason's very thought.
Only my conscience for the gospel's sake
Is cause of all the troubles I sustain.
L. Cob.
O my dear lord, what shall betide of us?
You to the Tower, and I turn'd out of doors;
Our substance seiz'd unto his highness' use,
Even to the garments 'longing to our backs?
Har.
Patience, good madam, things at worst will mend;
And if they do not, yet our lives may end.
Roch.
Urge it no more; for if an angel spake,
I swear by sweet Saint Peter's blessed keys,
First goes he to the Tower, then to the stake.
Crom.
But, by your leave, this warrant doth not stretch
To imprison her.
-- 337 --
Roch.
No; turn her out of doors,
Even as she is, and lead him to the Tower,
With guard enough, for fear of rescuing.
L. Cob.
O God requite thee, thou blood-thirsty man!
Cob.
May it not be, my lord of Rochester?
Wherein have I incurr'd your hate so far,
That my appeal unto the king's deny'd?
Roch.
No hate of mine, but power of holy church,
Forbids all favour to false hereticks.
Cob.
Your private malice, more than publick power,
Strikes most at me; but with my life it ends.
Har.
O that I had the bishop in that fear
That once I had his sumner by ourselves!
[Aside.
Crom.
My lord, yet grant one suit unto us all;
That this same ancient servingman may wait
Upon my lord his master, in the Tower.
Roch.
This old iniquity4 note, this heretick,
That, in contempt of our church discipline,
Compell'd my sumner to devour his process!
Old ruffian past-grace, upstart schismatick,
Had not the king pray'd us to pardon you,
You had fry'd for't, you grizled heretick.
Har.
'Sblood, my lord bishop, you wrong me; I
am neither heretick nor puritan, but of the old
church. I'll swear, drink ale, kiss a wench, go to
mass, eat fish all Lent5 note, and fast Fridays with cakes
and wine, fruit and spicery; shrive me of my old
sins afore Easter, and begin new before Whitsuntide.
Crom.
A merry mad conceited knave, my lord.
Har.
That knave was simply put upon the bishop.
Roch.
Well, God forgive him, and I pardon him:
-- 338 --
Let him attend his master in the Tower,
For I in charity wish his soul no hurt.
Cob.
God bless my soul from such cold charity!
Roch.
To the Tower with him; and when my leisure serves,
I will examine him of articles.
Look, my lord warden, as you have in charge,
The shrieve perform his office.
War.
Ay, my lord.
[Exeunt lord warden, Cromer, and lord Cobham.
Enter, from lord Cobham's house, Sumner with books.
Roch.
What bring'st thou there? what, books of heresy?
Sum.
Yea, my lord, here's not a Latin book, no
not so much as our Lady's Psalter. Here's the Bible,
the Testament, the Psalms in metre, The Sick Man's
Salve, the Treasure of Gladness, all English; no not so
much but the Almanack's English.
Roch.
Away with them, to the fire with them, Clun:
Now fye upon these upstart hereticks.
All English! burn them, burn them quickly, Clun.
Har.
But do not, sumner, as you'll answer it; for
I have there English books, my lord, that I'll not
part withal for your bishoprick: Bevis of Hampton,
Owleglass, The Friar and the Boy, Elinour Rumming,
Robin Hood6 note
, and other such godly stories;
-- 339 --
which if ye burn, by this flesh I'll make you drink
their ashes in Saint Margaret's ale7 note.
[Exeunt bishop of Rochester, lady Cobham, Harpool, and Sumner.
-- 340 --
SCENE IV.
The entrance of the Tower.
Enter the bishop of Rochester, attended.
1 Ser.
Is it your honour's pleasure we shall stay,
Or come back in the afternoon to fetch you?
-- 341 --
Roch.
Now you have brought me here into the Tower,
You may go back unto the porter's lodge,
Where, if I have occasion to employ you,
I'll send some officer to call you to me.
Into the city go not, I command you:
Perhaps I may have present need to use you.
2 Ser.
We will attend your honour here without.
3 Ser.
Come, we may have a quart of wine at the
Rose at Barking, and come back an hour before he'll go.
1 Ser.
We must hie us then.
3 Ser.
Let's away.
[Exeunt.
Roch
Ho, master lieutenant.
Enter Lieutenant of the Tower.
Lieu.
Who calls there?
Roch.
A friend of yours.
Lieu.
My lord of Rochester! your honour's welcome.
Roch.
Sir, here is my warrant from the council,
For conference with sir John Oldcastle,
Upon some matter of great consequence.
Lieu.
Ho, sir John.
Har. [Within.]
Who calls there?
Lieu.
Harpool, tell sir John, that my lord of Rochester
Comes from the council to confer with him.
I think you may as safe without suspicion
As any man in England, as I hear,
For it was you most labour'd his commitment.
Roch.
I did, sir,
And nothing do repent it, I assure you.
-- 342 --
Enter lord Cobham and Harpool.
Master lieutenant, I pray you give us leave;
I must confer here with sir John a little.
Lieu.
With all my heart, my lord.
[Exit lieutenant.
Har.
My lord, be rul'd
By me; take this occasion while 'tis offer'd,
And on my life your lordship will escape.
[Aside.
Cob.
No more I say; peace, lest he should suspect it.
Roch.
Sir John, I am come to you from the lords o' the council,
To know if yet you do recant your errors.
Cob.
My lord of Rochester, on good advice,
I see my error; but yet understand me;
I mean not error in the faith I hold,
But error in submitting to your pleasure.
Therefore your lordship, without more to do,
Must be a means to help me to escape.
Roch.
What means, thou heretick?
Dar'st thou but lift thy hand against my calling?
Cob.
No, not to hurt you, for a thousand pound.
Har.
Nothing but to borrow your upper garments
a little: not a word more; peace for waking the children.
There; put them on; dispatch, my lord; the
window that goes out into the leads is sure enough:
as for you, I'll bind you surely in the inner room.
[Carries the bishop into the Tower, and returns.
Cob.
This is well begun; God send us happy speed:
Hard shift, you see, men make in time of need.
[Puts on the bishop's cloak.
Re-enter the bishop of Rochester's servants.
1 Ser.
I marvel that my lord should stay so long.
2 Ser.
He hath sent to seek us, I dare lay my life.
3 Ser.
We come in good time; see where he is
coming.
-- 343 --
Har.
I beseech you, good my lord of Rochester,
Be favourable to my lord and master.
Cob.
The inner rooms be very hot and close;
I do not like this air here in the Tower.
Har.
His case is hard, my lord. [Aside.] You shall
scarcely get out of the Tower, but I'll down upon
them* note: in which time get you away. Hard under
Islington wait you my coming; I will bring my lady
ready with horses to get hence.
Cob.
Fellow, go back again unto thy lord,
And counsel him.
Har.
Nay, my good lord of Rochester, I'll bring
you to St. Alban's, through the woods, I warrant you.
Cob.
Villain, away.
Har.
Nay, since I am past the Tower's liberty,
You part not so.
[He draws.
Cob.
Clubs, clubs, clubs.
1 Ser.
Murder, murder, murder.
2 Ser.
Down with him.
Har.
Out you cowardly rogues.
[Cobham escapes.
Enter lieutenant of the Tower and warders.
Lieu.
Who is so bold to dare to draw a sword
So near unto the entrance of the Tower?
1 Ser.
This ruffian, servant to sir John Oldcastle,
Was like to have slain my lord.
Lieu.
Lay hold on him.
Har.
Stand off, if you love your puddings.
Roch. [Within.]
Help, help, help, master lieutenant, help.
Lieu.
Who's that within? some treason in the Tower,
Upon my life. Look in, who's that which calls?
[Exit one of the warders.
-- 344 --
Re-enter Warder, and the bishop of Rochester bound.
Lieu.
Without your cloak, my lord of Rochester?
Har.
There, now I see it works: then let me speed,
For now's the fittest time to scape away.
[Exit Harpool.
Lieu.
Why do you look so ghastly and affrighted?
Roch.
Oldcastle that traitor, and his man,
When you had left me to confer with him,
Took, bound, and stripp'd me, as you see I am,
And left me lying in his inner chamber8 note,
And so departed.
1 Ser.
And I9 note—
Lieu.
And you now say that the lord Cobham's man
Did here set on you like to murder you.
1 Ser.
And so he did.
Roch.
It was upon his master then he did,
That in the brawl the traitor might escape.
Lieu.
Where is this Harpool?
2 Ser.
Here he was even now.
Lieu.
Where fled, can you tell?—They are both escap'd* note
.
Since it so happens that he is escap'd,
I am glad you are a witness of the same:
It might have else been laid unto my charge,
That I had been consenting to the fact.
Roch.
Come;
Search shall be made for him with expedition.
The haven's laid1 note that he shall not escape;
And hue and cry continue throughout England,
To find this damned, dangerous heretick.
Exeunt.
-- 345 --
ACT V.
SCENE I.
A room in lord Cobham's house in Kent.
Enter Cambridge, Scroope, and Grey. They sit down at
a table: King Henry, Suffolk, Cobham, and other lords,
listening at the door.
Cam.
In mine opinion, Scroope hath well advis'd;
Poison will be the only aptest mean,
And fittest for our purpose to dispatch him.
Grey.
But yet there may be doubt in the delivery:
Harry is wise; and therefore, earl of Cambridge,
I judge that way not so convenient.
Scroope.
What think ye then of this? I am his bed-fellow,
And unsuspected nightly sleep with him.
What if I venture, in those silent hours
When sleep hath sealed up all mortal eyes,
To murder him in bed? how ye like that?
Cam.
Herein consists no safety for yourself:
And you disclos'd, what shall become of us?
But this day, as ye know, he will aboard,
(The wind's so fair) and set away for France:
If, as he goes, or entering in the ship,
It might be done, then were it excellent.
Grey.
Why, any of these: or, if you will, I'll cause
A present sitting o' the council, wherein
I will pretend some matter of such weight
As needs must have his royal company;
And so dispatch him in his council-chamber.
Cam.
Tush, yet I hear not any thing to purpose.
I wonder that lord Cobham stays so long;
His counsel in this case would much avail us.
[The king and his lords advance.
-- 346 --
Scroope.
What, shall we rise thus, and determine nothing?
K. Henry.
That were a shame indeed: no, sit again,
And you shall have my counsel in this case.
If you can find no way to kill the king,
Then you shall see how I can furnish you.
Scroope's way by poison was indifferent;
But yet, being bed-fellow to the king,
And unsuspected sleeping in his bosom,
In mine opinion that's the likelier way:
For such false friends are able to do much,
And silent night is treason's fittest friend.
Now, Cambridge, in his setting hence for France,
Or by the way, or as he goes aboard,
To do the deed, that was indifferent too,
But somewhat doubtful.
Marry, lord Grey2 note came very near the point,
To have the king at council, and there murder him,
As Cæsar was, among his dearest friends.
Tell me, oh tell me, you, bright honour's stains,
For which of all my kindnesses to you,
Are ye become thus traitors to your king,
And France must have the spoil of Harry's life?
All.
Oh pardon, us dread lord.
K. Henry.
How! pardon you? that were a sin indeed.
Drag them to death, which justly they deserve:
And France shall dearly buy this villainy,
So soon as we set footing on her breast.
God have the praise for our deliverance!
And next our thanks, lord Cobham, is to thee,
True perfect mirror of nobility.
[Exeunt.
-- 347 --
3 note.
SCENE II
A high road near St. Albans.
Enter sir John and Doll.
Sir John.
Come Doll, come, be merry, wench.
Farewel Kent; we are not for thee. Be lusty my lass;
come, for Lancashire: we must nip the bung for
these crowns4 note.
Doll.
Why is all the gold spent already, that you
had the other day?
Sir John.
Gone, Doll, gone; flown, spent, vanish'd.
The devil, drink, and dice, has devoured all.
Doll.
You might have left me in Kent, till you
had been better provided.
Sir John.
No, Doll, no; Kent's too hot, Doll,
Kent's too hot. The weathercock of Wrotham will
crow no longer; we have pluck'd him, he has lost
his feathers; I have prun'd him bare, left him
thrice5 note
note left after thrice plucking, would indeed
be worth nothing. I suspect that we should read—left him bare
thrice; omitting the word bare in the former clause of the sentence.
Steevens.
; he is moulted, he is moulted, wench.
Doll.
I might have gone to service again; old master
Harpool told me he would provide me a mistress.
Sir John.
Peace, Doll, peace. Come, mad wench,
I'll make thee an honest woman; we'll into Lancashire
to our friends: the troth is, I'll marry thee.
-- 348 --
We want but a little money, and money we will have,
I warrant thee. Stay; who comes here? Some Irish
villain methinks, that has slain a man, and now is
rifling of him. Stand close, Doll; we'll see the end.
Enter an Irishman with his dead master. He lays him down, and rifles him.
Irishm.
Alas poe master, sir Richard Lee; be Saint
Patrick, Ise rob and cut thy trote, for de shain6 note, and
dy mony, and dy gold ring. Be me truly, Ise love
dee well, but now dow be kill, dow be shitten knave.
S. John.
Stand, sirrah; what art thou?
Irishm.
Be Saint Patrick, mester, Ise poor Irisman;
Ise a leufter* note.
S. John.
Sirrah, sirrah, you're a damn'd rogue;
you have kill'd a man here, and rifled him of all that
he has. 'Sblood you rogue, deliver, or I'll not leave
you so much as a hair above your shoulders, you
whorson Irish dog.
[Robs him.
Irishm.
We's me! by saint Patrick, Ise kill my
mester for his shain and his ring; and now Ise be
rob of all. Me's undo.
S. John.
Avaunt, you rascal; go sirrah, be walking.
Come Doll, the devil laughs when one thief robs another.
Come wench, we'll to St. Albans, and revel
in our bower, my brave girl.
Doll.
O, thou art old sir John, when all's done,
i'faith.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
St. Albans.
The entrance of a carrier's inn.
Enter Host and the Irishman.
Irishm.
Be me tro, mester, Ise poor Irisman, Ise
want ludging. Ise have no mony, Ise starve and
-- 349 --
cold: good master give hur some meat; Ise famise
and tye.
Host.
'Faith, fellow, I have no lodging, but what
I keep for my guests. As for meat, thou shalt have
as much as there is; and if thou wilt lie in the barn,
there's fair straw, and room enough.
Irishm.
Ise tank my mester heartily.
Host.
Ho, Robin.
Enter Robin.
Rob.
Who calls?
Host.
Shew this poor Irishman to the barn; go
sirrah.
[Exeunt Robin and Irishman.
Enter Carrier and Kate.
Car.
Who's within here? who looks to the
horses? Uds heart, here's fine work; the hens in the
maunger, and the hogs in the litter. A bots 'found
you all; here's a house well look'd to, i'faith.
Kate.
Mas gaff Club, Ise very cawd.
Car.
Get in, Kate, get in to fire, and warm
thee. John ostler.
Host.
What, gaffer Club! Welcome to St. Albans.
How does all our friends in Lancashire?
Enter Ostler.
Car.
Well, God-a-mercy. John, how does Tom?
where is he?
Ostl.
Tom's gone from hence; he's at the three
horse-loaves7 note at Stony-Stratford. How does old Dick
Dun?
Car.
Uds heart, old Dun has bin moyr'd in a
slough in Brick-hill-lane. A plague 'found it! yonder's
such abomination weather as was never seen.
-- 350 --
Ostl.
Uds heart! Thief! 'a shall have one half peck
of pease and oats more for that, as I am John ostler;
he has been ever as good a jade as ever travelled.
Car.
'Faith, well said, old Jack; thou art the old
lad still.
Ostl.
Come, gaffer Club, unload, unload, and get
to supper.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
The same.
A room in the carrier's inn.
Enter Host, lord Cobham, and Harpool.
Host.
Sir, you're welcome to this house, to such as
is here with all my heart; but I fear your lodging
will be the worst. I have but two beds, and they
are both in a chamber; and the carrier and his daughter
lies in the one, and you and your wife must lie in
the other.
Cob.
'Faith, sir, for myself I do not greatly pass:
My wife is weary, and would be at rest,
For we have travell'd very far to day;
We must be content with such as you have.
Host.
But I cannot tell what to do with your man.
Har.
What? hast thou never an empty room in
thy house for me?
Host.
Not a bed in troth. There came a poor
Irishman, and I lodg'd him in the barn, where he
has fair straw, although he have nothing else.
Har.
Well, mine host, I pr'ythee help me to a
pair of clean sheets, and I'll go lodge with him.
Host.
By the mass that thou shalt, a good pair of
hempen sheets were ne'er lain in: come.
[Exeunt.
-- 351 --
SCENE V.
The same.
A street.
Enter Mayor, Constable, and Watch.
Mayor.
What? have you search'd the town?
Con.
All the town, sir; we have not left a house
unsearch'd that uses to lodge.
Mayor.
Surely my lord of Rochester was then deceiv'd,
Or ill inform'd of sir John Oldcastle;
Or if he came this way, he's past the town:
He could not else have scap'd you in the search.
Con.
The privy watch hath been abroad all night;
And not a stranger lodgeth in the town
But he is known; only a lusty priest
We found in bed with a young pretty wench,
That says she is his wife, yonder at the Shears:
But we have charg'd the host with his forth-coming
To-morrow morning.
Mayor.
What think you best to do?
Con.
'Faith, master mayor, here's a few straggling
houses beyond the bridge, and a little inn where carriers
use to lodge; although I think surely he would
ne'er lodge there: but we'll go search, and the rather
because there came notice to the town the last night of
an Irishman, that had done a murther, whom we
are to make search for.
Mayor.
Come then, I pray you, and be circumspect.
[Exeunt Mayor, Constable, &c.
SCENE VI.
The same. Before the carrier's inn.
Enter Watch.
1 Watch.
First beset the house, before you begin
to search.
-- 352 --
2 Watch.
Content; every man take a several place.
[A noise within.
Keep, keep, strike him down there, down with him.
Enter, from the Inn, the Mayor and Constable, with the
Irishman in Harpool's apparel* note.
Con.
Come, you villainous heretick, tell us where
your master is.
Irishm.
Vat mester?
Mayor.
Vat mester, you counterfeit rebel? This
shall not serve your turn.
Irishm.
Be Sent Patrick I ha' no mester.
Con.
Where's the lord Cobham, sir John Oldcastle,
that lately escaped out of the Tower?
Irishm.
Vat lort Cobham?
Mayor.
You counterfeit, this shall not serve you:
we'll torture you, we'll make you to confess where
that arch-heretick is. Come, bind him fast.
Irishm.
Ahone, ahone, ahone, a cree.
Con.
Ahone! you crafty rascal?
]Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
The same.
The yard of the Inn.
Enter lord Cobham in his night-gown.
Cob.
Harpool, Harpool, I hear a marvellous noise
About the house. God warrant us, I fear
We are pursued. What, Harpool?
Har. [from the barn.]
Who calls there?
Cob.
'Tis I; dost thou not hear a noise about the
house?
-- 353 --
Har. [from the barn.]
Yes, marry do I. 'Zounds I cannot find
My hose. This Irish rascal, that lodg'd with me
All night, hath stolen my apparel, and
Has left me nothing but a lowsy mantle8 note,
And a pair of brogues. Get up, get up, and, if
The carrier and his wench be yet asleep,
Change you with him, as he hath done with me,
And see if we can scape.
[Exit lord Cobham.
SCENE VIII.
The same.
A noise about the house for some time. Then Enter Harpool
in the Irishman's apparel; the Mayor, Constable,
and Watch of St. Albans meeting him.
Con.
Stand close, here comes the Irishman that did
the murder; by all tokens this is he.
Mayor.
And perceiving the house beset, would get
away. Stand, sirrah.
Har.
What art thou that bidd'st me stand?
Con.
I am the officer; and am come to search for
an Irishman, such a villain as thyself, that hast murder'd
a man this last night by the high way.
Har.
'Sblood constable, art thou mad? am I an
Irishman?
Mayor.
Sirrah, we'll find you an Irishman before we part:
Lay hold upon him.
-- 354 --
Con.
Make him fast. O thou bloody rogue!
Enter lord and lady Cobham, in the apparel of the
Carrier and his daughter* note
.
Cob.
What will these ostlers sleep all day? Good
morrow, good morrow. Come wench, come. Saddle,
saddle; now afore God two fair days, ha?
Con.
Who goes there?
Mayor.
O 'tis Lancashire carrier; let them pass.
Cob.
What, will no body ope the gates here?
Come, let's in to stable, to look to our capons9 note
.
[Exeunt lord and lady Cobham.
Car. [Within.]
Host. Why ostler? Zooks here's
such abomination company of boys. A pox of this
pigstye at the house' end; it fills all the house full of
fleas1 note. Ostler, ostler.
Enter Ostler.
Ostl.
Who calls there? what would you have?
-- 355 --
Car. [Within.]
Zooks, do you rob your guests?
Do you lodge rogues, and slaves, and scoundrels, ha?
They ha' stolen our cloaths here. Why ostler.
Ostl.
A murrain choak you; what a bawling you
keep!
Enter Host.
Host.
How now? what would the carrier have?
Look up there.
Ostl.
They say that the man and the woman that
lay by them, have stolen their cloaths.
Host.
What, are the strange folks up, that came in
yesternight?
Con.
What, mine host, up so early?
Host.
What, master mayor, and master constable?
Mayor.
We are come to seek for some suspected persons,
And such as here we found have apprehended.
Enter Carrier and Kate, in lord and lady Cobham's cloaths.
Con.
Who comes here?
Car.
Who comes here? a plague 'found 'em. You
bawl, quoth-a* note; ods heart I'll forswear your house;
you lodg'd a fellow and his wife by us, that ha' run
away with our 'parel, and left us such gew-gaws
here:—Come Kate, come to me; thou's dizeard
i'faith2 note.
Mayor.
Mine host, know you this man?
Host.
Yes, master mayor, I'll give my word for
him. Why neighbour Club, how comes this gear
about?
Kate.
Now a foul on't, I cannot make this gew-gaw
stand on my head.
-- 356 --
Mayor.
How came this man and woman thus attired?
Host.
Here came a man and woman hither this last night,
Which I did take for substantial people,
And lodg'd all in one chamber by these folks;
Methinks they have been so bold to change apparel,
And gone away this morning ere they rose.
Mayor.
That was that traitor Oldcastle that thus
Escap'd us. Make hue and cry yet after him;
Keep fast that traiterous rebel his servant there:
Farewel, mine host.
[Exit Mayor.
Car.
Come Kate Owdham, thou and I's trimly
dizard.
Kate.
I'faith, neam Club, Ise wot ne'er what to do,
Ise be so flouted and so shouted at; but by the mess
Ise cry.
[Exeunt Carrier and his Daughter, Host, Harpool, Constables, &c.
SCENE IX.
A wood near St. Albans.
Enter lord and lady Cobham disguised.
Cob.
Come, madam, happily escap'd. Here let us sit;
This place is far remote from any path;
And here a while our weary limbs may rest
To take refreshing, free from the pursuit
Of envious Rochester.
L. Cob.
But where, my lord,
Shall we find rest for our disquiet minds?
There dwell untamed thoughts, that hardly stoop
To such abasement of disdained rags:
We were not wont to travel thus by night,
Especially on foot.
-- 357 --
Cob.
No matter, love;
Extremities admit no better choice,
And, were it not for thee, say froward time
Impos'd a greater task, I would esteem it
As lightly as the wind that blows upon us.
But in thy sufferance I am doubly task'd;
Thou wast not wont to have the earth thy stool,
Nor the moist dewy grass thy pillow, nor
Thy chamber to be the wide horizon.
L. Cob.
How can it seem a trouble, having you
A partner with me in the worst I feel?
No, gentle lord, your presence would give ease
To death itself, should he now seize upon me.
[She produces some bread and cheese, and a bottle.
Behold, what my foresight hath underta'en,
For fear we faint; they are but homely cates;
Yet sawc'd with hunger, they may seem as sweet
As greater dainties we were wont to taste.
Cob.
Praise be to him whose plenty sends both this
And all things else our mortal bodies need!
Nor scorn we this poor feeding, nor the state
We now are in; for what is it on earth,
Nay under heaven, continues at a stay?
Ebbs not the sea, when it hath overflow'd?
Follows not darkness, when the day is gone?
And see we not sometimes the eye of heaven
Dimm'd with o'er-flying clouds3 note
? There's not that work
Of careful nature, or of cunning art,
How strong, how beauteous, or how rich it be,
But falls in time to ruin. Here, gentle madam,
In this one draught I wash my sorrow down.
[Drinks.
-- 358 --
L. Cob.
And I, encourag'd with your chearful speech,
Will do the like.
Cob.
'Pray God, poor Harpool come.
If he should fall into the bishop's hands,
Or not remember where we bade him meet us,
It were the thing of all things else, that now
Could breed revolt in this new peace of mind.
L. Cob.
Fear not, my lord, he's witty to devise,
And strong to execute a present shift.
Cob.
That power be still his guide, hath guided us!
My drowsy eyes wax heavy; early rising,
Together with the travel we have had,
Makes me that I could gladly take a nap,
Were I perswaded we might be secure.
L. Cob.
Let that depend on me: whilst you do sleep,
I'll watch that no misfortune happen us.
Cob.
I shall, dear wife, be too much trouble to thee.
L. Cob.
Urge not that;
My duty binds me, and your love commands.
I would I had the skill, with tuned voice
To draw on sleep with some sweet melody.
But imperfection, and unaptness too,
Are both repugnant: fear inserts the one;
The other nature hath denied me use.
But what talk I of means to purchase that
Is freely happen'd? Sleep with gentle hand
Hath shut his eye-lids. O victorious labour,
How soon thy power can charm the body's sense?
And now thou likewise climb'st unto my brain,
Making my heavy temples stoop to thee.
Great God of heaven from danger keep us free!
[Falls asleep.
-- 359 --
Enter sir Richard Lee, and his Servants.
Sir Rich.
A murder closely done? and in my ground?
Search carefully; if any where it were,
This obscure thicket is the likeliest place.
[Exit a servant.
Re-enter Servant bearing a dead body.
Ser.
Sir, I have found the body stiff with cold,
And mangled cruelly with many wounds.
Sir Rich.
Look, if thou know'st him; turn his body up.
Alack, it is my son, my son and heir,
Whom two years since I sent to Ireland,
To practise there the discipline of war;
And coming home, (for so he wrote to me,)
Some savage heart, some bloody devilish hand,
Either in hate, or thirsting for his coin,
Hath here sluic'd out his blood. Unhappy hour!
Accursed place! but most inconstant fate,
That hadst reserv'd him from the bullet's fire,
And suffer'd him to scape the wood-kerns' fury4 note
,
Didst here ordain the treasure of his life,
Even here within the arms of tender peace,
To be consum'd by treason's wasteful hand!
-- 360 --
And, which is most afflicting to my soul,
That this his death and murder should be wrought
Without the knowledge by whose means 'twas done.
2 Ser.
Not so, sir; I have found the authors of it.
See where they sit; and in their bloody fists
The fatal instruments of death and sin.
Sir Rich.
Just judgment of that power, whose gracious eye,
Loathing the sight of such a heinous fact,
Dazzled their senses with benumming sleep5 note
,
'Till their unhallow'd treachery was known.
Awake ye monsters, murderers awake;
Tremble for horror; blush, you cannot choose,
Beholding this unhuman deed of yours.
Cob.
What mean you, sir, to trouble weary souls,
And interrupt us of our quiet sleep?
Sir Rich.
O devilish! can you boast unto yourselves
Of quiet sleep, having within your hearts
The guilt of murder waking, that with cries6 note
Deafs the loud thunder, and solicits heaven
With more than mandrakes' shrieks for your offence7 note?
L. Cob.
What murder? You upbraid us wrongfully.
Sir Rich.
Can you deny the fact? see you not here
The body of my son, by you misdone8 note
?
-- 361 --
Look on his wounds, look on his purple hue:
Do we not find you where the deed was done?
Were not your knives fast closed in your hands?
Is not this cloth an argument beside,
Thus stain'd and spotted with his innocent blood?
These speaking characters, were there nothing else
To plead against you, would convict you both.
To Hertford with them, where the 'sizes now
Are kept; their lives shall answer for my son's
Lost life.
Cob.
As we are innocent, so may we speed.
Sir Rich.
As I am wrong'd, so may the law proceed.
[Exeunt.
SCENE X.
St. Albans.
Enter the bishop of Rochester, Constable of St. Albans, with
sir John and Doll, and the Irishman in Harpool's apparel.
Roch.
What intricate confusion have we here?
Not two hours since we apprehended one
In habit Irish, but in speech not so;
And now you bring another, that in speech
Is Irish, but in habit English: yea,
And more than so, the servant of that heretick
Lord Cobham.
Irishm.
Fait me be no servant of de lort Cobham;
me be Mack-Shane of Ulster.
Roch.
Otherwise call'd Harpool of Kent; go to, sir,
You cannot blind us with your broken Irish.
Sir John.
Trust me, lord bishop, whether Irish or English,
Harpool or not Harpool, that I leave to the trial:
But sure I am, this man by face and speech,
Is he that murder'd young sir Richard Lee;
(I met him presently upon the fact)
And that he slew his master for that gold,
Those jewels, and that chain, I took from him.
-- 362 --
Roch.
Well, our affairs do call us back to London,
So that we cannot prosecute the cause,
As we desire to do; therefore we leave
The charge with you, to see they be convey'd
[To the Constable.
To Hertford 'sizes: both this counterfeit,
And you, sir John of Wrotham, and your wench;
For you are culpable as well as they,
Though not for murder, yet for felony.
But since you are the means to bring to light
This graceless murder, you shall bear with you
Our letters to the judges of the bench,
To be your friends in what they lawful may.
Sir John.
I thank your lordship.
[Exeunt.
SCENE XI.
Hertford.
A hall of justice.
Enter Gaoler and his servant, bringing forth lord Cobham in irons.
Gaol.
Bring forth the prisoners, see the court prepar'd;
The justices are coming to the bench:
So, let him stand; away and fetch the rest.
[Exit servant.
Cob.
O, give me patience to endure this scourge,
Thou that art fountain of this virtuous stream;
And though contempt, false witness, and reproach9 note
Hang on these iron gyves, to press my life
As low as earth, yet strengthen me with faith,
That I may mount in spirit above the clouds.
-- 363 --
Re-enter gaoler's servant, bringing in lady Cobham and Harpool.
Here comes my lady. Sorrow, 'tis for her
Thy wound is grievous; else I scoff at thee.
What, and poor Harpool, art thou i'the briars too?
Har.
I'faith, my lord, I am in, get out how I can.
L. Cob.
Say, gentle lord, (for now we are alone,
And may confer) shall we confess in brief
Of whence, and what we are, and so prevent
The accusation is commenc'd against us?
Cob.
What will that help us? Being known, sweet love,
We shall for heresy be put to death,
For so they term the religion we profess.
No, if we die, let this our comfort be,
That of the guilt impos'd our souls are free.
Har.
Ay, ay, my lord; Harpool is so resolv'd.
I reck of death the less1 note, in that I die
Not by the sentence of that envious priest.
L. Cob.
Well, be it then according as heaven please.
Enter the Judge of assize, and Justices; the Mayor of St.
Albans, lord and lady Powis, and sir Richard Lee.
The Judge and Justices take their places on the bench.
Judge.
Now, master mayor, what gentleman is that
You bring with you before us to the bench?
Mayor.
The lord Powis, an if it like your honour,
And this his lady travelling toward Wales,
Who, for they lodg'd last night within my house,
-- 364 --
And my lord bishop did lay wait for such,
Were very willing to come on with me,
Lest, for their sakes, suspicion we might wrong.
Judge.
We cry your honour mercy; good my lord,
Will't please you take your place. Madam, your ladyship
May here, or where you will, repose yourself,
Until this business now in hand be past.
L. Pow.
I will withdraw into some other room,
So that your lordship and the rest be pleas'd.
Judge.
With all our hearts: Attend the lady there.
Pow.
Wife, I have ey'd yon prisoners all this while,
And my conceit doth tell me, 'tis our friend
The noble Cobham, and his virtuous lady.
[Aside.
L. Pow.
I think no less: are they suspected for this murder?
Pow.
What it means
I cannot tell, but we shall know anon.
Mean time, as you pass by them, ask the question;
But do it secretly that you be not seen,
And make some sign, that I may know your mind.
[She passes over the stage by them.
L. Pow.
My lord Cobham! Madam!
Cob.
No Cobham now, nor madam, as you love us;
But John of Lancashire, and Joan his wife.
L. Pow.
O tell, what is it that our love can do
To pleasure you, for we are bound to you?
Cob.
Nothing but this, that you conceal our names;
So, gentle lady, pass; for being spied—
L. Pow.
My heart I leave, to bear part of your grief.
[Exit lady Powis.
Judge.
Call the prisoners to the bar. Sir Richard Lee,
What evidence can you bring against these people,
To prove them guilty of the murder done?
-- 365 --
Sir Rich.
This bloody towel, and these naked knives:
Beside, we found them sitting by the place
Where the dead body lay within a bush.
Judge.
What answer you, why law should not proceed,
According to this evidence given in,
To tax you with the penalty of death?
Cob.
That we are free from murder's very thought,
And know not how the gentleman was slain.
1 Just.
How came this linen-cloth so bloody then2 note?
L. Cob.
My husband hot with travelling, my lord,
His nose gush'd out a bleeding; that was it.
2 Just.
But how came your sharp-edged knives unsheath'd?
L. Cob.
To cut such simple victual as we had.
Judge.
Say we admit this answer to those articles,
What made you3 note in so private a dark nook,
So far remote from any common path,
As was the thick4 note where the dead corpse was thrown?
Cob.
Journeying, my lord, from London, from the term5 note,
-- 366 --
Down into Lancashire, where we do dwell,
And what with age and travel being faint,
We gladly sought a place where we might rest,
Free from resort of other passengers;
And so we stray'd into that secret corner.
Judge.
These are but ambages to drive off time,
And linger justice from her purpos'd end.
Enter Constable, with the Irishman, sir John, and Doll.
But who are these?
Con.
Stay judgment, and release those innocents;
For here is he whose hand hath done the deed
For which they stand indicted at the bar;
This savage villain, this rude Irish slave:
His tongue already hath confess'd the fact,
And here is witness to confirm as much.
Sir John.
Yes, my good lord; no sooner had he slain
His loving master for the wealth he had,
But I upon the instant met with him:
And what he purchas'd with the loss of blood,
With strokes I presently bereav'd him of:
Some of the which is spent; the rest remaining
I willingly surrender to the hands
Of old sir Richard Lee, as being his:
Beside, my lord judge, I do greet your honour
With letters from my lord of Rochester.
[Delivers a letter.
Sir Rich.
Is this the wolf whose thirsty throat did drink
My dear son's blood? art thou the cursed snake
He cherish'd, yet with envious piercing sting
Assaild'st him mortally? Wer't not that the law
-- 367 --
Stands ready to revenge thy cruelty,
Traitor to God, thy master, and to me,
These hands should be thy executioner.
Judge.
Patience, sir Richard Lee, you shall have justice.
The fact is odious; therefore take him hence,
And being hang'd until the wretch be dead,
His body after shall be hang'd in chains,
Near to the place where he did act the murder.
Irishm.
Prethee, lord shudge, let me have mine
own cloaths, my strouces there6 note; and let me be
hang'd in a wyth7 note after my country, the Irish
fashion.
Judge.
Go to; away with him. And now, sir John,
[Exeunt Gaoler and Irishman.
Although by you this murder came to light,
Yet upright law will not hold you excus'd,
For you did rob the Irishman; by which
You stand attainted here of felony:
Beside, you have been lewd, and many years
Led a lascivious, unbeseeming life.
Sir John.
O but, my lord, sir John repents, and he will mend.
Judge.
In hope thereof, together with the favour
My lord of Rochester intreats for you,
We are contented that you shall be prov'd8 note.
Sir John.
I thank your lordship.
Judge.
These other, falsely here
-- 368 --
Accus'd, and brought in peril wrongfully,
We in like sort do set at liberty.
Sir Rich.
And for amends,
Touching the wrong unwittingly I have done,
I give these few crowns.
Judge.
Your kindness merits praise, sir Richard Lee:
So let us hence.
[Exeunt all except Powis and Cobham.
Pow.
But Powis still must stay.
There yet remains a part of that true love
He owes his noble friend, unsatisfied
And unperform'd; which first of all doth bind me
To gratulate your lordship's safe delivery;
And then entreat, that since unlook'd-for thus
We here are met, your honour would vouchsafe
To ride with me to Wales, where, to my power9 note
,
Though not to quittance those great benefits
I have receiv'd of you, yet both my house,
My purse, my servants, and what else I have,
Are all at your command. Deny me not:
I know the bishop's hate pursues you so,
As there's no safety in abiding here.
Cob.
'Tis true, my lord, and God forgive him for it.
Pow.
Then let us hence. You shall be straight provided
Of lusty geldings: and once enter'd Wales,
-- 369 --
Well may the bishop hunt; but, spite his face,
He never more shall have the game in chace1.
[Exeunt.
