Sher.
My lords, I charge ye, in his highness' name,
To keep the peace; you and your followers.

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.

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,

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-hooks^{3 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.

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.

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.

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?

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:

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 Hereford^{4 note} writes to me,

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 me^{5 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?

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,

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 arches^{6 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.

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 sent^{7 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 ruddocks^{8 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,

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 it^{9 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 'sessed^{1 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

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.

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 backs^{2 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.

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.

Cob.
Even the worst deed that e'er my mother did,
Was in relieving such a fool as thou.

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.

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,

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 challenge^{3 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,

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.

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!

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.

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