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.
Edmond Malone [1780], Supplement to the edition of Shakspeare's plays published in 1778 By Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. In two volumes. Containing additional observations by several of the former commentators: to which are subjoined the genuine poems of the same author, and seven plays that have been ascribed to him; with notes By the editor and others (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10911].
