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?

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 drum^{6 note};
Give us square dice; we'll keep this court of guard^{7 note}

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 please^{8 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 fellows^{9 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?

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 long^{1 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?

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, when^{2 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

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 part^{3 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 morning^{4 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.

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.

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 popular^{5 note}.

Act.
Pardon, my lord, my conscience urg'd me to it.

K. Henry.
Thy conscience! then thy conscience is corrupt^{6 note}

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

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 lord^{9 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,

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 soul^{1 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.

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 forthwith^{2 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.

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.

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,

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 tears^{3 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.

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 iniquity^{4 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 Lent^{5 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:

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 Hood^{6 note}

which if ye burn, by this flesh I'll make you drink their ashes in Saint Margaret's ale^{7 note}.

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?

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.

Roch

Ho, master lieutenant.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 chamber^{8 note},
And so departed.

1 Ser.
And I^{9 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

Roch.
Come;
Search shall be made for him with expedition.
The haven's laid^{1 note} that he shall not escape;
And hue and cry continue throughout England,
To find this damned, dangerous heretick. Exeunt.

Previous section

Next section