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.
