Clifford, with Forces.
Buck.
Ay, here they be that dare, and will disturb thee.
Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king
Unto the commons whom thou hast misled;
And here pronounce free pardon to them all,
That will forsake thee, and go home in peace.
Clif.
What say ye, countrymen? will ye relent,
And yield to mercy, whilst 'tis offer'd you,
Or let a rabble lead you to your deaths? 11Q0735
Who loves the king, and will embrace his pardon,
Fling up his cap, and say—God save his majesty!
Who hateth him, and honours not his father,
Henry the fifth, that made all France to quake,
Shake he his weapon at us, and pass by.
All.
God save the king! God save the king!
Cade.
What! Buckingham, and Clifford, are ye so
brave?—And you, base peasants, do ye believe him?
will you needs be hanged with your pardons about
your necks? Hath my sword therefore broke through
London Gates, that you should leave me at the White
Hart in Southwark? I thought, ye would never have
given out these arms, till you had recovered your
ancient freedom; but you are all recreants, and dastards,
and delight to live in slavery to the nobility.
Let them break your backs with burdens, take your
houses over your heads, ravish your wives and daughters
before your faces. For me,—I will make shift for
one; and so—God's curse 'light upon you all!
All.
We'll follow Cade: we'll follow Cade.
Clif.
Is Cade the son of Henry the fifth,
That thus you do exclaim, you'll go with him?
Will he conduct you through the heart of France,
-- 203 --
And make the meanest of you earls and dukes?
Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to;
Nor knows he how to live, but by the spoil,
Unless by robbing of your friends, and us.
Wer't not a shame, that whilst you live at jar,
The fearful French, whom you late vanquished,
Should make a start o'er seas, and vanquish you?
Methinks, already, in this civil broil,
I see them lording it in London streets,
Crying—Villageois! unto all they meet.
Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry,
Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy.
To France, to France! and get what you have lost.
Spare England, for it is your native coast.
Henry hath money, you are strong and manly:
God on our side, doubt not of victory.
All.
A Clifford! a Clifford! we'll follow the king,
and Clifford.
Cade.
Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro,
as this multitude? the name of Henry the fifth hales
them to an hundred mischiefs, and makes them leave
me desolate. I see them lay their heads together, to
surprise me: my sword make way for me, for here is
no staying.—In despite of the devils and hell, have
through the very midst of you; and heavens and
honour be witness, that no want of resolution in me,
but only my followers' base and ignominious treasons,
makes me betake me to my heels.
[Exit.
Buck.
What! is he fled? go some, and follow him;
And he, that brings his head unto the king,
Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.—
[Exeunt some of them.
Follow me, soldiers: we'll devise a mean
To reconcile you all unto the king.
[Exeunt.
-- 204 --
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
