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Sir John Oldcastle

by Robert Wilson, Michael Drayton, Anthony Munday, and Richard Hathaway

Dramatis Personae

The true and honorable History, of the life of Sir John Oldcastle, the good Lord Cobham.

In the fight, enter the Sheriff and two of his men.

Sheriff:MY Lords, I charge ye in his Highness’ name, To keep the peace, you, and your followers.

Herbert:Good Master Sheriff, look unto yourself.

Powis:Do so, for we have other business.

Proffer to fight again

Sheriff:Will ye disturb the Judges, and the Assize? Hear the King’s proclamation ye were best.

Powis:Hold then, let’s hear it.

Herbert:But be brief, ye were best.

Bailiff:O yes.

Davy:Cosson, make shorter O, or shall mar your Yes.

Bailiff:O yes.

Owen:What, has her nothing to say but O yes?

Bailiff:O yes.

Davy:O nay, pye Cosse plut down with her, down with her, A Pawesse a Pawesse.

Gough:A Herbert a Herbert, and down with Powis.

Helter-skelter again.

Sheriff:Hold, in the King’s name, hold.

Owen:Down e tha kanave’s name, down.

In this fight, the Bailiff is knocked down, and the Sheriff and the other run away.

Herbert:Powis, I think thy Welsh and thou do smart.

Powis:Herbert, I think my sword came near thy heart.

Herbert:Thy heart’s best blood shall pay the loss of mine.

Gough:A Herbert a Herbert.

Davy:A Pawesse a Pawesse.

As they are lifting their weapons, enter the Mayor of Hereford, and his Officers and Townsmen with clubs.

Mayor:My Lords, as you are liege men 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.

Herbert:Good Master Mayor of Hereford be brief.

Mayor:Sergeant, without the ceremony of O yes. Pronounce aloud the proclamation.

Sergeant:The King’s Justices, perceiving what public mischief may ensue this private quarrel in his majesty’s name do straightly 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, forest bills.

Owen:Haw, no pill nor wells hoog? ha?

Mayor:Peace, and hear the proclamation.

Sergeant: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 Pawesse in prison, A Pawesse A Pawesse, cosson live and tie with her Lord.

Gough:A Herbert a Herbert.

In this fight the Lord Herbert is wounded, and falls to the ground, the Mayor and his company go away crying clubs, Powis runs away, Gough and other of Herbert’s faction busy themselves about Herbert: enters the two Judges in their robes, the Sheriff and his Bailiffs afore them, etc.

Judge:Where’s the Lord Herbert? is he hurt or slain?

Sheriff:He’s here my Lord.

2. Judge:How fares his Lordship, friends?

Gough:Mortally wounded, speechless, he cannot live.

Judge:Convey him hence, let not his wounds take air, And get him dressed with expedition, [Exeunt Herbert and Gough] Master Mayor of Hereford Master Shrieve o’ th’ 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.

Sheriff: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.

Sheriff:There are some of them, sirs, lay hold on them,

Owen:Of us, and why? what has her done I pray you?

Sheriff:Disarm them Bailiffs.

Mayor:Officers assist.

Davy:Hear you Lor’ shudge, what resson is for this?

Owen:Cosson pe puse for fighting for our Lord?

Judge:Away with them.

Davy:Harg you my Lord.

Both at once all this

Owen:Gough my Lord Herbert’s man’s a shitten knave,

Davy:Ise live and tie in good quarrel.

Owen:Pray you do shustice, let awl be preson.

Davy:Prison no, Lord shudge I wool give you pale, good surety.

2. Judge:What Bail? what sureties?

Davy:Her coozin ap Ries, ap Evan, ap Morrice, ap Morgan, ap Llewellyn, ap Madoc, ap Meredith, ap Griffen, ap Davy, ap Owen ap Shinken Shones.

2. Judge:Two of the most, sufficient are enow,

Sheriff:An ’t please your Lordship these are all but one.

Judge:To Jail with them, and the Lord Herbert’s men, We’ll talk with them, when the Assize is done, [Exeunt.] 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 caused all this stir?

Sheriff:About religion (as I heard) my Lord. Lord Powis detracted from the power of Rome, Affirming Wycliffe’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, that would defend it with their lives, He named for instance sir John Oldcastle The Lord Cobham: Herbert replied 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.

Judge:This case concerns the King’s prerogative, And’s dangerous to the State and common wealth. Gentlemen, Justices, master Mayor, and master Shrieve, 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 Innocent of it, only his name was used. 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 everyone’s precinct There be no meetings. When the vulgar sort Sit on their Alebench, with their cups and cans, Matters of state be not their common talk, Nor pure religion by their lips profaned. Let us return unto the Bench again, And there examine further of this fray.

Enter a Bailie and a Sergeant

Sheriff:Sirs, have ye taken the lord Powis yet?

Bailiff:No, nor heard of him.

Sergeant:No, he’s gone far enough.

2. Judge:They that are left behind, shall answer all.

Exeunt.

Enter Suffolk, Bishop of Rochester, Butler, parson of Wrotham.

Suffolk:Now my lord Bishop, take free liberty To speak your mind: what is your suit to us?

Bishop:My noble Lord, no more than what you know, And have been oftentimes invested with: Grievous complaints have passed 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 common wealth, May easily be discerned, when like a frenzy This innovation shall possess their minds. These upstarts will have followers to uphold Their damned opinion, more than Harry shall To undergo his quarrel ’gainst the French.

Suffolk:What proof is there against them to be had, That what you say the law may justify?

Bishop:They give themselves the name of Protestants, And meet in fields and solitary groves.

Sir John:Was ever heard (my Lord) the like till now? That thieves and rebels, ’sblood heretics, Plain heretics, I’ll stand to ’t to their teeth, Should have to color, their vile practices, A title of such worth, as Protestant?

enter one with a letter.

Suffolk:O but you must not swear, it ill becomes One of your coat, to rap out bloody oaths.

Bishop:Pardon him good my Lord, it is his zeal, An honest country prelate, who laments To see such foul disorder in the church.

Sir John:There’s one they call him Sir John Oldcastle, He has not his name for naught: 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.

Bishop: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 Hereford 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.

Suffolk:A fire that must be quenched; well, say no more, The King anon goes to the counsel 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,

Butler:I will my Lord.

Offer him a purse.

Bishop:Not for a recompense, But as a token of our love to you, By me my Lords of the clergy do present This purse, and in it full a thousand Angels, Praying your Lordship to accept their gift.

Suffolk: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.

Bishop:Sir, then we crave your furtherance herein.

Butler:The best I can my Lord of Rochester.

Bishop:Nay, pray ye take it, trust me but you shall,

Sir John:Were ye all three upon New Market heath, You should not need strain court’sy who should ha ’t, Sir John would quickly rid ye of that care.

Suffolk: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 Harry and Huntington in talk.

Harpoole:My Lord of Suffolk, Was it not said the Clergy did refuse To lend us money toward our wars in France?

Suffolk:It was my Lord, but very wrongfully.

Harpoole:I know it was, for Huntington here tells me, They have been very bountiful of late.

Suffolk:And still they vow my gracious Lord to be so, Hoping your majesty will think of them, As of your loving subjects, and suppress All such malicious errors as begin To spot their calling, and disturb the church.

Harpoole:God else forbid: why Suffolk, is there Any new rupture to disquiet them?

Suffolk: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 commenced abroad, As by this letter more at large my liege, Is made apparent.

Harpoole: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 dreamt of any such contention.

Bishop:But in his name the quarrel did begin, About the opinion which he held (my liege.)

Harpoole:How if it did? was either he in place, To take part with them, or abet them in it? If brabbling fellows, whose enkindled blood, Seethes in their fiery veins, will needs go fight, Making their quarrels of some words that passed, Either of you, or you, amongst their cups, Is the fault yours, or are they guilty of it?

Suffolk: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 compelled to come to mass.

Bishop:We do beseech you therefore gracious prince, Without offense unto your majesty We may be bold to use authority.

Harry:As how?

Bishop:To summon him unto the Arches, Where such offenses have their punishment.

Harry:To answer personally, is that your meaning?

Bishop:It is, my lord.

Harry:How if he appeal?

Bishop:He cannot (my Lord) in such a case as this.

Suffolk:Not where Religion is the plea, my lord.

Harry:I took it always, that ourself stood on ’t, 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 entreat you to dispense awhile With your high title of pre-eminence. [in scorn.] 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 honorable: If any way his conscience be seduced, 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.

Sir John:How now my lord, why stand you discontent? In sooth, methinks the King hath well decreed.

Bishop:Yea, yea, sir John, if he would keep his word, But I perceive he favors him so much, As this will be to small effect, I fear.

Sir John:Why then I’ll tell you what y’ are 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 ’t, howsoe’er it fall.

Bishop:And well remembered, I will have it so, A Sumner shall be sent about it straight

Exit.

Sir 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 show, it had a tempting look, Beshrew me, but my fingers’ ends do itch To be upon those ruddocks: well, ’tis thus: I am not as the world does take me for: If ever wolf were clothed in sheep’s coat, Then I am he, old huddle and twang, i’ faith, A priest in show, but in plain terms, a thief, Yet let me tell you too, an honest thief. One that will take it where it may be spared. 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 sweetened now and then with lechery? I have my Doll, my concubine as ’twere, To frolic 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: there will be the sport.

Exit.

Enter three or four poor people, some soldiers, some old men.

1 Soldier: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.

Old Man:Faith, housekeeping decays in every place, Even as Saint Peter writ, still worse and worse

4 Soldier:Master mayor of Rochester has given commandment, that none shall go abroad out of the parish, and they have set an order down forsooth, what every poor householder must give towards our relief: where there be some cessed I may say to you, had almost as much need to beg as we.

1 Soldier:It is a hard world the while.

Old Man:If a poor man come to a door to ask for God’s sake, they ask him for a license, or a certificate from a Justice.

2 Soldier:Faith we have none, but what we bear upon our bodies, our maimed limbs, God help us.

4 Soldier:And yet, as lame as I am, I’ll with the king into France, if I can crawl but a shipboard, I had rather be slain in France, than starve in England.

Old Man:Ha, were I but as lusty as I was at the battle of Shrewsbury, I would not do as I do: but we are now come to the good lord Cobham’s, to the best man to the poor that is in all Kent.

4 Soldier:God bless him, there be but few such.

Enter Lord Cobham with Harpoole.

Cobham:Thou peevish froward man, what wouldst thou have?

Harpoole:This pride, this pride, brings all to beggary, I served your father, and your grandfather, Show me such two men now: no, no, Your backs, your backs, the devil and pride, Has cut the throat of all good housekeeping, They were the best Yeomen’s masters, that Ever were in England.

Cobham:Yea, except thou have a crew of seely knaves, And sturdy rogues, still feeding at my gate, There is no hospitality with thee.

Harpoole:They may sit at the gate well enough, but the devil of any thing you give them, except they will eat stones.

Cobham:’Tis long then of such hungry knaves as you, [pointing to the beggars] Yea sir, here’s your retinue, your guests be come, They know their hours I warrant you.

Old Man:God bless your honor, God save the good Lord Cobham, and all his house,

Soldier:Good your honor, bestow your blessed alms, Upon poor men.

Cobham:Now sir, here be your Alms-knights. Now are you as safe as the Emperor.

Harpoole:My Alms-knights: nay, th’ are 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, O Lord, they may beg their hearts out, There’s no more charity amongst men, Than amongst so many mastiff dogs, What make you here, you needy knaves? Away, away, you villains.

2 Soldier:I beseech you sit, be good to us.

Cobham: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.

Harpoole:What should I give them? you are grown so beggarly, you have scarce a bit of bread to give at your door: you talk of your religion so long, that you have banished charity from amongst you, a man may make a flax shop in your kitchen chimneys, for any fire there is stirring.

Cobham:If thou wilt give them nothing, send them hence, let them not stand here starving in the cold.

Harpoole:Who I drive them hence? if I drive poor men from your door, I’ll be hanged, I know not what I may come to myself: yea, God help you poor knaves, ye see the world i’ faith, well, you had a mother: well, 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.

Cobham:Even the worst deed that e’er my mother did, was in relieving such a fool as thou.

Harpoole:Yea, yea, I am a fool still, with all your wit you will die a beggar, go to.

Cobham: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.

Soldier:God bless your honor.

Harpoole:Hang you rogues, hang you, there’s nothing but misery amongst you, you fear no law you.

Exit.

Old Man:God bless you good master Rafe, God save your life, you are good to the poor still.

Enter the Lord Powis disguised, and shroud himself.

Cobham:What fellow’s yonder comes along the grove? Few passengers there be that know this way: Methinks he stops as though he stayed for me, And meant to shroud himself amongst the bushes. I know the Clergy hate me to the death, And my religion gets me many foes: And this may be some desperate rogue, Suborned 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: [The Lord Powis comes on.] I have been well acquainted with that face.

Powis:Well met my honorable lord and friend.

Cobham:You are welcome sir, whate’er you be, But of this sudden sir, I do not know you.

Powis:I am one that wisheth well unto your honor, My name is Powis, an old friend of yours.

Cobham:My honorable lord, and worthy friend, What makes your lordship thus alone in Kent, And thus disguised in this strange attire?

Powis:My Lord, an unexpected accident, Hath at this time enforced me to these parts: And thus it happed, not yet full five days since, Now at the last Assize at Hereford, It chanced that the lord Herbert and myself, ’Mongst other things, discoursing at the table, To fall in speech about some certain points Of Wycliffe’s doctrine, ’gainst the papacy, And the religion catholic, maintained Through the most part of Europe at this day. This wilful testy lord stuck not to say, That Wycliffe was a knave, a schismatic, His doctrine devilish and heretical, And whatsoe’er he was maintained 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 urged, my lord, ’gainst his challenge, To be a perfect favorer 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 forced to part the fray.

Cobham:I hope no man was violently slain.

Powis: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.

Cobham:I am sorry, my good lord, of these ill news.

Powis: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.

Cobham: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 advantage 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: Here comes my man. [Enter Harpoole.] Sirrah, what news?

Harpoole:Yonder’s one master Butler of the privy chamber, is sent unto you from the King.

Powis:I pray God the lord Herbert be not dead, and the King hearing whither I am gone, hath sent for me.

Cobham:Comfort yourself my lord, I warrant you.

Harpoole:Fellow, what ails thee? dost thou quake? dost thou shake? dost thou tremble? ha?

Cobham:Peace you old fool, sirrah, convey this gentleman in the back way, and bring the other into the walk.

Harpoole:Come sir. you are welcome, if you love my lord.

Powis:God have mercy gentle friend.

exeunt.

Cobham:I thought as much, that it would not be long before I heard of something from the King, about this matter.

Enter Harpoole with Master Butler.

Harpoole:Sir, yonder my lord walks, you see him, I’ll have your men into the Cellar the while.

Cobham:welcome good master Butler.

Butler:Thanks, my good lord: his Majesty doth commend his love unto your lordship, and wills you to repair unto the court.

Cobham:God bless his Highness, and confound his enemies, I hope his Majesty is well.

Butler:In health, my lord.

Cobham:God long continue it: methinks you look as though you were not well, what ails you sir?

Butler:Faith I have had a foolish odd mischance, that angers me: coming over Shooter’s hill, there came a fellow to me like a Sailor, and asked me money, and whilst I stayed my horse to draw my purse, he takes th’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 robbed in all my life.

Cobham:I am very sorry sir for your mischance, we will send our warrant forth, to stay such suspicious persons as shall be found, then master Butler, we will attend you.

Butler:I humbly thank your lordship, I will attend you.

Enter the Sumner.

Sumner:I have the law to warrant what I do, and though the Lord Cobham be a noble man, that dispenses not with law, I dare serve process were a five noble men, 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 my Lord Cobham’s house, if I can devise to speak with him, if not, I’ll clap my citation upon ’s door, so my lord of Rochester bid me, but methinks here comes one of his men.

Enter Harpoole.

Harpoole:Welcome good fellow, welcome, who wouldst thou speak with?

Sumner:With my lord Cobham, I would speak, if thou be one of his men.

Harpoole:Yes I am one of his men, but thou canst not speak with my lord.

Sumner:May I send to him then?

Harpoole:I’ll tell thee that, when I know thy errand.

Sumner:I will not tell my errand to thee.

Harpoole:Then keep it to thyself, and walk like a knave as thou camest.

Sumner:I tell thee my lord keeps no knaves, sirrah.

Harpoole:Then thou servest him not, I believe, what lord is thy master?

Sumner:My lord of Rochester.

Harpoole:In good time, and what wouldst thou have with my lord Cobham?

Sumner:I come by virtue of a process, to ascite him to appear before my lord, in the court at Rochester.

Harpoole:[aside.] Well, God grant me patience, I could eat this conger. My lord is not at home, therefore it were good Sumner you carried your process back.

Sumner:Why, if he will not be spoken withal, then will I leave it here, and see you that he take knowledge of it.

Harpoole:’Swounds you slave, do you set up your bills here, go to, take it down again, dost thou know what thou dost, dost thee know on whom thou servest process?

Sumner:Yes marry do I, Sir John Oldcastle Lord Cobham.

Harpoole:I am glad thou knowest him yet, and sirrah dost not thou know, that the lord Cobham is a brave lord, that keeps good beef and beer in his house, and every day feeds a hundred poor people at ’s gate, and keeps a hundred tall fellows?

Sumner:What’s that to my process?

Harpoole:Marry this sir, is this process parchment

Sumner:Yes marry.

Harpoole:And this seal wax?

Sumner:It is so.

Harpoole: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 Sumner dispatch, devour, sirrah devour.

Sumner:I am my lord of Rochester’s Sumner, I came to do my office, and thou shalt answer it.

Harpoole:Sirrah, no railing, but betake you 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?

Sumner:Sir, I brought it not my lord to eat.

Harpoole:O do you sir me now, all’s one for that, but i’ll make you eat it, for bringing it.

Sumner:I cannot eat it.

Harpoole:Can you not? ’sblood i’ll beat you until you have a stomach.

he beats him.

Sumner:O hold, hold, good master servingman, I will eat it.

Harpoole:Be champing, be chawing sir, or I’ll chaw you, you rogue, the purest of the honey.

Sumner:Tough wax, is the purest of the honey.

Harpoole:O Lord sir, oh oh, [he eats.] Feed, feed, wholesome rogue, wholesome. 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? ’Sblood if thy seal were as broad as the lead that covers Rochester church, thou shouldst eat it.

Sumner:O I am almost choked, I am almost choked.

Harpoole:Who’s within there? will you shame my Lord, is there no beer in the house? Butler I say.

Butler:Here, here.

Enter Butler.

Harpoole:Give him Beer. [he drinks.] There, tough old sheepskins, bare dry meat.

Sumner:O sir, let me go no further, I’ll eat my word.

Harpoole:Yea marry sir, so 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. [he has then done.] A cup of sack for the Sumner.

Butler:Here sir here.

Harpoole:Here slave I drink to thee.

Sumner:I thank you sir.

Harpoole:Now if thou findst thy stomach well, because thou shalt see my Lord keeps meat in ’s house, if thou wilt go in thou shalt have a piece of beef to thy breakfast.

Sumner:No I am very well good Master servingman, I thank you, very well sir.

Harpoole:I am glad on ’t, then be walking towards Rochester to keep your stomach warm: and Sumner, if I may 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 ’t, I am a villain.

Sumner:God be with you Master servingman.

Harpoole:Farewell Sumner.

Enter Constable.

Constable:God save you Master Harpoole.

Harpoole:Welcome Constable, welcome Constable, what news with thee?

Constable:An ’t please you Master Harpoole, I am to make hue to cry, for a fellow with one eye that has robbed two Clothiers, and am to crave your hindrance, for to search all suspected places, and they say there was a woman in the company.

Harpoole:Hast thou been at the Alehouse, hast thou sought there?

Constable:I durst not search sir, in my Lord Cobham’s liberty, except I had some of his servants, which are for my warrant.

Harpoole:An honest Constable, an honest Constable, call forth him that keeps the Alehouse there.

Constable:Ho, who’s within there?

Ale Man:Who calls there, come near i’ God’s name, oh is ’t you Master Constable and Master Harpoole, you are welcome with all my heart, what make you here so early this morning?

Harpoole:Sirrah, what strangers do you lodge, there is a robbery done this morning, and we are to search for all suspected persons.

Ale Man:God’s bores, I am sorry for ’t, i’ faith sir I lodge nobody but a good honest merry priest, they call him sir John o’ 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.

Harpoole:What, is he here in thy house now?

Constable: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.

Harpoole:Bring her forth Constable, bring her forth, let’s see her, let’s see her.

Constable:Dorothy, you must come down to Master Constable.

Doll:Anon forsooth.

she enters.

Harpoole:Welcome sweet lass, welcome.

Doll:I thank you good Master servingman, and master Constable also.

Harpoole:A plump girl by the mass, a plump girl, ha Doll ha, wilt thou forsake the priest, and go with me.

Constable:A well said Master Harpoole, you are a merry old man i’ faith, i’ faith you will never be old: now by the mack, a pretty wench indeed.

Harpoole:Ye old mad merry Constable, art thou advised of that ha, well said Doll, fill some ale here.

Doll:[aside] Oh if I wist this old priest would not stick to me, by Jove I would ingle this old servingman.

Harpoole:Oh you old mad colt, i’ faith I’ll feak you: fill all the pots in the house there.

Constable:Oh well said Master Harpoole, you are heart of oak when all’s done.

Harpoole: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.

Harpoole:Fill sweet Doll, I’ll drink to thee.

Doll:I pledge you sir, and thank you therefore, and I pray you let it come.

Harpoole:[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 favor, as a man may be. Ah these sweet gray locks, by my troth, they are most lovely.

Constable:God’s bores master Harpoole, I will have one buss too.

Harpoole:No licking for you Constable, hand off, hand off.

Constable:By ’r lady I love kissing as well as you.

Doll:Oh you are an odd boy, you have a wanton eye of your own: ah you sweet sugar-lipped wanton, you will win as many women’s hearts as come in your company.

Enter Priest.

Sir John:Doll, come hither.

Harpoole:Priest, she shall not.

Doll:I’ll come anon, sweet love.

Sir John:Hand off, old fornicator.

Harpoole: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:Ah sirrah, dost thou not know, that a good fellow parson may have a chapel of ease, where his parish Church is far off?

Harpoole:You whoreson stoned Vicar.

Sir John:You old stale ruffian, you lion of Cotswold.

Harpoole:’Swounds Vicar, I’ll geld you.

flies upon him.

Constable: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.

Harpoole:You whoreson bawdy priest.

Sir John:You old mutton monger.

Constable:Hold sir John, hold.

Doll:[to the Priest] 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.

Harpoole:Thou art a thief I warrant thee.

Sir John:Then I am but as thou hast been in thy days, let’s not be ashamed 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.

Constable:Well said mistress Dorothy i’ faith.

Harpoole:Thou art the mad’st 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 bencher, 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 serves me for a sexton.

Harpoole:Well said mad priest, we’ll in and be friends,

exeunt.

Enter sir Roger Acton, master Bourne, master Beverley, and William Murley the brewer of Dunstable.

Acton:Now master Murley, I am well assure You know our arrant, and do like the cause, Being a man affected as we are?

Murley:Marry God dild ye dainty my dear, no master, good Sir Roger Acton Knight, master Bourne, and master Beverley esquires, gentlemen, and justices of the peace, no master I, but plain William Murley the brewer of Dunstable your honest neighbor, and your friend, if ye be men of my profession.

Beverley:Professed friends to Wickliff, foes to Rome.

Murley:Hold by me lad, lean upon that staff good master Beverley, all of a house, say your mind, say your mind.

Acton: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 ye 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.

Murley: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, ye know: will lusty Cavaliering captains gentlemen come at my calling, go at my bidding? Dainty my dear, they’ll do a dog of wax, a horse of cheese, a prick and a pudding, no, no, ye must appoint some lord or knight at least to that place.

Bourne:Why master Murley, you shall be a Knight: Were you not in election to be shrieve? Have ye not passed all offices but that? Have ye not wealth to make your wife a lady? I warrant you, my lord, our General Bestows that honor on you at first sight.

Murley: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 almsgiver, housekeeper, virtuous, Religious gentleman? Come to me there boys, Come to me there.

Acton:Why who but he shall be our General?

Murley:And shall he knight me, and make me colonel?

Acton:My word for that, sir William Murley knight.

Murley: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.

Acton: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 thousands into Ficket field, Where we appoint our special rendezvous.

Murley: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?

Acton:Behind saint Giles in the field near Holborn.

Murley:Newgate, up Holborn, Saint Giles in the field, and to Tyburn, an old saw: for the day, for the day?

Acton:On friday next the fourteenth day of January.

Murley:Tilly-vally, trust me never if I have any liking of that day: phew paltry paltry, friday quoth ’a, dismal day, Childermas day this year was friday.

Beverley:Nay master Murley, if you observe such days, We make some question of your constancy, All days are like to men resolved in right.

Murley: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 skull, and every skull shall show a spear, and every spear shall kill a foe at Ficket field, at Ficket field, John and Tom, and Dick and Hodge, and Rafe and Robin, William and George, and all my knaves shall fight like men, at Ficket field on friday next.

Bourne:What sum of money mean you to disburse?

Murley:It may be modestly, decently, soberly, and handsomely I may bring five hundred pound.

Acton:Five hundred man? five thousand’s not enough, A hundred thousand will not pay our men Two months together, either come prepared 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.

Beverley:Perchance you may be chosen Treasurer, Ten thousand pound’s the least that you can bring.

Murley:Paltry paltry, in and out to and fro, vpon 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 out all. Flame and flax, flame and flax, it was got with water and malt, and it shall fly with fire and gunpowder. Sir Roger, a cart load of money till the ax-tree crack, myself and my men in Ficket field on friday next: remember my Knighthood, and my place: there’s my hand I’ll be there.

Exit.

Acton:See what Ambition may persuade men to, In hope of honor he will spend himself.

Bourne:I never thought a Brewer half so rich.

Beverley:Was never bankrupt Brewer yet but one, With using too much malt, too little water.

Acton:That’s no fault in Brewers nowadays: Come, away about our business.

exeunt.

Enter King Harry, Suffolk, Butler, and Oldcastle kneeling to the King.

Harry:’Tis not enough Lord Cobham to submit. You must forsake your gross opinion, The Bishops find themselves much injured, And though for some good service you have done, We for our part are pleased to pardon you, Yet they will not so soon be satisfied,

Cobham:My gracious Lord unto your Majesty, Next unto my God, I 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 priests 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 encroached upon.

Harry:We would be loath 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 ye, 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.

Cobham:My liege, if any breathe, that dares come forth, And say, my life in any of these points Deserves th’ attainder of ignoble thoughts Here stand I, craving no remorse at all, But even the utmost rigor may be shown.

Harry:Let it suffice we know your loyalty, What have you there?

Cobham:A deed of clemency, Your Highness’ pardon for Lord Powis’ life, Which I did beg, and you my noble Lord, Of gracious favor did vouchsafe to grant.

Harry:But yet it is not signed with our hand.

Cobham:Not yet my Liege.

one ready with pen and ink.

Harry:The fact, you say, was done, Not of prepensed malice, but by chance.

Cobham:Upon mine honor so, no otherwise.

Harry:There is his pardon, bid him make amends, [writes.] And cleanse his soul to God for his offense, What we remit, is but the body’s scourge, [Enter Bishop.] How now Lord Bishop?

Bishop:Justice dread Sovereign. As thou art King, so grant I may have justice.

Harry:What means this exclamation, let us know?

Bishop:Ah my good Lord, the state’s abused, And our decree’s most shamefully profaned.

Harry:How, or by whom?

Bishop:Even by this heretic, This Jew, this Traitor to your majesty.

Cobham:Prelate, thou liest, even in thy greasy maw, Or whosoever twits me with the name, Of either traitor, or of heretic.

Harry:Forbear I say, and Bishop, show the cause From whence this late abuse hath been derived,

Bishop:Thus mighty King, by general consent, 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 paritor, 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 forth, Nor we but scorned, for our authority.

Harry:When was this done?

Bishop:At six o’clock this morning.

Harry:And when came you to court?

Cobham:Last night my Lord.

Harry:By this it seems, he is not guilty of it, And you have done him wrong t’ accuse him so.

Bishop:But it was done my lord by his appointment, Or else his man durst ne’er have been so bold.

Harry:Or else you durst 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 forestall Our regal power, must likewise summon him? This savors 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, That was employed so much amiss herein, Had his desert for being insolent: [Enter Huntington] So Cobham when you please you may depart.

Cobham:I humbly bid farewell unto my liege.

Exit

Harry:Farewell, what’s the news by Huntington?

Huntington:Sir Roger Acton, and a crew, my Lord, Of bold seditious rebels, are in Arms, Intending reformation of Religion. And with their Army they intend to pitch, In Ficket field, unless they be repulsed.

Harry: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 forced to handsel our sharp blades In England here, which we prepared for France? Well, a’ God’s name be it, what’s their number? say, Or who’s the chief commander of this rout?

Huntington:Their number is not known, as yet (my Lord) But ’tis reported Sir John Oldcastle Is the chief man, on whom they do depend.

Harry:How, the Lord Cobham?

Huntington:Yes my gracious Lord.

Bishop:I could have told your majesty as much Before he went, but that I saw your Grace Was too much blinded by his flattery.

Suffolk:Send post my Lord to fetch him back again.

Butler:Traitor unto his country, how he smoothed, And seemed as innocent as Truth itself?

Harry: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.

Bishop:This falls out well, and at the last I hope [Exeunt] To see this heretic die in a rope.

Enter Earl of Cambridge, Lord Scroop, Gray, and Chartres the French factor.

Scroop:Once more my Lord of Cambridge make rehearsal, How you do stand entitled to the Crown, The deeper shall we print it in our minds, And every man the better be resolved, When he perceives his quarrel to be just.

Cambridge:Then thus Lord Scroop, sir Thomas Gray, and you Monsieur de Chartres, agent for the French, This Lionell Duke of Clarence, as I said, Third son of Edward (England’s King) the third Had issue Philip his sole daughter and heir, Which Philip afterward was given in marriage, To Edmund Mortimer the Earl of March, And by him had a son called Roger Mortimer, Which Roger likewise had of his descent, Edmund, Roger, Anne, and Eleanor, Two daughters and two sons, but those three Died without issue, Anne that did survive, And now was left her father’s only heir, My fortune was to marry, being too By my grandfather of King Edward’s line, So of his surname, I am called you know, Richard Plantagenet, my father was, Edward the Duke of York, and son and heir To Edmund Langley, Edward the third’s first son.

Scroop:So that it seems your claim comes by your wife, As lawful heir to Roger Mortimer, The son of Edmund, which did marry Philip Daughter and heir to Lionel Duke of Clarence.

Cambridge:True, for this Harry, and his father both Harry the first, as plainly doth appear, Are false intruders, and usurp the Crown. For when young Richard was at Pomfret slain, In him the title of prince Edward died, That was the eldest of king Edward’s sons: William of Hatfield, and their second brother, Death in his nonage had before bereft: So that my wife derived from Lionell, Third son unto king Edward, ought proceed, And take possession of the Diadem Before this Harry, or his father king, Who fetched their title but from Lancaster, Forth of that royal line. And being thus, What reason is ’t but she should have her right?

Scroop:I am resolved our enterprise is just.

Gray:Harry shall die, or else resign his crown.

Chartres:Perform but that, and Charles the king of France Shall aid you lords, not only with his men, But send you money to maintain your wars, Five hundred thousand crowns he bade me proffer, If you can stop but Harry’s voyage for France.

Scroop:We never had a fitter time than now The realm in such division as it is.

Cambridge:Besides, you must persuade ye there is due, Vengeance for Richard’s murder, which although It be deferred, yet will it fall at last, And now as likely as another time. Sin hath had many years to ripen in, And now the harvest cannot be far off, Wherein the weeds of usurpation, Are to be cropped, and cast into the fire.

Scroop:No more earl Cambridge, here I plight my faith, To set up thee, and thy renowned wife.

Gray:Gray will perform the same, as he is knight.

Chartres:And to assist ye, as I said before, Charters doth gage the honor of his king.

Scroop:We lack but now Lord Cobham’s fellowship, And then our plot were absolute indeed.

Cambridge:Doubt not of him, my lord, his life’s pursued By th’ incensed Clergy, and of late, Brought in displeasure with the king, assures He may be quickly won unto our faction. Who hath the articles were drawn at large Of our whole purpose?

Gray:That have I my Lord.

Cambridge:We should not now be far off from his house, Our serious conference hath beguiled the way, See where his castle stands, give me the writing. When we are come unto the speech of him, Because we will not stand to make recount, Of that which hath been said, here he shall read [enter Cobham.] Our minds at large, and what we crave of him.

Scroop:A ready way: here comes the man himself Booted and spurred, it seems he hath been riding.

Cambridge:Well met lord Cobham.

Cobham:My lord of Cambridge? Your honor is most welcome into Kent, And all the rest of this fair company. I am new come from London, gentle Lords: But will ye not take Cooling for your host, And see what entertainment it affords?

Cambridge:We were intended to have been your guests: But now this lucky meeting shall suffice To end our business, and defer that kindness.

Cobham:Business my lord? what business should you have But to be merry? we have no delicates, But this I’ll promise you, a piece of venison, A cup of wine, and so forth: hunter’s fare: And if you please, we’ll strike the stag ourselves Shall fill our dishes with his well-fed flesh.

Scroop:That is indeed the thing we all desire.

Cobham:My lords, and you shall have your choice with me.

Cambridge:Nay but the stag which we desire to strike, Lives not in Cooling: if you will consent, And go with us, we’ll bring you to a forest, Where runs a lusty herd: amongst the which There is a stag superior to the rest, A stately beast, that when his fellows run, He leads the race, and beats the sullen earth, As though he scorned it with his trampling hooves, Aloft he bears his head, and with his breast, Like a huge bulwark counterchecks the wind: And when he standeth still, he stretcheth forth His proud ambitious neck, as if he meant To wound the firmament with forked horns.

Cobham:’Tis pity such a goodly beast should die.

Cambridge:Not so, sir John, for he is tyrannous, And gores the other deer, and will not keep Within the limits are appointed him. Of late he’s broke into a several, Which doth belong to me, and there he spoils Both corn and pasture, two of his wild race Alike for stealth, and covetous encroaching, Already are removed, if he were dead, I should not only be secure from hurt, But with his body make a royal feast.

Scroop:How say you then, will you first hunt with us?

Cobham:Faith Lords, I like the pastime, where’s the place?

Cambridge:Peruse this writing, it will show you all, And what occasion we have for the sport.

he reads

Cobham:Call ye this hunting, my lords? Is this the stag You fain would chase, Harry our dread king? So we may make a banquet for the devil, And in the stead of wholesome meat, prepare A dish of poison to confound ourselves.

Cambridge:Why so lord Cobham? see you not our claim? And how imperiously he holds the crown?

Scroop:Besides, you know yourself is in disgrace, Held as a recreant, and pursued to death. This will defend you from your enemies, And ’stablish your religion through the land.

Cobham:[aside] Notorious treason! yet I will conceal My secret thoughts, to sound the depth of it. My lord of Cambridge, I do see your claim, And what good may redound unto the land, By prosecuting of this enterprise. But where are men? where’s power and furniture To order such an action? we are weak, Harry, you know’s a mighty potentate.

Cambridge:Tut, we are strong enough, you are beloved, And many will be glad to follow you, We are the light, and some will follow us: Besides, there is hope from France: here’s an ambassador That promiseth both men and money too. The commons likewise (as we hear) pretend A sudden tumult, we will join with them.

Cobham:Some likelihood, I must confess, to speed: But how shall I believe this is plain truth? You are (my lords) such men as live in Court, And highly have been favored of the king, Especially lord Scroop, whom oftentimes He maketh choice of for his bedfellow. And you lord Gray are of his privy council: Is not this a train to entrap my life?

Cambridge:Then perish may my soul: what think you so?

Scroop:We’ll swear to you.

Gray:Or take the sacrament.

Cobham:Nay you are noble men, and I imagine, As you are honorable by birth and blood, So you will be in heart, in thought, in word. I crave no other testimony but this. That you would all subscribe, and set your hands Unto this writing which you gave to me.

Cambridge:With all our hearts: who hath any pen and ink?

Scroop:My pocket should have one: yea, here it is.

Cambridge:Give it me lord Scroop: there is my name.

Scroop:And there is my name.

Gray:And mine.

Cobham:Sir, let me crave, That you would likewise write your name with theirs, For confirmation of your master’s word, The king of France.

Chartres:That will I noble Lord.

Cobham:So now this action is well knit together, And I am for you: where’s our meeting, lords?

Cambridge:Here if you please, the tenth of July next.

Cobham:In Kent? agreed: now let us in to supper, I hope your honors will not away tonight.

Cambridge:Yes presently, for I have far to ride, About soliciting of other friends.

Scroop:And we would not be absent from the court, Lest thereby grow suspicion in the king.

Cobham:Yet taste a cup of wine before ye go.

Cambridge:Not now my lord, we thank you: so farewell.

Cobham:Farewell my noble lords: my noble lords? My noble villains, base conspirators, How can they look his Highness in the face, Whom they so closely study to betray? But i’ll not sleep until I make it known. This head shall not be burdened with such thoughts, Nor in this heart will I conceal a deed Of such impiety against my king. Madam, how now?

Enter Harpoole and the rest.

Lady:You are welcome home, my Lord, Why seem ye so disquiet in your looks? What hath befall’n you that disquiets your mind?

Lady Powis:Bad news I am afraid touching my husband.

Cobham:Madam, not so: there is your husband’s pardon, Long may ye live, each joy unto the other.

Powis:So great a kindness as I know not how to make reply, my sense is quite confounded.

Cobham:Let that alone: and madam stay me not, For I must back unto the court again With all the speed I can: Harpoole, my horse.

Lady:So soon my Lord? what will you ride all night?

Cobham:All night or day it must be so, sweet wife, Urge me not why or what my business is, But get you in: Lord Powis, bear with me, And madam, think your welcome ne’er the worse: My house is at your use. Harpoole, away.

Harpoole:Shall I attend your lordship to the court?

Cobham:Yea sir, your gelding, mount you presently

exeunt.

Lady:I prithee Harpoole, look unto thy Lord, I do not like this sudden posting back.

Powis:Some earnest business is afoot belike, Whate’er it be, pray God be his good guide.

Lady Powis:Amen that hath so highly us bested.

Lady:Come madam, and my lord, we’ll hope the best, You shall not into Wales till he return.

Powis:Though great occasion be we should depart, yet madam will we stay to be resolved, of this unlooked for doubtful accident.

Exeunt.

Enter Murley and his men, prepared in some filthy order for war.

Murley:Come my hearts of flint, modestly, decently, soberly, and handsomely, no man afore his Leader, follow your master, your Captain, your Knight that shall be, for the honor of Mealmen, Millers, and Maltmen dun is the mouse, Dick and Tom for the credit of Dunstable, ding down the enemy tomorrow, ye shall not come into the field like beggars, where be Leonard and Laurence my two loaders, Lord have mercy upon us, what a world is this? I would give a couple of shillings for a dozen of good feathers for ye, and forty pence for as many scarves to set ye out withal, frost and snow, a man has no heart to fight till he be brave.

Dick:Master I hope we be no babes, for our manhood, our bucklers, and our town footballs can bear witness: and this light ’parel we have shall off, and we’ll fight naked afore we run away.

Tom:Nay, I am of Laurence’ mind for that, for he means to leave his life behind him, he and Leonard your two loaders are making their wills because they have wives, now we Bachelors bid our friends scramble for our goods if we die: but master, pray ye let me ride upon Cut.

Murley:Meal and salt, wheat and malt, fire and tow, frost and snow, why Tom thou shalt: let me see, here are you, William and George are with my cart, and Robin and Hodge holding my own two horses, proper men, handsome men, tall men, true men.

Dick:But master, master, methinks you are a mad man, to hazard your own person and a cart load of money too.

Tom:Yea, and master there’s a worse matter in ’t, if it be as I heard say, we go to fight against all the learned Bishops, that should give us their blessing, and if they curse us, we shall speed ne’er the better.

Dick:Nay by ’r lady, some say the King takes their part, and master, dare you fight against the King?

Murley:Fie paltry, paltry in and out, to and fro upon occasion, if the King be so unwise to come there, we’ll fight with him too.

Tom:What if ye should kill the King?

Murley:Then we’ll make another.

Dick:Is that all, do ye not speak treason?

Murley:If we do, who dare trip us? we come to fight for our conscience, and for honor, little know you what is in my bosom, look here mad knaves, a pair of guilt spurs.

Tom:A pair of golden spurs? why do you not put them on your heels? your bosom’s no place for spurs.

Murley:Be ’t more or less upon occasion, Lord have mercy us, Tom th’ art a fool, and thou speakest treason to knighthood, dare any wear golden or silver spurs till he be a knight? no, I shall be knighted tomorrow, and then they shall on: sirs, was it ever read in the church book of Dunstable, that ever maltman was made knight?

Tom:No but you are more, you are mealman, maltman, miller, corn-master and all.

Dick:Yea, and half a brewer too, and the devil and all for wealth, you bring more money with you, than all the rest.

Murley:The more’s my honor, I shall be a knight tomorrow, let me ’spose my men, Tom upon cut, Dick upon hob, Hodge upon Ball, Rafe upon Sorrel, and Robin upon the fore-horse.

Enter Acton, Bourne, and Beverley.

Tom:Stand, who comes there?

Acton:All friends, good fellow.

Murley:Friends and fellows indeed sir Roger.

Acton:Why thus you show yourself a Gentleman, To keep your day, and come so well prepared, Your cart stands yonder, guarded by your men, Who tell me it is loaden well with coin, What sum is there?

Murley:Ten thousand pound sir Roger, and modestly, decently, soberly, and handsomely, see what I have here against I be knighted.

Acton:Gilt spurs? ’tis well.

Murley:But where’s our army sir?

Acton:Dispersed in sundry villages about, Some here with us in Highgate, some at Finchley, Totnam, Enfield, Edmonton, Newington, Islington, Hogsdon, Pancredge, Kensington, Some nearer Thames, Ratcliffe, Blackwall and Bow, But our chief strength must be the Londoners, Which ere the Sun tomorrow shine, Will be near fifty thousand in the field.

Murley:Marry God dild ye dainty my dear, but upon occasion sir Roger Acton, doth not the King know of it, and gather his power against us.

Acton:No, he’s secure at Eltham.

Murley:What do the Clergy?

Acton:Fear extremely, yet prepare no force.

Murley:In and out, to and fro, Bully my boikin, we shall carry the world afore us, I vow by my worship, when I am knighted, we’ll take the King napping, if he stand on their part.

Acton:This night we few in Highgate will repose, With the first cock we’ll rise and arm ourselves, To be in Ficket field by break of day, And there expect our General.

Murley:Sir John Oldcastle, what if he come not?

Bourne:Yet our action stands, Sir Roger Acton may supply his place.

Murley:True Master Bourne but who shall make me knight?

Beverley:He that hath power to be our General.

Acton:Talk not of trifles, come let’s away, Our friends of London long till it be day.

exeunt.

Enter sir John of Wrotham and Doll.

Doll:By my troth, thou art as jealous a man as lives.

Sir John:Canst thou blame me Doll, thou art my lands, my goods, my jewels, my wealth, my purse, none walks within forty miles of London, but ’a plies thee as truly, as the parish does the poor man’s box.

Doll:I am as true to thee, as the stone is in the wall, and thou knowest well enough sir John, I was in as good doing, when I came to thee, as any wench need to be: and therefore thou hast tried me, that thou hast: by God’s body, I will not be kept as I have been, that I will not.

Sir John:Doll, if this blade hold, there’s not a pedlar walks with a pack, but thou shalt as boldly choose of his wares, as with thy ready money in a Merchant’s shop, we’ll have as good silver as the King coins any.

Doll:What is all the gold spent you took the last day from the Courtier?

Sir John:’Tis gone Doll, ’tis flown, merrily come, merrily gone, he comes o’ horseback that must pay for all, we’ll have as good meat, as money can get, and as good gowns, as can be bought for gold, be merry wench, the maltman comes on monday.

Doll:You might have left me at Cobham, until you had been better provided for.

Sir John:No sweet Doll, no, I do not like that, yond old ruffian is not for the priest, I do not like a new clerk should come in the old belfry.

Doll:Ah thou art a mad priest i’ faith.

Sir John:Come Doll, I’ll see thee safe at some alehouse here at Cray, and the next sheep that comes shall leave his fleece.

exeunt.

Enter the King, Suffolk and Butler.

Harry:[in great haste.] My lord of Suffolk, post away for life, And let our forces of such horse and foot, As can be gathered up by any means, Make speedy rendezvous in Tuttle fields, It must be done this evening my Lord, This night the rebels mean to draw to head Near Islington, which if your speed prevent not, If once they should unite their several forces, Their power is almost thought invincible, Away my Lord I will be with you soon.

Suffolk:I go my Sovereign with all happy speed.

exit

Harry:Make haste my lord of Suffolk as you love us, Butler, post you to London with all speed. Command the Mayor, and shrieves, on their allegiance, The city gates be presently shut up, And guarded with a strong sufficient watch, And not a man be suffered to pass, Without a special warrant from ourself. Command the Postern by the Tower be kept, And proclamation on the pain of death, That not a citizen stir from his doors, Except such as the Mayor and Shrieves shall choose, For their own guard, and safety of their persons, Butler away, have care unto my charge.

Butler:I go my Sovereign.

Harry:Butler.

Butler:My Lord.

Harry:Go down by Greenwich, and command a boat, At the Friar’s bridge attend my coming down.

Butler:I will my Lord.

exit

Harry:It’s time I think to look unto rebellion, When Acton doth expect unto his aid, No less than fifty thousand Londoners, Well, I’ll to Westminster in this disguise, To hear what news is stirring in these brawls.

Enter sir John.

Sir John:Stand true man says a thief?

Harry:Stand thief, says a true man, how if a thief?

Sir John:Stand thief too.

Harry:Then thief or true man I see I must stand, I see howsoever the world wags, the trade of thieving yet will never down, what art thou?

Sir John:A good fellow.

Harry:So am I too, I see thou dost know me.

Sir John:If thou be a good fellow, play the good fellow’s part, deliver thy purse without more ado.

Harry:I have no money.

Sir John:I must make you find some before we part, if you have no money you shall have ware, as many sound dry blows as your skin can carry.

Harry:Is that the plain truth?

Sir John:Sirrah no more ado, come, come, give me the money you have, dispatch, I cannot stand all day.

Harry:Well, if thou wilt needs have it, there ’tis: just the proverb, one thief robs another, where the devil are all my old thieves, that were wont to keep this walk? Falstaff the villain is so fat, he cannot get on’s horse, but methinks Poins and Peto should be stirring hereabouts.

Sir John:How much is there on ’t of thy word?

Harry:A hundred pound in Angels, on my word, The time has been I would have done as much For thee, if thou hadst passed this way, as I have now.

Sir John:Sirrah, what art thou, thou seem’st a gentleman?

Harry:I am no less, yet a poor one now, for thou hast all my money.

Sir John:From whence cam’st thou?

Harry:From the court at Eltham.

Sir John:Art thou one of the King’s servants?

Harry:Yes that I am and one of his chamber.

Sir John:I am glad thou art no worse, thou mayst the better spare thy money, and think’st thou thou might’st get a poor thief his pardon if he should have need.

Harry:Yes that I can.

Sir John:Wilt thou do so much for me, when I shall have occasion?

Harry:Yes faith will I, so it be for no murder.

Sir John:Nay, I am a pitiful thief, all the hurt I do a man, I take but his purse, I’ll kill no man.

Harry:Then of my word I’ll do it.

Sir John:Give me thy hand of the same.

Harry:There ’tis.

Sir John:Methinks the King should be good to thieves because he has been a thief himself, though I think now he be turned true man.

Harry:Faith I have heard indeed he has had an ill name that way in his youth, but how canst thou tell he has been a thief?

Sir John:How? because he once robbed me before I fell to the trade myself, when that foul villainous guts, that led him to all that roguery, was in ’s company there, that Falstaff.

Harry:[aside.] Well if he did rob thee then, thou art but even with him now I’ll be sworn: thou knowest not the king now, I think, if thou sawest him?

Sir John:Not I i’ faith.

Harry:[aside.] So it should seem.

Sir John:Well, if old King Henry had lived, this King that is now, had made thieving the best trade in England.

Harry:Why so?

Sir John:Because he was the chief warden of our company, it’s pity that ere he should have been a King, he was so brave a thief, but sirrah, wilt remember my pardon if need be?

Harry:Yes faith will I.

Sir John:Wilt thou? well then because thou shalt go safe, for thou mayest hap (being so early) be met with again, before thou come to Southwark, if any man when he should bid thee good morrow, bid thee stand, say thou but sir John, and he will let thee pass.

Harry:Is that the word? well then let me alone.

Sir John:Nay sirrah, because I think indeed I shall have some occasion to use thee, and as thou com’st oft this way, I may light on thee another time not knowing thee, here, i’ll break this Angel, take thou half of it, this is a token betwixt thee and me.

Harry:God have mercy, farewell.

exit

Sir John:O my fine golden slaves, here’s for thee wench i’ faith, now Doll, we will revel in our bever, this is a tithe pig of my vicarage, God have mercy neighbor Shooters hill, you paid your tithe honestly. Well I hear there is a company of rebels up against the King, got together in Ficket field near Holborn, and as it is thought here in Kent, the King will be there tonight in ’s own person, well i’ll to the King’s camp, and it shall go hard, but if there be any doings, I’ll make some good boot amongst them.

exit.

Enter King Henry, Suffolk, Huntington, and two with lights.

Harry:My Lords of Suffolk and of Huntington, Who scouts it now? or who stands Sentinels? What men of worth? what Lords do walk the round?

Suffolk:May it please your Highness.

Harry: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 havoc in the common wealth, Is London looked unto?

Huntington: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 Gray, Do walk the Round, Lord Scroop and Butler scout, So though it please your majesty to jest, Were you in bed, well might you take your rest,

Harry:I thank ye Lords, but you do know of old, That I have been a perfect night-walker, London you say is safely looked unto, Alas poor rebels, there your aid must fail, And the Lord Cobham sir John Oldcastle, He’s quiet in Kent, Acton ye are deceived, Reckon again, you count without your host, Tomorrow 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 football, fellows all in field, Harry, and Dick, and George, bring us a drum, Give us square dice, we’ll keep this court of guard, For all good fellows’ companies that come. Where’s that mad priest ye told me was in Arms, To fight, as well as pray, if need required?

Suffolk:He’s in the Camp, and if he knew of this, I undertake he would not be long hence.

Harry:Trip Dick, Trip George.

they trip.

Huntington:I must have the dice, What do we play at?

they play at dice.

Suffolk:Passage if ye please.

Huntington:Set round then, so, at all.

Harry:George, you are out. Give me the dice, I pass for twenty pound, Here’s to our lucky passage into France.

Huntington:Harry you pass indeed for you sweep all.

Suffolk:A sign king Harry shall sweep all in France.

enter sir John

Sir John:Edge ye good fellows, take a fresh gamester in.

Harry:Master Parson? we play nothing but gold?

Sir John:And fellow, I tell thee that the priest hath gold, gold? ’sblood ye are but beggarly soldiers to me, I think I have more gold than all you three.

Huntington:It may be so, but we believe it not.

Harry:Set priest set, I pass for all that gold.

Sir John:Ye pass indeed.

Harry:Priest, hast thou any more?

Sir John:Zounds what a question’s that? I tell thee I have more than all you three, At these ten Angels.

Harry:I wonder how thou com’st by all this gold, How many benefices hast thou priest?

Sir John:I’ 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 Bishopric of Rochester, there’s ne’er a hill, heath, nor down in all Kent, but ’tis in my parish, Barham down, Cobham down, Gadshill, Wrotham hill, Blackheath, Coxheath, Birchen wood, all pay me tithe, gold quoth ’a? ye pass not for that.

Suffolk:Harry ye 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?

Suffolk:Say’st thou so priest? set fair, at all for once.

Harry:Out sir, pay all.

Sir John:’Sblood pay me angel gold, I’ll none of your cracked French crowns nor pistolets, Pay me fair angel gold, as I pay you.

Harry:No cracked french crowns? I hope to see more cracked french crowns ere long.

Sir John:Thou meanest of French men’s crowns, when the King is in France.

Huntington:Set round, at all.

Sir John:Pay all: this is some luck.

Harry:Give me the dice, ’tis I must shred the priest: At all sir John.

Sir John:The devil and all is yours: at that: ’sdeath, what casting is this?

Suffolk:Well thrown Harry i’ faith.

Harry:I’ll cast better yet.

Sir John:Then I’ll be hanged. Sirrah, hast thou not given thy soul to the devil for casting?

Harry:I pass for all.

Sir John:Thou passest all that e’er I played withal: Sirrah, dost thou not cog, nor foist, nor slur?

Harry:Set parson, set, the dice die in my hand: When parson, when? what can ye find no more? Already dry? was’t you bragged of your store?

Sir John:All’s gone but that.

Huntington:What, half a broken angel?

Sir John:Why sir, ’tis gold.

Harry:Yea, and I’ll cover it.

Sir John:The devil do ye good on ’t, I am blind, ye have blown me up.

Harry:Nay tarry priest, ye shall not leave us yet, Do not these pieces fit each other well?

Sir John:What if they do?

Harry:Thereby begins a tale: There was a thief, in face much like sir John, But was 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 stormed at it, and swore to be revenged 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 ye to your tools By torch light, for master parson you are he That had my gold.

Sir John:Zounds I won ’t in play, in fair square play of the keeper of Eltham park, and that I will maintain with this poor whinyard, be you two honest men to stand and look upon ’s, and let’s alone, and take neither part.

Harry:Agreed, I charge ye do not budge afoot foot, Sir John have at ye.

Sir John:Soldier ’ware your sconce.

Here as they are ready to strike, enter Butler and draws his weapon and steps betwixt them.

Butler:Hold villains 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.

Harry:Butler what news? why dost thou trouble us?

Butler:Please it your Highness, it is break of day, And as I scouted near to Islington, The gray-eyed morning gave me glimmering, Of armed men coming down Highgate hill, Who by their course are coasting hitherward.

Harry: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 hanged up for example sake.

Sir John:Not so my gracious sovereign, I confess I am a frail man, flesh and blood as other are: but set my imperfections aside, by this light ye have not a taller man nor a truer subject to the Crown and State, than sir John of Wrotham.

Harry:Will a true subject rob his King?

Sir John:Alas ’twas ignorance and want, my gracious liege.

Harry:’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.

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 humor for death, therefore save my life, God will that sinners live; do not you cause me die, once in their lives the best may go astray, and if the world say true, yourself (my liege) have been a thief.

Harry:I confess I have, But I repent and have reclaimed myself.

Sir John:So will I do if you will give me time.

Harry:Wilt thou? my lords, will you be his sureties?

Huntington:That when he robs again, he shall be hanged.

Sir John:I ask no more.

Harry: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 et currat lex, my liege, if ye have cause of battle, ye shall see sir John of Wrotham bestir himself in your quarrel.

exeunt.

After an alarum enter Harry, Suffolk, Huntington, sir John, bringing forth Acton, Beverley, and Murley prisoners.

Harry:Bring in those traitors, whose aspiring minds, Thought to have triumphed 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 tempered, Than join with peasants, gentry is divine, But thou hast made it more than popular.

Acton:Pardon my Lord, my conscience urged me to it,

Harry:Thy conscience? then thy conscience is corrupt, For in thy conscience thou art bound to us, And in thy conscience thou shouldst love thy country, Else what’s the difference twixt a Christian, And the uncivil manners of the Turk?

Beverley:We meant no hurt unto your majesty, But reformation of Religion.

Harry:Reform Religion? was it that ye sought? I pray who gave you that authority? Belike then we do hold the sceptre 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?

Suffolk:A maltman my Lord, And dwelling in Dunstable as he says.

Harry:Sirrah what made you leave your barley broth, To come in armor thus against your King?

Murley:Fie paltry, paltry to and fro, in and out upon occasion, what a world’s this? knighthood (my liege) ’twas knighthood brought me hither, they told me I had wealth enough to make my wife a lady.

Harry:And so you brought those horses which we saw, Trapped all in costly furniture, and meant To wear these spurs when you were knighted once.

Murley:In and out upon occasion I did.

Harry:In and out upon occasion, therefore you shall be hanged, 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.

Murley:Fie paltry paltry, to and fro, good my liege a pardon, I am sorry for my fault.

Harry:That comes too late: but tell me, went there none Beside sir Roger Acton, upon whom You did depend to be your governor?

Murley:None none my Lord, but sir John Oldcastle.

Harry:Bears he part in this conspiracy.

enter Bishop

Acton:We looked my Lord that he would meet us here.

Harry:But did he promise you that he would come.

Acton:Such letters we received forth of Kent.

Bishop:Where is my Lord the King? health to your grace, Examining my Lord some of these caitiff rebels, It is a general voice amongst them all, That they had never come unto this place, But to have met their valiant general, The good Lord Cobham as they title him, Whereby, my Lord, your grace may now perceive, His treason is apparent, which before He sought to color by his flattery.

Harry:Now by my royalty I would have sworn, But for his conscience, which I bear withal, There had not lived a more true-hearted subject.

Bishop:It is but counterfeit, my gracious lords, And therefore may it please your majesty, To set your hand unto this precept here, By which we’ll cause him forthwith to appear, And answer this by order of the law.

Harry:Bishop, not only that, but take commission, To search, attach, imprison, and condemn, This most notorious traitor as you please.

Bishop:It shall be done, my Lord, without delay: So now I hold Lord Cobham in my hand, That which shall finish thy disdained life.

Harry:I think the iron age begins but now, (Which learned poets have so often taught) Wherein there is no credit to be given, To either words, or looks, or solemn oaths, For if there were, how often hath he sworn, How gently tuned the music of his tongue, And with what amiable face beheld he me, When all, God knows, was but hypocrisy.

enter Cobham.

Cobham:Long life and prosperous reign unto my Lord.

Harry:Ah villain, canst thou wish prosperity, Whose heart includeth naught but treachery? I do arrest thee here myself, false knight, Of treason capital against the state.

Cobham:Of treason mighty prince, your grace mistakes, I hope it is but in the way of mirth.

Harry:Thy neck shall feel it is in earnest shortly, Dar’st thou intrude into our presence, knowing How heinously thou hast offended us? But this is thy accustomed deceit, Now thou perceiv’st thy purpose is in vain, With some excuse or other thou wilt come, To clear thyself of this rebellion.

Cobham:Rebellion good my Lord, I know of none.

Harry:If you deny it, here is evidence, See you these men, you never counselled, Nor offered them assistance in their wars

Cobham:Speak sirs, not one but all, I crave no favor, Have ever I been conversant with you, Or written letters to encourage you, Or kindled but the least or smallest part, Of this your late unnatural rebellion? Speak for I dare the uttermost you can.

Murley:In and out upon occasion I know you not.

Harry:No, didst not say that sir John Oldcastle, Was one with whom you purposed to have met?

Murley:True, I did say so, but in what respect? Because I heard it was reported so.

Harry:Was there no other argument but that?

Acton:To clear my conscience ere I die my lord, I must confess, we have no other ground But only Rumor, to accuse this lord, Which now I see was merely fabulous.

Harry:The more pernicious you to taint him then, Whom you knew not was faulty yea or no.

Cobham: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.

Harry:Earl Cambridge, Scroop, and Gray corrupted With bribes from Charles of France, either to win My Crown from me, or secretly contrive My death by treason? Is this possible?

Cobham:There is the platform, and their hands, my lord, Each severally subscribed to the same.

Harry: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.

Murley:Be it more or less, what a world is this? Would I had continued still of the order of knaves, And never sought knighthood, since it costs So dear: sir Roger, I may thank you for all.

Acton:Now ’tis too late to have it remedied, I prithee Murley do not urge me with it.

Huntington:Will you away, and make no more to do?

Murley:Fie paltry paltry, to and fro, as occasion serves, If you be so hasty take my place.

Huntington:No good sir knight, you shall begin in your hand.

Murley:I could be glad to give my betters place.

Exeunt.

Enter Bishop, lord Warden, Cromer the Shrieve, Lady Cobham and attendants.

Bishop:I tell ye Lady, it’s not possible But you should know where he conveys himself, And you have hid him in some secret place.

Lady:My Lord, believe me, as I have a soul, I know not where my lord my husband is.

Bishop:Go to, go to ye are an heretic, And will be forced by torture to confess, If fair means will not serve to make ye tell.

Lady:My husband is a noble gentleman, And need not hide himself for any fact That e’er I heard of, therefore wrong him not.

Bishop:Your husband is a dangerous schismatic, 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.

Lord Warden:Good my Lord Bishop pacify your wrath Against the Lady.

Bishop:Then let her confess Where Oldcastle her husband is concealed.

Lord Warden:I dare engage mine honor and my life, Poor gentlewoman, she is ignorant, And innocent of all his practices, If any evil by him be practiced.

Bishop:If my Lord Warden? nay then I charge you, That all the cinque Ports whereof you are chief Be laid forthwith, that he escape us not, Show him his highness’ warrant Master Shrieve.

Lord Warden:I am sorry for the noble gentleman,

Enter Oldcastle and Harpoole

Bishop:Peace, he comes here, now do your office.

Cobham:Harpoole 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.

Harpoole:Be of good cheer my Lord, if they be foes we’ll scramble shrewdly with them, if they be friends they are welcome: one of them (my Lord Warden) is your friend, but methinks my lady weeps, I like not that.

Cromer:Sir John Oldcastle Lord Cobham, in the King’s majesty’s name, I arrest ye of high treason.

Cobham:Treason Master Cromer?

Harpoole:Treason Master Shrieve, ’sblood what treason?

Cobham:Harpoole I charge thee stir not, but be quiet still, Do ye arrest me Master Shrieve for treason?

Bishop:Yea of high treason, traitor, heretic.

Cobham: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.

Bishop:What thou art, the king’s hand shall testify, Show ’t him Lord Warden.

Cobham:Jesu defend me, Is ’t possible your cunning could so temper The princely disposition of his mind, To sign the damage of a royal subject? Well, the best is, it bears an antedate, Procured by my absence, and your malice, But I, since that, have showed 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.

Bishop:We are not bound to do kind offices For any traitor, schismatic, nor heretic, 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.

Harpoole:O that it were the blessed will of God, that thou and I were within twenty mile of it, on Salisbury plain! I would lose my head if ever thou brought’st thy head hither again.

aside.

Cobham:My Lord Warden o’ th cinque Ports, and my Lord of Rochester, ye are joint Commissioners, favor me so much, On my expense to bring me to the king.

Bishop:What, to Southampton?

Cobham:Thither my god 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 favor, but extremest torture. Bring me, or send me to him, good my Lord, Good my Lord Warden, Master Shrieve, entreat. [Here the Lord Warden, and Cromer uncover to the Bishop, and secretly whispers with him.] Come hither lady, nay, sweet wife forbear, To heap one sorrow on another’s neck, ’Tis grief enough falsely to be accused, And not permitted to acquit myself, Do not thou with thy kind respective tears, 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.

Lady:O my dear Lord, what shall betide of us? You to the Tower, and I turned out of doors, Our substance seized unto his highness’ use, Even to the garments ’longing to our backs.

Harpoole:Patience good madam, things at worst will mend, And if they do not, yet our lives may end.

Bishop: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.

Cromer:But by your leave, this warrant doth not stretch To imprison her.

Bishop:No, turn her out of doors, [Lord Warden and Oldcastle whisper.] Even as she is, and lead him to the Tower, With guard enough for fear of rescuing.

Lady:O God requite thee thou bloodthirsty man.

Cobham:May it not be my Lord of Rochester? Wherein have I incurred your hate so far, That my appeal unto the King’s denied?

Bishop:No hate of mine, but power of holy church, Forbids all favor to false heretics.

Cobham:Your private malice more than public power, Strikes most at me, but with my life it ends.

Harpoole:[aside] O that I had the Bishop in that fear, That once I had his Sumner by ourselves.

Cromer:My Lord yet grant one suit unto us all, That this same ancient serving-man may wait Upon my lord his master in the Tower.

Bishop:This old iniquity, this heretic? That in contempt of our church discipline, Compelled my Sumner to devour his process Old Ruffian past-grace, upstart schismatic, Had not the King prayed us to pardon ye, Ye had fried for it, ye grizzled heretic.

Harpoole:’Sblood my lord Bishop, ye do me wrong, I am neither heretic nor puritan, but of the old church, i’ll swear, drink ale, kiss a wench, go to mass, eat fish all Lent, and fast fridays with cakes and wine, fruit and spicery, shrive me of my old sins afore Easter, and begin new afore whitsuntide.

Cromer:A merry mad conceited knave my lord.

Harpoole:That knave was simply put upon the Bishop.

Bishop: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.

Cobham:God bless my soul from such cold charity,

Bishop:To th’ 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.

Lord Warden:Yes my lord.

Enter the Sumner with books.

Bishop:What bring’st thou there? what? books of heresy.

Sumner: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 meter, The sickman’s salve, the treasure of gladness, And all in English, not so much but the Almanac’s English.

Bishop:Away with them, to th’ fire with them Clun, Now fie upon these upstart heretics, All English, burn them, burn them quickly Clun.

Harpoole:But do not Sumner as you’ll answer it, for I have there English books my lord, that i’ll not part with for your Bishopric, Bevis of Hampton, Owlglass, the Friar and the Boy, Ellen of Rumming, Robin hood, and other such godly stories which if ye burn, by this flesh i’ll make ye drink their ashes in Saint Marg’et’s ale.

exeunt.

Enter the Bishop of Rochester with his men, in livery coats.

1. Servant:Is it your honor’s pleasure we shall stay, Or come back in the afternoon to fetch you.

Bishop:Now you have brought me here into the Tower, You may go back unto the Porter’s Lodge, And send for drink or such things as you want, 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. Servant:We will attend your worship here without.

Bishop:Do so I pray you.

3. Servant:Come, we may have a quart of wine at the Rose at Barking, I warrant you, and come back an hour before he be ready to go.

1. Servant:We must hie us then.

3. Servant:Let’s away.

exeunt.

Bishop:Ho, Master Lieutenant.

Lieutenant:Who calls there?

Bishop:A friend of yours.

Lieutenant:My lord of Rochester, your honor’s welcome.

Bishop:Sir here’s my warrant from the Council, For conference with sir John Oldcastle, Upon some matter of great consequence.

Lieutenant:Ho, sir John.

Harpoole:Who calls there?

Lieutenant:Harpoole, tell Sir John, that my lord of Rochester comes from the council to confer with him.

Harpoole:I will sir.

Lieutenant:I think you may as safe without suspicion, As any man in England as I hear, For it was you most labored his commitment.

Bishop:I did sir, and nothing repent it I assure you. [Enter sir John Oldcastle.] Master Lieutenant I pray you give us leave, I must confer here with sir John a little.

Lieutenant:With all my heart my lord.

Harpoole:[aside.] My lord be ruled by me, take this occasion while ’tis offered, and on my life your lordship shall escape.

Cobham:No more I say, peace lest he should suspect it.

Bishop:Sir John I am come unto you from the lords of his highness most honorable council, to know if yet you do recant your errors, conforming you unto the holy church.

Cobham: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.

Bishop:What means? thou heretic? Dar’st thou but lift thy hand against my calling?

Cobham:No not to hurt you for a thousand pound,

Harpoole:Nothing but to borrow your upper garments a little; not a word more, for if you do, you die: peace, for waking the children, there, put them on, dispatch, my lord, the window that goes out into the leads, is sure enough, I told you that before, there, make you ready, i’ll convey him after, and bind him surely in the inner room.

Cobham:This is well begun, God send us happy speed, Hard shift you see men make in time of need: Harpoole.

Harpoole:Here my Lord, come come away.

Enter serving-men again.

1. Servant:I marvel that my lord should stay so long.

2. Servant:He hath sent to seek us, I dare lay my life.

3. Servant:We come in good time, see where he is coming.

Harpoole:I beseech you good my lord of Rochester, be favorable to my lord and master.

Cobham:The inner rooms be very hot and close, I do not like this air here in the Tower.

Harpoole:His case is hard my lord, you shall safely get out of the Tower, but I will down upon them, in which time get you away.

Cobham:Fellow thou troublest me.

Harpoole:Hear me my Lord, hard under Islington wait you my coming, I will bring my Lady ready, with horses to convey you hence.

Cobham:Fellow, go back again unto thy Lord and counsel him.

Harpoole:Nay my good lord of Rochester, i’ll bring you to Saint Albans through the woods, I warrant you.

Cobham:Villain away.

Harpoole:Nay since I am past the Tower’s liberty, thou part’st not so.

he draws.

Bishop:Clubs clubs, clubs.

1. Servant:Murder, murder murder.

2. Servant:Down with him.

they fight.

3. Servant:A villain traitor.

Harpoole:You cowardly rogues.

sir John escapes.

Enter Lieutenant and his men.

Lieutenant:Who is so bold as dare to draw a sword, So near unto the entrance of the Tower?

1. Servant:This ruffian servant to sir John Oldcastle was like to have slain my Lord.

Lieutenant:Lay hold on him.

Harpoole:Stand off if you love your puddings.

Rochester calls within.

Rochester:[within.] Help help, help, Master Lieutenant help.

Lieutenant:Who’s that within? some treason in the Tower upon my life, look in, who’s that which calls?

enter Rochester bound.

Lieutenant:Without your cloak my lord of Rochester?

Harpoole:There, now it works, then let me speed, for now is the fittest time for me to scape away.

exit

Lieutenant:Why do you look so ghastly and affrighted?

Rochester:Oldcastle that traitor and his man, When you had left me to confer with him, Took, bound, and stripped me, as you see, And left me lying in his inner chamber, And so departed, and I

Lieutenant:And you! ne’er say that the Lord Cobham’s man Did here set upon you like to murder you.

1. Servant:And so he did.

Rochester:It was upon his master then he did, That in the brawl the traitor might escape.

Lieutenant:Where is this Harpoole?

2. Servant:Here he was even now.

Lieutenant:Where can you tell? they are both escaped, Since it so happens that he is escaped, I am glad you are a witness of the same, It might have else been laid unto my charge, That I had been consenting to the fact.

Rochester:Come, search shall be made for him with expedition, the havens laid that he shall not escape, and hue and cry continue through England, to find this damned dangerous heretic.

exeunt.

Enter Cambridge, Scroop, and Gray, as in a chamber, and set down at a table, consulting about their treason: King Harry and Suffolk list’ning at the door.

Cambridge:In mine opinion, Scroop hath well advised, Poison will be the only aptest mean, And fittest for our purpose to dispatch him.

Gray:But yet there may be doubt in their delivery, Harry is wise, therefore Earl of Cambridge, I Judge that way not so convenient.

Scroop:What think ye then of this? I am his bedfellow, 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 like ye that?

Cambridge:Herein consists no safety for yourself, And you disclosed, what shall become of us? But this day (as ye know) he will aboard, The wind so fair, and set away for France, If as he goes, or ent’ring in the ship, It might be done, then it were excellent,

Gray:Why any of these, or if you will, I’ll cause a present sitting of the Council, Wherein I will pretend some matter of such weight, As needs must have his royal company, And to dispatch him in the Council chamber.

Cambridge: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.

They rise from the table, and the King steps in to them with his Lords.

Scroop:What shall we rise thus, and determine nothing?

Harry: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 this King, Then you shall see how I can further ye, Scroope’s way by poison was indifferent, But yet being bedfellow unto 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, Yet somewhat doubtful; might I speak my mind, For many reasons needless now to urge. Marry Lord Gray came something near the point, To have the King at council, and there murder him, As Caesar was amongst his dearest friends: None like to that, if all were of his mind. Tell me oh tell me you bright honor’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?

Cambridge, Scroop, Gray:Oh pardon us dread lord.

all kneeling.

Harry:How pardon ye? that were a sin indeed, Drag them to death, which justly they deserve, [they lead them away.] 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.

Enter the host, sir John Oldcastle, and Harpoole.

Host:Sir, you are welcome to this house, to such as here is with all my heart, but by the mass 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.

Cobham:In faith sir, for myself I do not greatly pass, My wife is weary, and would be at rest, For we have traveled very far today, We must be content with such as you have.

Host:But I cannot tell how to do with your man.

Harpoole:What, hast thou never an empty room in thy house for me?

Host:Not a-bed bed by my troth: there came a poor Irish man, and I lodged him in the barn, where he has fair straw, though he have nothing else.

Harpoole:Well mine host, I pray thee help me to a pair of fair sheets, and I’ll go lodge with him.

Host:By the mass that thou shalt, a good pair of hempen sheets, were never lain in: Come.

exeunt.

Enter Constable, Mayor, and Watch.

Mayor:What have you searched the town?

Constable:All the town sir, we have not left a house unsearched that uses to lodge.

Mayor:Surely my lord of Rochester was then deceived, Or ill informed of sir John Oldcastle, Or if he came this way, he’s past the town, He could not else have scaped you in the search.

Constable: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 pretty wench, That says she is his wife, yonder at the shears: But we have charged the host with his forthcoming Tomorrow morning.

Mayor:What think you best to do?

Constable:Faith master mayor, here’s a few straggling houses beyond the bridge, and a little Inn where carriers use to lodge, though 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 Irish man, that had done a murder, whom we are to make search for.

Mayor:Come I pray you, and be circumspect.

exeunt

Constable:First beset the house, before you begin the search.

Officer:Content, every man take a several place. [here is heard a great noise within.] Keep, keep, strike him down there, down with him.

Enter Constable with the Irish man in Harpoole’s apparel.

Constable:Come you villainous heretic, confess where your master is.

Irishman:Vat mester?

Mayor:Vat mester, you counterfeit rebel, this shall not serve your turn.

Irishman:Be sent Patrick I ha’ no mester.

Constable:Where’s the lord Cobham sir John Oldcastle that lately is escaped out of the Tower.

Irishman:Vat lort Cobham?

Mayor:You counterfeit, this shall not serve you, we’ll torture you, we’ll make you to confess where that arch-heretic Lord Cobham is: come bind him fast.

Irishman:Ahone, ahone, ahone, a Cree.

Constable:Ahone, you crafty rascal?

exeunt.

Lord Cobham comes out in his gown stealing.

Cobham:Harpoole, Harpoole, I hear a marvelous noise about the house, God warrant us, I fear we are pursued: what Harpoole.

Harpoole:[within.] Who calls there?

Cobham:’Tis I, dost thou not hear a noise about the house?

Harpoole:Yes marry do I, ’swounds, I can not find my hose, this Irish rascal that was lodged with me all night, hath stolen my apparel, and has left me nothing but a lousy mantle, and a pair of brogues. Get up, get up, and if the carrier and his wench be asleep, change you with them as he hath done with me, and see if we can escape.

A noise again heard about the house, a pretty while, then enter the Constable meeting Harpoole in the Irish man’s apparel.

Constable:Stand close, here comes the Irish man that did the murder, by all tokens, this is he.

Mayor:And perceiving the house beset, would get away: stand sirrah.

Harpoole:What art thou that bidst me stand?

Constable:I am the Officer, and am come to search for an Irish man, such a villain as thyself, that hast murdered a man this last night by the highway.

Harpoole:’Sblood Constable, art thou mad? am I an Irish man?

Mayor:Sirrah, we’ll find you an Irish man before we part: lay hold upon him.

Constable:Make him fast: O thou bloody rogue!

Enter Lord Cobham and his lady in the carrier and wench’s apparel.

Cobham:What will these Ostlers sleep all day? Good morrow, good morrow, Come wench, come, Saddle, saddle, now afore God too ford-days, ha?

Constable:Who comes there?

Mayor:Oh ’tis Lancashire carrier, let him pass.

Cobham:What, will nobody open the gates here? Come, let’s int’ stable to look to our capons.

The carrier calling.

Club:[calling] Host, why ostler, zwooks, here’s such abomination company of boys: a pox of this pigsty at the house end, it fills all the house full of fleas, ostler, ostler.

Ostler:Who calls there, what would you have?

Club:Zwooks, do you rob your guests? do you lodge rogues and slaves, and scoundrels, ha? they ha’ stol’n our clothes here: why ostler?

Ostler:A murrain choke you, what a bawling you keep.

Host:How now, what would the carrier have? look up there.

Ostler:They say that the man and woman that lay by them have stol’n their clothes.

Host:What, are the strange folks up yet that came in yesternight?

Constable: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 the Carrier and Kate in lord Cobham and lady’s apparel.

Constable:Who comes here?

Club:Who comes here? a plague found o’ me, you bawl quoth ’a, od’s hat, I’ll forswear your house, you lodged a fellow and his wife by us that ha’ run away with our ’parel, and left us such gewgaws here, come Kate, come to me, thowse dizard i’ faith.

Mayor:Mine host, know you this man?

Host:Yes master Mayor, I’ll give my word for him, why neighbor Club, how comes this gear about?

Kate:Now a foul on ’t, I can not make this gewgaw stand on my head, now the lads and the lasses won flout me too too

Constable: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 lodged all in one chamber by these folks: methinks, have been so bold to change apparel, and gone away this morning ere they rose.

Mayor:That was that villain traitor Oldcastle, that thus escaped us: make out hue and cry yet after him, keep fast that traitorous rebel his servant there: farewell mine host.

Club:Come Kate Owdham, thou and Ise trimly dizard.

Kate:I’ faith neam Club, Ise wot ne’er what to do, Ise be so flouted and so shouted at: but by th’ mess Ise cry.

exeunt.

Enter Priest and Doll.

Sir John:Come Doll, come, be merry wench, Farewell Kent, we are not for thee, Be lusty my lass, come for Lancashire, We must nip the Bung for these crowns.

Doll:Why is all the gold spent already that you had the other day?

Sir John:Gone Doll, gone, flown, spent, vanished, the devil, drink and the dice, has devoured all.

Doll:You might have left me in Kent, that you might, until you had been better provided, I could have stayed at Cobham.

Sir John:No Doll, no, i’ll none of that, Kent’s too hot Doll, Kent’s too hot: the weathercock of Wrotham will crow no longer, we have plucked him, he has lost his feathers, I have pruned him bare, left him thrice, is moulted, is moulted, wench.

Doll:Faith sir John, I might have gone to service again, old master Harpoole told me he would provide me a mistress.

Cobham: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, we want but a little money to buy us a horse, and to spend by the way, the next sheep that comes shall lose his fleece, we’ll have these crowns wench I warrant thee: stay, who comes here? some Irish villain methinks that [enter the Irish man with his master slain.] has slain a man, and draws him out of the way to rifle him: stand close Doll, we’ll see the end.

The Irish man falls to rifle his master.

Irishman:Alas po’ mester, Sir Rishard Lee, be saint Patrick is rob and cut thy t’roat, for dee shain, and de money, and de gold ring, be me truly is love thee well, but now dow be kill thee, beshitten knave.

Sir John:Stand sirrah, what art thou?

Irishman:Be saint Patrick mester i’s poor Irishman, i’s a leufter.

Sir John:Sirrah, sirrah, you are a damned rogue, you have killed a man here, and rifled him of all that he has, ’sblood you rogue deliver, or i’ll not leave you so much as an Irish hair above your shoulders, you whoreson Irish dog, sirrah untruss presently, come off and dispatch, or by this cross i’ll fetch your head off as clean as a bark.

Irishman:Wee’s me saint Patrick, Ise kill me mester for chain and his ring, and nows be rob of all, mees undo.

Priest robs him.

Sir John:Avaunt you rascal, go sirrah, be walking, come Doll the devil laughs, when one thief robs another, come mad wench, we’ll to saint Albans, and revel in our bower, hey my brave girl.

Doll:O thou art old sir John, when all’s done i’ faith.

Enter the host of the Bell with the Irish man.

Irishman:Be me trow mester i’s poor Irishman, i’s want judging, i’s have no money, i’s starve and cold, good mester give her some meat, is famise and tie.

Host:I’ faith my fellow I have no lodging, but what I keep for my guests, that I may not disappoint, as for meat thou shalt have such as there is, and if thou wilt lie in the barn, there’s fair straw, and room enough.

Irishman:I’s thank my mester heartily, de straw is good bed for me.

Host:Ho Robin?

Robin:Who calls?

Host:Show this poor Irishman into the barn, go sirrah.

exeunt.

Enter carrier and Kate.

Club:Ho, who’s within here, who looks to the horses? God’s hat here’s fine work, the hens in the manger, and the hogs in the litter, a bots ’found you all, here’s a house well looked to i’ vaith.

Kate:Mass goff Club, Ise very cawd.

Club:Get in Kate, get in to fire and warm thee.Ho John Ostler.

Ostler:What gaffer Club, welcome to saint Albans, How does all our friends in Lancashire?

Club:Well God have mercy John, how does Tom, where’s he?

Ostler:O Tom is gone from hence, he’s at the three horse-loaves at Stony stratford, how does old Dick Dun?

Club:God’s hat old Dun has been mired in a slough in Brickhill lane, a plague found it, yonder is such abomination weather as never was seen.

Ostler:God’s hat thief, have one half peck of peas and oats more for that, as I am John Ostler, he has been ever as good a jade as ever traveled.

Club:Faith well said old Jack, thou art the old lad still.

Ostler:Come Gaffer Club, unload, unload, and get to supper, and I’ll rub dun the while. Come.

exeunt.

Enter sir John Oldcastle, and his Lady disguised.

Cobham:Come Madam, happily escaped, here let us sit, This place is far remote from any path, And here awhile our weary limbs may rest, To take refreshing, free from the pursuit Of envious Winchester.

Lady: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.

Cobham:No matter love, Extremities admit no better choice, And were it not for thee, say froward time, Imposed a greater task, I would esteem it As lightly as the wind that blows upon us, But in thy sufferance I am doubly tasked, 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,

Lady: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, Behold what my foresight hath underta’en [here’s bread and cheese and a bottle.] For fear we faint, they are but homely cates Yet sauced with hunger, they may seem as sweet, As greater dainties we were wont to taste.

Cobham: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 overflown? Flows not darkness when the day is gone? And see we not sometime the eye of heaven, Dimmed with overflying clouds: 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.

Lady:And I encouraged with your cheerful speech, Will do the like.

Cobham:Pray God poor Harpoole 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.

Lady:Fear not my Lord, he’s witty to devise, And strong to execute a present shift.

Cobham:That power be still his guide hath guided us, My drowsy eyes wax heavy, early rising, Together with the travel we have had, Make me that I could gladly take a nap, Were I persuaded we might be secure.

Lady:Let that depend on me, whilst you do sleep, I’ll watch that no misfortune happen us, Lay then your head upon my lap sweet Lord, And boldly take your rest.

Cobham:I shall dear wife, Be too much trouble to thee.

Lady: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 happened? sleep with gentle hand, Hath shut his eyelids, oh victorious labor, 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.

both sleeps.

Enter sir Richard Lee, and his men

Lee:A murder closely done and in my ground? Search carefully, if anywhere it were, This obscure thicket is the likeliest place.

Servant:Sir I have found the body stiff with cold, And mangled cruelly with many wounds.

Lee:Look if thou knowest him, turn his body up, Alack it is my son, my son and heir, Whom two years since, I sent to Ireland, To practice 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 sluiced out his blood, unhappy hour, Accursed place, but most inconstant fate, That hadst reserved him from the bullet’s fire, And suffered him to scape the wood-kern’s fury, Didst here ordain the treasure of his life, (Even here within the arms of tender peace, And where security gat greatest hope) To be consumed by treason’s wasteful hand? And what is most afflicting to my soul, That this his death and murder should be wrought, Without the knowledge by whose means ’twas done,

2 Servant: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.

Lee:Just judgement of that power, whose gracious eye, Loathing the sight of such a heinous fact, Dazzled their senses with benumbing sleep, Till their unhallowed treachery were known: Awake ye monsters, murderers awake, Tremble for horror, blush you cannot choose, Beholding this inhuman deed of yours.

Cobham:What mean you sir to trouble weary souls, And interrupt us of our quiet sleep?

Lee:Oh devilish! can you boast unto yourselves Of quiet sleep, having within your hearts The guilt of murder waking, that with cries Deafs the loud thunder, and solicits heaven, With more than Mandrake’s shrieks for your offense?

Lady:What murder? you upbraid us wrongfully.

Lee:Can you deny the fact? see you not here, The body of my son by you misdone? 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 stained and spotted with his innocent blood? These speaking characters, were nothing else To plead against ye, would convict you both. Bring them away, bereavers of my joy, At Hartford where the ’Sizes now are kept, Their lives shall answer for my son’s lost life.

Cobham:As we are innocent, so may we speed.

Lee:As I am wronged, so may the law proceed.

exeunt.

Enter bishop of Rochester, constable of Saint Albans, with sir John of Wrotham, Doll his wench, and the Irishman in Harpooles apparel.

Bishop: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 altogether Irish, but in habit Seems to be English: yea and more than so, The servant of that heretic Lord Cobham.

Irishman:Fait’ me be no servant of the lord Cobham’s, Me be MacShane of Ulster.

Bishop:Otherwise called Harpoole of Kent, go to sir, You cannot blind us with your broken Irish.

Sir John:Trust me, my Lord Bishop, whether Irish, Or English, Harpoole or not Harpoole, that I leave to be decided by the trial: But sure I am this man by face and speech Is he that murdered 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.

Bishop: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 conveyed To Hartford ’Size: 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.

Bishop:So, away with them.

exeunt.

Enter Jailer and his man, bringing forth Oldcastle.

Jailer:Bring forth the prisoners, see the court prepared, The Justices are coming to the bench. So, let him stand, away, and fetch the rest.

exeunt.

Cobham:Oh give me patience to endure this scourge, Thou that art fountain of that virtuous stream, And though contempt, false witness, and reproach 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. [Enter Jailer bringing in Lady Oldcastle, and Harpoole.] Here comes my lady, sorrow ’tis for her, Thy wound is grievous, else I scoff at thee. What and poor Harpoole! art thou i’ th’ briars too?

Harpoole:I’ faith my Lord, I am in, get out how I can.

Lady: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 commenced against us?

Cobham: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 it be ordained we must die, And at this instant, this our comfort be, That of the guilt imposed, our souls are free.

Harpoole:Yea, yea my lord, Harpoole is so resolved, I reck of death the less, in that I die Not by the sentence of that envious priest The Bishop of Rochester, oh were it he, Or by his means that I should suffer here, It would be double torment to my soul.

Lady:Well, be it then according as heaven please.

Enter lord Judge, two Justices, Mayor of Saint Albans, lord Powis and his lady, and old sir Richard Lee: the Judge and Justices take their places.

Judge:Now Master Mayor, what gentleman is that, You bring with you, before us and the bench?

Mayor:The Lord Powis if it like your honor, And this his Lady, traveling toward Wales, Who for they lodged last night within my house, And my Lord Bishop did lay search for such, Were very willing to come on with me, Lest for their sakes, suspicion we might wrong.

Judge:We cry your honor mercy good my Lord, Wilt please ye take your place, madam your ladyship, May here or where you will repose yourself, Until this business now in hand be passed.

Lady Powis:I will withdraw into some other room, So that your Lordship, and the rest be pleased.

Judge:With all our hearts: attend the Lady there.

Powis:Wife, I have eyed yond prisoners all this while, And my conceit doth tell me, ’tis our friend, The noble Cobham, and his virtuous Lady.

Lady Powis:I think no less, are they suspected trow ye For doing of this murder?

Powis:What it means, I cannot tell, but we shall know anon, Mean space as you pass by them, ask the question, But do it secretly, you be not seen, And make some sign that I may know your mind.

Lady Powis:My Lord Cobham, madam?

as she passeth over the stage by them.

Cobham:No Cobham now, nor madam as you love us, But John of Lancashire, and Joan his wife.

Lady Powis:Oh tell, what is it that our love can do, To pleasure you, for we are bound to you.

Cobham:Nothing but this, that you conceal our names, So gentle lady pass for being spied.

Lady Powis:My heart I leave, to bear part of your grief.

exit

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?

Lee: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 ye with the penalty of death?

Cobham:That we are free from murder’s very thought, And know not how the gentleman was slain.

1 Justice:How came this linen cloth so bloody then?

Lady:My husband hot with traveling my lord, His nose gushed out a-bleeding, that was it.

2 Justice:But wherefore were your sharp-edged knives unsheathed ?

Lady:To cut such simple victual as we had.

Judge:Say we admit this answer to those articles, What made ye in so private a dark nook, So far remote from any common path, As was the thick where the dead corpse was thrown?

Cobham:Journeying my lord from London from the term, 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 strayed into that secret corner.

Judge:These are but ambages to drive off time, And linger Justice from her purposed end. But who are these?

Enter the Constable, bringing in the Irishman, sir John of Wrotham, and Doll

Constable:Stay Judgement, 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 confessed the fact, And here is witness to confirm as much.

Sir John:Yes my good Lords, no sooner had he slain His loving master for the wealth he had, But I upon the instant met with him, And what he purchased with the loss of blood With strokes I presently bereaved 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 greet your honor, With letters from my Lord of Winchester.

delivers a letter.

Lee:Is this the wolf whose thirsty throat did drink My dear son’s blood? art thou the snake He cherished, yet with envious piercing sting, Assailed’st him mortally? foul stigmatic, Thou venom of the country where thou livd’st, And pestilence of this: were it not that law 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, And he the guerdon of his base desert, The fact is odious, therefore take him hence, And being hanged until the wretch be dead, His body after shall be hanged in chains, Near to the place, where he did act the murder.

Irishman:Prithee Lord shudge let me have mine own clothes, my strouces there, and let me be hanged in a with after my country, the Irish fashion.

exit.

Judge:Go to, away with him, and now sir John, Although by you, this murder came to light, And therein you have well deserved, yet upright law, So will not have you be excused and quit, For you did rob the Irishman, by which You stand attained here of felony, Beside, you have been lewd, and many years Led a lascivious unbeseeming life.

Sir John:Oh but my Lord, he repents, sir John repents and he will mend.

Judge:In hope thereof, together with the favor, My Lord of Winchester entreats for you, We are content you shall be proved.

Sir John:I thank your good Lordship.

Judge:These other falsely here, accused, and brought In peril wrongfully, we in like sort Do set at liberty, paying their fees.

Powis:That office if it please ye I will do, For country’s sake, because I know them well, They are my neighbors, therefore of my cost, Their charges shall be paid.

Lee:And for amends, Touching the wrong unwittingly I have done, There are a few crowns more for them to drink.

gives them a purse.

Judge:Your kindness merits praise sir Richard Lee, So let us hence.

exeunt all but Lord Powis and Oldcastle.

Powis:But Powis still must stay, There yet remains a part of that true love, He owes his noble friend unsatisfied, And unperformed which first of all doth bind me, To gratulate your lordship’s safe delivery, And then entreat, that since unlooked for thus, We here are met, your honor would vouchsafe, To ride with me to Wales, where though my power, (Though not to quittance those great benefits, I have received 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 ye so, As there’s no safety in abiding here.

Cobham:’Tis true my Lord, and God forgive him for it.

Powis:Then let us hence, you shall be straight provided Of lusty geldings, and once entered Wales, Well may the Bishop hunt, but spite his face, He nevermore shall have the game in chase.

exeunt.