Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works
Page 186
Nay, sirra, because I think indeed I shall have some occasion to use thee, & as thou comest 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.
KING.
God have mercy; farewell.
[Exit.]
SIR JOHN.
O my fine golden slaves! here’s for thee, wench, yfaith. Now, Doll, we will revel in our bower! this is a tithe pig of my vicarage. God have mercy, neighbour 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 Holborne, and as it is thought here in Kent, the King will be there to night 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.]
ACT IV. SCENE I. A field near London. King Henry’s camp.
[Enter King Henry, Suffolk, Huntington, and two with lights.]
KING.
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 —
KING.
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.
KING.
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 Old-castle,
He’s quiet in Kent. Acton, ye are deceived;
Reckon again, you count without your host;
To morrow you shall give account to us.
Til when, my friends, this long cold winter’s night
How can we spend? King Harry is a sleep
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 know of this,
I undertake he would not be long hence.
KING.
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.
KING.
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.
KING.
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.
KING.
Set, priest, set. I pass for all that gold.
SIR JOHN.
Ye pass, indeed.
KING.
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!
KING.
I wonder how thou comest by all this gold;
How many benefices hast thou, priest?
SIR JOHN.
Yfaith, 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, Chobham down, Gad’s Hill, Wrotham hill, Black heath, Cock’s heath, 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.
Sayest thou so, priest? Set fair; at all for once.
KING.
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.
KING.
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.
KING.
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, yfaith.
KING.
I’ll cast better yet.
SIR JOHN.
Then I’ll be hanged. Sirra, hast thou not given thy soul to the devil for casting?
KING.
I pass for all.
SIR JOHN.
Thou passest all that e’er I played withal.
Sirra, dost thou not cog, nor foist, nor slur?
KING.
Set, parson, set; the dice die in my hand:
When parson, when? what, can ye find no more?
Already dry? wast you bragged of your store?
SIR JOHN.
All’s gone but that.
HUNTINGTON.
What? half a broken angel?
SIR JOHN.
Why sir, tis gold.
KING.
Yea, and I’ll cover it.
SIR JOHN.
The devil do ye good on’t, I am blind, ye have blown me up.
KING.
Nay, tarry, priest; ye shall not leave us yet.
Do not these pieces fit each other well?
SIR JOHN.
What if they do?
KING.
Thereby begins a tale:
There was a thief, in face much like Sir John —
But twas not he, that thief was all in green —
Met me last day at 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 hundreth 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.
KING.
Agreed! I charge ye do not budget a 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 you mean,
To see a traitor draw against the King?
SIR JOHN.
The King! God’s will, I am in a proper pickle.
KING.
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.
KING.
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 that 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.
KING.
Will a true subject rob his King?
SIR JOHN.
Alas, twas ignorance and want, my gracious liege.
KING.
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, your self (my liege) have been a thief.
KING.
I confess I have,
But I repent and have reclaimed my self.
SIR JOHN.
So will I do, if you will give me time.
KING.
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.
KING.
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 then take thy gold;
But spend it better than at cards or wine,
For better virtues fit that coat of thine.
SIR JOHN.
Vivat Rex & curat lex! My liege, if ye have cause of battle, ye shall see Sir John of Wrotham bestir himself in your quarrel.
[Exeunt.]
ACT IV. SCENE II. A field of Battle near London.
[After an alarum enter Harry, Suffolk, Huntington, Sir John, bringing forth Acton, Beverley, and Murley prisoners.]
KING.
Bring in those traitors, whose aspiring minds
Thought to have triumpht in our overthrow.
But now ye see, base villains, what success
Attends ill actions wrongfully attempted.
Sir Roger Acton, thou retainst 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.
KING.
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.
KING.
Reform Religion? was it that ye sought?
I pray who gave you that authority?
Belike, then, we do hold the scepter up
And sit within the throne but for a cipher.
Time was, good subjects would make known their grief
And pray amendment, not enforce the same,
Unless their King were tyrant, which I hope
You cannot justly say that Harry is.
What is that other?
SUFFOLK.
A malt-man, my Lord,
And dwelling in Dunstable as he says.
KING.
Sirra, what made you leave your barley broth,
To come in armour thus against your King?
MURLEY.
Fie, paltry, paltry; to and fro, in and out upon occasion; what a world’s this! Knight-hood (my liege) twas knight-hood brought me hither. They told me I had wealth enough to make my wife a lady.
KING.
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.
KING.
In and out upon occasion, therefore,
You shall be handed, 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.
KING.
That comes too late: but tell me, went there none
Beside sir Roger Acton, upon whom
You did depend to be your governour?
MURLEY.
None, none, my Lord, but sir John Old-castle.
KING.
Bears he part in this conspiracy?
[Enter Bishop.]
ACTON.
We looked, my Lord, that he would meet us here.
KING.
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 caitive 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 gra
ce may now perceive,
His treason is apparent, which before
He sought to colour by his flattery.
KING.
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 lord,
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.
KING.
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.
KING.
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 hypocricy.
[Enter Cobham.]
COBHAM.
Long life and prosperous reign unto my lord.
KING.
Ah, villain, canst thou wish prosperity,
Whose heart includeth naught but treachery?
I do arrest thee here my self, 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.
KING.
Thy neck shall feel it is in earnest shortly.
Darst thou intrude into our presence, knowing
How heinously thou hast offended us?
But this is thy accustomed deceit;
Now thou perceivest thy purpose is in vain,
With some excuse or other thou wilt come,
To clear thy self of this rebellion.
COBHAM.
Rebellion, good my Lord? I know of none.
KING.
If you deny it, here is evidence.
See you these men? you never counseled,
Nor offered them assistance in their wars?
COBHAM.
Speak, sirs. Not one but all; I crave no favour.
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.
KING.
No? didst not say that sir John Old-castle