[Rochester calls within.]
BISHOP.
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?
BISHOP.
Old-castle, that traitor, and his man,
When you had left me to confer with him,
Took, bound, and stript 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 murther you.
FIRST SERVANT.
And so he did.
BISHOP.
It was upon his master then he did,
That in the brawl the traitor might escape.
LIEUTENANT.
Where is this Harpoole?
SECOND SERVANT.
Here he was even now.
LIEUTENANT.
Where? can you tell?
SECOND SERVANT.
They are both escaped.
LIEUTENANT.
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.
BISHOP.
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.]
ACT V. SCENE I. A room in lord Cobham’s house in Kent.
[Enter Cambridge, Scroop, and Gray, as in a chamber, and set down at a table, consulting about their treason: King Harry and Suffolk listening 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 your self,
And, you disclosed, what shall become of us?
But this day (as ye know) he will aboard —
The winds so fair — and set away for France.
If, as he goes, or entering 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 Counsel, wherein
I will pretend some matter of such weight
As needs must have his royal company,
And so dispatch him in the Counsel 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?
KING.
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:
Scroop’s way of poison was indifferent,
But yet, being bed-fellow 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 abroad,
To do the deed, what was indifferent too,
Yet somewhat doubtful, might I speak my mind.
For many reasons needless now to urge.
Mary, Lord Gray came something near the point:
To have the King at counsel, 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?
ALL.
Oh pardon us, dread lord.
[All kneeling.]
KING.
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.]
ACT V. SCENE II. A high road near St. Albans.
[Enter Priest and Doll.]
SIR JOHN.
Come, Doll, come; be merry, wench.
Farewell, Kent, we are not fond for thee.
Be lusty, my lass, come, for Lancashire,
We must nip the Boung 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 pluckt 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.
SIR JOHN.
Peace, Doll, peace. Come, mad wench, I’ll make thee an honest woman; we’ll into Lancashire to our friends: the troth is, I’ll marry thee. 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.
[Enter the Irish man with his master slain.]
Stay, who comes here? some Irish villain, me thinks, that 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, poe mester, Sir Rishard Lee, be saint Patrick is rob and cut thy trote for dee shaine, and dy money, and dee gold ring be me truly: is love thee well, but now dow be kill, thee bee shitten kanave.
SIR JOHN.
Stand, sirra; what art thou?
IRISHMAN.
Be saint Patrick, mester, is pore Irisman, is a leufter.
SIR JOHN.
Sirra, sirra, 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. Sirra, 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: mee’s undoo.
[Priest robs him.]
SIR JOHN.
Avant, you rascal! Go, sirra, 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, yfaith.
[Exeunt.]
ACT V. SCENE III. St. Albans. The entrance of a carrier’s inn.
[Enter the host of the Bell with the Irish man.]
IRISHMAN.
Be me tro, mester, is pore Irisman, is want ludging, is have no money, is starve and cold: good mester, give her some meat; is famise and tie.
HOST.
Yfaith, my fellow, I have no lodging, but what I keep for my guess, that I may not disappoint: as for meat thou shalt have such as there is, & if thou wilt lie in the barn, there’s fair straw, and room enough.
IRISHMAN.
Is thank my mester hartily, de straw is good bed for me.
HOST.
Ho, Robin!
ROBIN.
Who calls?
HOST.
Shew this poor Irishman into the barn; go, sirra.
[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, yvaith.
KATE.
Mas, goffe Club, I’se very cawd.
CLUB.
Get in, Kate, get in to fire and warm thee. Ho! John
Hostler.
[Enter Hostler.]
HOSTLER.
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?
HOSTLER.
O, Tom is gone from hence; he’s at the three horse-loves at Stony-stratford. How does old Dick Dunne?
CLUB.
God’s hat, old Dunne has been moyerd in a slough in
Brickhill-lane, a plague found it; yonder is such
abomination weather as never was seen.
HOSTLER.
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 travelled.
CLUB.
Faith, well said, old Jack; thou art the old lad still.
HOSTLER.
Come, Gaffer Club, unload, unload, and get to supper, and
I’ll rub dun the while. Come.
[Exeunt.]
ACT V. SCENE IV. The same. A room in the carrier’s inn.
[Enter the host, sir John Old-castle, 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 my self I do not greatly pass.
My wife is weary, and would be at rest,
For we have travelled 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, 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.]
ACT V. SCENE V. The same. A street.
[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 Old-castle,
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 sheeres;
But we have charged the host with his forth coming
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 sure he would ne’er lodge there: but we’ll go search, & 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.]
ACT V. SCENE VI. The same. Before the Carrier’s Inn. Enter Watch.
FIRST WATCH.
First beset the house, before you begin the search.
SECOND WATCH.
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 Old-castle, 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.]
ACT V. SCENE VII. The same. The yard of the Inn.
[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, mary, do I: — zwounds, 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 lowsy 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.
[Exit lord Cobham.]
[A hoise 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 ma
n that did the murther; by all tokens, this is he.
MAYOR.
And perceiving the house beset, would get away.
Stand, sirra.
HARPOOLE.
What are thou that bidst me stand?
CONSTABLE.
I am the Officer, and am come to search for an Irish man, such a villain as thy self, that hast murthered a man this last night by the high way.
HARPOOLE.
Sblood, Constable, art thou mad? am I an Irish man?
MAYOR.
Sirra, 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 wenches apparel.]
COBHAM.
What, will these Ostlers sleep all day?
Good morrow, good morrow. Come, wench, come.
Saddle! saddle! Now afore God too fair days, ha?
CONSTABLE.
Who comes there?
MAYOR.
Oh, tis Lancashire carrier; let him pass.
COBHAM.
What, will no body open the gates here?
Come, let’s int stable to look to our capons.
[Exeunt Cobham and his Lady.]
[The carrier calling.]
CLUB.
[Calling.] Host! why ostler! zwooks, here’s such a bomination company of boys. A pox of this pigsty at the house end: it fills all the house full of fleas. Ostler! ostler!
[Enter 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 stolen our clothes here: why, ostler!
OSTLER.
A murrein choke you, what a bawlin you keep.
[Enter Host.]
HOST.
How now, what would the carrier have? look up there.
OSTLER.
They say that the man and woman that lay by them have stolen their clothes.
HOST.
What, are the strange folks up yet that come in yester night?
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 ladies apparel.]
CONSTABLE.
Who comes here?
CLUB.
Who comes here? a plague found ome! you bawl, quoth a! ods hat, I’ll forzwear your house: you lodged a fellow and his wife by that ha run away with our parrel, and left us such gew-gaws here! — Come Kate, come to me, thowse dizeard, yfaith.
Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works Page 188
