1 What, are ye daunted now? now will ye ftoop? 1 Gent. My gracious lord, intreat him; fpeak him fair. Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is ftern and rough, Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. Far be it, we fhould honour fuch as thefe With humble fuit; no; rather let my head More can I bear, than you dare execute. Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. (a) Suf. Come, foldiers, fhew what cruelty ye can, That this my death may never be forgot. Great men oft die by vile Bezonians. A Roman fworder and Bandetto slave Murther'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand Pompey the Great: And Suffolk dies by Pirates. [Exit Walter Whitmore with Suffolk. Cap. And as for thefe, whofe ranfom we have fet, It is our pleasure one of them depart; Therefore come you with us, and let him go. [Ex. Captain and the rest. Manet the first Gent. Enter Whitmore, with the body. Whit. There let his head and livelefs body lye, Until the Queen his mistress bury it. [Exit Whit. 1 Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle! His body will I bear unto the King: If he revenge it not, yet will his friends; So will the Queen, that living held him dear. [Exit. [(a) Suf. Come, foldiers, &c. Oxford Editor- Vulg. Cap. Come, foldiers.] SCENE SCENE II. Changes to Southwark. Enter Bevis and John Holland. Bevis. COME, and get thee a fword though made of a lath; they have been up these two days. Hol. They have the more need to fleep now then. Bevis. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to drefs the commonwealth, and turn it, and fet a new nap upon it. Hol. So he had need, for 'tis thread-bare. Well, I say, it was never merry world in England fince Gentlemen came up. Bevis. O miferable age! virtue is not regarded in handy-crafts-men. Hol. The Nobility think fcorn to go in leather aprons. Bevis. Nay more, the King's Council are no good workmen. Hol. True, and yet it is faid, Labour in thy vocation; which is as much as to fay, let the magiftrates be labouring men; and therefore should we be magiftrates, Bevis. Thou haft hit it; for there's no better fign of a brave mind than a hard hand. Hol. I fee them, I fee them; there's Beft's fon, the Tanner of Wingham. Bevis. He fhall have the skins of our enemies to make dog's leather of. Hol. And Dick the butcher : Bevis. Then is fin ftruck down like an ox, and iniquity's throat cut like a calf. Hol. And Smith the weaver: Bevis. Argo, their thread of life is fpun. Drum. Drum. Enter Cade, Dick the butcher, Smith the weaver, and a fawyer, with infinite numbers. Cade. We John Cade, so term'd of our supposed Father Dick. Or rather of ftealing a cade of herrings, Cade. For our enemies fhall fall before us, infpired with the spirit of putting down Kings and Princes; command filence. Dick. Silence. Cade. My father was a Mortimer Dick. He was an honeft man and a good bricklayer, Dick. I knew her well, fhe was a midwife. Dick. She was indeed a pedlar's daughter, and fold many laces. Weav. But, now of late, not able to travel with her furr'd pack, fhe washes bucks here at home. Cade. Therefore am I of an honourable house. Dick. Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable; and there was he born, under a hedge; for his father had never a house but the cage. Cade. Valiant I am. Wear. A' must needs, for beggary is valiant. Dick. No question of that; for I have seen him whipt three market days together. Cade. I fear neither fword nor fire. Wear. He need not fear the fword, for his coat is of proof., Dick. But, methinks he fhould ftand in fear of fire, being burnt i'th hand for ftealing of sheep. Cade. Be brave then, for your Captain is brave, and vows reformation. There fhall be in England seven half-penny loaves fold for a penny; the threehoop'd pot fhall have ten hoops, and I will make it felony felony to drink small beer. All the realm shall be in common, and in Cheapfide fhall my palfry go to grass; and when I am King, as King I will be All. God fave your Majefty! Cad. I thank you, good people. There shall be no mony; all shall eat and drink upon my score; and I will apparel them all in one livery, that they may agree like brothers, and worship me their lord. Dick. The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers. Cade. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing, that the skin of an innocent lamb fhould be made parchment; that parchment being fcribbled o'er, fhould undo a man? Some fay, the bee ftings; but I fay, 'tis bee's wax; for I did but feal once to a thing, and I was never my own man since. How now? who is there? Enter a Clerk. Weav. The clerk of Chatham; he can write and read, and caft accompt. Cade. O monftrous! Wear. We took him fetting boys copies. Cade. Here's a villain! Weav. He'as a book in his pocket with red letters in't. Cade. Nay, then he's a conjurer. Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and write court-hand. Cade. I am forry for't: the man is a proper man, of mine honour; unless I find him guilty, he fhall not die. Come hither, firrah, I muft examine thee; what is thy name? Clerk. Emanuel. 4 Dick. They ufe to write it on the top of letters: 'twill go hard with you. 4 They use to write it on the top of letters:] i. e. of letters millive, and fuch like publick acts. See Mabillon's Diplomata. Cade. Cade. Let me alone. Doft thou ufe to write thy name? or haft thou a mark to thyfelf like an honeft plain dealing man? Clerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up, that I can write my name. All. He hath confeft; away with him; he's a villain and a traitor. Cade. Away with him, I fay; hang him with his pen and inkhorn about his neck. [Exit one with the clerk. Enter Michael. Mich. Where is our General ? Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. Mich. Fly, fly, fly; Sir Humphry Stafford and his brother are hard by with the King's forces. Cade. Stand, villain, ftand, or I'll fell thee down he fhall be encounter'd with a man as good as himself. He is but a knight, is a'? Mich. No. Cade. To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently; rife up, Sir John Mortimer. Now have at him. Is there any more of them that be knights? Mich. Ay, his brother. Cade. Then kneel down, Dick Butcher. Rife up, Sir Dick Butcher. Now found up the drum. Enter Sir Humphry Stafford, and young Stafford, with drum and foldiers. Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and skum of Kent, Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down, Home to your cottages, forfake this groom; The King is merciful, if you revolt. Y. Staf. But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood, If you go forward; therefore yield, or die. Cade. |