Go in, poor men, into the inner court,
And take such alms as there is to be had.
Sold. God bless your honour!

Har. Hang you rogues, hang you; there's nothing but misery amongst you; you fear no law,

you.

2 Old M. God bless you, good master Ralph, God save your life; you are good to the poor still. [Exeunt HARPOOL, Old Men, and Soldiers.

Enter Lord Powis, disguised.

Cob. What fellow's yonder comes along the grove?

Few

passengers there be that know this way. Methinks, be stops, as though he staid for me, And meant to shroud himself among the bushes. I know the clergy bate me to the death, And my religion gets me many foes: And this may be some desperate rogue, suborn'd 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.

[Lord Powis advances. I have been well acquainted with that face. Pow. Well met, my honourable lord and friend.

Cob. You are very welcome, sir, whate'er you be;

But of this sudden, sir, I do not know you.

Pow. I am one that wisheth well unto your

honour;

My name is Powis, an old friend of yours.

Cob. My honourable lord, and worthy friend, What makes your lordship thus alone in Kent? And thus disguised in this strange attire!

Pow. My lord, an unexpected accident
Hath at this time enforced me to these parts,
And thus it happ'd. 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,
Did fall in speech about some certain points
Of Wickliff's doctrine, 'gainst the papacy
And the religion catholic maintain'd
Through the most part of Europe at this day.
This wilful testy lord stuck not to say,
That Wickliff was a knave, a schismatic,
His doctrine devilish, and heretical;

And whatsoe'er he was, maintain'd 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, against his challenge,

5

To be a perfect favourer 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.
Cob. I hope no man was violently slain.
Pow.'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.

Cob. I am sorry, my good lord, for these ill

news.

Pow. 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.

Cob. 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 the vantage 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.

5 — LONE.

Cob. God bless his highness, and confound his enemies!

I hope his majesty is well.

But. In good health, my lord.

Cob. God long continue it! Methinks you look

As though you were not well: what ail ye, sir? But. 'Faith I have had a foolish odd mischance,

That angers me. Coming o'er Shooter's-Hill,
There came one to me like a sailor, and
Ask'd my money; and whilst I staid my horse,

SCENE 1.-The same.

Enter a Sumner.

To draw my purse, he takes the 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 robb'd
In all my life.

Cob. I am very sorry, sir, for your mischance; We will send our warrant forth, to stay all such Suspicious persons as shall be found; Then, Master Butler, we'll attend on you. But. I humbly thank your lordship, I'll attend you. [Exeunt.

Sum. I have the law to warrant what I do; and though the lord Cobham be a nobleman, that dispenses not with law: I dare serve a process, were he five noblemen. Though we sumners make sometimes a mad slip in a corner with a pretty wench, a summer must not go always by seeing a man may be content to hide his eyes where he may feel his profit. Well, this is lord Cobham's house; if I cannot speak with him, I'll clap my citation upon his door; so my lord of Rochester bade me : but methinks here comes one of his men.

Enter HARPOOL.

Har. Welcome, good fellow, welcome: who would'st thou speak with?

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

Har. Yes, I am one of his men: but thou can'st not speak with my lord.

Sum. May I send to him then?

Har. I'll tell thee that, when I know thy errand. Sum. I will not tell my crrand to thee. Har. Then keep it to thyself, and walk like a knave as thou cam'st.

Sum. I tell thee, my lord keeps no knaves, sirrah.

Har. Then thou servest him not, I believe. What lord is thy master?

Sum. My lord of Rochester.

Har. In good time: And what would'st thou have with my lord Cobham?

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

Har. [Aside.] Well, God grant me patience! I could eat this couger. 6 My lord is not at home; therefore it were good, Sumner, you carried your process back.

Sam. Why if he will not be spoken withal, then ledge of it. will I leave it here; and see that he take know[Fixes a citation on the Gate. Har. 'Zounds, you slave, do you set up your thou know what thou dost? Dost thou know on bills here? Go to; take it down again. Dost whom thou servest a process?

Sum. Yes, marry do I; on Sir John Oldcastle, lord Cobbam.

Har. I am glad thou knowest him yet. And, sirrah, dost thou not 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 his gate, and keeps a hundred tall fellows?

Sum. What's that to my process?

Har. Marry this, sir; is this process parchment?

Sum. Yes, marry is it.

Har. And this seal wax?
Sum. It is so.

Har. 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. 7

Sum. I am my lord of Rochester's sumner; I came to do my office, and thou shalt answer it.

Har. Sirrah, no railing, but betake yourself 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?

Sum. Sir, I brought it not my lord to eat.

6

7

Sum. I cannot eat it.

Har. Can you not? 'sblood, I'll beat you till you have a stomach. [Beats him. Sum. O hold, hold, good master serving-man; I will eat it.

Har. Be champing, be chewing, sir, or I'll chew you, you rogue. Tough wax is the purest of the honey.

Sum. The purest of the honey!-O, Lord, sir! oh! oh!

[Eats.

Har. Feed, feed; 'tis wholsome, rogue, wholsome. Cannot you, like an honest sumner, walk with the devil your brother, to fetch in your bailift's rents, but you must come to a nobleman's house with process? if thy seal were as broad as the lead that covers Rochester church, thou should'st eat it.

Sum. O, I am almost choked, I am almost choked.

Har. Who's within there? will you shame my lord? is there no beer in the house? Butler, I say. Enter Butler.

But. Here, bere. Har. Give him beer. There; tough old sheepskin's bare dry meat. [The Sumner drinks. Sum. O, sir, let me go no farther; I'll eat my word.

Har. Yea, marry, sir, I mean you shall eat more than your own word; for I'll make you eat all the words in the process. Why, you drabmonger, 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.of sack for the sumner.

A cup

But. Here, sir, here.

Har. Here, slave, I drink to thee..
Sum. I thank you, sir.

Har. Now, if thou find'st thy stomach well, because thou shalt see my lord keeps meat in his house, if thou wilt go in, thou shalt have a piece of beef to thy breakfast.

Sum. No, I am very well, good master servingman, I thank you; very well, sir.

Har. I am glad on't: then be walking towards Rochester to keep your stomach warm. And, sumner, if I do 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 it, I am a villain.

Sum. God be wi' you, master serving-man. [Exit Sumner.

Har. Farewell, sumner.

Enter Constable.

Con. Save you, master Harpool. Har. Welcome constable, welcome constable; what news with thee?

Con. An't please you, master Harpool, I am to make hue and cry for a fellow with one eye, that has robb'd two clothiers; and am to clave your

they say there was a woman in the company. Har. Hast thou been at the ale-house? hast thou sought there?

Con. I durst not search in my lord Cobham's liberty, except I had some of his servants for my

warrant.

Har. An honest constable: Call forth him that keeps the ale-house there.

Con. Ho, who's within there?

Enter Ale-man.

you, master

Ale-man. Who calls there? Oh, is't constable, and master Harpool? you're welcome with all my heart. What make you here so early this morning?

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

Ale-man. Gods-bore, I am sorry for't. I'faith, sir, I lodge nobody, but a good honest priest, call'd sir John a 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.

Har. What, is she here in thy house now? Ale-man. 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.

Har. Bring her forth, constable; bring her forth; let's sec her, let's see her.

Ale-man. Dorothy, you must come down to master constable.

Enter DOROTHY:

Doll. Anon forsooth.

Hur. Welcome, sweet lass, welcome. Doll. I thank you, good sir, and master constable also.

Hur. A plump girl by the mass, a plump girl. Ha, Doll, ba! Wilt thou forsake the priest, and go with me, Doll?

Con. Ah! well said, master Harpool; you are a merry old man, i'faith; you will never be old. Now by the mack, a pretty wench indeed!

Har. You old mad merry constable, art thou advised of that? Ha, well said, Doll; fill some ale here.

| Doll. Oh, if I wist this old priest would not stick to me, by Jove I would ingle this old serving-man. [Aside. Har. O you old mad colt, i'faith I'll ferk you; fill all the pots in the house there.

Con. Oh! well said, master Harpool ; you are a heart of oak when all's done.

Har. 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,

Har. Fill, sweet Doll, I'll drink to thee.

Har. No licking for you, constable; hands off, hands off.

Con. By'r lady, I love kissing as well as you. Doll. O you are an old boy, you have a wanton eye of your own! Ah, you sweet sugar-lip'd wanton, you will win as many women's hearts as come in your company.

Enter Sir JOHN of Wrotham.

Sir John. Doll, come hither.
Har. Priest, she shall not.

Doll. I'll come anon, sweet love. Sir John. Hands off, old fornicator. Har. 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. Sirrah, dost thou not know that a good-fellow parson may have a chapel of ease, where his parish church is far off?

Har. You whorson-stoned vicar!

Sir John. You old stale ruffian, you lion of Cotswold ! 8

Har. 'Zounds, vicar, I'll geld you. [Flies upon him.

Con. 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.

Har. You whorson bawdy priest !
Sir John. You old mutton-monger!
Con. Hold, sir John, hold.

Doll. 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.

Har. 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.
Con. Well said, mistress Dorothy.

Har. Thou art the maddest 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, s 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 serveth me for a sexton.

Hur. Well said, mad priest; we'll in and be friends. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

London. A Room in the Axe Inn, without Bishop-gate.

Enter Sir ROGER ACTON, BOURN, BEVERLEY, and MURLEY.

Act. Now, master Murley, I am well assured You know our errand, and do like the cause, Being a man affected as we are.

Mur. Marry God dild ye, dainty my dear! no master, good sir Roger Acton, master Bourn, and master Beverley, gentlemen and justices of the peace; no master, I, but plain William Murley, the brewer of Dunstable, your honest neighbour and your friend, if ye be men of my profession. Bev. Professed friends to Wickliff, foes to Rome.

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

Act. 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, you 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.

Mur. 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, you know. Will lusty caveliering 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.

Bour. Why, master Murley, you shall be a
knight.?

Were you not in election to be sheriff?
Have you not passed all offices but that?
Have you not wealth to make your wife a lady?
I warrant you, my lord, our general,
Bestows that honour on you, at first sight.

Mur. 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 alms-giver, house-keeper, virtuous, religious gentleman? Come to me there, boys; come to me there.

Act. Why, who but he shall be our general? Mur. And shall he knight me, aud make me colonel?

Act. My word for that, sir William Murley, knight.

Mur. 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.

Act. 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 thousand into Ficket-field, Where we appoint our special rendezvous.

Mur. 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?

Act. Behind St Giles's in the Field, near Holborn.

Mur. Newgate, up Holborn, St Giles's in the Field, and to Tyburn; an old saw. For the day, for the day?

Act. On Friday next, the fourteenth day of Ja

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 shew a spear, and every spear shall kill a foe at Ficket-field, at Ficket-field. John and Tom, Dick and Hodge, Ralph and Robin, William and George, and all my knaves, shall fight like men at Ficket-field, on Friday next.

Bourn. What sum of money mean you to disburse?

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

Act. 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.

Bev. Perchance you may be chosen treasurer; Ten thousand pound's the least that you can bring.

Mur. Paltry, paltry, in and out, to and fro: upon 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 all go. Flame and flax, flax and flame. It was got with water and malt, and it shall fly with fire and gun-powder. Sir Roger, a cart-load of money, till the axletree 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 MURLEY.

Act. See what ambition may persuade men to! In hope of honour he will spend himself.

Bourn. I never thought a brewer half so rich. Bev. Was never bankrupt brewer yet but one, With using too much malt, too little water. Act. That is no fault in brewers now adays: Come, let's away about our business. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

An Audience-chamber in the Palace at Eltham.

Enter King HENRY, the Duke of SUFFOLK, BUTLER, and Lord COBHAM.-He kneels to the King.

K. Henry. 'Tis not enough, lord Cobham, to submit;

9—