If I forget, do you remember me.
BUTLER.
I will, my Lord.
[Offer him a purse.]
BISHOP.
Not for a recompence,
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 they 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 thee upon New Market heath,
You should not need strain curtsey 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 Henry and Huntington in talk.]
KING.
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.
KING.
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.
KING.
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.
KING.
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.
KING.
How if it did? was either he in place,
To take part with them, or abet them in it?
If brabling fellows, whose inkindled blood,
Seethes in their fiery veins, will needs go fight,
Making their quarrels of some words that past
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 might 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 offence unto your majesty,
We may be bold to use authority.
KING.
As how?
BISHOP.
To summon him unto the Arches,
Where such offences have their punishment.
KING.
To answer personally? is that your meaning?
BISHOP.
It is, my lord.
KING.
How, if he appeal?
BISHOP.
He cannot, my Lord, in such a case as this.
SUFFOLK.
Not where Religion is the plea, my lord.
KING.
I took it always, that our self stood out,
As a sufficient refuge, unto whom
Not any but might lawfully appeal.
But we’ll not argue now upon that point.
For Sir John Old-castle, whom you accuse,
Let me entreat you to dispence 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 honourable.
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, me thinks the King hath well decreed.
BISHOP.
Yea, yea, sir John, if he would keep his word;
But I perceive he favours him so much,
As this will be to small effect, I fear.
SIR JOHN.
Why, then, I’ll tell you what y’are bets 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.
Me thinks the purse of gold the Bishop gave
Made a good show; it had a tempting look.
Beshrew me, but my fingers’ ends to itch
To be upon those rudduks. 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, yfaith,
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.]
ACT I. SCENE III. Kent. An outer court before lord Cobham’s house.
[Enter three or four poor people: some soldiers, some old men.]
FIRST.
God help! God help! there’s law for punishing,
But there’s n
o 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.
FOURTH.
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 ceased, I may say to you, had almost as much need to beg as we.
FIRST.
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.
SECOND.
Faith we have none but what we bear upon our bodies, our maimed limbs, God help us.
FOURTH.
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 Shrewbury, 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.
FOURTH.
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 Yeomens’ 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 gat 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 honour! God save the good Lord Cobham
And all his house!
SOLDIER.
Good your honour, bestow your blessed alms
Upon poor men.
COBHAM.
Now, sir, here be your Alms knights. Now are you
As safe as the Emperour.
HARPOOLE.
My Alms knights! nay, th’ are yours.
It is a shame for you, and I’ll stand too ‘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.
SECOND SOLDIER.
I beseech you, sir, 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 my self. Yea, God help you, poor knaves; ye see the world, yfaith! 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, & yet you live a beggar too.
COBHAM.
Even the worst deed that ere 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 too.
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:
Me thinks 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 — what so’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, what ere 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 inforc’d me to these parts;
And thus it hapt: — Not yet full five days since,
Now at the last Assize at Hereford,
It chanced that the lord Herbert and my self,
Mongst other things, discoursing at the table,
Did fall in speech about some certain points
Of Wickliffe’s doctrine gainst the papacy
And the religion catholique, maintained
Through the most part of Europe at this day.
This wilful teasty lord stuck not to say
That Wickliffe was a knave, a schismatic,
His doctrine devilish and heretical,
And what soe’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 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.
COBHAM.
I hope no ma
n 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 my self 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 your self here secret in my house,
Until we hear how the lord Herbert speeds.
Here comes my man.
[Enter Harpoole.]
Sirra, 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 your self my lord, I warrant you.
HARPOOLE.
Fellow, what ails thee? doost thou quake? dost thou shake? dost thou tremble? ha?
COBHAM.
Peace, you old fool! Sirra, 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! Me thinks 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 Shooters 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
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