Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works

by Michael Drayton

  CAMBRIDGE.

  Then perish may my soul! What, think you so?

  SCROOP.

  We’ll swear to you.

  GRAY.

  Or take the sacrament.

  COBHAM.

  Nay, you are noble men, and I imagine,

  As you are honorable by birth and blood,

  So you will be in heart, in thought, in word.

  I crave no other testimony but this:

  That you would all subscribe, and set your hands

  Unto this writing which you gave to me.

  CAMBRIDGE.

  With all our hearts. Who hath any pen and ink?

  SCROOP.

  My pocket should have one: yea, here it is.

  CAMBRIDGE.

  Give it me, lord Scroop. — There is my name.

  SCROOP.

  And there is my name.

  GRAY.

  And mine.

  COBHAM.

  Sir, let me crave,

  That you would likewise write your name with theirs,

  For confirmation of your master’s word,

  The king of France.

  CHARTRES.

  That will I, noble Lord.

  COBHAM.

  So now this action is well knit together,

  And I am for you. Where’s our meeting, lords?

  CAMBRIDGE.

  Here, if you please, the tenth of July next.

  COBHAM.

  In Kent? agreed: now let us in to supper.

  I hope your honors will not away to night.

  CAMBRIDGE.

  Yes, presently; for I have far to ride,

  About soliciting of other friends.

  SCROOP.

  And we would not be absent from the court,

  Lest thereby grow suspicion in the king.

  COBHAM.

  Yet taste a cup of wine before ye go.

  CAMBRIDGE.

  Not now, my lord, we thank you: so farewell.

  [Exeunt all but Cobham.]

  COBHAM.

  Farewell, my noble lords. — My noble lords?

  My noble villains, base conspirators.

  How can they look his Highness in the face,

  Whom they so closely study to betray?

  But I’ll not sleep until I make it known.

  This head shall not be burdened with such thoughts,

  Nor in this heart will I conceal a deed

  Of such impiety against my king.

  Madam, how now?

  [Enter Harpoole and the rest.]

  LADY COBHAM.

  You are welcome home, my Lord.

  Why seem ye so disquiet in your looks?

  What hath befallen you that disquiets your mind?

  LADY POWIS.

  Bad news, I am afraid, touching my husband.

  COBHAM.

  Madam, not so: there is your husband’s pardon.

  Long may ye live, each joy unto the other.

  POWIS.

  So great a kindness as i know not how

  To make reply; my sense is quite confounded.

  COBHAM.

  Let that alone: and madam, stay me not,

  For I must back unto the court again

  With all the speed I can. Harpoole, my horse.

  LADY COBHAM.

  So soon, my Lord? what, will you ride all night?

  COBHAM.

  All night or day; it must be so, sweet wife.

  Urge me not why or what my business is,

  But get you in. Lord Powis, bear with me,

  And madam, think your welcome ne’er the worse:

  My house is at your use. Harpoole, away.

  HARPOOLE.

  Shall I attend your lordship to the court?

  COBHAM.

  Yes, sir; your gelding! mount you presently.

  [Exeunt.]

  LADY COBHAM.

  I prithee, Harpoole, look unto thy Lord.

  I do not like this sudden posting back.

  POWIS.

  Some earnest business is a foot belike;

  What e’er it be, pray God be his good guide.

  LADY POWIS.

  Amen! that hath so highly us bested.

  LADY COBHAM.

  Come, madam, and my lord, we’ll hope the best;

  You shall not into Wales till he return.

  POWIS.

  Though great occasion be we should depart,

  Yet madam will we stay to be resolved

  Of this unlooked for, doubtful accident.

  [Exeunt.]

  ACT III. SCENE II. A road near Highgate.

  [Enter Murley and his men, prepared in some filthy order for war.]

  MURLEY.

  Come, my hearts of flint, modestly, decently, soberly, and handsomely, no man afore his Leader; follow your master, your Captain, your Knight that shall be, for the honor of Meal-men, Millers, and Malt-men. Dunne is the mouse. Dick and tom, for the credit of Dunstable, ding down the enemy to morrow; ye shall not come into the field like beggars. Where be Leonard and Laurence, my two loaders? Lord have mercy upon us, what a world is this? I would give a couple of shillings for a dozen of good feathers for ye, and forty pence for as many scarfs to set ye out withal. Frost and snow! a man has no heart to fight till he be brave.

  DICK.

  Master, I hope we be no babes. For our manhood, our bucklers and our town foot-balls can bear witness: and this light parrel we have shall off, and we’ll fight naked afore we run away.

  TOM.

  Nay, I am of Laurence mind for that, for he means to leave his life behind him; he and Leonard, your two loaders, are making their wills because they have wives. Now we Bachelors bid our friends scramble for our goods if we die: but, master, pray ye, let me ride upon Cutte.

  MURLEY.

  Meal and salt, wheat and malt, fire and tow, frost and snow! why, Tom, thou shalt. Let me see: here are you, William and George are with my cart, and Robin and Hodge holding my own two horses: proper men, handsome men, tall men, true men.

  DICK.

  But, master, master, me thinks you are a mad man to hazard your own person and a cart load of money too.

  TOM.

  Yea, and, master, there’s a worse matter in’t. If it be as I heard say, we go to fight against all the learned Bishops, that should give us their blessing; and if they curse us, we shall speed ne’er the better.

  DICK.

  Nay, bir lady, some say the King takes their part; and, master, dare you fight against the King?

  MURLEY.

  Fie, paltry, paltry! in and out, to and fro, upon occasion; if the King be so unwise to come there, we’ll fight with him too.

  TOM.

  What, if ye should kill the King?

  MURLEY.

  Then we’ll make another.

  DICK.

  Is that all? do ye not speak treason?

  MURLEY.

  If we do, who dare trip us? we come to fight for our conscience, and for honor. Little know you what is in my bosom; look here, mad knaves, a pair of gilt spurs.

  TOM.

  A pair of golden spurs? Why do you not put them on your heels? Your bosom’s no place for spurs.

  MURLEY.

  Be’t more or less upon occasion, Lord have mercy upon us, Tom, th’art a fool, and thou speakest treason to knighthood. Dare any wear golden or silver spurs till he be a knight? No, I shall be knighted to morrow, and then they shall on. Sirs, was it ever read in the church book of Dunstable, that ever malt man was made knight?

  TOM.

  No, but you are more: you are meal-man, maltman, miller, corn-master and all.

  DICK.

  Yea, and half a brewer too, and the devil and all for wealth.

  You bring more money with you, than all the rest.

  MURLEY.

  The more’s my honor. I shall be a knight to morrow! Let me spose my men: Tom upon cut, Dick upon hob, Hodge upon Ball, Raph upon Sorell, and Robin upon the forehorse.

  [Enter Acton, Bourne, and Beverly
.]

  TOM.

  Stand, who comes there?

  ACTON.

  All friends, good fellow.

  MURLEY.

  Friends and fellows, indeed, sir Roger.

  ACTON.

  Why, thus you shew your self a Gentleman,

  To keep your day, and come so well prepared.

  Your cart stands yonder, guarded by your men,

  Who tell me it is loaden with coin.

  What sum is there?

  MURLEY.

  Ten thousand pound, sir Roger: and modestly, decently, soberly, and handsomely, see what I have here against I be knighted.

  ACTON.

  Gilt spurs? tis well.

  MURLEY.

  But where’s your army, sir?

  ACTON.

  Dispersed in sundry villages about:

  Some here with us in Highgate, some at Finchley,

  Totnam, Enfield, Edmunton, Newington,

  Islington, Hogsdon, Pancredge, Kensington;

  Some nearer Thames, Ratcliffe, Blackwall and Bow;

  But our chief strength must be the Londoners,

  Which, ere the Sun to morrow shine,

  Will be near fifty thousand in the field.

  MURLEY.

  Mary, God dild ye, dainty my dear! but upon occasion, sir Roger Acton, doth not the King know of it, and gather his power against us?

  ACTON.

  No, he’s secure at Eltham.

  MURLEY.

  What do the Clergy?

  ACTON.

  Fear extremely, yet prepare no force.

  MURLEY.

  In and out, to and fro, Bully my boikin, we shall carry the world afore us! I vow by my worship, when I am knighted, we’ll take the King napping, if he stand on their part.

  ACTON.

  This night we few in Highgate will repose.

  With the first cock we’ll rise and arm our selves,

  To be in Ficket field by break of day,

  And there expect our General.

  MURLEY.

  Sir John Old-castle? what if he come not?

  BOURNE.

  Yet our action stands.

  Sir Roger Acton may supply his place.

  MURLEY.

  True, Master Bourne, but who shall make me knight?

  BEVERLY.

  He that hath power to be our General.

  ACTON.

  Talk not of trifles; come, let’s away.

  Our friends of London long till it be day.

  [Exeunt.]

  ACT III. SCENE III. A high road in Kent.

  [Enter sir John of Wrotham and Doll.]

  DOLL.

  By my troth, thou art as jealous a man as lives.

  PRIEST.

  Canst thou blame me, Doll? thou art my lands, my goods, my jewels, my wealth, my purse. None walks within xl. miles of London, but a plies thee as truly as the parish does the poor man’s box.

  DOLL.

  I am as true to thee as the stone is in the wall; and thou knowest well enough, sir John, I was in as good doing, when I came to thee, as any wench need to be; and therefore thou hast tried me, that thou hast: by God’s body, I will not be kept as I have been, that I will not.

  PRIEST.

  Doll, if this blade hold, there’s not a peddlar walks with a pack, but thou shalt as boldly choose of his wares, as with thy ready money in a Merchant’s shop. We’ll have as good silver as the King coins any.

  DOLL.

  What, is all the gold spent you took the last day from the

  Courtier?

  PRIEST.

  Tis gone, Doll, tis flown; merely come, merely gone: he comes a horse back that much pay for all. We’ll have as good meat as money can get, and as good gowns as can be bought for gold. Be merry, wench, the malt-man comes on Monday.

  DOLL.

  You might have left me at Cobham, until you had been better provided for.

  PRIEST.

  No, sweet Doll, no: I do not like that. Yond old ruffian is not for the priest: I do not like a new clerk should come in the old belfry.

  DOLL.

  Ah, thou art a mad priest, yfaith.

  PRIEST.

  Come, Doll; I’ll see thee safe at some alehouse here at Cray, and the next sheep that comes shall leave his fleece.

  [Exeunt.]

  ACT III. SCENE IV. Blackheath.

  [Enter the King, Suffolk and Butler.]

  KING.

  [In great haste.] My lord of Suffolk, post away for life,

  And let our forces of such horse and foot,

  As can be gathered up by any means,

  Make speedy rendezvous in Tuttle fields.

  It must be done this evening, my Lord;

  This night the rebels mean to draw to head

  Near Islington, which if your speed prevent not,

  If once they should unite their several forces,

  Their power is almost thought invincible.

  Away, my Lord; I will be with you soon.

  SUFFOLK.

  I go, my Sovereign, with all happy speed.

  [Exit.]

  KING.

  Make haste, my lord of Suffolk, as you love us.

  Butler, post you to London with all speed;

  Command the Mayor and shrieves, on their allegiance,

  The city gates be presently shut up

  And guarded with a strong sufficient watch,

  And not a man be suffered to pass

  Without a special warrant from our self.

  Command the Postern by the Tower be kept,

  And proclamation, on the pain of death,

  That not a citizen stir from his doors,

  Except such as the Mayor and Shrieves shall choose

  For their own guard and safety of their persons.

  Butler, away; have care unto my charge.

  BUTLER.

  I go, my Sovereign.

  KING.

  Butler!

  BUTLER.

  My Lord.

  KING.

  Go down by Greenwich, and command a boat

  At the Friar’s bridge attend my coming down.

  BUTLER.

  I will, my Lord.

  [Exit.]

  KING.

  It’s time, I think, to look unto rebellion,

  When Acton doth expect unto his aid

  No less than fifty thousand Londoners.

  Well, I’ll to Westminster in this disguise,

  To hear what news is stirring in these brawls.

  [Enter sir John and Doll.]

  SIR JOHN.

  Stand, true-man! says a thief.

  KING.

  Stand, thief! says a true man. How if a thief?

  SIR JOHN.

  Stand, thief, too.

  KING.

  Then, thief or true-man, I see I must stand. I see, how soever the world wags, the trade of thieving yet will never down. What art thou?

  SIR JOHN.

  A good fellow.

  KING.

  So am I too. I see thou dost know me.

  SIR JOHN.

  If thou be a good fellow, play the good fellow’s part: deliver thy purse without more ado.

  KING.

  I have no money.

  SIR JOHN.

  I must make you find some before we part. If you have no money, you shall have war: as many sound dry blows as your skin can carry.

  KING.

  Is that the plain truth?

  SIR JOHN.

  Sirra, no more ado; come, come, give me the money you have. Dispatch, I cannot stand all day.

  KING.

  Well, if thou wilt needs have it, there tis: just the proverb, one thief robs another. Where the devil are all my old thieves, that were wont to keep this walk? Falstaff, the villain, is so fat, he cannot get on’s horse, but me thinks Poines and Peto should be stirring here about.

  SIR JOHN.

  How much is there on’t, of thy word?

  KING.

  A hundred pound in Angels, on my
word.

  The time has been I would have done as much

  For thee, if thou hadst past this way, as I have now.

  SIR JOHN.

  Sirra, what art thou? thou seem’st a gentleman.

  KING.

  I am no less; yet a poor one now, for thou hast all my money.

  SIR JOHN.

  >From whence cam’st thou?

  KING.

  >From the court at Eltham.

  SIR JOHN.

  Art thou one of the King’s servants?

  KING.

  Yes, that I am, and one of his chamber.

  SIR JOHN.

  I am glad thou art no worse; thou mayest the better spare thy money: & thinkst thou thou mightst get a poor thief his pardon, if he should have need.

  KING.

  Yes, that I can.

  SIR JOHN.

  Wilt thou do so much for me, when I shall have occasion?

  KING.

  Yes, faith will I, so it be for no murther.

  SIR JOHN.

  Nay, I am a pitiful thief; all the hurt I do a man, I take but his purse; I’ll kill no man.

  KING.

  Then, of my word, I’ll do it.

  SIR JOHN.

  Give me thy hand of the same.

  KING.

  There tis.

  SIR JOHN.

  Me thinks the King should be good to thieves, because he has been a thief himself, though I think now he be turned true-man.

  KING.

  Faith, I have heard indeed he has had an ill name that way in his youth; but how canst thou tell he has been a thief?

  SIR JOHN.

  How? Because he once robbed me before I fell to the trade my self; when that foul villainous guts, that led him to all that rogery, was in’s company there, that Falstaff.

  KING.

  [Aside.] Well, if he did rob thee then, thou art but even with him now, I’ll be sworn. — Thou knowest not the king now, I think, if thou sawest him?

  SIR JOHN.

  Not I, yfaith.

  KING.

  [Aside.] So it should seem.

  SIR JOHN.

  Well, if old King Henry had lived, this King that is now had made thieving the best trade in England.

  KING.

  Why so?

  SIR JOHN.

  Because he was the chief warden of our company. It’s pity that e’er he should have been a King; he was so brave a thief. But, sirra, wilt remember my pardon if need be?

  KING.

  Yes, faith, will I.

  SIR JOHN.

  Wilt thou? well then, because thou shalt go safe — for thou mayest hap (being so early) be met with again before thou come to Southwark — if any man, when he should bid thee good morrow, bid thee stand, say thou but Sir John, and he will let thee pass.

  KING.

  Is that the word? well, then, let me alone.

  SIR JOHN.