Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker
Page 157
Hare we not the king and council’s hands unto it?
Tut, we stand high in man’s opinion
And the world’s broad eye.
Enter SIR THOMAS WYAT.
Suff. Here comes Sir Thomas Wyat.
North. Sir Thomas booted and spurr’d!
Whither away so fast?
Wyat. It boots me not to stay,
When in this land rebellion bears such sway.
God’s will, a court! ’tis chang’d
Since noble Henry’s days.
You have set your hands unto a will;
A will you well may call it:
So wills Northumberland, so wills great Suffolk,
Against God’s will, to wrong those princely maids.
North. Will you not subscribe your hand
With other of the lords — not with me,
That in my hands surprise the sovereignty?
Wyat. I’ll damn my soul for no man, no, for no man.
Who at doomsday must answer for my sin?
Not you, nor you, my lords.
Who nam’d Queen Jane, in noble Henry’s days?
Which of you all durst once displace his issue?
My lords, my lords, you whet your knives so sharp
To carve your meat,
That they will cut your fingers.
The strength is weakness that you build upon.
The king is sick, — God mend him, ay, God mend him! —
But were his soul from his pale body free,
Adieu, my lords, the court no court for me. [Exit.
North. Farewell, I fear thee not.
The fly is angry, but he wants a sting.
Of all the council, only this perverse
And peevish lord hath only denied his hand
To the investing of your princely daughter.
He’s idle, and wants power:
Our ocean shall these petty brooks devour.
Here comes his Highness’ doctor.
Enter DOCTOR.
Suff. How fares his Highness?
Doct. His body is past help:
We have left our practice to the divines,
That they may cure his soul.
Suff. Fast physic’s help! why then past hope of life.
Here comes his Highness’ preacher:
Life, reverent man —
Enter PREACHER.
Preach. Life, life, though death his body do dissever;
Our king lives with the King of Heaven for ever!
North. Dead! Send for heralds, call me pursuivants;
Where’s the king-at-arms? In every market-town
Proclaim Queen Jane.
Suff. Best to take the opinion of the council.
North. You are too timorous: we in ourselves
Are power sufficient: the king being dead,
This hand shall place the crown on Queen Jane’s head.
Trumpets and drums, with your notes resound
Her royal name, that must in state be crown’d!
[Exeunt.
Enter GUILDFORD and JANE.
Guild. Our cousin king is dead.
Jane. Alas, how small an urn contains a king!
He that rul’d all even with his princely breath,
Is forc’d to stoop now to the stroke of death.
Heard you not the proclamation?
Guild. I hear of it, and I give credit to it:
What great men fear to be, their fears grow greater.
Our fathers grow ambitious,
And would force us sail in mighty tempests,
And are not lords of what they do possess.
Are not thy thoughts as great?
Jane. I have no thoughts so rank, so grown to head,
As are our fathers’ pride.
Troth, I do enjoy a kingdom, having thee,
And, so my pain be prosperous in that,
What care I though a sheep-cote be my palace,
Or fairest roof of honour?
Guild. See how thy blood keeps course with mine:
Thou must be a queen, ay me, a queen!
The flattering bells, that shrilly, sound
At the king’s funeral, with hollow hearts,
Will cowardly call thee sovereign;
For indeed thou wouldst prove but an usurper.
Jane. Who would wear fetters, though they were all of gold,
Or be sick, though his faint brows
For a wearing nightcap wore a crown?
Thou must assume
A title that goes on many feet;
But ’tis an office
Wherein the hearts of scholars and of soldiers
Will depend upon thy hearse. Were this rightly scann’d,
We scarce should find a king in any land.
Enter ARUNDEL.
Arun. Honour and happy reign
Attend the new Majesty of England!
Jane. To whom, my lord, bends this your awe?
Arun. To your grace, dread sovereign;
You are, by the king’s will, and the consent
Of all the lords, chosen for our queen.
Jane. O God! methinks you sing my death
In parts of music’s loudness:
’Tis not my turn to rise.
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, SUFFOLK, with the purse and the mace, with others.
North. The voice of the whole land speaks in my tongue:
It is concluded your majesty must ride
From hence unto the Tower, there to stay
Until your coronation.
Jane. O God!
Suff. Why sighs your majesty?
Jane. My lord and father, I pray tell me,
Was your father’s father e’er a king?
Suff. Never, and it like your grace.
Jane. Would I might still continue of his line,
Not travel in the clouds!
It is often seen, the heated blood
That covets to be royal leaves off ere it be noble.
My learned, careful king, what, must we go?
Guild. We must.
Jane. Then it must be so.
North. Set forward, then.
[A dead march, and pass round the stage, and Guildford speaks.
Guild. The Tower will be a place of ample state:
Some lodgings in it will, like dead men’s sculls,
Remember us of frailty.
We are led with pomp to prison.
Jane. O, prophetic soul!
Lo, we ascend into our chairs of state,
Like funeral coffins in some funeral pomp
Descending to their graves! But we must on.
How can we fare well to keep our court
Where prisoners keep their cave?
[A flourish. Exeunt omnes.
Enter QUEEN MARY, with a prayer-book in her hand, like a nun.
Mary. Thus like a nun, not like a princess bora.
Descended from the royal Henry’s loins,
Live I environ’d in a house of stone.
My brother Edward lives in pomp and state;
I in a mansion here all ruinate.
Their rich attire, delicious banqueting,
Their several pleasures, all their pride and honour,
I have forsaken for a rich prayer-book.
The golden mines of wealthy India
Is all as dross compared to thy sweetness:
Thou art the joy and comfort of the poor;
The everlasting bliss in thee we find.
This little volume, enclosed in this hand,
Is richer than the empire of this land.
Enter SIR HENRY BEDINGFIELD.
Beding. Pardon me, madam, that so boldly
I press into your chamber: I salute
Your highness, with the high style of queen.
Mary. Queen! may it be?
Or jest you at my lowering misery?
Beding. Your brother king is dead,
And you the Catholic queen must now succeed.
Mary. I see my G
od at length hath heard my prayer.
You, Sir Harry, for your glad tidings,
Shall be held in honour and due regard.
Enter SIR THOMAS WYAT.
Wyat. Health to the Lady Mary!
Mary. And why not Queen, Sir Thomas?
Wyat. Ask that of Suffolk duke, and great Northumberland,
Who in your stead hath crown’d another.
Mary. Another queen, Sir Thomas, we alive,
The true immediate heir of our dread father!
Wyat. Nothing more true than that,
Nothing more true than you are the true heir.
Come, leave this cloister, and be seen abroad;
Your very sight will stir the people’s hearts,
And make them cheerly for Queen Mary cry.
One comfort I can tell you: the tenants of the dukes
Northumberland and Suffolk denied their aid
In these unlawful arms;
To all the council I denied my hand,
And for King Henry’s issue still will stand.
Mary. Your counsel, good Sir Thomas, is so pithy,
That I am won to like it.
Wyat. Come, let us straight from hence,
From Framlingham. Cheer your spirits.
I’ll to the dukes at Cambridge, and discharge them all.
Prosper me, God, in these affairs!
I lov’d the father well, I lov’d the son,
And for the daughter I through death will run.
[Exeunt omnes.
Brett. Here, my lord.
Suff. Are all our numbers full?
Brett. They are, my lord.
Suff. See them arraign’d; I will set forward straight.
North. Honourable friends, and native peers,
That have chosen me
To be the leader of these martial troops,
To march against
The sister of our late dead sovereign;
Bear witness of my much unwillingness
In furthering these attempts. I rather joy
To think upon our ancient victories
Against the French and Spaniard, whose high pride
We levell’d with the waves of British shore,
Dyeing the haven of Britain with guilty blood,
Till all the harbour seem’d a sanguine pool
Or we desire these arms were now to war
‘Gainst the perfidious northern enemy,
Who, trembling at our first shock, voice, and sight,
Like cowards turn’d their backs with shameful flight.
But those rich spoils are past: w’ are now to go,
Being native friends, against a native foe.
In your hands we leave the queen elected:
She hath seizure of the Tower.
If you be confident, as you have sworn
Yourselves true liegemen to her highness,
She no doubt with royal favour will remunerate
The least of your deserts. Farewell:
My tears into your bosoms fall;
With one embrace I do include you all.
Arun. My lord most lov’d, with what a mourning heart
I take your farewell, let the after signs
Of my employment witness. I protest,
Did not the sacred person of my queen,
Whose weal I tender as my soul’s chief bliss,
Urge my abode, I would not think it shame
To trail a pike where you were general.
But wishes are in vain; I am bound to stay,
And urgent business calls your grace away:
See on my knees I humbly take my leave,
And steep my words with tears.
North. Kind Arundel, I bind thee to my love:
Once more, farewell.
Arun. Heavens give your grace success!
Commend us to the queen and to your son:
Within one week, I hope, war will be done.
Brett. Come, my lords, shall us march?
North. Ay, ay, for God’s sake on:
’Tis more than time, my friends, that we were gone.
[Exewnt omnes.
Enter TREASURER and PORTER.
Treas. What ho, porter! open the gate.
Porter. I beseech your honour to pardon me,
The council hath given strict command
Not any shall pass this way.
Treas. Why, you idle fellow, am I not sent
Upon the Queen’s affairs, commanded by the lords?
And know you not that I am treasurer?
Come, open the gate: you do you know not what.
Porter. Well, my lord, I do adventure, on your word,
The duke’s displeasure; all the council-board
Besides may be my heavy enemies;
But go a God’s name; I the worst will prove,
And if I die, I die for him I love,
Treas. I thank thee, and will warrant thee from death.
Is my horse ready?
Porter. It is, my lord.
Treas. Then will I fly this fearful council-board.
[Exit Treasurer.
Porter. My heart misgives me I have done amiss;
Yet being a councillor, one of the number,
Nothing can prove amiss.
Now shall I know the worst;
Here comes my lord of Arundel.
Enter ARUNDEL.
Arun. Porter, did the lord treasurer pass this way?
Porter. But now, my gracious lord.
Arun. Ungracious villain, follow,
Bring him back again:
If not by fair means, bring him back by force.
And hear you, sirrah, as you go, will the lord mayor,
And some aldermen of his brethren,
And some especial citizens of note,
To attend our further pleasures presently.
The treasurer fled; the duke’s but newly arrested;
Some purpose on my life to cross their plots:
We’ll set strong watches, see gates and walls well mann’d:
’Tis ten to one but princely innocence
Is these strange turmoils’ wisest violence, [Exeunt.
Enter WINCHESTER, ARUNDEL, and other LORDS; the
LORD TREASURER kneeling at the council-table.
Arun. Though your attempt, lord treasurer, be such,
That hath no colour in these troublous times
But an apparent purpose of revolt
From the deceas’d king’s will and our decree,
Yet, for you are a councillor of note,
One of our number, and of high degree,
Before we any way presume to judge,
We give you leave to speak in your behalf.
Treas. My lord, the business of these troublous times,
Binding us all still to respect the good
Of commonweal, yet doth it not debar
Private regard of us and of our own.
The general weal is treasur’d in your breast,
And all my ablest powers have been employ’d
To stir them there; yet have I borne a part,
Laying the common troubles next my heart.
My oversight in parting without leave
Was no contempt, but only for an hour,
To order home affairs, that none of mine
In these nice times should unto faction climb.
Arun. Nay, my good lord, be plain with us, I pray;
Are you not griev’d that we have given consent
To Lady Jane’s election?
Treas. My lords, I am not.
Arun. Speak like a gentleman; upon your word
Are you not discontent?
Treas. Troth, to be plain, I am not pleas’d
That two such princely maids, lineally descended
From our royal king, and by his testimony
Confirmed heir, if that their brother dying issueless,
And one that never dream’d it, never desir’d
The
rule of sovereignty,
But with virgin’s tears hath oft bewail’d her misery,
Should politicly by us be nam’d a queen.
Arun. You have said nobly; sit, and take your place.
Enter PORTER.
Porter. My lords, Sir Thomas Wyat craves access
Unto your honours.
Arun. Let him come near.
Enter WYAT.
Porter. Room for Sir Thomas Wyat.
Wyat. A divine spirit teach your honours truth,
Open your eyes of judgment to behold
The true legitimate Mary, your undoubted sovereign!
Arun. Arise, Sir Thomas, sit and take your place.
Now to our former business:
The obligation wherein we all stood bound
To the deceas’d late king’s will and our decree,
His cousin Jane and the two absent dukes,
Cannot be conceal’d without great reproach
To us and to our issue. We have sworn,
In presence of the sacred host of heaven,
Unto our late young lord, to both the dukes,
That no impeachment should divert our hearts
From the enthronement of the Lady Jane.
To this end we have seiz’d her in the Tower,
By public proclamation made her queen;
To this end we have arm’d the dukes with power,
Given them commission under our own hands.
To pass against the lady, and perform
In hostile manner, and no doubt the spleen
Of the undaunted spirit of Northumber’s earl
Will not be cool’d with writings of repeal.
Advice in this, I hold it, better far,
To keep the course we run, than, seeking change,
Hazard our lives, our heirs, and the realms.
Wyat. In actions roving from the bent of truth,
We have no precedent thus to persist
But the bare name of worldly policy.
If others have ground from justice and the law,
As well divine as politic agreeing,
They are for no cause to be disinherited.
If you not seven years since to that effect
Swore to the father to maintain his seed,
What dispensation hath acquitted you
From your first sacred vows?
You’ll say the will extorted from a child:
O, let mine eyes in naming that sweet youth
Observe their part,
Pouring down tears, sent from my swelling heart!
God’s mother, I turn child! but I’ll go on.
Say that the will were his, forc’d by no trick,
But for religious love his simple act,
Yet note how much you err.
You were sworn before to a man’s will,
And not a will alone,
But strengthen’d by an act of parliament.
Besides this sacred proof, the princely maids
Had they no will nor act to prove their right?
Have birthrights no privilege, being a plea so strong,