As cannot be refelled, but by plain wrong?
Nor were you touch’d. The lady in Tower,
Alas, she’s innocent of any claim!
Trust me, she’d think it a most happy life,
To leave a queen’s and keep a lady’s name.
And for the dukes, your warrants sent them forth;
Let the same warrants call them back again:
If they refuse to come, the realm, not they,
Must be regarded. Be strong and bold.
We are the people’s factors. Save our sons
From killing one another; be afraid
To tempt both heaven and earth. So, I have said.
Arun. Why then give order that she shall be queen.
Send for the Mayor. Her errors we’ll forget,
Hoping she will forgive.
Wyat. Never make doubt: setting her ceremonious order by,
She is pure within, and mildly chaste without.
Arun. Give order to keep fast the lady Jane.
Dissolve the council. Let us leave the Tower,
And in the city hold our audience.
Wyat. You have advised well, honourable lords:
So will the citizens be wholly ours,
And if the dukes be cross, we’ll cross their powers.
[Exeunt omnes.
Enter BRETT, CLOWN, and SOLDIERS.
Brett. Lancepersado, quarter, quarter.
Clown. What shall we quarter, captain?
Brett. Why, the soldiers.
Clown. Why, they are not hanged, nor drawn yet.
Brett. Sir, I mean quarter them, that the offended multitude
May pass in safety.
Clown. May we not take tolls of the pies and the applewomen?
Brett. Not in any sort; the duke’s pleasure wills that pass free.
Clown. The commons shall be used with all common courtesy. Who’s that goes in rank like beans, with cheesecakes on their heads, instead of caps.
Brett. Sirrah, this is a famous university
And those, scholars; those lofty buildings and goodly houses
Founded by noble patrons. But no more:
Set a strong watch; that be your chiefest care.
Enter a COUNTRYMAN and a MAID.
Count. What’s here? soldiers!
Brett. Fear not good speech. These rude arms I bear,
Are not to fright sweet gentle peace away,
But to succour your lives. Pass peaceably away.
Clown. Cry God save the queen, as you go, and
God send you a good market.
Maid. God save the queen! what queen? there lies the sense:
When we have none, it can be no offence.
Clown. What carry you there in your basket?
Maid. Eggs, forsooth.
Clown. Well, cry God save queen Jane, as you go, and
God send you a good market.
Maid. Is the right queen call’d Jane? alack, for woe;
At the first she was not christen’d so!
[Exeunt Countryman and Maid.
Brett. Thus old and young still descant on her name,
Nor lend no ear when we her style proclaim.
I fear, I fear, — fear, Brett! what should’st thou fear?
Thou hast a breast compos’d of adamant.
Fall what ill betide,
My anchor’s cast, and I in harbour ride. [Exeunt.
Enter Northumbebland, Huntingdon, WYAT,
and Soldiers,
Wyat. My lord, ’tis true, you sent unto the council
For fresh supplies; what succour, what supplies?
Happy is he can draw his neck out of the collar
And make his peace with Mary.
North. How stands the treasurer addicted to us?
Wyat. I had forgot: when we were at council,
He stole away, and went home to his house,
And by much entreaty was won to return.
In brief, they all incline to queen Mary.
My lord, farewell:
Each hasty hour will colder tidings tell. [Exit.
North. Come they in thunder, we will meet with them:
In the loudest language that their ordnance speaks,
Ours shall answer theirs.
Call me a herald, and in the market-place proclaim
Queen Jane. The streets are full,
The town is populous, the people gape for novelty.
Trumpets, speak to them,
That they may answer with an echoing cry,
God save queen Jane, God save her majesty!
[A trumpet sounds, and no answer. The Herald sounds a parley, and none answers.
Ha! a bare report of trumpets;
Are the slaves hoarse, or want they heart to speak?
O me! This town consists on famous colleges,
Such as know both how, and what, and when to speak.
Well, yet we will proceed,
And smother what close envy hath decreed.
Enter AMBROSE.
Ambrose, my son, what news?
Amb. O my thrice-honour’d father!
North. Boy, speak the worst:
That which sounds deadliest, let me hear that first.
Amb. The lords have all revolted from your faction.
North. We in ourselves are strong.
Amb. In Baynard’s Castle was a council held,
Whither the mayor and sheriffs did resort,
And ’twas concluded to proclaim queen Mary.
North. Then they revolt the allegiance from my daughter,
And give it to another?
Amb. True, my thrice-honour’d father;
Besides, my brother Guildford and his wife,
Where she was proclaim’d queen, are now close prisoners,
Namely in the Tower.
North. God take them to his mercy! they had need
Of grace and patience, for they both must bleed.
Poor innocent souls, they both from guilt are free!
Amb. O my thrice-honour’d father, might I advise you,
Fly to your manor, there study for your safety!
North. Boy, thou sa’st well:
And since the lords have all revolted from me,
Myself will now revolt against myself.
Call me a herald to fill their empty ears;
Assist me, son; my good lord Huntingdon,
Even in this market-town proclaim queen Mary.
A trumpet sounds a parley, the HERALD proclaims.
Her. Mary, by the grace of God, Queen of England,
France, and Ireland, defendress of the faith, amen.
[Within, a shout and a flourish.
North. Amen: I bear a part,
Ay, with my tongue, I do not with my heart.
Now they can cry, now they can bawl and yell:
Base-minded slaves, sink may your souls to hell!
Enter MASTER BOOSE, with letters.
Roose. My honour’d lord, the council greets you with
These letters.
North. Stay, master Boose: ere you depart, receive
An answer and reward. [He readeth the letter.
“In the sovereign name of Mary our queen, you shall
upon the sight hereof surcease your arms, discharge your
soldiers, and presently repair unto the court, or else be held
as an arch traitor.”
’Tis short and sharp.
Master Boose, we do obey your warrant:
But I pray tell me, how do all our friends at court?
Is there not a great mortality amongst them?
Is there not a number of them dead of late,
Since I came thence?
Roose. My gracious lord, not any.
North. O, master Boose, it cannot be; I will assure you
At my departure thence, I left living there at least
Five hundred friends, and now I have not one,
Simply, not one; friends! ha, ha, ha! commissio
n,
Thou must be my friend,
And stand betwixt me and the stroke of death;
Were thy date out, my life’s date were but short;
They are cold friends that kill their friends in sport.
Amb. Here comes your honour’d friend, the earl of
Arundel.
Enter Arundel.
North. My honour’d friend
Arun. I am no friend to traitors:
In my most high and princely sovereign’s name,
I do arrest your honour of high treason.
North. A traitor, Arundel!
Have I not your hand in my commission?
Let me peruse it: as I take’t, ’tis here,
And by your warrant have I strict proceeded:
Is the limit of my warrant broke? answer me.
Arun. It may be that it hath pleas’d her majesty
To pardon us, and for to punish you.
I know no other reason; this I must,
I am commanded, and the act is just.
North. And I obey you. When we parted last,
My lord of Arundel, our farewell was
Better than our greeting now:
Then you cried, God speed;
Now you come on me, ere you say, take heed.
Then you did owe me your best blood; nay griev’d
You could not spend them in my service;
O, then it was a double death to stay behind!
But I am overtook, and you are kind,
I am, beshrew you else; but I submit,
My crime is great, and I must answer it.
Arun. You must with your three sons be guarded safe
Unto the Tower; with you those lords and knights,
That in this faction did associate you:
For so I am enjoin’d.
Then peaceively let us conduct you thither.
North. O my children, my soul weeps endless tears
For you!
O, at the general sessions, when all souls
Stand at the bar of justice, and hold up
Their new-immortalized hands, O then
Let the remembrance of their tragic ends
Be raz’d out of the bead-roll of my sins!
Whene’er the black book of my crime’s unclasp’d,
Let not these scarlet letters be found there;
Of all the rest only that page be clear.
But come to my arraignment, then to death.
The queen and you have long aim’d at this head:
If to my children she sweet grace extend,
My soul hath peace, and I embrace my end. [Exeunt.
Enter SUFFOLK.
Suff. Three days are past, Monday,
Tuesday, and Wednesday too,
Yet my protesting servant is not come:
Himself conducted me to this hard lodging,
A simple cabin for so great a prince;
And then he swore, but oaths you see are vain,
That he would hourly come and visit me.
I that was wont to surfeit in estate,
Am now through hunger almost desolate.
Enter HOMES, sweating, with bottle and bag.
Homes. My lord.
Suff. Ned Homes, speak, hast thou brought me meat?
Homes. With much ado, my lord, meat, bread, and wine:
While you refresh yourself, I will record
The cause of my long stay.
Suff. I prithee do:
Need bids me eat, need bids me hear thee too.
Homes. The night I left you in the hollow tree,
My house was search’d.
Suff. Go on, go on.
Homes. And I no sooner enter’d but attach’d;
Threaten’d the rack, and if I did not yield
Your gracious self into their graceless hands.
Suff. And thou hast done’t, thou hast betrayed me?
Homes. Done it! O, betray you! O, no!
First would I see my loved wife and children
Murder’d and toss’d on spears, before I would
Deliver your grace unto their hands,
For they intend your death.
Suff. Go on, go on.
Homes. And offer’d a thousand crowns
To him that can bring news of your abode;
Twas offer’d in my hands,
Which I beseech may stop my vital breath,
When I am fee’d with gold to work your death.
Enter SHERIFF and OFFICERS.
Sher. See, yonder sits the duke.
Suff. I kiss thee in requital of this love.
Homes. And in requital of so great a grace,
I kiss your hand that dares to kiss my face.
Sher. So Judas kiss’d his master. Seize the duke.
Suff. Ah me! Ned Homes, we are undone;
Both thou and I betray’d!
Sher. My lord, late duke of Suffolk, in her Highness’
Name, I do arrest you of high treason.
Suff. I do obey, and only crave this kindness,
You would be good unto my servant Homes,
Who in relieving me hath but perform’d
The duty of a servant to his lord.
Sher. You are deceiv’d, sir, in your servant, much;
He is the man that did betray you.
Here, master Homes, towards your thousand pounds,
Here is a hundred marks;
Come to the Exchequer, you shall have the rest.
Suff. Hist thou betray’d me? yet with such a tongue,
So smoothly oil’d, slight of my danger’s fear?
O, break my heart! this grief’s too great to bear.
Homes. Pardon me, my lord.
Suff. God pardon thee, and lay not to thy soul
This grievous sin! Farewell!
And when thou spendest this ill-got gold,
Remember how thy master’s life was sold;
Thy lord that gave thee lordships, made thee great,
Yet thou betray’d’st him as he sat at meat.
On to my grave; ’tis time that I were dead,
When he that held my heart betrays my head.
[Exeunt all but Homes.
Homes. O God, O God, that ever I was born!
This deed hath made me slave to abject scorn. [Exit.
Enter the CLOWN.
Clown. O poor shrimp, how art thou fallen away for want of mouching! O, colon cries out most tyrannically! the little gut hath no mercy. What’s here? victuals! O rare, O good! Feed chops, drink throat, good victuals make good blood.
Enter HOMES, with a halter about his neck.
But stay, who’s here? more sheriffs, more searchers? O
no, this is Homes, that betrayed his honest master: how,
with a halter about his neck! I hope he doth not mean to
hang himself. I’ll step aside.
Homes. This is the place where I betray’d my lord;
This is the place where oft I have reliev’d,
And, villain, I betray’d him to the jaws of death.
But here before I further will proceed,
Here will I bury this enticing gold:
Lie there, damn’d fiend, never serve human more.
Clown. This is rare: now if in this mood he would hang
himself, ‘t were excellent.
Homes. Shall I ask mercy? no, it is too late;
Heaven will not hear, and I am desperate.
[He strangles himself.
Clown. So, so, a very good ending:
Would all false servants
Might drink of the same sauce!
Gold, you are first mine: you must help
To shift myself into some counterfeit
Suit of apparel, and then to London.
If my old master be hanged, why, so:
If not, why, rustick and lustick. Yet, before I go, I do not care if I throw this dog in a ditch: come away, dissembler. This cannot choose but be a hundred pound, it weighs so heavy. [Exit
.
Enter QUEEN MARY, WINCHESTER, NORFOLK, PEMBROKE, WYAT, ARUNDEL, and ATTENDANTS.
Q. Mary. By God’s assistance and the power of heaven,
After our troubles we are safely set
In our inheritance; for which we do subscribe
The praise and benefit to God: next, thanks
To you, my lords. Now shall the sanctuary,
And the house of the Most High, be newly built;
The ancient honours due unto the church,
Buried within the ruin’d monasteries,
Shall lift their stately heads and rise again,
To astonish the destroyers’ wandering eyes.
Zeal shall be deck’d in gold: religion,
Not like a virgin robb’d of all her pomp,
But, bravely shining in her gems of state,
Like a fair bride be offer’d to the Lord.
To build large houses, pull no churches down,
Rather enrich the temple with our crown:
Better a poor queen, than the subjects poor.
Win. May it please your grace to give release
Unto such ancient bishops that have lost
Their honours in the church affairs.
Q. Mary. We have given order
To the duke of Norfolk to release them.
Arun. Your sacred highness will no doubt be mindful
Of the late oath you took at Framlingham.
Q. Mary. O, my lord Arundel, we remember that;
But shall a subject force his prince to swear
Contrary to her conscience and the law?
We here release unto our faithful people
One entire subsidy, due unto the crown
In our dead brother’s days. The commonalty
Shall not be o’erburden’d in our reign:
Let them be liberal in religion,
And we will spare their treasure to themselves.
Better a poor prince than the nation poor:
The subjects’ treasure is the sovereign’s store.
Arun. What is your highness’ pleasure ‘bout the rebels?
Q. Mary. The queen-like rebel, mean you not?
Queen Jane?
Arun. Guildford, and Jane, with great Northumberland,
And haughty Suffolk’s duke.
Q. Mary. The duke of Suffolk is not yet apprehended:
Therefore, my lords,
Some of you most dear to us in love
Be careful of that charge:
The rest we’ll leave for trial of th’ other prisoners.
Wyat. The lady Jane, most mighty sovereign,
Allied to you in blood,
For she’s the daughter of your father’s sister,
Mary the queen of France, Charles Brandon’s wife,
Your niece, your next of blood except your sister,
Deserves some pity, so doth youthful Guildford.
Win. Such pity as the law allows to traitors.
Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker Page 158