Like a brave Knight, and martial Colonel,
In glittering gold, and gallant furniture,
Bringing in coin a cart load at he least,
And all your followers mounted on good horse,
Or never come disgraceful to us all.
BEVERLY.
Perchance you may be chosen Treasurer.
Ten thousand pound’s the least that you can bring.
MURLEY.
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 out all. Flame and flax, flame and flax! 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 axetree crack, my self and my men in Ficket field on Friday next: remember my Knighthood, and my place. There’s my hand; I’ll be there.
[Exit.]
ACTON.
See what Ambition may persuade men to,
In hope of honor he will spend himself.
BOURNE.
I never thought a Brewer half so rich.
BEVERLY.
Was never bankerout Brewer yet but one,
With using too much malt, too little water.
ACTON.
That’s no fault in Brewers now-adays.
Come, away, about our business.
[Exeunt.]
ACT II. SCENE III. An audience-chamber in the palace at Eltham.
[Enter King Henry, Suffolk, Butler, and Old-castle kneeling to the King.]
KING.
Tis not enough, Lord Cobham, to submit;
You must forsake your gross opinion.
The Bishops find themselves much injured,
And though, for some good service you have done,
We for our part are pleased to pardon you,
Yet they will not so soon be satisfied.
COBHAM.
My gracious Lord, unto your Majesty,
Next unto my God, I owe my life:
And what is mine, either by nature’s gift,
Or fortune’s bounty, all is at your service.
But, for obedience to the Pope of Rome,
I owe him none, nor shall his shaveling priests
That are in England alter my belief.
If out of holy Scripture they can prove,
That I am in an error I will yield,
And gladly take instruction at their hands;
But otherwise, I do beseech your grace,
My conscience may not be encroached upon.
KING.
We would be loath to press our subjects’ bodies,
Much less their souls, the dear redeemed part
Of him that is the ruler of us all;
Yet let me counsel ye, that might command:
Do not presume to tempt them with ill words,
Nor suffer any meetings to be had
Within your house, but to the uttermost,
Disperse the flocks of this new gathering sect.
COBHAM.
My liege, if any breathe, that dares come forth,
And say my life in any of these points
Deserves th’attaindor of ignoble thoughts,
Here stand I, craving no remorse at all,
But even the utmost rigor may be shown.
KING.
Let it suffice; we know your loyalty.
What have you there?
COBHAM.
A deed of clemency;
Your Highness’ pardon for Lord Powis’ life,
Which I did beg, and you, my noble Lord,
Of gracious favour did vouchsafe to grant.
KING.
But yet it is not signed with our hand.
COBHAM.
Not yet, my Liege.
[One ready with pen and ink.]
KING.
The fact, you say, was done,
Not of prepensed malice, but by chance.
COBHAM.
Upon mine honor so, no otherwise.
KING.
There is his pardon; bid him make amends,
[Writes.]
And cleanse his soul to God for his offence.
What we remit, is but the body’s scourge —
[Enter Bishop.]
How now, Lord Bishop?
BISHOP.
Justice, dread Sovereign!
As thou art King, so grant I may have justice.
KING.
What means this exclamation? let us know.
BISHOP.
Ah, my good Lord, the state’s abused,
And our decrees most shamefully profaned.
KING.
How? or by whom?
BISHOP.
Even by this heretic,
This Jew, this Traitor to your majesty.
COBHAM.
Prelate, thou liest, even in thy greasy maw,
Or whosoever twits me with the name
Of either traitor, or of heretic.
KING.
Forbear, I say: and, Bishop, shew the cause >From whence this late abuse hath been derived.
BISHOP.
Thus, mighty King: — By general consent,
A messenger was sent to cite this Lord,
To make appearance in the consistory;
And coming to his house, a ruffian slave,
One of his daily followers, met the man,
Who, knowing him to be a parroter,
Assaults him first and after, in contempt
Of us and our proceedings, makes him cate
The written process, parchment, scale and all:
Whereby his master neither was brought forth,
Nor we but scorned for our authority.
KING.
When was this done?
BISHOP.
At six a clock this morning.
KING.
And when came you to court?
COBHAM.
Last night, my Lord.
KING.
By this it seems, he is not guilty of it,
And you have done him wrong t’accuse him so.
BISHOP.
But it was done, my lord, by his appointment,
Or else his man durst ne’er have been so bold.
KING.
Or else you durst be bold to interrupt,
And fill our ears with frivolous complaints.
Is this the duty you do bear to us?
Was’t not sufficient we did pass our word
To send for him, but you, misdoubting it,
Or — which is worse — intending to forestall
Our regal power, must likewise summon him?
This savors of Ambition, not of zeal,
And rather proves you malice his estate,
Than any way that he offends the law.
Go to, we like it not; and he your officer,
That was employed so much amiss herein,
Had his desert for being insolent.
[Enter Huntington.]
So, Cobham, when you please you may depart.
COBHAM.
I humbly bid farewell unto my liege.
[Exit.]
KING.
Farewell. — What’s the news by Huntington?
HUNTINGTON.
Sir Roger Acton and a crew, my Lord,
Of bold seditious rebels are in Arms,
Intending reformation of Religion.
And with their Army they intend to pitch
In Ficket field, unless they be repulsed.
KING.
So near our presence? Dare they be so bold?
And will proud war, and eager thirst of blood,
Whom we had thought to entertain far off,
Press forth upon us in our native bounds?
Must we be forced to hansell our sharp blades
In England here, which we prepared for France?
Well, a God’s name be it! What’s their number, say,
Or who’s the chief commander of this rout?
&n
bsp; HUNTINGTON.
Their number is not known, as yet, my Lord,
But tis reported Sir John Old-castle
Is the chief man on whom they do depend.
KING.
How, the Lord Cobham?
HUNTINGTON.
Yes, my gracious Lord.
BISHOP.
I could have told your majesty as much
Before he went, but that I saw your Grace
Was too much blinded by his flattery.
SUFFOLK.
Send post, my Lord, to fetch him back again.
BUTLER.
Traitor unto his country, how he smoothed,
And seemed as innocent as Truth it self!
KING.
I cannot think it yet he would be false;
But if he be, no matter; let him go.
We’ll meet both him and them unto their woe.
[Exeunt all but Bishop.]
BISHOP.
This falls out well, and at the last I hope
To see this heretic die in a rope.
ACT III. SCENE I. An avenue leading to lord Cobham’s house in Kent.
[Enter Earl of Cambridge, Lord Scroop, Gray, and
Chartres the French factor.]
SCROOP.
Once more, my Lord of Cambridge, make rehearsal,
How you do stand entitled to the Crown.
The deeper shall we print it in our minds,
And every man the better be resolved,
When he perceives his quarrel to be just.
CAMBRIDGE.
Then thus, Lord Scroop, sir Thomas Gray, & you,
Monsieur de Chartres, agent for the French: —
This Lionel, Duke of Clarence, as I said,
Third son of Edward (England’s King) the third,
Had issue Phillip, his sole daughter and heir;
Which Phillip afterward was given in marriage
To Edmund Mortimer, the Earl of March,
And by him had a son called Roger Mortimer;
Which Roger, likewise, had of his descent
Edmund, Roger, Anne, and Eleanor —
Two daughters and two sons — but those three
Died without issue. Anne, that did survive,
And now was left her father’s only heir,
My fortune was to marry, being too
By my grandfather of Kind Edward’s line:
So of his sirname, I am called, you know,
Richard Plantagenet. My father was
Edward, the Duke of York, and son and heir
To Edmund Langley, Edward the third’s fifth son.
SCROOP.
So that it seems your claim comes by your wife,
As lawful heir to Roger Mortimer,
The son of Edmund, which did marry Phillip,
Daughter and heir to Lionel, Duke of Clarence.
CAMBRIDGE.
True, for this Harry and his father both,
Harry the first, as plainly doth appear,
Are false intruders and usurp the Crown.
For when young Richard was at Pomfret slain,
In him the title of prince Edward died,
That was the eldest of king Edward’s sons:
William, of Hatfield, and their second brother,
Death in his nonage had before bereft:
So that my wife, derived from Lionel,
Third son unto king Edward, ought proceed,
And take possession of the Diadem
Before this Harry, or his father king,
Who fetched their title but from Lancaster,
Forth of that royal line. And being thus,
What reason ist but she should have her right?
SCROOP.
I am resolved our enterprise is just.
GRAY.
Harry shall die, or else resign his crown.
CHARTRES.
Perform but that, and Charles, the king of France,
Shall aid you, lords, not only with his men,
But send you money to maintain your wars.
Five hundred thousand crowns he bade me profer,
If you can stop but Harry’s voyage for France.
SCROOP.
We never had a fitter time than now,
The realm in such division as it is.
CAMBRIDGE.
Besides, you must persuade ye, there is due
Vengeance for Richard’s murder, which, although
It be deferred, yet will it fall at last,
And now as likely as another time.
Sin hath had many years to ripen in,
And now the harvest cannot be far off,
Wherein the weeds of usurpation
Are to be cropped, and cast into the fire.
SCROOP.
No more, earl Cambridge; here I plight my faith,
To set up thee and thy renowned wife.
GRAY.
Gray will perform the same, as he is knight.
CHARTRES.
And to assist ye, as I said before,
Charters doth gage the honor of his king.
SCROOP.
We lack but now Lord Cobham’s fellowship,
And then our plot were absolute indeed.
CAMBRIDGE.
Doubt not of him, my lord; his life’s pursued
By the incensed Clergy, and of late,
Brought in displeasure with the king, assures
He may be quickly won unto our faction.
Who hath the articles were drawn at large
Of our whole purpose?
GRAY.
That have I, my Lord.
CAMBRIDGE.
We should not now be far off from his house;
Our serious conference hath beguiled the way.
See where his castle stands. Give me the writing.
When we are come unto the speech of him,
Because we will not stand to make recount,
Of that which hath been said, here he shall read
[Enter Cobham.]
Our minds at large, and what we crave of him.
SCROOP.
A ready way. Here comes the man himself,
Booted and spurred; it seems he hath been riding.
CAMBRIDGE.
Well met, lord Cobham.
COBHAM.
My lord of Cambridge?
Your honor is most welcome into Kent,
And all the rest of this fair company.
I am new come from London, gentle Lords;
But will ye not take Cowling for your host,
And see what entertainment it affords?
CAMBRIDGE.
We were intended to have been your guests:
But now this lucky meeting shall suffice
To end our business, and defer that kindness.
COBHAM.
Business, my lord? what business should you have
But to be merry? We have no delicates,
But this I’ll promise you: a piece of venison,
A cup of wine, and so forth — hunters’ fare;
And if you please, we’ll strike the stag our selves
Shall fill our dishes with his well-fed flesh.
SCROOP.
That is, indeed, the thing we all desire.
COBHAM.
My lords and you shall have your choice with me.
CAMBRIDGE.
Nay, but the stag which we desire to strike
Lives not in Cowling; if you will consent,
And go with us, we’ll bring you to a forest,
Where runs a lusty herd; amongst the which
There is a stag superior to the rest,
A stately beast that, when his fellows run,
He leads the race, and beats the sullen earth,
As though he scorned it, with his trampling hooves.
Aloft he bears his head, and with his breast,
Like a huge bulwark, counter-checks the wind:
And when he standeth still, he stretcheth forth
His
proud ambitious neck, as if he meant
To wound the firmament with forked horns.
COBHAM.
Tis pity such a goodly beast should die.
CAMBRIDGE.
Not so, sir John, for he is tyrannous,
And gores the other deer, and will not keep
Within the limits are appointed him.
Of late he’s broke into a several,
Which doth belong to me, and there he spoils
Both corn and pasture. Two of his wild race,
Alike for stealth and covetous encroaching,
Already are removed; if he were dead,
I should not only be secure from hurt,
But with his body make a royal feast.
SCROOP.
How say you, then; will you first hunt with us?
COBHAM.
Faith, Lords, I like the pastime; where’s the place>
CAMBRIDGE.
Peruse this writing; it will shew you all,
And what occasion we have for the sport.
[He reads.]
COBHAM.
Call ye this hunting, my lords? Is this the stag
You fain would chase — Harry our dread king?
So we may make a banquet for the devil,
And in the stead of wholesome meat, prepare
A dish of poison to confound our selves.
CAMBRIDGE.
Why so, lord Cobham? See you not our claim?
And how imperiously he holds the crown?
SCROOP.
Besides, you know your self is in disgrace,
Held as a recreant, and pursued to death.
This will defend you from your enemies,
And stablish your religion through the land.
COBHAM.
Notorious treason! yet I will conceal [Aside.]
My secret thoughts, to sound the depth of it.
My lord of Cambridge, I do see your claim,
And what good may redound unto the land
By prosecuting of this enterprise.
But where are the men? where’s power and furniture
To order such an action? We are weak;
Harry, you know’s a mighty potentate.
CAMBRIDGE.
Tut, we are strong enough: you are beloved,
And many will be glad to follow you;
We are the like, and some will follow us.
Besides, there is hope from France: here’s an ambassador
That promiseth both men and money too.
The commons likewise (as we hear) pretend
A sudden tumult; we will join with them.
COBHAM.
Some likelihood, I must confess, to speed;
But how shall I believe this is plain truth?
You are, my lords, such men as live in Court,
And highly have been favoured of the king,
Especially lord Scroop, whom oftentimes
He maketh choice of for his bedfellow;
And you, lord Gray, are of his privy counsel:
Is not this a train to entrap my life?
Collected Works of Michael Drayton Page 184