| [Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a
Captain, a Master, a Master's-mate, WALTER WHITMORE, and others; with them SUFFOLK, and others, prisoners] Captain
| The gaudy, blabbing and remorseful day
| Is crept into the bosom of the sea; And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades That drag the tragic melancholy night; Who, with their drowsy, slow and flagging wings, Clip dead men's graves and from their misty jaws Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize; For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, Here shall they make their ransom on the sand, Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore. Master, this prisoner freely give I thee; And thou that art his mate, make boot of this; The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share. First Gentleman
| What is my ransom, master? let me know.
| Master
| A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.
| Master's-Mate
| And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.
| Captain
| What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,
| And bear the name and port of gentlemen? Cut both the villains' throats; for die you shall: The lives of those which we have lost in fight Be counterpoised with such a petty sum! First Gentleman
| I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.
| Second Gentleman
| And so will I and write home for it straight.
| WHITMORE
| I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
| And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die; [To SUFFOLK]
| And so should these, if I might have my will.
| Captain
| Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.
| SUFFOLK
| Look on my George; I am a gentleman:
| Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. WHITMORE
| And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore.
| How now! why start'st thou? what, doth death affright? SUFFOLK
| Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
| A cunning man did calculate my birth And told me that by water I should die: Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded; Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded. WHITMORE
| Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care not:
| Never yet did base dishonour blur our name, But with our sword we wiped away the blot; Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced, And I proclaim'd a coward through the world! SUFFOLK
| Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince,
| The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole. WHITMORE
| The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags!
| SUFFOLK
| Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke:
| Jove sometimes went disguised, and why not I? Captain
| But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.
| SUFFOLK
| Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's blood,
| The honourable blood of Lancaster, Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my stirrup? Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule And thought thee happy when I shook my head? How often hast thou waited at my cup, Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board. When I have feasted with Queen Margaret? Remember it and let it make thee crest-fall'n, Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride; How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood And duly waited for my coming forth? This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf, And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. WHITMORE
| Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?
| Captain
| First let my words stab him, as he hath me.
| SUFFOLK
| Base slave, thy words are blunt and so art thou.
| Captain
| Convey him hence and on our longboat's side
| Strike off his head. SUFFOLK
| Thou darest not, for thy own.
| Captain
| Yes, Pole.
| SUFFOLK
| Pole!
| Captain
| Pool! Sir Pool! lord!
| Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt Troubles the silver spring where England drinks. Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth For swallowing the treasure of the realm: Thy lips that kiss'd the queen shall sweep the ground; And thou that smiledst at good Duke Humphrey's death, Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again: And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, For daring to affy a mighty lord Unto the daughter of a worthless king, Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. By devilish policy art thou grown great, And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorged With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France, The false revolting Normans thorough thee Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts, And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain, As hating thee, are rising up in arms: And now the house of York, thrust from the crown By shameful murder of a guiltless king And lofty proud encroaching tyranny, Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine, Under the which is writ 'Invitis nubibus.' The commons here in Kent are up in arms: And, to conclude, reproach and beggary Is crept into the palace of our king. And all by thee. Away! convey him hence. SUFFOLK
| O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder
| Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges! Small things make base men proud: this villain here, Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate. Drones suck not eagles' blood but rob beehives: It is impossible that I should die By such a lowly vassal as thyself. Thy words move rage and not remorse in me: I go of message from the queen to France; I charge thee waft me safely cross the Channel. Captain
| Walter,--
| WHITMORE
| Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.
| SUFFOLK
| Gelidus timor occupat artus it is thee I fear.
| WHITMORE
| Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee.
| What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? First Gentleman
| My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.
| SUFFOLK
| Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough,
| Used to command, untaught to plead for favour. Far be it we should honour such as these With humble suit: no, rather let my head Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any Save to the God of heaven and to my king; And sooner dance upon a bloody pole Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. True nobility is exempt from fear: More can I bear than you dare execute. Captain
| Hale him away, and let him talk no more.
| SUFFOLK
| Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can,
| That this my death may never be forgot! Great men oft die by vile bezonians: A Roman sworder and banditto slave Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates. [Exeunt Whitmore and others with Suffolk]
| Captain
| And as for these whose ransom we have set,
| It is our pleasure one of them depart; Therefore come you with us and let him go. [Exeunt all but the First Gentleman]
| [Re-enter WHITMORE with SUFFOLK's body]
| WHITMORE
| There let his head and lifeless body lie,
| Until the queen his mistress bury it. [Exit]
| First Gentleman
| O barbarous and bloody spectacle!
| His body will I bear unto the king: If he revenge it not, yet will his friends; So will the queen, that living held him dear. [Exit with the body]
| |
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[Enter GEORGE BEVIS and JOHN HOLLAND]
| BEVIS
| Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a lath;
| they have been up these two days. HOLLAND
| They have the more need to sleep now, then.
| BEVIS
| I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress
| the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it. HOLLAND
| So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, I say it
| was never merry world in England since gentlemen came up. BEVIS
| O miserable age! virtue is not regarded in handicrafts-men.
| HOLLAND
| The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.
| BEVIS
| Nay, more, the king's council are no good workmen.
| HOLLAND
| True; and yet it is said, labour in thy vocation;
| which is as much to say as, let the magistrates be labouring men; and therefore should we be magistrates. BEVIS
| Thou hast hit it; for there's no better sign of a
| brave mind than a hard hand. HOLLAND
| I see them! I see them! there's Best's son, the
| tanner of Wingham,-- BEVIS
| He shall have the skin of our enemies, to make
| dog's-leather of. HOLLAND
| And Dick the Butcher,--
| BEVIS
| Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquity's
| throat cut like a calf. HOLLAND
| And Smith the weaver,--
| BEVIS
| Argo, their thread of life is spun.
| HOLLAND
| Come, come, let's fall in with them.
| [Drum. Enter CADE, DICK the Butcher, SMITH the
| Weaver, and a Sawyer, with infinite numbers] CADE
| We John Cade, so termed of our supposed father,--
| DICK
| [Aside] Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings.
| CADE
| For our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with
| the spirit of putting down kings and princes, --Command silence. DICK
| Silence!
| CADE
| My father was a Mortimer,--
| DICK
| [Aside] He was an honest man, and a good
| bricklayer. CADE
| My mother a Plantagenet,--
| DICK
| [Aside] I knew her well; she was a midwife.
| CADE
| My wife descended of the Lacies,--
| DICK
| [Aside] She was, indeed, a pedler's daughter, and
| sold many laces. SMITH
| [Aside] But now of late, notable to travel with her
| furred pack, she washes bucks here at home. CADE
| Therefore am I of an honourable house.
| DICK
| [Aside] Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable;
| and there was he borne, under a hedge, for his father had never a house but the cage. CADE
| Valiant I am.
| SMITH
| [Aside] A' must needs; for beggary is valiant.
| CADE
| I am able to endure much.
| DICK
| [Aside] No question of that; for I have seen him
| whipped three market-days together. CADE
| I fear neither sword nor fire.
| SMITH
| [Aside] He need not fear the sword; for his coat is of proof.
| DICK
| [Aside] But methinks he should stand in fear of
| fire, being burnt i' the hand for stealing of sheep. CADE
| Be brave, then; for your captain is brave, and vows
| reformation. There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny: the three-hooped pot; shall have ten hoops and I will make it felony to drink small beer: all the realm shall be in common; and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass: and when I am king, as king I will be,-- ALL
| God save your majesty!
| CADE
| I thank you, good people: there shall be no money;
| all shall eat and drink on my score; and I will apparel them all in one livery, that they may agree like brothers and worship me their lord. DICK
| The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.
| CADE
| Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable
| thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment? that parchment, being scribbled o'er, should undo a man? Some say the bee stings: but I say, 'tis the bee's wax; for I did but seal once to a thing, and I was never mine own man since. How now! who's there? [Enter some, bringing forward the Clerk of Chatham]
| SMITH
| The clerk of Chatham: he can write and read and
| cast accompt. CADE
| O monstrous!
| SMITH
| We took him setting of boys' copies.
| CADE
| Here's a villain!
| SMITH
| Has a book in his pocket with red letters in't.
| CADE
| Nay, then, he is a conjurer.
| DICK
| Nay, he can make obligations, and write court-hand.
| CADE
| I am sorry for't: the man is a proper man, of mine
| honour; unless I find him guilty, he shall not die. Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee: what is thy name? Clerk
| Emmanuel.
| DICK
| They use to write it on the top of letters: 'twill
| go hard with you. CADE
| Let me alone. Dost thou use to write thy name? or
| hast thou a mark to thyself, like an honest plain-dealing man? CLERK
| Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up
| that I can write my name. ALL
| He hath confessed: away with him! he's a villain
| and a traitor. CADE
| Away with him, I say! hang him with his pen and
| ink-horn about his neck. [Exit one with the Clerk]
| [Enter MICHAEL]
| MICHAEL
| Where's our general?
| CADE
| Here I am, thou particular fellow.
| MICHAEL
| Fly, fly, fly! Sir Humphrey Stafford and his
| brother are hard by, with the king's forces. CADE
| Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down. He
| shall be encountered with a man as good as himself: he is but a knight, is a'? MICHAEL
| No.
| CADE
| To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently.
| [Kneels]
| Rise up Sir John Mortimer.
| [Rises]
| Now have at him!
| [Enter SIR HUMPHREY and WILLIAM STAFFORD, with
| drum and soldiers] SIR HUMPHREY
| Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent,
| Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down; Home to your cottages, forsake this groom: The king is merciful, if you revolt. WILLIAM STAFFORD
| But angry, wrathful, and inclined to blood,
| If you go forward; therefore yield, or die. CADE
| As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not:
| It is to you, good people, that I speak, Over whom, in time to come, I hope to reign; For I am rightful heir unto the crown. SIR HUMPHREY
| Villain, thy father was a plasterer;
| And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not? CADE
| And Adam was a gardener.
| WILLIAM STAFFORD
| And what of that?
| CADE
| Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March.
| Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did he not? SIR HUMPHREY
| Ay, sir.
| CADE
| By her he had two children at one birth.
| WILLIAM STAFFORD
| That's false.
| CADE
| Ay, there's the question; but I say, 'tis true:
| The elder of them, being put to nurse, Was by a beggar-woman stolen away; And, ignorant of his birth and parentage, Became a bricklayer when he came to age: His son am I; deny it, if you can. DICK
| Nay, 'tis too true; therefore he shall be king.
| SMITH
| Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, and
| the bricks are alive at this day to testify it; therefore deny it not. |