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
sometime went disguis'd, and why not I?
LIEUTENANT. 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,
Bareheaded 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 crestfall'n,
Ay, and allay thus 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?
LIEUTENANT. First let my words stab him, as he hath me.
SUFFOLK. Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou.
LIEUTENANT. Convey him hence, and on our longboat's side
Strike off his head.
SUFFOLK. Thou dar'st not, for thy own.
LIEUTENANT. Poole!
SUFFOLK. Poole?
LIEUTENANT. 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 smil'dst 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
devilishpolicy art thou grown great,
And, like
ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd
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, surpris'd 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-fac'd 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.
LIEUTENANT. 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 stem and rough,
Us'd 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.
LIEUTENANT. 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.
Exit WALTER with SUFFOLK
LIEUTENANT. 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
SCENE II.
Blackheath
Enter GEORGE BEVIS and JOHN HOLLAND
GEORGE. Come and get thee a sword, though made of a lath; they have
been up these two days.
JOHN. They have the more need to sleep now, then.
GEORGE. I tell thee Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the
common
wealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it.
JOHN. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, I say it was never
merry world in England since gentlemen came up.
GEORGE. O
miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in handicraftsmen.
JOHN. The
nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.
GEORGE. Nay, more, the King's Council are no good workmen.
JOHN. 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.
GEORGE. Thou hast hit it; for there's no better sign of a brave
mind than a hard hand.
JOHN. I see them! I see them! There's Best's son, the
tanner of
Wingham-
GEORGE. He shall have the skins of our enemies to make dog's
leather of.
JOHN. And Dick the
butcher-
GEORGE. Then is sin struck down, like an ox, and iniquity's throat
cut like a calf.
JOHN. And Smith the
weaver-
GEORGE. Argo, their thread of life is spun.
JOHN. 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 term'd 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 pedlar's daughter, and sold many
laces.
SMITH. [Aside] But now of late, not able to travel with her furr'd
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 born, 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 whipt 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' th' 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-hoop'd 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 scribbl'd 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 in 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.