The Life of Sir John Oldcastle [5]
If I drive poor men from your
door, I'll be hanged; I know not what I may come to my
self. Yea, God help you, poor knaves; ye see the world,
yfaith! Well, you had a mother: well, God be with thee,
good Lady; thy soul's at rest. She gave more in shirts
and smocks to poor children, than you spend in your
house, & yet you live a beggar too.
COBHAM.
Even the worst deed that ere my mother did was in
relieving such a fool as thou.
HARPOOLE.
Yea, yea, I am a fool still. With all your wit you will
die a beggar; go too.
COBHAM.
Go, you old fool; give the poor people something. Go
in, poor men, into the inner court, and take such alms
as there is to be had.
SOLDIER.
God bless your honor.
HARPOOLE.
Hang you, rogues, hang you; there's nothing but misery
amongst you; you fear no law, you.
[Exit.]
OLD MAN.
God bless you, good master Rafe, God save your life;
you are good to the poor still.
[Enter the Lord Powis disguised, and shroud himself.]
COBHAM.
What fellow's yonder comes along the grove?
Few passengers there be that know this way:
Me thinks he stops as though he stayed for me,
And meant to shroud himself amongst the bushes.
I know the Clergy hate me to the death,
And my religion gets me many foes:
And this may be some desperate rogue, suborned
To work me mischief.--As it pleaseth God!
If he come toward me, sure I'll stay his coming--
Be he but one man--what so'er he be.
[The Lord Powis comes on.]
I have been well acquainted with that face.
POWIS.
Well met, my honorable lord and friend.
COBHAM.
You are welcome, sir, what ere you be;
But of this sudden, sir, I do not know you.
POWIS.
I am one that wisheth well unto your honor;
My name is Powis, an old friend of yours.
COBHAM.
My honorable lord, and worthy friend,
What makes your lordship thus alone in Kent,
And thus disguised in this strange attire?
POWIS.
My Lord, an unexpected accident
Hath at this time inforc'd me to these parts;
And thus it hapt:--Not yet full five days since,
Now at the last Assize at Hereford,
It chanced that the lord Herbert and my self,
Mongst other things, discoursing at the table,
Did fall in speech about some certain points
Of Wickliffe's doctrine gainst the papacy
And the religion catholique, maintained
Through the most part of Europe at this day.
This wilful teasty lord stuck not to say
That Wickliffe was a knave, a schismatic,
His doctrine devilish and heretical,
And what soe'er he was maintained the same,
Was traitor both to God and to his country.
Being moved at his peremptory speech,
I told him some maintained those opinions,
Men, and truer subjects than lord Herbert was:
And he replying in comparisons,
Your name was urged, my lord, gainst his challenge,
To be a perfect favourer of the truth.
And to be short, from words we fell to blows,
Our servants and our tenants taking parts--
Many on both sides hurt--and for an hour
The broil by no means could be pacified,
Until the Judges, rising from the bench,
Were in their persons forced to part the fray.
COBHAM.
I hope no man was violently slain.
POWIS.
Faith, none, I trust, but the lord Herbert's self,
Who is in truth so dangerously hurt,
As it is doubted he can hardly scape.
COBHAM.
I am sorry, my good lord, of these ill news.
POWIS.
This is the cause that drives me into Kent,
To shroud my self with you, so good a friend,
Until I hear how things do speed at home.
COBHAM.
Your lordship is most welcome unto Cobham;
But I am very sorry, my good lord,
My name was brought in question in this matter,
Considering I have many enemies,
That threaten malice, and do lie in wait
To take advantage of the smallest thing.
But you are welcome: and repose your lordship,
And keep your self here secret in my house,
Until we hear how the lord Herbert speeds.
Here comes my man.
[Enter Harpoole.]
Sirra, what news?
HARPOOLE.
Yonder's one master Butler of the privy chamber,
is sent unto you from the King.
POWIS.
I pray God the lord Herbert be not dead,
And the
door, I'll be hanged; I know not what I may come to my
self. Yea, God help you, poor knaves; ye see the world,
yfaith! Well, you had a mother: well, God be with thee,
good Lady; thy soul's at rest. She gave more in shirts
and smocks to poor children, than you spend in your
house, & yet you live a beggar too.
COBHAM.
Even the worst deed that ere my mother did was in
relieving such a fool as thou.
HARPOOLE.
Yea, yea, I am a fool still. With all your wit you will
die a beggar; go too.
COBHAM.
Go, you old fool; give the poor people something. Go
in, poor men, into the inner court, and take such alms
as there is to be had.
SOLDIER.
God bless your honor.
HARPOOLE.
Hang you, rogues, hang you; there's nothing but misery
amongst you; you fear no law, you.
[Exit.]
OLD MAN.
God bless you, good master Rafe, God save your life;
you are good to the poor still.
[Enter the Lord Powis disguised, and shroud himself.]
COBHAM.
What fellow's yonder comes along the grove?
Few passengers there be that know this way:
Me thinks he stops as though he stayed for me,
And meant to shroud himself amongst the bushes.
I know the Clergy hate me to the death,
And my religion gets me many foes:
And this may be some desperate rogue, suborned
To work me mischief.--As it pleaseth God!
If he come toward me, sure I'll stay his coming--
Be he but one man--what so'er he be.
[The Lord Powis comes on.]
I have been well acquainted with that face.
POWIS.
Well met, my honorable lord and friend.
COBHAM.
You are welcome, sir, what ere you be;
But of this sudden, sir, I do not know you.
POWIS.
I am one that wisheth well unto your honor;
My name is Powis, an old friend of yours.
COBHAM.
My honorable lord, and worthy friend,
What makes your lordship thus alone in Kent,
And thus disguised in this strange attire?
POWIS.
My Lord, an unexpected accident
Hath at this time inforc'd me to these parts;
And thus it hapt:--Not yet full five days since,
Now at the last Assize at Hereford,
It chanced that the lord Herbert and my self,
Mongst other things, discoursing at the table,
Did fall in speech about some certain points
Of Wickliffe's doctrine gainst the papacy
And the religion catholique, maintained
Through the most part of Europe at this day.
This wilful teasty lord stuck not to say
That Wickliffe was a knave, a schismatic,
His doctrine devilish and heretical,
And what soe'er he was maintained the same,
Was traitor both to God and to his country.
Being moved at his peremptory speech,
I told him some maintained those opinions,
Men, and truer subjects than lord Herbert was:
And he replying in comparisons,
Your name was urged, my lord, gainst his challenge,
To be a perfect favourer of the truth.
And to be short, from words we fell to blows,
Our servants and our tenants taking parts--
Many on both sides hurt--and for an hour
The broil by no means could be pacified,
Until the Judges, rising from the bench,
Were in their persons forced to part the fray.
COBHAM.
I hope no man was violently slain.
POWIS.
Faith, none, I trust, but the lord Herbert's self,
Who is in truth so dangerously hurt,
As it is doubted he can hardly scape.
COBHAM.
I am sorry, my good lord, of these ill news.
POWIS.
This is the cause that drives me into Kent,
To shroud my self with you, so good a friend,
Until I hear how things do speed at home.
COBHAM.
Your lordship is most welcome unto Cobham;
But I am very sorry, my good lord,
My name was brought in question in this matter,
Considering I have many enemies,
That threaten malice, and do lie in wait
To take advantage of the smallest thing.
But you are welcome: and repose your lordship,
And keep your self here secret in my house,
Until we hear how the lord Herbert speeds.
Here comes my man.
[Enter Harpoole.]
Sirra, what news?
HARPOOLE.
Yonder's one master Butler of the privy chamber,
is sent unto you from the King.
POWIS.
I pray God the lord Herbert be not dead,
And the