ACT IV.

SCENE I. A field near London. King Henry's camp.

[Enter King Henry, Suffolk, Huntington, and two with lights.]

KING. My lords of Suffolk and of Huntington, Who scouts it now? or who stands Sentinels? What men of worth? what Lords do walk the round?

SUFFOLK. May it please your Highness--

KING. Peace, no more of that. The King's asleep; wake not his majesty With terms nor titles; he's at rest in bed. Kings do not use to watch themselves; they sleep, And let rebellion and conspiracy Revel and havoc in the common wealth.-- Is London looked unto?

HUNTINGTON. It is, my Lord: Your noble Uncle Exeter is there, Your brother Gloucester and my Lord of Warwick, Who, with the mayor and the Aldermen, Do guard the gates, and keep good rule within; The Earl of Cambridge and sir Thomas Gray Do walk the Round; Lord Scroop and Butler scout. So, though it please your majesty to jest, Were you in bed, well might you take your rest.

KING. I thank ye, Lords, but you do know of old, That I have been a perfect night-walker. London, you say, is safely looked unto-- Alas, poor rebels, there your aid must fail-- And the Lord Cobham, sir John Old- castle, He's quiet in Kent. Acton, ye are deceived; Reckon again, you count without your host; To morrow you shall give account to us. Til when, my friends, this long cold winter's night How can we spend? King Harry is a sleep And all his Lords, these garments tell us so; All friends at football, fellows all in field, Harry, and Dick, and George. Bring us a drum; Give us square dice, we'll keep this court of guard For all good fellows companies that come. Where's that mad priest ye told me was in Arms, To fight, as well as pray, if need required?

SUFFOLK. He's in the Camp, and if he know of this, I undertake he would not be long hence.

KING. Trip, Dick; trip, George. [They trip.]

HUNTINGTON. I must have the dice. What do we play at? [They play at dice.]

SUFFOLK. Passage, if ye please. HUNTINGTON. Set round then; so, at all.

KING. George, you are out. Give me the dice. I pass for twenty pound. Here's to our lucky passage into France.

HUNTINGTON. Harry, you pass indeed, for you sweep all. SUFFOLK. A sign king Harry shall sweep all in France. [Enter Sir John.]

SIR JOHN. Edge ye, good fellows; take a fresh gamester in. KING. Master Parson? We play nothing but gold.

SIR JOHN. And, fellow, I tell thee that the priest hath gold. Gold? sblood, ye are but beggarly soldiers to me. I think I have more gold than all you three.

HUNTINGTON. It may be so, but we believe it not. KING. Set, priest, set. I pass for all that gold.

SIR JOHN. Ye pass, indeed. KING. Priest, hast thou any more?

SIR JOHN. Zounds, what a question's that? I tell thee I have more than all you three. At these ten Angels!

KING. I wonder how thou comest by all this gold; How many benefices hast thou, priest?

SIR JOHN. Yfaith, but one. Dost wonder how I come by gold? I wonder rather how poor soldiers should have gold; for I'll tell thee, good fellow: we have every day tithes, offerings, christenings, weddings, burials; and you poor snakes come seldom to a booty. I'll speak a proud word: I have but one parsonage, Wrotham; tis better than the Bishopric of Rochester. There's ne'er a hill, heath, nor down in all Kent, but tis in my parish: Barham down, Chobham down, Gad's Hill, Wrotham hill, Black heath, Cock's heath, Birchen wood, all pay me tithe. Gold, quoth a? ye pass not for that.

SUFFOLK. Harry, ye are out; now, parson, shake the dice.

SIR JOHN. Set, set; I'll cover ye at all. A plague on't, I am out: the devil, and dice, and a wench, who will trust them?

SUFFOLK. Sayest thou so, priest? Set fair; at all for once. KING. Out, sir; pay all.

SIR JOHN. Sblood, pay me angel gold. I'll none of your cracked French crowns nor pistolets. Pay me fair angel gold, as I pay you.

KING. No cracked French crowns? I hope to see more cracked French crowns ere long.

SIR JOHN. Thou meanest of French men's crowns, when the King is in France.

HUNTINGTON. Set round, at all.

SIR JOHN. Pay all: this is some luck.

KING. Give me the dice, tis I must shred the priest: At all, sir John.

SIR JOHN. The devil and all is yours. At that! Sdeath, what casting is this?

SUFFOLK. Well thrown, Harry, yfaith. KING. I'll cast better yet.

SIR JOHN. Then I'll be hanged. Sirra, hast thou not given thy soul to the devil for casting?

KING. I pass for all.

SIR JOHN. Thou passest all that e'er I played withal. Sirra, dost thou not cog, nor foist, nor slur?

KING. Set, parson, set; the dice die in my hand: When parson, when? what, can ye find no more? Already dry? wast you bragged of your store?

SIR JOHN. All's gone but that. HUNTINGTON. What? half a broken angel? SIR JOHN. Why sir, tis gold.

KING. Yea, and I'll cover it.

SIR JOHN. The devil do ye good on't, I am blind, ye have blown me

up.

KING. Nay, tarry, priest; ye shall not leave us yet. Do not these pieces

fit each other well?

SIR JOHN. What if they do?

KING. Thereby begins a tale: There was a thief, in face much like Sir John-- But twas not he, that thief was all in green-- Met me last day at Black Heath, near the park, With him a woman. I was all alone And weaponless, my boy had all my tools, And was before providing me a boat. Short tale to make, sir John--the thief, I mean-- Took a just hundreth

pound in gold from me. I stormed at it, and swore to be revenged If e'er we met. He, like a lusty thief, Brake with his teeth this Angel just in two To be a token at our meeting next, Provided I should charge no Officer To apprehend him, but at weapon's point Recover that and what he had beside. Well met, sir John; betake ye to your tools By torch light, for, master parson, you are he That had my gold.

SIR JOHN. Zounds, I won 't in play, in fair square play, of the keeper of Eltham park; and that I will maintain with this poor whinyard, be you two honest men to stand and look upon's, and let's alone, and take neither part.

KING. Agreed! I charge ye do not budget a foot. Sir John, have at ye. SIR JOHN. Soldier, ware your sconce.

[Here, as they are ready to strike, enter Butler and draws his weapon and steps betwixt them.]

BUTLER. Hold, villains, hold! my Lords, what do you mean, To see a traitor draw against the King?

SIR JOHN. The King! God's will, I am in a proper pickle. KING. Butler, what news? why dost thou trouble us?

BUTLER. Please it your Highness, it is break of day, And as I scouted near to Islington, The gray eyed morning gave me glimmering Of armed men coming down Highgate hill, Who by their course are coasting hitherward.

KING. Let us withdraw, my Lords. Prepare our troops To charge the rebels, if there be such cause.

For this lewd priest, this devilish hypocrite, That is a thief, a gamester, and what not, Let him be hanged up for example sake.

SIR JOHN. Not so my gracious sovereign. I confess that I am a frail man, flesh and blood as other are: but, set my imperfections aside, by this light, ye have not a taller man, nor a truer subject to the Crown and State, than Sir John of Wrotham.

KING. Will a true subject rob his King?

SIR JOHN. Alas, twas ignorance and want, my gracious liege.

KING. Twas want of grace. Why, you should be as salt To season others with good document, Your lives as lamps to give the people light,

As shepherds, not as wolves to spoil the flock. Go hang him, Butler.

BUTLER. Didst thou not rob me?

SIR JOHN. I must confess I saw some of your gold. But, my dread Lord, I am in no humor for death; therefore, save my life. God will that sinners live; do not you cause me die. Once in their lives the best may go astray, and if the world say true, your self (my liege) have been a thief.

KING. I confess I have, But I repent and have reclaimed my self. SIR JOHN. So will I do, if you will give me time.

KING. Wilt thou? My lords, will you be his sureties? HUNTINGTON. That when he robs again, he shall be hanged. SIR JOHN. I ask no more.

KING. And we will grant thee that. Live and repent, and prove an honest man, Which when I hear, and safe return from France, I'll give thee living: till then take thy gold; But spend it better than at cards or wine, For better virtues fit that coat of thine.

SIR JOHN. Vivat Rex & curat lex! My liege, if ye have cause of battle, ye shall see Sir John of Wrotham bestir himself in your quarrel.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. A field of Battle near London.

[After an alarum enter Harry, Suffolk, Huntington, Sir John, bringing forth Acton, Beverley, and Murley prisoners.]

KING. Bring in those traitors, whose aspiring minds Thought to have triumpht in our overthrow. But now ye see, base villains, what success Attends ill actions wrongfully attempted. Sir Roger Acton, thou retainst the name Of knight, and shouldst be more discreetly tempered, Than join with peasants: gentry is divine, But thou hast made it more than popular.

ACTON. Pardon, my Lord; my conscience urged me to it.

KING. Thy conscience? then thy conscience is corrupt, For in thy conscience thou art bound to us, And in thy conscience thou shouldst love thy country; Else what's the difference twixt a Christian And the uncivil manners of the Turk?

BEVERLEY. We meant no hurt unto your majesty, But reformation of Religion.

KING. Reform Religion? was it that ye sought? I pray who gave you that authority? Belike, then, we do hold the scepter up And sit within the throne but for a cipher. Time was, good subjects would make known their grief And pray amendment, not enforce the same, Unless their King were tyrant, which I hope You cannot justly say that Harry is. What is that other?

SUFFOLK. A malt-man, my Lord, And dwelling in Dunstable as he says.

KING. Sirra, what made you leave your barley broth, To come in armour thus against your King?

MURLEY. Fie, paltry, paltry; to and fro, in and out upon occasion; what a world's this! Knight-hood (my liege) twas knight-hood brought me hither. They told me I had wealth enough to make my wife a lady.

KING. And so you brought those horses which we saw, Trapped all in costly furniture, and meant To wear these spurs when you were knighted once?

MURLEY. In and out upon occasion, I did.

KING. In and out upon occasion, therefore, You shall be handed, and

in the stead of wearing These spurs upon your heels, about your neck They shall bewray your folly to the world.

SIR JOHN. In and out upon occasion, that goes hard.

MURLEY. Fie, paltry, paltry, to and fro; good my liege, a pardon. I am sorry for my fault.

KING. That comes too late: but tell me, went there none Beside sir Roger Acton, upon whom You did depend to be your governour?

MURLEY. None, none, my Lord, but sir John Old-castle. KING. Bears he part in this conspiracy?

[Enter Bishop.]

ACTON. We looked, my Lord, that he would meet us here. KING. But did he promise you that he would come?

ACTON. Such letters we received forth of Kent.

BISHOP. Where is my Lord the King?--Health to your grace. Examining, my Lord, some of these caitive rebels, It is a general voice amongst them all, That they had never come unto this place, But to have met their valiant general, The good Lord Cobham, as they title him: Whereby, my Lord, your grace may now perceive, His treason is apparent, which before He sought to colour by his flattery.

KING. Now, by my royalty, I would have sworn But for his conscience, which I bear withal, There had not lived a more true hearted subject.

BISHOP. It is but counterfeit, my gracious lord, And therefore, may it please your majesty To set your hand unto this precept here, By which we'll cause him forthwith to appear, And answer this by order of the law.

KING. Bishop, not only that, but take commission To search, attach, imprison, and condemn This most notorious traitor as you please.

BISHOP. It shall be done, my Lord, without delay.-- So now I hold, Lord Cobham, in my hand, That which shall finish thy disdained life.

KING. I think the iron age begins but now, (Which learned poets have so often taught) Wherein there is no credit to be given, To either words, or looks, or solemn oaths. For if there were, how often hath he sworn, How gently tuned the music of his tongue, And with what amiable face beheld he me, When all, God knows, was but hypocricy.

[Enter Cobham.]

COBHAM. Long life and prosperous reign unto my lord.

KING. Ah, villain, canst thou wish prosperity, Whose heart includeth naught but treachery? I do arrest thee here my self, false knight, Of treason capital against the state.

COBHAM. Of treason, mighty prince? your grace mistakes. I hope it is but in the way of mirth.

KING. Thy neck shall feel it is in earnest shortly. Darst thou intrude into our presence, knowing How heinously thou hast offended us? But this is thy accustomed deceit; Now thou perceivest thy purpose is in vain, With some excuse or other thou wilt come, To clear thy self of this rebellion.

COBHAM. Rebellion, good my Lord? I know of none.

KING. If you deny it, here is evidence. See you these men? you never counseled, Nor offered them assistance in their wars?

COBHAM. Speak, sirs. Not one but all; I crave no favour. Have ever I been conversant with you, Or written letters to encourage you, Or kindled but the least or smallest part Of this your late unnatural rebellion? Speak, for I dare the uttermost you can.

MURLEY. In and out upon occasion, I know you not.

KING. No? didst not say that sir John Old-castle Was one with whom you purposed to have met?

MURLEY. True, I did say so, but in what respect? Because I heard it was reported so.

KING. Was there no other argument but that?

ACTON. To clear my conscience ere I die, my lord, I must confess, we have no other ground But only Rumor, to accuse this lord, Which now I see was merely fabulous.

KING. The more pernitious you to taint him then, Whom you knew not was faulty, yea or no.

COBHAM. Let this, my Lord, which I present your grace, Speak for my loyalty: read these articles, And then give sentence of my life or death.

KING. Earl Cambridge, Scroop, and Gray corrupted With bribes from Charles of France, either to win My Crown from me, or secretly contrive My death by treason? Is this possible?

COBHAM. There is the platform, and their hands, my lord, Each severally subscribed to the same.

KING. Oh never heard of, base ingratitude! Even those I hug within my bosom most Are readiest evermore to sting my heart. Pardon me, Cobham, I have done thee wrong; Hereafter I will live to make amends. Is, then, their time of meeting no near hand? We'll meet with them, but little for their ease, If God permit. Go, take these rebels hence; Let them have martial law: but as for thee, Friend to thy king and country, still be free.

[Exeunt.]

MURLEY. Be it more or less, what a world is this? Would I had continued still of the order of knaves, And never sought knighthood, since it costs so dear. Sir Roger, I may thank you for all.

ACTON. Now tis too late to have it remedied, I prithee, Murley, do not urge me with it.

HUNTINGTON. Will you away, and make no more to do?

MURLEY. Fie, paltry, paltry! to and fro, as occasion serves; If you be so hasty, take my place.

HUNTINGTON. No, good sir knight, you shall begin in your hand. MURLEY. I could be glad to give my betters place.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. Kent. Court before lord Cobham's

house.

[Enter Bishop, lord Warden, Cromer the Shrieve, Lady Cob, and attendants.]

BISHOP. I tell ye, Lady, it's not possible But you should know where he conveys himself, And you have hid him in some secret place.

LADY COBHAM. My Lord, believe me, as I have a soul, I know not where my lord my husband is.

BISHOP. Go to, go to, ye are an heretic, And will be forced by torture to confess, If fair means will not serve to make ye tell.

LADY COBHAM. My husband is a noble gentleman, And need not hide himself for any fact That ere I heard of; therefore wrong him not.

BISHOP. Your husband is a dangerous schismatic, Traitor to God, the King, and common wealth: And therefore, master Croamer, shrieve of Kent, I charge you take her to your custody, And seize the goods of Sir John Old-castle To the King's use. Let her go in no more, To fetch so much as her apparel out. There is your warrant from his majesty.

LORD WARDEN. Good my Lord Bishop, pacify your wrath Against the Lady.

BISHOP. Then let her confess Where Old-castle her husband is concealed.

LORD WARDEN. I dare engage mine honor and my life, Poor gentlewoman, she is ignorant And innocent of all his practises, If any evil by him be practised.

BISHOP. If, my Lord Warden? nay, then I charge you, That all the cinque Ports, whereof you are chief, Be laid forthwith, that he escape us not. Shew him his highness' warrant, Master Shrieve.

LORD WARDEN. I am sorry for the noble gentleman-- [Enter Old-castle and Harpoole.]

BISHOP. Peace, he comes here; now do your office.

COBHAM. Harpoole, what business have we here in hand? What makes the Bishop and the Sheriff here? I fear my coming home is

dangerous, I would I had not made such haste to Cobham.

HARPOOLE. Be of good cheer, my Lord: if they be foes, we'll scramble shrewdly with them: if they be friends, they are welcome. One of them (my Lord Warden) is your friend; but me thinks my lady weeps; I like not that.

CROAMER. Sir John Old-castle, Lord Cobham, in the King's majesty's name, I arrest ye of high treason.

COBHAM. Treason, Master Croamer?

HARPOOLE. Treason, Master Shrieve? sblood, what treason?

COBHAM. Harpoole, I charge thee, stir not, but be quiet still. Do ye arrest me, Master Shrieve, for treason?

BISHOP. Yea, of high treason, traitor, heretic.

COBHAM. Defiance in his face that calls me so. I am as true a loyal gentleman Unto his highness as my proudest enemy. The King shall witness my late faithful service, For safety of his sacred majesty.

BISHOP. What thou art the king's hand shall testify: Shewt him, Lord Warden.

COBHAM. Jesu defend me! Is't possible your cunning could so temper The princely disposition of his mind, To sign the damage of a loyal subject? Well, the best is, it bears an antedate, Procured by my absence, and your malice, But I, since that, have shewd my self as true As any churchman that dare challenge me. Let me be brought before his majesty; If he acquit me not, then do your worst.

BISHOP. We are not bound to do king offices For any traitor, schismatic, nor heretic. The king's hand is our warrant for our work, Who is departed on his way for France, And at Southhampton doth repose this night.

HARPOOLE. O that it were the blessed will of God, that thou and I were within twenty mile of it, on Salisbury plan! I would lose my head if ever thou broughtst thy head hither again.

[Aside.]

COBHAM. My Lord Warden o' the cinque Ports, & my Lord of Rochester, ye are joint Commissioners: favor me so much, On my expence to bring me to the king.

BISHOP. What, to Southhampton?

COBHAM. Thither, my good Lord, And if he do not clear me of all guilt, And all suspicion of conspiracy, Pawning his princely warrant for my truth: I ask no favour, but extremest torture. Bring me, or send me to him, good my Lord: Good my Lord Warden, Master Shrieve, entreat.

[Here the Lord Warden, and Croamer uncover the Bishop, and secretly whispers with him.]

Come hither, lady--nay, sweet wife, forbear To heap one sorrow on another's neck: Tis grief enough falsely to be accused, And not permitted to acquit my self; Do not thou with thy kind respective tears, Torment thy husband's heart that bleeds for thee, But be of comfort. God hath help in store For those that put assured trust in him. Dear wife, if they commit me to the Tower, Come up to London to your sister's house: That being near me, you may comfort me. One solace find I settled in my soul, That I am free from treason's very thought: Only my conscience for the Gospel's sake Is cause of all the troubles I sustain.

LADY COBHAM. O my dear Lord, what shall betide of us? You to the Tower, and I turned out of doors, Our substance seized unto his highness' use, Even to the garments longing to our backs.

HARPOOLE. Patience, good madame, things at worst will mend, And if they do not, yet our lives may end.

BISHOP. Urge it no more, for if an Angel spake, I swear by sweet saint Peter's blessed keys, First goes he to the Tower, then to the stake.

CROAMER. But by your leave, this warrant doth not stretch To imprison her. BISHOP. No, turn her out of doors,

[Lord Warden and Old-castle whisper.]

Even as she is, and lead him to the Tower, With guard enough for fear of rescuing.

LADY COBHAM. O, God requite thee, thou blood-thirsty man.

COBHAM. May it not be, my Lord of Rochester? Wherein have I incurred your hate so far, That my appeal unto the King's denied?

BISHOP. No hate of mine, but power of holy church, Forbids all favor to false heretics.

COBHAM. Your private malice, more than public power, Strikes most

at me, but with my life it ends.

HARPOOLE. O that I had the Bishop in that fear, [Aside.]

That once I had his Sumner by our selves!

CROAMER. My Lord, yet grant one suit unto us all, That this same ancient serving man may wait Upon my lord his master in the Tower.

BISHOP. This old iniquity, this heretic? That, in contempt of our church discipline, Compelled my Sumner to devour his process! Old Ruffian past-grace, upstart schismatic, Had not the King prayed us to pardon ye, Ye had fried for it, ye grizzled heretic.

HARPOOLE. Sblood, my lord Bishop, ye do me wrong. I am neither heretic nor puritan, but of the old church: I'll swear, drink ale, kiss a wench, go to mass, eat fish all Lent, and fast Fridays with cakes and wine, fruit and spicery, shrive me of my old sins afore Easter, and begin new afore whitsontide.

CROAMER. A merry, mad, conceited knave, my lord. HARPOOLE. That knave was simply put upon the Bishop.

BISHOP. Well, God forgive him and I pardon him. Let him attend his master in the Tower, For I in charity wish his soul no hurt.

COBHAM. God bless my soul from such cold charity!

BISHOP. Too th' Tower with him, and when my leisure serves, I will examine him of Articles. Look, my lord Warden, as you have in charge, The Shrive perform his office.

LORD WARDEN. Yes, my lord. [Enter the Sumner with books.]

BISHOP. What bringst thou there? what, books of heresy?

SUMNER. Yea, my lord, here's not a latin book, no, not so much as our lady's Psalter. Here's the Bible, the testament, the Psalms in meter, the sickman's salve, the treasure of gladness, and all in English, not so much but the Almanac's English.

BISHOP. Away with them, to the fire with them, Clun! Now fie upon these upstart heretics. All English! burn them, burn them quickly, Clun!

HARPOOLE. But do not, Sumner, as you'll answer it, for I have there English books, my lord, that I'll not part with for your Bishopric: Bevis

of Hampton, Owlglass, the Friar and the Boy, Eleanor Rumming, Robin hood, and other such godly stories, which if ye burn, by this flesh, I'll make ye drink their ashes in Saint Marget's ale.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE IV. The entrance of the Tower.

[Enter Bishop of Rochester with his men in livery coats.]

FIRST SERVANT. Is it your honor's pleasure we shall stay, Or come back in the afternoon to fetch you?

BISHOP. Now you have brought me here into the Tower, You may go back unto the Porters Lodge, And send for drink or such things as you want, Where if I have occasion to employ you, I'll send some officer to call you to me. Into the city go not, I command you: Perhaps I may have present need to use you.

SECOND SERVANT. We will attend your worship here without. BISHOP. Do so, I pray you.

THIRD SERVANT. Come, we may have a quart of wine at the Rose at Barking, I warrant you, and come back an hour before he be ready to go.

FIRST SERVANT. We must hie us then. THIRD SERVANT. Let's away. [Exeunt.]

BISHOP. Ho, Master Lieutenant. LIEUTENANT. Who calls there? BISHOP. A friend of yours.

LIEUTENANT. My lord of Rochester! your honor's welcome.

BISHOP. Sir, here's my warrant from the Counsel, For conference with sir John Old-castle, Upon some matter of great consequence.

LIEUTENANT. Ho, sir John! HARPOOLE. Who calls there?

LIEUTENANT. Harpoole, tell Sir John, that my lord of Rochester Comes from the counsel to confer with him.

HARPOOLE. I will, sir.

LIEUTENANT. I think you may as safe without suspicion, As any man in England, as I hear, For it was you most labored his commitment.

BISHOP. I did, sir, and nothing repent it, I assure you. [Enter sir John Old-castle and Harpoole.]

Master Leiftenant, I pray you give us leave, I must confer here with sir John a little.

LIEUTENANT. With all my heart, my lord.

HARPOOLE. [Aside.] My lord, be ruled by me: take this occasion while tis offered, and on my life your lordship shall escape.

COBHAM. No more, I say; peace, lest he should suspect it.

BISHOP. Sir John, I am come unto you from the lords of his highness' most honorable counsel, to know if yet you do recant your errors, conforming you unto the holy church.

COBHAM. My lord of Rochester, on good advise, I see my error, but yet, understand me, I mean not error in the faith I hold, But error in submitting to your pleasure; Therefore, your lordship, without more to do, Must be a means to help me to escape.

BISHOP. What means, thou heretic? Darst thou but lift thy hand against my calling?

COBHAM. No, not to hurt you for a thousand pound.

HARPOOLE. Nothing but to borrow your upper garments a little; not a word more, for if you do, you die: peace, for waking the children. There; put them on; dispatch, my lord. The window that goes out into the leads is sure enough, I told you that before: there, make you ready; I'll convey him after, and bind him surely in the inner room.

[Carries the bishop into the Tower, and returns.]

COBHAM. This is well begun; God send us happy speed, Hard shift you see men make in time of need, Harpoole.

[Puts on the bishop's cloak.]

HARPOOLE. Here my Lord; come, come away. [Enter serving men again.]

FIRST SERVANT. I marvel that my lord should stay so long. SECOND SERVANT. He hath sent to seek us, I dare lay my life. THIRD SERVANT. We come in good time; see, where he is coming.

HARPOOLE. I beseech you, good my lord of Rochester, be favourable to my lord and master.

COBHAM. The inner rooms be very hot and close, I do not like this air here in the Tower.

HARPOOLE. His case is hard my lord.--You shall safely get out of the Tower; but I will down upon them, in which time get you away.

COBHAM. Fellow, thou troublest me.

HARPOOLE. Hear me, my Lord!--Hard under Islington wait you my coming; I will bring my Lady, ready with horses to convey you hence.

COBHAM. Fellow, go back again unto thy Lord and counsel him. HARPOOLE. Nay, my good lord of Rochester, I'll bring you to Saint

Albans through the woods, I warrant you.

COBHAM. Villain, away.

HARPOOLE. Nay, since I am past the Tower's liberty, thou part'st not

so.

[He draws.]

COBHAM. Clubs, clubs, clubs!

FIRST SERVANT. Murther, murther, murther! SECOND SERVANT. Down with him!

[They fight.]

THIRD SERVANT. A villain traitor! HARPOOLE. You cowardly rogues! [Sir John escapes.]

[Enter Lieutenant and his men.]

LIEUTENANT. Who is so bold as dare to draw a sword, So near unto

the entrance of the Tower?

FIRST SERVANT. This ruffian, servant to sir John Old-castle, Was like to have slain my Lord.

LIEUTENANT. Lay hold on him.

HARPOOLE. Stand off, if you love your puddings. [Rochester calls within.]

BISHOP. Help, help, help! Master Lieutenant, help!

LIEUTENANT. Who's that within? some treason in the Tower Upon my life. Look in; who's that which calls?

[Enter Rochester bound.]

LIEUTENANT. Without your cloak, my lord of Rochester?

HARPOOLE. There, now it works, then let me speed, for now Is the fittest time for me to scape away.

[Exit.]

LIEUTENANT. Why do you look so ghastly and affrighted?

BISHOP. Old-castle, that traitor, and his man, When you had left me to confer with him, Took, bound, and stript me, as you see, And left me lying in his inner chamber, And so departed, and I--

LIEUTENANT. And you? ne'er say that the Lord Cobham's man Did here set upon you like to murther you.

FIRST SERVANT. And so he did.

BISHOP. It was upon his master then he did, That in the brawl the traitor might escape.

LIEUTENANT. Where is this Harpoole? SECOND SERVANT. Here he was even now. LIEUTENANT. Where? can you tell?

SECOND SERVANT. They are both escaped.

LIEUTENANT. Since it so happens that he is escaped, I am glad you are a witness of the same, It might have else been laid unto my charge, That I had been consenting to the fact.

BISHOP. Come, search shall be made for him with expedition, The havens laid that he shall not escape, And hue and cry continue through England, To find this damned, dangerous heretic.

[Exeunt.]