 | The Blind-Beggar of Bednal-Green |  |
ACT II.
Enter Sir Robert, Kate his Daughter, Bess Momford, and Swash.Kate.
Father you wrong me, and my Cosen Momford,
I marry Playnsey, troth plight unto her;
Oh it's an impious match! I'll rather have
Than such a mariage-bed, a dismal grave.
Sir Rob.
Use no more words, no tittle tattle talk,
The Priest is sent for, Playnsey is a comming,
He shall have you, and you shall have his Land.
Kate.
But for my Cosen Bess—
Sir Rob.
Your Cosen-Beggar, Child unto a Traytor;
Go to no more, come heark a word with me.
Enter Old Strowd, and Swash.
Old Str.
Ha this is excellent, stript of his cloaths,
His shirt stoln from his back, why this exceeds,
This is a toy to mock an Ape withall.
Swash.
Nay barlady Sir this toy has mock'd as well-favour'd a
Youth, as your own Son.
Old Str.
Hold ye, there's ten pound, go fetch him new cloaths.
Swash.
Nay Sir he wants no cloaths, for he hath a Cloak laid on
with gold lace, and an imbroidred Ierkin, and thus he is marching
hither like the fore-man of a Morris.
Old Stro.
Not for 20 l. gold lace embroiderd,
I'll see how he is suited by and by.
Swash.
I'll tell him so, but pray Mr. let me be at the wedding feast.
Old Stro.
And there you'll be hoyting and kissing the Wenches
you.
Swash.
Not I indeed Master, I never use to kiss any, not I.
Old Stro.
You know what complaints was made of you the last
wedding you were at.
Swash.
I thank ye Master ye made me stand in a white sheet for ye—
Old Stro.
How for me Knave? go to thou lyest, thou shalt not be
there for that lye.
Swash.
Pray let me go, there will be all the Youth of our Parish
there, good Master?
Old Stro.
Well Sir, go your way, but let me hear no ill of ye you
were best.
Swash.
I warrant ye Master, thank ye Sir, hey for our Town.
Old Stro.
Go, get you gone, I fear we shall fall out,
I wonder what Sir Robert does intend?
Exit.
Sir Rob.
Look to't, pine, pule, weep, sob, it shall be so,
Thou shalt be Playnseys wife who ere sayes no.
Old Stro.
Sir Robert since your Cosen is refus'd
By Mr. Gilbert Playnsey, if she please, and you agree
Your Cosen Elizabeth shall have Tom Strowd;
You know he is my Heir, no Clown, no Swad,
But held in Norfolk for a Lusty Lad.
Sir Rob.
Let her take whom she will, all's one to me.
Old Stro.
How say you Lady?
Bess.
For Playnsey's sake
The name of mariage I have sworn to hate.
Enter old Playnsey and his Son, Momford follows them.
Sir Rob.
Good morrow good Sir Walter and Son Playnsey,
I trust Sir Walter gill hath let you know
My purpose, for this mariage with my Daughter?
Old Playn.
He tells me he is so resolv'd Sir Robert,
And in his own power now consists his choyce,
But be assur'd, the searching eye of Heaven
Sees every thought of man, take heed you two
Answer not for each ill deed, and wrong ye do.
Sir Rob.
Tut tut Sir Walter, God and we for that;
Speak Mr. Playnsey, let Bess Momford hear
How you resolve unto my Daughter Katherine.
Y. Playn.
I come to mary her.
Kate.
Think upon your Vow,
See this sad Lady, when you went to France,
You swore at your return to mary her.
Y. Playn.
Fair be content, my mind therein is chang'd,
Her Father is disgraced and exil'd
And therefore Playnseys Son doth scorn his Child.
Bess.
Do scorn me, leave me, every way abuse me,
Death will receive me, though you all refuse me.
Sir Rob.
Nay good Sir Walter be not discontent,
Son Playnsey, Daughter Katherine, let's confer.
Old Stro.
How say you Madam, will Sir Robert Westford
Defeat me of the Land I have at morgage,
Take away all your Jewels, and your plate?
He sayes he will.
Old Stro.
Well let him and he dare.
And if he wrong you Lady come to me.
Momf.
Wondrous amazement! what doth Momford see?
Where he most trusted, most impiety.
Sir Rob.
The Chaplain stayes in Heavens name let us in,
They shall be maried in Bess Momfords sight.
Kate.
Father your malice to my Cosen Momford,
This deed of Playnsey whom you call my Husband,
Whom I shall never love, never abide,
Makes me to Death and Shame become a Bride:
But Shame will quickly from my red cheeks flye,
And Death will paint them with his ashy dye.
Sir Rob.
Come, come, leave pratling, Playnsey comfort Kate.
Y. Playn.
Fair Love be frolick talk no more of death and care
We'll sport, for I am young, and thou art fair.
Farewell forsaken Turtle, take thy flight
To some more abject mate whilst Kate and I, joys adore.
Kate.
High Heaven forgive me, Father have remorce,
Let me not thus be hal'd to death perforce.
Ex. both.
Old Playn.
Sir Robert Westford I mislike this match.
Old Stro.
'Tis more than Injury, but Lady grieve not you.
Bess.
No Sir I am patient.
Sir Rob.
I pray you go in Sir Walter.
Old Playn.
Yes, I'll go in,
But Heaven can tell, I hate this forc'd sin.
Ex. old Playn.
Sir Rob.
What will you do Mr. Strowd?
Old Stro.
I scarcely know
Your moods, and these affairs do fall out so.
Sir Rob.
Well at your pleasure, go Huswife get you in.
Bess.
I will do what you will, yet ere I go
Somewhat on this old man I will bestow,
Thou seem'st a maymed Souldier, wo is me!
I have a little Gold, good Father take it,
And here's a Diamond do not forsake it;
My Father was a Souldier maym'd like thee,
Thou in thy limbs, he by vil'd infamy.
Old Stro.
Bith mass I like her, shee's a Momford right
Of noble blood and the true Norfolk breed;
Hold the good fellow there's one 40 pence
Momf.
I thank you Sir, I have more than I deserve.
Sir Rob.
I Sir, and more than you shall bear from hence
Come Minx what Iewell did you give this Rogue.
Momf.
I am a Souldier Sir, the name of Rogue
Ill fits a man of your respect to give
To a poor Gentleman, though in distress.
Sir Rob.
A Gentleman! and why a Gentleman
Because a Souldier? Come you desper-view.
Deliver me the Iewel or I'll hang thee,
To morrow is the Sessions, I'll make short,
And shave your Gentry shorter by the neck,
A Gentleman! come, come, give me the Iewel,
What makes your Gentry sneaking at my Gate?
Momf.
I came from Momford banish'd in Britany,
He prays ye by this token you would send
A thousand Marks to help him in his need.
Sir Rob.
Where do you lye Sir?
Momf.
I lay last night with a Blind-Beggar
That hath a little House on Bednall-Green.
Sir Rob.
He came but yesterday, I heard of him
Beggars keep lodging, well I'll hamper him,
I know this token, and will keep the same:
But have no 1000 Marks to maintain Rebels.
Momf.
Base upstart Knight deliver Momfords Seal,
Draw.
Or by the honour of a Souldiers name
I'll slice thy heart out.
Sir Rob.
Help me Mr. Strowd.
Old Stro.
What help ye to do wrong?
Nay by the rood, though Momford was exil'd,
'Twas told me he should have his Lands and Goods.
Sir Rob.
There, take them, but do you hear me Sirrah
Take heed I catch you not at the Blind-Beggars.
Momf.
If I should lye there, though you be a Iustice,
I trust to find Friends in my just defence.
Old Stro.
Hold thee good fellow, there's the t'other noble,
Bith mass I like thee, th'art a tough old Lad
Momf.
I thank you Sir, Lady I'll take my leave.
Bess.
Commend me to my Father good old man.
Momf.
I will, and tell him of Sir Roberts wrong.
Do fellow, say, I scorn his treachery,
And hope his end will be in misery.
Momf.
I'll tell him what you say.
Exit Momf.
Bess.
Father farewell.
Sir Rob.
Nay 'twere best ye packt,
Beggar with Beggar, for ye shall away:
Ha Huswife! are you giving Diamonds,
Do you forget your Jewels are all mine,
Did not old Westford pay for this attire?
But off with it, go in, or either drudge
Amongst my Servants to maintain your State,
Or pack, stay not an hour.
Bess.
Yon shall not need
To bid me pack, for I'll begon indeed.
Exit Bess.
Sir Rob.
To steal and hang, or starve and beg, choose which
Old Stro.
Sir Robert by the—yon do her wrong.
Sir Rob.
What's that to you look to your own affairs,
Strowd, Strowd, you think to have the Land at Farnam,
I and shall, and shall—
Old Stro.
And will, do you your worst.
Sir Rob.
Y'are too sawcy Strowd.
Old Stro.
Too sawcy moody Knight,
Thou durst not thus in scorn to old Strowd prate,
But cock on thine own hill, thus near thy Gate.
Sir Rob.
I'll meet thee where thou dar'st, and when thou dar'st.
Old Stro.
I'll say th'art a tall man and thou dost.
Sir Rob.
Appoint the place.
Old Stro.
Theee is a new mown field
Lying by Eastward of a little shed
That stands on Bednall-Green.
Sir Rob.
I know it, that's the shed the Souldier lay in,
The Close is compas'd with a quick set, is't not?
Old Stro.
The same.
Sir Rob.
I like it, what's the hour?
Old Stro.
'Twixt one and two.
Sir Rob.
Hold the Strowd, there's my hand
I'll meet thee, and I'll make thee know me too.
Old Stro.
No more, I'll meet thee, else call me Jew.
Exeunt.
Enter Tom Strowd and Swash his man, Gallant
Y. Stro.
London lick penny can ye it,—t'as lick'd me with a
Sattin suite t'other night, as a man shall lightly see in a Summers day;
but if ere it be my fortune to meet with that ill fac'd Gypsie that
stole it, I'll teach him his teripoop for stealing, whilst he hath a day
to live again, so woll I: Nay nothing griev'd me Swash, but that
the slave perswaded me to lye naked for fear of the Fleas; which
when I had done he stole me away as fair a shirt of my Mothers
own spinning, as a man shall need to pull o're his ears: and Sirrah in
the morning when mine Hostis came up to call me, I was as naked as
your Norfolk-Dumplin, as I am a christen man I blush'd out of
all—
Swash.
Nay Master I told you at first you should find a sower
fellow of that Gypsie, I lik'd him not he had such a crabtree-fac'd
countenance of his own: but come my old Master sent me for you,
you must along to the wedding to—
Y. Stro.
Why so I say now,—it would make a Horse break his
Bridle to see the humours of these fellows, I know no more how to
please him than I know how to build up Pauls-steeple, so do not I,
but come Swash follow me, I'll to him, the—
Enter Canby, Hadland and Snip.
Can.
Tush man 'tis he, I know him as well as the Beggar knows
his dish, 'tis he that I fetch'd over for the sattin suite, and left him
in pawn for the reckoning, he has a fair Cloak on's back, and we
could get that we were made men.
Had.
Be rul'd by me 'tis our own, do thou take the wall of him,
if he take exceptions I'll draw; if he draws his Cloak falls
down.
Snip.
And all fallings are mine Sir, let me alone, I know my cue
Strowd, thou hadst as good have met the Hangman; for thy upper
Garment's mine.
Canby takes the Wall, and jussels Strowd.
Y. Stro.
—What is the matter with you? so feather-ey'd ye cannot
let us passe in the Kings high way?
Can.
You must learn to know your Duty, and give your betters
the wall.
Y. Stro.
My Betters the wall, on what acquaintance? ye shall
be set up and ye say the word, I'll wash mine hands and wait on
you.
Had.
What do you prate, nay then have at you Sir.
Y. Stro.
—And have at you too then e'faith.
They fight.
Can.
Hold, as you are a Gentleman hold.
Hold me no holds, I'll have another bout with ye,
or I'll make your sconce and the post ring noon together, and
sirrah Gypsie you shall fare the worse for one of your Coats sake,
that rob'd me of a sattin suite tother night,—and well remembred
where's my Cloak Swash?
Swash.
Your Cloaks a good Cloak, take the wall of my Master
ye slave you.
Y. Stro.
I think the fellow be mad,—where's my Cloak
man.
Swash.
Your Cloak's a good Cloak and a fair Cloak, quarrel
with my Mr. ye scabs you.
Y. Stro.
I think the fellow's from pall, I ask thee where my
Cloak is.
Can.
Let not a man pass unsearch'd, the Gentleman shall not
lose the worth of a mite in my company.
Had.
I hope Sir you will not suspect my Boy nor me?
Y. Stro.
Suspect me no suspects, I am sure my Cloak cannot go
without hands, and I'll have it again, or I'll bang it out of the coxcombs
of some of them.
Can.
—Sir you mishape lyes as near my heart as it had been
mine own, and cause I see 'you a resolute tall Gentleman, and in respect
that I was the occasion of this falling out, my Cloak (simpl
though it be) cost me 40 French Crowns, take it, it is at your service.
Y. Stro.
Forty French Crowns, forty French Pins, what dost thou
tell me of thy Cloak? I scorn to wear ere a mans Cloak under the
Element but mine own: but I'll tell thee what, and it were not for
thy sake, whom I think an honest kind fellow and so forth, I'de
bang this Bacon fan'd slave orethwart his shanks, he should remember
stealing a Cloak to Dooms day, so should he.
Had.
Why Sir I hope you know no harm by me were it in place,
where I'de say, he lyed in his Throat that but touch'd the very hem
of my reputation with reproach.
Y. Stro.
Wol't say I lye? thou hadst as good eat a load of logs
wert thou, I say no harm by thee, and yet I say I have seen an honester
face than thine hang'd, what sayest thou to it now? and thou
beest agrieved mend thy self how thou canst, or how thou darest,
dost 't see now. Naye Swash yonders my father, say nothing of
my Cloak Swash.
Enter old Strowd.
Old Stro.
Well, if I live I'll meet Sir Robert Westford,
And here he is, is't possible my Lands
A Jerkin or Jacket for Srrowd.
Should maintain this Attire, you Podigal
Where have you got this trash, unto whose Books
Are you indebted for it, pardon me Gentlemen
For being so sawcy in your company;
'Tis not for a poor Country Yeomans son
To flant it out thus.
Can.
Sir you may say your pleasure, is your Son, but thus much
I'll assure you, though if he be your Son the chiefest Gallants in the
Land are enamour'd with his good parts and valour.
Old Strow.
Nay Gentlemen thus much I'll say for him,
Hee's a right Norfolk-man mettle, all steel:
But I'll not have him use his bravery.
The time has been when as a Norfolk yeoman
That might dispend 500 marks a year
Would wear such cloath as this sheeps russets gray,
And for my Son shall pe no President
To break those orders, come off with this trash
Your bought Gentility, that sits on thee
Like Peacock's feathers cock't upon a Raven.
Let true born Gentlemen were Gentries robes,
And Yeoman Country seeming Liveries.
Y. Stro.
—You'd have the Calf with the white face I think, I am
sure yonders old Simsons son of Showdam Thorp, that wears his great
gall gaskins o'the Swash-fashion, with 8 or 10 gold laces of a side,
and yet, without boast be it spoken, you are more in the Kings
Books than he, and pay more scot and lot a fair deal, so ye do.
Old Stro.
He is a desperate Cast-away like thee,
And wrongs his fathers credit and his own;
The Sons discent's no better than her fathers.
Why should their cloaths be richer? I am as proud,
And think my self as gallant in this gray,
Having my Table furnish't with good Beef.
Norfolk temes bread, and Country home bred drink,
As he that goeth in ratling Taffity.
Let Gentlemen go gallant what care I,
I was a Yeoman born, and so I'll dye;
Then if thou beest my Son be of my mind,
Wast lesse in rags and spend more in thine House,
Swash.
Go to a Bawdy-house Mr.
Old Stro.
How Knave to a Bawdy-house, no sirrah no
give it maim'd Souldiers, and poor helpless Widows.
Off with this trash, on with this seemly weed,
Be not Strowds shadow but be Strowd indeed.
Y. Stro.
Come hither Swash there is no remedy, I must give the
old man good words and speak him fair, for and if he should die
to morrow next (as God forbid but he should) he might defeat me
of all his Land.
Swash.
You say true Master, come on with this Jerkin, so now
young Master you look like your self, and like my Masters son.
Old Stro.
Son what are these that keep you company?
Y. Stro.
A couple of honest proper Gentlemen they seem to be,
but alls one to you, I must keep company with none but a sort of
Momes and Hoydons that know not chalk from cheese, and can talk
of nothing but how they sell a score of Cow-hides at Lynmarte, and
what price Pease and Barley bears at Thetford market.
Old Stro.
Then still consort thee with these Gentlemen, I like the
carriage of them passing well.
Y. Stro.
I a murren on em they they have carried away my Cloak
amongst 'em.
Old Stro.
But let that pass.
Swash.
I Sir 'tis past and gon too.
Old Stro.
And come along with me to Mile end to my Lodging.
I must talk a couple of cold words with Sir Robert Westford.
Go Swash afore, and saddle my bay Nag,
Perhaps I'll ride a mile or two to night:
Kind Gentlemen, I am somewhat troublesom
To press thus rudely into your company;
Come Gentlemen, I'll gratulate your Loves
And your kind favours used unto my Son.
Ex. Strowds.
Can.
And we live wee'l make him spend your living, come Jack
lets go, where's Snip.
Had.
Oh Sir at my sweet Boss the Broakers, neer fear it there's
a sure Dandeno, she cuts it out in Hose and Jerkins, she is an honest
dealer, your privy taker, and your sure concealer.
Can.
Let's to't and turn again to meet this Gull,
Wee'll fleece him and his Bags wee they nere so full.
Exeunt.
Bess.
Oh hapless, hapless, miserable wretch!
To loose my wealth and all my fathers Lands
Did never move me; but to see my Uncle
Cheat me of all my Jewels, and in spight
Even to my face mary my troth-plight Husband
To his own Daughter, and to see young Playnsey
Embrace another in my promis'd bed,
And I thrust out upon the wedding day;
Oh this is it that drives me full of woe
Into this sad and sollitary Green!
Here to do violence unto my self.
Momf.
My Daughter in dispair, then play thy part,
Prevent her ills that did procure her smart,
Alas where am I? how shall I return
Unto my homely Cabbin? where's my boy?
I prethee do not leave me gentle wag,
Take pity of my miserable state.
Bess.
Who talks of pity? now alas good man,
What are you blind?
Momf.
Yes blind, and like to die,
Not for my own, but for thy misery.
Bess.
Father be comforted, I am but poor,
Yet time has been—
sigh.
Momf.
Oh do not sigh Girl,
Grief hath so tyranniz'd upon my heart
That if you mourn my tears will bear a part.
Bess.
You are the man I look for.
Momf.
I am indeed,
And yet thou know'st me not, alas the while
That blind deceit, should clear ey'd love beguile,
Whence spring thy sorrows from some private wrong.
Bess.
Am I asleep, or do I know his tongue,
Art thou blind sayest thou, let me fee thy face,
Oh let me kiss it too, and with my tears
Wash off these blemishes which cruel time
Have furrow'd in thy cheeks! Oh could thou see,
I'de show thine eyes whom thou dost represent.
I call'd thee father, I thou shalt be my father,
Nor scorn my proffer, were my father here,
But in his absence Father, thou art he,
Shed but one tear for him, and I for thee
will weep, till from the moyster of mine eyes
A little font of christall tears, shall rise
To bathe thine eye lids in, yet do not weep;
Lay all thy griefs on me, for I am young,
And I have tears enough to weep much wrong.
Momf.
Wilt thou remain with me, I dare not speak
For fear my tongue should my heart's counsel break.
Bess.
I'le dwell, I'le tend thee, I'le do any thing
To do thee good, because within thy looks
I see the presence of my reverend Father.
Momf.
Hast 't lost thy Father then?
Bess.
Father! I have,
List to my words and I will tell thee how.
Momf.
First lead me to my Cottage, there relate
From the beginning all thy down-cast state.
Exeunt.
Enter Sir Robert Westford, and Captain Westford.
Sir Rob.
I tell thee Captain Westford I have done
No more than I can answer, I and will.
Cap. West.
Nay Cosen Westford mis-conceit me not,
Or if thou do all's one, I say again,
You shew'd a cruell part, and wod the Maid
Be rul'd by me your Betters should decide it.
Sir Rob.
Decide a pins end, do you take her part,
Each one you saw did seek to get their own,
Why should not I then? shall I undergo
Publick displeasure for a pawltry Girl;
Shee comes not in myne ears.
Cap. West.
The more unkind
And cruel you, but wherefore should you mary
Young Playnsey to your Child, considering
He was the troth-plight Husband to your Kins-woman,
The much wrong'd Daughter of the down-trod Momford.
Sir Rob.
Alas for her, does she complain to you,
Why and she want a Husband you are a Batcheler,
You may do well to take her.
Cap. West.
You had done better,
Had not your avarice broke the contract,
Sir Rob.
Well Sir, I will answer what I have done,
Cap. West.
Not one word more Sir.
Enter old Strowd, young Strowd, and Swash.
Old Stro.
I marry Sir, why this is somewhat like,
Now art thou like thy self, but stand aside,
Whose that, Sir Robert? hee's as good 's his word,
The Captain with him, ah he promis't me
To meet me single
Sir Rob.
Pacifie your self,
What I have done I'le stand to, pray forbear,
I'le talk a word or two with Master Strowd,
What's here his son, how and his man too? ha
That's more than promise.
Old Stro.
Now Sir Robert Westford you are an early riser.
Sir Rob.
My last nights promise waken'd me afore my hour,
Send hence your Son.
Old Stro.
'Tis good, I like you well, send hence your Kinsman,
Yet 'tis no matter, I have a devise
Shall rid them all, God save you Captain Westford,
Thanks for your friendly company last night.
Cap. West.
I take your greetings kindly Mr. Strowd,
And with the tongue of love return it back
With double interest, pray is not this your Son.
Old Stro.
I cannot tell, his Mother tells me so.
Cap. West.
I shall desire your more acquaintance Sir.
Y. Stro.
I thank you Sir, I am easier to be acquainted with all,
than to borrow mony on, I thank my father, but and it please you
to drink a Cup of beer or ale, and you'le but walk 'ore the Green
to the red lattice yonder, I'le bestow it on you.
Cap. West.
Thanks Mr. Strowd, pray walk to my Chamber,
I am desirous to impart my love
Unto your kind acceptance.
Old Stro.
Sir I thank you for him.
Please you to walk to Mile end with my Son
And this good fellow, I'le but talk a word
In secret here with Sir Robert Westford,
About Lord Momfords Lands, and follow ye.
Capt. West.
At your good pleasure wilt please you walk Mr.
Strowd?
Pray lead the way, I'le follow you come hither Swash,
and it had pleas'd my Father, I might a had as gallant apparell as he,
or another man, but all's one, a dog has his day, and I shall have
mine too, one day when the old man's dead;—I'le make all flye then
e'faith.
Exeunt.
Old Stro.
So they are gone, and now Sir Robert Westford.
Think of your last nights quarrel.
Sir Rob.
Tut, tut, nee'r prate,
Old Stro.
Thus I revenge my wrong, Thus I defend
The truth, and reputation of my cause.
Sir Rob.
O I am slain.
They fight, and Sir Rob. falls.
Old Stro.
Then Heaven receive thy Soul,
And pardon me, thy Conscience can tell
I never wish't unto thy Soul but well.
Ex. Strowd.
Enter Momford.
Momf.
What pitious groan calls Momford from his Cell,
Whose this my Brother Westford? what and slain!
Heaven thou art just; he that last day for Gold
Did sell my Daughter, is himself now sold
Into the hands of death. Momford dissemble,
Daughter come forth, and look about this Close,
I heard one groan.
Enter Bess:
Bess.
And here's a bloody Coarse.
Momf.
Look if thou knowst it.
Bess.
Oh 'tis my Uncle Westford,
He that last day with his commanding breath
Chid me out of his doors, now breathless lies
Intreating me, to give his mingled body
A homely entertainment in our Cell.
Heaven thou art just, and dreadfull is thy judgement.
Momf.
Glory not in his Fall, but rather grieve
That in his end thou canst him not relieve:
Let's bear him in, and if we can by Art
Upon thy Foe, we'll work a friendly part:
For have he but the smallest sign of breath,
We'll recall life, and rescue him from Death.
But howsoe're the Body stayes with me,
Exeunt with the body.
Till Justice points him out that murder'd thee.
Enter old Strowd, young Strowd, and Swash.
Old Stro.
Saddle my horse, there Swash run
Y. Stro.
At hand quoth Pick-purse,—what's the matter with
you trow?
Old Stro.
Good Son leave prating, Swash where's my horse?
I am undone, go post to Chenford, run to Mr. Glasscock,
Where's my horse I say, the 100 pound he owes me, where's Captain
Westford, take heed he hear me not, Lord how my heart pants
in my bosome, I have slain a man.
Swash.
Slain a man! oh oh oh oh.
Y. Stro.
Peace Swash do not cry so.
Swash.
No, I do not cry, I do but rore.
Old Stro.
I had not the power to keep it longer,
Nor to take my horse till I confest it.
Enter Captain Westford, and Officers.
Capt. West.
Lay hold on him, and Mr. Strowd once more,
Confess thy guilt.
Old Stro.
Why Sir? I not deny
Sir Robert Westford doing me much wrong,
Is by me slain.
Cap. West.
And you for this offence,
Shall be conducted safely unto Prison,
Till matters may be better thought upon,
Mean time your own confession is my warrant.
Y. Stro.
My Father kill a man,—here's a jest to mock an Ape
withall, what shall become of me now: Swash hie thee to Chenford
for the 100 pound, and soon towards Evening Il'e meet thee at Ilford
for fear of base Knaves;—I know not whom a man may trust
when ones own Father does deceive 'em thus.
Ex. Swash.
Old Stro.
Well Gentlemen I do obey the Law,
And yield my body Prisoner to the King,
Soon work what means ye can for my repreeve
Till we may sue for pardon. So adue my Son,
Heaven give thee grace such desperate bralls to shun.
Exeunt.
Y. Stro.
Get a reprieval call you it,—I know no more how to go
about it, than I know how to build Pauls-steeple so I do not: but
I'le go seek out a Gentleman, one Franck Canby that served the Cardinall,
and try what he can do in it; it's an old saying in our Country,
it's better to have a friend at Court than a peny in the purse, it
shall go hard but I'le save my father from hanging thats certain.
Ex.
Musick.
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