 | The Life of the Dvtches of Svffolke |  |
Actus Secundus.
Enter Bertie and Dutches.Bertie.
Madam, my promise of your penitence,
Wayed with the puissance of your high birth,
Wherein you are alied vnto the Queene,
Calmed the rough Menace of stout Gardner,
And set a reverence on sterne Bonners tongue,
Humbly to wish your reformation.
Dutch.
The Queene is neere and deere vnto my blood,
In the remembrance of our mothers loues,
Which chargeth greater sorrow at my heart,
Then the huge shocke of their malignant threats;
My soule hath lodg'd the Trueth, it shall not thence,
Whil'st this weake flesh displayes her ayrie sence.
Ber.
But Madam, let your wisedome shut her vp,
Commit her not vnto your state to guard,
But humble your hie spirit, sleike your speech,
That envy may not stumble at mistrust,
Or find a rub to start suspition:
Weare a smoth brow in presence of your foes,
Be shaken with their threats, retreat your spirit,
Till they insult vpon your patience:
The Conquest won in your submission,
They slake the eager pursute of revenge,
To giue you time to purvey for your scape;
You know my leaue of passage ore the seas,
To free my conscience from the gaile of feare.
Dutch.
But still leaue mine vpon the rocke of care.
Ber.
I goe to seeke a releasement of that care,
Freely to spread the ensigne of your Faith:
A simple, rusticke home of liberty,
Is worth your honors in captivity.
Dutch.
It is, it is, and would befit our hues,
To weare them out in contemplation:
There should we read, vpon the naked walls,
The first creation of our wretchednesse;
There no intruding obiects of gaie clothes,
Imbrodered hangings, or rich tapistrie,
Shall wound the seruice which we owe to heaven.
Oh M. Bertie, there my wish would be;
Change honor'd woe for poore felicity.
Ber.
Ile lay a Barke at Leigh shall stay for you,
To be transported to me at Midelborow.
Dutch.
But who conducts me to that Barke at Leigh?
Feare is a trusty guide, it is, it is,
Shee that knowes no way, that way will not misse,
I prethee goe, my Conscience to set free,
My tender feet shall learne to follow thee.
Ber.
I goe.
Dutch.
Yet stay, nay goe, alas which way?
And must we part?
Ber.
We must,
My bodies heere, thou hast my heart along with thee
Make much o'nt pretnee, till we meete againe,
My body and my soule you both retayne.
Dutch.
Slip not my duty, I beseech your loue,
To her for whom my sorrowes shed more teares,
Then is my wounded Conscience charg'd with feares.
Ber.
Patience, good Madam.
Dutch.
Passion Master Bertie,
My spleene is wounded with compassionate pitty,
I could drop out my Liver, rob my life
For that sweete Princes, wrong'd Elizabeth.
Now in the gripe of their pernitious hate,
A guard of Angels ring her life about,
From the malitious practise of her foes;
Rebate their furies, crosse their treacherous wayes,
Let truth in her outliue these bloody dayes.
Ber.
Amen, amen, what shall I deliver to her from your grace?
Dutch.
A comfortable salutation
To that heart sorrowing Lady which my prayer
From heaven has carried to her heart before.
Ber.
Will you ought else?
Dutch.
A kind embrace from you, exchange a teare, or two,
And so farewell.
Kisse.
Ber.
Oh this doth clog me more, waies downe my speed
Should beare our fortunes to a soft repose,
Not daring heere to peepe out of our thoughts,
Without the danger of the Vulters gripe,
Whose watching eyes of inquisition
Steales covertly vpon our purposes,
And yet you lag me with your loade of greefes.
I could tosse woe for woe vntill to morrow,
But then weede wake the wolfe with bleating sorrow.
With what vnwillingnesse I part from you
Let that and these receiu'd.
Kisse.
Adew, adew.
Exeunt severally Weeping.
Enter Cranwell—
Cranwell meeteth her.
Cran.
Madam.
Dut.
Now Cramwell, what would'st thou? thy M. gone.
Cran.
I am glad he stayed not, to peece out our mone.
Du.
What heavy thoght straines moisture frō thy heart?
Cran.
To see your greatnesse strucke with enuies dart.
Her highnesse servants haue attacht your goods,
Discharging all your household officers.
Du.
What remedy? this was my expectation: I was arm'd
The rigorous wrastle of this streame-borne tyde.
Fainst thou at this? then thou wouldst swoune to see
My honourd state changed to ragg'd misery.
Cran.
I will not liue to see that.
Dutch.
Then thy loue is tried:
I thought it would haue lackied by my side.
Cran:
How meane you Madam?
When it tires in service of your Grace,
May I ne're more haue being on the earth,
Were you to passe th'extreamest of all woe,
Might I be worthy, I would share with you.
Dutch.
Vpon thy trust, then I repose my life,
Provide me 'gainst this even a Citizens Gowne,
Ath meanest fashion, like my present fortunes:
This night Ile hazzard to escape from hence,
Putting my feares into the hand of fate,
To trample on or readvance my state,
Wilt thou about it?
Cran.
With a winged speed:
To cure your sorrowes this manly heart shall bleed.
Exit Cran.
Enter Fox, and Clunie.
Fox.
Madam this world is changed.
Dutch:
Change thou with it.
Fox.
Change, and I did it were no heresie:
These humors graple with my honesty,
But they are franticke fits, I let them passe.
Dutch.
Sir what are you?
Clu:
My name is Clunie, and now your graces keeper.
Dutch.
I heare you haue discharged my houshold Servants.
Clu:
It is her highnesse pleasure.
Dut.
Or Bonners hate, but I accept it with a thankfulnes.
Clu:
All are not yet discharged, but your choice
May call two men, a vvoman, and a Nurse.
Nay, Cranwell is all I vvill beseech of you.
Fox.
Why Cranwell, more then Fox?
Dutch:
Because more staid, with him,
Because of most continuance,
And longest vvearing in my services.
Fox:
What meane you by this vvearing? I am sure,
My vvits are vvorne as thinne as a Paper-leafe:
But tis the fairest end of Serving men,
When vve haue spent the pleasure of our youth,
Ene sweate it out vvith painefull industry,
To haue such itching slaues to eate vs out,
Doe you so light respect me? I as light
Will make of you, and it come vvithin my power.
Dutch:
Farwell, pull downe thy stubbornesse of spirit:
There breathes no servant of more honesty:
Wilt please your kindnesse, keeper, vsher me,
To teach my steps to vsher misery.
Exeunt Dutches and Clunie.
Fox:
Now Thomas?
What vvill you doe now, Thomas?
Your Mistres has discharged you, and your coate, Thomas,
Which was as deere to you, as your skin, Thomas,
It is puld over your eares, what remedy:
Has Fox nere a hole to hide's head in these extremities
Now I remember my Cozen Raynauld liues not far hence,
To him Ile make repayre, and feede on countrey poultrey
For a while, till I can cry Vindicta on this Dutches.
Well vvhat Ile doe my thoughts not yet approoue,
Fox will prooue true to trust, not false to loue,
Exit.
A cry within follow, follow.
Enter Hughe Tiler, and Ienkin going to worke with a tray of Tiles and a Ladder.
Til.
Ienkin vvhere art thou, harke what a kenell of bounds
Giues vs our welcome into kent, set vp, come & to this gere stampe
Ile catch me a heate or Ile beate it out at'h stones.
Beats his fingers against his sides.
Ien.
A good fire would doe better with the fingers ends.
Tiler.
But a pot of Ale and a tost would doe best of all
With a cold stomack, over goe to the Cocke
And see if he came a'th kind, if his ale will
Make a man crow, weele leaue our implements heere
They will not runne away, and heeres no great croud
Of People ith towne, but if they be stolne, we may find 'em
Come Ienken, nimbly and stay by't.
Exeunt.
A cry within follow, follow.
Enter Sands, looking aboue.
Sands.
Whither now wilt thou dispose thy selfe
From the enraged pursuite of this search
That with their fresh breathings haue oft tired thee,
After so many hazards, whence my care
Has sweat in water to redeeme my feare,
Must I at last be forc't to yeild and die
Finds the Tilers things.
Oh griefe, but who can slip his destenie
They come and I am tired,
Thankes heaven I haue found a meanes
I hope to shelter me in these extreames.
Goeth vp the Ladder and workes.
Enter Clunie, with many Officers.
Clunie.
Follow, pursue with swiftnesse and hees ours,
Soft heeres a Tiler, weele enquire of him
Sands sings
Which way he tooke, sirra you Tiler ho
Durt dauber with a vengeance answere me,
Leaue singing of your necke verse, Rogue your best
Lest it prooue so indeed, youle answere?
Shakes the Ladder.
Sands.
Say you sir, say you.
Clunie.
Say you goodman rascall?
Saw you not a man passe this way
With a speedy course but now.
Sands.
He crost downe that way.
Clunie.
How the devill did we misse him?
Tir'd I hold my life, and tayne some barne,
Or privy shead; come lets backe, search every nooke,
Ransacke the bushes, in each corner looke.
Exeunt.
Sands.
How strong my spirit is to call them backe,
Arm'd with the steeled proofe of inocence,
That can rebate the edge of tyrany,
Invulnerable innocence she would goe,
But yet this flesh is frayle and full of feares
To keepe the soule from yon Celestiall spheares,
Thy will be done, my maker, whose great hand
Hath now my life from scortching malice fann'd.
Exit.
Ienkes,
Come away Hugh ti ti tiler,
Now we haue lin'd our backs,
And warmd our bellies,
Lets doe our dayes worke in an houre
And drinke our selues drunke all the day after.
Til.
Whope, why the Cocke ale has spurd thee already,
Ien.
Thou art a Coxcombe to say so, I will run vp, and
Come downe my Ladders as nimble as a Squerrill.
Tiler,
For going vp I know not, but thou't come downe
With thy head forward.
Ien.
Why then that's a tricke more then ever thou sawest
in thy life, oh in my ale I can doe any thing, tumble like an
Eliphant.
Enter Clunie, and Officers.
Clunie.
Now where's this Tiler.
Ienkin.
At hand quoth pickepurse,
Ha you any worke for a tiler.
Not so much worke sir as you haue made for the searcher.
And which way crost the man?
Ien.
Should there not be two hundred of slates, saist thou?
Clu.
Answere me hobbihorse,
Which way crost he you saw enow?
Ien.
Who doe you speake to sir,
We haue forgot the hobbihorse.
Tiler.
Yes truely sir,
Looke well amongst your selues for him.
Clu.
The man, the man sirra Saunders, that you said you saw.
Ien.
That I saw said you, all that I saw was a russet
Gentleman with a tosted Cullizance, and hee went downe see him.
Gutter-lane I assure you.
Clu.
That's as true as Sands crost this way, and wee not see him.
Tiler.
Did he crosse this way and you not see him, the
more blind buzzard you.
Clu.
You told vs sirra enow, he went this way.
Ien.
Who I, then I told you a lye, for I was then sipping
my morning draught.
Clu.
Say fellowes did not he direct vs thither.
Ien.
I, who I? Ienken the Tiler.
Watch.
I you.
Ien.
Blesse my slating, is the devill amongst you, that you
fall so fast a lying, if I saw any of you before would every
slate I haue vvere in your bellies, vvhy doe you not know
Ienken the Tiler.
Tiler.
Nor hugh the good Dutches of Suffolkes man.
Clu.
The Dutches man, an Hereticke.
Jen.
Nay nay, thats most certaine, whats an Erewig sir,
a good felow I hope.
Clu.
You shall haue that defind,
When you come before my Lord.
Tiler.
Oh by no meanes,
He spits nothing but fire and fagot-sticks.
Ien.
No matter, I haue ale enough in my belly to
Quench vm.
Clu.
So guard them safe, these villaines haue conveid
Ienk.
Not I, I defie you, I renounce and confound you.
Clu.
Dam vp the brick bats mouth, convey them hence,
Tis they shall pay the price of Sands offence.
Exeunt omnes.
Enter Dutches like a Citizens Wife with Cranwell.
Dutch.
Cranwell.
Cranw.
Madam.
Dutch.
Speake softly, where is Nurse, speake softly prethee
Lord, why loyters she, but call her not: soft, soft, what
creaking shooes hast thou got Cranw, to betray our feares,
put off them traytors.
Cranw.
Madam.
Dutch.
Thou speakest too loud.
Cran.
Neither my tongue, nor shoes, can reach an eare.
Dutch.
Yes Cranwell but they doe of iealous feare.
My life is on the hazard of this game
And I mistrust each step will cheate the same.
Cran.
O that the poyson of this feare were once removed.
Dutch.
We should not then halt heere
The poyson hath the treason of my foes,
I wish but patience to abide their blowes,
But who comes heere, Nurse, with a candle light
Tis darkenesse woman must guide out our feere.
Enter Nurse with a Candle.
Clunie aboue.
Clu.
What light is that there ho?
Dutch.
Nurse what hast thou done?
Disperse away, to Lyon key begon.
Clu.
What ho, will none speake there, awake the guard.
Dut.
What stay you for, for heavens sake will you goe,
Good Cranwell, sweet Nurse, linger not my woe.
Cran.
How will you find that way you yet nere went.
Ile trust in him that guides the Innocent,
Giue me my Child, & Mantle, now heavens pleasure:
Exe. Cranwell and Nurse.
Frewell, come life or death, Ile hug my treasure,
Nay chide not pretty babe, our enemies come
Thy crying will pronounce thy mothers dome.
Clunie within.
Clu.
Shees gone, shees gone.
Dutch.
Not far, but be thou still
This gate may shade vs from their envious will.
Exit.
Enter Clunie and Garde.
Clu.
Gone, gone, pursue her or we are vndone.
Exeunt with Garde.
Enter Dutches.
Dutch.
Oh feare what art thou! lend me wings to flie,
Direct me in this plunge of misery,
Nature has taught the Child obedience,
Thou hast bin humble to thy mothers wish,
Oh let me kisse these dutious lips of thine,
That would not kill thy mother with a cry,
Now forward whither heaven directs, for I
Can guide no better then thine infancy,
Heere are two Pilgrims bound to Lyon-key,
And neither knowes one footstep of the way,
Returne you, then tis time to shift me hence.
Exit.
Enter Clunie with Guards.
Clu.
Search euery corner, heere, behind this gate
Her mantle, oh the lucke, had we but staid
To search this nooke, when fury bore vs hence
With violence to overtake her course,
We had prevented her intended scape
But what heaven would not, could not, tis decreed,
Her innocent life, should not by envy bleed:
But heere we stint not, to pursue her flight,
I know twill boyle vp Bonners rancorous spight.
Exeunt.
Dutch.
Thus far, but Heaven knowes where wee haue escapt
The eager pursuite of our enemies,
Having for guidance my attentiue feare,
Still I looke backe, still starte my tyred feet,
Which never till now measur'd London street,
My honors scornd that custome, they would ride,
Now forc't to walke, more weary paine to bide:
Thou shalt not doe so child, Ile carry thee
In sorrowes armes to welcome misery,
Custome must steele thy youth with pinching want,
That thy great birth, in age may beare with scant,
Sleepe peaceablie sweete ducke, and make no noise
Me thinkes each step is deaths aresting voice,
We shall meete Nurse anon, a dug will come
To please my quiet infant, when, Nurse, when?
Enter Nurse.
Nurse.
Who's that calls Nurse?
Dutch.
Aye me I am oreheard.
She hides herselfe.
Enter Cranwell.
Nurse.
Master Cranwell.
Cranw.
Who goes there? Nurse?
Dutch.
Cranwell.
Cranw.
Madam.
Nurse:
My sweete Lady.
Dutc.
Whilst honest Nurse? how strangely are we met?
Cranw.
It is the place where you appointed vs.
Dutch.
Then heaven is gratious to my ignorance,
For had this night worne on the pride of day,
By I it could not haue found out the way.
Nurse.
Are you not weary Madam?
Dut.
Admit I be, let patience ease all, theres no remedy:
Within cry.
For Grauesend hoe.
Dutch.
Whats that, he frighted me.
They call for their passengers to Graues-end.
Dut.
Passe we our feares with them, there staies at Lee
A Barke that will redeeme our liberty,
If you dare venture, with my fortunes goe,
A tide of Ioy, may turne this streame of Woe.
Cranw.
How you resolue of me, I know not, try,
And vvhen I shrinke, brand me vvith infamy.
Dut.
In heavens name, on then, fellowes all in sorrow,
When we stand need, weele mutuall comfort borrow.
Exeunt.
Enter Bonner, Gardner, Clunie, Ienkin and Tiler, guarded.
Bon.
My Lord sit downe, stand foorth thou I pocret.
Ien.
I never drunke Ipocrasse in my life sir,
Twas strong Ale that I am guilty of.
Bon.
Clunie giue evidence against this wretch,
Hath set his hand to helpe a traytor hence.
Ien.
Indeed my Lord I am no Traytor, I am a Tilor,
Clunie tells your Lordship a fable, we saw no such Man,
not vvee.
Gard.
No, wilt thou obstinately stand in it,
Didst not thou lend him a disguise, imploy him
Mongst other laborers about thy worke,
And yet vvilt thou deny thou art no Traytor.
Bon.
Slaue, Villaine, Dogge,
Haue we not heere the honest testimony
Of mine owne Parator, that saw him clothed
In thy apparell, and darest thou deny it,
Fagots, fagots, hence toth' stake with him.
Ien.
Oh good my Lord, I shall never indure it,
I was wance but burnt ith hand, and I haue bin
The worse fort ever since, doe but heere me,
Prooue that I had any other apparell this seven yeares,
Then that you see vpon my backe, and burne me not,
But cut me into rashers, and broyle me for Carbonadoes.
Clu.
My Lords as I am Clunie, and your Parator,
This counterfeit simplicitude was he,
That twixt the houres of 12. and 1. at Noone,
Convayed the impious Traytor from our search,
By shifting him into his homely raggs.
Ien.
Twixt 12. and 1. nere trust me, but at that very
time I and my fellow heere, (canst thou speake nothing for
thy selfe) were at dinner at mother Puttocks, with a piece
of a Tripe and a blacke-Pudding, by the same token there
was a candles end in't as long as my thumbe.
Bon.
So, so, yar a cunning Knaue, but sirra, sirra,
This cannot serue your turne, you rescued him,
And that by'th law is held as Capitall,
As if thy selfe wert guilty of the crime.
Gard.
His crime my Lord is it not manifest,
That hees a favourer of these Sismatikes,
And vvhat is that but flat rebellion.
Bon.
Goe too, he must frye fort, he, shall I say the word,
Bonner that ere long will purge this land with bonfiers,
We come not with the Oliue branch of Peace,
But with the sword of Iustice, these Hidraes-heads will still
Be florishing, vnlesse at once we giu't a fatall stroke,
Let them convert to ashes, let them burne,
So shall the State be quiet : how now, vvhat newes?
What haue you caught the Dutches.
Enter Messenger.
Mess.
Most strangely sir, she did escape my hands,
Besides at Billinsgate haue I kept narrow search,
Yet for my life could set no eye on her.
Bon.
But vve haue all this vvhile taine a vvrong course,
Shall vve imagine being hunted thus:
She vvould commit the saue gard for her life
To common passage, where she was assurd
There vvould be diligent waight laid for her:
No, shees more subtile, all the vvorld, my Lord,
In Marget, Lee, or some such bordering towne.
Messen.
And in good time I met a man of hers,
One Fox, my Lord, a fellow, as it seemes,
Disgrac't by her, that told me we were wide
In that we vvent about.
Gard.
Where met you him.
Messen.
Comming from Algate.
Bonn.
Would he not confesse
Which vvay his Lady Mistrisse vvas escapt?
Mes.
With much a doe my Lords, with threats and promises,
At last he told me he would bring
Where we might trace her, and intrap her too.
Bon.
Why brought you not that fellow to our presence?
He shall haue dispensation how he will,
So he be trusty, and performe his word.
Messen.
He promis'd faithfully to meete me heere.
Bon.
Well if he come, your eare.
They whisper.
Enter Fox.
Fox.
Now Fox devise to qualifie
Thy nature to thy name,
These be meere Caniballs
That take no pleasure but in sucking blood,
And though vnluckly it was thy chance,
To fall into their hands, yet be not thou
(How ever outward grievances may vrge)
A traytor to thy Lady; smooth with these,
That vnder collour to betray the Dutches,
She may haue safer liberty to passe.
Messen.
See my Lords, hee's come.
Bon.
Come hither sirra, you did serue the Dutches,
And tis no doubt but you can giue vs notice
Which vvay shee's fled stand not vpon nice tearmes
As fearing to incurre some deadly sinne,
But tell vs plainely which way she is gone.
My Lords, I cannot readily discover
Which way shee's gone, by reason I haue bin
Long in disgrace, and quite dismist the house,
But sure it is, she went disguis'd from hence,
And tis not possible but she must lurke,
Within some Haven towne neere to the coast.
Gard.
What Towne, as thou imaginest?
Fox.
My Lords I thinke toward Dover,
Or the Downes of Kent.
Bon.
Nay thats not likely, soft, some
A horne.
Newes I hope.
Enter A Post.
Post.
Health to this honorable presence,
I come to certifie your Lordships all,
That as we kept the Ports on Essex side,
Twas credibly reported, that the Dutches
With little or no trayne, is lodg'd in Lee,
And for she is disguis'd, and our Commission
Expir'd the date, we craue a fresh supply,
And some direction how to intercept her.
Bon.
No better meanes then to renew our vvarrant,
And send this fellow with it that doth know her,
Into vvhat shape so ere she be transform'd.
It shall be so, I thanke thee Pursyvant
For thy good newes, it glads me at the heart,
I shall at length be even with this proud Dutches.
At Lee in Essex, oh tis excellent:
But I will tell you how't shall be my Lord,
Fox shall not goe alone, Clunie and I
Will beare him companie, and vvithall, ha, ha,
I cannot choose but laugh to tell the rest,
As shee's disguis'd to hide her from my flght,
So vvill I be, to take her, in her slight,
Is it not good, is it not rare my Lord,
Nay is it not the best that ere you heard,
When subtilty by fraud shall be debar'd,
Provide you straight, Fox thou shalt goe vvith me,
Ha, vvilt thou not.
Fox.
(A plague vpon you,) I must answer, I.
How ere my heart abhor this treachery,
My Lord I vvill.
Bon.
Why now thou pleasest me,
And I will richly recompence thy paines,
But for we vvill not, our affaires at home,
In the meane time be slackt, or intermitted,
You my good Lords shall haue a speciall care
About it straight, Fox, Clunie, follow me,
This is to Bonner chiefe felicity.
Exeunt all but Fox, and Jenken.
Fox.
Yes, I vvill follow,
Though not further ye,
I trust this is a meanes ordain'd of Heaven,
To bridle this bloodsuckers cruelty,
But how now, vvhat art thou.
Ienken.
Marry sir an honest man and a Tiler, that vvas
sent for hither to bee examined about wan M. Sands, and it
seemes for Ioy they haue to kno vvhere the Dutches is, they
haue forgotten me, what were I best to doe.
Fox.
What else but get thee home vnto thy house,
Away be packing, since they haue forgot thee,
Doe not thou tarty to reviue their memory.
Ien.
Nay if I put them in mind on't, let me be chockt,
For want of drinke, since Ale thou art so luckie,
Ile take the tother pot while it is nappy.
Exit Ienken.
Finis Actus Secundi.
| The Life of the Dvtches of Svffolke | |