University of Virginia Library

ACT. I.

SCENE. I.

A Noise of Fighting; a Shout for Victory.
Enter Cade and his Rabble.
Cade.
Fling all my dead Subjects into the Thames.
Now say, what place is this?

Butch.
'Tis London-Stone.

Cade.
Then am I Mortimer, Lord of this City;
And here, I, sitting upon London-Stone,
Declare, this is the first day of our Reign.
So I command the Conduits all Piss Claret:
And I proclaim it Treason now for any man
To call me other than Lord Mortimer.

Enter a Souldier running.
Sould.
Jack Cade, Jack! Jack!

Cade.
Knock down that sawcy Fellow.

[A Butcher kill's him.
Butch.
If he has wit, he'll never call thy Honour
Jack Cade again.

Cade.
I think he has fair warning.

Enter a Cobler, with a Scrivener.
Cob.
My Lord! my Lord!

Cade.
Well said, a mannerly Fellow.

Cob.
I have catch'd a Scrivener here, setting Boyes Copies.

Cade.
Oh! there's a Villain! a corrupter of Youth.

Cob.
He has a Book in's pocket with red Letters in't.

Cade.
Then he's a Conjurer.

Cob.
He can write Bills, and Bonds, and Obligations, to bind
People to undo themselves, and pay Money, whether they
Can or no; such a Rogue is enough to undo a Nation.

Cade.
I'm sorry for it, for on my honour he's a proper fellow:
He shall not dye unless I find him Guilty.

Cob.
He shall die, Guilty or not Guilty; I brought him to be
Hang'd, and I will not lose my labour. I love hanging, there's
Never any hanging, but I leave my Stall to go see it.
Hanging-day is my holy-day, and I will keep Coblers holy-day.

Cade.
We'll hang him, but we'll examine him first.

Cob.
No hang him first, for now no man will confess,
Till after he's hang'd.

Cade.
I will examine him.—Sirrah! what's thy Name!

Scriv.
Emanuel.

Cob.
Emanuel!
That's a strange Name, Friend 'twill go very hard with you.

Cade.
Let me alone! Friend, dost thou write thy Name,
Or use a mark like a plain honest man?

Scriv.
Sir. I thank Heaven, I have been so well bred,
That I can write my name.

All.
He has confest,
He's a stranger, and a Villain, hang him.

Cade.
Hang him with his Pen and Ink about his Neck.
Enter others with the Lord Say Prisoner.
My Lord, my Lord, a prize an't like thy Honour.
Here's the Lord Say, who sold the Townes in France,
And made us pay one and twenty Fifteens
And a shilling to the pound, last Subsidy.

Cade.
I will behead him one and twenty times.
Come scurvy Lord, what canst thou say
To our Mightiness, for giving up our Towns
To Monsieur Basimecu, the Dolphin of France?
Be it known unto thee, Traytor, by these presents,
Even by the presence of my self, Lord Mortimer,
That I will sweep the world clean of such filth.
Thou Trayterously hast built a Grammar-School,
To debauch all the youth, and whereas formerly
Our Grandsiers us'd no Book, but Score and Tally,
Thou hast caus'd wicked Printing to be us'd,
And contrary to the King, his Crown and Dignity,
Hast built a Paper-Mill. It will be prov'd,
That thou hast Servants talk of Nouns and Verbs,
And such vile Words no Christian er'e can here.
Thou hast appointed Justices of Peace,
To call poor men before 'em, about matters
They cou'd not answer; yes, and thou hast hang'd 'em,
Because they cou'd not read.

Cob.
There was a Villain!

Cade.
Thou rid'st upon a foot-cloth a dost thou not?

Say.
Well what of that?

Cade.
Why is it not a shame
Thy Horse shou'd weare a Cloak, when honest men
Go in their Hose and Doublets?

Say.
Well, I find
You men of Kent—

All.
What of us men of Kent?

Say.
That Kent is, bona terra mala gens.

Cade.
Bold Traytor, he speaks Latin in my presence.
Go hang him, hang him.

Say.
Hear me, Country men.

Cade.
Hear Latin! Villain? hang him.

All.
Hang him, hang him.—

[They drag him away.
Butch.
We'll hang up every man that can speak Latin.

Cade.
Well counsel'd Butcher, counsel'd like a Butcher.
We will, and more, for they are but few.

Tay.
We'll hang up any man that can speak French.
For I'm a Taylour, and there is no man
That can speak French will let me work a stitch for 'em.

Cob.
We'll hang up all the Lords and Gentlemen.
Spare none but such as go in clouted shoes;
For I'm a Cobler, and live by those.

Tayl.
But by your favour, Sir, I am a Taylor
And, Sir, I live by Lords and Gentlemen;
I only wou'd hang those that owe me money,
And will not pay me.

Cade.
Why, thou stiching Coxcomb!
We will be Lords and Gentlemen our selves.

Tayl.
Oh! that's another thing.

Cade.
Another thing!
What do we fight for else, you silly Rascal?

Cob.
'Tis true, my Lord, we ought to be Great-men,
For it is said, Labour in thy Vocation:
That is, let Magistrates be labouring-men,
Therefore we lab'ring men ought to be Magistrates;
And I will be Lord Cobler, and a Counsellor.

Carp.
I'le be Lord Carpenter, for 'tis a shame.
That none of the Kings Council are good Workmen.

Cob.
The Lords, forsooth scorn to wear leather Aprons.

Cade.
We'll make 'em glad to go in leather Aprons.

Butch.
We'll stick 'em all, and we'll be Lords our selves.

Tayl.
I'll be contented to be but a Knight.

Cob.
Shall we not spare the Lords that are our friends,
Such as thy Cousin Plantagenet, and others?

Cade.
No Lord is our Friend, you Fool, they meerly chouse us.

Butch.
How! meerly chouse us?

Cade.
I say meerly chouse us.
All the fine words and money that they give us
Is nothing else but buying of Calves-heads.

Butch.
My Cleaver then shall chouse 'em of their Brains.

Cade.
When they have done with us, they'l turn us off.

Butch.
Here are brave Knaves.

Tayl.
His Honour understands 'em.

Cob.
I Gad, my Lord's a devilish parlous Fellow.
Prethee, my Lord, what ail's these plaguy Lords
To keep this coyl, when they have a power o' money,
Brave Lands, and gallant Wenches to their Wives?

Cade.
I'll tell thee Tom the Cobler, here's my shoe;
Dost thou believe my shoe, if it had wit,
Wou'd carry me up and down all day i'th dirt;
Or dost thou think my Breeches wou'd be sat on,
Or Doublet cloath my Back, and by that means
Be often cudgell'd, if they had any wit;
No, if they had any wit, they would be Caps.

Cob.
True, but thy worship's Cap is sometimes cudgell'd:
I have known thy Honour have a broken pate.

Cade.
Ay but pride feels no hurt; so some great Lords
Are trodden under foot like dirty shoes,
Some hang like Doublets on the Nations back,
And some like Breeches only on the tayl.
But by their good wills they would all be Caps,
And so wou'd you my friends if you be wise.

Cob.
We'll all be Caps.

All.
All Caps, all Caps, all Caps.

Cade
If you'll be Caps, hang all Lords and Gentlemen,
And all rich Citizens.

Butch.
How, all rich Citizens?
Prithee my Lord, they are my particular Friends,
They buy more Meat, than all the Lords in England.
And then they promise they'll do great things for us,
If we will help 'em to redress their Grievances.

Cad.
Butcher, those promises are but a meer cheat,
These men puff thee, just as thou blowst thy Veal,
Only to make thee swell for their own ends.

Butch.
Are they such Knaves?

Cade.
Oh they are notorious Knaves,
They cheat the Town,their Wives, themselves, and us.
They sit up nightly a Plotting, and Caballing,
So cheat their Wives of due benevolence,
They leave their Shops a-days, for State-Affairs,
So cheat themselves of money they might get,
And cheat the Town of Trade that it might have,
And last they mean to cheat us of our Necks,
Put us on Plots for them, then have us hang'd.
Now my good subjects we are bound in Conscience,
To take their Wives and give 'em due Benevolence,
To take their Shops, and give the Town it's due,
To hang the men, and give the Rope it's due,
And so we shall be very honest fellows.

All.
Ay, Ay, we shall be very honest fellows.

Cob.
In short we'll ha' no Trades but Eating, and
Drinking. We'll have seven half-penny Loaves
For a Farthing, and a Pint-pot shall hold a
Gallon; and so let us about our hanging work.

Cade.
Go, Subjects, go, but pray remember one thing,
To hang the Lawyers when your hand is in.

Cob.
I warrant thee, my Lord, we'll hang the Lawyers:
But now I think on't they wear out
Abundance of Shoo-leather in going to West
Minster-Hall, and employ Coblers much.
Besides they help to undo Lords, and Gentlemen.
But now I think on't we can undo 'em
Fast enough our selves, by burning their Houses,
And taking their Lands. The Lawyers
Have a sure way of undoing 'em, but it's more tedious,
Ours is most quick, and as sure;
So we shall have no use o'the Lawyers,
And so lets hang 'em.
And for that reason too
Let's hang the Doctors and Pothecaries.
For though they do kill Gentry pretty well,
Yet we have a better, quicker way;
By knocking 'em o' the head.

Cade.
Subjects,hang the Doctors and Pothecaries,but
Hang the Lawyers first, for fear they
Hang you—for when you have had
A thousand broken heads, and settled all things,
As right as you wou'd wish, a Roguy Lawyer
Will ruine all again with a meer quirk.

Cob.
A quirk! what's a quirk?

Cade.
—A quirk—why 'tis a quirk—

Cob.
Well, but what is a quirk?

Butch.
What's matter what a quirk is? I know
What my Lord means by quirk.

Cob.
Do you so, Sir: Then you are a Scholar are
You? Sir, as little learning as this has made
Many a man a Priest, you deserve to have
Your brains beaten out.

Butch.
My brains?

Cade.
Hold Cobler and Butcher! Civil VVars
Among our selves.

Cob.
I hate Scholars, I will have no man live
Among us that knows more than I.
But I wou'd know what a quirk is.

Cade.
Dost know what an Awl is?

Cob.
I think I do.

Cade.
Then as thou borest holes in shoes with
Thy Awl to mend 'em, Lawyers with quirks bore
Holes in Estates to mar 'em.

Cob.
Oh! Oh!

Cade.
For this, and other reasons hang the Lawyers.
They strive to make the Subjects break the Law,
And then they make the Law break all the Subjects,
And cunningly they make such rotten Laws,
That men must break 'em all spite of their Teeth,
We send (you know) sometimes men to make Laws,
And there these men sit hatching Laws and Laws,
And as they think hatch sound and wholesome Laws:
A plaguy Lawyer gets his finger in,
And put's such scurvy quirks into the Law,
That when 'tis hatch'd, I Gad the rotten Law
Fall's all to pieces like a pocky Child.

Butch.
There are pure Knaves for you, since they
Are for quirks,
We'll go and put such quirks in the Inns of Court
Shall tumble them all down about their ears.

Cade.
Do, honest subjects, do.

Cob.
We will, my Lord.
And prithee let thy mouth be all the Law.

Cade.
Cobler well said, my mouth shall be the Law,
For all the Law of England is but mouth;
When you are at law, it is not the best cause,
But the best mouth that always carries it.

Cob.
Prithee let thy month be Westminster-Hall,
And my mouth shall be Paul's:
For we ha' no use o' Churches, nor Steeples,
Nor Priests, the chief use o' Priests is to eat
Pig, we can eat Pig as well as they.

Cade.
We have no use o' the Inns of Court, or Tower,
Pluck down the Tower, and burn all the Records,
Why shou'd we keep
Mouldy Records of what our Grandsiers did?
For we do what we will for all our Grandsiers
On London bridge hang Traytours heads, and quarters.
These are Records too, but who minds Records?
Burn all Records—Records?

All.
Burn all Records.

Cade.
Who sounds a parley there?

Enter a Souldier.
Soul.
One from the King.

Cade.
Well let him come, I don't care if I speak with him.
Enter Old LordClifford.
Well what's thy business with me?

Old Cl.
Thou vile Rebel,
VVhy dost thou thus disturb the King, and Kingdome?

Cade.
Thou Fool, to have my own, I'm heir to the Crown.

Old Cl.
Impudent Slave, thy Father was a Plaisterer.

Cob.
Yes, and his Mother was a Midwife, what's that?

Cade.
VVell, Adam was a Gardiner, what's that?
[illeg.]ay, did not Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March
Marry the Daughter o' the Duke of Clarence?

Old Cl.
He did, Sir Clown, and what is that to you?

Cade.
By her he had two Children at a Birth;
The Elder of 'em being put to Nurse,
Was stole away by a stinking Beggar-woman,
(Like a damn'd cursed jade) and by that means
The Princely Infant was bred up a Brick-layer,
And I'm the Princely Off-spring of that Infant.

Old Cl.
Plantagenet invented this fine story.

Cade.
You lye, for I invented it my self.

Old Cl.
I am sent by the King to offer pardon
To all that will forsake thee, and go home.
VVhat say you Countrymen, will you be happy
And leave this Rogue, or follow him and be hang'd?

All.
I don't know what to think on't?

[All mutter.
Cade.
Are you muttering?
VVhy, you damn'd fools, will you believe a Lord?
Do they not often run into your Debts,
And promise payment, and ne're keep their words?
Do they not often with fine promises
Delude your Daughters, and when they have enjoyed them,
Do they e're keep their words? Then follow me.

All.
A Cade, a Cade! we'll follow thee, Jack Cade.

Old. Cl.
You'll follow Cade? pray whither, to the Gallows?
He has no other home to lead you to.
He knows not how to live but by the spoil;
But say that whilst you robb and kill your Country-men,
The fearful French whom you but lately vanquisht,
Shou'd make a start o're Seas and vanquish you;
Had you not better go and spoil the French,
And the King pay you too for your good service,
Than here Rebel, and the King hang you all
For Rogues, or worse, the French come make you slaves?

All.
I don't know what to think on't—

[All mutter.
Cade.
Again muttering?
VVho'll ever trust such cursed whistling Rascals?

Enter young Clifford and Followers.
Yo. Cl.
What are you doing, my Lord? treating with Rascals
It were too vile an Office for a Scavenger,
To sweep such dirt into the Common shore?
And are you treating with 'em? Nay, and treating
In the Kings name too? very fine indeed,
The King must barter for his Crown with Rascals,
What ever price the Villains make him pay,
Though his Crown shou'd be dear, himself is cheap,
I with no Tongue but this will talk to Rebels.

[Draws, all fight on the Stage. Ex.
The Scene a Tent. Enter King Henry.
Hen.
Never had King less joy in Throne than I,
Nor more misfortune. Heaven was pleas'd to set
My Cradle on the top of humane Glory,
Where I lay helpless, open to all Storms.
My Childish hand, not able to support
My Fathers Sword, dropt the victorious point,
And let fall all the Lawrels that adorn'd it,
And French and English fell a scrambling for 'em,
So lost I France; now am I threatned too
By wicked Rebels, with the loss of England.
Cade and his Rebels drive me from my City,
Plantagenet seek's to drive me from my Kingdom.

Enter the Queen, and her Train.
Qu.
Take comfort, Sir, I bring you happy tidings.
The Villain Cade is kill'd by brave young Clifford.

Hen.
Kill'd!

Qu.
Kill'd, and all the Rebels beg your mercy.

Hen.
Oh! Heav'n accept my vows of thanks and praise.
But ha! here comes his gallant Father weeping.

Enter Old Clifford.
Ol. Cl.
Yes Sir, I weep, but I weep tears of Joy,
For I am crush'd between two mighty Joyes;
Your Royal safety, and my Sons success.
But here he is, to tell you his own story.

Enter Young Clifford.
Yo. Cl.
Sir, I most humbly here present your Majesty
The Head of the notorious Rebel Cade.

Hen.
Oh! Gallant Clifford, how shall I reward thee?

Yo. Cl.
I fought not for rewards, or if I did,
I ought to end my work, e're I be paid,
I have only now pull'd down a paltry Scaffold,
On which Plantagenet design'd to climbe,
To build his Trayt'rous Projects.

Hen.
True indeed,
He is approaching me with a great Army;
But he gives out he only does intend
To drive away from me some wicked Ministers.

Yo. Cl.
The constant vizard of Rebellion.
Rebellion is so foul and grim a Monster,
That those that mount the horrid Beast, are forc'd
To cover it all o're with gaudy Trappings.
They mark it in the Forehead with white starrs,
Pretences Heavenly, and Innocent.

Qu.
Sir, he has told you a most excellent truth.

Hen.
I must confess I like not to have Subjects
Present their Kings Petitions upon Pikes.

Old Cl.
Sir, let the Rebels come, we are prepar'd.

Enter an Officer.
Offi.
A Trumpet from Plantagenet craves audience.

Hen.
Admit him.

Enter the Trumpet.
Trum.
Royal Sir, the Duke my master
Does beg admission to your Kingly presence,
To give you the true Reason of his arming,
And prove his Loyalty.

Qu.
Just as we thought.

Hen.
Go tell my Cousin, since he speaks so fair,
He shall have free access and all kind usage.

[Exit. Trum.
Old Cl.
What do you mean Sir?

Hen.
To throw far from my self
The guilt of all the ill that may ensue.
He shall not say that I refus'd to hear,
Or to redress any just grievances.

Y. Cl.
Sir, you will find your self will be the grievance.
The Tricks of these ambitious men are, first
To poison all the People with disloyalty,
And when they have made 'em sick, they tell 'em nothing
Can cure 'em but some flowers out of the Crown;
And so they set the rabble raving for 'em.

Qu.
Lord Clifford when the haughty rebel come's
Arrest him of High-Treason.

Old Cl.
I will do it, Madam.

Enter Plantagenet, Edward, Richard, George: Plant. kneels, and kisses the Kings Hand.
Hen.
Welcome dear Cousin. Pray acquaint me faithfully,
What do you mean by all the Troops you bring?

Pl.
Only to drive some Traytours from your presence.

Qu.
I know no greater Traytors than your self.

Old Cl.
And therefore I arrest thee of High-Treason.

Pl.
Arrest me! ha! Shall it be thus King Henry?

Hen.
It shall not be, I promis'd him safe Conduct.

Edw.
My Lord, we'll be your Bail.

Pl.
See, I have Bail.
Lord Clifford, in whose name do you Arrest me?

Old Cl.
In the Kings Name.

Pl.
Then I'll unfold my self.
Know hitherto I've been like a dark Cloud,
Where scorching heat has been ingendring Thunder:
The grumbling and the rowling you have heard,
But now the deadly bolt shall light among you.
I am your King.

Hen.
Ha!

Pl.
Yes, I am Your King.
I'm sprung out of the Royal house of Clarence,
Whom three usurpers of the house of Lancaster
Successively have trodden under feet,
Whilst they have glittered in our Royal Glory,
Shone like false Diamonds in our royal Robes.

Q.
Now, Sir, are we convinc'd we told you truth.

Pl.
And my next Title is the only Claim;
Duke Henry, (for I'll call him now no otherwise)
Duke Henry borrows from his bloody Grand Father
Henry the Fourth, I've twenty thousand men,
But with this difference, Henry's Troops were Villains
Deposers of their lawful Sov'reign Richard,
Mine are defenders of their true King Richard,
I mean my self.

Hen.
Was ever such Ambitious
Frenzy as this?

Y. Cl.
Did not we tell you this?

Ed.
And we will tell you more, obey yonr King
I mean my Royal Father, or our Swords
Shall turn the Arrest of Treason on your selves.

Old Cl.
Surely you think you are among your Beauties,
Amorous Edward, there your Vigour lies.

Q.
Let them admire thy boasts, here thou art scorn'd.

Ed.
'Tis said when the brave Duke of Suffolk liv'd,
Queen Margaret would not contemn a Lover.
I'm young, and love, but yet I am not stricken
So blind with beauty, but I can discern
Both the fair Kingdom, and the fair Queen lye
Sick of the impotence of a Weak King.

Qu.
Ill manner'd insolence!

Rich.
Why do you talk
To this poor wretched Neapolitan?
She and her Husband are fit for each other;
He has no heart, and she no heart for him.
Fortune loathed him as soon as e're she saw him,
Nor from his Cradle never wou'd endure him,
And her she never did think worth her care.

Qu.
Why! well said ugly Crook-back! spoken like
Thy hideous horrid self:
I will not do thee so much good to kill thee.
Thy Soul cannot be worse than where it is.

Hen.
He bears about him what is more deform'd
Than humane shape can be, his wickedness.

Pl.
I've shewed my right, and here are my three Sons
To plead it with their Swords, now I'll produce
My last and strongest Title to the Crown,
The sword of the victorious Earl of Warwick.
Call in the Earl of Warwick.

Enter VVarwick.
War.
I am here

Pl.
Inform the ignorant world who is King of England.

War.
Whom my sword pleases.

Hen.
Thou against me Warwick!
What did'st thou never swear Allegiance to me?

War.
'Cause I adored an idol once in ignorance,
Must I still do so, now I see my error?
Know Duke of Lancaster (for you are no more)
Henry your Grand Father murdered his King
Richard the second, not content with that,
He trampled on the rights of the next heirs.
Your Father warlick Henry, I confess,
Had in desert what he did want in Title.
But merit makes no lawful claim to Crowns,
For if it did, I wou'd be King of England.
But I will tell you to your face, Duke Henry;
That you have neither Title nor Desert:

Qu. Old Cl. Y. Cl.
Most impudent of Traytours.

War.
I'll speak truth,
And value not the fury of you all.
Your Father Henry was a Wall of steel
Through which there was no passing to the throne,
But you are only a soft silken Curtain,
Which with my hand or breath I'll put aside,
And seat your self King Richard in the Throne,
For it is empty though the Duke be there,
The Duke is nothing, or such poor thin soft stuff
The Crown sinks down in him, and is not seen.

Yo. Cl.
What, have these Traytours conquer'd us already,
They talk at this bold rate? Thou Traytour Warwick!—
Warwick? no!—when thou didst unking thy King
Thou mad'st thy self a Groom; by the same law,
Thou tramplest on thy King, a sawcy Groom
May set his dirty foot upon thy jaws,
And tell thee they were made both of one Clay.

War.
The duke of Lancaster's no King of mine.

Y. Cl.
VVhence hast thou this? from Lawyers, and from Scriblers?
Say, the King's Grand-father Murther'd his King
And damn'd his Soul for it, what's that to thee?
Say, our prosterity shou'd wrong each other,
VVhat must their Servants cudgel 'em to honesty?
Oh! But old stories censure the King's Title;
Are royal Robes made of such raggs as Pamphlets?
Yes, when a beggar feign wou'd put 'em on,
One that wou'd beg the Kingdom from the people,
And such a beggar is Plantagenet.
Oh! but the lawyers like not the Kings Title:
VVhat shall the lawyers be the Kingdoms Oracles,
And judge their Kings, who speak but as inspir'd
By the Kings Image stampt upon his Gold?
Let the King give 'em store of golden Pictures
And they will give him a substantial title.
And then the Noble-men must be the Bayliffs
To execute the sentence of the Coyfe.
Damn thy pedantick Treason; thou art as far
From wit as honour, and that's far enough.
VVho stopps a River's head up, drie's the stream;
Thou hast divided thy self from thy King,
The spring of honour, so thou hast no honour.
But art a heap of dirty pesantry,
Fit only to manure a brave mans fortune;
A straying Beast, with the Devil's mark upon thee,
Rebellion, and I'll send thee to thy owner.

Ed.
What a fierce talker's this?

War.
I laugh at him;
All this loud noise and fury you have heard,
Is but the crackling of some burning thorns,
That hedge the Duke, and they will soon be ashes.

Pl.
No more Duke Henry, will you yield my Crown,
Or shall we fall upon you?

Hen.
Must it be so?
Let us not bloodily Butcher one another;
But fairly to the field, and there in Battle
Make an Appeal to Heaven.

Pl.
With all my heart.

Y. Cl.
Then royal Henry, fixt on loyal Clifford,
Stand like a Cedar on a Mountain top
Securely rooted, and despise all storms.

Hen.
My cause is fixt on Heav'n, for it is just.

War.
Then sound to Armes.

All.
To Armes, to Armes, to Armes.—

[Exit.