University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

Smithfield.
John Ball, Piers, &c.
Piers.
(to John Ball.)
You look disturbed, my father.

John Ball.
Piers, I am so.
Jack Straw has forced the Tower: seiz'd the Archbishop,
And beheaded him.

Piers.
The curse of insurrection.

John Ball.
Aye, Piers, our nobles level down their vassals,
Keep them at endless labour, like their brutes,
Degrading every faculty by servitude,
Repressing all the energy of mind:
We must not wonder, then, that, like wild beasts,
When they have burst their chains, with brutal rage
They revenge them on their tyrants.

Piers.
This Archbishop,
He was oppressive to his humble vassals:
Proud, haughty, avaricious—

John Ball.
A true high priest,
Preaching humility with his mitre on;
Praising up alms and Christian charity,
Even whilst his unforgiving hand distress'd
His honest tenants.

Piers.
He deserved his fate, then.

John Ball.
Justice can never link with cruelty.
Is there among the catalogue of crimes
A sin so black that only Death can expiate?
Will Reason never rouse her from her slumbers,
And darting through the veil her eagle eye,
See in the sable garments of the law
Revenge conceal'd? This high priest has been haughty,
He has oppress'd his vassals: tell me, Piers,
Does his death remedy the ills he caused?
Were it not better to repress his power
Of doing wrong, that so his future life
Might remedy the evils of the past,
And benefit mankind?

Piers.
But must not vice
Be punish'd?

John Ball.
Is not punishment revenge?
The momentary violence of anger
May be excused: the indignant heart will throb
Against oppression, and the outstretch'd arm
Resent its injured feelings. The Collector
Insulted Alice, and roused the keen emotions
Of a fond father. Tyler murder'd him.

Piers.
Murder'd!—a most harsh word.

John Ball.
Yes, murder'd him:
His mangled feelings prompted the bad act,
And Nature will almost commend the deed
That Justice blames: but will the awaken'd feelings
Plead with their heart-emoving eloquence
For the calm deliberate murder of Revenge?
Would you, Piers, in your calmer hour of reason,
Condemn an erring brother to be slain?
Cut him at once from all the joys of life,
All hopes of reformation—to revenge
The deed his punishment cannot recall?
My blood boil'd in me at the fate of Tyler,
Yet I reveng'd not.

Piers.
Oh, my Christian father,
They would not argue thus humanely on us,
Were we within their power.

John Ball.
I know they would not;
But we must pity them that they are vicious,
Nor imitate their vice.

Piers.
Alas, poor Tyler!
I do repent me much that I stood back,
When he advanced, fearless in rectitude,
To meet these royal assassins.

John Ball.
Not for myself,
Though I have lost an honest virtuous friend,
Mourn I the death of Tyler: he was one
Gifted with the strong energy of mind,
Quick to perceive the right, and prompt to act
When Justice needed: he would listen to me
With due attention, yet not yielding lightly
What had to him seem'd good: severe in virtue,
He awed the ruder people, whom he led,
By his stern rectitude.

Piers.
Witness that day
When they destroy'd the palace of the Gaunt;
And hurl'd the wealth his avarice had amass'd,
Amid the fire: the people, fierce in zeal,
Threw in the flames a wretch whose selfish hand
Purloin'd amid the tumult.

John Ball.
I lament
The death of Tyler for my country's sake.
I shudder lest posterity enslaved,
Should rue his murder. Who shall now controul
The giddy multitude, blind to their own good,
And listening with avidity to the tale
Of courtly falsehood.

Piers.
The King must perform
His plighted promise.
(Cry without.—The Charter;—the Charter.)

Enter Mob and Herald.
Tom Miller.
Read it out—read it out.

Hob.
Aye, aye, let's hear the Charter.

Herald.

Richard Plantagenet, by the grace of
God, King of England, Ireland, France, Scotland,
and the town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, to all whom
it may concern,—These presents: Whereas our
loving subjects have complained to us of the heavy
burdens they endure, particularly from our late
enacted poll-tax; and whereas they have risen in
arms against our officers, and demanded the abolition
of personal slavery, vassalage and manorial rights;
we, ever ready in our sovereign mercy to listen to
the petitions of our loving subjects, do annul all
these grievances.

Mob.
Huzza! long live the King.

Herald
(continues).

And do of our royal mercy
grant a free pardon to all who may have been anyways
concerned in the late insurrections. All this
shall be faithfully performed on our royal word, so
help us God.—God save the King.

[Loud and repeated shouts.

Herald.
Now then depart in quiet to your homes.

John Ball.
Nay, my good friend, the people will remain
Embodied peaceably, till parliament
Confirm the royal Charter: tell your King so:
We will await the Charter's confirmation,
Meanwhile comporting ourselves orderly,
As peaceful citizens, not risen in tumult,
But to redress their evils.

[Exit Herald, &c.
Hob.
'Twas well ordered.
I place but little trust in courtly faith.

John Ball.
We must remain embodied; else the King
Will plunge again in royal luxury,
And when the storm of danger is past over,
Forget his promises.

Hob.
Aye, like an aguish sinner,
He'll promise to repent, when the fit's on him,
When well recover'd, laugh at his own terrors.

Piers.
Oh I am grieved that we must gain so little.
Why are not all these empty ranks abolish'd,
King, slave, and lord, ennobled into MAN.
Are we not equal all?—have you not told me
Equality is the sacred right of man,
Inalienable, though by force withheld?

John Ball.
Even so: but, Piers, my frail and fallible judgement
Knows hardly to decide if it be right,
Peaceably to return, content with little,
With this half restitution of our rights,
Or boldly to proceed, through blood and slaughter,
Till we should all be equal and all happy.
I chose the milder way:—perhaps I err'd!

Piers.
I fear me! By the mass, the unsteady people
Are flocking homewards—how the multitude
Diminishes!

John Ball.
Go thou, my son, and stay them.
Carter, do you exert your influence,
All depends upon their stay: my mind is troubled,
And I would fain compose my thoughts for action.
[Exeunt Hob and Piers.
Father of mercies! I do fear me much
That I have err'd. Thou gavest my ardent mind
To pierce the mists of superstitious falsehood;—
Gavest me to know the truth. I should have urged it
Through every opposition; now, perhaps,
The seemly voice of pity has deceived me
And all this mighty movement ends in ruin.
I fear me I have been like the weak leech,
Who, sparing to cut deep, with cruel mercy
Mangles his patient without curing him.
[Great tumult.
What means this tumult? hark! the clang of arms.
God of eternal justice—the false monarch
Has broke his plighted vow.

[Enter Piers wounded.
Piers.
Fly, fly, my father—the perjured King,—fly, fly.

John Ball.
Nay, nay, my child; I dare abide my fate.
Let me bind up thy wounds.

Piers.
'Tis useless succour.
They seek thy life; fly, fly, my honoured father,
And let me have the hope to sweeten death
That thou at least hast 'scaped. They are murdering
Our unsuspecting brethren: half unarm'd,
Trusting too fondly to the tyrant's word,
They were dispersing:—the streets swim with blood.
Oh, save thyself.

[Enter soldiers.
1st Soldier.
This is that old seditious heretic.

2d Soldier.
And here the young spawn of rebellion;
My orders ar'n't to spare him.
[Stabs Piers.
Come, you old stirrer-up of insurrection,
You bell-wether of the mob—you ar'n't to die
So easily.

[Leading him off.
(Mob fly across the stage—the troops pursue them— tumult increases—loud cries and shouts.