University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

Blackheath.
Tyler, Hob, &c.

Jack Straw.
The mob are up in London—the proud courtiers
Begin to tremble.

Tom Miller.
Aye, aye, 'tis time to tremble:
Who'll plough their fields, who'll do their drudgery now,
And work like horses to give them the harvest?

Jack Straw.
I only wonder we lay quiet so long.
We had always the same strength; and we deserved
The ills we met with for not using it.

Hob.
Why do we fear those animals call'd lords?
What is there in the name to frighten us?
Is not my arm as mighty as a Baron's?

Enter Piers and John Ball.
Piers
(to Tyler).
Have I done well, my father?—I remember'd
This good man lay in prison.

Tyler.
My dear child,
Most well; the people rise for liberty,
And their first deed should be to break the chains
That bind the virtuous:—Oh, thou honest priest,
How much hast thou endured!

John Ball.
Why, aye, my friend!
These squalid rags bespeak what I have suffer'd.
I was reviled, insulted, left to languish
In a damp dungeon; but I bore it cheerily—
My heart was glad—for I had done my duty.
I pitied my oppressors, and I sorrow'd
For the poor men of England.

Tyler.
They have felt
Their strength: look round this heath; 'tis throng'd with men
Ardent for freedom: mighty is the event
That waits their fortune.

John Ball.
I would fain address them.

Tyler.
Do so, my friend, and preach to them their duty.
Remind them of their long-withholden rights.
What ho! there; silence!

Piers.
Silence, there, my friends,
This good man would address you.

Hob.
Aye, aye, hear him;
He is no mealy-mouth'd court-orator,
To flatter vice, and pamper lordly pride.

John Ball.
Friends, brethren! for ye are my brethren all;
Englishmen, met in arms to advocate
The cause of freedom, hear me; pause awhile
In the career of vengeance!—It is true
I am a priest, but, as these rags may speak,
Not one who riots in the poor man's spoil,
Or trades with his religion. I am one
Who preach the law of Christ; and, in my life,
Would practise what he taught. The Son of God
Came not to you in power: humble in mien,
Lowly in heart, the man of Nazareth
Preach'd mercy, justice, love: “Woe unto ye,
Ye that are rich: if that ye would be saved
Sell that ye have, and give unto the poor.”
So taught the Saviour: Oh, my honest friends,
Have ye not felt the strong indignant throb
Of justice in your bosoms, to behold
The lordly Baron feasting on your spoils?
Have you not in your hearts arraign'd the lot
That gave him on the couch of luxury
To pillow his head, and pass the festive day
In sportive feasts, and ease, and revelry?
Have you not often in your conscience ask'd,
Why is the difference; wherefore should that man,
No worthier than myself, thus lord it over me,
And bid me labour, and enjoy the fruits?
The God within your breasts has argued thus:
The voice of truth has murmur'd. Came ye not
As helpless to the world? Shines not the sun
With equal ray on both? Do ye not feel
The self-same winds of heaven as keenly parch ye?
Abundant is the earth—the Sire of all,
Saw and pronounced that it was very good.
Look round: the vernal fields smile with new flowers,
The budding orchard perfumes the sweet breeze,
And the green corn waves to the passing gale.
There is enough for all; but your proud Baron
Stands up, and, arrogant of strength, exclaims,
“I am a Lord—by nature I am noble:
These fields are mine, for I was born to them,
I was born in the castle—you, poor wretches,
Whelp'd in the cottage are by birth my slaves.”
Almighty God! such blasphemies are utter'd:
Almighty God! such blasphemies believed!

Tom Miller.
This is something like a sermon.

Jack Straw.
Where's the bishop
Would tell you truths like these?

Hob.
There never was a bishop among all the apostles.

John Ball.
My brethren—

Piers.
Silence; the good priest speaks.

John Ball.
My brethren, these are truths, and weighty ones,
Ye are all equal: nature made ye so.
Equality is your birthright.—When I gaze
On the proud palace, and behold one man
In the blood purpled robes of royalty,
Feasting at ease, and lording over millions,
Then turn me to the hut of poverty,
And see the wretched labourer worn with toil,
Divide his scanty morsel with his infants,
I sicken, and indignant at the sight,
“Blush for the patience of humanity.”

Jack Straw.
We will assert our rights.

Tom Miller.
We'll trample down
These insolent oppressors.

John Ball.
In good truth,
Ye have cause for anger: but, my honest friends,
Is it revenge or justice that ye seek?

Mob.
Justice! Justice!

John Ball.
Oh, then remember mercy;
And though your proud oppressors spare not you,
Show you excel them in humanity.
They will use every art to disunite you;
To conquer separately, by stratagem,
Whom in a mass they fear;—but be ye firm;
Boldly demand your long-forgotten rights,
Your sacred, your inalienable freedom.
Be bold—be resolute—be merciful:
And while you spurn the hated name of slaves,
Show you are men.

Mob.
Long live our honest priest.

Jack Straw.
He shall be made archbishop.

John Ball.
My brethren, I am plain John Ball, your friend,
Your equal: by the law of Christ enjoin'd
To serve you, not command.

Jack Straw.
March we for London.

Tyler.
Mark me, my friends—we rise for Liberty—
Justice shall be our guide: let no man dare
To plunder in the tumult.

Mob.
Lead us on. Liberty! Justice!
[Exeunt, with cries of Liberty! No Poll-tax! No War.