 | Wat Tyler |  |
SCENE II.
The Tower.King Richard, Archbishop of Canterbury, Sir John Tresilian, Walworth, Philpot.
King.
What must we do? the danger grows more imminent.
The mob increases.
Philpot.
Every moment brings
Fresh tidings of our peril.
King.
It were well
To grant them what they ask.
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Aye, that my liege
Were politic. Go boldly forth to meet them,
Grant all they ask—however wild and ruinous—
Meantime, the troops you have already summon'd
Will gather round them. Then my Christian power
Absolves you of your promise.
Walworth.
Were but their ringleaders cut off, the rabble
Would soon disperse.
Philpot.
United in a mass,
There's nothing can resist them—once divide them
And they will fall an easy sacrifice.
Archbishop.
Lull them by promises—bespeak them fair.
Go forth, my liege—spare not, if need requires
A solemn oath to ratify the treaty.
King.
I dread their fury.
Archbishop.
'Tis a needless dread,
There is divinity about your person;
It is the sacred privilege of Kings,
Howe'er they act, to render no account
To man. The people have been taught this lesson,
Nor can they soon forget it.
King.
I will go—
I will submit to everything they ask;
My day of triumph will arrive at last.
[Shouts without.
Enter Messenger.
Messenger.
The mob are at the city gates.
Archbishop.
Haste! Haste!
Address them ere too late. I'll remain here,
For they detest me much.
[Shouts again.
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Mess.
The Londoners have open'd the city gates;
The rebels are admitted.
King.
Fear then must give me courage. My lord mayor,
Come you with me.
[Exeunt. Shouts without.
| Wat Tyler | |