ACTIV. SCENE, the Coast of Kent. Alarm. Fight at Sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter Captain, Whitmore, and other Pirates, with Suffolk and other Prisoners. T CAPTAΙΝ. HE gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day 1 Gent. What is my ransom, master, let me know. crowns, And bear the name and port of gentlemen ? 1 Gent. I'll give it, Sir, and therefore spare my life, 2 Gent. And fo will I, and write home for it straight. Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die; [To Suffolk. And fo should these, if I might have my will. Capt. Cap. Be not so rash, take ransom, let him live. Suf. Look on my George, I am a gentleman ; Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.Whit. And fo am I; my name is Walter Whitmore. How now? why start'st thou? what, doth death affrigh Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is deat A cunning man did calculate my birth, And told me, that by Water I should die: Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded, Thy name is Gualtier, being rightly founded. Whit. Gualtier or Walter, which it is, I care not; Ne'er yet did base dishonour blur our name, But with our fword, we wip'd away the blot. Therefore, when merchant-like I fell revenge, Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd, And I proclaim'd a coward through the world! Suf. Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a Prince; The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole. Whit. The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags? Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the Duke. Jove fometimes went disguis'd, and why not I? Cap. But Jove was never flain, as thou shalt be. Suf. Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's blood, The honourable blood of Lancaster, Muft not be shed by such a jaded groom : Haft thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrop? Bare-headed, plodded by my foot-cloth mule, And thought thee happy when I shook my head? How often haft thou waited at my cup, Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board, When I have feasted with Queen Margaret ? Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fall'n; Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride. How in our voiding lobby haft thou stood, And duly waited for my coming forth ? This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf, And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. Whit. Speak, Captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain? Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. Suf. Base slave, thy words are blunt; and so art thou. Cap. i Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's fide, Strike off his head. Suf. Thou dar'ist not for thy own. Cap. Poole, Sir Poole? Lord? Ay, kennel-puddle-fink, whose filth and dirt Drones fuck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives. By fuch a lowly vassal as thyself. Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me: Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more; Come, foldiers, shew what cruelty ye can. Suf. That this my death may never be forgot,. [Exit Walter Whitmore, with Suffolk. Cap. And as for these, whose ransom we have fet, (10) Pine gelidus timor occupar artus.] Thus the Ist Folio Impref Gon. Whence the Poet gleaned this Hemiftich, I do not know. 'Tis certain, the first Word is corrupted. I believe, I have restored it, as it ought to be. Suffolk would say, the Fear of that Punishment, that Revenge, they were about to take upon him, put his Limbs into a cold trembling. It 1 It is our pleafure one of them depart; Therefore come you with us, and let him go. [Exit Captain, and the rest. Manet the first Gent. Enter Whitmore, with the body. Whit. There let his head and liveless body lie, Until the Queen his mistress bury it. [Exit Whit. I Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle! Bevis. SCENE changes to Southwark. C Enter Bevis and John Holland. a fword though made of Ome, and get thee a lath; they have been up these two days. Hol. They have the more need to fleep now then. Bevis. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and fet a new nap upon it. Hol. So he had need, for 'tis thread-bare. Well, I say, it was never merry world in England since gentlemen came up. Bevis. O miferable age! virtue is not regarded in workmen. Hol. True, and yet it is faid, Labour in thy vocation; which is as much as to say, let the magistrates be.labouring men; and therefore should we be magiftrates. Bevis. Thou hast hit it; for there's no better fign of a brave mind than a hard hand. Hol. I fee them, I see them; there's Best's son, the Tanner of Wingham. Bevis. He shall have the skins of our enemies to make dog's leather of. Hel. And Dick the butcher: |