I fue to both to be retaind of either,

But both are deafe, I can be heard of neither.
Nor death nor life, yet life and neare the neere,
Ymixt with death, biding I wot not where.

Phil. How fares my lord, that he is carried thus?
Not all the aukeward förtünes yet befalne,

Made fuch impreffion of lament in me.
Nor euer did my eye attaint my heart
With any obiect moouing more remorfe,
Than now beholding of a mighty king,
Borne by his lords in fuch diftreffed state.

Ioh. What newes with thee? if bad, report it ftraight:
If good, be mute, it doth but flatter me.

Phil. Such as it is, and heauy though it be,
To glut the world with tragicke elegies,
Once will I breathe to aggrauate the reft,
Another moanc to make the measure full.
The brauest bow-man had not yet fent forth
Two arrowes from the quiuer at his fidé,
But that a rumor went throughout our campe,
That John was fled, the king had left the field.
At last the rumor fcal'd these eares of mine,
Who rather chofe as facrifice for Mars,
Than ignominous fcandall by retire.

I cheer'd the troupes, as did the prince of Troy
His weary followers against the Mermidons,
Crying alowd, S. George, the day is ours.
But feare had captiuated courage quite,
And like the lambe before the greedie wolfe,
So heartleffe fled our war-men from the field.
Short tale to make, my felfe amongst the rest,
Was faine to flie before the eager foe.
By this time night had fhadowed all the earth,

T 2

With

With fable curtaines of the blackest hue,
And fenc'd vs from the furie of the French,
As Io from the iealous Iunoes eie,

When in the morning our troupes did gather head,
Paffing the washes with our carriages,

The impartiall tide deadly and inexorable,
Came raging in with billowes threatning death,
And swallowed vp the most of all our men,
My felfe vpon a galloway right free, well pac'd,
Out ftript the flouds that followed waue by waue,
I fo escap'd to tell this tragicke tale.

Ichn. Griefe vpon griefe, yet none fo great a griefe
To end this life, and thereby rid my griefe.
Was euer any fo infortunate,

The right idea of a curfed man,

As I, poore I, a triumph for despight,
My feuer growes, what ague shakes me fo?
How farre to Sminftead, tell me, do you know?
Prefent vnto the abbot word of my repaire.
My ficknesse rages, to tyrannize vpon me,
I cannot liue vnleffe this feuer leaue me.

Philip. Good cheere my lord, the abbey is at hand,
Behold my lord, the churchmen come to meet you.

Enter the abbot and certaine monkes.

Ahb. All health and happines to our foueraigne lord the king.

John. Nor health nor happines hath John at all.

Say abbot, am I welcome to thy house?

Abbot. Such welcome as our abbey can afford,

Your maieftie fhall be affured of.

Philip. The king thou feeft is weake and very What victuals haft thou to refresh his grace?

faint,

Abb.

Abb. Good store my lord, of that you need not feare,
For Lincolnefbire, and these our abbey grounds
Were neuer fatter, nor in better plight.

John. Philip, thou neuer needst to donbt of cates,
Nor king nor lord is feated halfe fo well,
As are the abbeis throughout all the land,
If any plot of ground do paffe another,
The friers fasten on it strait :

But let vs in to tafte of their repast,

It goes against my heart to feed with them,
Or be beholding to fuch abbey groomes.

Manet the monke.

Monke. Is this the king that neuer lou'd a frier?

Is this the man that doth contemne the pope?
Is this the man that rob'd the holy church?
And yet will flie vnto a friory?

Is this the king that aymes at abbeis lands?

Is this the man whom all the world abhorres,

And yet will flie vnto a friorie?

Accurft be Swinftead abbey, abbot, friers,

Exeunt.

Monkes, nunnes, and clarks, and all that dwells therein,
If wicked John escape aliue away.

Now if that thou wilt looke to merit heauen,

And be canonized for a holy faint:

To please the world with a deferuing worke,
Be thou the man to fet,thy countrey free,
And murder him that feekes to murder thee.

Enter the abbot.

Abbot. Why are not you within to cheere the king?

He now begins to mend, and will to meate.

Monke. What if I fay to ftrangle him in his fleepe?

Abbot. What, at thy Mumpfimus? away, And feeke some meanes for to pastime the king. Monke. Ile fet a dudgeon dagger at his heart, And with a mallet knocke him on the head.

Abbot. Alas, what meanes this monke to murder me? Dare lay my life hee'l kill me for my place.

Monke. Ile poyson him, and it shall ne'r be knowne, And then fhall I be chiefest of my houfe.

Abbot. If I were dead indeed he is the next, But Ile away, for why the monke is mad, And in his madneffe he will murder me.

Mon. My L. I cry your lordship mercy, I saw you not. Abbot. Alas good Thomas do not murder me, and thou fhalt haue my place with thousand thanks.

Monke. I murder you! God fhield from fuch a thought. Abbot. If thou wilt needs, yet let me fay my prayers, Monke. I will not hurt your lordship good my lord: but if you please, I will impart a thing that shall be beneficiall to vs

all.

Abbot. Wilt thou not hurt me holy monke? fay on..

Monke. You know my lord, the king is in our house.
Abbot. True.

Monke. You know likewife the king abhorres a frier.
Abbot. True.

Monke. And he that loues not a frier is our enemy.
Abbot. Thou faift true.

Monke. Then the king is our enemy.

Abbot. True.

Mon. Why then fhould we not kil our enemy, and the king being our enemy, why then should we not kill the K.

Abbat. O bleffed monke! I fee God moues thy minde to free this land from tyrants flauery.

But who dare venter for to do this deede?

Mon.

Mon. Who dare? why I my lord dare do the deed,
Ile free my countrey and the church from foes,
And merit heauen by killing of a king.

Abbst. Thomas kneele downe, and if thou art refolu'd,
I will abfolue thee here from all thy finnes,

For why the deed is meritorious.

Forward, and feare not man, for euery month,

Our friers fhall finge a masse for Thomas foule. Mon, God and S. Francis profper my attempt, goe about my worke.

For now my lord I

Enter Lewes and his armie.

Lewes. Thus victorie in bloudie lawrell clad,
Followes the fortune of yong Lodowike,
The Englishmen as danted at our fight,
Fall as the fowle before the eagles eies,
Onely two croffes of contrary change
Do nip my heart, and vex me with vnrest.
Lord Meluns death, the one part of my foule,
A brauer man did neuer liue in Fraunce.
The other griefe, I that's a gall indeed,
To thinke that Douer castle should hold out
Gainst all affaults, and reft impregnable.
Yee warrelike race of Francus Hectors fonne,
Triumph in conquest of that tyrant Iohn,
The better halfe of England is our owne:
And towards the conqueft of the other part,
We have the face of all the English lords,
What then remaines but ouerrunne the land?
Be refolute my warrelike followers,
And if good fortune ferue as thee begins,
The poorest pesant of the realme of France
Shal be a master ore an English lord.

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Exeunt.

Enter