King. What if he did? was either he in place
To take part with them? or abett them in it?
If brabling Fellows, whofe enkindled Blood
Seeths in their fiery Veins, will needs go fight,
Making their Quarrels of fome words that past
Either of you, or you, amongst their Cups,
Is the Fault yours? or are they guilty of it?
Suf. With pardon of your Highness, my dread Lord,
Such little sparks neglected, may in time

Grow to a mighty Flame. But that's not all,
He doth befide maintain a strange Religion,
And will not be compell'd to come to Mass.

Roch. We do befeech you therefore, gracious Prince,
Without Offence unto your Majefty,

We may be bold to ufe Authority.
King. As how?

Roch. To fummon him unto the Arches,
Where fuch Offences have their Punishment.
King. To answer perfonally, is that your meaning?
Roch. It is, my Lord.

King. How if he appeal?

Roch. My Lord, he cannot in fuch a cafe as this.
Suf. Not where Religion is the Plea, my Lord.
King. I took it always, that our felf flood on't
'As a fufficient Refuge: Unto whom
Not any but might lawfully Appeal.
But we'll not argue now upon that point.
For Sir John Oldcastle, whom you accufe,
Let me intreat you to difpence a while
With your high Title of Preheminence.
Report did never yet condemn him fo,
But he hath always been reputed Loyal:
And in my Knowledge I can fay thus much,
That he is virtuous, wife, and honourable.
If any way his Confcience be feduc'd
To waver in his Faith, I'll fend for him,
And school him privately: If that ferve not,
Then afterward you may proceed against him.
Butler, be you the Meffenger for us,
And will him prefently repair to Court.

[In feorn.

[Exeunt.

S. John.

S. John. How now my Lord? why ftand you difcontent? Infooth, methinks, the King hath well decreed.

Roch. Ay, ay, Sir John, if he would keep his Word: But I perceive he favours him so much

As this will be to fmall Effect, I fear.

S. John. Why then I'll tell you what you're best to do:
If you fufpect the King will be but cold

In reprehending him, fend you a Process too
To ferve upon him, fo ye may be fure
To make him anfwer't, howfoever it fall.
Roch. And well remembred, I will have it fo,
A Sumner shall be sent about it ftraight.

[Exit.

S. John. Yea, do fo. In the mean space this remains
For kind Sir John of Wrotham, honeft Jack
Methinks the Purfe of Gold the Bishop gave
Made a good fhew, it had a tempting Look:
Befhrew me, but my Fingers ends do itch
To be upon thofe golden Ruddocks. Well 'tis thus ;
I am not as the World doth take me for:
If ever Wolf were cloathed in Sheep's Coat,
Then I am he; old huddle and twang 'ifaith:
A Priest in shew, but, in plain Terms, a Thief:
Yet let me tell you too, an honest Thief;
One that will take it where it may be spar'd,
And spend it freely in good Fellowship.
I have as many Shapes as Proteus had,
That ftill when any Villany is done,..
There may none fufpect it was Sir John.
Befides, to comfort me, (for what's this Life,
Except the crabbed Bitterness thereof
Be fweetned now and then with Letchery?)
I have my Doll, my Concubine as 'twere,
To frolick with, a lufty bouncing Girl.
But whilft I loiter here, the Gold may scape,
And that muft not be fo: It is mine own.
Therefore I'll meet him on his way to Court,
And fhrive him of it, there will be the sport. [Exit.
Enter four poor People, fome Soldiers, fome old Men.
1. God help, God help, there's Law for punishing,
But there's no Law for our Neceffity:

There be more Stocks to fet poor Soldiers in,
Than there be Houses to relieve them at.

Old Man. Ay, Houfe-keeping decays in every place,
Even as St. Peter writ, ftill worfe and worse.

2. Mafter Mayor of Rochester has given command, That none fhall go abroad out of the Parish, and has fet down an Order forfooth, what every poor Houfholder muft give for our relief; where there be fome feffed, I may fay to you, had almost as much need to beg as we.

1. It is a hard World the while.

Old Man. If a poor Man ask at Door for God's fake, they ask him for a Licence or a Certificate from a Justice.

2. Faith we have none, but what we bear upon our Bodies, our maim'd Limbs, God help us.

4. And yet as lame as I am, I'll with the King into France, if I can but crawl a Ship-board, I had rather be flain in France, than ftarve in England.

Old Man. Ha, were I but as lufty as I was at Shrewsbury Battel, I would not do as I do; but we are now come' to the good Lord Cobham's Houfe, the beft Man to the Poor

in all Kent.

4. God bless him, there be but few fuch.

Enter Cobham with Harpool.

Cob. Thou peevish froward Man, what wouldst thou have?

Har. This Pride, this Pride, brings all to beggary, I ferv'd your Father, and your Grandfather,

Shew me fuch two Men now: No, no,

Your Backs, your Backs; the Devil and Pride
Has cut the Throat of all good Houfe-keeping,
They were the best Yeomens Mafters that

Ever were in England.

Cob. Yea, except thou have a crew of filthy Knaves And sturdy Rogues ftill feeding at my Gate,

There is no Hofpitality with thee.

Har. They may fit at the Gate well enough, but the Devil of any thing you give them, except they'll eat Stones. Cob. 'Tis long then of fuch hungry Knaves as you: Yea, Sir, here's your Retinue, your Guefts be come, They know their Hours, I warrant you.

Old

Old Man. God bless your Honour, God fave the good Lord Cobham, and all his Houfe.

Sold. Good your Honour, beftow your bleffed Alms Upon poor Men.

Cob. Now, Sir, here be your alms Knights:

Now are you as fafe as the Emperor.

Har. My alms Knights? Nay, they're yours? It is a fhame for you, and I'll stand to't,

Your foolish Alms maintains more Vagabonds

Than all the Noblemen in Kent befide.

Out you Rogues, you Knaves, work for you Livings.
Alas, poor Men, they may beg their Hearts out,
There's no more Charity among Men

Than amongst so many Maftive Dogs.
What make you here, you needy Knaves?
Away, away, you Villains.

2 Sold. I befeech you, Sir, be good.

Cob. Nay, nay, they know thee well enough, I think that all the Beggars in this Land are thy Acquaintance: go beftow your Alms, none will controul you, Sir.

Har. What should I give them? you are grown fo Beggarly, that you can scarce give a bit of Bread at your Door: you talk of your Religion fo long, that you have banish'd Charity from you: a Man may make a Flax-fhop in your Kitching Chimnies, for any Fire there is ftirring.

Cob. It thou wilt give them nothing, fend them hence Let them not ftand here ftarving in the Cold.

Har. Who, I drive them hence? If I drive poor Men from the Door, I'll be hang'd: I know not what I may come to my felf God help ye poor Knaves, ye fee the World. Well, you had a Mother: O God be with thee good Lady, thy Soul's at reft: fhe gave more in Shirts and Smocks to poor Children, than you spend in your House, and yet you live a Beggar too.

Cob. Ev'n the worft deed that ever my Mother did, Was in relieving fuch a Fool as thou.

Har. Ay, I am a Fool ftill: with all your Wit you'll die a Beggar, go too.

Cob. Go, you old Fool, give the poor People fomething: Go in poor Men into the inner Court, and take fuch Alms as there is to be had,

Sol

Sold. God bless your Honour.

Har. Hang you Rogues, hang you, there's nothing but Mifery amongst you, you fear no Law, you.

[Exit,

Oldm. God bless you good Mafter Ralph, God fave your Life, you are good to the Poor ftill.

Enter the Lord Powis difguifed.

Cob. What Fellow's yonder comes along the Grove? Few Paffengers there be that know this way: Methinks he stops as though he staid for me, And meant to fhroud himself among the Bushes, I know the Clergy hates me to the Death, And my Religion gets me many Foes: And this may be fome defperate Rogue Suborn'd to work me Mischief: as pleaseth God. If he come toward me, fure I'll ftay his coming, Be he but one Man, whatfoe'er he be. [Lord Powis comes on. I have been well acquainted with that Face.

Pow. Well met, my Honourable Lord and Friend.
Cob. You are welcome, Sir, whate'er you be;
But of this fudden, Sir, I do not know you.
Pow. I am one that wifheth well unto your Honour,
My Name is Powis, an old Friend of yours.

Cob. My Honourable Lord, and worthy Friend,
What makes your Lordship thus alone in Kent?
And thus difguifed in this ftrange Attire ?
Pow. My Lord, an unexpected accident
Hath at this time enforc'd me to thefe Parts,
And thus it hapt. Not yet full five Days fince,
Now at the laft Affize at Hereford,

It chanc'd that the Lord Herbert and
my felf,
'Mongft other things difcourfing at the Table,
To fall in Speech about fome certain Points
Of Wickliff's Doctrine 'gainst the Papacy,
And the Religion Catholick maintain'd
Through the most part of Europe at this day,
This wilful tefty Lord ftuck not to say,
That Wickliff was a Knave, a Schifmatick,
His Doctrine devilish and Heretical:
And whatsoever he was maintain'd the fame,
Was Traitor both to God, and to his Country.
Being moved at his peremptory Speech