SURREY

The more knave Barde, that, using Sherwin’s goods,

Doth ask him interest for the occupation.

I like not that, my lord of Shrewsbury.

He’s ill bestead that lends a well-paced horse

Unto a man that will not find him meat.

CHOLMLEY

My lord of Surrey will be pleasant still.

PALMER

I being then employed by your honours

To stay the broil that fell about the same,

Where by persuasion I enforced the wrongs

And urged the grief of the displeased city,

He answered me, and with a solemn oath,

That if he had the Mayor of London’s wife

He would keep her, in despite of any English man.

SURREY

’Tis good, Sir Thomas, then, for you and me

Your wife is dead, and I a bachelor.

If no man can possess his wife alone,

I am glad, Sir Thomas Palmer, I have none.

CHOLMLEY

If a take my wife, a shall find her meat.

SURREY

And reason good, Sir Robert Cholmley, too:

If these hot Frenchmen needsly will have sport,

They should in kindness yet defray the charge.

’Tis hard when men possess our wives in quiet,

And yet leave us in to discharge their diet.

SHREWSBURY

My lord, our caters shall not use the market

For our provision but some stranger Lombard now

Will take the victuals from him he hath bought.

A carpenter, as I was late informed,

Who having bought a pair of doves in Cheap,

Immediately a Frenchman Lombard took them from him,

And beat the poor man for resisting him;

And when the fellow did complain his wrongs

He was severely punished for his labour.

SURREY

But if the English blood be once but up,

As I perceive their hearts already full,

I fear me much, before their spleens be cooled,

Some of these saucy aliens for their pride 60

Will pay for’t soundly, wheresoe’er it lights.

This tide of rage that with the eddy strives,

I fear me much, will drown too many lives.

CHOLMLEY

Now afore God, your honours, pardon me.

Men of your place and greatness are to blame- 65

I tell ye true, my lords-in that his majesty

Is not informed of this base abuse,

And daily wrongs are offered to his subjects;

For if he were, I know his gracious wisdom

Would soon redress it.

Enter a Messenger

SfIREWSBURY

Sirrah, what news?

CHOLMLEY

None good, I fear.

MESSENGER

My lord, ill news; and worse, I fear, will follow

If speedily it be not looked unto.

The city is in an uproar, and the Mayor

Is threatened if he come out of his house.

A number, poor artifices

[CHOLMLEY]

’Twas to be feared what this would come unto.

This follows on the Doctor’s publishing

The bill of wrongs in public at the Spital.

SHREWSBURY

That Doctor Beal may chance beshrew himself

For reading of the bill.

PALMER

Let us go gather forces to the Mayor

For quick suppressing this rebellious rout.

SURREY

Now I bethink myself of Master More,

One of the sheriffs, a wise and learned gentleman,

And in especial favour with the people.

He, backed with other grave and sober men,

May by his gentle and persuasive speech

Perhaps prevail more than we can with power.

SHREWSBURY

Believe me but your honour well advises.

Let us make haste, or I do greatly fear

Some to their graves this morning’s work will bear.

Exeunt

Sc. 4 Enter Lincoln, Betts, Williamson, Doll. Enter Lincoln, [George] Betts, [Clown Betts,] Williamson, Sherwin, and other, armed; Doll in a shirt of mail, a headpiece, sword and buckler; a crew attending

[Original Text (Munday)]

[Addition Il (Heywood)]

CLOWN BETTS Come, come, we’ll tickle their turnips, we’ll butter their boxes! Shall strangers rule the roast? Yes, but we’ll baste the roast. Come, come, aflaunt, aflaunt!

GEORGE BETTS

Brother, give place, and hear John Lincoln speak.

CLOWN BETTS

Ay, Lincoln, my leader,

And Doll, my true breeder,

With the rest of our crew

Shall ran-tan-tarra-ran.

Do all they what they can,

Shall we be bobbed, braved?—No!

Shall we be held under?—No)

We are free born

And do take scorn

To be used so.

DOLL

Peace there, I say! Hear Captain Lincoln speak.

Keep silence till we know his mind at large.

CLOWN BETTS [to Lincoln] Then largely deliver. Speak, bully, and he that presumes to interrupt thee in thy oration, this for him!

LINCOLN

Then gallant bloods, you whose free souls do scorn

To bear the enforced wrongs of aliens,

Add rage to resolution. Fire the houses

Of these audacious strangers. This is St Martin’s,

And yonder dwells Meautis, a wealthy Picardy,

At the Green Gate;

De Barde, Peter van Hollak, Adrian Martin,

With many more outlandish fugitives.

Shall these enjoy more privilege than we

In our own country? Let’s then become their slaves.