Sir Thomas More | Page 9

inforced wrongs of aliens, Add rage to resolution, fire the
houses Of these audacious strangers. This is St. Martins, And yonder
dwells Mutas, a wealthy Piccardy, At the Green Gate, De Barde, Peter
Van Hollocke, Adrian Martine, With many more outlandish fugitives.
Shall these enjoy more privilege than we In our own country? let's, then,
become their slaves. Since justice keeps not them in greater awe, We be
ourselves rough ministers at law.
CLOWN. Use no more swords, nor no more words, but fire the houses;
brave captain courageous, fire me their houses.
DOLL. Aye, for we may as well make bonfires on May day as at
midsummer: we'll alter the day in the calendar, and set it down in
flaming letters.
SHERWIN. Stay! No, that would much endanger the whole city,
Whereto I would not the least prejudice.
DOLL. No, nor I neither; so may mine own house be burned for
company. I'll tell ye what: we'll drag the strangers into More fields, and
there bombast them till they stink again.
CLOWN. And that's soon done; for they smell for fear already.
GEORGE. Let some of us enter the strangers' houses, And, if we find
them there, then bring them forth.
DOLL. But if ye bring them forth ere ye find them, I'll ne'er allow of
that.
CLOWN. Now, Mars, for thy honor, Dutch or French, So it be a wench,
I'll upon her.
[Exeunt some and Sherwin.]

WILLIAMSON. Now, lads, sure shall we labor in our safety. I hear the
Mayor hath gathered men in arms, And that Shreeve More an hour ago
rised Some of the Privy Counsel in at Ludgate: Force now must make
our peace, or else we fall; 'Twill soon be known we are the principal.
DOLL. And what of that? if thou beest afraid, husband, go home again,
and hide they head; for, by the Lord, I'll have a little sport, now we are
at it.
GEORGE. Let's stand upon our swords, and, if they come, Receive
them as they were our enemies.
[Enter Sherwin and the rest.]
CLOWN. A purchase, a purchase! we have found, we ha found--
DOLL. What?
CLOWN. Nothing; not a French Fleming nor a Fleming French to be
found; but all fled, in plain English.
LINCOLN. How now! have you found any?
SHERWIN. No, not one; they're all fled.
LINCOLN. Then fire the houses, that, the Mayor being busy About the
quenching of them, we may escape; Burn down their kennels: let us
straight away, Least this day prove to us an ill May day.
CLOWN. Fire, fire! I'll be the first: If hanging come, tis welcome;
that's the worst.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. The Guildhall.
[Enter at one door Sir Thomas More and Lord Mayor; at another door
Sir John Munday hurt.]
LORD MAYOR. What, Sir John Munday, are you hurt?
SIR JOHN. A little knock, my lord. There was even now A sort of
prentices playing at cudgels; I did command them to their masters'
houses; But now, I fear me, they are gone to join With Lincoln,
Sherwin, and their dangerous train.
MORE. The captains of this insurrection Have taken themselves to
arms, and came but now To both the Counters, where they have
released Sundry indebted prisoners, and from thence I hear that they are
gone into St. Martins, Where they intend to offer violence To the
amazed Lombards: therefore, my lord, If we expect the safety of the
city, Tis time that force or parley do encounter With these displeased
men.

[Enter a Messenger.]
LORD MAYOR. How now! what news?
MESSENGER. My lord, the rebels have broke open Newgate, From
whence they have delivered many prisoners, Both felons and notorious
murderers, That desperately cleave to their lawless train.
LORD MAYOR. Up with the drawbridge, gather some forces To
Cornhill and Cheapside:--and, gentlemen, If diligence be weighed on
every side, A quiet ebb will follow this rough tide.
[Enter Shrewsbury, Surrey, Palmer, and Cholmley.]
SHREWSBURY. Lord Mayor, his majesty, receiving notice Of this
most dangerous insurrection, Hath sent my lord of Surrey and myself,
Sir Thomas Palmer and our followers, To add unto your forces our best
means For pacifying of this mutiny. In God's name, then, set on with
happy speed! The king laments, if one true subject bleed.
SURREY. I hear they mean to fire the Lombards' houses: Oh power,
what art thou in a madman's eyes! Thou makest the plodding idiot
bloody-wise.
MORE. My lords, I doubt not but we shall appease With a calm breath
this flux of discontent: To call them to a parley, questionless--
PALMER. May fall out good: tis well said, Master More.
MORE. Let's to these simple men; for many sweat Under this act, that
knows not the law's debt Which hangs upon their lives; for silly men
Plod