ACT THE SECOND
SCENE I.—Before Sir John-a-Barley's Castle.
Enter James, King of Scots, Lord Humes, with Soldiers, and John.
K. James. Why, Johnny, then the Earl of Kendal is blithe,
And hath brave men that troop along with him?
John. Ay, marry, my liege,
And hath good men that come along with him,
And vows to meet you at Scrasblesea, God willing.
K. James. If good Saint Andrew lend King Jamy leave,
I will be with him at the 'pointed day.
Enter Ned.
But, soft!—Whose pretty boy art thou?
Ned. Sir, I am son unto Sir John-a-Barley,
Eldest, and all that e'er my mother had;
Edward my name.
K. James. And whither art thou going, pretty Ned?
Ned. To seek some birds, and kill them, if I can:
And now my schoolmaster is also gone,
So have I liberty to ply my bow;
For when he comes, I stir not from my book.
K. James. Lord Humes, but mark the visage of this child:
By him I guess the beauty of his mother;
None but Leda could breed Helena.—
Tell me, Ned, who is within with thy mother?
Ned. Naught but herself and household servants, sir:
If you would speak with her, knock at this gate.
K. James. Johnny, knock at that gate.
[John knocks at the gate.
Enter Jane-a-Barley upon the walls.
Jane. O, I'm betray'd! What multitudes be these?
K. James. Fear not, fair Jane, for all these men are mine,
And all thy friends, if thou be friend to me:
I am thy lover, James the King of Scots,
That oft have su'd and woo'd with many letters,
Painting my outward passions with my pen,
Whenas my inward soul did bleed for woe.
Little regard was given to my suit;
But haply thy husband's presence wrought it:
Therefore, sweet Jane, I fitted me to time,
And, hearing that thy husband was from home,
Am come to crave what long I have desir'd.
Ned. Nay, soft you, sir! you get no entrance here,
That seek to wrong Sir John-a-Barley so,
And offer such dishonour to my mother.
K. James. Why, what dishonour, Ned?
Ned. Though young,
Yet often have I heard my father say,
No greater wrong than to be made cuckold.
Were I of age, or were my body strong,
Were he ten kings, I would shoot him to the heart
That should attempt to give Sir John the horn.—
Mother, let him not come in:
I will go lie at Jocky Miller's house.
K. James. Stay him.
Jane. Ay, well said; Ned, thou hast given the king his answer;
For were the ghost of Cæsar on the earth,
Wrapp'd in the wonted glory of his honour,
He should not make me wrong my husband so.
But good King James is pleasant, as I guess,
And means to try what humour I am in;
Else would he never have brought an host of men,
To have them witness of his Scottish lust.
K. James. Jane, in faith, Jane,—
Jane. Never reply,
For I protest by the highest holy God,
That doometh just revenge for things amiss,
King James, of all men, shall not have my love.
K. James. Then list to me: Saint Andrew be my boot,
But I'll raze thy castle to the very ground,
Unless thou open the gate, and let me in.
Jane. I fear thee not, King Jamy: do thy worst.
This castle is too strong for thee to scale;
Besides, to-morrow will Sir John come home.
K. James. Well, Jane, since thou disdain'st King James's love,
I'll draw thee on with sharp and deep extremes;
For, by my father's soul, this brat of thine
Shall perish here before thine eyes,
Unless thou open the gate, and let me in.
Jane. O deep extremes! my heart begins to break:
My little Ned looks pale for fear.—
Cheer thee, my boy, I will do much for thee.
Ned. But not so much as to dishonour me.
Jane. An if thou diest, I cannot live, sweet Ned.
Ned. Then die with honour, mother, dying chaste.
Jane. I am armed:
My husband's love, his honour, and his fame,
Join[304] victory by virtue. Now, King James,
If mother's tears cannot allay thine ire,
Then butcher him, for I will never yield:
The son shall die before I wrong the father.
K. James. Why, then, he dies.
Alarum within. Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, Musgrove is at hand.
K. James. Who, Musgrove? The devil he is! Come, my horse!
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.—The Same.
Enter Musgrove with King James prisoner; Jane-a-Barley on the walls.
Mus. Now, King James, thou art my prisoner.
K. James. Not thine, but fortune's prisoner.
Enter Cuddy.
Cud. Father, the field is ours: their colours we have seiz'd,
And Humes is slain; I slew him hand to hand.
Mus. God and Saint George!
Cud. O father, I am sore athirst!
Jane. Come in, young Cuddy, come and drink thy fill:
Bring in King Jamy with you as a guest;
For all this broil was 'cause he could not enter.
[Exit above.—Exeunt below, the others.
SCENE III.—At Wakefield.
Enter George-a-Greene.
Geo. The sweet content of men that live in love
Breeds fretting humours in a restless mind;
And fancy, being check'd by fortune's spite,
Grows too impatient in her sweet desires;
Sweet to those men whom love leads on to bliss,
But sour to me whose hap is still amiss.
Enter Jenkin.
Jen. Marry, amen, sir.
Geo. Sir, what do you cry "amen" at?
Jen. Why, did not you talk of love?
Geo. How do you know that?
Jen. Well, though I say it that should not say it, there are few fellows in our parish so nettled with love as I have been of late.
Geo. Sirrah, I thought no less, when the other morning you rose so early to go to your wenches. Sir, I had thought you had gone about my honest business.
Jen. Trow, you have hit it; for, master, be it known to you, there is some good-will betwixt Madge the souce-wife[305] and I; marry, she hath another lover.
Geo. Can'st thou brook any rivals in thy love?
Jen. A rider! no, he is a sow-gelder and goes afoot. But Madge 'pointed to meet me in your wheat-close.
Geo. Well, did she meet you there?
Jen. Never make question of that. And first I saluted her with a green gown, and after fell as hard a-wooing as if the priest had been at our backs to have married us.
Geo. What, did she grant?
Jen. Did she grant! never make question of that. And she gave me a shirt-collar wrought over with no counterfeit stuff.
Geo. What, was it gold?
Jen. Nay, 'twas better than gold.
Geo. What was it?
Jen. Right Coventry blue. We had no sooner come there but wot you who came by?
Geo. No: who?
Jen. Clim the sow-gelder.
Geo. Came he by?
Jen. He spied Madge and I sit together: he leapt from his horse, laid his hand on his dagger, and began to swear. Now I seeing he had a dagger, and I nothing but this twig in my hand, I gave him fair words and said nothing. He comes to me, and takes me by the bosom. "You whoreson slave," said he, "hold my horse, and look he take no cold in his feet." "No, marry, shall he, sir," quoth I; "I'll lay my cloak underneath him." I took my cloak, spread it all along, and his horse on the midst of it.
Geo. Thou clown, didst thou set his horse upon thy cloak?
Jen. Ay, but mark how I served him. Madge and he was no sooner gone down into the ditch, but I plucked out my knife, cut four holes in my cloak, and made his horse stand on the bare ground.
Geo. 'Twas well done. Now, sir, go and survey my fields: if you find any cattle in the corn, to pound with them.
Jen. And if I find any in the pound, I shall turn them out. [Exit.
Enter the Earl of Kendal, Lord Bonfield, Sir Gilbert Armstrong, all disguised, with a train of men.
Ken. Now we have put the horses in the corn,
Let us stand in some corner for to hear
What braving terms the Pinner will breathe
When he spies our horses in the corn.
[Retires with the others.
Re-enter Jenkin blowing his horn.
Jen. O master, where are you? we have a prize.
Geo. A prize! what is it?
Jen. Three goodly horses in our wheat-close.
Geo. Three horses in our wheat-close! whose be they?
Jen. Marry, that's a riddle to me; but they are there; velvet[306] horses, and I never saw such horses before. As my duty was, I put off my cap, and said as followeth: "My masters, what do you make in our close?" One of them, hearing me ask what he made there, held up his head and neighed, and after his manner laughed as heartily as if a mare had been tied to his girdle. "My masters," said I, "it is no laughing matter; for, if my master take you here, you go as round as a top to the pound." Another untoward jade, hearing me threaten him to the pound and to tell you of them, cast up both his heels, and let such a monstrous great fart, that was as much as in his language to say, "A fart for the pound, and a fart for George-a-Greene!" Now I, hearing this, put on my cap, blew my horn, called them all jades, and came to tell you.
Geo. Now, sir, go and drive me those three horses to the pound.
Jen. Do you hear? I were best to take a constable with me.
Geo. Why so?
Jen. Why, they, being gentlemen's horses, may stand on their reputation, and will not obey me.
Geo. Go, do as I bid you, sir.
Jen. Well, I may go.
The Earl of Kendal, Lord Bonfield, and Sir Gilbert Armstrong come forward.
Ken. Whither away, sir?
Jen. Whither away! I am going to put the horses in the pound.
Ken. Sirrah, those three horses belong to us,
And we put them in,
And they must tarry there and eat their fill.
Jen. Stay, I will go tell my master.—Hear you, master? we have another prize: those three horses be in your wheat-close still, and here be three geldings more.
Geo. What be these?
Jen. These are the masters of the horses.
Geo. Now, gentlemen (I know not your degrees,
But more you cannot be, unless you be kings,)
Why wrong you us of Wakefield with your horses?
I am the Pinner, and, before you pass,
You shall make good the trespass they have done.
Ken. Peace, saucy mate, prate not to us:
I tell thee, Pinner, we are gentlemen.
Geo. Why, sir, so may I, sir, although I give no arms.
Ken. Thou! how art thou a gentleman?
Jen. And such is my master, and he may give as good arms as ever your great-grandfather could give.
Ken. Pray thee, let me hear how.
Jen. Marry, my master may give for his arms the picture of April in a green jerkin, with a rook on one fist and an horn on the other: but my master gives his arms the wrong way, for he gives the horn on his fist; and your grandfather, because he would not lose his arms, wears the horn on his own head.
Ken. Well, Pinner, sith our horses be in,
In spite of thee they now shall feed their fill,
And eat until our leisures serve to go.
Geo. Now, by my father's soul,
Were good King Edward's horses in the corn,
They shall amend the scath, or kiss the pound;
Much more yours, sir, whatsoe'er you be.
Ken. Why, man, thou knowest not us:
We do belong to Henry Momford, Earl of Kendal;
Men that, before a month be full expir'd,
Will be King Edward's betters in the land.
Geo. King Edward's betters! Rebel, thou liest!
[Strikes him.
Bon. Villain, what hast thou done? thou hast struck an earl.
Geo. Why, what care I? a poor man that is true,
Is better than an earl, if he be false.
Traitors reap no better favours at my hands.
Ken. Ay, so methinks; but thou shalt dear aby[307] this blow.—
Now or never lay hold on the Pinner!
All the train comes forward.
Geo. Stay, my lords, let us parley on these broils:
Not Hercules against two, the proverb is,
Nor I against so great a multitude.—
[Aside]. Had not your troops come marching as they did,
I would have stopt your passage unto London:
But now I'll fly to secret policy.
Ken. What dost thou murmur, George?
Geo. Marry, this, my lord; I muse,
If thou be Henry Momford, Kendal's earl,
That thou wilt do poor George-a-Greene this wrong,
Ever to match me with a troop of men.
Ken Why dost thou strike me, then?
Geo. Why, my lord, measure me but by yourself:
Had you a man had serv'd you long,
And heard your foe misuse you behind your back,
And would not draw his sword in your defence,
You would cashier him.
Much more, King Edward is my king:
And before I'll hear him so wrong'd,
I'll die within this place,
And maintain good whatsoever I have said.
And, if I speak not reason in this case,
What I have said I'll maintain in this place.
Bon. A pardon, my lord, for this Pinner;
For, trust me, he speaketh like a man of worth.
Ken. Well, George, wilt thou leave Wakefield and wend with me,
I'll freely put up all and pardon thee.
Geo. Ay, my lord, considering me one thing,
You will leave these arms, and follow your good king.
Ken. Why, George, I rise not against King Edward,
But for the poor that is oppress'd by wrong;
And, if King Edward will redress the same,
I will not offer him disparagement,
But otherwise; and so let this suffice.
Thou hear'st the reason why I rise in arms:
Now, wilt thou leave Wakefield and wend with me,
I'll make thee captain of a hardy band,
And, when I have my will, dub thee a knight.
Geo. Why, my lord, have you any hope to win?
Ken. Why, there is a prophecy doth say,
That King James and I shall meet at London,
And make the king vail bonnet to us both.
Geo. If this were true, my lord, this were a mighty reason.
Ken. Why, it is a miraculous prophecy, and cannot fail.
Geo. Well, my lord, you have almost turned me.—
Jenkin, come hither.
Jen. Sir?
Geo. Go your ways home, sir,
And drive me those three horses home unto my house,
And pour them down a bushel of good oats.
Jen. Well, I will.—[Aside]. Must I give these scurvy horses oats?
[Exit.
Geo. Will it please you to command your train aside?
Ken. Stand aside. [The train retires.
Geo. Now list to me:
Here in a wood, not far from hence,
There dwells an old man in a cave alone,
That can foretell what fortunes shall befall you,
For he is greatly skilful in magic art.
Go you three to him early in the morning,
And question him: if he says good,
Why, then, my lord, I am the foremost man
Who will march up with your camp to London.
Ken. George, thou honourest me in this. But where shall we find him out?
Geo. My man shall conduct you to the place;
But, good my lord, tell me true what the wise man saith.
Ken. That will I, as I am Earl of Kendal.
Geo. Why, then, to honour George-a-Greene the more,
Vouchsafe a piece of beef at my poor house;
You shall have wafer-cakes your fill,
A piece of beef hung up since Martlemas:
If that like you not, take what you bring, for me.
Ken. Gramercies, George. [Exeunt.