SC. XVII. daq
Cade. Now is Mortemer Lord of this Citie,
And now sitting vpon London stone, We command,
That the first yeare of our raigne,
The pissing Cundit run nothing but red wine.
[5] And now hence forward, it shall be treason
[♦] For any that calles me any otherwise then
Lord Mortemer.
Enter a souldier.
Sould. Iacke Cade, Iacke Cade.
[♦] Cade. Sounes, knocke him downe. (They kill him.
[10] Dicke. My Lords, theirs an Army gathered togither
Into Smythfield.
[♦] Cade. Come then, lets go fight with them,
[♦] But first go on and set London Bridge a fire,
And if you can, burne downe the Tower too.
[15] Come lets away. Exet omnes.