But now there came in another man, running, and—
“Will Langland,” said he, “here 's letters from John Ball. Of these shalt thou make a fair copy, and they shall be sent forth into the villages to north of here and west, to be read in taverns and churchyards.”
“Where is John Ball?” asked Will, and took the letters.
“Yestermorn he was in Maidstone jail, but by now,—eh, well,—Wat Tyler 's gone thither hastily. I had these of the priest out of window, when I told him Rochester Castle is ta'en.”
“Is ta'en!” cried all they together.
“Yea.—'Bid Wat come quickly to set me free,' saith John Ball,—'and for the letters, Long Will shall copy.'”
“Read!” said Hobbe.
So Will read:—
“'John Schep, sometime Saint Mary's priest of York, and now of Colchester, greeteth well John Nameless and John the Miller and John Carter, and biddeth them that they beware of guile in borough, and stand together in God's name, and biddeth Piers Ploughman go to his work, and chastise well Hob the Robber, and take with you John Trueman and all his fellows and no mo; and look sharp you to one-head and no mo.'”
Then in that company all, as with one voice, chaunted the end of this letter, which was:—