Mort. [returning to the king]. As gave your grace in charge, I have delivered
Your highness' pleasure amongst the prisoners,
And have proclaimed your grace's pardon 'mongst them all,
Save only those two unnatural Englishmen—
O, might I say no English nor men!—
That Ball and Tyler, cursed rebels both,
Whom I commanded to be executed;
And in your highness' name have freed all the rest,
Whose thankful hearts I find as full replete
With signs of joy and duty to your grace,
As those unnatural rebels' hateful mouths
Are full of foul speeches and unhonourable.
King. It is no matter, Morton; let them bark.
I trow they cannot bite, when they be dead.
And, Lord Mayor, for your valiant act
And dangerous attempt in our behalf,
To free your country and your king from ill:
In our behalf and in our commonweal,
We will accept it as the deed deserves,
And thank you for this honourable attempt.
Mayor. What subjects' hearts could brook the rage of theirs,
To vaunt in presence of their sovereign Lord,
To brave him to his face before his peers,
But would by policy or force attempt
To quell the raging of such furious foes?
My sovereign lord, 'twas but my duty done,
First unto God, next to my lawful king,
Proceeding from a true and loyal heart,
And so I hope your grace esteems thereof.
King. To the end this deed shall rest in memory,
Which shall continue for ever to the end,
Lord Mayor, I will adjoin to thy degree
Another title of a lasting fame.
Kneel down, William Walworth, and receive,
By mine own hand the Order of Knighthood:
Stand up, Sir William, first knight of thy degree,
But henceforth all, which shall succeed thy place,
Shall have like honour for thy noble deed.
Besides that time shall ne'er abridge thy fame,
The City arms shall bear for memory
The bloody dagger the more for Walworth's honour.
Call for your herald, and receive your due.
Mayor. My gracious lord, this honourable grace,
So far above desert (sith what I did,
My duty and allegiance bad me do),
Binds me and my successors evermore
With sweet encouragement to th' like attempt.
Your majesty and all your royal peers
Shall find your London such a storehouse still,
As not alone you shall command our wealth,
But loyal hearts, the treasure of a prince,
Shall grow like grains sown in a fertile soil,
And God I praise, that with his holy hand
Hath given me heart to free my prince and land.
King. Then sith these dangerous broils are overpass'd
With shedding of so little English blood.
'Tis for the fame and honour of a prince
Well to reward the actors of the same.
So many of thy brethren as accompanied thee,
In Smithfield here about this bold attempt,
When time shall serve, I'll knight them as thou art.
And so Lord Mayor, Newton, Morton, and the rest,
Accompany us to guard us to the tower,
Where we'll repose, and rest ourselves all night.
FINIS.
FOOTNOTES:
[452] [Serious.]
[453] [Who give up themselves for killed. Old copy has, killed who lie in conceit.]