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SCENE VIII.-The same.
A noise about the house for some time. Then enter HARPOOL in the Irishman's apparel; the MAYOR, CONSTABLE, and WATCH of St. Albans meeting him.
Con. Stand close, here comes the Irishman that did the murder; by all tokens this is he.
Mayor. And perceiving the house beset, would get away. Stand, sirrah.
Har. What art thou that bidd'st me stand?
Con. I am the officer; and am come to search for an Irishman, such a villain as thyself, that hast murdered a man this last night by the high way.
Har. 'Sblood, constable, art thou mad? am I an Irishman? Mayor. Sirrah, we'll find you an Irishman before we part; Lay hold upon him.
Con. Make him fast. O thou bloody rogue!
Enter LORD and LADY COBHAM, in the apparel of the Carrier and his daughter.
Cob. What, will these ostlers sleep all day? Good morrow, good morrow. Come wench, come. Saddle, saddle; now afore God two fair days, ha ?
Con. Who goes there?
Mayor. O'tis Lancashire carrier; let them pass.
Cob. What, will nobody ope the gates here?
Come, let's in to stable, to look to our capuls.
[Exeunt LORD and LADY COBHAM. Car. [within]. Host. Why, ostler? Zooks, here's such abomination company of boys. A pox of this pigstye at the house' end; it fills all the house full of fleas. Ostler, ostler.
Ostl. Who calls there? what would you have?
Do you lodge rogues, and slaves, and scoundrels, ha ?
They ha' stolen our clothes here. Why, ostler.
Ostl. A murrain choke you; what a bawling you keep!
Host. How now ? what would the carrier have?
Look up there.
Ostl. They say that the man and the woman that lay by them have stolen their clothes.
Host. What, are the strange folks up, that came in yesternight? Con. What, mine host, up so early?
Host. What, master mayor, and master constable ?
Mayor. We are come to seek for some suspected persons,
And such as here we found have apprehended.
Enter CARRIER and KATE, in LORD and LADY COBHAM'S
Con. Who comes here ?
Car. Who comes here ? a plague 'found 'em. "You bawl," quoth-a; ods heart, I'll forswear your house; you lodged a fellow and his wife by us, that ha' run away with our 'parel, and left us such gew-gaws here:-Come, Kate, come to me; thou's dizeard,* i' faith.
Mayor. Mine host, know you this man?
Host. Yes, master mayor, I'll give my word for him. Why, neighbour Club, how comes this gear about?
Kate. Now, a foul on't, I cannot make this gew-gaw stand on my head.
Mayor. How came this man and woman thus attired?
Host. Here came a man and woman hither this last night, Which I did take for substantial people,.
And lodged all in one chamber by these folks;
Methinks they have been so bold to change apparel,
Mayor. That was that traitor Oldcastle that thus
Car. Come, Kate Owdham, thou and I's trimly dizard.
[Exeunt CARRIER and his DAUGHTER, HOST, HARPOOL, CONSTABLES, &c.
SCENE IX-A wood near St. Albans.
Enter LORD and LADY COBHAM, disguised.
Cob. Come, madam, happily escaped. Here let us sit; This place is far remote from any path;
And here awhile our weary limbs may rest
To take refreshing, free from the pursuit
L. Cob. But where, my lord,
Shall we find rest for our disquiet minds?
There dwell untamed thoughts, that hardly stoop
We were not wont to travel thus by night,
Cob. No matter, love;
Extremities admit no better choice,
And, were it not for thee, say froward time
* I. e. bedizened.
But in thy suffrance I am doubly task'd;
L. Cob. How can it seem a trouble, having you
No, gentle lord, your presence would give ease
To death itself, should he now seize upon me.
[She produces some bread and cheese, and a bottle.
Behold what my foresight hath underta❜en,
For fear we faint; they are but homely cates;
Yet sauced with hunger, they may seem as sweet
As greater dainties we were wont to taste.
Cob. Praise be to him whose plenty sends both this
Dimm'd with o'er-flying clouds ? There's not that work
How strong, how beauteous, or how rich it be,
L. Cob. And I, encouraged with your cheerful speech,
Cób. 'Pray God, poor Harpool come.
If he should fall into the bishop's hands,
Or not remember where we bade him meet us,
Cob. That power be still his guide, hath guided us!
L. Cob. Let that depend on me: whilst you do sleep
I'll watch that no misfortune happen us.
Cob. I shall, dear wife, be too much trouble to thee.
My duty binds me, and your love commands.
I would I had the skill, with tuned voice
Hath shut his eyelids. O victorious labour,
Great God of heaven, from danger keep us free!
Enter SIR RICHARD LEE, and his Servants.
Sir Rich. A murder closely done? and in my ground? Search carefully; if anywhere it were,
This obscure thicket is the likeliest place.
[Exit a Servant.
Re-enter SERVANT, bearing a dead Body.
Ser. Sir, I have found the body stiff with cold,
And mangled cruelly with many wounds.
Sir Rich. Look, if thou know'st him; turn his body up. Alack, it is my son, my son and heir,
Whom two years since I sent to Ireland,
To practise there the discipline of war;
And coming home (for so he wrote to me),
Some savage heart, some bloody devilish hand,
Hath here sluiced out his blood. Unhappy hour!
That this his death and murder should be wrought
The fatal instruments of death and sin.
Sir Rich. Just judgment of that power, whose gracious eye, Loathing the sight of such a heinous fact,
Dazzled their senses with benumbing sleep,
Cob. What mean you, Sir, to trouble weary souls,
And interrupt us of our quiet sleep?
Sir Rich. O devilish! can you boast unto yourselves
The guilt of murder waking, that with cries
With more than mandrakes' shrieks for your offence?
The kern was the Irish light-armed foot soldier.
Sir Rich. Can you deny the fact? see you not here
Thus stain'd and spotted with his innocent blood?
Cob. As we are innocent, so may we speed.
Sir Rich. As I am wrong'd, so may the law proceed. [Exeunt.
SCENE X-St. Albans.
Enter the Bishop of ROCHESTER, CONSTABLE of St. Albans, with SIR JOHN and DOLL, and the IRISHMAN in HARPOOL'S apparel.
Roch. What intricate confusion have we here?
Not two hours since we apprehended one
In habit Irish, but in speech not so;
And now you bring another, that in speech
And more than so, the servant of that heretic
Irishm. Fait, me be no servant of de Lort Cobham; me be Mack-Shane, of Ulster.
Roch. Otherwise call'd Harpool, of Kent; go to, Sir;
You cannot blind us with your broken Irish.
Sir John. Trust me, lord bishop, whether Irish or English, Harpool or not Harpool, that I leave to the trial:
But sure I am, this man by face and speech,
Is he that murder'd young Sir Richard Lee
(I met him presently upon the fact);
And that he slew his master for that gold,
Those jewels, and that chain, I took from him.
Roch. Well, our affairs do call us back to London,
So that we cannot prosecute the cause,
As we desire to do; therefore we leave
The charge with you, to see they be convey'd [To the Constable.
To Hertford 'sizes: both this counterfeit,
And you, Sir John of Wrotham, and your wench;
For you are culpable as well as they.
Though not for murder, yet for felony.
But since you are the means to bring to light
This graceless murder, you shall bear with you
To be your friends in what they lawful may.
* I. e. destroyed.