| ACT II. |
|
|
|
| SCENE— BLACKHEATH. |
1sd |
|
|
|
|
| TYLER, HOB, &c. |
|
|
|
| SONG. |
|
|
|
| ' When Adam delv'd, and Eve span, |
1 |
| ' Who was then the gentleman?' |
2 |
|
|
| Wretched is the infant's lot, |
3 |
| Born within the straw-roof'd cot! |
4 |
| Be he generous, wise, or brave, |
5 |
| He must only be a slave. |
6 |
| Long, long labour, little rest, |
7 |
| Still to toil to be oppress'd; |
8 |
| Drain'd by taxes of his store, |
9 |
| Punish'd next for being poor; |
10 |
| This is the poor wretch's lot, |
11 |
| Born within the straw-roof'd cot. |
12 |
|
|
| While the peasant works— to sleep; |
13 |
| What the peasant sows— to reap; |
14 |
| On the couch of ease to lie, |
15 |
| Rioting in revelry; |
16 |
| Be he villain, be he fool, |
17 |
| Still to hold despotic rule, |
18 |
| Trampling on his slaves with scorn; |
19 |
| This is to be nobly born. |
20 |
|
|
| ' When Adam delv'd, and Eve span, |
21 |
| ' Who was then the gentleman?' |
22 |
|
|
|
|
| JACK STRAW. |
|
|
|
| The mob are up in London— the proud courtiers |
23 |
| Begin to tremble. |
24 |
|
|
|
|
| TOM MILLER. |
|
|
|
|
Aye, aye, 'tis time to tremble; |
25 |
| Who'll plow their fields, who'll do their drudgery
now? |
26 |
| And work like horses, to give them the harvest? |
27 |
|
|
|
|
| JACK STRAW. |
|
|
|
| I only wonder we lay quiet so long. |
28 |
| We had always the same strength, and we deserved |
29 |
| The ills we met with for not using it. |
30 |
|
|
|
|
| HOB. |
|
|
|
| Why do we fear those animals called lords? |
31 |
| What is there in the name to frighten us? |
32 |
| Is not my arm as mighty as a Baron's? |
33 |
|
|
|
|
| Enter PIERS and JOHN BALL. |
|
|
|
| PIERS (to TYLER). |
|
|
|
| Have I done well, my father?— I remember'd
|
34 |
| This good man lay in prison. |
35 |
|
|
|
|
| TYLER. |
|
|
|
|
My dear child, |
36 |
| Most well; the people rise for liberty, |
37 |
| And their first deed should be to break the
chains |
38 |
| That bind the virtuous:— O thou honest
priest— |
39 |
| How much has thou endured! |
40 |
|
|
|
|
| JOHN BALL. |
|
|
|
|
Why aye, my friend! |
41 |
| These squalid rags bespeak what I have suffered. |
42 |
| I was revil'd— insulted— left to languish
|
43 |
| In a damp dungeon; but I bore it cheerily— |
44 |
| My heart was glad— for I have done my duty. |
45 |
| I pitied my oppressors, and I sorrowed |
46 |
| For the poor men of England. |
47 |
|
|
|
|
| TYLER. |
|
|
|
|
They have felt |
48 |
| Their strength—look round this heath! 'tis
thronged with men. |
49 |
| Ardent for freedom; mighty is the event |
50 |
| That waits their fortune. |
51 |
|
|
|
|
| JOHN BALL. |
|
|
|
|
I would fain address them. |
52 |
|
|
|
|
| TYLER. |
|
|
|
| Do so, my friend, and teach to them their duty; |
53 |
| Remind them of their long withholden rights. |
54 |
| What ho there! silence! |
55 |
|
|
|
|
| PIERS. |
|
|
|
|
Silence there, my friends, |
56 |
| This good man would address you. |
57 |
|
|
|
|
| HOB. |
|
|
|
|
Aye, aye, hear him— |
58 |
| He is no mealy mouthed court orator, |
59 |
| To flatter vice, and pamper lordly pride. |
60 |
|
|
|
|
| JOHN BALL. |
|
|
|
| Friends! Brethren! for ye are my brethren all; |
61 |
| Englishmen met in arms to advocate |
62 |
| The cause of freedom! hear me! pause awhile |
63 |
| In the career of vengeance; it is true |
64 |
| I am a priest; but, as these rags may speak, |
65 |
| Not one who riots in the poor man's spoil, |
66 |
| Or trades with his religion. I am one |
67 |
| Who preach the law of Christ, and in my life, |
68 |
| Would practice what he taught. The son of God |
69 |
| Came not to you in power: humble in mien, |
70 |
| Lowly in heart, the man of Nazareth |
71 |
| Preach'd mercy, justice, love: "Woe unto ye, |
72 |
| Ye that are rich:—if that ye would be saved, |
73 |
| Sell that ye have, and give unto the poor." |
74 |
| So taught the Saviour: oh, my honest friends! |
75 |
| Have ye not felt the strong indignant throb |
76 |
| Of justice in your bosoms, to behold |
77 |
| The lordly Baron feasting on your spoils? |
78 |
| Have you not in your hearts arraign'd the lot |
79 |
| That gave him on the couch of luxury |
80 |
| To pillow his head, and pass the festive day |
81 |
| In sportive feasts, and ease, and revelry? |
82 |
| Have you not often in your conscience ask'd
|
83 |
| Why is the difference, wherefore should that
man, |
84 |
| No worthier than myself, thus lord it over me,
|
85 |
| And bid me labour, and enjoy the fruits? |
86 |
| The God within your breasts has argued thus!
|
87 |
| The voice of truth has murmur'd; came ye not |
88 |
| As helpless to the world? Shines not the sun |
89 |
| With equal ray on both?— Do ye not feel
|
90 |
| The self same winds of heaven as keenly parch
ye? |
91 |
| Abundant is the earth—the Sire of all,
|
92 |
| Saw and pronounc'd
that it was very good. |
93 |
| Look round: the vernal fields smile with new
flowers, |
94 |
| The budding orchard perfumes the soft breeze, |
95 |
| And the green corn waves to the passing gale. |
96 |
| There is enough for all, but your proud Baron
|
97 |
| Stands up, and arrogant of strength exclaims, |
98 |
| "I am a Lord—by nature I am noble: |
99 |
| These fields are mine, for I was born to them, |
100 |
| I was born in the castle—you, poor wretches, |
101 |
| Whelp'd in the cottage, are by birth my slaves." |
102 |
| Almighty God! such blasphemies are utter'd! |
103 |
| Almighty God! such blasphemies believ'd! |
104 |
|
|
|
|
| TOM MILLER. |
|
|
|
| This is something like a sermon. |
105 |
|
|
|
|
| JACK STRAW. |
|
|
|
|
Where's the bishop |
106 |
| Would tell you truths like these? |
107 |
|
|
|
|
| HOB. |
|
|
|
| There was never a bishop among all the apostles. |
108 |
|
|
|
|
| JOHN BALL. |
|
|
|
| My brethren! |
109 |
|
|
|
|
| PIERS. |
|
|
|
| Silence, the good priest speaks. |
110 |
|
|
|
|
| JOHN BALL. |
|
|
|
| My brethren, these are truths, and weighty ones: |
111 |
| Ye are all equal: nature made ye so. |
112 |
| Equality is your birth-right;—when I gaze
|
113 |
| On the proud palace, and behold one man |
114 |
| In the blood-purpled robes of royalty, |
115 |
| Feasting at ease, and lording over millions, |
116 |
| Then turn me to the hut of poverty, |
117 |
| And see the wretched lab'rer worn with toil,
|
118 |
| Divide his scanty morsel with his infants, |
119 |
| I sicken, and indignant at the sight, |
120 |
| " Blush for the patience of humanity." |
121 |
|
|
|
|
| JACK STRAW. |
|
|
|
| We will assert our rights. |
122 |
|
|
|
|
| TOM MILLER. |
|
|
|
|
We'll trample down |
123 |
| These insolent oppressors. |
124 |
|
|
|
|
| JOHN BALL. |
|
|
|
|
In good truth |
125 |
| Ye have cause for anger: but, my honest friends,
|
126 |
| Is it revenge or justice that ye seek? |
127 |
|
|
|
|
| MOB. |
|
|
|
| Justice, justice! |
128 |
|
|
|
|
| JOHN BALL. |
|
|
|
|
Oh then remember mercy; |
129 |
| And though your proud oppressors spar'd not
you, |
130 |
| Shew you excel them in humanity. |
131 |
| They will use every art to disunite you, |
132 |
| To conquer separately, by stratagem, |
133 |
| Whom in a mass they fear— but be ye firm— |
134 |
| Boldly demand your long-forgotten rights, |
135 |
| Your sacred, your inalienable freedom— |
136 |
| Be bold—be resolute—be merciful! |
137 |
| And while you spurn the hated name of slaves, |
138 |
| Shew you are men! |
139 |
|
|
|
|
| MOB. |
|
|
|
| Long live our honest priest! |
140 |
|
|
|
|
| JACK STRAW. |
|
|
|
| He shall be made archbishop. |
141 |
|
|
|
|
| JOHN BALL. |
|
|
|
| My brethren, I am plain John Ball, your friend,
|
142 |
| Your equal: by the law of Christ enjoined |
143 |
| To serve you, not command. |
144 |
|
|
|
|
| JACK STRAW. |
|
|
|
|
March we for London. |
145 |
|
|
|
|
| TYLER. |
|
|
|
| Mark me, my friends—we rise for liberty— |
146 |
| Justice shall be our guide: let no man dare
|
147 |
| To plunder in the tumult. |
148 |
|
|
|
|
| MOB |
|
|
|
| Lead us on— |
149 |
| Liberty!—Justice! |
150 |
|
|
|
|
| (Exeunt, with cries of Liberty— no Poll
Tax — no War.) |
|
|
|
| SCENE CHANGES TO THE TOWER. |
150sd |
|
|
| KING RICHARD, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, |
|
| SIR JOHN TRESILIAN, |
|
| WALWORTH, PHILPOT. |
|
|
|
|
|
| KING |
|
|
|
| What must we do? the danger grows more imminent— |
151 |
| The mob increases— |
152 |
|
|
|
|
| PHILPOT. |
|
|
|
|
Every moment brings |
153 |
| Fresh tidings of our peril. |
154 |
|
|
|
|
| KING. |
|
|
|
|
It were well |
155 |
| To yield them what they ask. |
156 |
|
|
|
|
| ARCHBISHOP. |
|
|
|
| Aye,
that my liege |
157 |
| Were politic. Go boldly forth to meet them, |
158 |
| Grant all they ask—however wild and ruinous— |
159 |
| Mean time the troops you have already summoned, |
160 |
| Will gather round them. Then my Christian power |
161 |
| Absolves you of your promise. |
162 |
|
|
|
|
| WALWORTH. |
|
|
|
| Were but their ringleaders cut off—the
rabble |
163 |
| Would soon disperse. |
164 |
|
|
|
|
| PHILPOT. |
|
|
|
| United
in a mass |
165 |
| There's nothing can resist them—once divide
them, |
166 |
| And they will fall an easy sacrifice. |
167 |
|
|
|
|
| ARCHBISHOP. |
|
|
|
| Lull them by promises—bespeak them fair—
|
168 |
| Go forth, my liege—spare not, if need requires, |
170 |
| A solemn oath, to ratify the treaty. |
171 |
|
|
|
|
| KING |
|
|
|
| I dread their fury. |
172 |
|
|
|
|
| ARCHBISHOP. |
|
|
|
| 'Tis
a needless dread, |
173 |
| There is divinity about your person; |
174 |
| It is the sacred privilege of Kings, |
175 |
| Howe'er they act, to render no account |
176 |
| To man. The people have been taught this lesson, |
177 |
| Nor can they soon forget it. |
178 |
|
|
|
|
| KING. |
|
|
|
| I
will go— |
179 |
| I will submit to everything they ask; |
180 |
| My day of triumph will arrive at last. |
181 |
|
|
|
|
| (Shouts without.) |
|
|
|
| Enter Messenger. |
|
|
|
|
|
| MESSENGER. |
|
|
|
| The mob are at the city gates. |
182 |
|
|
|
|
| ARCHBISHOP. |
|
|
|
| Haste,
haste, |
183 |
| Address them ere too late. I'll remain here, |
184 |
| For they detest me much. |
185 |
|
|
|
|
| (Shouts again. ) |
|
|
|
| Enter another Messenger. |
|
|
|
|
|
| MESSENGER. |
|
|
|
| The Londoners have opened the city gates, |
186 |
| The rebels are admitted. |
187 |
|
|
|
|
| KING. |
|
|
|
| Fear then must give me courage; my Lord Mayor, |
188 |
| Come you with me. |
189 |
|
|
|
|
| (Exeunt. Shouts without.) |
|
|
|
| SCENE— SMITHFIELD. |
189sd |
|
|
| WAT TYLER, JOHN BALL, PIERS, &c. Mob. |
|
|
|
|
|
| PIERS. |
|
|
|
| So far triumphant are we: how these nobles, |
190 |
| These petty tyrants, who so long oppress'd us, |
191 |
| Shrink at the first resistance! |
192 |
|
|
|
|
| HOB. |
|
|
|
| They
were powerful |
193 |
| Only because we fondly thought them so. |
194 |
| Where is Jack Straw? |
195 |
|
|
|
|
| TYLER. |
|
|
|
| Jack Straw is gone to the tower |
196 |
| To seize the king, and so to end resistance. |
197 |
|
|
|
|
| JOHN BALL. |
|
|
|
| It was well judg'd: fain would I spare the shedding |
198 |
| Of human blood: gain we that royal puppet, |
199 |
| And all will follow fairly: depriv'd of him,
|
200 |
| The nobles lose their pretext, nor will dare
|
201 |
| Rebel against the people's majesty. |
202 |
|
|
|
|
| Enter Herald. |
|
|
|
|
|
| HERALD. |
|
|
|
| Richard the Second, by the grace of God, |
203 |
| Of England, Ireland, France, and Scotland, King, |
204 |
| And of the town of Berwick upon Tweed, |
205 |
| Would parley with Wat Tyler. |
206 |
|
|
|
|
| TYLER. |
|
|
|
|
Let him know |
207 |
| Wat Tyler is in Smithfield. |
208 |
|
|
|
|
| (Exit Herald.) |
|
|
|
| I
will parley |
209 |
| With this young monarch; as he comes to me |
210 |
| Trusting my honour, on your lives I charge you
|
211 |
| Let none attempt to harm him. |
212 |
|
|
|
|
| JOHN BALL |
|
|
|
| The
faith of courts |
213 |
| Is but a weak dependence! You are honest— |
214 |
| And better is it even to die the victim |
215 |
| Of credulous honesty, than live preserved |
216 |
| By the cold policy that still suspects. |
217 |
|
|
|
|
| Enter KING, WALWORTH, PHILPOT, &c.
|
|
|
|
|
|
| KING. |
|
|
|
| I would speak to thee, Wat Tyler: bid the mob
|
218 |
| Retire awhile. |
219 |
|
|
|
|
| PIERS. |
|
|
|
| Nay,
do not go alone— |
220 |
| Let me attend you. |
221 |
|
|
|
|
| TYLER. |
|
|
|
| Wherefore
should I fear? |
222 |
| Am I not arm'd with a just cause?—retire, |
223 |
| And I will boldly plead the cause of Freedom.
|
224 |
|
|
|
|
| (Advances.) |
|
|
|
| KING. |
|
|
|
| Tyler, why have you kill'd my officer? |
225 |
| And led my honest subjects from their homes, |
226 |
| Thus to rebel against the Lord's anointed? |
227 |
|
|
|
|
| TYLER. |
|
|
|
| Because they were oppress'd. |
228 |
|
|
|
|
| KING. |
|
|
|
| Was
this the way |
229 |
| To remedy the ill?— you should have tried
|
230 |
| By milder means—petition'd at the throne— |
231 |
| The throne will always listen to petitions. |
232 |
|
|
|
|
| TYLER. |
|
|
|
| King
of England, |
233 |
| Petitioning for pity is most weak, |
234 |
| The sovereign people ought to demand justice. |
235 |
| I kill'd your officer, for his lewd hand |
236 |
| Insulted a maid's modesty: your subjects |
237 |
| I lead to rebel against the Lord's anointed, |
238 |
| Because his ministers have made him odious:
|
239 |
| His yoke is heavy, and his burden grievous.
|
240 |
| Why do we carry on this fatal war, |
241 |
| To force upon the French a king they hate; |
242 |
| Tearing our young men from their peaceful homes; |
243 |
| Forcing his hard-earn'd fruits from the honest
peasant; |
244 |
| Distressing us to desolate our neighbours? |
245 |
| Why is this ruinous poll tax imposed, |
246 |
| But to support your court's extravagance, |
247 |
| And your mad title to the crown of France? |
248 |
| Shall we sit tamely down beneath these evils |
249 |
| Petitioning for pity? |
250 |
| King
of England! |
251 |
| Why are we sold like cattle in your markets— |
252 |
| Deprived of every privilege of man? |
253 |
| Must we lie tamely at our tyrant's feet, |
254 |
| And, like your spaniels, lick the hand that
beats us? |
255 |
| You sit at ease in your gay palaces, |
256 |
| The costly banquet courts your appetite, |
257 |
| Sweet music sooths your slumbers; we the while,
|
258 |
| Scarce by hard toil can earn a little food, |
259 |
| And sleep scarce shelter'd from the cold night
wind: |
260 |
| Whilst your wild projects wrest the little from
us |
261 |
| Which might have cheer'd the wintry hour of
age: |
262 |
| The Parliament for ever asks more money: |
263 |
| We toil and sweat for money for your taxes:
|
264 |
| Where is the benefit, what food reap we |
265 |
| From all the councils of your government? |
266 |
| Think you that we should quarrel with the French? |
267 |
| What boots to us your victories, your glory? |
268 |
| We pay, we fight, you profit at your ease. |
269 |
| Do you not claim the country as your own? |
270 |
| Do you not call the venison of the forest, |
271 |
| The birds of heaven your own?—prohibiting
us, |
272 |
| Even tho' in want of food, to seize the prey |
273 |
| Which nature offers?—King! is all this
just? |
274 |
| Think you we do not feel the wrongs we suffer? |
275 |
| The hour of retribution is at hand, |
276 |
| And tyrants tremble—mark me, King of England. |
277 |
|
|
|
|
| WALWORTH. |
|
|
|
| (Comes behind him, and stabs him.) |
|
|
|
| Insolent rebel, threatening the King! |
278 |
|
|
|
|
| PIERS. |
|
|
|
| Vengeance! vengeance! |
279 |
|
|
|
|
| HOB. |
|
|
|
| Seize the King. |
280 |
|
|
|
|
| KING. |
|
|
|
| I must be bold. (Advancing.) |
281 |
| My
friends and loving subjects, |
282 |
| I will grant all you ask: you shall be free— |
283 |
| The tax shall be repeal'd— all, all you
wish. |
284 |
| Your leader menaced me, he deserv'd his fate.
|
285 |
| Quiet your angers; on my royal word |
286 |
| Your grievances shall all be done away. |
287 |
| Your vassalage abolish'd.—A free pardon
|
288 |
| Allow'd to all: so help me God it shall be. |
289 |
|
|
|
|
| JOHN BALL. |
|
|
|
| Revenge, my brethren, beseems not Christians.
|
290 |
| Send us these terms sign'd with your seal of
state. |
291 |
| We will await in peace: deceive us not.—
|
292 |
| Act justly, so to excuse your late foul deed. |
293 |
|
|
|
|
| KING. |
|
|
|
| The charter shall be drawn out: on mine honour, |
294 |
| All shall be justly done. |
295 |
|
|
|
|
| END OF ACT THE SECOND. |
295sd |
