Текст книги "William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition"

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

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Sc. 7 Enter Master Sheriff, and meet a Messenger

SHERIFF

Messenger, what news?

MESSENGER Is execution yet performed?

SHERIFF

Not yet. The carts stand ready at the stairs,

And they shall presently away to Tyburn.

MESSENGER

Stay, Master Sheriff. It is the Council’s pleasure,

For more example in so bad a case,

A gibbet be erected in Cheapside

Hard by the Standard, whither you must bring

Lincoln, and those that were the chief with him,

To suffer death, and that immediately.

Enter Officers

SHERIFF

It shall be done, sir. Exit Messenger

Officers, be speedy.

Call for a gibbet, see it be erected.

Others make haste to Newgate; bid them bring

The prisoners hither, for they here must die.

Away, I say, and see no time be slacked.

OFFICERS We go, sir.

SHERIFF That’s well said, fellows. Now you do your duty. Exeunt some ⌈Officers⌉ severally. Others set up the gibbet

God for his pity help these troublous times!

The street’s stopped up with gazing multitudes.

Command our armed officers with halberds

Make way for entrance of the prisoners.

Let proclamation once again be made

That every householder, on pain of death,

Keep in his prentices, and every man

Stand with a weapon ready at his door,

As he will answer to the contrary.

FIRST OFFICER I’ll see it done, sir. Exit

Enter another Offices

SHERIFF

Bring them away to execution.

The writ is come above two hours since.

The city will be fined for this neglect.

SECOND OFFICER

There’s such a press and multitude at Newgate

They cannot bring the carts unto the stairs

To take the prisoners in.

SHERIFF Then let them come on foot.

We may not dally time with great command.

SECOND OFFICER

Some of the Bench, sir, think it very fit

That stay be made, and give it out abroad

The execution is deferred till morning;

And when the streets shall be a little cleared

To chain them up, and suddenly dispatch it.

The prisoners are brought in, ⌈amongst them Lincoln,

Doll, Williamson, Clown Betts, and Sherwin,⌉ well

guarded, ⌈and the Executioner⌉

SHERIFF

Stay, in meantime methinks they come along.

See, they are coming. So, ’tis very well.

Bring Lincoln there the first unto the tree.

CLOWN BETTS Ay, for I cry lag, sir.

LINCOLN

I knew the first, sir, did belong to me.

This the old proverb now complete doth make:

That ‘Lincoln should be hanged for London’s sake’.

I’ God’s name, let’s to work. ⌈To Executioner⌉ Fellow, dispatch.

He goes up

I was the foremost man in this rebellion,

And I the foremost that must die for it.

DOLL

Bravely, John Lincoln, let thy death express

That, as thou lived‘st a man, thou died’st no less.

LINCOLN

Doll Williamson, thine eyes shall witness it.

Then to all you that come to view mine end

I must confess I had no ill intent

But against such as wronged us overmuch.

And now I can perceive it was not fit

That private men should carve out their redress

Which way they list. No, learn it now by me:

Obedience is the best in each degree.

And, asking mercy meekly of my king,

I patiently submit me to the law.

But God forgive them that were cause of it;

And, as a Christian, truly from my heart,

I likewise crave they would forgive me too,

〈 〉

That others by example of the same

Henceforth be warned to attempt the like

’Gainst any alien that repaireth hither.

Fare ye well all. The next time that we meet

I trust in heaven we shall each other greet. He leaps off

DOLL

Farewell, John Lincoln. Say all what they can,

Thou lived‘st a good fellow, and died’st an honest man.

CLOWN BETTS Would I were so far on my journey. The first stretch is the worst, methinks.

SHERIFF Bring Williamson there forward.

DOLL

Good Master Sheriff, I have an earnest suit,

And, as you are a man, deny’t me not.

SHERIFF

Woman, what is it? Be it in my power,

Thou shalt obtain it.

DOLL

Let me die next, sir, that is all I crave.

You know not what a comfort you shall bring

To my poor heart to die before my husband.

SHERIFF

Bring her to death. She shall have her desire.

CLOWN BETTS Sir, and I have a suit to you too.

SHERIFF What is it?

CLOWN BETTS That, as you have hanged Lincoln first and will hang her next, so you will not hang me at all.

SHERIFF Nay, you set ope the Counter gates, and you must hang chiefly.

CLOWN BETTS Well then, so much for that!

DOLL ⌈to Sherif⌉

Sir, your free bounty much contents my mind.

Commend me to that good sheriff Master More,

And tell him had’t not been for his persuasion

John Lincoln had not hung here as he does.

We would first have locked up in Leaden Hall,

And there been burned to ashes with the roof.

SHERIFF

Woman, what Master More did was a subject’s duty,

And hath so pleased our gracious lord the King

That he is hence removed to higher place

And made of Council to his majesty.

DOLL

Well is he worthy of it, by my troth:

An honest, wise, well-spoken gentleman.

Yet would I praise his honesty much more

If he had kept his word and saved our lives.

But let that pass. Men are but men, and so

Words are but words, and pays not what men owe.

Now, husband, since perhaps the world may say

That through my means thou com’st thus to thy end,

Here I begin this cup of death to thee,

Because thou shalt be sure to taste no worse

Than I have taken that must go before thee.

What though I be a woman? That’s no matter.

I do owe God a death, and I must pay him.

Husband, give me thy hand. Be not dismayed.

This chore being chored, then all our debt is paid.

Only two little babes we leave behind us,

And all I can bequeath them at this time

Is but the love of some good honest friend

To bring them up in charitable sort.

What, masters?—He goes upright that never halts,

And they may live to mend their parents’ faults.

WILLIAMSON

Why, well said, wife. I‘faith, thou cheer’st my heart.

Give me thy hand. Let’s kiss, and so let’s part.

He kisses her on the ladder

DOLL

The next kiss, Williamson, shall be in heaven.

Now cheerly, lads! George Betts, a hand with thee.

⌈To Clown Betts⌉ And thine too, Ralph. And thine, good

honest Sherwin.

Now let me tell the women of this town

No stranger yet brought Doll to lying down.

So long as I an Englishman can see,

Nor French nor Dutch shall get a kiss of me.

And when that I am dead, for me yet say

I died in scorn to be a stranger’s prey.

A great shout and noise ⌈within⌉

VOICES WITHIN Pardon, pardon, pardon, pardon!

Room for the Earl of Surreyl Room there, room!

Enter Surrey

SURREY

Save the man’s life, if it be possible!

SHERIFF

It is too late, my lord, he’s dead already.

SURREY

I tell ye, Master Sheriff, you are too forward

To make such haste with men unto their death.

I think your pains will merit little thanks,

Since that his highness is so merciful

As not to spill the blood of any subject.

SHERIFF

My noble lord, would we so much had known!

The Council’s warrant hastened our dispatch.

It had not else been done so suddenly.

SURREY

Sir Thomas More humbly upon his knee

Did beg the lives of all, since on his word

They did so gently yield. The King hath granted it,

And made him Lord High Chancellor of England,

According as he worthily deserves.

Since Lincoln’s life cannot be had again,

Then for the rest, from my dread sovereign’s lips,

I here pronounce free pardon for them all—

ALL (flinging up caps)

God save the King! God save the King,

My good Lord Chancellor and the Earl of Surreyl

DOLL

And Doll desires it from her very heart

More’s name may live for this right noble part;

And whensoe’er we talk of Ill May Day

Praise More, whose honest words our falls did stay.

SURREY

In hope his highness’ clemency and mercy,

Which in the arms of mild and meek compassion

Would rather clip you, as the loving nurse

Oft doth the wayward infant, than to leave you

To the sharp rod of justice; so to draw you

To shun such lewd assemblies as beget

Unlawful riots and such traitorous acts

That, striking with the hand of private hate,

Maim your dear country with a public wound.

O God, that mercy, whose majestic brow

Should be unwrinkled, and that awe-full justice,

Which looketh through a veil of sufferance

Upon the frailty of the multitude,

Should with the clamours of outrageous wrongs

Be stirred and wakened thus to punishment!

But your deserved death he doth forgive.

Who gives you life, pray all he long may live.

ALL

God save the King! God save the King,

My good Lord Chancellor, and the Earl of Surreyl

Exeunt

[Original Text (Munday)]

[⌈Addition III (playhouse scribe; attributed to Shakespeare)]

Sc. 8 A table being covered with a green carpet, a state cushion on it, and the purse and mace lying thereon, enter More

MORE

It is in heaven that I am thus and thus,

And that which we profanely term our fortunes

Is the provision of the power above,

Fitted and shaped just to that strength of nature

Which we are born with. Good God, good God,

That I from such an humble bench of birth

Should step, as ’twere, up to my country’s head,

And give the law out there; I, in my father’s life,

To take prerogative and tithe of knees

From elder kinsmen, and him bind by my place

To give the smooth and dexter way to me

That owe it him by nature: sure these things,

Not physicked by respect, might turn our blood

To much corruption. But, More, the more thou

hast,

Either of honour, office, wealth, and calling,

Which might accite thee to embrace and hug them,

The more do thou in serpent’s natures think them,

Fear their gay skins with thought of their sharp state,

And let this be thy maxim: to be great

Is, when the thread of hazard is once spun,

A bottom great wound up, greatly undone.

[Addition III (playhouse scribe; attributed to Shakespeare)]

[addition IV (playhouse scribe; attributed to Dekker)]

Enter Sir Thomas More’s man ⌈Randall⌉, attired like him

MORE Come on, sir, are you ready?

RANDALL Yes, my lord. I stand but on a few points. I shall have done presently. Before God, I have practised your lordship’s shift so well that I think I shall grow proud, my lord.

MORE

‘Tis fit thou shouldst wax proud, or else thou’lt ne‘er

Be near allied to greatness. Observe me, sirrah.

The learned clerk Erasmus is arrived

Within our English court. Last night, I hear,

He feasted with our English honoured poet

The Earl of Surrey, and I learned today

The famous clerk of Rotterdam will visit

Sir Thomas More. Therefore, sir, take my seat.

You are Lord Chancellor. Dress your behaviour

According to my carriage. But beware

You talk not overmuch, for ’twill betray thee.

Who prates not much seems wise, his wit few scan,

While the tongue blabs tales of the imperfect man.

I’ll see if great Erasmus can distinguish

Merit and outward ceremony.

RANDALL If I do not deserve a share for playing of your lordship well, let me be yeoman usher to your sumpter and be banished from wearing of a gold chain forever.

MORE

Well, sir, I’ll hide our motion. Act my part

With a firm boldness, and thou winn’st my heart.

Enter the Sheriff, with Falkner (a ruffian) and Officers

How now, what’s the matter?

FALKNER ⌈to Officers⌉ Tug me not; I’m no bear. ‘Sblood, if all the dogs in Paris Garden hung at my tail, I’d shake ’em off with this: that I’ll appear before no king christened but my good Lord Chancellor.

SHERIFF We’ll christen you, sirrah.—Bring him forward.

MORE ⌈to Falkner⌉ How now, what tumults make you?

FALKNER The azured heavens protect my noble Lord Chancellor!

MORE ⌈to Sheriff⌉ What fellow’s this?

SHERIFF A ruffian, my lord, that hath set half the city in an uproar.

FALKNER My lord—

SHERIFF There was a fray in Paternoster Row, and because they would not be parted the street was choked up with carts.

FALKNER My noble lord, Pannyer Alley’s throat was open.

MORE Sirrah, hold your peace.

FALKNER I’ll prove the street was not choked, but is as well as ever it was since it was a street.

SHERIFF This fellow was a principal broacher of the broil—

FALKNER ’Sblood, I broached none. It was broached and half run out before I had a lick at it.

SHERIFF And would be brought before no justice but your honour.

FALKNER ! I am hauled, my noble lord.

MORE ⌈to Sheriff⌉

No ear to choose for every trivial noise

But mine, and in so full a time? Away.

You wrong me, Master Sheriff. Dispose of him

At your own pleasure. Send the knave to Newgate.

FALKNER To Newgate? ’Sblood, Sir Thomas More, I appeal, I appeal: from Newgate to any of the two worshipful Counters.

MORE

Fellow, whose man are you that are thus lusty?

FALKNER My name’s Jack Falkner. I serve, next under God and my prince, Master Morris, secretary to my lord of Winchester.

MORE

A fellow of your hair is very fit

To be a secretary’s follower!

FALKNER I hope so, my lord. The fray was between the Bishop’s men of Ely and Winchester, and I could not in honour but part them. I thought it stood not with my reputation and degree to come to my questions and answers before a city justice. I knew I should to the pot.

MORE Thou hast been there, it seems, too late already.

FALKNER I know your honour is wise, and so forth, and I desire to be only catechized or examined by you, my noble Lord Chancellor.

MORE Sirrah, sirrah, you are a busy dangerous ruffian. FALKNER Ruffian?

MORE How long have you worn this hair?

FALKNER I have worn this hair ever since I was born.

MORE

You know that’s not my question: but how long

Hath this shag fleece hung dangling on thy head?

FALKNER How long, my lord? Why, sometimes thus long, sometimes lower, as the Fates and humours please.

MORE

So quick, sir, with me, ha? I see, good fellow,

Thou lovest plain dealing. Sirrah, tell me now

When were you last at barber’s? How long time

Have you upon your head worn this shag hair?

FALKNER My lord, Jack Falkner tells no Aesop’s fables. Troth, I was not at barber’s this three years. I have not been cut, nor will not be cut, upon a foolish vow which, as the Destinies shall direct, I am sworn to keep.

MORE When comes that vow out?

FALKNER Why, when the humours are purged; not these three years.

MORE

Vows are recorded in the court of heaven,

For they are holy acts. Young man, I charge thee

And do advise thee start not from that vow.

And for I will be sure thou shalt not shear,

Besides because it is an odious sight

To see a man thus hairy, thou shalt lie

In Newgate till thy vow and thy three years

Be full expired.—Away with him.

FALKNER My lord—

MORE

Cut off this fleece and lie there but a month.

FALKNER I’ll not lose a hair to be Lord Chancellor of Europe.

MORE

To Newgate then. Sirrah, great sins are bred

In all that body where there’s a foul head.

Away with him. Exeunt ⌈all but Randall⌉

Enter Surrey, Erasmus, and attendants

SURREY

Now, great Erasmus, you approach the presence

Of a most worthy learned gentleman.

This little isle holds not a truer friend

Unto the arts; nor doth his greatness add

A feigned flourish to his worthy parts.

He’s great in study: that’s the statist’s grace

That gains more reverence than the outward place.

ERASMUS

Report, my lord, hath crossed the narrow seas,

And to the several parts of Christendom

Hath borne the fame of your Lord Chancellor.

I long to see him whom with loving thoughts

I in my study oft have visited.

Is that Sir Thomas More?

SURREY

It is, Erasmus.

Now shall you view the honourablest scholar,

The most religious politician,

The worthiest counsellor, that tends our state.

That study is the general watch of England.

In it, the Prince’s safety and the peace

That shines upon our commonwealth are forged

By loyal industry.

ERASMUS

I doubt him not

To be as near the life of excellence

As you proclaim him, when his meanest servants

Are of some weight. You saw, my lord, his porter

Give entertainment to us at the gate

In Latin good phrase. What’s the master, then,

When such good parts shine in his meanest men?

SURREY

His lordship hath some weighty business,

For, see, as yet he takes no notice of us.

ERASMUS

I think ’twere best I did my duty to him

In a short Latin speech.

⌈He takes off his hat and addresses Randall⌉

Qui in celeberrima patria natus est et gloriosa plus habet

negotii ut in lucem veniat quam qui—

RANDALL I prithee, good Erasmus, be covered. I have forsworn speaking of Latin else, as I am true councillor, I’d tickle you with a speech. Nay, sit, Erasmus. Sit, good my lord of Surrey. I’ll make my lady come to you anon, if she will, and give you entertainment.

ERASMUS

Is this Sir Thomas More?

SURREY

O good Erasmus,

You must conceive his vein. He’s ever furnished

With these conceits.

RANDALL Yes, faith, my learned poet doth not lie for that matter. I am neither more nor less than merry Sir Thomas always. Wilt’ sup with me? By God, I love a parlous wise fellow that smells of a politician better than a long progress. Enter Sir Thomas More

SURREY

We are deluded. This is not his lordship.

RANDALL I pray you, Erasmus, how long will the Holland cheese in your country keep without maggots?

MORE

Fool, painted barbarism, retire thyself

Into thy first creation. Thus you see,

My loving learned friends, how far respect

Waits often on the ceremonious train

Of base illiterate wealth, whilst men of schools,

Shrouded in poverty, are counted fools.

Pardon, thou reverend German, I have mixed

So slight a jest to the fair entertainment

Of thy most worthy self. For know, Erasmus,

Mirth wrinkles up my face, and I still crave

When that forsakes me I may hug my grave.

Aut tu Erasmus aut diabolus.

ERASMUS

Your honour’s merry humour is best physic

Unto your able body, for we learn

Where melancholy chokes the passages

Of blood and breath, the erected spirit still

Lengthens our days with sportful exercise.

Study should be the saddest time of life;

The rest a sport exempt from thought of strife.

MORE

Erasmus preacheth gospel against physic.—

My noble poet—

SURREY O my lord, you tax me

In that word ‘poet’ of much idleness.

It is a study that makes poor our fate.

Poets were ever thought unfit for state.

MORE

O, give not up fair poesy, sweet lord,

To such contempt. That I may speak my heart,

It is the sweetest heraldry of art

That sets a difference ’tween the tough, sharp holly

And tender bay tree.

SURREY Yet, my lord,

It is become the very lag i’ number

To all mechanic sciences.

MORE Why I’ll show the reason

This is no age for poets. They should sing

To the loud canon heroica facta:

Qui faciunt reges heroica carmina laudant;

And, as great subjects of their pen decay,

Even so, unphysicked, they do melt away.

Enter Master Morris

Come, will your lordship in? My dear Erasmus—

I’ll hear you, Master Morris, presently.—

⌈To Erasmus⌉ My lord, I make you master of my house.

We’ll banquet here with fresh and staid delights.

The Muses’ music here shall cheer our spirits.

The cates must be but mean where scholars sit;

For they’re made all with courses of neat wit.

⌈Exeunt Surrey, Erasmus, and attendants⌉

How now, Master Morris?

MORRIS I am a suitor to your lordship in behalf of a servant of mine.

MORE

The fellow with long hair, good Master Morris?

Come to me three years hence, and then I’ll hear you.

MORRIS I understand your honour; but the foolish knave has submitted himself to the mercy of a barber, and is without, ready to make a new vow before your lordship hereafter to live civil.

MORE

Nay then, let’s talk with him; pray call him in.

Enter Falkner and Officers

FALKNER Bless your honour: a new man, my lord.

MORE Why sure this’ not he.

FALKNER An your lordship will, the barber shall give you a sample of my head. I am he, in faith, my lord, I am ipse.

MORE

Why, now thy face is like an honest man’s.

Thou hast played well at this new-cut and won.

FALKNER No, my lord, lost all that ever God sent me.

MORE God sent thee into the world as thou art now, with a short hair. How quickly are three years run out in Newgatel

FALKNER I think so, my lord, for there was but a hair’s length between my going thither and so long time.

MORE

Because I see some grace in thee, go free.—

Discharge him, fellows. ⌈Exeunt Officers⌉

Farewell, Master Morris.

Thy head is for thy shoulders now more fit:

Thou hast less hair upon it, but more wit. ⌈exit⌉

MORRIS Did not I tell thee always of these locks?

FALKNER An the locks were on again, all the goldsmiths in Cheapside should not pick them open. ’Sheart, if my hair stand not on end when I look for my face in a glass, I am a potecat.—Here’s a lousy jest.—But if I notch not that rogue Tom Barber that makes me look thus like a Brownist, hang me. I’ll be worse to the nittical knave than ten tooth-drawings. Here’s a head with a pox!

[Addition IV (playhouse scribe; attributed to Dekker)]

[Addition IV (Dekker)]

MORRIS What ail’st thou? Art thou mad now?

FALKNER Mad now? Nails, if loss of hair cannot mad a man—what can? I am deposed: my crown is taken from me. More had been better a’ scoured Moorditch than a’ notched me thus. Does he begin sheep-shearing with Jack Falkner?

MORRIS Nay, an you feed this vein, sir, fare you well.

FALKNER Why, farewell, frost! I’ll go hang myself out for the—poll-head. Make a Sar’cen of Jack?

MORRIS

Thou desperate knave, for that I see the devil

Wholly gets hold of thee—

FALKNER The devil’s a damned rascal.

MORRIS

I charge thee wait on me no more; no more

Call me thy master.

FALKNER Why then, a word, Master Morris.

MORRIS I’ll hear no words, sir, fare you well.

FALKNER ’Sblood, farewelll

MORRIS Why dost thou follow me?

FALKNER Because I’m an ass. Do you set your shavers upon me, and then cast me off? Must I condole? Have the Fates played the fools? (Weeps) Am I their cut? Now the poor sconce is taken, must Jack march with bag and baggage?

MORRIS You coxcomb!

FALKNER Nay, you ha’ poached me, you ha’ given me a hire, it’s here, here.

MORRIS

Away, you kind ass. Come, sir, dry your eyes.

Keep your old place, and mend these fooleries.

FALKNER I care not to be turned off, an ’twere a ladder, so it be in my humour or the Fates beckon to me. Nay, pray, sir, if the Destinies spin me a fine thread, Falkner flies another pitch. And to avoid the headache, hereafter before I’ll be a hairmonger I’ll be a whoremonger.

Exeunt

[Addition IV (Dekker)]

[Addition V (playhouse scribe)]