The Cornish under Audley, disappointed
Of flatter'd expectation, from the Kentish
(Your majesty's right trusty liegemen) flew,
Feather'd by rage, and hearten'd by presumption,
To take the field even at your palace-gates,
And face you in your chamber-royal: arrogance
Improv'd their ignorance; for they, supposing,
Misled by rumour, that the day of battle
Should fall on Monday, rather brav'd your forces,
Than doubted any onset; yet this morning,
When in the dawning, I, by your direction,
Strove to get Deptford-Strand bridge, there I found
Such a resistance, as might show what strength
Could make here arrows hail'd in showers upon
A full yard long at least; but we prevail'd.
My lord of Oxford, with his fellow-peers,
Environing the hill, fell fiercely on them
On the one side, I on the other, till, great sir
(Pardon the oversight), eager of doing
Some memorable act, I was engaged
Almost a prisoner, but was freed as soon
As sensible of danger: now the fight
Began in heat, which, quenched in the blood of
Two thousand rebels, and as many more
Reserv'd to try your mercy, have return'd
A victory with safety.
K. Hen. Have we lost
An equal number with them?
Oxf. In the total
Scarcely four hundred. Audley, Flammock, Joseph,
The ringleaders of this commotion,'
-Audley, Flammock, Joseph,
The ringleaders, &c.] Lord Audley had been for some time in communication with the leaders of the Cornish men, but did not join them till they reached Wells, in Somersetshire. "He was," the historian says, "of an ancient family, but unquiet and popular, and aspiring to ruin. He was immediately, and with great cries of joy, accepted as their general; they being proud to be led by a nobleman." Thomas
Railed in ropes,' fit ornaments for traitors,
Wait your determinations.
K. Hen. We must pay
Our thanks where they are only due: Oh, lords!
Here is no victory, nor shall our people
Conceive that we can triumph in their falls.
Alas, poor souls! let such as are escaped
Steal to the country back without pursuit:
There's not a drop of blood spill'd, but hath drawn
As much of mine; their swords could have wrought
wonders
On their king's part, who faintly were unsheath'd
Against their prince, but wounded their own
Lords, we are debtors to your care; our payment Shall be both sure, and fitting your deserts.
Daw. Sir, will you please to see those rebels, heads
Of this wild monster multitude?
K. Hen. Dear friend,
My faithful Dawbeney, no; on them our justice
Must frown in terror, I will not vouchsafe
An eye of pity to them: let false Audley
Be drawn upon a hurdle from the Newgate
To Tower-hill in his own coat-of-arms2
Painted on paper, with the arms revers'd,
Defaced, and torn; there let him lose his head.
The lawyer and the blacksmith shall be hang'd,
Quarter'd, their quarters into Cornwall sent,
Examples to the rest, whom we are pleas'd
Flammock, a common name in Cornwall, was a lawyer, who by various artifices had obtained great sway among them; and Michael Joseph, a blacksmith or farrier, of Bodmin, "a notable talking fellow, and no less desirous to be talked of."
It should be added, that Ford is indebted to Lord Bacon for most of the incidents in Dawbeney's narrative.-GIFFORD.
1 Railed in ropes.] "They were brought to London, all railed in ropes, like a team of horses in a cart."-BACON.
2 "The Lord Audley was led from Newgate to Tower-hill, in a paper coat, painted with his own arms, the arms reversed, the coat torn, and there beheaded."-BACON.
To pardon, and dismiss from further quest.
My lord of Oxford, see it done.
Oxf. I shall, sir.
K. Hen. Urswick !
Urs. My lord?
K. Hen. To Dinham, our high-treasurer,
Say, we command commissions be new granted,
For the collection of our subsidies
Through all the west, and that [right] speedily.
Lords, we acknowledge our engagements due
For your most constant services.
Daw. Your soldiers
Have manfully and faithfully acquitted
Their several duties.
K. Hen. For it, we will throw
A largess free among them, which shall hearten
And cherish up their loyalties. More yet
Remains of like employment; not a man
Can be dismiss'd, till enemies abroad,
More dangerous than these at home, have felt
The puissance of our arms. Oh, happy kings,
Whose thrones are raised in their subjects' hearts!
[Exeunt.
Edinburgh.-The Palace.
Enter HUNTLEY and DALYELL.
Hunt. Now, sir, a modest word with you, sad gentleman;
Is not this fine, I trow, to see the gambols,
To hear the jigs, observe the frisks, be enchanted With the rare discord of bells, pipes, and tabours, Hodge-podge of Scotch and Irish twingle-twangles, Like to so many choristers of Bedlam
Trowling a catch! The feasts, the manly stomachs,
The healths in usquebaugh, and bonnyclabber,
The ale in dishes never fetch'd from China,
The hundred thousand knacks not to be spoken of,
And all this for King Oberon and Queen Mab,
Should put a soul into you. Look ye, good man,
How youthful I am grown! but, by your leave,
This new queen-bride must henceforth be no more
My daughter; no, by 'r lady, 't is unfit!
And yet you see how I do bear this change;
Methinks courageously: then shake off care
In such a time of jollity.
How can you cast a mist upon your griefs?
Which howsoe'er you shadow, but present
To [any] judging eye, the perfect substance
Of which mine are but counterfeits.
Thou interrupt'st the part I bear in music
To this rare bridal-feast; let us be merry,
While flattering calms secure us against storms:
Tempests, when they begin to roar, put out
The light of peace, and cloud the sun's bright eye
In darkness of despair; yet we are safe.
Dal. I wish you could as easily forget
The justice of your sorrows, as my hopes
Can yield to destiny.
Hunt. Pish! then I see
Thou dost not know the flexible condition
Of my [tough] nature! I can laugh, laugh heartily, When the gout cramps my joints; let but the
Stop in my bladder, I am straight a-singing;
The quartan fever shrinking every limb,
Sets me a-capering straight; do [but] betray me,
And bind me a friend ever: what! I trust
1 The healths in bonnyclabber.] A common name, in our old writers, for curds and whey, or sour buttermilk. It appears to have been a favourite drink both with the Scotch and Irish.-GIFFORD.
The losing of a daughter, though I doted
On every hair that grew to trim her head,
Admits not any pain like one of these.-
Come, thou 'rt deceived in me; give me a blow,
A sound blow on the face, I'll thank thee for 't;
I love my wrongs: still thou 'rt deceiv'd in me.
Dal. Deceiv'd! Oh, noble Huntley, my few
years
Have learn'd experience of too ripe an age,
To forfeit fit credulity; forgive
My rudeness, I am bold.
Hunt. Forgive me first
A madness of ambition; by example
Teach me humility, for patience scorns
Lectures, which schoolmen use to read to boys
Incapable of injuries: though old,
I could grow tough in fury, and disclaim
Allegiance to my king, could fall at odds
With all my fellow-peers, that durst not stand
Defendants 'gainst the rape done on mine honour:
But kings are earthly gods, there is no meddling
With their anointed bodies; for their actions
They only are accountable to Heaven.
Yet in the puzzle of my troubled brain,
One antidote 's reserv'd against the poison
Of my distractions; 't is in thee to apply it.
Dal. Name it; Oh, name it quickly, sir!
Hunt. A pardon
For my most foolish slighting thy deserts;
I have cull'd out this time to beg it: prithee,
Be gentle: had I been so, thou hadst own'd
A happy bride, but now a castaway,
And never child of mine more.
Dal. Say not so, sir;
It is not fault in her.
Hunt. The world would prate
How she was handsome; young I know she was,
Tender, and sweet in her obedience;
But, lost now; what a bankrupt am I made
|