I fue to both to be retaind of either, But both are deafe, I can be heard of neither. Phil. How fares my lord, that he is carried thus? Made fuch impreffion of lament in me. Ioh. What newes with thee? if bad, report it ftraight: Phil. Such as it is, and heauy though it be, I cheer'd the troupes, as did the prince of Troy T 2 With With fable curtaines of the blackest hue, When in the morning our troupes did gather head, The impartiall tide deadly and inexorable, Ichn. Griefe vpon griefe, yet none fo great a griefe The right idea of a curfed man, As I, poore I, a triumph for despight, Philip. Good cheere my lord, the abbey is at hand, Enter the abbot and certaine monkes. Ahb. All health and happines to our foueraigne lord the king. John. Nor health nor happines hath John at all. Say abbot, am I welcome to thy house? Abbot. Such welcome as our abbey can afford, Your maieftie fhall be affured of. Philip. The king thou feeft is weake and very What victuals haft thou to refresh his grace? faint, Abb. Abb. Good store my lord, of that you need not feare, John. Philip, thou neuer needst to donbt of cates, But let vs in to tafte of their repast, It goes against my heart to feed with them, Manet the monke. Monke. Is this the king that neuer lou'd a frier? Is this the man that doth contemne the pope? Is this the king that aymes at abbeis lands? Is this the man whom all the world abhorres, And yet will flie vnto a friorie? Accurft be Swinftead abbey, abbot, friers, Exeunt. Monkes, nunnes, and clarks, and all that dwells therein, Now if that thou wilt looke to merit heauen, And be canonized for a holy faint: To please the world with a deferuing worke, Enter the abbot. Abbot. Why are not you within to cheere the king? He now begins to mend, and will to meate. Monke. What if I fay to ftrangle him in his fleepe? Abbot. What, at thy Mumpfimus? away, And feeke some meanes for to pastime the king. Monke. Ile fet a dudgeon dagger at his heart, And with a mallet knocke him on the head. Abbot. Alas, what meanes this monke to murder me? Dare lay my life hee'l kill me for my place. Monke. Ile poyson him, and it shall ne'r be knowne, And then fhall I be chiefest of my houfe. Abbot. If I were dead indeed he is the next, But Ile away, for why the monke is mad, And in his madneffe he will murder me. Mon. My L. I cry your lordship mercy, I saw you not. Abbot. Alas good Thomas do not murder me, and thou fhalt haue my place with thousand thanks. Monke. I murder you! God fhield from fuch a thought. Abbot. If thou wilt needs, yet let me fay my prayers, Monke. I will not hurt your lordship good my lord: but if you please, I will impart a thing that shall be beneficiall to vs all. Abbot. Wilt thou not hurt me holy monke? fay on.. Monke. You know my lord, the king is in our house. Monke. You know likewife the king abhorres a frier. Monke. And he that loues not a frier is our enemy. Monke. Then the king is our enemy. Abbot. True. Mon. Why then fhould we not kil our enemy, and the king being our enemy, why then should we not kill the K. Abbat. O bleffed monke! I fee God moues thy minde to free this land from tyrants flauery. But who dare venter for to do this deede? Mon. Mon. Who dare? why I my lord dare do the deed, Abbst. Thomas kneele downe, and if thou art refolu'd, For why the deed is meritorious. Forward, and feare not man, for euery month, Our friers fhall finge a masse for Thomas foule. Mon, God and S. Francis profper my attempt, goe about my worke. For now my lord I Enter Lewes and his armie. Lewes. Thus victorie in bloudie lawrell clad, Ꭲ 4 Exeunt. Enter |