without Bishop-gate.
[Enter sir Roger Acton, master Bourne, master Beverly,
and William Murley the brewer of Dunstable.]
ACTON.
Now, master Murley, I am well assured
You know our arrant, and do like the cause,
Being a man affected as we are.
MURLEY.
Mary, God dild ye, dainty my dear! no master, good sir
Roger Acton Knight, master Bourne, and master Beverly
esquires, gentlemen, and justices of the peace--no master I,
but plain William Murley, the brewer of Dunstable, your
honest neighbour, and your friend, if ye be men of my
profession.
BEVERLY.
Professed friends to Wickliffe, foes to Rome.
MURLEY.
Hold by me, lad; lean upon that staff, good master
Beverly: all of a house. Say your mind, say your mind.
ACTON.
You know our faction now is grown so great,
Throughout the realm, that it begins to smoke
Into the Clergy's eyes, and the King's ear.
High time it is that we were drawn to head,
Our general and officers appointed;
And wars, ye wot, will ask great store of coin.
Able to strength our action with your purse,
You are elected for a colonel
Over a regiment of fifteen bands.
MURLEY.
Fue, paltry, paltry! in and out, to and fro! be it more or
less, upon occasion. Lord have mercy upon us, what a
world is this! Sir Roger Acton, I am but a Dunstable
man, a plain brewer, ye know: will lusty Cavaliering
captains, gentlemen, come at my calling, go at my
bidding? Dainty my dear, they'll do a god of wax, a
horse or cheese, a prick and a pudding. No, no, ye
must appoint some lord, or knight at least, to that place.
BOURNE.
Why, master Murley, you shall be a Knight:
Were you not in election to be shrieve?
Have ye not past all offices but that?
Have ye not wealth to make your wife a lady?
I warrant you, my lord, our General
Bestows that honor on you at first sight.
MURLEY.
Mary, God dild ye, dainty my dear!
But tell me, who shall be our General?
Where's the lord Cobham, sir John Old-castle,
That noble alms-giver, housekeeper, virtuous,
Religious gentleman? Come to me there, boys,
Come to me there!
ACTON.
Why, who but he shall be our General?
MURLEY.
And shall he knight me, and make me colonel?
ACTON.
My word for that: sir William Murley, knight.
MURLEY.
Fellow sir Roger Acton, knight, all fellows--I mean
in arms--how strong are we? how many partners? Our
enemies beside the King are might: be it more or less
upon occasion, reckon our force.
ACTON.
There are of us, our friends, and followers,
Three thousand and three hundred at the least;
Of northern lads four thousand, beside horse;
From Kent there comes with sir John Old-castle
Seven thousand; then from London issue out,
Of masters, servants, strangers, prentices,
Forty odd thousands into Ficket field,
Where we appoint our special rendezvous.
MURLEY.
Fue, paltry, paltry, in and out, to and fro! Lord have
mercy upon us, what a world is this! Where's that
Ficket field, sir Roger?
ACTON.
Behind saint Giles in the field near Holborne.
MURLEY.
Newgate, up Holborne, S. Giles in the field, and to
Tiborne: an old saw. For the day, for the day?
ACTON.
On Friday next, the fourteenth day of January.
MURLEY.
Tyllie vallie, trust me never if I have any liking of that
day! fue, paltry, paltry! Friday, quoth a! Dismal day!
Childermass day this year was Friday.
BEVERLY.
Nay, master Murley, if you observe the days,
We make some question of your constancy.
All days are like to men resolved in right.
MURLEY.
Say Amen, and say no more; but say, and hold,
master Beverly: Friday next, and Ficket field,
and William Murley, and his merry men shall be
all one. I have half a score jades that draw my
beer carts,
And every jade shall bear a knave,
And every knave shall wear a jack,
And every jack shall have a skull,
And every skull shall shew a spear,
And every spear shall kill a foe
At Ficket field, at Ficket field.
John and Tom, and Dick and Hodge,
And Rafe and Robin, William George,
And all my knaves shall fight like men,
At Ficket field on Friday next.
BOURNE.
What sum of money mean you to disburse?
MURLEY.
It may be modestly, decently, soberly, and handsomely
I may bring five hundred pound.
ACTON.
Five hundred, man! five thousand's not enough!
A hundred thousand will not pay our men
Two months together. Either come prepared
Like a brave Knight, and martial Colonel,
In glittering gold, and gallant furniture,
Bringing in coin a cart load at he least,
And all your followers mounted on good horse,
Or never come disgraceful to us all.
BEVERLY.
Perchance you may be chosen Treasurer.
Ten thousand pound's the least that you can bring.
MURLEY.
Paltry, paltry! in and out, to and fro, upon occasion I
have ten thousand pound to spend, and ten too. And
rather than the Bishop shall have his will of me for my
conscience, it shall out all. Flame and flax, flame and
flax! it was got with water and malt, and it shall fly
with fire and gun powder. Sir Roger, a cart load of
money till the axetree crack, my self and my men in
Ficket field on Friday next: remember my Knighthood,
and my place. There's my hand; I'll be there.
[Exit.]
ACTON.
See what Ambition may persuade men to,
In hope of honor he will spend himself.
BOURNE.
I never thought a Brewer half so rich.
BEVERLY.
Was never bankerout Brewer yet but one,
With using too much malt, too little water.
ACTON.
That's no fault in Brewers now-adays.
Come, away, about our business.
[Exeunt.]
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