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The History of Sir John Oldcastle (Folio 3, 1664)

Author: Anonymous
Not Peer Reviewed
53
The History of Sir John Oldcastle,
In this one drauht I wash my sorrow down.
Drinks.
La. And I encourag'd with your chearfull speech,
Will do the like.
2440Cob. Pray God poor Harpool come,
If he should fall into the Bishops hands,
Or not remember where we bad him meet us,
It were the thing of all things else, that now
Could breed revolt in this new peace of mind.
2445La. Fear not, my Lord, he's witty to devise,
And strong to execute a present shift.
Cob. That power be still his guide hath guided us.
My drowsie eyes wax heavy; early rising,
Together with the travel we have had,
2450Makes me that I could take a nap,
Were I perswaded we might be secure.
La. Let that depend on me, whilst you do sleep,
I'le watch that no misfortune happen us.
Cob. I shall, dear wife, be too much trouble to thee.
2455La.
Urge not that,
My duty binds me, and your love commands,
I would I had the skill with tuned voice
To draw on sleep with some sweet melody,
But imperfection and unaptnesse too
2460Are both repugnant: fear inserts the one,
The other nature hath denied me use.
But what talk I of means, to purchase that
Is freely happen'd? Sleep with gentle hand,
Hath shut his eye-lids: Oh victorious labour,
2465How soon thy power can charme the bodies sense?
And now thou likewise climb'st unto my brain,
Making my heavy temples stoop to thee,
Great God of heaven from danger keep us free.
Fall a

Enter Sir Richard Lee and his men.

2470Lee. A Murther closely done, and in my ground?
Search carefully, if any where it were,
This obscure thicket is the likeliest place.
Ser. Sir, I have found the body stiff with cold
And mangled cruelly with many wounds.
2475Lee. Look if thou know'st him, turn his body up:
Alack, it is my son, my son and heir,
Whom two years since, I sent to Ireland,
To practise there the discipline of war,
And coming home, for so he wrote to me,
2480Some savage heart, some bloudy devilish hand,
Either in hate, or thirsting for his coin,
Hath here sluc'd out his bloud. Unhappy hour,
A cursed place, but most inconstant fate,
That had'st reserv'd him from the bullets fire,
2485And suffered him to scape the wood-kerns fury.
Did'st here ordain the treasure of his life,
Even here within the armes of tender peace,
To be consum'd by treasons wastfull hand?
And which is most afflicting to my soul,
2490That this his death and murther should be wrought
Without the knowledge by whose means 'twas done.
2. Ser. Not so, sir, I have found the authors of it,
See where they sit, and in their bloudy fists
The fatal instruments of death and sin.
2495Lee. Just judgement of that power, whose gracious eye,
Loathing the sight of such a heinous fact,
Dazling their senses with benumming sleep,
Till their unhallowed treachery was known.
Awake ye monsters, murtherers awake,
2500Tremble for horror, blush you cannot choose,
Beholding this unhumane deed of yours.
Cob. What mean you, sir, to trouble weary souls,
And interrupt us of our quiet sleep?
Lee. Oh develish! can you boast unto your selves
2505Of quiet sleep, having within your hearts
The guilt of murder waking, that with cries
Deafs the loud thunder, and solicits heaven
With more then mandrakes shreeks for your offence?
La. What murther? you upbraid us wrongfully.
2510Lee. Can you deny the fact? See you not here,
The body of my son by you misdone?
Look on his wounds, look on his purple hue:
Do we not find you where the deed was done?
Were not your knives fast closed in your hands?
2515Is not this cloth an argument beside,
Thus stain'd and spotted with his innocent bloud?
These speaking characters were there nothing else
To plead against ye, would convict you both.
To Hartford with them, where the Sizes now are kept,
2520Their lives shall answer for my sons lost life.
Cob. As we are innocent, so may we speed.
Lee. As I am wrong'd, so may the Law proceed.

Enter Rochester, Constable of S. Albans, with Priest,
Doll, and the Irishman in Harpool's apparel.

2525Bish. What intricate confusion have we here?
Not two hours since, we apprehended one
In habit Irish, but in speech not so;
And now you bring another, that in speech is Irish,
But in habit English : yea, and more then so,
2530The servant of that heretick Lord Cobham.
Irish. Fait me be no servant of de Lort Cobham,
Me be Mack Chane of Ulster.
Bish. Otherwise call'd Harpool of Kent, go too, sir,
You cannot blind us with your broken Irish.
2535Pri. Trust me, Lord Bishop, whether Irish or English.
Harpool or not Harpool, that I leave to the trial:
But sure I am, this man by face and speech,
Is he that murdred young Sir Richard Lee:
I met him presently upon the fact,
2540And that he slew his Master for that gold,
Those Jewels, and that chain I took from him.
Bish. Well, our affairs do call us back to London,
So that we cannot prosecute the cause
As we desire to do, therefore we leave
2545The charge with you, to see they be convey'd
To Hartford Size: both this counterfeit,
And you Sir John of Wrotham, and your wench,
For you are culpable as well as they,
Though not for murther, yet for fellony.
2550But since you are the means to bring to light
This graceless murther, ye shall bear with you
Our Letters to the Judges of the Bench,
To be your friends in what they lawfull may.
Priest. I thank you Lordship.

2555
Enter Goaler, bringing forth Oldcastle.

Goa. Bring forth the prisoners, see the Court prepar'd,
The Justices are coming to the Bench:
So, let him stand, away and fetch the rest.
Exeunt.
Cob. Oh give me patience to endure this scourge.
2560Thou that art fountain of that vertuous stream,
And though contempt of witness, and reproach
Hang on these iron gives, to presse my life
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