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'And all the rest of this fair Company.
I am new come from London, gentle Lords:
But will ye not take Cowling for your Host,
And fee what entertainment it affords?

Cam. We were intended to have been your Guests:
But now this lucky Meeting shall fuffice
To end our Business, and defer that kindness.

Cob. Business, my Lord? what Business should
Let you to be merry? we have no delicates;
Yet this I'll promise you, a piece of Venison,
A Cup of Wine, and so forth, Hunters fare:
And if you please, we'll strike the Stag our selves
Shall fill our Dishes with his well-fed Flesh.

Scroop. That is indeed the thing we all defire.
Cob. My Lords, and you shall have your choice with me,
Cam. Nay, but the Stag which we defire to strike,

Lives not in Cowling: If you will confent,
And go with us, we'll bring you to a Foreft,
Where runs a lusty Herd; among the which
There is a Stag superior to the reft;
A stately Beast, that when his Fellows run
He leads the Race, and beats the fullen Earth,
As though he scorn'd it with his trampling Hoofs,
Aloft he bears his Head, and with his Breaft
Like a huge Bulwark counter-checks the Wind:
And when he standeth still, he stretcheth forth
His proud ambitious Neck, as if he meant
To wound the Firmament with forked Horns.'

Cob. 'Tis pity fuch a goodly Beast should die,
Cam. Not fo, Sir John, for he is Tyrannous,
And gores the other Deer, and will not keep
Within the limits are appointed him.

• Of late he's broke into a several,

Which doth belong to me, and there he spoils
Both Corn and Pasture, two of his wild Race
Alike for stealth, and covetous incroaching,
Already are remov'd; if he were dead,
I should not only be secure from hurt,
But with his Body make a Royal Feast.

Scroop. How say you then, will you first hunt with us?

Cob

Cob. Faith, Lords, I like the Pastime, where's the place? Cam. Perufe this writing, it will shew you all,

And what occafion we have for the sport.

[He reads.

Cob. Call ye this Hunting, my Lords? Is this the Stag You fain would chase, Harry our dread King? So we may make a Banquet for the Devil? And in the stead of wholsome Meat, prepare A Dish of Poison to confound our selves.

Cam. Why so, Lord Cobham? See you not our claim? And how imperiously he holds the Crown?

Scroop. Besides, you know your felf is in disgrace,
Held as a Recreant, and pursu'd to Death.
This will defend you from your Enemies,
And stablish your Religion through the Land.
Cob. Notorious Treason! yet I will conceal
My fecret Thoughts to found the Depth of it.
My Lord of Cambridge, I do fee your claim,
And what good may redound unto the Land,
By profecuting of this enterprise.

[Afide

But where are Men? where's pow'r and furniture
To order fuch an Action? we are weak,
Harry, you know's a mighty Potentate.

Cam. Tut, we are strong enough; you are belov'd,
And many will be glad to follow you,
We are the like, and some will follow us:
Nay, there is hope from France: Here's an Ambassador
That promiseth both Men and Mony too.
The Commons likewise, as we hear, pretend
A fudden Tumult, we will join with them.

Cob. Some likelihood, I must confefs, to speed:
But how shall I believe this in plain truth?
You are, my Lords, such Men as live in Court,
And have been highly favour'd of the King,
Especially Lord Scroop, whom oftentimes
He maketh choice of for his Bed-fellow.
And you, Lord Gray, are of his Privy-Council:
Is not this a train laid to intrap my Life ?

Cam. Then perish may my Soul; what, think you fo?
Scrood. We'll swear to you.

Gray Gray. Or take the Sacrament.

Cob. Nay you are Noblemen, and I imagine,
As you are honourable by Birth, and Blood,
So you will be in Heart, in Thought, in Word.
I crave no other Testimony but this:

That you would all subscribe, and set your Hands
Unto this writing which you gave to me.

Cam. With all our Hearts: Who hath any Pen and Ink?
Stroop. My Pocket should have one; O, here it is.
Cam.. Give it me, Lord Scroop. There is my Name.
Scroop. And there is my Name.

Gray. And mine.

Cob. Sir, let me crave that you would likewise write your Name with theirs, for Confirmation of your Master's words, the King of France.

Char. That will I, noble Lord.

Cob. So, now this Action is well knit together,
And I am for you; where's our Meeting, Lords?
Cam. Here, if you please, the tenth of July next.
Cob. In Kent? agreed. Now let us in to Supper,
I hope your Honcurs will not away to Night.
Cam. Yes presently, for I have far to ride,

About folliciting of other Friends.

Scroop. And we would not be absent from the Court, Left thereby grow fufpicion in the King.

Cob. Yet tafte a Cup of Wine before ye go. Cam. Not now, my Lord, we thank you; so farewell. [Exeunt all but Cobham.

Cob. Farewel, my noble Lords. My noble Lords?

My noble Villains, base Conspirators,

How can they look his Highness in the Face,

Whom they so closely study to betray?

But I'll not fsleep until I make it known,

This Head shall not be burthen'd with such Thoughts,

Nor in this Heart will I conceal a Deed

Of such impiety against my King.

Madam, how now?

Enter Lady Cobham, Lord Powis, Lady Powis and Harpool.

L. Cob. You're welcome home, my Lord:

Why feem ye so unquiet in your Looks?

What

What hath befall'n you that disturbs your Mind?
L. Pow. Bad News I am afraid touching my Husband.
Cob. Madam, not so; there is your Husband's Pardon;
Long may ye live, each joy unto the other.

L. Pow. So great a Kindness, as I know not how to reply, my Sense is quite confounded.

Cob. Let that alone; and, Madam, stay me not,
For I must back unto the Court again,
With all the speed I can: Harpool, my Horse.

L. Cob. So foon my Lord? what will you ride all Night?
Cob. All Night or Day, it must be so sweet Wife;

Urge me not why, or what my Business is,
But get you in: Lord Powis, bear with me.
And, Madam, think your welcome ne'er the worse,
My House is at your Ufe. Harpool, away.

Har. Shall I attend your Lordship to the Court?
Cob. Yea Sir, your Gelding, mount you presently. [Exit.
L. Cob. I prithee Harpool look unto thy Lord,
I do not like this sudden posting back.

Pow. Some earnest Business is a-foot belike, Whate'er it be, pray God be his good Guide. L. Pow. Amen, that hath so highly us bested. L. Cob. Come, Madam, and my Lord, we'll hope the best, You shall not into Wales 'till he return.

Pow. Though great Occafion be we should depart,

Yet, Madam, will we stay to be refolv'd
Of this unlook'd for doubtful Accident.

[Exeunt.

Enter Murley and his Men, prepar'd in some filthy Order

for War.

Mur. Come my Hearts of flint, modestly, decently, soberly, and handsomly; no Man afore his Leader: Follow your Master, your Captain, your Knight that shall be, for the honour of Meal-men, Millers, and Malt-men, Dun is the Mouse: Dick and Tom for the credit of Dunstable, ding down the Enemy to Morrow. Ye shall not come into the Field like Beggars. Where be Leonard and Lawrence my two Loaders? Lord have mercy upon us, what a World is this? I would give a couple of Shillings for a dozen of good Feathers for ye, and forty Pence for as

many

many Scarfs to set you out withal.
has no Heart to fight 'till he be brave.

Frost and Snow, a Man

Dick. Master, we are no Babes, our Town Foot-Balls can bear witness; this little 'parrel we have shall off, and we'll fight naked before we run away.

Tom. Nay, I'm of Lawrence mind for that, for he means to leave his Life behind him, he and Leonard, your two Loaders are making their Wills because they have Wives, now we Batchelors bid our Friends scramble for our Goods if we die: But Master, pray let me ride upon

Cut.

Mur. Meal and Salt, Wheat and Malt, Fire and Tow, Frost and Snow, why Tom thou shalt. Let me fee, here are you, William and George are with my Cart, and Robin and Hodge holding my own two Horses; proper Men, handfome Men, tall Men, true Men.

Dick. But Master, Master, methinks you are mad to hazard your own Person, and a Cart-Load of Mony

too.

Tom. Yea, and Master there's a worse matter in't; if it be as I heard say, we go fight against all the learned Bishops, that should give us their blessing, and if they Curse us, we shall speed ne'er the better.

Dick. Nay Birlady, fome say the King takes their part, and Master dare you fight against the King?

Mur. Fie paltry, paltry, in and out, to and fro upon occafion, if the King be so unwise to come there, we'll fight with him too.

Tom. What if ye should kill the King?
Mur. Then we'll make another.

Dick. Is that all? do ye not speak Treason ?

Mur. If we do, who dare trip us? We come to fight for our Confcience, and for Honour; little know you what is in my Bosom, look here mad Knaves, a pair of gilt Spurs.

Tom. A pair of Golden Spurs? Why do you not put them on your Heels? Your Bosom's no place for Spurs.

Mur. Be't more or less upon occafion, Lord have mercy upon us, Tom thou'rt a Fool, and thou speak'st Treason to Knight-hood: Dare any wear Gold or Silver Spurs, 'till he be a Knight? No, I shall be Knighted to morrow,

and

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