Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner,

But thou wilt brave me with these

saucy terms? Cade. Brave thee? ay, by the best blood that ever was broach'd, and beard thee too. Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five days; yet, come thou and thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead as a door-nail, I pray God, I may never eat grass more.

Iden. Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England

stands,

That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,
Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man.
Oppose thy stedfast-gazing eyes to mine,
'See if thou canst outface me with thy looks.
'Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser ;

Thy hand it but a finger to my fist;

Thy leg a stick, compared with this truncheon;

'My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast; And if mine arm be heaved in the air,

'Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth.

As for more words, whose greatness answers words, Let this my sword report what speech forbears.

*Cade. By my valour, the most complete champion * that ever I heard.-'Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out the burley-boned clown in chines of 'beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech God on 'my knees, thou may'st be turn'd to hobnails. [They "fight. Cade falls.] O, I am slain! famine, and no 'other, hath slain me: let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me but the ten meals I have

'lost, and I'd defy them all. Wither, garden; and be henceforth a burying-place to all that do dwell ' in this house, because the unconquer'd soul of Cade ' is fled.

'Iden. Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor?

Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed,

'And hang thee o'er my tomb, when I am dead: * Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point; * But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat,

* To emblaze the honour that thy master got.

Cade. Iden, farewell; and be proud of thy victory: Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and 'exhort all the world to be cowards; for I, that never fear'd any, am vanquish'd by famine, not by valour.

[Dies. * Iden. How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be

my judge.

*Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare

thee!

* And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, *So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell. Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels < Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave, And there cut off thy most ungracious head; < Which I will bear in triumph to the king, 'Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. [Exit, dragging out the body.

ACT V. SCENE I.

The Same. Fields between Dartford and Blackheath. The King's Camp on one side. On the other, enter YORK attended, with drum and colours: his forces at some distance.

York. From Ireland thus comes York, to claim his right,

'And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head: 'Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright, To entertain great England's lawful king. Ah, sancta majestas! who would not buy thee dear? 'Let them obey, that know not how to rule; This hand was made to handle nought but gold: 'I cannot give due action to my words, 'Except a sword, or scepter, balance it. 'A scepter shall it have, have I a soul;

'On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France.

Enter BUCKINGHAM.

'Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me? 'The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble. 'Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee well.

York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy

greeting.

'Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?