You are shy and proud like Englishmen, my masters, And will not trust your voices. Understand: Your lawful Prince hath come to cast herself On loyal hearts and bosoms, hoped to fall Into the wide-spread arms of fealty, And finds you statues. Speak at once--and all!
For whom?
Our sovereign Lady by King Harry's will; The Queen of England--or the Kentish Squire?
I know you loyal. Speak! in the name of God!
The Queen of England or the rabble of Kent?
The reeking dungfork master of the mace!
Your havings wasted by the scythe and spade-- Your rights and charters hobnail'd into slush-- Your houses fired--your gutters bubbling blood--
ACCLAMATION. No! No! The Queen! the Queen!
WHITE. Your Highness hears This burst and bass of loyal harmony, And how we each and all of us abhor The venomous, bestial, devilish revolt Of Thomas Wyatt. Hear us now make oath To raise your Highness thirty thousand men, And arm and strike as with one hand, and brush This Wyatt from our shoulders, like a flea That might have leapt upon us unawares.
Swear with me, noble fellow-citizens, all, With all your trades, and guilds, and companies.
CITIZENS. We swear!
MARY. We thank your Lordship and your loyal city.
[_Exit_ MARY _attended_.
WHITE. I trust this day, thro' God, I have saved the crown.
FIRST ALDERMAN. Ay, so my Lord of Pembroke in command Of all her force be safe; but there are doubts.
SECOND ALDERMAN. I hear that Gardiner, coming with the Queen, And meeting Pembroke, bent to his saddle-bow, As if to win the man by flattering him.
_Is_ he so safe to fight upon her side?
FIRST ALDERMAN. If not, there's no man safe.
WHITE. Yes, Thomas White.
I am safe enough; no man need flatter me.
SECOND ALDERMAN. Nay, no man need; but did you mark our Queen?
The colour freely play'd into her face, And the half sight which makes her look so stern, Seem'd thro' that dim dilated world of hers, To read our faces; I have never seen her So queenly or so goodly.
WHITE. Courage, sir, _That_ makes or man or woman look their goodliest.
Die like the torn fox dumb, but never whine Like that poor heart, Northumberland, at the block.
BAGENHALL. The man had children, and he whined for those.
Methinks most men are but poor-hearted, else Should we so doat on courage, were it commoner?
The Queen stands up, and speaks for her own self; And all men cry, She is queenly, she is goodly.
Yet she's no goodlier; tho' my Lord Mayor here, By his own rule, he hath been so bold to-day, Should look more goodly than the rest of us.
WHITE. Goodly? I feel most goodly heart and hand, And strong to throw ten Wyatts and all Kent.
Ha! ha! sir; but you jest; I love it: a jest In time of danger shows the pulses even.
Be merry! yet, Sir Ralph, you look but sad.
I dare avouch you'd stand up for yourself, Tho' all the world should bay like winter wolves.
BAGENHALL. Who knows? the man is proven by the hour.
WHITE. The man should make the hour, not this the man; And Thomas White will prove this Thomas Wyatt, And he will prove an Iden to this Cade, And he will play the Walworth to this Wat; Come, sirs, we prate; hence all--gather your men-- Myself must bustle. Wyatt comes to Southwark; I'll have the drawbridge hewn into the Thames, And see the citizens arm'd. Good day; good day.
[_Exit_ WHITE.
BAGENHALL. One of much outdoor bluster.
HOWARD. For all that, Most honest, brave, and skilful; and his wealth A fountain of perennial alms--his fault So thoroughly to believe in his own self.
BAGENHALL. Yet thoroughly to believe in one's own self, So one's own self be thorough, were to do Great things, my Lord.
HOWARD. It may be.
BAGENHALL. I have heard One of your Council fleer and jeer at him.
HOWARD. The nursery-cocker'd child will jeer at aught That may seem strange beyond his nursery.
The statesman that shall jeer and fleer at men, Makes enemies for himself and for his king; And if he jeer not seeing the true man Behind his folly, he is thrice the fool; And if he see the man and still will jeer, He is child and fool, and traitor to the State.
Who is he? let me shun him.
BAGENHALL. Nay, my Lord, He is damn'd enough already.
HOWARD. I must set The guard at Ludgate. Fare you well, Sir Ralph.
BAGENHALL. 'Who knows?' I am for England. But who knows, That knows the Queen, the Spaniard, and the Pope, Whether I be for Wyatt, or the Queen?
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE III.--LONDON BRIDGE.
_Enter_ SIR THOMAS WYATT _and_ BRETT.
WYATT. Brett, when the Duke of Norfolk moved against us Thou cried'st 'A Wyatt!' and flying to our side Left his all bare, for which I love thee, Brett.
Have for thine asking aught that I can give, For thro' thine help we are come to London Bridge; But how to cross it balks me. I fear we cannot.
BRETT. Nay, hardly, save by boat, swimming, or wings.
WYATT. Last night I climb'd into the gate-house, Brett, And scared the gray old porter and his wife.
And then I crept along the gloom and saw They had hewn the drawbridge down into the river.
It roll'd as black as death; and that same tide Which, coming with our coming, seem'd to smile And sparkle like our fortune as thou saidest, Ran sunless down, and moan'd against the piers.
But o'er the chasm I saw Lord William Howard By torchlight, and his guard; four guns gaped at me, Black, silent mouths: had Howard spied me there And made them speak, as well he might have done, Their voice had left me none to tell you this.
What shall we do?
BRETT. On somehow. To go back Were to lose all.
WYATT. On over London Bridge We cannot: stay we cannot; there is ordnance On the White Tower and on the Devil's Tower, And pointed full at Southwark; we must round By Kingston Bridge.
BRETT. Ten miles about.
WYATT. Ev'n so.
But I have notice from our partisans Within the city that they will stand by us If Ludgate can be reach'd by dawn to-morrow.