King. Lord Say, Iacke Cade hath sworne to haue thy head
Say. I, but I hope your Highnesse shall haue his
King. How now Madam? Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolkes death? I feare me (Loue) if that I had beene dead, Thou would'st not haue mourn'd so much for me
Qu. No my Loue, I should not mourne, but dye for thee. Enter a Messenger.
King. How now? What newes? Why com'st thou in such haste? Mes. The Rebels are in Southwarke: Fly my Lord: Iacke Cade proclaimes himselfe Lord Mortimer, Descended from the Duke of Clarence house, And calles your Grace Vsurper, openly, And vowes to Crowne himselfe in Westminster. His Army is a ragged multitude Of Hindes and Pezants, rude and mercilesse: Sir Humfrey Stafford, and his Brothers death, Hath giuen them heart and courage to proceede: All Schollers, Lawyers, Courtiers, Gentlemen, They call false Catterpillers, and intend their death
Kin. Oh gracelesse men: they know not what they do
Buck. My gracious Lord, retire to Killingworth, Vntill a power be rais'd to put them downe
Qu. Ah were the Duke of Suffolke now aliue, These Kentish Rebels would be soone appeas'd
King. Lord Say, the Traitors hateth thee, Therefore away with vs to Killingworth
Say. So might your Graces person be in danger. The sight of me is odious in their eyes: And therefore in this Citty will I stay, And liue alone as secret as I may. Enter another Messenger.
Mess. Iacke Cade hath gotten London-bridge. The Citizens flye and forsake their houses: The Rascall people, thirsting after prey, Ioyne with the Traitor, and they ioyntly sweare To spoyle the City, and your Royall Court
Buc. Then linger not my Lord, away, take horse
King. Come Margaret, God our hope will succor vs
Qu. My hope is gone, now Suffolke is deceast
King. Farewell my Lord, trust not the Kentish Rebels Buc. Trust no body for feare you betraid
Say. The trust I haue, is in mine innocence, And therefore am I bold and resolute.
Enter Lord Scales vpon the Tower walking. Then enters two or three Citizens below.
Scales. How now? Is Iacke Cade slaine? 1.Cit. No my Lord, nor likely to be slaine: For they haue wonne the Bridge, Killing all those that withstand them: The L[ord]. Maior craues ayd of your Honor from the Tower To defend the City from the Rebels
Scales. Such ayd as I can spare you shall command, But I am troubled heere with them my selfe, The Rebels haue assay'd to win the Tower. But get you to Smithfield, and gather head, And thither I will send you Mathew Goffe. Fight for your King, your Countrey, and your Liues, And so farwell, for I must hence againe.
Enter Iacke Cade and the rest, and strikes his staffe on London stone.
Cade. Now is Mortimer Lord of this City, And heere sitting vpon London Stone, I charge and command, that of the Cities cost The pissing Conduit run nothing but Clarret Wine This first yeare of our raigne. And now henceforward it shall be Treason for any, That calles me other then Lord Mortimer. Enter a Soldier running.
Soul. Iacke Cade, Iacke Cade
Cade. Knocke him downe there.
They kill him.
But. If this Fellow be wise, hee'l neuer call yee Iacke Cade more, I thinke he hath a very faire warning
Dicke. My Lord, there's an Army gathered together in Smithfield