[Enter Bedford and his Host.]
BEDFORD. Am I betrayed? was Bedford born to die By such base slaves in such a place as this? Have I escaped so many times in France, So many battles have I over passed, And made the French stir when they heard my name; And am I now betrayed unto my death? Some of their hearts' blood first shall pay for it.
HOST. They do desire, my Lord, to speak with you.
BEDFORD. The traitors do desire to have my blood, But by my birth, my honour, and my name, By all my hopes, my life shall cost them dear. Open the door; I'll venture out upon them, And if I must die, then I'll die with honour.
HOST. Alas, my Lord, that is a desperate course; They have begirt you round about the house; Their meaning is to take you prisoner, And so to send your body unto France.
BEDFORD. First shall the Ocean be as dry as sand, Before alive they send me unto France: I'll have my body first bored like a Sieve, And die as Hector, gainst the Mirmidons, Ere France shall boast Bedford's their prisoner. Treacherous France, that, gainst the law of arms, Hath here betrayed thy enemy to death. But be assured, my blood shall be revenged Upon the best lives that remains in France.--
[Enter a Servant.]
Stand back, or else thou run'st upon thy death.
MESSENGER. Pardon, my Lord; I come to tell your honour, That they have hired a Neopolitan, Who by his Oratory hath promised them, Without the shedding of one drop of blood, Into their hands safe to deliver you, And therefore craves none but himself may enter And a poor swain that attends on him.
[Exit servant.]
BEDFORD. A Neopolitan? bid him come in. Were he as cunning in his Eloquence As Cicero, the famous man of Rome, His words would be as chaff against the wind. Sweet tongued Ulysses that made Ajax mad, Were he and his tongue in this speaker's head, Alive he wins me not; then, tis no conquest dead.
[Enter Cromwell like a Neopolitan, and Hodge with him.]
CROMWELL. Sir, are you the master of the house?
HOST. I am, sir.
CROMWELL. By this same token you must leave this place, And leave none but the Earl and I together, And this my Peasant here to tend on us.
HOST. With all my heart. God grant, you do some good.
[Exit Host. Cromwell shuts the door.]
BEDFORD. Now, sir, what's you will with me?
CROMWELL. Intends your honour not to yield your self?
BEDFORD. No, good man goose, not while my sword doth last. Is this your eloquence for to persuade me?
CROMWELL. My Lord, my eloquence is for to save you. I am not, as you judge, a Neopolitan, But Cromwell, your servant, and an Englishman.
BEDFORD. How? Cromwell? not my Farrier's son?
CROMWELL. The same, sir, and am come to succour you.
HODGE. Yes, faith, sir; and I am Hodge, your poor Smith. Many a time and oft have I shoed your Dapper Gray.
BEDFORD. And what avails it me that thou art here?
CROMWELL. It may avail, if you'll be ruled by me. My Lord, you know the men of Mantua And these Bononians are at deadly strife, And they, my Lord, both love and honour you. Could you but get out of the Mantua port, Then were you safe despite of all their force.
BEDFORD. Tut, man, thou talkest of things impossible. Dost thou not see that we are round beset? How, then, is it possible we should escape?
CROMWELL. By force we cannot, but by policy. Put on the apparel here that Hodge doth wear, And give him yours--the States, they know you not, For, as I think, they never saw your face-- And at a watch-word must I call them in, And will desire, that we safe may pass To Mantua, where I'll say my business lies. How doth your Honor like of this devise?
BEDFORD. O wondrous good! But wilt thou venter, Hodge?
HODGE. Will I?-- O noble Lord, I do accord, In anything I can, And do agree, to set thee free, Do fortune what she can.
BEDFORD. Come, then, let's change our apparel straight.
CROMWELL. Go, Hodge; make haste, least they chance to call.
HODGE. I warrant you I'll fit him with a suit.
[Exit Earl & Hodge.]
CROMWELL. Heavens grant this policy doth take success, And that the Earl may safely scape away. And yet it grieves me for this simple wretch, For fear they should offer him violence: But of two evils, tis best to shun the greatest, And better is it that he lives in thrall, Than such a Noble Earl as he should fall. Their stubborn hearts, it may be, will relent, Since he is gone to whom their hate is bent.-- My Lord, have you dispatched?
[Enter Bedford like the Clown, and Hodge in his cloak and his Hat.]
BEDFORD. How doost thou like us, Cromwell? is it well?
CROMWELL. O, my Lord, excellent: Hodge, how doost feel thy self?
HODGE. How do I feel my self? why, as a Noble man should do. O, how I feel honor come creeping on! My Nobility is wonderful melancholy: Is it not most Gentlemen like to be melancholy?
CROMWELL. Yes, Hodge; now go sit down in his study, and take state upon thee.