KING. God have mercy; farewell.
[Exit.]
SIR JOHN. O my fine golden slaves! here's for thee, wench, yfaith. Now, Doll, we will revel in our bower! this is a tithe pig of my vicarage. God have mercy, neighbour Shooters hill; you paid your tithe honestly. Well, I hear there is a company of rebels up against the King, got together in Ficket field near Holborne, and as it is thought here in Kent, the King will be there to night in's own person; well, I'll to the King's camp, and it shall go hard, but, if there be any doings, I'll make some good boot amongst them.
[Exit.]
ACT IV. SCENE I. A field near London. King Henry's camp.
[Enter King Henry, Suffolk, Huntington, and two with lights.]
KING. My lords of Suffolk and of Huntington, Who scouts it now? or who stands Sentinels? What men of worth? what Lords do walk the round?
SUFFOLK. May it please your Highness--
KING. Peace, no more of that. The King's asleep; wake not his majesty With terms nor titles; he's at rest in bed. Kings do not use to watch themselves; they sleep, And let rebellion and conspiracy Revel and havoc in the common wealth.-- Is London looked unto?
HUNTINGTON. It is, my Lord: Your noble Uncle Exeter is there, Your brother Gloucester and my Lord of Warwick, Who, with the mayor and the Aldermen, Do guard the gates, and keep good rule within; The Earl of Cambridge and sir Thomas Gray Do walk the Round; Lord Scroop and Butler scout. So, though it please your majesty to jest, Were you in bed, well might you take your rest.
KING. I thank ye, Lords, but you do know of old, That I have been a perfect night-walker. London, you say, is safely looked unto-- Alas, poor rebels, there your aid must fail-- And the Lord Cobham, sir John Old-castle, He's quiet in Kent. Acton, ye are deceived; Reckon again, you count without your host; To morrow you shall give account to us. Til when, my friends, this long cold winter's night How can we spend? King Harry is a sleep And all his Lords, these garments tell us so; All friends at football, fellows all in field, Harry, and Dick, and George. Bring us a drum; Give us square dice, we'll keep this court of guard For all good fellows companies that come. Where's that mad priest ye told me was in Arms, To fight, as well as pray, if need required?
SUFFOLK. He's in the Camp, and if he know of this, I undertake he would not be long hence.
KING. Trip, Dick; trip, George.
[They trip.]
HUNTINGTON. I must have the dice. What do we play at?
[They play at dice.]
SUFFOLK. Passage, if ye please.
HUNTINGTON. Set round then; so, at all.
KING. George, you are out. Give me the dice. I pass for twenty pound. Here's to our lucky passage into France.
HUNTINGTON. Harry, you pass indeed, for you sweep all.
SUFFOLK. A sign king Harry shall sweep all in France.
[Enter Sir John.]
SIR JOHN. Edge ye, good fellows; take a fresh gamester in.
KING. Master Parson? We play nothing but gold.
SIR JOHN. And, fellow, I tell thee that the priest hath gold. Gold? sblood, ye are but beggarly soldiers to me. I think I have more gold than all you three.
HUNTINGTON. It may be so, but we believe it not.
KING. Set, priest, set. I pass for all that gold.
SIR JOHN. Ye pass, indeed.
KING. Priest, hast thou any more?
SIR JOHN. Zounds, what a question's that? I tell thee I have more than all you three. At these ten Angels!
KING. I wonder how thou comest by all this gold; How many benefices hast thou, priest?
SIR JOHN. Yfaith, but one. Dost wonder how I come by gold? I wonder rather how poor soldiers should have gold; for I'll tell thee, good fellow: we have every day tithes, offerings, christenings, weddings, burials; and you poor snakes come seldom to a booty. I'll speak a proud word: I have but one parsonage, Wrotham; tis better than the Bishopric of Rochester. There's ne'er a hill, heath, nor down in all Kent, but tis in my parish: Barham down, Chobham down, Gad's Hill, Wrotham hill, Black heath, Cock's heath, Birchen wood, all pay me tithe.