Get up, get up, and if the carrier and his wench be asleep, change you with them as he hath done with me, and see if we can escape.

[Exit lord Cobham.]

[A hoise again heard about the house, a pretty while; then enter the Constable, meeting Harpoole in the Irish man's apparel.]

CONSTABLE. Stand close, here comes the Irish man that did the murther; by all tokens, this is he.

MAYOR. And perceiving the house beset, would get away. Stand, sirra.

HARPOOLE. What are thou that bidst me stand?

CONSTABLE. I am the Officer, and am come to search for an Irish man, such a villain as thy self, that hast murthered a man this last night by the high way.

HARPOOLE. Sblood, Constable, art thou mad? am I an Irish man?

MAYOR. Sirra, we'll find you an Irish man before we part: lay hold upon him.

CONSTABLE. Make him fast. O thou bloody rogue!

[Enter Lord Cobham and his lady in the carrier and wenches apparel.]

COBHAM. What, will these Ostlers sleep all day? Good morrow, good morrow. Come, wench, come. Saddle! saddle! Now afore God too fair days, ha?

CONSTABLE. Who comes there?

MAYOR. Oh, tis Lancashire carrier; let him pass.

COBHAM. What, will no body open the gates here? Come, let's int stable to look to our capons.

[Exeunt Cobham and his Lady.]

[The carrier calling.]

CLUB. [Calling.] Host! why ostler! zwooks, here's such a bomination company of boys. A pox of this pigsty at the house end: it fills all the house full of fleas. Ostler! ostler!

[Enter Ostler.]

OSTLER. Who calls there? what would you have?

CLUB. Zwooks, do you rob your guests? do you lodge rogues and slaves, and scoundrels, ha? they ha stolen our clothes here: why, ostler!

OSTLER. A murrein choke you, what a bawlin you keep.

[Enter Host.]

HOST. How now, what would the carrier have? look up there.

OSTLER. They say that the man and woman that lay by them have stolen their clothes.

HOST. What, are the strange folks up yet that come in yester night?

CONSTABLE. What, mine host, up so early?

HOST. What, master Mayor, and master Constable!

MAYOR. We are come to seek for some suspected persons, And such as here we found, have apprehended.

[Enter the Carrier and Kate in lord Cobham and ladies apparel.]

CONSTABLE. Who comes here?

CLUB. Who comes here? a plague found ome! you bawl, quoth a! ods hat, I'll forzwear your house: you lodged a fellow and his wife by that ha run away with our parrel, and left us such gew-gaws here!--Come Kate, come to me, thowse dizeard, yfaith.

MAYOR. Mine host, know you this man?

HOST. Yes, master Mayor, I'll give my word for him. Why, neighbor Club, how comes this gear about?

KATE. Now, a fowl ont, I can not make this gew-gaw stand on my head: now the lads and the lasses won flout me too too--

CONSTABLE. How came this man and woman thus attired?

HOST. Here came a man and woman hither this last night, which I did take for substantial people, and lodged all in one chamber by these folks, me thinks, have been so bold to change apparel, and gone away this morning ere they rose.

MAYOR. That was that villain traitor, Old-castle, that thus escaped us: make out hue and cry yet after him, keep fast that traitorous rebel, his servant, there: farewell, mine host.

CARRIER. Come, Kate Owdham, thou and Ise trimly dizard.

[Exeunt.]

ACT V. SCENE VIII. A wood near St. Albans.

[Enter sir John Old-castle, and his Lady disguised.]

COBHAM. Come, Madam, happily escaped; here let us sit. This place is far remote from any path, And here awhile our weary limbs may rest, To take refreshing, free from the pursuit Of envious Rochester.

LADY COBHAM. But where, my Lord, Shall we find rest for our disquiet minds? There dwell untamed thoughts that hardly stop, To such abasement of disdained rags. We were not wont to travel thus by night, Especially on foot.

COBHAM. No matter, love; Extremities admit no better choice, And were it not for thee, say froward time Imposed a greater task, I would esteem it As lightly as the wind that blows upon us; But in thy sufference I am doubly tasked. Thou wast not wont to have the earth thy stool, Nor the moist dewy grass thy pillow, nor Thy chamber to be the wide horizon.

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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