Mayor. I am ready as thou canst desire.

On then, a God's name!

[They fight. The rebels drive them back. Then enter Falconbridge and Spicing.

Fal. This was well fought. Now, Spicing, list to me. The citizens thus having given us ground,

And therefore somewhat daunted, take a band
Of Essex soldiers, and with all the speed
Thou possibly canst make, withdraw thyself,
And get between the city-gates and them.

Spi. Oh, brave Tom Neville, gallant Falconbridge, I aim at thy intended policy;

This is thy meaning; while thou art employ'd
And hold'st them battle here on Mile-end Green,
I must provide, as harbinger before,
There be not only clear and open passage,
But the best merchants' houses to receive
Us and our retinue. I am proud of that,
And will not sleep upon thy just command.
Fal. Away, then! I will follow as I may,
And doubt not but that our's will be the day.

[After some excursions, enter Lord
Mayor and Shore.

Mayor. We have recover'd what before we lost,
And Heav'n stands with the justice of our cause.
But this I noted in the fight even now,
That part of this rebellious crew is sent,
By what direction, or for what intent,
I cannot guess, but may suspect the worst;
And, as it seems, they compass it about
To hem us in, or get the gate of us:
And therefore, cousin Shore, as I repose

Trust in thy valour and thy loyalty,

Draw forth three hundred bowmen and some pikes,

And presently encounter their assault.

Shore. I have your meaning; and effect, my lord, I trust shall disappoint them of their hope.

[Exit.

{After an alarum, enter Spicing with

a Drum, and certain Soldiers.

Spi. Come on, my hearts, we will be kings to-night, Carouse in gold, and sleep with merchants' wives, While their poor husbands lose their lives abroad:

We are now quite behind our enemies' backs,
And there's no let or hindrance in the way,
But we may take possession of the town.
Ah, you mad rogues, this is the wished hour ;
Follow your leader, and be resolute.

[As he marches, thinking to enter the Gates, Shore and his Soldiers issue forth and repulse him. After excursions, wherein the Rebels are dispersed, enter Mayor, Recorder, Shore, Josselin, and a Messenger talking with the Mayor.

Mayor. Ay, my good friend, so certify his Grace, The rebels are dispersed all and fled,

And now his Highness meets with victory.

[Exit Messenger.

Marshal yourselves, and keep in good array.
To add more glory to this victory,
The King in person cometh to this place.
How great an honour have you gain'd to-day!
And how much is this city fam'd for ever,
That twice, without the help either of King,
Or any but of God and our own selves,
We have prevail'd against our country's foes.
Thanks to His Majesty assisted us,

Who always helps true subjects in their need!

[The trumpets sound, and then enter King Edward,

Lord Howard, Sellinger, and the train.

King. Where is my Lord Mayor?

Mayor.

I hold no lordship nor no dignity

Here, dread Sovereign.

In presence of my gracious lord the King.
But all I humble at your Highness' feet,
With the most happy conquest of proud rebels,
Dispers'd and fled, that now remains no doubt
Of ever making head to vex us more.

King. You have not ta'en the bastard Falconbridge,

Or is he slain?

Mayor.

Neither, my gracious lord.

Although we labour'd to our uttermost.

Yet all our care came over-short

For apprehending him or Spicing either:

But some are taken; others on proffer'd grace
Yielded themselves, and at your mercy stand.

King. Thanks, good lord Mayor. You may condemn us Of too much slackness in such urgent need;

But we assure you on our royal word,

So soon as we had gather'd us a power,

We dallied not, but made all haste we could.
What order have ye ta'en for Falconbridge
And his confederates in this rebellion?

Mayor. Under your leave, my liege, we have proclaim'd
Who bringeth Falconbridge, alive or dead,
Shall be requited with a thousand marks.
As much for Spicing. Others, of less worth,
At easier rates are set.

Well have ye done;

King.
And we will see it paid from our Exchequer.
Now leave we this and come to you,

That have so well deserv'd in these affairs,
Affairs, I mean, of so main consequence.
Kneel down and all of you receive in field
The honour you have merited in field.

[Draws his sword and knights them.

Arise Sir John Crosby, Lord Mayor of London and

Knight.

Arise up Sir Ralph Josselin, Knight.

Arise Sir Thomas Urswick, our Recorder of London and

Knight.

Now tell me which is Master Shore.

Mayor. This same, my lord;

And hand to hand he fought with Falconbridge.

King. Shore, kneel thou down. What call ye else

his name?

Rec. His name is Matthew Shore, my lord.

King.

Shore !

Why kneel'st thou not, and at thy Sovereign's hand
Receive thy right?

Shore. Pardon me, gracious lord.

I do not stand contemptuous, or despising
Such royal favour of my sovereign,

But to acknowledge mine unworthiness.

Far be it from the thought of Matthew Shore

That he should be advanc'd with Aldermen,

With our Lord Mayor, and our right grave Recorder.

If any thing hath been perform'd by me,

That may deserve your Highness' mean'st respect,
I have enough, and I desire no more;

Then let me crave that I may have no more.
King. Well, be it as thou wilt; some other way

We will devise to 'quittance thy deserts,
And not to fail therein, upon my word.

Now let me tell ye, all my friends at once,
Your King is married, since you saw him last,
And haste to help you in this needful time
Made me on sudden to forsake my bride.
But seeing all things are fall'n out so well,
And there remains no further doubt of ill,
Let me entreat you would go boot yourselves,

D

And bring your King a little on his way.
How say you, my lord; shall it be so?

Mayor. Now God forbid but that my lord the King Should always have his subjects at command!

Jos. Forbid, quotha! Ay, in good sadness: your majesty shall find us always ready, and so forth.

King. Why, then, set forward, gentlemen; And come, lord Mayor, I must confer with you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.—The same.

Enter Falconbridge and Spicing, with their weapons in their hands.

Spi. Art thou the man whose victories drawn at sea
Fill'd every heart with terror of thy name?
Art thou that Neville whom we took thee for?
Thou art a louse, thou bastard Falconbridge!
Thou baser than a bastard, in whose birth
The very dregs of servitude appear.
Why, tell me, liver of some rotten sheep,
After, by thy allurements, we are brought
To undertake this course, after thy promises
Of many golden mountains to ensue,

Is this the greatest comfort thou can'st give?
Hast thou ensnar'd our heedless feet with death,
And brought us to the gibbet of defame,

And now dost bid us shift and save ourselves!

No, craven! were I sure I should be ta'en,

I would not stir my feet, until this hand
Had veng'd me on thee for misguiding us.

Fal. Opprobrious villain! stable excrement!
That never dream'dst of other manhood yet,
But how to jerk a horse, until my words.
Infus'd into thee resolution's fire,