The True and Honorable History of the Life of Sir John Oldcastle, the Good Lord Cobham.
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all one. I have half a score jades that draw my
beer carts,
And every jade shall bear a knave,
And every knave shall wear a jack,
And every jack shall have a skull,
And every skull shall shew a spear,
And every spear shall kill a foe
At Ficket field, at Ficket field.
John and Tom, and Dick and Hodge,
And Rafe and Robin, William & George,
And all my knaves shall fight like men,
At Ficket field on Friday next.

BOURNE.
What sum of money mean you to disburse?

MURLEY.
It may be modestly, decently, soberly, and handsomely
I may bring five hundred pound.

ACTON.
Five hundred, man! five thousand's not enough!
A hundred thousand will not pay our men
Two months together. Either come prepared
Like a brave Knight, and martial Colonel,
In glittering gold, and gallant furniture,
Bringing in coin a cart load at he least,
And all your followers mounted on good horse,
Or never come disgraceful to us all.

BEVERLY.
Perchance you may be chosen Treasurer.
Ten thousand pound's the least that you can bring.

MURLEY.
Paltry, paltry! in and out, to and fro, upon occasion I
have ten thousand pound to spend, and ten too. And
rather than the Bishop shall have his will of me for my
conscience, it shall out all. Flame and flax, flame and
flax! it was got with water and malt, and it shall fly
with fire and gun powder. Sir Roger, a cart load of
money till the axetree crack, my self and my men in
Ficket field on Friday next: remember my Knighthood,
and my place. There's my hand; I'll be there.

[Exit.]

ACTON.
See what Ambition may persuade men to,
In hope of honor he will spend himself.

BOURNE.
I never thought a Brewer half so rich.

BEVERLY.
Was never bankerout Brewer yet but one,
With using too much malt, too little water.

ACTON.
That's no fault in Brewers now-adays.
Come, away, about our business.

[Exeunt.]


ACT II. SCENE III. An audience-chamber in the
palace at Eltham.

[Enter King Henry, Suffolk, Butler, and Old-castle
kneeling to the King.]

KING.
Tis not enough, Lord Cobham, to submit;
You must forsake your gross opinion.