Act 4 - Scene 8
Alarum and retreat. Enter CADE and all his rabblement
Up Fish Street! down Saint Magnus' Corner! Kill
and knock down! throw them into Thames!
Sound a parley
What noise is this I hear? Dare any be so bold to
sound retreat or parley, when I command them kill?
Enter BUCKINGHAM and CLIFFORD, attended
Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb thee:
Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king
the commons whom thou hast misled;
And here pronounce free pardon to them all
That will forsake thee
and go home in peace.
What say ye, countrymen? will ye relent,
And yield to mercy whilst 'tis offer'd you;
Or let a rebel lead
you to your deaths?
Who loves the king and will embrace his pardon,
Fling up his cap, and say 'God
save his majesty!'
Who hateth him and honours not his father,
Henry the Fifth, that made all France to
Shake he his weapon at us and pass by.
God save the king! God save the king!
What, Buckingham and Clifford, are ye so brave? And
you, base peasants, do ye believe him? will you
be hanged with your pardons about your necks?
Hath my sword therefore broke through London gates,
you should leave me at the White Hart in
Southwark? I thought ye would never have given out
arms till you had recovered your ancient
freedom: but you are all recreants and dastards,
and delight to
live in slavery to the nobility. Let
them break your backs with burthens, take your
houses over your heads,
ravish your wives and
daughters before your faces: for me, I will make
shift for one; and so, God's curse
light upon you
We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade!
Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth,
That thus you do exclaim you'll go with him?
Will he conduct you
through the heart of France,
And make the meanest of you earls and dukes?
Alas, he hath no home, no
place to fly to;
Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil,
Unless by robbing of your friends and us.
not a shame, that whilst you live at jar,
The fearful French, whom you late vanquished,
Should make a
start o'er seas and vanquish you?
Methinks already in this civil broil
I see them lording it in London streets,
'Villiago!' unto all they meet.
Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry
Than you should stoop unto a
To France, to France, and get what you have lost;
Spare England, for it is your native
Henry hath money, you are strong and manly;
God on our side, doubt not of victory.
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