MORE. Nay, certainly you are; For to the king God hath his office lent Of dread, of justice, power and command, Hath bid him rule, and willed you to obey; And, to add ampler majesty to this, He hath not only lent the king his figure, His throne and sword, but given him his own name, Calls him a god on earth. What do you, then, Rising gainst him that God himself installs, But rise against God? what do you to your souls In doing this? O, desperate as you are, Wash your foul minds with tears, and those same hands, That you like rebels lift against the peace, Lift up for peace, and your unreverent knees, Make them your feet to kneel to be forgiven! Tellme but this: what rebel captain, As mutinies are incident, by his name Can still the rout? who will obey a traitor? Or how can well that proclamation sound, When there is no addition but a rebel To qualify a rebel? You'll put down strangers, Kill them, cut their throats, possess their houses, And lead the majesty of law in line, To slip him like a hound. Say now the king (As he is clement, if th' offender mourn) Should so much come to short of your great trespass As but to banish you, whether would you go? What country, by the nature of your error, Should give you harbor? go you to France or Flanders, To any German province, to Spain or Portugal, Nay, any where that not adheres to England,-- Why, you must needs be strangers: would you be pleased To find a nation of such barbarous temper, That, breaking out in hideous violence, Would not afford you an abode on earth, Whet their detested knives against your throats, Spurn you like dogs, and like as if that God Owed not nor made not you, nor that the claimants Were not all appropriate to your comforts, But chartered unto them, what would you think To be thus used? this is the strangers case; And this your mountanish inhumanity.
ALL. Faith, a says true: let's do as we may be done to.
LINCOLN. We'll be ruled by you, Master More, if you'll stand our friend to procure our pardon.
MORE. Submit you to these noble gentlemen, Entreat their mediation to the king, Give up yourself to form, obey the magistrate, And there's no doubt but mercy may be found, If you so seek. To persist in it is present death: but, if you Yield yourselves, no doubt what punishment You in simplicity have incurred, his highness In mercy will most graciously pardon.
ALL. We yield, and desire his highness' mercy. [They lay by their weapons.]
MORE. No doubt his majesty will grant it you: But you must yield to go to several prisons, Till that his highness' will be further known.
ALL. Most willingly; whether you will have us.
SHREWSBURY. Lord Mayor, let them be sent to several prisons, And there, in any case, be well intreated.-- My lord of Surrey, please you to take horse, And ride to Cheapside, where the aldermen Are with theirseveral companies in arms; Will them to go unto their several wards, Both for the stay of furth mutiny, And for the apprehending of such persons As shall contend.
SURREY. I go, my noble lord. [Exit Surrey.]
SHREWSBURY. We'll straight go tell his highness these good news; Withal, Shrieve More, I'll tell him how your breath Hath ransomed many a subject from sad death.
[Exit Shrewsbury and Cholmley.]
LORD MAYOR. Lincoln and Sherwin, you shall both to Newgate; The rest unto the Counters.
PALMER. Go guard them hence: a little breath well spent Cheats expectation in his fairest event.
DOLL. Well, Sheriff More, thou hast done more with thy good words than all they could with their weapons: give me thy hand, keep thy promise now for the king's pardon, or, by the Lord, I'll call thee a plain coney-catcher.
LINCOLN. Farewell, Shrieve More; and as we yield by thee, So make our peace; then thou dealst honestly.
CLOWN. Aye, and save us from the gallows, else a devil's double honestly!
[They are led away.]
LORD MAYOR. Master Shrieve More, you have preserved the city From a most dangerous fierce commotion; For, if this limb of riot here in St. Martins Had joined with other branches of the city That did begin to kindle, twould have bred Great rage; that rage much murder would have fed. Not steel, but eloquence hath wrought this good: You have redeemed us from much threatened blood.
MORE. My lord and brethren, what I here have spoke, My country's love, and next the city's care, Enjoined me to; which since it thus prevails, Think, God hath made weak More his instrument To thwart sedition's violent intent. I think twere best, my lord, some two hours hence We meet at the Guildhall, and there determine That thorough every ward the watch be clad In armor, but especially proud That at the city gates selected men,Substantial citizens, do ward tonight, For fear of further mischief.
LORD MAYOR. It shall be so: But yond me thinks my lord of Shrewsbury.
[Enter Shrewsbury.]
SHREWSBURY. My lord, his majesty sends loving thanks To you, your brethren, and his faithful subjects, Your careful citizens.--But, Master More, to you A rougher, yet as kind, a salutation: A knights creation is this knightly steel. Rise up, Sir Thomas More.
MORE. I thank his highness for thus honoring me.
SHREWSBURY. This is but first taste of his princely favor: For it hath pleased his high majesty (Noting your wisdom and deserving merit) To put this staff of honor in your hand, For he hath chose you of his Privy Council.
MORE. My lord, for to deny my sovereign's bounty Were to drop precious stones into the heaps Whence they first came; To urge my imperfections in excuse, Were all as stale as custom: no, my lord, My service is my kings; good reason why,-- Since life or death hangs on our sovereign's eye.
LORD MAYOR. His majesty hath honored much the city In this his princely choice.
MORE. My lord and brethren, Though I depart for court my love shall rest With you, as heretofore, a faithful guest. I now must sleep in court, sound sleeps forbear; The chamberlain to state is public care: Yet, in this rising of my private blood, My studious thoughts shall tend the city's good.
[Enter Crofts.]
SHREWSBURY. How now, Crofts! what news?
CROFTS. My lord, his highness sends express command That a record be entered of this riot, And that the chief and capital offenders Be thereon straight arraigned, for himself intends To sit in person on the rest tomorrow At Westminster.
SHREWSBURY. Lord Mayor, you hear your charge.-- Come, good Sir Thomas More, to court let's hie; You are th' appeaser of this mutiny.
MORE. My lord, farewell: new days begets new tides; Life whirlsbout fate, then to a grave it slides. [Exeunt severally.]
