SCENE I

_Country between Feversham and London._

_Enter Greene and Bradshaw._

_Bradshaw._ See you them that comes yonder, Master Greene?

_Greene._ Ay, very well: do you know them?

_Here enters Black Will and Shakebag._

_Bradshaw._ The one I know not, but he seems a knave Chiefly for bearing the other company; For such a slave, so vile a rogue as he, Lives not again upon the earth. Black Will is his name. I tell you, Master Greene, At Boulogne he and I were fellow-soldiers, Where he played such pranks As all the camp feared him for his villainy 10 I warrant you he bears so bad a mind That for a crown he’ll murder any man.

_Greene._ The fitter is he for my purpose, marry!

_Will._ How now, fellow Bradshaw? Whither away so early?

_Bradshaw._ O Will, times are changed: no fellows now, Though we were once together in the field; Yet thy friend to do thee any good I can.

_Will._ Why, Bradshaw, was not thou and I fellow-soldiers at Boulogne, where I was a corporal, and thou but a base mercenary groom? No fellows now! because you are a goldsmith and have a little plate in your shop! You were glad to call me ‘fellow Will,’ and with a curtsey to the earth, ‘One snatch, good corporal,’ when I stole the half ox from John the victualer, and domineer’d with it amongst good fellows in one night.

_Bradshaw._ Ay, Will, those days are past with me. 27

_Will._ Ay, but they be not past with me, for I keep that same honourable mind still. Good neighbour Bradshaw, you are too proud to be my fellow; but were it not that I see more company coming down the hill, I would be fellows with you once more, and share crowns with you too. But let that pass, and tell me whither you go.

_Bradshaw._ To London, Will, about a piece of service, Wherein haply thou mayest pleasure me.

_Will._ What is it?

_Bradshaw._ Of late Lord Cheiny lost some plate, Which one did bring and sold it at my shop, Saying he served Sir Antony Cooke. 40 A search was made, the plate was found with me, And I am bound to answer at the ’size. Now, Lord Cheiny solemnly vows, if law Will serve him, he’ll hang me for his plate. Now I am going to London upon hope To find the fellow. Now, Will, I know Thou art acquainted with such companions.

_Will._ What manner of man was he?

_Bradshaw._ A lean-faced writhen knave, Hawk-nosed and very hollow-eyed, 50 With mighty furrows in his stormy brows; Long hair down his shoulders curled; His chin was bare, but on his upper lip A mutchado, which he wound about his ear.

_Will._ What apparel had he?

_Bradshaw._ A watchet satin doublet all-to torn, The inner side did bear the greater show; A pair of thread-bare velvet hose, seam rent, A worsted stocking rent above the shoe, A livery cloak, but all the lace was off; 60 ’Twas bad, but yet it served to hide the plate.

_Will._ Sirrah Shakebag, canst thou remember since we trolled the bowl at Sittingburgh, where I broke the tapster’s head of the Lion with a cudgel-stick?

_Shakebag._ Ay, very well, Will.

_Will._ Why, it was with the money that the plate was sold for. Sirrah Bradshaw, what wilt thou give him that can tell thee who sold thy plate?

_Bradshaw._ Who, I pray thee, good Will?

_Will._ Why, ’twas one Jack Fitten. He’s now in Newgate for stealing a horse, and shall be arraigned the next ’size. 72

_Bradshaw._ Why, then let Lord Cheiny seek Jack Fitten forth, For I’ll back and tell him who robbed him of his plate. This cheers my heart; Master Greene, I’ll leave you, For I must to the Isle of Sheppy with speed.

_Greene._ Before you go, let me intreat you To carry this letter to Mistress Arden of Feversham And humbly recommend me to herself.

_Bradshaw._ That will I, Master Greene, and so farewell. 80 Here, Will, there’s a crown for thy good news.

[_Exit Bradshaw._

_Will._ Farewell, Bradshaw; I’ll drink no water for thy sake whilst this lasts.--Now, gentleman, shall we have your company to London?

_Greene._ Nay, stay, sirs: A little more I needs must use your help, And in a matter of great consequence, Wherein if you’ll be secret and profound, I’ll give you twenty angels for your pains. 89

_Will._ How? twenty angels? give my fellow George Shakebag and me twenty angels? And if thou’lt have thy own father slain, that thou may’st inherit his land, we’ll kill him. 93

_Shakebag._ Ay, thy mother, thy sister, thy brother, or all thy kin.

_Greene._ Well, this it is: Arden of Feversham Hath highly wronged me about the Abbey land, That no revenge but death will serve the turn. Will you two kill him? here’s the angels down, And I will lay the platform of his death. 100

_Will._ Plat me no platforms; give me the money, and I’ll stab him as he stands pissing against a wall, but I’ll kill him.

_Shakebag._ Where is he?

_Greene._ He is now at London, in Aldersgate Street.

_Shakebag._ He’s dead as if he had been condemned by an Act of Parliament, if once Black Will and I swear his death.

_Greene_. Here is ten pound, and when he is dead, Ye shall have twenty more. 110

_Will._ My fingers itches to be at the peasant. Ah, that I might be set a work thus through the year, and that murder would grow to an occupation, that a man might follow without danger of law:--zounds, I warrant I should be warden of the company! Come, let us be going, and we’ll bait at Rochester, where I’ll give thee a gallon of sack to handsel the match withal.

[_Exeunt._

II. i. 51. Mr. Bullen says that such a line as this ‘might have come straight out of _Tamburlaine_.’ He goes on, ‘but in no other part of the play can we find a trace of Marlowe’s influence.’ Cf.--

‘He sent a shaggy tottered staring slave, That when he speaks draws out his grisly beard, And winds it twice or thrice about his ear; Whose face has been a grindstone for men’s swords.’

_Jew of Malta_, IV. v. 6.

and Shakespeare’s--

‘They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain ... A needy hollow-ey’d, sharp-looking wretch, A living dead man.’

_Com. of Errors_, V. i. 237.

II. i. 56. _all to torn_; ‘entirely torn.’ _To_ in the sense of ‘asunder’ was commonly emphasised by _all_. Cf. ‘Her wings ... were all to ruffled.’--_Comus_, 380.

II. i. 58. _seam rent_: torn at the seams; ‘Seam rent fellows,’--Ben Jonson.

II. i. 101. Imitated in Yarington’s _Two Tragedies_ (iii. 2):--

‘Grace me no graces, I respect no grace, But with a grace to give a graceless stab.’

II. i. 114. I have inserted _follow_.