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Kent. Iden’s Garden. | |
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Enter CADE. | |
| Cade. Fie on ambition! fie on myself, that have a sword, and yet am ready to famish! These five days have I hid me in these woods and durst not peep out, for all the country is laid for me; but now I am so hungry, that if I might have a lease of my life for a thousand years I could stay no longer. Wherefore, on a brick wall have I climbed into this garden, to see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet another while, which is not amiss to cool a man’s stomach this hot weather. And I think this word ‘sallet’ was born to do me good: for many a time, but for a sallet, my brain-pan had been cleft with a brown bill; and many a time, when I have been dry, and bravely marching, it hath served me instead of a quart-pot to drink in; and now the word ‘sallet’ must serve me to feed on. | |
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Enter IDEN with Servants behind. | |
| Iden. Lord! who would live turmoiled in the court, | 5 |
| And may enjoy such quiet walks as these? | |
| This small inheritance my father left me | |
| Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy. | |
| I seek not to wax great by others’ waning, | |
| Or gather wealth I care not with what envy: | 10 |
| Sufficeth that I have maintains my state, | |
| And sends the poor well pleased from my gate. | |
| Cade. [Aside.] Here’s the lord of the soil come to seize me for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave. Ah, villain! thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the king by carrying my head to him; but I’ll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part. | |
| Iden. Why, rude companion, whatsoe’er thou be, | |
| I know thee not; why then should I betray thee? | 15 |
| Is ’t not enough to break into my garden, | |
| And like a thief to come to rob my grounds, | |
| Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner, | |
| But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms? | |
| Cade. Brave thee! ay, by the best blood that ever was broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five days; yet, come thou and thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead as a door-nail, I pray God I may never eat grass more. | 20 |
| Iden. Nay, it shall ne’er be said, while England stands, | |
| That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, | |
| Took odds to combat a poor famish’d man. | |
| Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine, | |
| See if thou canst out-face me with thy looks: | 25 |
| Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser; | |
| Thy hand is but a finger to my fist; | |
| Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon; | |
| My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast; | |
| And if mine arm be heaved in the air | 30 |
| Thy grave is digg’d already in the earth. | |
| As for more words, whose greatness answers words, | |
| Let this my sword report what speech forbears. | |
| Cade. By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I heard! Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out the burly-boned clown in chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech Jove on my knees, thou mayst be turned to hobnails. [They fight; CADE falls.] O, I am slain! Famine and no other hath slain me: let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me but the ten meals I have lost, and I’ll defy them all. Wither, garden; and be henceforth a burying-place to all that do dwell in this house, because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled. | |
| Iden. Is ’t Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor? | 35 |
| Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed, | |
| And hang thee o’er my tomb when I am dead: | |
| Ne’er shall this blood be wiped from thy point, | |
| But thou shalt wear it as a herald’s coat, | |
| To emblaze the honour that thy master got. | 40 |
| Cade. Iden, farewell; and be proud of thy victory. Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and exhort all the world to be cowards; for I, that never feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by valour. [Dies. | |
| Iden. How much thou wrong’st me, heaven be my judge. | |
| Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee! | |
| And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, | |
| So wish I I might thrust thy soul to hell. | 45 |
| Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels | |
| Unto a dunghill which shall be thy grave, | |
| And there cut off thy most ungracious head; | |
| Which I will bear in triumph to the king, | |
| Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. [Exit, with Servants, dragging out the body. | 50 |
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