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Dear sir let them be dressed: I could better die on him that slew my Father. Whats your counsel? No, we'll revenge his death: Brother, here's a life to mock at state, and stain her surly Greatness: who would venture to walk upon the Icy path Of Royalty, that here might find a footing so secure: Here's harmony indeed, a fearless sport, A joy our young years seld, has at Court. Dost think we could forget our former ease And fallen to labour? Weel put it then in practice, heaven grant we may Find entertainment: good speed unto your labours Gentlemen. No more then we shall deserve sir. Sir, we are youths whom the rough hand of War hath ruined, And made desolate, our friends and means are parted from us, Our friend's in Heaven, our means within the gripe of enemies Both in accessuble thus much we are, Fatherless, friendless; Succourless and forlorn, what we may be, lies yet within The grant of some kind Master, that may instruct us in Some honest Trade, to get our living by. Brother, it shall be thus; some poor Soldier slain in the Battle will we change habits with: so it may be thought That we are slain, and stay the bloody Inquisition. What for your self Madam? Come deer Brother, these poor habiliments may find Surer footing, than the rich Robes which Royalty is clad in: If they do, weel bless the happy Transformation. Mother, your blessing; nothing else we want To further the issue of our unknown fate, Eldred and Offa are already gone, for with our habits we Have changed our names, when such you hear of, O let your prayers still bless them, with happy memory. Chrispianus mine. Your loves are Parentlike, not as to a servant, but a child: The Heavens in safety keep you; my prayers in duty shall be Here at home, when my body's distant. I beseech you Sir, Commend me to my Brother Ralph, Barnaby farewell. Tush, fear not; nay, if ever I do return, I'll bring home Stories that we'll turn to Meeter, & sing away our work with they. Master and Dame, once more I bid farewell, It's brave to die where Trumpets ring the Knell. Work wisely then, and partly. I am glad to see you: I hear strange news brother. My gentle Dame. A Princely babe, The eye of Heaven look on thee, And mayest thou spread Like to the Bay Tree, which the whole year springs, And through this land plant a whole raze of Kings. Good Fate succeed it: Brother my Master hath told all your strange proceedings: Have you herd of the Proclamations? Till when, muf e this Son In some dark Cloud, while I at Court Wait on the Emperor, that's gone to Meet great Dioclesian ; Fortune May turn her Wheel, and we May stand as erst we did, And with our own beams shine. All the way betwixt this and Canterbury will not afford me And excuse sufficient for tarrying so long out of my Master's house: The truth I dare not tell, 'twere better lie than confess my Lying with the Emperor's Daughter, though the case be honest, Being my Wife: Well, somewhat it must be, I know not what yet; If I endure a rough chiding for my pains, it is but sauce to sweet Meats. Your pardon once good Dame, I was in no bade company. So now my Dame has helped me to and excuse: Why truly Dame that was my fear; I was sane to shroud my self in the Court all night for fear of the press. Even to my latest breath. Exit. Now to the Royal hand of Caesar I resign The high Imperial Ensign of great Room ; And with it, this wild usked Boar, the stubborn Vandal, Snared in the toils, and conquered by this sword; I could have served his head up at your board: But since for glory, more than blood we strive, I'de rather have a Lion ane alive. You may read them here, writ on my bosom sir: A common Soldier, yet were my Parents Good and generous, they dead, and I down sinking in my state, As others do, I swore to cross the Fate that crossed me: and when all Hope's else did fade, I God my living by and honest trade: A Shoemaker my Lord, where merrily, With frolic mates, I spent my days, till when, Being pressed to wars amongst my Countrymen, Hither I came, and here my prize is played, For Britons honour, and my Master's trade: This Vandal is my Prisoner: frown not sir, Great looks can never put down a Shoemaker. The gods with Garlands crown thy victory. Nay look dame, my life and death lies on it. I'll thank ye then; This it is, but you will say nothing? Good Dame. And mine with all my heart y'faith. My honest fellow Barnaby! I thank you: how does my Master? The fortune of the wars: is my Dame well too? And how does my brother Crispine? That's excellent. I thank your love and kindness Sir. It pleased the Emperor so to honour me. The Wall, not so Sir. Sir If my brother has disclosed To you our Births, I do conjure you, As my dearest friend, for to conceal it. How, a wench with child? Pray heaven you catch no hurt by it, For the Emperor sends forth wondrous search to find her. The accident is strange; See, here comes my Dame and Brother. My dearest Brother. If from my Master Sir the news did come, 'Tis true, and I'll with life maintain. Nor shall he scorn, Till that raze be run, To call himself a Prince, Yet a Shoemakers son. Yes, and mean ere long To use it for my profit. Play you your game at Court, the next trick's mine. It's a sad Queen, my Mother Royal Sir, Imprisoned by your Grace at Rochester. I have and humble suit unto your Highness. It's this; A Church then, and a beauteous Monastery On Holmhurst -Hill, where Albon lost his head, Offa shall built; which I'll St. Albons name, In honour of our first English Martyrs fame. Crispianus sir.