MAYOR

It shall become your Grace most Gracious Lord, To bear the mind in this afflicted time, As other Kings and Lords hath done before, Armed with sufferance and magnanimity, The one to make you resolute for chance, The other forward in your resolution: The greatest wrong this rout hath done your Grace, Amongst a many other wicked parts, Is in frighting your worthy Lady Mother, Making fowl slaughter of your Noble men, Burning up Books and of records, Worser cing houses of , Saint I es in Smithfie worser, the Savoy and such Like, And beating down Like wolves, the better sort, The greatest wrong in my opinion is, That in Honour does your person touch, I mean they call your Majesty to Parley, And over bear you with a multitude, As if you were a vassal not a King: Oh wretched minds of vild and barbarous men, For whom the heavens have secret wreak in store: But my Lord with reverence and with pardon too, Why comes your Grace into Smithfield near the crew, Unarmed and guarded with so small a trai e. May it please your Grace that I shall raise the streets, To Guard your Majesty through Smithfield as you walk. Little good manner hath the villain learned, To use his Lord and King so barberously. And it Like your Majesty the Essex men, With far more better minds have parted company, And every man be taken him to his home. The chiefest of these Rebels be of Kenned, Of base degree and worse conditions all, And vowed as I am given to understand, To nothing but to havoc and to spoil. Old Room I can remember I have read, When thou didst flourish for virtue, and for arms, What magnanimity did abide in thee: Then Walworth as it may become thee well, Deserve some honour at thy Princes hand, And b utifie this dignity of thine, With some or other Act of consequence: Villain I say whence comes this rage of thine, How darest thou a dungell bastard born, To brave thy Sovereign and his Nobles thus. Villain I do arrest thee in my Princes name, Proud Rebel as thou art take that withal; Learn thou and all posterity after thee, What 'tis a servile slave, to brave a King. Pardon my Gracious Lord for this my fact, Is service done to God, and to your self. Soldiers take heart to you and follow me, 1 page duplicate 1 page duplicate It is our God that gives the victory: Drag this accursed villain through the streets. To strike a terror to the Rebels hearts, London will give you power and arms, And God will strengthen you and daunt your foes: Fill Smithfield full of noise and joyful cries, And say aloud God save our Noble Prince. So many as are taken within the City, Are fast in hold to know your Graces will, What subjects hearts could brook the rage of theirs, To vaunt in presence of their Sovereign Lord, To brave him to his face before his Peers, But would by policy or force attempt, To quell the raging of such furious foes? My Sovereign Lord, it but my duty done, First unto God, next to my lawful King, Proceeding from a true and loyal heart, And so I hope your Grace esteems thereof. My Gracious Lord this honourable Grace So desert, sith what I did My du e a worser alleagaunce bade me do, Binds me and my successors evermore, With sweet encouragement to the Like attempt. Majesty and all, our Royal Peers, Shall find your London such a store still, As not command our wealth, But loyal would ts the trea ure of a Prince, Shall grow Like grains sown in oil, And God I praise that with his holy Hath given me heart to free my Prince and and.