Act 2 — 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.

‘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.

‘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.

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