| ACT IV SCENE X | Kent. Iden's garden. | |
| [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 am I so |
| hungry that if I might have a lease of my life for a | 5 |
| 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' | 10 |
| was born to do me good: for many a time, but for a |
| sallet, my brainpan 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' | 15 |
| must serve me to feed on. |
| [Enter IDEN] |
| IDEN | Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court, |
| And may enjoy such quiet walks as these? |
| This small inheritance my father left me |
| Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy. | 20 |
| I seek not to wax great by others' waning, |
| Or gather wealth, I care not, with what envy: |
| Sufficeth that I have maintains my state |
| And sends the poor well pleased from my gate. |
| CADE | Here's the lord of the soil come to seize me for a | 25 |
| stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave. |
| Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand |
| crowns of the king 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. | 30 |
| IDEN | Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be, |
| I know thee not; why, then, should I betray thee? |
| 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, | 35 |
| 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 | 40 |
| as a doornail, I pray God I may never eat grass more. |
| 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, | 45 |
| See if thou canst outface me with thy looks: |
| 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; | 50 |
| And if mine arm be heaved in the air, |
| Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth. |
| As for words, whose greatness answers words, |
| Let this my sword report what speech forbears. |
| CADE | By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I | 55 |
| 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 God on my knees thou |
| mayst be turned to hobnails. |
[Here they fight. CADE falls] |
| O, I am slain! famine and no other hath slain me: | 60 |
| 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. | 65 |
| IDEN | Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor? |
| Sword, I will hollow 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, | 70 |
| To emblaze the honour that thy master got. |
| 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. | 75 |
| [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. |
| Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels | 80 |
| 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] |
The Rebellion of Jack Cade