id="id00351">SHREWSBURY.
How now, Crofts! what news?

CROFTS.
My lord, his highness sends express command
That a record be entered of this riot,
And that the chief and capital offenders
Be thereon straight arraigned, for himself intends
To sit in person on the rest tomorrow
At Westminster.

SHREWSBURY.
Lord Mayor, you hear your charge.—
Come, good Sir Thomas More, to court let's hie;
You are th' appeaser of this mutiny.

MORE.
My lord, farewell: new days begets new tides;
Life whirls bout fate, then to a grave it slides.

[Exeunt severally.]

ACT III.

SCENE I. Cheapside.

[Enter Master Sheriff, and meet a Messenger.]

SHERIFF.
Messenger, what news?

MESSENGER.
Is execution yet performed?

SHERIFF.
Not yet; the carts stand ready at the stairs,
And they shall presently away to Tibourne.

MESSENGER.
Stay, Master Shrieve; it is the council's pleasure,
For more example in so bad a case,
A gibbet be erected in Cheapside,
Hard by the Standard; whether you must bring
Lincoln and those that were the chief with him,

[Enter Officers.]

To suffer death, and that immediately.

SHERIFF.
It shall be done, sir.

[Exit Messenger.]

—Officers, be speedy;
Call for a gibbet, see it be erected;
Others make haste to Newgate, bid them bring
The prisoners hither, for they here must die:
Away, I say, and see no time be slacked.

OFFICERS.
We go, sir.

[Exit some severally; others set up the gibbet.]

SHERIFF.
That's well said, fellow; now you do your duty.—
God for his pity help these troublous times!
The streets stopped up with gazing multitudes:
Command our armed officers with halberds
Make way for entrance of the prisoners;
Let proclamation once again be made.
That every householder, on pain of death,
Keep in his prentices, and every man
Stand with a weapon ready at his door,
As he will answer to the contrary.