Friends and Countrymen,
Will ye then rise to save an honest man
From the fierce clutches of the bloody law?—
Oh do not call to mind my private wrongs,

That the state drain'd my hard-earn'd pittance from me;
That, of his office proud, the foul Collector
Durst with lewd hand seize on my darling child,
Insult her maiden modesty and force
A father's hand to vengeance; heed not this:
Think not, my countrymen, on private wrongs;
Remember what yourselves have long endur'd.
Think of the insults, wrongs, and contumelies,
Ye bear from your proud lords-that your hard toil
Manures their fertile fields-you plough the earth,
You sow the corn, you reap the ripen'd harvest,-
They riot on the produce!-That, like beasts,
They sell you with their land-claim all the fruits
Which the kindly earth produces as their own.
The privilege, forsooth, of noble birth!
On, on to Freedom; feel but your own strength,
Be but resolved, and these destructive tyrants
Shall shrink before your vengeance.

HOB.

On to London

The tidings fly before us-the court tremblesLiberty-Vengeance-Justice!

ACT II.

Scene-Blackheath.

TYLER, HOB, etc.

SONG.

WHEN Adam delv'd, and Eve span, 'Who was then the gentleman?,

Wretched is the infant's lot,

Born within the straw-roofd cot!
Be he generous, wise, or brave,
He must only be a slave.

Long, long labour, little rest,
Still to toil to be oppress'd;
Drain'd by taxes of his store,
Punish'd next for being poor:

This is the poor wretch's lot,
Born within the straw-roofd cot.

While the peasant works-to sleep;
What the peasant sows-to reap;
On the couch of ease to lie,
Rioting in revelry;

Be he villain, be he fool,
Still to hold despotic rule,

Trampling on his slaves with scorn;
This is to be nobly born.

'When Adam delv'd, and Eve span, 'Who was then the gentleman?,

JACK STRAW.

The mob are up in London-the proud courtiers Begin to tremble.

TOM MILLER.

Aye, aye, 't is time to tremble; Who 'll plow their fields, who 'll do their drudgery now? And work like horses, to give them the harvest?

JACK STRAW.

I only wonder we lay quiet so long.

We had always the same strength, and we deserv'd The ills we met with for not using it.

нов.

Why do we fear those animals call'd lords? What is there in the name to frighten us? Is not my arm as mighty as a Baron's?

Enter PIERS and JOHN BALL.

PIERS (to TYLER).

Have I done well, my father?-I remember'd This good man lay in prison.

TYLER.

My dear child, Most well; the people rise for liberty, And their first deed should be to break the chains That bind the virtuous :-0 thou honest priestHow much hast thou endur'd!

JOHN BALL.

Why, aye, my friend! These squalid rags bespeak what I have suffer'd. I was revil'd-insulted-left to languish In a damp dungeon; but I bore it cheerilyMy heart was glad for I have done my duty. I pitied my oppressors, and I sorrow'd For the poor men of England.

TYLER.

They have felt

Their strength-look round this heath! 'tis throng'd with

men

Ardent for freedom; mighty is the event

That waits their fortune.

JOHN BALL.

I would fain address them. TYLER.

Do so, my friend, and teach to them their duty; Remind them of their long-withholden rights. What, ho there! silence!

Friends! Brethren! for ye are my brethren all;
Englishmen met in arms to advocate
The cause of freedom! hear me! pause awhile
In the career of vengeance: it is true

I am a priest; but, as these rags may speak,
Not one who riots in the poor man's spoil,
Or trades with his religion. I am one
Who preach the law of Christ, and in my life
Would practise what he taught. The Son of God
Came not to you in power :-humble in mien,
Lowly in heart, the man of Nazareth

Preach'd mercy, justice, love: « Woe unto ye,
Ye that are rich :-if that ye would be sav'd,
Sell that ye have, and give unto the poor.>>
So taught the Saviour: oh, my honest friends!
Have ye not felt the strong indignant throb
Of justice in your bosoms, to behold
The lordly baron feasting on your spoils?
Have you not in your hearts arraign'd the lot
That gave him on the couch of luxury
To pillow his head, and pass the festive day
In sportive feasts, and ease, and revelry?
Have you not often in your conscience ask'd
Why is the difference, wherefore should that man,
No worthier than myself, thus lord it over me,
And bid me labour, and enjoy the fruits?
The God within your breasts has argued thus!
The voice of truth has murmur'd; came ye not
As helpless to the world?-shines not the sun
With equal ray on both?-do ye not feel

The self-same winds of heaven as keenly parch ye?
Abundant is the earth-the Sire of all
Saw and pronounc'd that it was very good.

Look round: the vernal fields smile with new flowers,
The budding orchard perfumes the soft breeze,
And the green corn waves to the passing gale.
There is enough for all; but your proud baron
Stands up, and, arrogant of strength, exclaims,
<< I am a lord-by nature I am noble :

«

And see the wretched labourer, worn with toil,
Divide his seanty morsel with his infants;

I sicken, and, indignant at the sight,
« Blush for the patience of humanity.>>

KING.

The charter shall be drawn out: on mine honour, All shall be justly done.

ACT III.

Scene-Smithfield.

PIERS (meeting JOHN BALL).

You look disturb'd, my father?

JOHN BALL.

Piers, I am so.

Be punished?

PIERS.

But must not vice

JOHN BALL.

Is not punishment revenge?

The momentary violence of anger
May be excus'd: the indignant heart will throb
Against oppression, and the outstretch'd arm
Resent its injur'd feelings: the Collector
Insulted Alice, and rous'd the keen emotions
Of a fond father. Tyler murder'd him.

PIERS.

Murder'd!-a most harsh word.

JOHN BALL.

Yes, murder'd him: His mangled feelings prompted the bad act, And Nature will almost commend the deed That Justice blames; but will the awaken'd feelings Plead with their heart-emoving eloquence

For the cool deliberate murder of Revenge?

Would you, Piers, in your calmer hour of reason,

Condemn an erring brother to be slain?

Cut him at once from all the joys of life,

All hopes of reformation! to revenge
The deed his punishment cannot recall?
My blood boil'd in me at the fate of Tyler,
Yet I revenged it not.

Richard Plantagenet, by the grace of God, King of England, Ireland, France, Scotland, and the town of Berwick upon Tweed, to all whom it may concern, these presents: Whereas our loving subjects have complained to us of the heavy burdens they endure, particularly from our late enacted poll-tax; and whereas they have risen in arms against our officers, and demanded the abolition of personal slavery, vassalage, and manorial rights; we, ever ready in our sovereign mercy to listen to the petitions of our loving subjects, do annul all these grievances.

MOB.

Huzza! long live the King!

HERALD.