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.

нов.

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.

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 :-O 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 :

These fields are mine, for I was born to them,
I was born in the castle-you, poor wretches,
Whelp'd in the cottage, are by birth my slaves. >>
Almighty God! such blasphemies are utter'd!
Almighty God! such blasphemies believ'd!

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

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

But to support your court's extravagance, And your mad title to the crown of France? Shall we sit tamely down beneath these evils, Petitioning for pity?

King of England!

Why are we sold like cattle in your markets-
Depriv'd of ev'ry privilege of man?
Must we lie tamely at our tyrant's feet,

And, like your Spaniels, lick the hand that beats us?
You sit at ease in your gay palaces,

The costly banquet courts your appetite,

Sweet music soothes your slumbers; we, the while,
Scarce by hard toil can earn a little food,

And sleep scarce shelter'd from the cold night wind:
Whilst your wild projects wrest the little from us
Which might have cheer'd the wintry hour of age:
The Parliament for ever asks more money:
We toil and sweat for money for your taxes:
Where is the benefit, what food reap we
From all the councils of your government?
Think you that we should quarrel with the French?
What boots to us your victories, your glory?
We pay, we fight, you profit at your ease.

Do you not claim the country as you own?
Do you not call the venison of the forest,

The birds of heaven, your own?-prohibiting us,
Even though in want of food, to seize the prey
Which nature offers?-King! is all this just?
Think you we do not feel the wrongs we suffer?
The hour of retribution is at hand,
And tyrants tremble-mark me, King of England.

My friends and loving subjects, I will grant all you ask you shall be freeThe tax shall be repeal'd-all, all you wish.. Your leader menac'd me, he deserv'd his fate. Quiet your angers; on my royal word Your grievances shall all be done away, Your vassalage abolish'd-a free pardon Allow'd to all: so help me God, it shall be.

JOHN BALL.

Revenge, my brethren, beseems not Christians.
Send us these terms sign'd with your seal of state.
We will await in peace: deceive us not-
Act justly, so to excuse your late foul deed.

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?

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.

I fear me-
Are flocking homewards! how the multitude
Diminishes!

JOHN BALL.

Go thou, my son, and stay them.
Carter, do you exert your influence,
All depends on their stay: my mind is troubled,
And I would fain compose my thoughts for action.
(Exeunt Hoв and PIERS.)

Father of mercies! I do fear me much
That I have err'd: thou gavest my ardent mind
To pierce the mists of superstitious falsehood;—
Gavest me to know the truth. I should have urged it
Through every opposition: now, perhaps,
The seemly voice of pity has deceived me,
And all this mighty movement ends in ruin!
I fear me, I have been like the weak leech,
Who, sparing to cut deep, with cruel mercy
Mangles his patient without curing him.