Nay, my good lord of Rochester, I'll bring you to Saint
Albans through the woods, I warrant you.
COBHAM.
Villain, away.
HARPOOLE.
Nay, since I am past the Tower's liberty, thou part'st not so.
[He draws.]
COBHAM.
Clubs, clubs, clubs!
FIRST SERVANT.
Murther, murther, murther!
SECOND SERVANT.
Down with him!
[They fight.]
THIRD SERVANT.
A villain traitor!
HARPOOLE.
You cowardly rogues!
[Sir John escapes.]
[Enter Lieutenant and his men.]
LIEUTENANT.
Who is so bold as dare to draw a sword,
So near unto the entrance of the Tower?
FIRST SERVANT.
This ruffian, servant to sir John Old-castle,
Was like to have slain my Lord.
LIEUTENANT.
Lay hold on him.
HARPOOLE.
Stand off, if you love your puddings.
[Rochester calls within.]
BISHOP.
Help, help, help! Master Lieutenant, help!
LIEUTENANT.
Who's that within? some treason in the Tower
Upon my life. Look in; who's that which calls?
[Enter Rochester bound.]
LIEUTENANT.
Without your cloak, my lord of Rochester?
HARPOOLE.
There, now it works, then let me speed, for now
Is the fittest time for me to scape away.
[Exit.]
LIEUTENANT.
Why do you look so ghastly and affrighted?
BISHOP.
Old-castle, that traitor, and his man,
When you had left me to confer with him,
Took, bound, and stript me, as you see,
And left me lying in his inner chamber,
And so departed, and I--
LIEUTENANT.
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