Thomas of Woodstock
Scene 1: The castle, Calais
Enter Lapoole with a light, after him Two Murderers.
come sirs, be resolute. the time serves well
to act the business you have taken in hand.
the Duke is gone to rest, the room is voided,
no ear can hear his cries, be fearless bold
and win King Richard's love, with heaps of gold.
are all your instruments for death made ready?
all fit to the purpose. see, my lord, here is
first a towel with which we do intend to strangle
him; but if he strive and this should chance to fail,
I will maul his old mazzard with his hammer, knock him
down like an ox, and after cut his throat. how like ye this?
no, wound him not,
it must be done so fair and cunningly
as if he died a common natural death,
for so we must give out to all that ask.
there is no way then, but to smother him.
I like that best; yet one thing let me tell ye:
think not your work contrived so easily
as if ye were to match some common man.
believe me, sirs, his countenance is such,
so full of dread and lordly majesty,
mixed with such mild and gentle behaviour
as will (except you be resolved at full)
strike you with fear even with his princely looks.
not and he looked as grim as hercules,
as stern and terrible as the devil himself!
it is well resolved. retire yourselves awhile,
stay in the next withdrawing chamber there
and when occasion serves, I will call ye forth.
do but beckon with your finger, my lord,
and like vultures we come flying and seize him
Exeunt [the] Two Murderers
do so. now by my fairest hopes, I swear
the boldness of these villains to this murder
makes me abhor them and the deed forever.
horror of conscience, with the King's command
fights a fell combat in my fearful breast.
the King commands his uncle here must die.
and my sad conscience bids the contrary
and tells me that his innocent blood thus spilt
heaven will revenge. murder is a heinous guilt,
a seven times crying sin. accursed man,
the further that I wade in this foul act
my troubled senses are the more distract,
confounded and tormented past my reason.
but there is no lingering: either he must die
or great King Richard vows my tragedy.
then betwixt two evils it is good to choose the least:
let danger fright faint fools, I will save mine own
and let him fall to black destruction.
He draws the curtains. [Woodstock discovered in his bed]
he sleeps upon his bed. the time serves fitly,
I will call the murderers in. sound music there,
to rock his senses in eternal slumbers. Music [within]
sleep, Woodstock, sleep. thou never more shalt wake.
this town of calais shall forever tell,
within her castle walls plain Thomas fell. Exit
Thunder and lightning. Enter the Ghost of the Black Prince.
night horror and the eternal shrieks of death
intended to be done this dismal night
hath shook fair England's great cathedral,
and from my tomb elate at canterbury
the ghost of Edward the black prince is come
to stay King Richard's rage, my wanton son.
Thomas of Woodstock, wake! thy brother calls thee.
thou royal issue of King Edward's loins,
thou art beset with murder, rise and fly.
if here thou stay, death comes and thou must die.
still dost thou sleep? oh, I am nought but air!
had I the vigour of my former strength
when thou beheldest me fight at crecy field
where, hand to hand, I took King John of France
and his bold sons my captive prisoners,
I would shake these stiff supporters of thy bed
and drag thee from this dull security.
oh, yet for pity wake! prevent thy doom!
thy blood upon my son will surely come,
for which, dear brother Woodstock, haste and fly,
prevent his ruin and thy tragedy.
oh! Thunder. Exit Ghost
Enter Edward the Third's Ghost.
sleepest thou so soundly and pale death so nigh?
Thomas of Woodstock, wake, my son, and fly!
thy wrongs have roused thy royal father's ghost
and from his quiet grave King Edward is come
to guard thy innocent life, my princely son,
behold me here: sometime fair England's lord.
seven warlike sons I left, yet being gone
no one succeeded in my Kingly throne,
Richard of Bordeaux, my accursed grandchild,
cut off your titles to the Kingly state
and now your lives and all would ruinate:
murders his grandsire's sons: his father's brothers:
becomes a landlord to my Kingly titles,
rents out my crown's revenues, racks my subjects
that spent their bloods with me in conquering France,
beheld me ride in state through London streets
and at my stirrup lowly footing by
four captive Kings to grace my victory.
yet that nor this his riotous youth can stay
till death hath taken his uncles all away.
thou fifth of Edward's sons, get up and fly!
haste thee to England, close and speedily!
thy brothers York and Gaunt are up in arms,
go join with them: prevent thy further harms.
the murderers are at hand: awake, my son!
this hour fortells thy sad destruction. Exit Ghost
oh, good angels, guide me, stay thou blessed
thou royal shadow of my Kingly father,
return again! I know thy reverend looks.
with thy dear sight once more recomfort me,
put by the fears my trembling heart foretells
and here is made apparent to my sight
by dreams and visions of this dreadful night.
upon my knees I beg it. ha! protect me, heaven!
the doors are all made fast! it was but my fancy:
all is whist and still, and nothing here appears
but the vast circuit of this empty room.
thou blessed hand of mercy, guide my senses!
afore my god, methoughts as here I slept
I did behold in lively form and substance
my father Edward and my warlike brother
both gliding by my bed, and cried to me
to leave this place, to save my life, and fly.
lighten my fears, dear lord. I here remain
a poor old man, thrust from my native country
kept and imprisoned in a foreign Kingdom.
if I must die, bear record, righteous heaven,
how I have nightly waked for England's good,
and yet to right her wrongs would spend my blood.
send thy sad doom, King Richard: take my life.
Enter Lapoole and the Murderers
I wish my death might ease my country's grief.
(we are prevented: back retire again,
he is risen from his bed. what fate preserves him?)
my lord, how fare you?
thou canst not kill me villain!
god's holy angel guards a just man's life
and with his radiant beams as bright as fire
will guard and keep his righteous innocence.
I am a prince. thou darest not murder me.
your grace mistakes, my lord.
what art thou, speak!
Lapoole, my lord, this city's governor.
Lapoole, thou art King Richard's flatterer.
oh, you just gods! record their treachery,
judge their foul wrongs, that under show of friendship
betrayed my simple, kind, intendiments!
my heart misgave it was no time for revels
when you, like masquers, came, disguised, to plashey
joined with that wanton King to trap my life,
for that, I know is the end his malice aims at.
this castle, and my secret sending hither
imports no less. therefore I charge ye tell me:
even by the virtue of nobility,
and partly, too, on that allegiance
thou owest the offspring of King Edward's house,
if aught thou knowest to prejudice my life,
thou presently reveal, and make it known.
nay, good my lord, forbear that fond suspicion.
I tell thee, poole: there is no less intended.
why am I sent thus from my native country,
but here at calais to be murdered?
and that Lapoole, confounds my patience.
this town of calais where I spent my blood
to make it captive to the english King,
before whose walls great Edward lay encamped
with his seven sons almost for fourteen months;
where the black prince, my brother, and myself
the peers of England, and our royal father,
fearless of wounds, never left till it was won,
and was it to make a prison for his son?
oh, righteous heavens, why do you suffer it?
disquiet not your thoughts, my gracious lord.
there is no hurt intended, credit me,
although awhile your freedom be abridged.
I know the King: if you would but submit
and write your letters to his majesty,
your reconcilement might be easily wrought.
for what should I submit, or ask his mercy?
had I offended, with all low submission
I would lay my neck under the block before him
and willingly endure the stroke of death.
but if not so, why should my fond entreaties
make my true loyalty appear like treason?
no, no, Lapoole, let guilty men beg pardons.
my mind is clear; and I must tell ye, sir,
princes have hearts like pointed diamonds
that will in sunder burst afore they bend,
and such lives here! though death King Richard send,
yet fetch me pen and ink, I will write to him
not to entreat, but to admonish him
that he forsake his foolish ways in time
and learn to govern like a virtuous prince:
call home his wise and reverend counsellors,
thrust from his court those cursed flatterers
that hourly work the realm's confusion.
this counsel if he follow may in time
pull down those mischiefs that so fast do climb.
here is pen and paper, my lord, will it please
anon I will: shut to the doors and leave me.
goodnight, Lapoole, and pardon me I prithee
that my sad fear made question of thy faith.
my state is fearful, and my mind was troubled
even at thy entrance, with most fearful visions;
which made my passions more extreme and hasty.
out of my better judgment I repent it,
and will reward thy love. once more, good-night.
good rest unto your grace, (I mean in death.
this dismal night, thou breathest thy latest breath.
he sits to write, I will call the murderers in
to steal behind and closely strangle him.) Exit
so help me heaven, I know not what to write,
what style to use, nor how I should begin:
my method is too plain, to greet a King.
I will nothing say to excuse or clear myself,
for I have nothing done that needs excuse;
but tell him plain, though here I spend my blood.
Enter both the Murderers
I wish his safety and all England's good.
creep close to his back, ye rogue, be ready with
the towel, when I have knocked him down, to strangle
do it quickly whilst his back is towards ye, ye
damned villain; if thou lettest him speak but a word,
we shall not kill him.
I will watch him for that, down of your knees and
creep, ye rascal.
have mercy, god! my sight of the sudden fails me.
I cannot see my paper, my trembling fingers will not
hold my pen. a thick congealed mist overspreads the
chamber. I will rise and view the room.
not too fast for falling!
what villain hand hath done a deed so bad,
to drench his black soul in a prince's blood?
do ye prate, sir? take that and that. zounds,
put the towel about his throat and strangle him quickly,
ye slave, or by the heart of hell, I will fell thee too.
it is done, ye damned slave. pull ye dog, and pull
thy soul to hell in doing it, for thou hast killed the
truest subject, that ever breathed in England.
pull, rogue, pull! think of the gold we shall
have for doing it, and then let him, and thee, go to
the devil together. bring in the feather-bed and
roll him up in that till he be smothered and stifled,
and life and soul pressed out together. quickly,
here here, ye cannibal. zounds he kicks and
sprawls. lie on his breast, ye villain!
let him sprawl and hang. he is sure enough for
speaking. pull off the bed now, smooth down his hair
and beard. close his eyes and set his neck right:
why so. all fine and cleanly: who can say that this
man was murdered now?
what, is he dead?
as a door-nail, my lord. what will ye do with his
take it up gently, lay him in his bed.
then shut the door, as if he there had died.
it cannot be perceived otherwise, my lord.
never was murder done with such rare skill.
at our return we shall expect reward, my lord.
it is ready told.
bear in the body, then return and take it.
Exeunt [Murderers] with the body
within there ho!
be ready with your weapons, soldiers.
guard the room.
there is two false traitors entered the Duke's chamber,
plotting to bear him thence, betray the castle,
deliver up the town and all our lives
to the french forces that are hard at hand
to second their attempts. therefore stand close,
and as they enter, seize them presently.
our will is your warrant: use no further words
but hew them straight in pieces with your swords.
I warrant ye, my lord, and their skins were scaled
with brass, we have swords will pierce them. come,
sirs, be ready.
[Re-enter the Two Murderers]
come, ye miching rascal, the deed is done and all
things performed rarely. we will take our reward, steal
close out of the town, buy us fresh geldings, spur cut
and ride till we are past all danger, I warrant thee.
give their reward there! quick I say!
down with the traitors! kill the villains!
hell and the devil! zounds! hold, ye rascals!
They kill the Murderers
drag hence their bodies, hurl them in the sea:
the black reward of death is a traitor's pay.
Exeunt soldiers with their bodies
so, this was well performed. now who but we
can make report of Woodstock's tragedy?
only he died a natural death at calais:
so must we give it out or else King Richard
through europe's Kingdoms will be hardly censured.
his headstrong uncles, York and Lancaster,
are up, we hear, in open arms against him;
the gentlemen and commons of the realm
missing the good old Duke, their plain protector,
break their allegiance to their sovereign lord
and all revolt upon the baron's sides;
to help which harm, I will over to England straight,
and with the old troops of soldiers taken from calais,
I will back King Richard's power, for should he fail
(and his great uncles get the victory)
his friends are sure to die; but if he win,
they fall, and we shall rise, whilst Richard is King.
[Act V, Scene 2: Open country]
Drums. March within. Enter Tresilian and Nimble with armour.
these proclamations we have sent abroad,
wherein we have accused the Dukes of treason,
will daunt their pride and make the people leave them.
I hope no less, at least. where art thou, Nimble?
so loaden with armour, I cannot stir, my lord.
whose drums were those that beat even now?
King Richard's drums, my lord: the young lords are
oh, and do they take their press with willingness?
as willing as a punk, that is pressed on a
feather-bed, they take their pressing apiece with great
patience. marry, the lords no sooner turn their
backs, but they run away like sheep, sir.
they shall be hanged like dogs for it.
what, dares the slaves refuse their sovereign?
they say the proclamation is false, my lord;
and they will not fight against the King's friends.
so, I feared as much, and since it is come to this
I must provide betime and seek for safety,
for now the King and our audacious peers
are grown to such a height of burning rage
as nothing now can quench their kindled ire
but open trial, by the sword and lance;
and then I fear King Richard's part will fail.
Nimble, our soldiers run, thou sayest?
ay, by my troth, my lord. and I think it is our
best course to run after them, for if they run now,
what will they do when the battle begins? if we tarry
here and the King's uncles catch us, we are sure to be
hanged my lord, have ye no trick of law to defend
us? no demur or writ of error to remove us?
Nimble, we must be wise.
then let us not stay to have more wit beaten into
our heads, I like not that, my lord.
I am a man for peace, and not for war.
and yet they say you have made more wrangling
in the land than all the wars have done these seven years.
this battle will revenge their base exclaims.
but hearest thou, Nimble, I will not be there today.
one man amongst so many is no maim,
therefore I will keep aloof, till all be done.
if good, I stay; if bad, away I run.
Nimble, it shall be so. I will neither fight nor die;
but, thus resolved, disguise myself and fly. Exit
it is the wisest course, my lord. and I will go put
off mine armour that I may run lustily too. Exit
[Act V, Scene 3: Open country]
Enter with Drum and Colours, York, Lancaster, Arundel, Surrey, with the
Duchess of Gloster, Cheyney, and Soldiers.
go to our tents, dear sister, cease your sorrows.
we will revenge our noble brother's wrongs
and force that wanton tyrant to reveal
the death of his dear uncle: harmless Woodstock,
so traitorously betrayed.
alack, good man,
it was an easy task to work on him,
his plainness was too open to their view.
he feared no wrong because his heart was true.
good sister, cease your weeping. there is none here
but are as full of woe and touched as near.
conduct and guard her, Cheyney, to the tent.
expect to hear severest punishment
on all their heads that have procured his harms,
struck from the terror of our threatening arms.
Duchess of Gloucester
may all the powers of heaven assist your hands,
and may their sins sit heavy on their souls
that they in death, this day, may perish all
that traitorously conspired good Woodstock's fall.
Exeunt Cheyney and the Duchess
if he be dead, by good King Edward's soul
we will call King Richard to a strict account
for that and for his realm's misgovernment.
you peers of England, raised in righteous arms
here to re-edify our country's ruin,
join all your hearts and hands never to cease
till with our swords we work fair England's peace. Drums
most princely Lancaster, our lands and lives
are to these just proceedings ever vowed.
those flattering minions that overturns the state
this day in death shall meet their endless fate!
never such vipers were endured so long
to grip, and eat the hearts of all the Kingdom.
this day shall here determinate all wrongs.
the meanest man taxed by their foul oppressions
shall be permitted freely to accuse,
and right they shall have to regain their own;
or all shall sink to dark confusion.
[Drum]s sound[ed with] in
how now, what drums are these?
to arms, my lords, the minions of the King
are swiftly marching on to give ye battle.
they march to death then, Cheyney. dare the
presume to brave the field with english princes?
where is King Richard? he was resolved but lately
to take some hold of strength, and so secure him.
knowing their states were all so desperate,
it seems they have persuaded otherwise,
for now he comes with full resolve to fight.
Lapoole this morning is arrived at court
with the calais soldiers and some french supplies
to back this now intended enterprise.
those new supplies have spurred their forward hopes
and thrust their resolutions boldly on
to meet with death and sad destruction.
their drums are near. just heaven, direct this deed
and as our cause deserves, our fortunes speed.
[Drums, and They] march about
Enter with Drum and Colours, the King, Greene, Bushy, Bagot, Scroope, Lapoole,
and Soldiers. They march about.
although we could have easily surprised,
dispersed and overthrown your rebel troops
that draw your swords against our sacred person,
the highest god's anointed deputy,
breaking your holy oaths to heaven and us:
yet of our mild and princely clemency
we have forborne; that by this parliament
we might be made partaker of the cause
that moved ye rise in this rebellious sort.
hast thou, King Richard, made us infamous?
by proclamations false and impudent
hast thou condemned us in our absence too
as most notorious traitors to the crown?
betrayed our brother Woodstock's harmless life,
and sought base means to put us all to death?
and dost thou now plead dotish ignorance
why we are banded thus in our defense?
methinks your treasons to his majesty,
raising his subjects against his royal life,
should make ye beg for mercy at his feet.
you have forgotten, uncle Lancaster,
how you in prison murdered cruelly
a friar Carmelite because he was
to bring in evidence against your grace
of most ungracious deeds and practices.
and you, my lord, remember not so well
that by that Carmelite at London once,
when at a supper, you would have poisoned us.
for shame, King Richard, leave this company
that like dark clouds obscure the sparkling stars
of thy great birth, and true nobility.
yield to your uncles. who but they should have
the guidance of your sacred state and council?
yield first your heads, and so he shall be sure
to keep his person and his state secure.
and by my crown, if still you thus persist
your heads and hearts ere long shall answer it.
not till ye send for more supplies from France,
for England will not yield ye strength to do it.
thou well mayst doubt their loves that lost their
ungracious prince, cannot thy native country
find men to back this desperate enterprise?
his native country! why, that is France my lords!
at Bordeaux was he born, which place allures
and ties his deep affections still to France.
Richard is english blood: not english born.
thy mother travailed in unhappy hours
when she, at Bordeaux, left her heavy load.
the soil is fat for wines, not fit for men,
and England now laments that heavy time.
her royalties are lost: her state made base;
and thou no King, but landlord now become
to this great state that terrored christendom.
I cannot brook these braves. let drums sound death,
and strike at once to stop this traitor's breath.
stay, my dear lord; and once more hear me,
the King was minded, ere this brawl began,
to come to terms of composition.
let him revoke the proclamations,
clear us of all supposed crimes of treason,
reveal where our good brother Gloucester keeps,
and grant that these pernicious flatterers
may by the law be tried, to quit themselves
of all such heinous crimes alleged against them,
and we will lay down our weapons at thy feet.
again we double it: rebellious traitors!
traitors to heaven and us. draw all your swords
and fling defiance to those traitorous lords.
let our drums thunder and begin the fight.
just heaven protect us and defend the right.
[Act V, Scene 4: Open Country]
Alarum. Enter Green. Cheyney meets [him] armed.
stand, traitor! for thou canst not escape my sword.
what villain fronts me with the name of traitor?
was it thou, false Cheyney? now by King Richard's love
I will tilt thy soul out for that base reproach.
I would thy master and the late protector
with both his treacherous brothers, Gaunt and York,
were all opposed, with thee, to try these arms:
I would seal it on all your hearts. Alarum
this shall suffice
to free the Kingdom from thy villainies.
They fight. [then] enter Arundel
thou huntest a noble game, right warlike Cheyney:
cut but this ulcer off, thou healest the Kingdom.
yield thee, false traitor, most detested man
that settest King Richard against his reverent uncles
to shed the royal blood and make the realm
weep for their timeless desolation.
cast down thy weapons, for by this my sword
we will bear thee from this place, alive or dead.
come both then. I will stand firm and dare your
worst. he that flies from it, be his soul accursed!
[They fight and Greene is slain]
so may the foes of England fall in blood.
most desolate traitor! up with his body, Cheyney,
and hale it to the tent of Lancaster.
[Enter Kin]g, Bagot, Bushy, Scroope and Soldiers
stand firm, my lord. here is rescue.
we will bear his body hence in spite of them.
They fight. To them enter Lancaster, York, and Surrey, and beat themn
[Exeunt fighting, all but the King]
oh, princely youth, King Richard's dearest friend!
what heavy star this day had dominance
to cut off all thy flowering youthful hopes?
prosper, proud rebels! as you dealt by him
hard-hearted uncles, unrelenting churls,
that here have murdered all my earthly joys!
oh my dear Greene, wert thou alive to see
how I will revenge thy timeless tragedy
on all their heads that did but lift a hand
to hurt this body, that I held so dear
even by this kiss and by my crown I swear--
Alarum. Enter Bagot, Bushy, and Scroope to the King.
away, my lord! stand not to wail his death.
the field is lost; our soldiers shrink and fly:
Lapoole is taken prisoner by the lords.
hie to the tower. there is no help in swords.
still to continue war were childishness.
their odds a mountain, ours a molehill is.
let us fly to London, and make strong the tower.
loud proclamations post throughout the camp
with promise of reward to all that take us.
get safety for our lives, my princely lord.
if here we stay, we shall be all betrayed.
oh, my dear friends, the fearful wrath of heaven
sits heavy on our heads for Woodstock's death.
blood cries for blood; and that almighty hand
permits not murder unrevenged to stand.
come, come, we yet may hide ourselves from worldly
but heaven will find us out, and strike at length.
each lend a hand to bear this load of woe
that erst King Richard loved and tendered so.
Exeunt [bearing the body of Greene]
[Act V, Scene 5: Open Country]
Enter Tresilian disguised, and Nimble
where art thou, Nimble?
as light as a feather, my lord. I have put off my
shoes, that I might run lustily. the battle is lost
and they are all prisoners. what shall we do, my lord?
yonder is a ditch. we may run along that and never be
seen, I warrant ye.
I did suspect no less; and so it is fallen:
the day is lost; and dashed are all our hopes.
King Richard is taken prisoner by the peers.
oh, that I were upon some steepy rock
where I might tumble headlong to the sea
before those cruel lords do seize on me!
oh that I were transformed into a mouse, that i
might creep into any hole in the house and I cared
come, Nimble, it is no time to use delay.
I will keep me in this poor disguise awhile
and so, unknown, prolong my weary life
in hope King Richard shall conclude my peace. Sound Retreat
hark, hark, the trumpets call the soldiers back,
retreat is sounded, now the time serves fit
and we may steal from hence. away good Nimble.
nay, stay my lord! 'slid, and ye go that way, farewell;
but and you will be ruled by me, I have thought of
a trick that ye shall escape them all most bravely.
bethink thyself, good Nimble. quickly, man!
I will meditate, my lord; and then I am for ye.
(now, Nimble, show thyself a man of valour. think
of thy fortunes. it is a hanging matter if thou conceal him.
besides there is a thousand marks for him that
takes him, with the Duke's favours, and free pardon.
besides he is but a coward. he would never have run
from the battle else. saint tantony, assist me, I will
set upon him presently.)
my lord, I have thought upon this trick:
I must take ye prisoner.
there is no way to escape else. then must I carry
ye to the King's uncles, who presently condemns ye, for
a traitor, sends ye away to hanging, and then
"god bless my lord Tresilian."
wilt thou betray thy master, villain?
ay, if my master be a villain. you think it is
nothing for a man to be hanged for his master? you
heard not the proclamation?
oh, sir, all the country is full of them, that whosoever
sees you, does not presently take ye, and bring
ye to the lords, shall be hanged for his labour.
therefore no more words, lest I raise the whole camp
upon ye. ye see one of your own swords of justice
drawn over ye. therefore go quietly lest I cut your
head off and save the hangman a labour.
no more words. away, sir! Exeunt
[Act V, Scene 6: Open country]
Sound a retreat then a flourish, [and] enter with Drums and Colours Lancaster,
Cheyney, Arundel, Surrey and Soldiers, with Lapoole, Bushy, and
Scroope [as] prisoners.
thus princely Edward's sons, in tender care
of wanton Richard and their father's realm,
have toiled to purge fair England's pleasant field
of all those rancorous weeds that choked the grounds
and left her pleasant meads like barren hills.
who is it can tell us which way Bagot fled?
some say to Bristowe, to make strong the castle.
see that the port is belayed. he will fly the land,
for England hath no hold can keep him from us.
had we Tresilian hanged, then all were sure.
where slept our scouts that he escaped the field?
he fled, they say, before the fight began.
our proclamations soon shall find him forth,
the root and ground of all these vild abuses.
Enter Nimble, with Tresilian, bound and guarded
how now, what traitor is
the traitor now is taken.
I here present the villain,
and if ye needs will know his name,
god bless my lord Tresilian.
Tresilian, my lord, attached and apprehended by
yes, and it please ye, my lord, it was I that took
him. I was once a trampler in the law after him, and
I thank him he taught me this trick, to save myself
thou art a good lawyer and hast removed the cause
from thyself fairly.
I have removed it with a habeas corpus; and then I
took him with surssararis, and bound him in this bond
to answer it. nay, I have studied for my learning, I
can tell ye, my lord. there was not a stone between
Westminster hall and temple bar but I have told them
what moved thee, being his man, to apprehend him?
partly for these causes: first, the fear of the
proclamation, for I have plodded in plowden and can
find no law
Act I Act II Act III
Act IV Act V