Classic Poem

[SCENE XXIV.]

Enter D AVID drawn on a hurdle, with M ORTIMER and Officers, accompanied with the Friar, the Novice, the Harper, and L LUELLEN'S head on a spear .

Friar . On afore, on afore!
Jack . Hold up your torches for dropping.
Friar . A fair procession. — Sir David, be of good cheer: you cannot go out of the way, having so many guides at hand.
Jack . Be sure of that; for we go all the highway to the gallows, I warrant you.
Sir David . I go where my star leads me, and die in my country's just cause and quarrel.
Harper . The star that twinkled at thy birth,
Good brother mine, hath marred thy mirth:
An old said saw, earth must to earth.
Next year will be a piteous dearth
Of hemp, I dare lay a penny,
This year is hang'd so many.
Friar . Well said, Morgan Pigot, harper and prophet for the king's own mouth.
Jack . " Tum date dite dote dum, "
This is the day, the time is come;
Morgan Pigot's prophecy,
And Lord Lluellen's tragedy.
Friar . Who saith the prophet is an ass
Whose prophecies come so to pass?
Said he not oft, and sung it too,
Lluellen, after much ado,
Should in spite heave up his chin
And be the highest of his kin?
And see, aloft Lluellen's head,
Empaled with a crown of lead! —
My lord, let not this sooth sayer lack,
That hath such cunning in his jack.
Harper . David, hold [you] still your clack,
Lest your heels make your neck crack.
Friar . Gentle prophet, and ye love me, forspeak me not: 'tis the worst luck in the world to stir a witch or anger a wise man. — Master Sheriff, have we any haste? Best give my horses some more hay.