I say no more--only this, their
lot is yours. Forward to London with me! forward to London! If ye love
your liberties or your skins, forward to London!
CROWD. Forward to London! A Wyatt! a Wyatt!
WYATT. But first to Rochester, to take the guns
From out the vessels lying in the river.
Then on.
A PEASANT. Ay, but I fear we be too few, Sir Thomas.
WYATT. Not many yet. The world as yet, my friend,
Is not half-waked; but every parish tower
Shall clang and clash alarum as we pass,
And pour along the land, and swoll'n and fed
With indraughts and side-currents, in full force
Roll upon London.
CROWD. A Wyatt! a Wyatt! Forward!
KNYVETT. Wyatt, shall we proclaim Elizabeth?
WYATT. I'll think upon it, Knyvett.
KNYVETT. Or Lady Jane?
WYATT. No, poor soul; no.
Ah, gray old castle of Alington, green field
Beside the brimming Medway, it may chance
That I shall never look upon you more.
KNYVETT. Come, now, you're sonnetting again.
WYATT. Not I.
I'll have my head set higher in the state;
Or--if the Lord God will it--on the stake.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE II.--GUILDHALL.
SIR THOMAS WHITE (The Lord Mayor), LORD WILLIAM HOWARD, SIR RALPH
BAGENHALL, ALDERMEN _and_ CITIZENS.
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