Anthony Munday - Sir Thomas More ACT 1. SCENE 2. lyrics

London. The Sessions House. An arras is drawn, and behind it as in sessions sit the Lord Mayor, Justice Suresby, and other Justices; Sheriff More and the other Sheriff sitting by. Smart is the plaintiff, Lifter the prisoner at the bar. Recorder, Officers. Lord Mayor. Having dispatched our weightier businesses, We may give ear to petty felonies. Master Sheriff More, what is this fellow? More. My lord, he stands indicted for a purse; He hath been tried, the jury is together. Lord Mayor. Who sent him in? Suresby. That did I, my lord: Had he had right, he had been hanged ere this; The only captain of the cutpurse crew. Lord Mayor. What is his name? Suresby. As his profession is, Lifter, my lord, One that can lift a purse right cunningly. Lord Mayor. And is that he accuses him? Suresby. The same, my lord, whom, by your honors leave, I must say somewhat too, because I find In some respects he is well worthy blame. Lord Mayor. Good Master Justice Suresby, speak your mind; We are well pleased to give you audience. Suresby. Hear me, Smart; thou art a foolish fellow: If Lifter be convicted by the law, As I see not how the jury can acquit him, I'll stand too 't thou art guilty of his d**h. More. My lord, that's worthy the hearing. Lord Mayor. Listen, then, good Master More. Suresby. I tell thee plain, it is a shame for thee, With such a sum to tempt necessity; No less than ten pounds, sir, will serve your turn, To carry in your purse about with ye, To crake and brag in taverns of your money: I promise ye, a man that goes abroad With an intent of truth, meeting such a booty, May be provoked to that he never meant. What makes so many pilferers and felons, But such fond baits that foolish people lay To tempt the needy miserable wretch? Ten pounds, odd money; this is a pretty sum To bear about, which were more safe at home. Fore God, twere well to fine ye as much more Lord Mayor and More whisper. To the relief of the poor prisoners, To teach ye be more careful of your own, In sooth, I say ye were but rightly served, If ye had lost as much as twice ten pounds. More. Good my lord, sooth a point or two for once, Only to try conclusions in this case. Lord Mayor. Content, good Master More: we'll rise awhile, And, till the jury can return their verdict, Walk in the garden.—How say ye, Justices? All. We like it well, my lord; we'll follow ye. Exeunt Lord Mayor and Justices. More. Nay, plaintiff, go you too;—and officers, Exeunt Smart. Stand you aside, and leave the prisoner To me awhile.—Lifter, come hither. Lifter. What is your worship's pleasure? More. Sirrah, you know that you are known to me, And I have often saved ye from this place, Since first I came in office: thou seest beside, That Justice Suresby is thy heavy friend, By all the blame that he pretends to Smart, For tempting thee with such a sum of money. I tell thee what; devise me but a means To pick or cut his purse, and, on my credit, And as I am a Christian and a man, I will procure they pardon for that jest. Lifter. Good Master Shrieve, seek not my overthrow: You know, sir, I have many heavy friends, And more indictments like to come upon me. You are too deep for me to deal withal; You are known to be one of the wisest men That is in England: I pray ye, Master Sheriff, Go not about to undermine my life. More. Lifter, I am true subject to my king; Thou much mistake me: and, for thou shall not think I mean by this to hurt thy life at all, I will maintain the act when thou hast done it. Thou knowest there are such matters in my hands, As if I pleased to give them to the jury, I should not need this way to circumvent thee. All that I aim at is a merry jest: Perform it, Lifter, and expect my best. Lifter. I thank your worship: God preserve your life! But Master Justice Suresby is gone in; I know not how to come near where he is. More. Let me alone for that; I'll be thy setter; I'll send him hither to thee presently, Under the colour of thine own request, Of private matters to acquaint him with. Lifter. If ye do so, sir, then let me alone; Forty to one but then his purse is gone. More. Well said: but see that thou diminish not One penny of the money, but give it me; It is the cunning act that credits thee. Lifter. I will, good Master Sheriff, I a**ure ye. Exeunt More. I see the purpose of this gentleman Is but to check the folly of the Justice, For blaming others in a desperate case, Wherein himself may fall as soon as any. To save my life, it is a good adventure: Silence there, ho! now doth the Justice enter. Enter Justice Suresby. Suresby. Now, sirrah, now, what is your will with me? Wilt thou discharge thy conscience like an honest man? What sayest to me, sirrah? be brief, be brief. Lifter. As brief, sir, as I can.— Aside. If ye stand fair, I will be brief anon. Suresby. Speak out, and mumble not; what sayest thou, sirrah? Lifter. Sir, I am charged, as God shall be my comfort, With more than's true. Suresby. Sir, sir, ye are indeed, with more than's true, For you are flatly charged with felony; You're charged with more than truth, and that is theft; More than a true man should be charged withal; Thou art a varlet, that's no more than true. Trifle not with me; do not, do not, sirrah; Confess but what thou knowest, I ask no more. Lifter. There be, sir, there be, if't shall please your worship— Suresby. There be, varlet! what be there? tell me what there be. Come off or on: there be! what be there, knave? Lifter. There be, sir, diverse very cunning fellows, That, while you stand and look them in the face, Will have your purse. Suresby. Th'art an honest knave: Tell me what are they? where they may be caught? Aye, those are they I look for. Lifter. You talk of me, sir; Alas, I am a puny! there's one indeed Goes by my name, he puts down all for purses; He'll steal your worship's purse under your nose. Suresby. Ha, ha! Art thou so sure, varlet? Well, well, Be as familiar as thou wilt, my knave; Tis this I long to know. Lifter. And you shall have your longing ere ye go.— This fellow, sir, perhaps will meet ye thus, Or thus, or thus, and in kind complement Pretend acquaintance, somewhat doubtfully; And these embraces serve— Suresby. Aye, marry, Lifter, wherefor serve they? Shrugging gladly. Lifter. Only to feel Whether you go full under sail or no, Or that your lading be aboard your bark. Suresby. In plainer English, Lifter, if my purse Be stored or no? Lifter. Ye have it, sir. Suresby. Excellent, excellent. Lifter. Then, sir, you cannot but for manner's sake Walk on with him; for he will walk your way, Alleging either you have much forgot him, Or he mistakes you. Suresby. But in this time has he my purse or no? Lifter. Not yet, sir, fie!— Aside. No, nor I have not yours.— Enter Lord Mayor, &c. But now we must forbear; my lords return. Suresby. A murren on't!—Lifter, we'll more anon: Aye, thou sayest true, there are shrewd knaves indeed: He sits down. But let them gull me, widgen me, rook me, fop me! Yfaith, yfaith, they are too short for me. Knaves and fools meet when purses go: Wise men look to their purses well enough. More. Aside. Lifter, is it done? Lifter. Aside. Done, Master Shreeve; and there it is. More. Aside. Then build upon my word. I'll save thy life. Recorder. Lifter, stand to the bar: The jury have returned the guilty; thou must die, According to the custom.—Look to it, Master Shreeve. Lord Mayor. Then, gentlemen, as you are wont to do, Because as yet we have no burial place, What charity your meaning's to bestow Toward burial of the prisoners now condemned, Let it be given. There is first for me. Recorder. And there for me. Another. And me. Suresby. Body of me, my purse is gone! More. Gone, sir! what, here! how can that be? Lord Mayor. Against all reason, sitting on the bench. Suresby. Lifter, I talked with you; you have not lifted me? ha! Lifter. Suspect ye me, sir? Oh, what a world is this! More. But hear ye, master Suresby; are ye sure Ye had a purse about ye? Suresby. Sure, Master Shrieve! as sure as you are there, And in it seven pounds, odd money, on my faith. More. Seven pounds, odd money! what, were you so mad, Being a wise man and a magistrate, To trust your purse with such a liberal sum? Seven pounds, odd money! fore God, it is a shame, With such a sum to tempt necessity: I promise ye, a man that goes abroad With an intent of truth, meeting such a booty, May be wrought to that he never thought. What makes so many pilferers and felons, But these fond baits that foolish people lay To tempt the needy miserable wretch? Should he be taken now that has your purse, I'd stand to't, you are guilty of his d**h; For, questionless, he would be cast by law. Twere a good deed to fine ye as much more, To the relief of the poor prisoners, To teach ye lock your money up at home. Suresby. Well, Master More, you are a merry man; I find ye, sir, I find ye well enough. More. Nay, ye shall see, sir, trusting thus your money, And Lifter here in trial for like case, But that the poor man is a prisoner, It would be now suspected that he had it. Thus may ye see what mischief often comes By the fond carriage of such needless sums. Lord Mayor. Believe me, Master Suresby, this is strange, You, being a man so settled in a**urance, Will fall in that which you condemned in other. More. Well, Master Suresby, there's your purse again, And all your money: fear nothing of More; Wisdom still keeps the mean and locks the door.