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SCENE III -- LONDON BRIDGE. Enter SIR THOMAS WYATT and BRETT.
WYATT. - Brett, when the Duke of Norfolk moved against us BRETT. Nay, hardly, save by boat, swimming, or wings. WYATT, Last night I climb'd into the gate-house, Brett, BRETT. On somehow. To go back WYATT. On over London Bridge BRETT. Ten miles about. WYATT. Ev'n so. Enter one of WYATT's MEN. MAN. Sir Thomas, I've found this paper; pray your worship read it; I know not my letters; the old priests taught me nothing. WYATT (reads). 'Whosoever will apprehend the traitor Thomas Wyatt shall have a hundred pounds for reward.' MAN. Is that it? That's a big lot of money. WYATT. AY, ay, my friend; not read it? 'tis not written [Writes ' THOMAS WYATT ' large.] There, any man can read that. [Sticks it in his cap.] BRETT. But that's foolhardy. WYATT. No! boldness, which will give my followers boldness. Enter MAN with a prisoner. MAN. We found him, your worship, a plundering o' Bishop Winchester's house; he says he's a poor gentleman. WYATT. Gentleman! a thief! Go hang him. BRETT. Sir Thomas -- WYATT. Hang him, I say. BRETT. Wyatt, but now you promised me a boon. WYATT. Ay, and I warrant this fine fellow's life. BRETT. Ev'n so; he was my neighbour once in Kent. WYATT. He has gambled for his life, and lost, he hangs. Enter a Crowd of WOMEN and CHILDREN. FIRST WOMAN. O Sir Thomas, Sir Thomas, pray you go away, Sir Thomas, or you'll make the White Tower a black 'un for us this blessed day. He'll be the death on us; and you'll set the Divil's Tower a-spitting, and he'll smash all our bits o' things worse than Philip o' Spain. SECOND WOMAN. Don't ye now go to think that we be for Philip o' Spain. THIRD WOMAN. No, we know that ye be come to kill the Queen, and we'll pray for you all on our bended knees. But o' God's mercy don't ye kill the Queen here, Sir Thomas; look ye, here's little Dickon, and little Robin, and little Jenny-though she's but a side-cousin-and all on our knees, we pray you to kill the Queen further off, Sir Thomas. WYATT. My friends, I have not come to kill the Queen CROWD. Thanks, Sir Thomas, we be beholden to you, and we'll pray for you on our bended knees till our lives' end. WYATT. Be happy, I am your friend. To Kingston, forward! [Exeunt]
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