WAT TYLER; A DRAMA. TWENTY years ago, upon the surreptitious publication of this notable Drama, and the use which was made of it, I said what it then became me to say in a letter to one of those gentlemen who thought proper to revile me, not for having entertained democratical opinions, but for having outgrown them, and learnt to appreciate and to defend the institutions of my country. Had I written lewdly in my youth, like Beza, like Beza, I would ask pardon of God and man; and no considerations should induce me to reprint what I could never think of without sorrow and shame. Had I at any time, like St. Augustine, taught doctrines which I afterwards perceived to be erroneous; and if, as in his case, my position in society, and the estimation in which I was held, gave weight to what I had advanced, and made those errors dangerous to others, like St. Augustine, I would publish my retractations, and endeavor to counteract the evil which, though erringly, with no evil intention, I had caused. Wherefore, then, it may be asked, have I included "Wat Tyler in this collection of my poetical works? For these reasons, that it may not be supposed I think it any reproach to have written it, or that I am more ashamed of having been a republican than of having been a boy. Quicunque ista lecturi sunt, non me imitentur errantem, sed in melius proficientem. Inveniet enim fortasse, quomodo scribendo profecerim, quisquis opuscula mea, ordine quo scripta sunt, legerit." * St. Augustine. I have endeavored to correct, in my other juvenile pieces, such faults as were corrigible. But "Wat Tyler" appears just as it was written, in the course of three mornings, in 1794; the stolen copy, which was committed to the press twentythree years afterwards, not having undergone the slightest correction of any kind. SCENE. A C T I. A blacksmith's shop; Wat Tyler at work within; a May-pole before the door ALICE, PIERS, &c. SONG. CHEERFUL on this holiday, On every sunny hillock spread, The linnet from the budding grove The copse resounds the throstle's notes; Welcomes in the merry May. Cheerful on this holiday, Welcome we the merry May. [Dance. [During the dance, Tyler lays down his hammer, and sits mournfully down before the door. Hob Carter. Why so sad, neighbor? Do not these gay sports, This revelry of youth, recall the days When we, too, mingled in the revelry, Tyler. Ay, we were young; No cares had quelled the heyday of the blood : [noon, Nor marked the black clouds gathering o'er our Nor feared the storm of night. Hob. Beshrew me, Tyler, But my heart joys to see the imps so cheerful! Young, hale, and happy, why should they destroy These blessings by reflection? Tyler. Look ye, neighbor: Since we were boys together, You have known me long. Hob. And played at barley-brake, and danced the morris ; Some five and twenty years. Tyler. And hale and happy? Hob. Was not I young Cheerful as the best. Tyler. Have not I been a staid, hard-working man? Up with the lark at labor; sober, honest, Of an unblemished character? Hob. Who doubts it? There's never a man in Essex bears a better. Tyler. And shall not these, though young and Look on with sorrow to the future hour? And age comes on to steal away my strength, My youth was regular, my labor constant. Draining our wealth, distressing our poor peasants, chiefs With glory! I detest the hell-sprung name. Tyler. What matters me who wears the crown of France? Whether a Richard or a Charles possess it? They reap the glory, they enjoy the spoil: Though neither of these royal pests existed. better: No legal robbers then should force away Tyler. Oh, 'tis of vast importance! who should pay for The luxuries and riots of the court? Who should support the flaunting courtier's pride, Pay for their midnight revels, their rich garments, Did not the state enforce? Think ye, my friend, That I, a humble blacksmith, here at Deptford, Would part with these six groats, earned by hard toil, All that I have, to massacre the Frenchmen, Murder as enemies men I never saw, Did not the state compel me? [Tax-gatherers pass by.] There they go, Privileged ruffians! [Piers & Alice advance to him. Alice. Did we not dance it well to-day, my father? You know I always loved these village sports, |