He has oppressed his vassals: tell me, Piers,
Does his death remedy the ills he caused?
Were it not better to repress his power

Of doing wrong, that so his future life
Might remedy the evils of the past,
And benefit mankind?

Piers.

Be punished?

But must not vice

John Ball. Is not punishment revenge?
The momentary violence of anger

May be excused; the indignant heart will throb
Against oppression, and the outstretched arm
Resent its injured feelings. The collector
Insulted Alice, and roused the keen emotions
Of a fond father: Tyler murdered him.

Piers. Murdered!
John Ball.

a most harsh word.

Yes, murdered him:

His mangled feelings prompted the bad act;

And Nature will almost commend the deed

That Justice blames. But will the awakened feelings
Plead, with their heart-emoving eloquence,
For the calm, deliberate murder of Revenge?
Would you, Piers, in your calmer hour of reason,
Condemn an erring brother to be slain;
Cut him at once from all the joys of life,
All hopes of reformation, to revenge
The deed his punishment cannot recall?
My blood boiled in me at the fate of Tyler;
Yet I revenged not.

Piers.

O my Christian father!

They would not argue thus humanely on us,
Were we within their power.

John Ball.

I know they would not;

But we must pity them that they are vicious,
Not imitate their vice.

Piers.

Alas, poor Tyler!

I do repent me much that I stood back
When he advanced, fearless in rectitude,
To meet these royal assassins.

John Ball.

Not for myself,

Though I have lost an honest, virtuous friend,
Mourn I the death of Tyler. He was one
Gifted with the strong energy of mind,
Quick to perceive the right, and prompt to act
When Justice needed. He would listen to me
With due attention, yet not yielding lightly
What had to him seemed good. Severe in virtue,
He awed the ruder people, whom he led,
By his stern rectitude.

Piers.

Witness that day

When they destroyed the palace of the Gaunt, And hurled the wealth his avarice had amassed Amid the fire. The people, fierce in zeal, Threw in the flames a wretch whose selfish hand Purloined amid the tumult.

John Ball.

I lament

The death of Tyler for my country's sake.

I shudder lest posterity, enslaved,

Should rue his murder. Who shall now control

The giddy multitude, blind to their own good,

And listening with avidity to the tale

Of courtly falsehood?

Piers.

His plighted promise.

The king must perform

[Cry without, "The charter! the charter!"

Enter Mob and Herald.

Tom Miller. Read it out! read it out!
Hob. Ay, ay: let's hear the charter.

Herald. Richard Plantagenet, by the grace of God, King of England, Ireland, France, Scotland, and the town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, to all whom it may concern, these presents: Whereas our loving subjects have complained to us of the heavy burdens they endure, particularly from our lateenacted poll-tax; and whereas they have risen in arms against our officers, and demanded the abolition of personal slavery, vassalage, and manorial rights, — we, ever ready, in our sovereign mercy, to listen to the petitions of our loving subjects, do annul all these grievances

Mob. Huzza! long live the king!

Herald (continues). And do of our royal mercy grant a free pardon to all who may have been anyways concerned in the late insurrections. All this shall be faithfully performed, on our royal word; so help us God. God save the king!

[Loud and repeated shouts. Herald. Now, then, depart in quiet to your

homes.

John Ball. Nay, my good friend, the people will

remain

Embodied peaceably, till Parliament

Confirm the royal charter; tell your king so.
We will await the charter's confirmation,
Meanwhile comporting ourselves orderly,
As peaceful citizens, not risen in tumult,
But to redress their evils.

Hob.

[Exit Herald, &c.

"Twas well ordered.

I place but little trust in courtly faith.

John Ball. We must remain embodied; else the

king

Will plunge again in royal luxury,

And, when the storm of danger is passed over,

Forget his promises.

Hob.

Ay: like an aguish sinner,

He'll promise to repent when the fit's on him ;
When well recovered, laugh at his own terrors.
Piers. Oh! I am grieved that we must gain so
little.

Why are not all these empty ranks abolished;
King, slave, and lord, ennobled into MAN?
Are we not equal all? Have you not told me
Equality is the sacred right of man,

Inalienable, though by force withheld?

John Ball. Even so; but, Piers, my frail and fallible judgment

Knows hardly to decide if it be right
Peaceably to return, content with little,
With this half-restitution of our rights,

Or boldly to proceed, through blood and slaughter, Till we should all be equal, and all happy.

I chose the milder way: perhaps I erred.

Piers. I fear me. By the mass! the unsteady
people

Are flocking homewards. How the multitude
Diminishes!

John Ball. Go thou, my son, and stay them.
Carter, do you exert your influence :

All depends upon their stay. My mind is troubled, And I would fain compose my thoughts for action.

[Exeunt Hob and Piers.

Father of mercies! I do fear me much

That I have erred. Thou gav'st my ardent mind
To pierce the mists of superstitious falsehood;
Gav'st me to know the truth. I should have urged it
Through every opposition: now, perhaps,
The seemly voice of pity has deceived me,
And all this mighty movement ends in ruin.
I fear me I have been like the weak leech,
Who, sparing to cut deep, with cruel mercy
Mangles his patient without curing him.

[Great tumult.

What means this tumult? Hark! the clang of arms! God of eternal justice! the false monarch

Has broke his plighted vow.

Enter Piers, wounded.

Piers. Fly, fly, my father!—the perjured king!

-fly, fly!