No, no, my word's my word. Take thy poor gentleman!
Gamble thyself at once out of my sight,
Or I will dig thee with my dagger. Away!
Women and children!

_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
Or here or there: I come to save you all,
And I'll go further off.

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_.