When the king was on his way to the place called Mile-end, without London, his two brothers, the Earl of Kent, and Sir John Holland, stole off and galloped from his company, as did also the Lord de Gommegines, not daring to show themselves to the populace at Mile-end for fear of their lives.

On the king’s arrival, attended by the barons, he found upward of sixty thousand men assembled from different villages and counties of England: he instantly advanced into the midst of them, saying in a pleasant manner, “My good people, I am your king and your lord: what is it you want? and what do you wish to say to me?” Those who heard him answered, “We wish thou wouldst make us free forever, us, our heirs and our lands, and that we should no longer be called slaves, nor held in bondage.” The king replied, “I grant your wish: now, therefore, return to your homes and the places whence you came, leaving two or three men from each village, to whom I will order letters to be given sealed with my seal, which they shall carry back with every demand you have made fully granted; and, in order that you may be the more satisfied, I will direct that my banners shall be sent to every stewardship, castlewick, and corporation.” These words greatly pleased the novices and well-meaning ones who were there, and knew not what they wanted, saying, “It is well said: we do not wish for more.” The people were thus quieted, and began to return toward London.

The king added a few words which pleased them much: “You, my good people of Kent, shall have one of my banners; and you also of Essex, Sussex, Bedford, Suffolk, Cambridge, Stafford, and Lincoln, shall each of you have one; and I pardon you all for what you have hitherto done; but you must follow my banners, and now return home on the terms I have mentioned.” They unanimously replied they would. Thus did this great assembly break up, and set out for London. The king instantly employed upward of thirty secretaries, who drew up the letters as fast as they could; and, having sealed and delivered them to these people, they departed, and returned to their own counties.

The principal mischief remained behind: I mean Wat Tyler, Jack Straw, and John Ball, who declared that though the people were satisfied, they would not thus depart; and they had more than thirty thousand who were of their mind. They continued in the city, without any wish to have their letters, or the king’s seal; but did all they could to throw the town into such confusion that the lords and rich citizens might be murdered, and their houses pillaged and destroyed. The Londoners suspected this, and kept themselves at home, with their friends and servants, well armed and prepared, every one according to his abilities.

When the people had been appeased at Mile-end Green, and were setting off for their different towns as speedily as they could receive the king’s letters, King Richard went to the Wardrobe, where the princess was in the greatest fear. He comforted her, as he was very able to do, and passed there the night.

I must relate an adventure which happened to these clowns near Norwich, and to their leader, called William Lister, who was from the county of Stafford. On the same day these wicked people burnt the palace of the Savoy, the church and house of St. John, the hospital of the Templars, pulled down the prison of Newgate, and set at liberty all the prisoners. There were collected numerous bodies from Lincolnshire, Norfolk, and Suffolk, who proceeded on their march toward London, according to the orders they had received, under the direction of Lister.

In their road they stopped near Norwich, and forced every one to join them, so that none of the commonalty remained behind. The reason why they stopped near Norwich was, that the governor of the town was a knight called Sir Robert Salle: he was not by birth a gentleman, but, having acquired great renown for his ability and courage, King Edward had created him a knight. He was the handsomest and strongest man in England. Lister and his companions took it into their heads they would make this knight their commander, and carry him with them, in order to be the more feared. They sent orders to him to come out into the fields to speak with them, or they would attack and burn the city. The knight, considering it was much better for him to go to them than that they should commit such outrages, mounted his horse, and went out of the town alone to hear what they had to say. When they perceived him coming, they showed him every mark of respect, and courteously entreated him to dismount and talk with them. He did dismount, and committed a great folly; for when he had so done, having surrounded him, they at first conversed in a friendly way, saying, “Robert, you are a knight, and a man of great weight in this country renowned for your valor; yet, notwithstanding all this, we know who you are: you are not a gentleman, but the son of a poor mason, just such as ourselves. Do you come with us, as our commander, and we will make so great a lord of you that one-quarter of England shall be under your command.”

The knight, on hearing them thus speak, was exceedingly angry; he would never have consented to such a proposal; and, eying them with inflamed looks, answered, “Begone, wicked scoundrels and false traitors as you are! Would you have me desert my natural lord for such a company of knaves as you? would you have me dishonor myself? I would much rather you were all hanged, for that must be your end.” On saying this, he attempted to mount his horse; but, his foot slipping from the stirrup, his horse took fright. They then shouted out, and cried, “Put him to death!” When he heard this he let his horse go; and, drawing a handsome Bordeaux sword, he began to skirmish, and soon cleared the crowd from about him, that it was a pleasure to see. Some attempted to close with him; but with each stroke he gave he cut off heads, arms, feet, or legs. There were none so bold but were afraid; and Sir Robert performed that day marvellous feats of arms. These wretches were upward of forty thousand; they shot and flung at him such things, that, had he been clothed in steel instead of being unarmed, he must have been overpowered: however, he killed twelve of them, besides many whom he wounded. At last he was overthrown, when they cut off his legs and arms, and rent his body in piecemeal. Thus ended Sir Robert Salle, which was a great pity; and, when the knights and squires in England heard of it, they were much enraged.

On the Saturday morning the king left the Wardrobe, and went to Westminster, where he and all the lords heard mass in the abbey. In this church there is a statue of Our Lady in a small chapel, that has many virtues, and performs great miracles, in which the kings of England have much faith. The king, having paid his devotions and made his offerings to this shrine, mounted his horse about nine o’clock, as did the barons who were with him. They rode along the causeway to return to London; but when they had gone a little way he turned to a road on the left to go from London.

This day all the rabble were again assembled, under the conduct of Wat Tyler, Jack Straw, and John Ball, to parley at a place called Smithfield, where, every Friday, the horse-market is kept. They amounted to upward of twenty thousand, all of the same sort. Many more were in the city, breakfasting, and drinking Rhenish, Malmsey, and Madeira wines, in taverns and at the houses of the Lombards, without paying for any thing; and happy was he who could give them good cheer. Those who were collected in Smithfield had king’s banners, which had been given to them the preceding evening; and these reprobates wanted to pillage the city the same day, their leaders saying that hitherto they had done nothing. “The pardons which the king has granted will not be of much use to us; but, if we be of the same mind, we shall pillage this large, rich, and powerful town of London, before those from Essex, Suffolk, Cambridge, Bedford, Warwick, Reading, Lancashire, Arundel, Guilford, Coventry, Lynne, Lincoln, York, and Durham shall arrive; for they are on the road, and we know for certain that Vaquier and Lister will conduct them hither. If we now plunder the city of the wealth that is in it, we shall have been beforehand, and shall not repent of so doing; but, if we wait for their arrival, they will wrest it from us.” To this opinion all had agreed, when the king appeared in sight, attended by sixty horse. He was not thinking of them, but intended to have continued his ride without coming into London: however, when he came before the Abbey of St. Bartholomew, which is in Smithfield, and saw the crowd of people, he stopped, and said he would not proceed until he knew what they wanted; and, if they were troubled, he would appease them.

The lords who accompanied him stopped also, as was but right since the king had stopped; when Wat Tyler, seeing the king, said to his men, “Here is the king; I will go and speak with him: do not you stir from hence until I give you a signal.” He made a motion with his hand, and added, “When you shall see me make this sign, then step forward, and kill every one except the king; but hurt him not, for he is young, and we can do what we please with him; for by carrying him with us through England we shall be lords of it without any opposition.” There was a doublet-maker of London called John Ticle, who had brought sixty doublets, with which some of the clowns had dressed themselves; and on his asking who was to pay, for he must have for them thirty good marks, Tyler replied, “Make thyself easy, man; thou shalt be well paid this day. Look to me for it: thou hast sufficient security for them.” On saying this he spurred the horse on which he rode, and, leaving his men, galloped up to the king, and came so near that his horse’s head touched the crupper of that of the king. The first words he said when he addressed the king were, “King, dost thou see all those men there?”—“Yes,” replied the king: “why dost thou ask?”—“Because they are all under my command, and have sworn by their faith and loyalty to do whatever I shall order.”—“Very well,” said the king: “I have no objections to it.” Tyler, who was only desirous of a riot, answered, “And thinkest thou, king, that those people and as many more who are in the city, also under my command, ought to depart without having had thy letters? Oh, no! we will carry them with us.”—“Why!” replied the king, “so it has been ordered, and they will be delivered out one after the other; but, friend, return to thy companions, and tell them to depart from London. Be peaceable and careful of yourselves; for it is our determination that you shall all of you have your letters by villages and towns, as it had been agreed on.”

As the king finished speaking, Wat Tyler, casting his eyes around him, spied a squire attached to the king’s person, bearing his sword. Tyler mortally hated this squire: formerly they had had words together when the squire ill-treated him. “What! art thou here?” cried Tyler. “Give me thy dagger.”—“I will not,” said the squire: “why should I give it thee?” The king, turning to him, said, “Give it him, give it him;” which he did, though much against his will. When Tyler took it he began to play with it, and turn it about in his hand, and, again addressing the squire, said, “Give me that sword.”—“I will not,” replied the squire; “for it is the king’s sword, and thou art not worthy to bear it who art but a mechanic; and if only thou and I were together thou wouldst not have dared to say what thou hast, for as large a heap of gold as this church.”—“By my troth,” answered Tyler, “I will not eat this day before I have thy head.” At these words the mayor of London, with about twelve more, rode forward, armed under their robes, and, pushing through the crowd, saw Tyler’s manner of behaving; upon which he said, “Scoundrel, how dare you thus behave in the presence of the king, and utter such words? It is too impudent for such as thou.” The king then began to be enraged, and said to the mayor, “Lay hands on him.”

While the king was giving this order, Tyler had addressed the mayor, saying, “Hey! in God’s name, what I have said, does it concern thee? What dost thou mean?”—“Truly,” replied the mayor, who found himself supported by the king, “does it become such a stinking rascal as thou art to use such speech in the presence of the king, thy natural lord? I will not live a day if thou pay not for it.” Upon this he drew a kind of cimeter he wore, and struck Tyler such a blow on the head as felled him to his horse’s feet. When he was down he was surrounded on all sides, so that his men could not see him; and one of the king’s squires, called John Standwich, immediately leaped from his horse, and, drawing a handsome sword which he bore, thrust it into his belly, and thus killed him.

His men, advancing, saw their leader dead, when they cried out, “They have killed our captain: let us march to them, and slay the whole.” On these words they drew up in a sort of battle-array, each man having his bent bow before him. The king certainly hazarded much by this action, but it turned out fortunate; for, when Tyler was on the ground, he left his attendants, ordering not one to follow him. He rode up to these rebellious fellows, who were advancing to revenge their leader’s death, and said to them, “Gentlemen, what are you about? You shall have no other captain but me: I am your king; remain peaceable.” When the greater part of them heard these words, they were quite ashamed, and those inclined to peace began to slip away. The riotous ones kept their ground, and showed symptoms of mischief, and as if they were resolved to do something.

The king returned to his lords, and asked them what should next be done. He was advised to make for the fields; for the mayor said that “to retreat or fly would be of no avail. It is proper we should act thus, for I reckon that we shall very soon receive assistance from London,—that is, from our good friends who are prepared and armed, with all their servants in their houses.” While things remained in this state, several ran to London, and cried out, “They are killing the king! They are killing the king and our mayor!” Upon this alarm every man of the king’s party sallied out toward Smithfield and to the fields whither the king had retreated; and there were instantly collected from seven to eight thousand men in arms.

Among the first came Sir Robert Knolles and Sir Perducas d’Albreth well attended; and several of the aldermen with upward of six hundred men at arms, and a powerful man of the city called Nicholas Bramber, the king’s draper, bringing with him a large force, who, as they came up, ranged themselves in order on foot on each side of him. The rebels were drawn up opposite them: they had the king’s banners, and showed as if they intended to maintain their ground by offering combat. The king created three knights: Sir William Walworth, mayor of London, Sir John Standwich, and Sir Nicholas Bramber. The lords began to converse among themselves, saying, “What shall we do? We see our enemies, who would willingly have murdered us if they had gained the upper hand.” Sir Robert Knowles advised immediately to fall on them and slay them; but the king would not consent, saying, “I will not have you act thus: you shall go and demand from them my banners. We shall see how they will behave when you make this demand, for I will have them by fair or foul means.”—“It is a good thought,” replied the Earl of Salisbury.

The new knights were therefore sent, who, on approaching, made signs for them not to shoot, as they wished to speak with them. When they had come near enough to be heard, they said, “Now attend: the king orders you to send back his banners, and we hope he will have mercy on you.” The banners were directly given up, and brought to the king. It was then ordered, under pain of death, that all those who had obtained the king’s letters should deliver them up. Some did so, but not all. The king, on receiving them, had them torn in their presence. You must know that from the instant when the king’s banners were surrendered these fellows kept no order; but the greater part, throwing their bows to the ground, took to their heels, and returned to London.

Sir Robert Knolles was in a violent rage that they were not attacked, and the whole of them slain; but the king would not consent to it, saying he would have ample revenge on them,—which in truth he afterwards had.

Thus did these people disperse and run away on all sides. The king, the lords, and the army returned in good array to London, to their great joy. The king immediately took the road to the Wardrobe to visit the princess his mother, who had remained there two days and two nights under the greatest fears, as indeed she had cause. On seeing the king her son, she was mightily rejoiced, and said, “Ha, ha, fair son! what pain and anguish have I not suffered for you this day!”—“Certainly, madam,” replied the king: “I am well assured of that; but now rejoice and thank God, for it behooves us to praise him, as I have this day regained my inheritance and the kingdom of England which I had lost.”

The king remained the whole day with his mother. The lords retired to their own houses. A proclamation was made through all the streets, that every person who was not an inhabitant of London, and who had not resided there for a whole year, should instantly depart; for that, if there were any found of contrary description on Sunday morning at sunrise, they would be arrested as traitors to the king, and have their heads cut off. After this proclamation had been heard, no one dared to infringe it, but all departed instantly to their former homes quite discomfited. John Ball and Jack Straw were found hidden in an old ruin, thinking to steal away; but this they could not do, for they were betrayed by their own men. The king and the lords were well pleased with their seizure: their heads were cut off, as was that of Tyler, and fixed on London Bridge in the place of those gallant men whom they beheaded on the Thursday. The news of this was sent through the neighboring counties, that those might hear of it who were on their way to London, according to the orders these rebels had sent them; upon which they instantly returned to their homes without daring to advance farther.

CHAUCER’S BALLADE SENT TO KING RICHARD.

LENVOYE.