Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting
upon London-stone, I charge and command that, of the
city's cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing but
claret wine this first year of our reign. And now
henceforward it shall be treason for any that calls
me other than Lord Mortimer.
Jack Cade! Jack Cade!
Knock him down there.
If this fellow be wise, he'll never call ye Jack
Cade more: I think he hath a very fair warning.
My lord, there's an army gathered together in
Smithfield.
Come, then, let's go fight with them; but first, go
and set London bridge on fire; and, if you can, burn
down the Tower too. Come, let's away.