When I am turn'd into the self-same dust
Of which I was first form'd.

Orf. The lord ambassador,

Huntley, your father, madam, should he look on Your strange subjection, in a gaze so public, Would blush on your behalf, and wish his country Unleft, for entertainment to such sorrow.

Kath. Why art thou angry, Oxford? I must be More peremptory in my duty.-Sir,

Impute it not unto immodesty,

That I presume to press you to a legacy,
Before we part for ever!

War. Let it be then

My heart, the rich remains of all my fortunes.
Kath. Confirm it with a kiss, pray!

War. Oh! with that

I wish to breathe my last; upon thy lips,
Those equal twins of comeliness, I seal

The testament of honourable vows: [Kisses her.
Whoever be that man that shall unkiss

This sacred print next, may he prove more thrifty In this world's just applause, not more desertful! Kath. By this sweet pledge of both our souls, I

swear

To die a faithful widow to thy bed;

Not to be forced or won: oh, never, never!"

5 The better genius of Ford, which had so admirably served him hitherto, appears to have left his side, at this moment; he would not else have permitted Katherine to injure herself by a speech for which there was not the slightest occasion. She should have had nothing in common with the Player Queen, no, not even an oath.

Enter SURREY, DAWBENEY, HUNTLEY, and

CRAWFORD.

Daw. Free the condemned person; quickly free

him!

What has he yet confess'd?

[WARBECK is taken out of the stocks.

Urs. Nothing to purpose;

But still he will be king.

Sur. Prepare your journey

To a new kingdom then,-unhappy madman,
Wilfully foolish!-See, my lord ambassador,
Your lady daughter will not leave the counterfeit
In this disgrace of fate.

Hunt. I never pointed

Thy marriage, girl; but yet, being married,
Enjoy thy duty to a husband freely:

The griefs are mine. I glory in thy constancy;
And must not say, I wish that I had miss'd
Some partage in these trials of a patience.
Kath. You will forgive me, noble sir.
Hunt. Yes, yes;

In every duty of a wife and daughter,
I dare not disavow thee.-To your husband,
(For such you are, sir,) I impart a farewell
Of manly pity; what your life has past through,
The dangers of your end will make apparent;
And I can add, for comfort to your sufferance,

6

unhappy madman,

Wilfully foolish!

The 4to, by an unlucky transposition,

reads "madam."

No cordial, but the wonder of your frailty,
Which keeps so firm a station. We are parted.
War. We are. A crown of peace renew thy age,
Most honourable Huntley! Worthy Crawford!
We may embrace; I never thought thee injury.
Craw. Nor was I ever guilty of neglect
Which might procure such thought; I take my
leave, sir.

War. To you, lord Dalyell,-what? accept a sigh,

Tis hearty and in earnest.

Dal. I want utterance;

My silence is my farewell.

Kath. Oh!-oh!

Jane. Sweet madam,

What do you mean?-my lord, your hand.

Dal. Dear lady,

[To DAL.

Be pleased that I may wait you to your lodgings. [Exeunt DALYELL and JANE, supporting KATHERINE.

Enter Sheriff and Officers with SKETON, ASTLEY, HERON, and JOHN A-WATER, with Halters about their necks.

Orf. Look ye, behold your followers, appointed

To wait on you in death!

War. Why, peers of England,

We'll lead them on courageously; I read

A triumph over tyranny upon

Their several foreheads. Faint not in the moment

Of victory! our ends, and Warwick's head,
Innocent Warwick's head, (for we are prologue
But to his tragedy) conclude the wonder
Of Henry's fears; and then the glorious race
Of fourteen kings, Plantagenets, determines
In this last issue male; Heaven be obey'd!
Impoverish time of its amazement, friends,
And we will prove as trusty in our payments,
As prodigal to nature in our debts.
Death? pish! 'tis but a sound; a name of air;
A minute's storm, or not so much; to tumble
From bed to bed, be massacred alive
By some physicians, for a month or two,
In hope of freedom from a fever's torments,
Might stagger manhood; here the pain is past
Ere sensibly 'tis felt. Be men of spirit!
Spurn coward passion! so illustrious mention
Shall blaze our names, and stile us Kings o'er
death.

[Exeunt Sheriff and Officers with the Prisoners. Daw. Away-impostor beyond precedent! No chronicle records his fellow.

Hunt. I have

Not thoughts left: 'tis sufficient in such cases
Just laws ought to proceed.

1 Our ends, and Warwick's head-conclude the wonder

Of Henry's fears.] This poor prince, as Lord Bacon calls him, was undoubtedly sacrificed to the barbarous policy of the king. He was brought to trial almost immediately after Warbeck's death, condemned, and executed for conspiring with the former to raise sedition! He made no defence, and probably quitted, without much regret, a life that had never known one happy day.

Enter King HENRY, DURHAM, and HIALAS.

K. Hen. We are resolv'd.

Your business, noble lords, shall find success,
Such as your king importunes.

Hunt. You are gracious.

K. Hen. Perkin, we are inform'd, is arm'd to

die ;

In that we'll honour him.

Our lords shall follow To see the execution; and from hence We gather this fit use;-that public states, As our particular bodies, taste most good In health, when purged of corrupted blood.

[Exeunt.

We gather this fit use.] The poet seems to apply this word in the Puritanical sense (then sufficiently familiar) of doctrinal or practical deduction. See Mass. vol. iii. p. 293. and Jonson, vol. vi. p. 55.

I cannot dismiss this "Chronicle History," as Ford calls it, without observing that it has been much under-rated. That the materials are borrowed from Lord Bacon is sufficiently clear; but the poet has arranged them with skill, and conducted his plot with considerable dexterity to the fatal catastrophe. Perkin is admirably drawn; and it would be unjust to the author to overlook the striking consistency with which he has marked his character. Whatever might be his own opinion of this person's pretensions, he has never suffered him to betray his identity with the Duke of York in a single thought or expression. Perkin has no soliloquies, no side speeches, to compromise his public assertions; and it is pleasing to see with what ingenuity Ford has preserved him from the contamination of real history, and contrived to sustain his dignity to the last with all imaginable decorum, and thus rendered him a fit subject for the Tragic Muse.

Of Huntley, the noble Huntley, and Dalyell, I have already spoken: the author seems, in truth, to have lavished most of his care on the Scotch characters, and with a success altogether pro