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Kath. Oh, sir, I have a husband.
K. Hen. We'll prove your father, husband, friend,

and servant,
Prove what you wish to grant us. Lords, be careful
A patent presently be drawn, for issuing
A thousand pounds from our exchequer yearly,
During our cousin's life; our queen shall be
Your chief companion, our own court your home,
Our subjects all your servants.

Kath. But my husband ?
K. Hen. By all descriptions, you are noble Dal-

yell, Whose generous truth hath famed a rare obser

vance.

We thank you; 'tis a goodness gives addition
To every title boasted from your ancestry,
In all most worthy.

Dal. Worthier than your praises,
Right princely sir, I need not glory in.
K. Hen. Embrace him, lords. Whoever calls

you mistress,
Is lifted in our charge:-a goodlier beauty
Mine eyes yet ne'er encounter'd.

Kath. Cruel misery
Of fate! what rests to hope for?

K. Hen. Forward, lords,
To London. Fair, ere long, I shall present you
With a glad object, peace, and Huntley’s blessing.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

London.-The Tower-hill.

Enter Constable and Officers, WARBECK, URSWICK,

and LAMBERT SIMNEL as a Falconer, followed by the rabble.

Const. Make room there! keep off, I require you; and none come within twelve foot of his majesty's new stocks, upon pain of displeasure. Bring forward the malefactors.-Friend, you must to this geer, no remedy.-Open the hole, and in with the legs, just in the middle hole; there, that hole. Keep off, or I'll commit you all! shall not a man in authority be obeyed? So, so, there; 'tis as it should be:-[WARBECK is put in the stocks.] put on the padlock, and give me the key. Off, I say, keep off. Urs. Yet, Warbeck, clear thy conscience; thou

hast tasted King Henry's mercy liberally; the law Has forfeited thy life; an equal jury Have doom'd thee to the gallows. Twice most

wickedly, Most desperately hast thou escaped the Tower; Inveigling to thy party, with thy witchcraft, Young Edward, earl of Warwick, son to Clarence; Whose head must pay the price of that attempt; Poor gentleman !—unhappy in his fate,And ruin’d by thy cunning! so a mongrel

May pluck the true stag down. Yet, yet, confess Thy parentage; for yet the king has mercy.

. Simn. You would be Dick the Fourth, very

likely! Your pedigree is publish’d;you are known For Osbeck's son of Tournay, a loose runagate, A land-loper; your father was a Jew, Turn’d Christian merely to repair his miseries : Where's now your kingship?

War. Baited to my death? Intolerable cruelty! I laugh at The duke of Richmond's practice on my fortunes; Possession of a crown ne'er wanted heralds.

Simn. You will not know who I am ?

Urs. Lambert Simnel, Your predecessor in a dangerous uproar: But, on submission, not alone received To grace, but by the king vouchsafed his service. Simn. I would be earl of Warwick, toild and

ruffled Against my master, leap'd to catch the moon,

3 Your pedigree is publish'd, &c.] From Bacon.—" Thus it was. There was a townsman of Tournay, whose name was John Osbeck, a convert Jew, married to Catherine de Faro, whose business drew him to live, for a time, with his wife at London, in King Edward the IVth's days. During which time he had a son by her; and being known in court, the king did him the honour to stand godfather to his child, and named him Peter. But afterwards proving a dainty and effeminate youth, he was commonly called by the diminutive of his name, Peter-kin or Perkin.” The term land-loper, applied to him by Simnel, is also from the historian. (Perkin) had been from his childhood such a wanderer, or, as the king called him, such a land-loper, as it was extreme hard to hunt out his nest.”

«'He

Vaunted my name Plantagenet, as you do;
An earl forsooth! whenas in truth I was,
As you are, a mere rascal: yet his majesty,
A prince composed of sweetness,-Heaven protect

him !
Forgave me all my villanies, reprieved
The sentence of a shameful end, admitted
My surety of obedience to his service,
And I am now his falconer; live plenteously,
Eat from the king's purse, and enjoy the sweetness
Of liberty and favour; sleep securely :
And is not this, now, better than to buffet
The hangman's clutches? or to brave the cordage
Of a tough halter, which will break your neck ?
So, then, the gallant totters !-prithee, Perkin,
Let my example lead thee; be no longer
A counterfeit; confess and hope for pardon.
War. For pardon? hold my heart-strings, whilst

contempt Of injuries, in scorn, may bid defiance To this base man's foul language! Thou poor ver

min, How dar'st thou creep so near me? thou an earl ! Why, thou enjoy’st as much of happiness As all the swing of slight ambition flew at. A dunghill was thy cradle. So a puddle, By virtue of the sunbeams, breathes a vapour To infect the purer air, which drops again Into the muddy womb that first exhaled it. Bread, and a slavish ease, with some assurance

From the base beadle's whip, crown'd all thy

hopes:
But, sirrah, ran there in thy veins one drop
Of such a royal blood as flows in mine,
Thou would'st not change condition, to be second
In England's state, without the crown itself!
Coarse creatures are incapable of excellence:
But let the world, as all, to whom I am
This day a spectacle, to time deliver,
And, by tradition, fix posterity,
Without another chronicle than truth,
How constantly my resolution suffer'd
A martyrdom of majesty!

Simn. He's past
Recovery; a Bedlam cannot cure him.

Urs. Away, inform the king of his behaviour. Simn. Perkin, beware the rope! the hangman's coming.

[Exit. Urs. If yet thou hast no pity of thy body, Pity thy soul!

Enter KATHERINE, JANE, DALYELL, and Ox

FORD.

Jane. Dear lady!

Oxf. Whither will you,
Without respect of shame?

Kath. Forbear me, sir,
And trouble not the current of

my duty!-
Oh my lov'd lord! can any scorn be yours
In which I have no interest? some kind hand

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