Urs. Strongly safe, sir.

K. Hen. Enough,-is Barley come too?
Urs. No, my lord.

K. Hen. No matter-phew! he's but a running weed,

At pleasure to be pluck'd up by the roots;
But more of this anon.-I have bethought me.
My lords, for reasons which you shall partake,
It is our pleasure to remove our court
From Westminster to the Tower:3 we will lodge
This very night there; give, lord chamberlain,
A present order for it.

Stan. The Tower!-[Aside.]—I shall, sir.

K. Hen. Come, my true, best, fast friends, these clouds will vanish,

The sun will shine at full; the heavens are clear

ing.

[Flourish.-Exeunt.

brought the double traitor, Clifford, the confidential agent of Warbeck's party, to England.

Sir Robert Clifford and Master William Barley, Lord Bacon says, were the only two who adventured their fortunes openly-sent, indeed, from the party of the conspirators here to understand the truth of what passed in Flanders, and not without some help of money from hence, to be provisionally delivered, if they were satisfied that there was truth in these pretences."

Clifford, it appears, was soon won to give up his employers. Master Barley, for whom Henry next inquires, did not betray his cause quite so speedily, nor trust quite so readily to the king's clemency as Clifford; in the end, however, he also returned to England, and was pardoned.

3 Lord Bacon well accounts for this sudden resolution of the king. "The place of the Tower was chosen to that end, that if Clifford should accuse any of the great ones, they might, without suspicion, or noise, or sending abroad of warrants, be presently attached: the court and prison being within the cincture of one wall."

SCENE II.

Edinburgh.-An Apartment in Lord HUNTLEY'S House.

Enter HUNTLEY and DALYell.

Hunt. You trifle time, sir.

Dal. Oh, my noble lord,

You construe my griefs to so hard a sense,
That where the text is argument of pity,
Matter of earnest love, your gloss corrupts it
With too much ill-placed mirth.

Hunt. "Much mirth," lord Dalyell!

Not so, I vow. Observe me, sprightly gallant.
I know thou art a noble lad, a handsome,
Descended from an honourable ancestry,
Forward and active, dost resolve to wrestle,
And ruffle in the world by noble actions,
For a brave mention to posterity:

I scorn not thy affection to my daughter,
Not I, by good Saint Andrew; but this bugbear,
This whoreson tale of honour,-honour, Dalyell!—
So hourly chats and tattles in mine ear,

The piece of royalty that is stitch'd up

In

my Kate's blood, that 'tis as dangerous

For thee, young lord, to perch so near an eaglet, As foolish for my gravity to admit it:

I have spoke all at once.

Dal. Sir, with this truth,

You mix such wormwood, that you leave no hope For my disorder'd palate e'er to relish.

A wholesome taste again: alas! I know, sir,
What an unequal distance lies between

Great Huntley's daughter's birth and Dalyell's fortunes;

She's the king's kinswoman, placed near the

crown,

A princess of the blood, and I a subject.

Hunt. Right; but a noble subject; put in that

too.

Dal. I could add more; and in the rightest line, Derive my pedigree from Adam Mure,

A Scottish knight; whose daughter was the mo

ther

To him who first begot the race of Jameses,
That sway the sceptre to this very day.

But kindreds are not ours, when once the date
Of many years have swallow'd up the memory
Of their originals; so pasture-fields,

Neighbouring too near the ocean, are supp'd up
And known no more: for stood I in my first
And native greatness, if my princely mistress
Vouchsafed me not her servant, 'twere as good
I were reduced to clownery, to nothing,
As to a throne of wonder.

Hunt. Now, by Saint Andrew,

A spark of metal! he has a brave fire in him.
I would he had my daughter, so I knew 't not.
But 't must not be so, must not.-[Aside]-Well,
young lord,

This will not do yet; if the girl be headstrong,
And will not hearken to good counsel, steal her,

And run away with her; dance galliards, do, And frisk about the world to learn the languages: "Twill be a thriving trade; you may set up by't.

Dal. With pardon, noble Gordon, this disdain Suits not your daughter's virtue, or my constancy. Hunt. You're angry-would he would beat me, I deserve it.

[Aside. Dalyell, thy hand, we are friends: follow thy courtship,

Take thine own time and speak; if thou prevail'st With passion, more than I can with my counsel, She's thine; nay, she is thine: 'tis a fair match, Free and allow'd. I'll only use my tongue, Without a father's power; use thou thine:

Self do, self have-no more words; win and wear her.

Dal. You bless me; I am now too poor in thanks

To pay the debt I owe you.

Hunt. Nay, thou'rt poor enough.—
I love his spirit infinitely.-Look ye,
She comes: to her now, to her, to her!

Enter KATHERINE and JANE.

Kath. The king commands your presence, sir. Hunt. The gallant

This, this, this lord, this servant, Kate, of yours, Desires to be your master.

Kath. I acknowledge him

A worthy friend of mine.

c 2

Dal. Your humblest creature.

Hunt. So, so; the game's a-foot, I'm in cold

hunting,

The hare and hounds are parties.

Dal. Princely lady,

How most unworthy I am to employ
My services, in honour of your virtues,
How hopeless my desires are to enjoy

[Aside.

Your fair opinion, and much more your love;
Are only matters of despair, unless

Your goodness gives large warrants to my bold

ness,

My feeble-wing'd ambition.

Hunt. This is scurvy.

Kath. My lord, I interrupt you not.

Hunt. Indeed!

[Aside.

Now on my life she'll court him.-[Aside.]—Nay,

nay, on, sir.

Dal. Oft have I tuned the lesson of my sorrows
To sweeten discord, and enrich your pity,
But all in vain: here had my comforts sunk
And never ris'n again, to tell a story

Of the despairing lover, had not now,
Even now, the earl your father--

Hunt. He means me sure.

[Aside.

Dal. After some fit disputes of your condition, Your highness and my lowness, given a licence Which did not more embolden, than encourage My faulting tongue.

Hunt. How, how? how's that? embolden? Encourage? I encourage ye! d'ye hear, sir?