Sur. 'Tis a king

Composed of gentleness.

Dur. Rare and unheard of:

But every man is nearest to himself,

And that the king observes; 'tis fit he should.

Enter STANLEY, Executioner, Confessor, URSWICK and DAWBENey.

Stan. May I not speak with Clifford, ere I shake This piece of frailty off?

Daw. You shall; he's sent for.

Stan. I must not see the king?

Dur. From him, sir William,

These lords, and I am sent; he bade us say
That he commends his mercy to your thoughts;
Wishing the laws of England could remit
The forfeit of your life, as willingly

As he would, in the sweetness of his nature,
Forget your trespass: but howe'er your body
Fall into dust, he vows, the king himself
Doth vow, to keep a requiem for your soul,
As for a friend, close treasured in his bosom.

Orf. Without remembrance of your errors past, I come to take my leave, and wish you heaven. Sur. And I; good angels guard you!

Stan. Oh, the king,

Next to my soul, shall be the nearest subject
Of my last prayers. My grave lord of Durham,
My lords of Oxford, Surrey, Dawbeney, all,
Accept from a poor dying man a farewell.
I was, as you are, once, great, and stood hopeful

Of many flourishing years; but fate and time
Have wheel'd about, to turn me into nothing.

Enter CLIFFord.

Daw. Sir Robert Clifford comes, the man, sir William,

You so desire to speak with.

Dur. Mark their meeting.

Clif. Sir William Stanley, I am glad your conscience

Before your end, hath emptied every burden Which charg'd it, as that you can clearly witness, How far I have proceeded in a duty

That both concern'd my truth, and the state's safety. Stan. Mercy, how dear is life to such as hug it! Come hither-by this token think on me!

[Makes a cross on CLIFFORD's face with
his finger.

Clif. This token? What! am I abus'd?
Stan. You are not.

I wet upon your cheeks a holy sign,

The cross, the Christian's badge, the traitor's infamy;

Wear, Clifford, to thy grave this painted emblem:
Water shall never wash it off, all eyes

That gaze upon thy face, shall read there written,
A state-informer's character; more ugly,
Stamp'd on a noble name, than on a base.
The heavens forgive thee!—pray, my lords, no
change

Of words; this man and I have used too many.

Clif. Shall I be disgraced

Without reply?

Dur. Give losers leave to talk;

His loss is irrecoverable.

Stan. Once more,

To all a long farewell! The best of greatness
Preserve the king! my next suit is, my lords,
To be remember'd to my noble brother,
Derby, my much griev'd brother: Oh, persuade

him,

That I shall stand no blemish to his house,

In chronicles writ in another age.

My heart doth bleed for him, and for his sighs:
Tell him, he must not think the style of Derby,
Nor being husband to king Henry's mother,
The league with peers, the smiles of fortune, can
Secure his peace above the state of man.
I take my leave to travel to my dust;
Subjects deserve their deaths whose kings are just.
Come, confessor! On with thy axe, friend, on.
[He is led off to execution.

Clif. Was I call'd hither by a traitor's breath To be upbraided! Lords, the king shall know it.

Re-enter King HENRY with a white staff.

K. Hen. The king doth know it, sir; the king hath heard

What he or you could say. We have given credit To every point of Clifford's information,

6 Derby, my much griev'd brother.] See p. 15. Lord Stanley had been raised to the dignity of an Earl in October, 1485, a few weeks after the battle of Bosworth.

The only evidence 'gainst Stanley's head:
He dies for it; are you pleased? ·
Clif. I pleased, my lord?

K. Hen. No echos: for your service, we dismiss Your more attendance on the court; take ease, And live at home; but, as you love your life, Stir not from London without leave from us. We'll think on your reward; away! Clif. I go, sir.

[Exit.

K. Hen. Die all our griefs with Stanley! Take this staff

Of office, Dawbeney; henceforth be our chamberlain.

Daw. I am your humblest servant.

K. Hen. We are follow'd

By enemies at home, that will not cease
To seek their own confusion; 'tis most true,
The Cornish under Audley are march'd on
As far as Winchester;-but let them come,
Our forces are in readiness, we'll catch them
In their own toils.

Daw. Your army, being muster'd,

Consists in all, of horse and foot, at least
In number, six-and-twenty thousand; men
Daring and able, resolute to fight,

And loyal in their truths.

K. Hen. We know it, Dawbeney:

7 Dawbeney.] "This person (Charles Lord D'Aubigny) wa person," Bacon says, "of great sufficiency and valour, the more because he was gentle and modest." Yet he always appears on the side of violent counsels; and more forward with his flattery than any of the courtiers in the king's confidence.

For them we order thus; Oxford in chief,
Assisted by bold Essex, and the earl
Of Suffolk, shall lead on the first batallia;
Be that your charge.

Orf. I humbly thank your majesty.

K. Hen. The next division we assign to Dawbeney:

These must be men of action, for on those

The fortune of our fortunes must rely.

The last and main, ourself commands in person;
As ready to restore the fight at all times,
As to consummate an assured victory.
Daw. The king is still oraculous.

K. Hen. But, Surrey,

We have employment of more toil for thee:
For our intelligence comes swiftly to us,
That James of Scotland late hath entertain'd
Perkin the counterfeit, with more than common
Grace and respect; nay, courts him with rare fa-

vours.

The Scot is young and forward, we must look for
A sudden storm to England from the north;
Which to withstand, Durham shall post to Norham,
To fortify the castle, and secure

The frontiers against an invasion there.
Surrey shall follow soon, with such an army
As may relieve the bishop, and encounter,
On all occasions, the death-daring Scots.
You know your charges all; 'tis now a time
To execute, not talk; Heaven is our guard still.
War must breed peace, such is the fate of kings.

[Exeunt.