SCENE II.

Edinburgh.-The Palace.

Enter HUNTLEY and DALYELL.

Hunt. Now, sir, a modest word with you, sad gentleman;

Is not this fine, I trow, to see the gambols,
To hear the jigs, observe the frisks, be enchanted
With the rare discord of bells, pipes, and tabours,
Hodge-podge of Scotch and Irish twingle-twan-
gles,

Like to so many choristers of Bedlam

Trowling a catch! The feasts, the manly stomachs,

The healths in usquebaugh, and bonny-clabber,'
The ale in dishes never fetch'd from China,
The hundred thousand knacks not to be spoken of,
And all this for king Oberon, and queen Mab,
Should put a soul into you. Look ye, good man,
How youthful I am grown! but by your leave,

This new queen-bride must henceforth be no more
My daughter; no, by'r lady, 'tis unfit!

And yet you see how I do bear this change;
Methinks courageously: then shake off care
In such a time of jollity.

? The healths in bonny-clabber.] A common name, in our old writers, for curds and whey, or sour butter-milk. It appears to have been a favourite drink both with the Scotch and Irish. See Jonson, vol. v. p. 330.

Dal. Alas, sir,

How can you cast a mist upon your griefs?
Which howsoe'er you shadow, but present
To [any] judging eye, the perfect substance
Of which mine are but counterfeits.

Hunt. Foh, Dalyell!

Thou interrupt'st the part I bear in music
To this rare bridal feast; let us be merry,
Whilst flattering calms secure us against storms:
Tempests, when they begin to roar, put out
The light of peace, and cloud the sun's bright eye
In darkness of despair; yet we are safe.

Dal. I wish you could as easily forget
The justice of your sorrows, as my hopes
Can yield to destiny.

Hunt. Pish! then I see

Thou dost not know the flexible condition

Of my [tough] nature! I can laugh, laugh heartily, When the gout cramps my joints; let but the

stone

Stop in my bladder, I am straight a-singing;
The quartan fever shrinking every limb,

Sets me a-capering straight; do [but] betray me,
And bind me a friend ever: what! I trust
The losing of a daughter, though I doated
On every hair that grew to trim her head,
Admits not any pain like one of these.-
Come, thou'rt deceiv'd in me; give me a blow,
A sound blow on the face, I'll thank thee for't;
I love my wrongs: still thou'rt deceiv'd in me.

Dal. Deceiv'd? oh, noble Huntley, my few

years

Have learnt experience of too ripe an age,
To forfeit fit credulity; forgive
My rudeness, I am bold.

Hunt. Forgive me first

A madness of ambition; by example
Teach me humility, for patience scorns
Lectures, which schoolmen use to read to boys
Incapable of injuries: though old,

I could grow tough in fury, and disclaim
Allegiance to my king, could fall at odds
With all my fellow-peers, that durst not stand
Defendants 'gainst the rape done on mine honour:
But kings are earthly gods, there is no meddling
With their anointed bodies; for their actions,
They only are accountable to heaven.
Yet in the puzzle of my troubled brain,
One antidote's reserv'd against the poison
Of my distractions; 'tis in thee to apply it.
Dal. Name it; oh, name it quickly, sir!
Hunt. A pardon

For my most foolish slighting thy deserts;
I have cull'd out this time to beg it: prithee,
Be gentle; had I been so, thou hadst own'd
A happy bride, but now a cast-away,

And never child of mine more.

Dal. Say not so, sir;

It is not fault in her.

Hunt. The world would prate

How she was handsome; young I know she was,

Tender, and sweet in her obedience,

But, lost now; what a bankrupt am I made
Of a full stock of blessings!-must I hope
A mercy from thy heart?

Dat. A love, a service,
A friendship to posterity.
Hunt. Good angels

Reward thy charity! I have no more

But prayers left me now.

Dal. I'll lend you mirth, sir,

If you will be in consort.

Hunt. "Thank you truly:

I must, yes, yes, I must;-here's yet some ease,

A partner in affliction: look not angry.

Dal. Good, noble sir!

[Music.

Hunt. Oh, hark! we may be quiet, The king, and all the others come; a meeting Of gaudy sights: this day's the last of revels; To-morrow sounds of war; then new exchange; Fiddles must turn to swords. - Unhappy marriage!

A Flourish.-Enter King JAMES, WARBECK leading KATHERINE, CRAWFORD and his Countess; JANE DOUGLAS, and other Ladies. HUNTLEY and DALYELL fall among them.

K. Ja. Cousin of York, you and your princely

bride

Have liberally enjoy'd such soft delights,
As a new-married couple could forethink;

Nor has our bounty shorten'd expectation:
But after all those pleasures of repose,

Or amorous safety, we must rouse the ease
Of dalliance, with achievements of more glory
Than sloth and sleep can furnish: yet, for farewell,
Gladly we entertain a truce with time,

To grace the joint endeavours of our servants.

War. My royal cousin, in your princely favour,
The extent of bounty hath been so unlimited,
As only an acknowledgment in words

Would breed suspicion in our state and quality.
When we shall, in the fulness of our fate,
(Whose minister, Necessity, will perfit1)
Sit on our own throne; then our arms, laid open
To gratitude, in sacred memory

Of these large benefits, shall twine them close,
Even to our thoughts and heart, without distinc-

tion.

Then James and Richard, being in effect
One person, shall unite and rule one people,
Divisible in titles only.

K. Ja. Seat you.

Are the presenters ready?

Craw. All are entering.

Hunt. Dainty sport toward, Dalyell! sit, come sit,

Sit and be quiet; here are kingly bug-words!"

'The sentence seems incomplete, for want of a relative; the meaning, however, is clear enough: in plain words, Necessity, the agent of Destiny, will bring her design to perfection; i. e. give me the kingdom.

2 Bug-words.] Generally speaking, terrific, alarming words;