Sur.

Painted fires,

Without or heat to scorch or light to cherish.
Daw. York's headless trunk, her father;

fate,

Edward's

Her brother, king; the smothering of her nephews
By tyrant Gloster, brother to her nature;
Nor Gloster's own confusion,-all decrees

Sacred in heaven,—can move this woman-monster,
But that she still, from the unbottomed mine

Of devilish policies, doth vent the ore

Of troubles and sedition.

Oxf.

In her age

Great sir, observe the wonder1-she grows fruitful,
Who in her strength of youth was always barren :
Nor are her births as other mothers' are,

At nine or ten months' end; she has been with child
Eight, or seven years at least; whose twins being born,—
A prodigy in nature,--even the youngest

Is fifteen years of age at his first entrance,

As soon as known i' the world; tall striplings, strong
And able to give battle unto kings,

Idols of Yorkish malice.

Daw.

And but idols;

A steely hammer crushes 'em to pieces.

K. Hen. Lambert, the eldest, lords, is in our service, Preferred by an officious care of duty

From the scullery to a falconer; 2 strange example!
Which shows the difference between noble natures
And the base-born: but for the upstart duke,

1 "It is the strangest thing in the world," said Henry's ambassador to the archduke, "that the Lady Margaret should now, when she is old, at the time when other women give-over child-bearing, bring forth two such monsters, being not the births of nine or ten months, but of many years. And whereas other natural mothers ring forth children weak and not able to help themselves, she bringeth forth tall striplings, able soon after their coming into the world to bid battle to mighty kings."

2 Lambert Simnel, taken prisoner at the battle of Newark, had been made a turnspit in the king's kitchen, and was afterwards promoted to the office of under-falconer.

Ford.

CC

The new-revived York, Edward's second son,
Murdered long since i' the Tower,-—he lives again,
And vows to be your king.

Stan.

The throne is filled, sir.

K. Hen. True, Stanley; and the lawful heir sits on it:

A guard of angels and the holy prayers

Of loyal subjects are a sure defence

Against all force and council of intrusion.—

But now, my lords, put case, some of our nobles,

Our great ones, should give countenance and courage
To trim Duke Perkin; you will all confess

Our bounties have unthriftily been scattered
Amongst unthankful men.

Daw.

Dogs, villains, traitors!

K. Hen.

Unthankful beasts,

Dawbeney, let the guilty

Keep silence; I accuse none, though I know
Foreign attempts against a state and kingdom.
Are seldom without some great friends at home.
Stan. Sir, if no other abler reasons else
Of duty or allegiance could divert

A headstrong resolution, yet the dangers
So lately passed by men of blood and fortunes
In Lambert Simnel's party must command
More than a fear, a terror to conspiracy.
The high-born Lincoln, son to De la Pole,
The Earl of Kildare,-the Lord Geraldine,-
Francis Lord Lovell, and the German baron
Bold Martin Swart, with Broughton and the rest,-
Most spectacles of ruin, some of mercy,-

Are precedents sufficient to forewarn

The present times, or any that live in them,
What folly, nay, what madness, 'twere to lift
A finger up in all defence but yours,

Which can be but imposturous in a title.

K. Hen. Stanley, we know thou lov'st us, and thy heart Is figured on thy tongue; nor think we less

Of any's here. How closely we have hunted
This cub, since he unlodged, from hole to hole,
Your knowledge is our chronicle: first Ireland,
The common stage of novelty, presented
This gewgaw to oppose us; there the Geraldines
And Butlers once again stood in support
Of this colossic statue: Charles of France
Thence called him into his protection,
Dissembled him the lawful heir of England;
Yet this was all but French dissimulation,
Aiming at peace with us; which being granted.
On honourable terms on our part, suddenly
This smoke of straw was packed from France again,
T' infect some grosser air: and now we learn—
Maugre the malice of the bastard Nevill,
Sir Taylor, and a hundred English rebels--
They're all retired to Flanders, to the dam

That nursed this eager whelp, Margaret of Burgundy.
But we will hunt him there too; we will hunt him,
Hunt him to death, even in the beldam's closet,

Though the archduke were his buckler!

K. Hen. Urswick, thine ear. Thou'st lodged him?

Urs.

Strongly safe, sir.

1 Christopher Urswick was at this time almoner to the king. He possessed several high offices in the Church.

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 plucked-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: we will lodge This very night there; give, Lord Chamberlain, A present order for 't.

Stan. [Aside]

The Tower!—I shall, sir.

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

will vanish,

The sun will shine at full; the heavens are clearing.

[Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Edinburgh. An Apartment in the Earl of HUNTLEY'S House.

Enter Earl of HUNTLEY and Lord DALYELL.

Hunt. You trifle time, sir.

Dal.

O, 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.

Not so,

I vow.

Much mirth! Lord Dalyell;1

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:

1 There were two persons of the name of Dalzell, William and Robert, grandsons of Sir John Dalzell.

1

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 minc ear
The piece of royalty that is stitched-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 disordered 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 Daiyell'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 mother
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 swallowed up the memory
Of their originals; so pasture-fields

Neighbouring too near the ocean are swooped-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. [Aside]

Now, by Saint Andrew,

A spark of mettle! 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.—Well, young lord,

1 The Earl of Huntley married Annabella, daughter of James I.