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Sir Taylor, and a hundred English rebels)
They're all retired to Flanders, to the dam
That nurs'd this eager whelp, Margaret of Bur-

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!

Sur. She has styled him,
“ The fair white rose of England.”

Daw. Jolly gentleman!
More fit to be a swabber to the Flemish,
After a drunken surfeit.

Enter URSWICK. Urs. Gracious sovereign, Please you peruse this paper. [The king reads.

Dur. The king's countenance
Gathers a sprightly blood.

Daw. Good news; believe it.
K. Hen. Urswick, thine ear.” — Thou hast lodged


? Urswick, thinc ear.] Christopher Urswick was at this time almoner to the king. He had been chaplain to the Countess of Richmond, who afterwards married Thomas Lord Stanley, the elder brother of Sir W. Stanley, the person here implicated; and was trusted by this nobleman with the correspondence between him and Richmond (Henry VII.), and therefore, perhaps, much in his confidence and esteem. His eager importunity to betray the brother of his former patron argnies but little for his character; but in those days much consistency is rarely to be found. Weaver, who gives his epitaph, (by which it appears that he possessed and resigned several high stations in the church,) concludes thusHere let bim rest, as an example for all unjust prelates to admire, and for few or none to imitate.”—The news which Urswick now communicated was evidently that of his having privately

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Edinburgh.An Apartment in Lord HuntLEY'S



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


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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

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

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

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

Kath. I acknowledge him
A worthy friend of mine.

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your master.

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