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, Hunt. "Much mirth," lord Dalyell! Not so, I vow. Observe me, sprightly gallant. I scorn not thy affection to my daughter, Not I, by good Saint Andrew; but this bugbear, The piece of royalty that is stitch'd up 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, 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, many years have swallow'd up the memory Of their originals; so pasture-fields, Neighbouring too near the ocean, are supp'd up Hunt. Now, by Saint Andrew, A spark of metal! he has a brave fire in him. This will not do yet; if the girl be headstrong, And run away with her; dance galliards, do, Take thine own time and speak; if thou prevail'st 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.— 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. 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, [Aside. How most unworthy I am to employ 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 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? A subtle trick, a quaint one.-Will you hear, man? What did I say to you? come, come, to th' point. Kath. It shall not need, my lord. Hunt. Then hear me, Kate! Keep you on that hand of her; I on this.- Thou canst but make one choice; the ties of marriage Are tenures, not at will, but during life. Consider whose thou art, and who; a princess, His person; wherefore, Kate, as I am confident |