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SCENE I.-Westminster. The Royal Presence.



Enter King HENRY, supported to the Throne by the Bishop of DURHAM and Sir WILLIAM STAN,

Earl of OXFORD, Earl of SURREY, and Lord DAWBENY in the train.-A Guard.

K. Hen. Still to be haunted, still to be pursued, Still to be frighted with false apparitions Of pageant majesty, and new-coin'd greatness, As if we were a mockery king in state, Only ordain'd to lavish sweat and blood, In scorn and laughter to the ghosts of York, Is all below our merits : Yet, my lords, My friends and counsellors, yet we sit fast In our own royal birth-right; the rent face And bleeding wounds of England's slaughter'd

people, Have been by us, as by the best physician, At once both th'roughly cur'd, and set in safety ;

And yet, for all this glorious work of peace,
Ourself is scarce secure.

The rage of malice
Conjures fresh spirits with the spells of York ;
For ninety years ten English kings and princes,
Threescore great dukes and earls, a thousand lords
And valiant knights, two hundred fifty thousand.
Of English subjects have, in civil wars,
Been sacrific'd to an uncivil thirst
Of discord and ambition : this hot vengeance
Of the just powers above, to utter ruin
And desolation, had reign’d on, but that
Mercy did gently sheath the sword of justice
In sending to this blood-shrunk commonwealth
A new soul, new birth, in your sacred person.

Daw. Edward the Fourth, after a doubtful fortune,
Yielded to nature, leaving to his sons,
Edward and Richard, the inheritance
Of a most bloody purchase ; these young princes
Richard the tyrant, their unnatural uncle,
Forc'd to a violent grave; so just is Heaven.
Ilim hath your majesty, by your own arm,
Divinely strengthen’d, puli'd from his boar's sty
And struck the black usurper to a carcase :
Nor doth the house of York decay in honours,
Tho' Lancaster doth repossess his right;
For Edward's daughter is king Henry's queen :
A blessed union, and a lasting blessing
For this poor panting island, if some shreds,
Some useless remnant of the house of York
Grudge not at this content.

Orf. Margaret of Burgundy
Blows fresh coals of division.

Painted fires
Without or heat to scorch, or light to cherish '.

* Painted fires, without or heat to scorch, or light to cherish.] Daw. York's headless trunk, her father; Ed.

ward's fate, 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 unbottom'd mine Of devilish policies, doth vent the ore Of troubles and seditions. Oxf.

In her age, Great sir, observe the wonder,--she grows fruitful, Who, in her strength of youth, was always barren: Nor are her birth 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'th' world, tall striplings, strong And able to give battle unto kings : Idols of Yorkish malice. Dur.

And but idols ; A steely hammer crushes them to pieces'. K. Hen. Lambert, the eldest, lords, is in our ser

vice, Preferr'd by an officious care of duty From the scullery to a falconer ; strange example ! Which shews the difference between noble natures And the base-born : but for the upstart duke, The new reviv'd York, Edward's second son,

Fires merely painted, having neither heat to scorch enemies nor light to cherish friends. The old copy is unintelligible in this passage, by reading corruptedly,--. Without to heat or scorch.

* This specch is given to Oxford as well as the former in thc original. It may be applied to any of the other lords present. have given it to the bishop of Durham.

Murder'd long since i' th’ Tower; he lives again,
And vows to be your king.

The throne is fill’d, 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 counsel of intrusion.
But now, my lords, put case, some of our nobles,
Our great ones, should give countenance and cou-

To trim duke Perkin; will you all confess
Our bounties have unthriftily been scatter'd
Amongst unthankful men.

Unthankful beasts,
Dogs, villains, traitors!
K. Hen.

Dawbeny, let the guilty
Keep silence; I accuse none, tho' 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 past 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, 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,

: Martin Swart.] A celebrated German soldier of fortune in the time of Henry VII. frequently alluded to in old poetry. A play was produced in the seventeenth century, celebrating his actions.

What folly, nay, what madness 'twere to lift
A finger up in all defence but your's,
Which can be but impostorous in a title.
K. Hen. Stanley, we know thou lov'st us, and

thy heart
Is figur'd on thy tongue; nor think we less
Of any's' here. How closely we have hunted
This cub (since he unlodg’d) 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 call’d 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 pack'd 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 retir'd to Flanders, to the dam
That nurs'd this eager whelp, Margaret of Bur-

gundy. But we will hunt him there too, we will hunt him, Hunt him to death, even in the beldam's closet, Tho' the archduke were his buckler. Sur.

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

Jolly gentleman,
More fit to be a swabbero to the Flemish,
After a drunken surfeit.

Of any's here.] Of the heart or affection of any one present. The phraseology is very incorrect.

Swabber.] A sea-term for the boy who sweeps the decks,

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