« PreviousContinue »
many flourishing years; but fate and time Have wheel'd about, to turn me into nothing.
Dur. Mark their meeting.
Stan. Mercy, how dear is life to such as hug it! Come hither-by this token think on me!
[Makes a cross on CLIFFORD's face with
his finger. Clif. This token? What! am I abus'd ?
Stan. You are not. I wet upon your cheeks a holy sign, The cross, the Christian's badge, the traitor's in
famy; Wear, Clifford, to thy grave this painted emblem: Water shall never wash it off, all eyes That gaze upon thy face, shall read there written, A state-informer's character; more ugly, Stamp'd on a noble name, than on a base. The heavens forgive thee !--pray, my lords, no
change Of words; this man and I have used too many.
Clif. Shall I be disgraced Without reply?
Dur. Give losers leave to talk ; His loss is irrecoverable,
Stan. Once more, To all a long farewell! The best of greatness Preserve the king! my next suit is, my lords, To be remember'd to my noble brother, Derby, my much griev'd brother: Oh, persuade
him, That I shall stand no blemish to his house, In chronicles writ in another age. My heart doth bleed for him, and for his sighs: Tell him, he must not think the style of Derby, Nor being husband to king Henry's mother, The league with peers, the smiles of fortune, can
, Secure his peace above the state of man. I take my leave to travel to my dust; Subjects deserve their deaths whose kings are just. Come, confessor! On with thy axe, friend, on.
[He is led off to execution. Clif. Was I call'd hither by a traitor's breath To be upbraided! Lords, the king shall know it.
Re-enter King Henry with a white staff.
hath heard What he or you could say. We have given credit To every point of Clifford's information,
• Derby, my much griev'd brother.] See p. 15. Lord Stanley had been raised to the dignity of an Earl in October, 1485, a few weeks after the battle of Bosworth.
The only evidence 'gainst Stanley's head :
Clif. I pleased, my lord ?
K. Hen. No echos: for your service, we dismiss Your more attendance on the court; take ease, And live at home; but, as you love your life, Stir not from London without leave from us. We'll think on your reward; away! Clif. I go, sir.
[Exit. K. Hen. Die all our griefs with Stanley! Take
this staff Of office, Dawbeney ;' henceforth be our cham
K. Hen. We are follow'd
Daw. Your army, being muster'd,
K. Hen. We know it, Dawbeney:
Daubeney.] This person (Charles Lord D’Aubigny) was a person,” Bacon says, “of great sufficiency and valour, the more because he was gentle and modest.” Yet he always appears on the side of violent counsels; and more forward with his flattery than 'any of the courtiers in the king's confidence,
For them we order thus; Oxford in chief,
Oxf. I humbly thank your majesty.
Daw. The king is still oraculous.
K. Hen. But, Surrey, We have employment of more toil for thee: For our intelligence comes swiftly to us, That James of Scotland late hath entertain'd Perkin the counterfeit, with more than common Grace and respect; nay, courts him with rare fa
vours. The Scot is young and forward, we must look for A sudden storm to England from the north; Which to withstand, Durham shall post to Norham, To fortify the castle, and secure The frontiers against an invasion there. Surrey shall follow soon, with such an army As may relieve the bishop, and encounter, On all occasions, the death-daring Scots. You know your charges all; 'tis now a time To execute, not talk; Heaven is our guard still. War must breed peace, such is the fate of kings.
Enter CRAWFORD and DALYELL.
not answer Such argument of fine imposture, couch'd · In witchcraft of persuasion, that it fashions Impossibilities, as if appearance Could cozen truth itself; this dukeling mushroom Hath doubtless charm'd the king.
Dal. He courts the ladies,
Craw. It madded
Dal. 'Twill prove too fatal;
Craw. How the counsel privy Of this young
Phaeton do screw their faces Into a gravity, their trades, good people, Were never guilty of! the meanest of them Dreams of at least an office in the state. Dal. Sure not the hangman's, 'tis bespoke al
ready For service to their rogueships,—silence !