As sent from you, in point of noble gratitude Unto king James, with these his heralds; you, Shall shortly hear from me, my lord, for order Of breathing or proceeding; and king Henry, Doubt not, will thank the service. Sur. To your wisdom, Lord bishop, I refer it. Dur. Be it so then. Sur. Heralds, accept this chain, and these few crowns. March. Our duty, noble general. Dur. In part Of retribution for such princely love, Sur. You oblige My faithfullest affections to you, lord bishop. And fellow-soldiers; we, I doubt, shall meet Then 'twere as good to feed and sleep at home: We may be free from danger, not secure. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Scottish Camp. Enter WARBECK and FRION. War. Frion, oh Frion, all my hopes of glory Are at a stand! the Scottish king grows dull, Frosty, and wayward, since this Spanish agent Hath mix'd discourses with him; they are private, I am not call'd to council now ;-confusion On all his crafty shrugs! I feel the fabric Of my designs are tottering. Fri. Henry's policies Stir with too many engines. War. Let his mines, Shaped in the bowels of the earth, blow up Works rais'd for my defence, yet can they never Toss into air the freedom of my birth, Or disavow my blood Plantagenet's! I am my father's son still. But, oh Frion, Damn Henry's plots! I will be England's king, My fall in the attempt deserv'd our ancestors! Fri. You grow too wild in passion; if you will Appear a prince indeed, confine your will To moderation. War. What a saucy rudeness Prompts this distrust? If? If I will appear? That I should turn impostor to myself, Be mine own counterfeit, belie the truth Fri. Nay, if you have no ears to hear, I have No breath to spend in vain. War. Sir, sir, take heed! Gold, and the promise of promotion, rarely Fri. Why to me this? War. Nothing. Speak what you will; we are not sunk so low Have you none left now? I'll not interrupt you. Fri. Sir, I told you Of letters come from Ireland; how the Cornish War. Let me embrace thee, hug thee! thou'st reviv'd My comforts; if my cousin king will fail, Enter JOHN A-WATER, HERON, ASTLEY, SKETON. Welcome, my tried friends, You keep your brains awake in our defence. In which be wondrous secret; I will listen [Exit. Ast. Ah, sweet young prince! Secretary, my fellow-counsellors and I have consulted, and jump all in one opinion directly, and if these Scotch garboils do not fadge to our minds, we will pellmell run amongst the Cornish choughs presently, and in a trice. Sket. "Tis but going to sea and leaping ashore, cut ten or twelve thousand unnecessary throats, fire seven or eight towns, take half a dozen cities, get into the market-place, crown him Richard the Fourth, and the business is finished. J. a-Wat. I grant you, quoth I, so far forth, as men may do, no more than men may do; for it is good to consider, when consideration may be to the purpose, otherwise still you shall pardon me-" little said is soon amended." Fri. Then you conclude the Cornish action surest? Her. We do so; and doubt not but to thrive abundantly. Ho, my masters, had we known of the commotion when we set sail out of Ireland, the land had been ours ere this time. Sket. Pish, pish! 'tis but forbearing being an earl or a duke a month or two longer. I say, and say it again, if the work go not on apace, let me never see new fashion more. I warrant you, I warrant you; we will have it so, and so it shall be. Ast. This is but a cold phlegmatic country; not stirring enough for men of spirit. Give me the heart of England for my money! Sket. A man may batten there in a week only, with hot loaves and butter, and a lusty cup 4. of muscadine and sugar at breakfast, though he make never a meal all the month after. J. a-Wat. Surely, when I bore office, I found by experience, that to be much troublesome, was to be much wise and busy: I have observed, how filching and bragging has been the best service in these last wars; and therefore conclude peremptorily on the design in England. If things and things may fall out, as who can tell what or how but the end will shew it. Fri. Resolved like men of judgment! Here to linger More time, is but to lose it; cheer the prince, [Exeunt. 4 With hot loaves and butter] Our ancestors must have found something peculiarly amusing in a taylor's breakfast, to justify the comic writers in these eternal references to it. It is more than once noticed by Jonson; and see Massinger, vol. iii. p. 457. |