Enter King HENRY supported to the Throne by the Bishop of DURHAM and Sir WILLIAM STANLEY. Earl of OXFORD, Earl of SURREY, and Lord DAWBENEY.-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 last both thoroughly cured, and set in safety; And yet, for all this glorious work of peace, Ourself is scarce secure.

Dur. The rage of malice

[tune,

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 sacrificed 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 lending to this blood-shrunk commonwealth
A new soul, new birth, in your sacred person.
Daw. Edward the Fourth, after a doubtful for-
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,
Forced to a violent grave; so just is Heaven!
Him hath your majesty, by your own arm
Divinely strengthen'd, pull'd from his Boar's sty,
And struck the black usurper to a carcase.
Nor doth the house of York decay in honours,
Though 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.

Oxf. Margaret of Burgundy
Blows fresh coals of division.

Sur. Painted fires,

At nine or ten months' end; she has been with child

Eight, or seven years at least; whose twins being
(A prodigy in nature,) even the youngest [born,
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.

[Daw.] And but idols;

A steely hammer crushes them to pieces.

K. Hen. Lambert, the eldest, lords, is in our Preferr'd by an officious care of duty [service, 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-revived York, Edward's second son, Murder'd long since i' th' Tower; he lives again, And vows to be your king.

Stan. The throne is fill'd, sir.

K. Hen. Dawbeney, let the guilty Keep silence; I accuse none, though 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, ([the] 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, 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 figured 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,

K. Hen. No matter--phew; he's but a running weed,

At pleasure to be pluck'd up by the roots;
But more of this anon.-I have bethought me.
My lords, for reasons which you shall partake,
It is our pleasure to remove our court
From Westminster to the Tower: we will lodge
This very night there; give, lord chamberlain,
A present order for it.

Stan. The Tower !-[Aside.]—I shall, sir.

K. Hen. Come, my true, best, fast friends, these clouds will vanish,

The sun will shine at full; the heavens are clearing. [Flourish.-Exeunt.

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,
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:

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,
What an unequal distance lies between
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 mother
To him who first begot the race of Jameses,
That sway the sceptre to this very day.
But kindreds are not ours, when once the date
Of many years have swallow'd up the memory
Of their originals; so pasture-fields,
Neighbouring too near the ocean, are supp'd up
And known no more: for stood I in my first
And native greatness, if my princely mistress
Vouchsafed me not her servant, 'twere as good
I were reduced to clownery, to nothing,
As to a throne of wonder.

Hunt. Now, by Saint Andrew,

A spark of metal! he has a brave fire in him.
I would he had my daughter, so I knew 't not.
But 't must not be so, must not-[Aside]. —Well,
young lord,

This will not do yet; if the girl be headstrong,
And will not hearken to good counsel, steal her,
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 courtship,

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
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.—

I love his spirit infinitely.-Look ye,
She comes to her now, to her, to her!

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

And never ris'n again, to tell a story

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 stand'st between a father and a suitor,
Both striving for an interest in thy heart:
He courts thee for affection, I for duty;
He as a servant pleads; but by the privilege
Of nature, though I might command, my care
Shall only counsel what it shall not force.
Thou canst but make one choice; the ties
marriage

Are tenures, not at will, but during life.
Consider whose thou art, and who; a princess,
A princess of the royal blood of Scotland,
In the full spring of youth, and fresh in beauty.
The king that sits upon the throne is young,
And yet unmarried, forward in attempts
On any least occasion, to endanger
His person; wherefore, Kate, as I am confident
Thou dar'st not wrong thy birth and education
By yielding to a common servile rage
Of female wantonness, so I am confident
Thou wilt proportion all thy thoughts to side
Thy equals, if not equal thy superiors.
My lord of Dalyell, young in years, is old
In honours, but nor eminent in titles
[N]or in estate, that may support or add to
The expectation of thy fortunes. Settle
Thy will and reason by a strength of judgment,
For, in a word, I give thee freedom; take it.
If equal fates have not ordain'd to pitch
Thy hopes above my height, let not thy passion
Lead thee to shrink mine honour in oblivion:
Thou art thine own; I have done.

Dal. Oh! You are all oracle,

of

To live and die so, that you may not blush
In any course of mine to own me yours.
Hunt. Kate, Kate, thou grow'st upon my heart,
like peace,

Creating every other hour a jubilee.

Kath. To you, my lord of Dalyell, I address
Some few remaining words: the general fanie
That speaks your merit, even in vulgar tongues,
Proclaims it clear; but in the best, a precedent.
Hunt. Good wench, good girl, i' faith!
Kath. For my part, trust me,

I value mine own worth at higher rate,
'Cause you are pleas'd to prize it: if the stream
Of your protested service (as you term it)
Run in a constancy, more than a compliment,
It shall be my delight, that worthy love
Leads you to worthy actions; and these guide you
Richly to wed an honourable name :

So every virtuous praise, in after ages,

Shall be your heir, and I, in your brave mention, Be chronicled the mother of that issue,

That glorious issue.

Hunt. Oh, that I were young again! She'd make me court proud danger, and suck spirit From reputation.

Kath. To the present motion,

Here's all that I dare answer: when a ripeness

Of more experience, and some use of time,
Resolves to treat the freedom of my youth
Upon exchange of troths, I shall desire
No surer credit of a match with virtue

Than such as lives in you; mean time, my hopes

are

Preser[v]'d secure, in having you a friend.

Dal. You are a blessed lady, and instruct Ambition not to soar a farther flight, Than in the perfum'd air of your soft voice.My noble lord of Huntley, you have lent A full extent of bounty to this parley ; And for it shall command your humblest servant. Hunt. Enough: we are still friends, and will continue

A hearty love.-Oh, Kate! thou art mine own.No more ;-my lord of Crawford.

Enter CRAWFORD.

Craw. From the king

I come, my lord of Huntley, who in council
Requires your present aid.

Hunt. Some weighty business?

Craw. A secretary from a duke of York,
The second son to the late English Edward,
Conceal'd, I know not where, these fourteen years,
Craves audience from our master; and 'tis said
The duke himself is following to the court.
Hunt. Duke upon duke! 'tis well, 'tis well;
here's bustling

For majesty ;-my lord, I will along with you.
Craw. My service, noble lady.

Kath. Please you walk, sir?

Dal. "Times have their changes; sorrow makes

men wise;