Urs. Strongly safe, sir. K. Hen. Enough,-is Barley come too? K. Hen. No matter-phew! he's but a running weed, At pleasure to be pluck'd up by the roots; 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 clear ing. [Flourish.-Exeunt. brought the double traitor, Clifford, the confidential agent of Warbeck's party, to England. Sir Robert Clifford and Master William Barley, Lord Bacon says, were the only two who adventured their fortunes openly-sent, indeed, from the party of the conspirators here to understand the truth of what passed in Flanders, and not without some help of money from hence, to be provisionally delivered, if they were satisfied that there was truth in these pretences." Clifford, it appears, was soon won to give up his employers. Master Barley, for whom Henry next inquires, did not betray his cause quite so speedily, nor trust quite so readily to the king's clemency as Clifford; in the end, however, he also returned to England, and was pardoned. 3 Lord Bacon well accounts for this sudden resolution of the king. "The place of the Tower was chosen to that end, that if Clifford should accuse any of the great ones, they might, without suspicion, or noise, or sending abroad of warrants, be presently attached: the court and prison being within the cincture of one wall." 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, 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: 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, But kindreds are not ours, when once the date 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, 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.— 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. c 2 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, How most unworthy I am to employ [Aside. Your fair opinion, and much more your love; 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 Of the despairing lover, had not now, 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? |