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Sir Taylor, and a hundred English rebels)
They're all retired to Flanders, to the dam

That nurs'd this eager whelp, Margaret of Burgundy.

But we will hunt him there too! we will hunt him, Hunt him to death, even in the beldam's closet, Though the archduke were his buckler!

Sur. She has styled him, "The fair white rose of England."

Daw. Jolly gentleman!

More fit to be a swabber to the Flemish,

After a drunken surfeit.


Urs. Gracious sovereign,

Please you peruse this paper.

Dur. The king's countenance

Gathers a sprightly blood.

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Daw. Good news; believe it.

[The king reads.

K. Hen. Urswick, thine ear.—Thou hast lodged him?

Urswick, thine ear.] Christopher Urswick was at this time almoner to the king. He had been chaplain to the Countess of Richmond, who afterwards married Thomas Lord Stanley, the elder brother of Sir W. Stanley, the person here implicated; and was trusted by this nobleman with the correspondence between him and Richmond (Henry VII.), and therefore, perhaps, much in his confidence and esteem. His eager importunity to betray the brother of his former patron argues but little for his character; but in those days much consistency is rarely to be found. Weaver, who gives his epitaph, (by which it appears that he possessed and resigned several high stations in the church,) concludes thus"Here let him rest, as an example for all unjust prelates to admire, and for few or none to imitate."-The news which Urswick now communicated was evidently that of his having privately

Urs. Strongly safe, sir.

K. Hen. Enough,-is Barley come too?
Urs. No, my lord.

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 clear



brought the double traitor, Clifford, the confidential agent of Warbeck's party, to England.

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Sir Robert Clifford and Master William Barley, Lord Bacon says, were the only two who adventured their fortunes openlysent, 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."


Edinburgh.-An Apartment in Lord HUNTLEY'S House.


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:

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

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A wholesome taste again: alas! I know, sir,
What an unequal distance lies between

Great Huntley's daughter's birth and Dalyell's for


She's the king's kinswoman, placed near the


A princess of the blood, and I a subject.

Hunt. Right; but a noble subject; put in that


Dal. I could add more; and in the rightest line, Derive my pedigree from Adam Mure,

A Scottish knight; whose daughter was the mo


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


Dal. You bless me; I am now too poor


To the debt I owe you. pay

Hunt. Nay, thou'rt poor enough.

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



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.

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