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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;
The sun itself must set as well as rise;"
Then, why not I ? Fair madam, I wait on you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

London.An Apartment in the Tower.
Enter the Bishop OF Durham, Sir Robert Clif-

FORD, and Urswick.Lights.
Dur. You find, Sir Robert Clifford, how se-

curely
King Henry, our great master, doth commit

person to your loyalty; you taste
His bounty and his mercy even in this;
That at a time of night so late, a place
So private as his closet, he is pleas’d
To admit you to his favour: do not falter
In your discovery ; but as you covet
A liberal grace, and pardon for your follies,

His

So labour to deserve it, by laying open
All plots, all persons, that contrive against it.
Urs. Remember not the witchcraft, or the

magic,
The charms and incantations, which the sorceress
Of Burgundy hath cast upon your reason:
Sir Robert, be your own friend now, discharge
Your conscience freely; all of such as love you,
Stand sureties for your honesty and truth.
Take heed you do not dally with the king,
He is wise as he is gentle.

Clif. I am miserable, If Henry be not merciful.

Urs. The king comes.

Enter King Henry. K. Hen. Clifford ! Clif. (Kneels.) Let my weak knees rot on the

earth, If I appear as lep'rous in my treacheries, Before your royal eyes, as to my own I seem a monster, by my breach of truth. K. Hen. Clifford, stand up; for instance of thy

safety, I offer thee my hand.

Clif. A sovereign balm For my bruis'd soul, I kiss it with a greediness.

[Kisses the King's hand, and rises. Sir, you are a just master, but I

K. Hen. Tell me,
Is every circumstance thou hast set down

With thine own hand, within this paper, true?
Is it a sure intelligence of all
The progress of our enemies' intents,
Without corruption ?

Clif. True, as I wish heaven;
Or my infected honour white again.
K. Hen. We know all, Clifford, fully, since this

meteor, This airy apparition first discradled From Tournay into Portugal; and thence Advanced his fiery blaze for adoration To th’ superstitious Irish; since the beard Of this wild comet, conjured into France, Sparkled in antick flames in Charles his court; But shrunk again from thence, and, hid in dark

ness, Stole into Flanders

flourishing the rags? Of painted power on the shore of Kent, Whence he was beaten back with shame and

scorn,

Contempt, and slaughter of some naked outlaws: But tell me, what new course now shapes duke

7 Stole into Flanders, flourishing the rugs, &c.] Something is apparently lost here, perhaps the end of this line and the beginning of the next, as I have marked them in the text. The import is clear enough,

there embarked his followers, And made for England-Aourishing the rags, &c. In this expedition Perkin did not land, and those of his followers whom he sent on shore at Sandwich, were defeated by the Kentish men. The prisoners, to the amount of 150 (mostly foreigners), were executed—“Hanged,” as Lord Bacon says,

upon the seacoast of Kent, Sussex, and Norfolk, for sea-marks, or light-houses, to warn Perkin's people to avoid the coast.”

Perkin?
Clif. For Ireland, mighty Henry; so instructed
By Stephen Frion, sometimes secretary
In the French tongue unto your sacred excellence,
But Perkin's tutor now.

K. Hen. A subtle villain
That Frion, Frion,-you, my lord of Durham,
Knew well the man.

Dur. French, both in heart and actions.
K. Hen. Some Irish heads work in this mine of

treason; Speak them.

Clif. Not any of the best; your fortune
Hath dull’d their spleens. Never had counterfeit
Such a confused rabble of lost bankrupts
For counsellors : first Heron, a broken mercer,
Then John a-Water, sometimes mayor of Cork,
Sketon a taylor, and a scrivener
Call’d Astley: and whate'er these list to treat of,
Perkin must harken to; but Frion, cunning
Above these dull capacities, still prompts him
To fly to Scotland, to young James the Fourth;
And sue for aid to him: this is the latest
Of all their resolutions.

K. Hen. Still more Frion !
Pestilent adder, he will hiss out poison,

Stephen Frion.] Frion had been seduced from Henry's service by the Duchess of Burgundy; and was a very active agent in the great drama which she was now preparing to bring forward. “He followed Perkin's fortunes for a long while,” Bacon says, “and was indeed his principal counsellor and instrument in all his proceedings."

8

As dangerous as infectious-we must match 'em.
Clifford, thou hast spoke home, we give thee life:
But, Clifford, there are people of our own
Remain behind untold; who are they, Clifford ?
Name those, and we are friends, and will to rest;
'Tis thy last task.

Clif. Oh, sir, here I must break
A most unlawful oath to keep a just one.

K. Hen. Well, well, be brief, be brief.

Clif. The first in rank Shall be John Ratcliffe, Lord Fitzwater, then Sir Simon Mountford, and Sir Thomas Thwaites, With William Dawbeney, Chessoner, Astwood, Worsley, the dean of Paul's, two other friars, And Robert Ratcliffe.'

K. Hen. Churchmen are turn'd devils.
These are the principal ?

Clif. One more remains
Unnam’d, whom I could willingly forget.

K. Hen. Ha, Clifford! one more?

Clif. Great sir, do not hear him;
For when Sir William Stanley, your lord cham-

berlain,
Shall come into the list, as he is chief,
I shall lose credit with you; yet this lord,
Last named, is first against you.

K. Hen. Urswick, the light !
View well my face, sirs, is there blood left in it?

. All these were seized, tried, and condemned for high-treason : most of them perished upon the scaffold. Worsley and the two dominicans were spared.

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