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Quarter'd, their quarters into Cornwall sent,
Oxf. I shall, sir.
K. Hen. To Dinham, our high-treasurer,
Daw. Your soldiers
K. Hen. For it, we will throw
Enter HUNTLEY and DALYELL. Hunt. Now, sir, a modest word with you, sad
gentleman; Is not this fine, I trow, to see the gambols, To hear the jigs, observe the frisks, be enchanted With the rare discord of bells, pipes, and tabours, Hodge-podge of Scotch and Irish twingle-twan
gles, Like to so many choristers of Bedlam Trowling a catch! The feasts, the manly sto
machs, The healths in usquebaugh, and bonny-clabber, The ale in dishes never fetch'd from China, The hundred thousand knacks not to be spoken of, And all this for king Oberon, and queen Mab, Should put a soul into you. Look ye, good man, How youthful I am grown! but by your leave, This new queen-bride must henceforth be no more My daughter; no, by’r lady, 'tis unfit! And yet you see how I do bear this change; Methinks courageously: then shake off care In such a time of jollity.
9 The healths in bonny-clabber.] A common name, in our old writers, for curds and whey, or sour butter-milk. It appears to have been a favourite drink both with the Scotch and Irish. See Jonson, vol. v. p. 330.
Dal. Alas, sir,
Hunt. Foh, Dalyell !
Dal. I wish you could as easily forget The justice of your sorrows, as my hopes Can yield to destiny.
Hunt. Pish! then I see Thou dost not know the flexible condition Of my (tough] nature! I can laugh, laugh heartily, When the gout cramps my joints; let but the
stone Stop in my bladder, I am straight a-singing; The quartan fever shrinking every limb, Sets me a-capering straight; do [but] betray me, And bind me a friend ever: what! I trust The losing of a daughter, though I doated On every hair that grew to trim her head, Admits not any pain like one of these.Come, thou’rt deceiv'd in me; give me a blow, A sound blow on the face, I'll thank thee for’t; I love my wrongs: still thou’rt deceiv'd in me.
Dal. Deceiv'd? oh, noble Huntley, my few
Hunt. Forgive me first
Dal. Name it; oh, name it quickly, sir!
Hunt. A pardon
Dal. Say not so, sir;
Hunt. The world would prate How she was handsome; young I know she was,
Tender, and sweet in her obedience,
Dal. A love, a service,
Hunt. Good angels
Dal. I'll lend you mirth, sir,
will be in consort. Hunt. 'Thank you truly : I must, yes, yes, I must;-here's yet some ease, A partner in affliction : look not angry. Dal. Good, noble sir!
[Music. Hunt. Oh,hark! we may be quiet, The king, and all the others come; a meeting Of gaudy sights : this day's the last of revels; To-morrow sounds of war; then new exchange; Fiddles must turn to swords. — Unhappy mar
A Flourish.—Enter King JAMES, WARBECK lead
ing KATHERINE, CRAWFORD and his Countess;