Nor has our bounty shorten'd expectation: Or amorous safety, we must rouse the ease To grace the joint endeavours of our servants. Would breed suspicion in our state and quality. Sit on our own throne; then our arms, laid open To gratitude, in sacred memory Of these large benefits, shall twine them close, Even to our thoughts and heart, without distinc tion. Then James and Richard, being in effect K. Ja. Seat you. Are the presenters ready? Craw. All are entering. Hunt. Dainty sport toward, Dalyell! sit, come sit, Sit and be quiet; here are kingly bug-words!" 'The sentence seems incomplete, for want of a relative; the meaning, however, is clear enough: in plain words, Necessity, the agent of Destiny, will bring her design to perfection; i. e. give me the kingdom. 2 Bug-words.] Generally speaking, terrific, alarming words; Enter at one door four Scotch Anticks, accordingly habited; at another, WARBECK's followers, disguised as four Wild Irish in trowses,' long-haired, and accordingly habited.-Music.--A Dance by the Masquers. K. Ja. To all a general thanks! War. In the next room Take your own shapes again; you shall receive Particular acknowledgment. [Exeunt the K. Ja. Enough masquers. Of merriments. Crawford, how far's our army Upon the march? Craw. At Hedon-hall, great king; Twelve thousand, well prepared. K. Ja. Crawford, to-night Post thither. We, in person, with the prince, Craw. I fly, my lord. [Exit. from the Celtic, bug, a fiend, a frightful hobgoblin: here, however, they sarcastically allude to the pompous high-sounding language of the imaginary monarch. A similar expression occurs in the Tamer tamed: "These are, indeed, bug-words!" 3 Four Scotch Anticks accordingly habited.] i.e. characteristically. The trouses, or trosses, of the "wild Irish," mentioned in the next line, were drawers closely fitted to the shape; and which, together with the long shaggy hair of these people, are often made the subject of mirth by our old dramatists. 4 Take your own shapes.] i. e. resume your ordinary dress. K. Ja. Our business grows to head now; where's your secretary, That he attends you not to serve? War. With Marchmont, Your herald. K. Ja. Good: the proclamation's ready; By that it will appear how the English stand Affected to your title. Huntley, comfort Your daughter in her husband's absence; fight With prayers at home for us, who, for nours, Must toil in fight abroad. Hunt. Prayers are the weapons your ho Which men, so near their graves as I, do use; K. Ja. To rest, young beauties! We must be early stirring; quickly part: A kingdom's rescue craves both speed and art. Cousins, good night. War. Rest to our cousin king. Kath. Your blessing, sir. [A flourish. Hunt. Fair blessings on your highness! sure you need them. [Exeunt all but WAR. KATH. and JANE. War. Jane, set the lights down, and from us return To those in the next room, this little purse; Say, we'll deserve their loves. Jane. It shall be done, sir. [Exit. War. Now, dearest, ere sweet sleep shall seal those eyes, Love's precious tapers, give me leave to use It would be sacrilege to intrude upon The temple of thy peace: swift as the morning, In staying here behind. War. The churlish brow Of war, fair dearest, is a sight of horror Which my last breath shall sound, thy name, thou fairest, Shall sing a requiem to my soul, unwilling Only of greater glory, 'cause divided From such a heaven on earth, as life with thee. But these are chimes for funerals; my business Attends on fortune of a sprightlier triumph; For love and majesty are reconciled, And vow to crown thee Empress of the West. Kath. You have a noble language, sir; your right In me is without question, and however Events of time may shorten my deserts In others' pity, yet it shall not stagger Or constancy, or duty in a wife. You must be king of me; and my poor heart War. But we will live, Live, beauteous virtue, by the lively test Kath. Pray do not use That word, it carries fate in't: the first suit Kath. That hereafter, If you return with safety, no adventure War. You are lady Of your desires, and shall command Yet 'tis too hard a promise. Kath. What our destinies Have ruled out in their books, we must not search, But kneel to. War. Then to fear when hope is fruitless, Were to be desperately miserable; Which poverty our greatness dares not dream of, And much more scorns to stoop to: some few mi nutes Remain yet, let's be thrifty in our hopes. [Exeunt. |