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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PERKIN WARBECK, by JOHN FORD (1586-1639) Poem Explanation
First Line: Studies have of this nature been of late
Last Line: And often find a welcome to the muses.
Subject(s): Great Britain - History; Henry Vii, King Of England (1457-1509); Impostors & Imposture; English History; Fitzroy, Henry, Duke Of Richmond; Tudor, Henry
First Line: Studies have of this nature been of late
Last Line: And often find a welcome to the muses.
Subject(s): Great Britain - History; Henry Vii, King Of England (1457-1509); Impostors & Imposture; English History; Fitzroy, Henry, Duke Of Richmond; Tudor, Henry
PROLOGUE
STUDIES have of this nature been of late
So out of fashion, so unfollowed, that
It is become more justice to revive
The antic follies of the times than strive
To countenance wise industry: no want
Of art doth render wit or lame or scant
Or slothful in the purchase of fresh bays;
But want of truth in them who give the praise
To their self-love, presuming to out-do
The writer, or—for need—the actors too.
But such this author's silence best befits,
Who bids them be in love with their own wits.
From him to clearer judgments we can say
He shows a history couched in a play;
A history of noble mention, known,
Famous, and true; most noble, 'cause our own;
Not forged from Italy, from France, from Spain,
But chronicled at home; as rich in strain
Of brave attempts as ever fertile rage
In action could beget to grace the stage.
We cannot limit scenes, for the whole land
Itself appeared too narrow to withstand
Competitors for kingdoms; nor is here
Unnecessary mirth forced to endear
A multitude: on these two rests the fate
Of worthy expectation,—truth and state.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
HENRY VII.
Lord DAWBENEY.
Sir WILLIAM STANLEY, Lord Chamberlain.
Earl of OXFORD.
Earl of SURREY.
FOX, Bishop of Durham.
URSWICK, Chaplain to the King.
Sir ROBERT CLIFFORD.
LAMBERT SIMNEL.
HIALAS, a Spanish Agent.
JAMES IV., King of Scotland.
Earl of HUNTLEY.
Earl of CRAWFORD.
Lord DALYELL.
MARCHMONT, a Herald.
PERKIN WARBECK.
STEPHEN FRION, his Secretary.
JOHN A-WATER, Mayor of Cork.
HERON, a Mercer.
SKELTON, a Tailor.
ASTLEY, a Scrivener.
Sheriff, Constable, Officers, Messenger, Guards, Soldiers, Masquers, and
Attendants.
Lady KATHERINE GORDON.
Countess of CRAWFORD.
JANE DOUGLAS, Lady Katherine's attendant.
SCENE—Partly in ENGLAND, partly in SCOTLAND.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.—Westminster. The royal Presence-chamber.
Enter KING HENRY, supported to the throne by the Bishop of DURHAM
and Sir WILLIAM STANLEY; Earls of OXFORD and SURREY, and Lord
DAWBENEY. A Guard.
KING HEN. Still to be haunted, still to be pursued,
Still to be frightened with false apparitions
Of pageant majesty and new-coined greatness,
As if we were a mockery king in state,
Only ordained to lavish sweat and blood,
In scorn and laughter, to the ghosts of York,
Is all below our merits: yet, my lords,
My friends and counsellors, yet we sit fast
In our own royal birthright; the rent face
And bleeding wounds of England's slaughtered people
Have been by us as by the best physician,
At last both throughly cured and set in safety;
And yet, for all this glorious work of peace,
Ourselves is scarce secure.
Dur. The rage of malice
Conjures fresh spirits with the spells of York.
For ninety years ten English kings and princes,
Threescore great dukes and earls, a thousand lords
And valiant knights, two hundred fifty thousand
Of English subjects have in civil wars
Been sacrificed to an uncivil thirst
Of discord and ambition: this hot vengeance
Of the just powers above to utter ruin
And desolation had rained on, but that
Mercy did gently sheathe the sword of justice,
In lending to this blood-shrunk commonwealth
A new soul, new birth, in your sacred person.
Daw. Edward the Fourth, after a doubtful fortune,
Yielded to nature, leaving to his sons,
Edward and Richard, the inheritance
Of a most bloody purchase: these young princes,
Richard the tyrant, their unnatural uncle,
Forced to a violent grave:—so just is Heaven,
Him hath your majesty by your own arm,
Divinely strengthened, pulled from his boar's sty,
And struck the black usurper to a carcass.
Nor doth the house of York decay in honours,
Though Lancaster doth repossess his right;
For Edward's daughter is King Henry's queen,
A blessèd union, and a lasting blessing
For this poor panting island, if some shreds,
Some useless remnant of the house of York
Grudge not at this content.
Oxf. Margaret of Burgundy
Blows fresh coals of division.
Sur. Painted fires,
Without or heat to scorch or light to cherish.
Daw. York's headless trunk, her father; Edward's fate,
Her brother, king; the smothering of her nephews
By tyrant Gloster, brother to her nature;
Nor Gloster's own confusion,—all decrees
Sacred in heaven,—can move this woman-monster,
But that she still, from the unbottomed mine
Of devilish policies, doth vent the ore
Of troubles and sedition.
Oxf. In her age—
Great sir, observe the wonder—she grows fruitful,
Who in her strength of youth was always barren:
Nor are her births as other mothers' are,
At nine or ten months' end; she has been with child
Eight, or seven years at least; whose twins being born,—
A prodigy in nature,—even the youngest
Is fifteen years of age at his first entrance,
As soon as known i' the world; tall striplings, strong
And able to give battle unto kings,
Idols of Yorkish malice.
Daw. And but idols;
A steely hammer crushes 'em to pieces.
K. Hen. Lambert, the eldest, lords, is in our service,
Preferred by an officious care of duty
From the scullery to a falconer; strange example!
Which shows the difference between noble natures
And the base-born: but for the upstart duke,
The new-revived York, Edward's second son,
Murdered long since i' the Tower,—he lives again,
And vows to be your king.
Stan. The throne is filled, sir.
K. Hen. True, Stanley; and the lawful heir sits on it:
A guard of angels and the holy prayers
Of loyal subjects are a sure defence
Against all force and council of intrusion.—
But now, my lords, put case, some of our nobles,
Our great ones, should give countenance and courage
To trim Duke Perkin; you will all confess
Our bounties have unthriftily been scattered
Amongst unthankful men.
Daw. Unthankful beasts,
Dogs, villains, traitors!
K. Hen. Dawbeney, let the guilty
Keep silence; I accuse none, though I know
Foreign attempts against a state and kingdom
Are seldom without some great friends at home.
Stan. Sir, if no other abler reasons else
Of duty or allegiance could divert
A headstrong resolution, yet the dangers
So lately passed by men of blood and fortunes
In Lambert Simnel's party must command
More than a fear, a terror to conspiracy.
The high-born Lincoln, son to De la Pole,
The Earl of Kildare,—the Lord Geraldine,—
Francis Lord Lovell, and the German baron
Bold Martin Swart, with Broughton and the rest,—
Most spectacles of ruin, some of mercy,—
Are precedents sufficient to forewarn
The present times, or any that live in them,
What folly, nay, what madness, 'twere to lift
A finger up in all defence but yours,
Which can be but imposturous in a title.
K. Hen. Stanley, we know thou lov'st us, and thy heart
Is figured on thy tongue; nor think we less
Of any's here.—How closely we have hunted
This cub, since he unlodged, from hole to hole,
Your knowledge is our chronicle: first Ireland,
The common stage of novelty, presented
This gewgaw to oppose us; there the Geraldines
And Butlers once again stood in support
Of this colossic statue: Charles of France
Thence called him into his protection,
Dissembled him the lawful heir of England;
Yet this was all but French dissimulation,
Aiming at peace with us; which being granted
On honourable terms on our part, suddenly
This smoke of straw was packed from France again,
T' infect some grosser air: and now we learn—
Maugre the malice of the bastard Nevill,
Sir Taylor, and a hundred English rebels—
They're all retired to Flanders, to the dam
That nursed 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.
Enter URSWICK with a paper.
Urs. Gracious sovereign,
Please you peruse this paper. [The King reads.
Dur. The king's countenance
Gathers a sprightly blood.
Daw. Good news; believe it.
K. Hen. Urswick, thine ear. Thou'st lodged him?
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 plucked-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 't.
Stan. [Aside] The Tower!—I shall, sir.
K. Hen. Come, my true, best, fast friends: these clouds will vanish,
The sun will shine at full; the heavens are clearing.
[Flourish. Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Edinburgh. An Apartment in the Earl of HUNTLEY'S House.
Enter Earl of HUNTLEY and Lord DALYELL.
Hunt. You trifle time, sir.
Dal. O, 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 stitched-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 disordered palate e'er to relish
A wholesome taste again: alas, I know, sir,
What an unequal distance lies between
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 mother
To him who first begot the race of Jameses,
That sway the sceptre to this very day.
But kindreds are not our when once the date
Of many years have swallowed up the memory
Of their originals; so pasture-fields
Neighbouring too near the ocean are swooped-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. [Aside] Now, by Saint Andrew,
A spark of mettle! 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.—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.—[Aside] Would he would beat me, I
deserve
it.—
Dalyell, thy hand; we're 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 allowed. 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.—[Aside] I love his spirit infinitely.—
Look ye, she comes: to her now, to her, to her!
Enter Lady 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.
Dal. Your humblest creature.
Hunt. [Aside] 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
My services in honour of your virtues
How hopeless my desires are to enjoy
Your fair opinion, and much more your love,—
Are only matter of despair, unless
Your goodness give large warrant to my boldness,
My feeble-winged ambition.
Hunt. [Aside] This is scurvy.
Kath. My lord, I interrupt you not.
Hunt. [Aside] Indeed!
Now, on my life, she'll court him.—Nay, nay, on, sir.
Dal. Oft have I tuned the lesson of my sorrows
To sweeten discord and enrich your pity;
But all in vain: here had my comforts sunk,
And never risen again to tell a story
Of the despairing lover, had not now,
Even now, the earl your father—
Hunt. [Aside] He means me, sure.
Dal. After you fit disputes of your condition,
Your highness and my lowness, given a license
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?—
A subtle trick, a quaint one:—will you hear, man?
What did I say to you? come, come, to the point.
Kath. It shall not need, my lord.
Hunt. Then hear me, Kate.—
Keep you on that hand of her, I on this.—
Thou stand'st between a father and a suitor,
Both striving for an interest in thy heart:
He courts thee for affection, I for duty;
He as a servant pleads, but by the privilege
Of nature though I might command, my care
Shall only counsel what it shall not force.
Thou canst but make one choice; the ties of marriage
Are tenures not at will, but during life.
Consider whose thou art, and who; a princess,
A princess of the royal blood of Scotland,
In the full spring of youth and fresh in beauty.
The king that sits upon the throne is young,
And yet unmarried, forward in attempts
On any least occasion to endanger
His person: wherefore, Kate, as I am confident
Thou dar'st not wrong thy birth and education
By yielding to a common servile rage
Of female wantonness, so I am confident
Thou wilt proportion all thy thoughts to side
Thy equals, if not equal thy superiors.
My Lord of Dalyell, young in years, is old
In honours, but nor eminent in titles
Nor in estate, that may support or add to
The expectation of thy fortunes. Settle
Thy will and reason by a strength of judgment;
For, in a word, I give thee freedom; take it.
If equal fates have not ordained to pitch
Thy hopes above my height, let not thy passion
Lead thee to shrink mine honour in oblivion:
Thou art thine own; I have done.
Dal. O, you're all oracle,
The living stock and root of truth and wisdom!
Kath. My worthiest lord and father, the indulgence
Of your sweet composition thus commands
The lowest of obedience; you have granted
A liberty so large, that I want skill
To choose without direction of example:
From which I daily learn, by how much more
You take off from the roughness of a father,
By so much more I am engaged to tender
The duty of a daughter. For respects
Of birth, degrees of title, and advancement,
I nor admire nor slight them; all my studies
Shall ever aim at this perfection only,
To live and die so, that you may not blush
In any course of mine to own me yours.
Hunt. Kate, Kate, thou grow'st upon my heart like peace,
Creating every other hour a jubilee.
Kath. To you, my lord of Dalyell, I address
Some few remaining words: the general fame
That speaks your merit, even in vulgar tongues
Proclaims it clear; but in the best, a precedent.
Hunt. Good wench, good girl, i' faith!
Kath. For my part, trust me,
I value mine own worth at higher rate
'Cause you are pleased to prize it: if the stream
Of your protested service—as you term it—
Run in a constancy more than a compliment,
It shall be my delight that worthy love
Leads you to worthy actions, and these guide ye
Richly to wed an honourable name:
So every virtuous praise in after-ages
Shall be your heir, and I in your brave mention
Be chronicled the mother of that issue,
That glorious issue.
Hunt. O, that I were young again!
Sh'd make me court proud danger, and suck spirit
From reputation.
Kath. To the present motion
Here's all that I dare answer: when a ripeness
Of more experience, and some use of time,
Resolves to treat the freedom of my youth
Upon exchange of troths, I shall desire
No surer credit of a match with virtue
Than such as lives in you: mean time my hopes are
Preserved secure in having you a friend.
Dal. You are a blessèd lady, and instruct
Ambition not to soar a farther flight
Than in the perfumed air of your soft voice.—
My noble Lord of Huntley, you have lent
A full extent of bounty to this parley;
And for it shall command your humblest servant.
Hunt. Enough: we are still friends, and will continue
A hearty love.—O, Kate, thou art mine own!—
No more:—my Lord of Crawford.
Enter Earl of CRAWFORD.
Craw. From the king
I come, my Lord of Huntley, who in council
Requires your present aid.
Hunt. Some weighty business?
Craw. A secretary from a Duke of York,
The second son to the late English Edward,
Concealed, 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 ye.
Craw. My service, noble lady!
Kath. Please ye walk, sir?
Dal. [Aside] 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 ye.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—London. An Apartment in the Tower.
Enter the Bishop of DURHAM, Sir ROBERT CLIFFORD, and URSWICK.
Lights.
Dur. You find, Sir Robert Clifford, how securely
King Henry, our great master, doth commit
His 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 pleased
T' admit you to his favour. Do not falter
In your discovery; but as you covet
A liberal grace, and pardon for your follies,
So labour to deserve 't 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's 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 root on the earth,
If I appear as leperous in my treacheries
Before your royal eyes, as to mine 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 bruised soul, I kiss it with a greediness.
[Kisses the King's hand, and rises.
Sir, you're 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 the superstitious Irish; since the beard
Of this wild comet, conjured into France,
Sparkled in antic flames in Charles his court;
But shrunk again from thence, and, hid in darkness,
Stole into Flanders flourishing the rag
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 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 treasons:
Speak 'em.
Clif. Not any of the best; your fortune
Hath dulled their spleens. Never had counterfeit
Such a confusèd rabble of lost bankrupts
For counsellors, first Heron, a broken mercer,
Then John a-Water, sometimes Mayor of Cork,
Skelton a tailor, and a scrivener
Called Astley: and whate'er these list to treat of,
Perkin must hearken 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
As dangerous as infectious: we must match him.
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. O, 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,
Worseley the Dean of Paul's, two other friars,
And Robert Ratcliffe.
K. Hen. Churchmen are turned devils.
These are the principal?
Clif. One more remains
Unnamed, 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 chamberlain,
Shall come into the list, as he is chief,
I shall lose credit with ye; 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?
Dur. You alter strangely, sir.
K. Hen. Alter, lord bishop!
Why, Clifford stabbed me, or I dreamed he stabbed me.—
Sirrah, it is a custom with the guilty
To think they set their own stains oft by laying
Aspersions on some nobler than themselves;
Lies wait on treasons, as I find it here.
Thy life again is forfeit; I recall
My word of mercy, for I know thou dar'st
Repeat the name no more.
Clif. I dare, and once more,
Upon my knowledge, name Sir William Stanley
Both in his counsel and his purse the chief
Assistant to the feignèd Duke of York.
Dur. Most strange!
Urs. Most wicked!
K. Hen. Yet again, once more.
Clif. Sir William Stanley is your secret enemy,
And, if time fit, will openly profess it.
K. Hen. Sir William Stanley! Who? Sir William Stanley!
My chamberlain, my counsellor, the love,
The pleasure of my court, my bosom-friend,
The charge and the controlment of my person,
The keys and secrets of my treasury,
The all of all I am! I am unhappy.
Misery of confidence,—let me turn traitor
To mine own person, yield my sceptre up
To Edward's sister and her bastard duke!
Dur. You lose your constant temper.
K. Hen. Sir William Stanley!
O, do not blame me; he, 'twas only he,
Who, having rescued me in Bosworth-field
From Richard's bloody sword, snatched from his head
The kingly crown, and placed it first on mine.
He never failed me: what have I deserved
To lose this good man's heart, or he his own?
Urs. The night doth waste; this passion ill becomes ye;
Provide against your danger.
K. Hen. Let it be so.
Urswick, command straight Stanley to his chamber;—
'Tis well we are i' the Tower;—set a guard on him.—
Clifford, to bed; you must lodge here to-night;
We'll talk with you to-morrow.—My sad soul
Divines strange troubles.
Daw. [Within] Ho! the king, the king!
I must have entrance.
K. Hen. Dawbeney's voice; admit him.
What new combustions huddle next, to keep
Our eyes from rest?
Enter Lord DAWBENEY.
The news?
Daw. Ten thousand Cornish,
Grudging to pay your subsidies, have gathered
A head; led by a blacksmith and a lawyer,
They make for London, and to them is joined
Lord Audley: as they march, their number daily
Increases; they are—
K. Hen. Rascals!—talk no more;
Such are not worthy of my thoughts to-night.
To bed; and if I cannot sleep, I'll wake.—
When counsels fail, and there's in man no trust,
Even then an arm from Heaven fights for the just.
[Exeunt.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.—Edinburgh. The Presence-chamber in the Palace.
Enter above the Countess of CRAWFORD, Lady KATHERINE, JANE DOUGLAS, and
other Ladies.
COUNTESS OF C. Come, ladies, here's a solemn preparation
For entertainment of this English prince;
The king intends grace more than ordinary:
'Twere pity now if he should prove a counterfeit.
Kath. Bless the young man, our nation would be laughed at
For honest souls through Christendom! My father
Hath a weak stomach to the business, madam,
But that the king must not be crossed.
Countess of C. He brings
A goodly troop, they say, of gallants with him;
But very modest people, for they strive not
To fame their names too much; their godfathers
May be beholding to them, but their fathers
Scarce owe them thanks: they are disguisèd princes,
Brought up, it seems, to honest trades; no matter,
They will break forth in season.
Jane. Or break out;
For most of 'em are broken by report.—[A flourish.
The king!
Kath. Let us observe 'em and be silent.
Enter King JAMES, Earls of HUNTLEY and CRAWFORD, Lord DALYELL, and
other Noblemen.
K. Ja. The right of kings, my lords, extends not only
To the safe conservation of their own,
But also to the aid of such allies
As change of time and state hath oftentimes
Hurled down from careful crowns to undergo
An exercise of sufferance in both fortunes:
So English Richard, surnamed Cœur-de-Lion,
So Robert Bruce, our royal ancestor,
Forced by the trial of the wrongs they felt,
Both sought and found supplies from foreign kings,
To repossess their own. Then grudge not, lords,
A much distressèd prince: King Charles of France
And Maximilian of Bohemia both
Have ratified his credit by their letters;
Shall we, then, be distrustful? No; compassion
Is one rich jewel that shines in our crown,
And we will have it shine there.
Hunt. Do your will, sir.
K. Ja. The young duke is at hand: Dalyell, from us
First great him, and conduct him on; then Crawford
Shall meet him next; and Huntley, last of all, Present him to our arms.
[Exit Lord DALYELL.]—
Sound sprightly music,
Whilst majesty encounters majesty. [Hautboys.
Re-enter Lord DALYELL with PERKIN WARBECK, followed at a distance
by
FRION, HERON, SKELTON, ASTLEY, and JOHN A-WATER. The Earl of CRAWFORD
advances, and salutes PERKIN at the door, and afterwards the Earl of
HUNTLEY, who presents him to the King: they embrace; the Noblemen
slightly salute his Followers.
War. Most high, most mighty king! that now there stands
Before your eyes, in presence of your peers,
A subject of the rarest kind of pity
That hath in any age touched noble hearts,
The vulgar story of a prince's ruin
Hath made it too apparent: Europe knows,
And all the western world, what persecution
Hath raged in malice against us, sole heir
To the great throne of old Plantagenets.
How from our nursery we have been hurried
Unto the sanctuary, from the sanctuary
Forced to the prison, from the prison haled
By cruel hands to the tormentor's fury,
Is registered already in the volume
Of all men's tongues; whose true relation draws
Compassion, melted into weeping eyes
And bleeding souls: but our misfortunes since
Have ranged a larger progress through strange lands,
Protected in our innocence by Heaven.
Edward the Fifth, our brother, in his tragedy
Quenched their hot thirst of blood, whose hire to murder
Paid them their wages of despair and horror;
The softness of my childhood smiled upon
The roughness of their task, and robbed them farther
Of hearts to dare, or hands to execute.
Great king, they spared my life, the butchers spared it;
Returned the tyrant, my unnatural uncle,
A truth of my dispatch: I was conveyed
With secrecy and speed to Tournay; fostered
By obscure means, taught to unlearn myself:
But as I grew in years, I grew in sense
Of fear and of disdain; fear of the tyrant
Whose power swayed the throne then: when disdain
Of living so unknown, in such a servile
And abject lowness, prompted me to thoughts
Of recollecting who I was, I shook off
My bondage, and made haste to let my aunt
Of Burgundy acknowledge me her kinsman,
Heir to the crown of England, snatched by Henry
From Richard's head; a thing scarce known i' the world.
K. Ja. My lord, it stands not with your counsel now
To fly upon invectives: if you can
Make this apparent what you have discoursed
In every circumstance, we will not study
An answer, but are ready in your cause.
War. You are a wise and just king, by the powers
Above reserved, beyond all other aids,
To plant me in mine own inheritance,
To marry these two kingdoms in a love
Never to be divorced while time is time.
As for the manner, first of my escape,
Of my conveyance next, of my life since,
The means and persons who were instruments,
Great sir, 'tis fit I over-pass in silence;
Reserving the relation to the secrecy
Of your own princely ear, since it concerns
Some great ones living yet, and others dead,
Whose issue might be questioned. For your bounty,
Royal magnificence to him that seeks it,
We vow hereafter to demean ourself
As if we were your own and natural brother,
Omitting no occasion in our person
T' express a gratitude beyond example.
K. Ja. He must be more than subject who can utter
The language of king, and such is thine.
Take this for answer: be what'er thou art,
Thou never shalt repent that thou hast put
Thy cause and person into my protection.
Cousin of York, thus once more we embrace thee;
Welcome of James of Scotland! for thy safety,
Know, such as love thee not shall never wrong thee.
Come, we will taste a while our court-delights,
Dream hence affliction past, and then proceed
To high attempts of honour. On, lead on!—
Both thou and thine are ours, and we will guard ye—
Lead on! [Exeunt all but the Ladies above.
Countess of C. I have not seen a gentleman
Of a more brave aspéct or goodlier carriage;
His fortunes move not him.—Madam, you're passionate.
Kath. Beshrew me, but his words have touched me home,
As if his cause concerned me: I should pity him,
If he should prove another than he seems.
Re-enter Earl of CRAWFORD.
Craw. Ladies, the king commands your presence in-
For entertainment of the duke. [Stantly
Kath. The duke
Must, then, be entertained, the king obeyed;
It is our duty.
Countess of C. We will all wait on him. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—London. The Tower.
A flourish. Enter King HENRY, the Earls of OXFORD, and Surrey,
and
the Bishop of Durham.
K. Hen. Have ye condemned my chamberlain?
Dur. His treasons
Condemned him, sir; which were as clear and manifest
As four and dangerous: besides, the guilt
Of his conspiracy pressed him so nearly,
That it drew from him free confession
Without an importunity.
K. Hen. O, lord bishop,
This argued shame and sorrow for his folly,
And must not stand in evidence against
Our mercy and the softness of our nature:
The rigour and extremity of law
Is sometimes too-too bitter; but we carry
A chancery of pity in our bosom.
I hope we may reprieve him from the sentence
Of death; I hope we may.
Dur. You may, you may;
And so persuade your subjects that the title
Of York is better, nay, more just and lawful,
Than yours of Lancaster! so Stanley holds:
Which if it be not treason in the highest,
Then we are traitors all, perjured and false,
Who have took oath to Henry and the justice
Of Henry's title; Oxford, Surrey, Dawbeney,
With all your other peers of state and church,
Forsworn, and Stanley true alone to Heaven
And England's lawful heir!
Oxf. By Vere's old honours,
I'll cut his throat dares speak it.
Sur. 'Tis a quarrel
T' engage a soul in.
K. Hen. What a coil is here
To keep my gratitude sincere and perfect!
Stanley was once my friend, and came in time
To save my life; yet, to say truth, my lords,
The man stayed long enough t' endanger it:—
But I could see no more into his heart
Than what his outward actions did present;
And for 'em have rewarded him so fully,
As that there wanted nothing in our gift
To gratify his merit, as I thought,
Unless I should divide my crown with him,
And give him half; though now I well perceive
'Twould scarce have served his turn without the whole.
But I am charitable, lords; let justice
Proceed in execution, whiles I mourn
The loss of one whom I esteemed a friend.
Dur. Sir, he is coming this way.
K. Hen. If he speak to me,
I could deny him nothing; to prevent it,
I must withdraw. Pray, lords, commend my favours
To his last peace, which I with him will pray for:
That done, it doth concern us to consult
Of other following troubles. [Exit.
Oxf. I am glad
He's gone: upon my life, he would have pardoned
The traitor, had he seen him.
Sur. 'Tis a king
Composed of gentleness.
Dur. Rare and unheard of:
But every man is nearest to himself;
And that the king observes; 'tis fit he should.
Enter Sir WILLIAM STANLEY, Executioner, Confessor, URSWICK, and
Lord DAWBENEY.
Stan. May I not speak with Clifford ere I shake
This piece of frailty off?
Daw. You shall; he's sent for.
Stan. I must not see the king?
Dur. From him, Sir William,
These lords and I am sent; he bade us say
That he commends his mercy to your thoughts;
Wishing the laws of England could remit
The forfeit of your life as willingly
As he would in the sweetness of his nature
Forget your trespass: but howe'er your body
Fall into dust, he vows, the king himself
Doth vow, to keep a requiem for your soul,
As for a friend close treasured in his bosom.
Oxf. Without remembrance of your errors past,
I come to take my leave, and wish you Heaven.
Sur. And I; good angels guard ye!
Stan. O, the king,
Next to my soul, shall be the nearest subject
Of my last prayers. My grave Lord of Durham,
My Lords of Oxford, Surrey, Dawbeney, all,
Accept from a poor dying man a farewell.
I was as you are once,—great, and stood hopeful
Of many flourishing years; but fate and time
Have wheeled about, to turn me into nothing.
Daw. Sir Robert Clifford comes,—the man, Sir William,
You so desire to speak with.
Dur. Mark their meeting.
Enter Sir ROBERT CLIFFORD.
Clif. Sir William Stanley, I am glad your conscience
Before your end hath emptied every burthen
Which charged it, as that you can clearly witness
How far I have proceeded in a duty
That both concerned my truth and the state's safety.
Stan. Mercy, how dear is life to such as hug it!
Come hither; by this token think on me!
[Makes a cross on CLIFFORD'S face with his finger.
Clif. This token! What! I am abused?
Stan. You are not.
I wet upon your cheeks a holy sign,—
The cross, the Christian's badge, the traitor's infamy:
Wear, Clifford, to thy grave this painted emblem;
Water shall never wash it off; all eyes
That gaze upon thy face shall read there written
A state-informer's character; more ugly
Stamped on a noble name than on a base.
The heavens forgive thee!—Pray, my lords, no change
Of words; this man and I have used too many.
Clif. Shall I be disgraced
Without reply?
Dur. Give losers leave to talk;
His loss is irrecoverable.
Stan. Once more,
To all a long farewell! The best of greatness
Preserve the king! My next suit is, my lords,
To be remembered to my noble brother,
Derby, my much-grieved brother: O, persuade him
That I shall stand no blemish to his house
In chronicles writ in another age.
My heart doth bleed for him and for his sighs:
Tell him, he must not think the style of Derby,
Nor being husband to King Henry's mother,
The league with peers, the smiles of fortune, can
Secure his peace above the state of man.
I take my leave, to travel to my dust:
Subjects deserve their deaths whose kings are just.—
Come, confessor.—On with thy axe, friend, on!
[He is led off to execution.
Clif. Was I called hither by a traitor's breath
To be upbraided? Lords, the king shall know it.
Re-enter King HENRY with a white staff.
K. Hen. The king doth know it, sir; the king hath heard
What he or you could say. We have given credit
To every point of Clifford's information,
The only evidence 'gainst Stanley's head:
He dies for't; are you pleased?
Clif. I pleased, my lord!
K. Hen. No echoes: for your service, we dismiss
Your more attendance on the court, take ease,
And live at home; but, as you love your life,
Stir not from London without leave from us.
We'll think on your reward: away!
Clif. I go, sir. [Exit.
K. Hen. Die all our griefs with Stanley! Take this staff
Of office, Dawbeney; henceforth be our chamberlain.
Daw. I am your humble servant.
K. Hen. We are followed
By enemies at home, that will not cease
To seek their own confusion: 'tis most true
The Cornish under Audley are marched on
As far as Winchester;—but let them come,
Our forces are in readiness; we'll catch 'em
In their own toils.
Daw. Your army, being mustered
Consists in all, of horse and foot, at least
In number six-and-twenty thousand; men
Daring and able, resolute to fight,
And loyal in their truths.
K. Hen. We know it, Dawbeney:
For them we order thus; Oxford in chief,
Assisted by bold Essex and the Earl
Of Suffolk, shall lead on the first battalia;
Be that your charge.
Oxf. I humbly thank your majesty.
K. Hen. The next division we assign to Dawbeney:
These must be men of action, for on those
The fortune of our fortunes must rely.
The last and main ourself commands in person;
As ready to restore the fight at all times
As to consummate an assurèd victory.
Daw. The king is still oraculous.
K. Hen. But, Surrey,
We have employment of more toil for thee:
For our intelligence comes swiftly to us,
That James of Scotland late hath entertained
Perkin the counterfeit with more than common
Grace and respect, nay, courts him with rare favours.
The Scot is young and forward; we must look for
A sudden storm to England from the north;
Which to withstand, Durham shall post to Norham,
To fortify the castle and secure
The frontiers against an invasion there.
Surrey shall follow soon, with such an army
As may relieve the bishop, and encounter
On all occasions the death-daring Scots.
You know your charges all; 'tis now a time
To execute, not talk: Heaven is our guard still.
War must breed peace; such is the fate of kings.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—Edinburgh. An Apartment in the Palace.
Enter Earl of CRAWFORD and Lord DALYELL.
Craw. 'Tis more than strange; my reason cannot answer
Such argument of fine imposture, couched
In witchcraft of persuasion, that it fashions
Impossibilities, as if appearance
Could cozen truth itself: this dukeling mushroom
Hath doubtless charmed the king.
Dal. He courts the ladies,
As if his strength of language chained attention
By power of prerogative.
Craw. It madded
My very soul to hear our master's motion:
What surety both of amity and honour
Must of necessity ensue upon
A match betwixt some noble of our nation
And this brave prince, forsooth!
Dal. 'Twill prove too fatal;
Wise Huntley fears the threatening. Bless the lady
From such a ruin!
Craw. How the counsel privy
Of this young Phaëthon do screw their faces
Into a gravity their trades, good people,
Were never guilty of! the meanest of 'em
Dreams of at least an office in the state.
Dal. Sure, not the hangman's; 'tis bespoke already
For service to their rogueships—Silence!
Enter King JAMES and Earl of HUNTLEY.
K. Ja. Do not
Argue against our will; we have descended
Somewhat—as we may term it—too familiarly
From justice of our birthright, to examine
The force of your allegiance,—sir, we have,—
But find it short of duty.
Hunt. Break my heart,
Do, do, king! Have my services, my loyalty,—
Heaven knows untainted ever,—drawn upon me
Contempt now in mine age, when I but wanted
A minute of a peace not to be troubled,
My last, my long one? Let me be a dotard,
A bedlam, a poor sot, or what you please
To have me, so you will not stain your blood,
Your own blood, royal sir, though mixed with mine,
By marriage of this girl to a straggler:
Take, take my head, sir; whilst my tongue can wag,
It cannot name him other.
K. Ja. Kings are counterfeits
In your repute, grave oracle, not presently
Set on their thrones with sceptres in their fists.
But use your own detraction; 'tis our pleasure
To give our cousin York for wife our kinswoman,
The Lady Katherine: instinct of sovereignty
Designs the honour, though her peevish father
Usurps our resolution.
Hunt. O, 'tis well,
Exceeding well! I never was ambitious
Of using congees to my daughter-queen—
A queen! perhaps a quean!—Forgive me, Dalyell,
Thou honourable gentleman;—none here
Dare speak one work of comfort?
Dal. Cruel misery!
Craw. The lady, gracious prince, may-be hath settled
Affection on some former choice.
Dal. Enforcement
Would prove but tyranny.
Hunt. I thank ye heartily.
Let any yeoman of our nation challenge
An interest in the girl, then the king
May add a jointure of ascent in titles,
Worthy a free consent; now he pulls down
What old desert hath builded.
K. Ja. Cease persuasions,
I violate no pawns of faith, intrude not
On private loves: that I have played the orator
For kingly York to virtuous Kate, her grant
Can justify, referring her contents
To our provision. The Welsh Harry henceforth
Shall therefore know, and tremble to acknowledge,
That not the painted idol of his policy
Shall fright the lawful owner from a kingdom.
We are resolved.
Hunt. Some of thy subjects' hearts,
King James, will bleed for this.
K. Ja. Then shall their bloods
Be nobly spent. No more disputes; he is not
Our friend who contradicts us.
Hunt. Farewell, daughter!
My care by one is lessened, thank the king for't:
I and my griefs will dance now.
Enter PERKIN WARBECK, leading, and complimenting with, Lady KATHERINE;
Countess of CRAWFORD, JANE DOUGLAS, FRION, JOHN A-WATER, ASTLEY, HERON,
and
SKELTON.
Look, lords, look;
Here's hand in hand already!
K. Ja. Peace, old frenzy!—
How like a king he looks! Lords, but observe
The confidence of his aspect; dross cannot
Cleave to so pure a metal—royal youth!
Plantagenet undoubted!
Hunt. [Aside] Ho, brave!—Youth,
But no Plantagenet, by'r lady, yet,
By red rose or by white.
War. An union this way
Settles possession in a monarchy
Established rightly, as is my inheritance:
Acknowledge me but sovereign of this kingdom,
Your heart, fair princess, and the hand of providence
Shall crown you queen of me and my best fortunes.
Kath. Where my obedience is, my lord, a duty
Love owes true service.
War. Shall I?—
K. Ja. Cousin, yes,
Enjoy her; from my hand accept your bride;
[He joins their hands.
And may they live at enmity with comfort
Who grieve at such an equal pledge of troths!—
You are the prince's wife now.
Kath. By your gift, sir.
War. Thus I take seizure of mine own.
Kath. I miss yet
A father's blessing. Let me find it;—humbly
Upon my knees I seek it.
Hunt. I am Huntley,
Old Alexander Gordon, a plain subject,
Nor more nor less; and, lady, if you wish for
A blessing, you must bend your knees to Heaven;
For Heaven did give me you. Alas, alas,
What would you have me say? May all the happiness
My prayers ever sued to fall upon you
Preserve you in your virtues!—Prithee, Dalyell,
Come with me; for I feel thy griefs as full
As mine; let's steal away, and cry together.
Dal. My hopes are in their ruins.
[Exeunt Earl of HUNTLEY and Lord DALYELL.
K. Ja. Good, kind Huntley
Is overjoyed: a fit solemnity
Shall perfect these delights.—Crawford, attend
Our order for the preparation.
[Exeunt all but FRION, HERON, SKELTON, JOHN A-WATER, and
ASTLEY.
Fri. Now, worthy gentlemen, have I not followed
My undertakings with success? Here's entrance
Into a certainty above a hope.
Her. Hopes are but hopes; I was ever confident, when I traded but in
remnants, that my stars had reserved me to the title of a viscount at least:
honour is honour, though cut out of any stuffs.
Skel. My brother Heron hath right wisely delivered his
opinion; for he
that threads his needle with the sharp eyes of industry shall in time go
through-stitch with the new suit of preferment.
Ast. Spoken to the purpose, my fine-witted brother Skelton; for as no
indenture but has its counterpane, no noverint but his condition or
defeasance; so no right but may have claim, no claim but may have possession,
any act of parliament to the contrary notwithstanding.
Fri. You are all read in mysteries of state,
And quick of apprehension, deep in judgment,
Active in resolution; and 'tis pity
Such counsel should lie buried in obscurity.
But why, in such a time and cause of triumph,
Stands the judicious Mayor of Cork so silent?
Believe it, sir, as English Richard prospers,
You must not miss employment of high nature.
J. a-Wat. If men may be credited in their mortality, which I dare not
peremptorily aver but they may or not be, presumptions by this marriage are
then, in sooth, of fruitful expectation. Or else I must not justify other
men's
belief, more than other should rely on mine.
Fri. Pith of experience! those that have borne office
Weigh every word before it can drop from them.
But, noble counsellors, since now the present
Requires in point of honour,—pray, mistake not,—
Some service to our lord, 'tis fit the Scots
Should not engross all glory to themselves
At this so grand and eminent solemnity.
Skel. The Scots! the motion is defied: I had rather, for my part,
without trial of my country, suffer persecution under the pressing-iron of
reproach; or let my skin be punched full of eyelet-holes with the bodkin of
derision.
Ast. I will sooner lose both my ears on the pillory of forgery.
Her. Let me first live a bankrupt, and die in the lousy Hole of
hunger,
without compounding for sixpence in the pound.
J. a-Wat. If men fail not in their expectations, there may be spirits
also that digest no rude affronts, Master Secretary Frion, or I am cozened;
which is possible, I grant.
Fri. Resolved like men of knowledge: at this feast, then,
In honour of the bride, the Scots, I know,
Will in some show, some masque, or some device,
Prefer their duties: now it were uncomely
That we be found less forward for our prince
Than they are for their lady; and by how much
We outshine them in persons of account,
By so much more will our endeavours meet with
A livelier applause. Great emperors
Have for their recreations undertook
Such kind of pastimes: as for the conceit,
Refer it to my study; the performance
You all shall share a thanks in: 'twill be grateful.
Her. The motion is allowed: I have stole to a dancing school when I
was
a prentice.
Ast. There have been Irish hubbubs, when I have made one too.
Skel. For fashioning of shapes and cutting a cross-caper, turn me off
to my trade again.
J. a-Wat. Surely there is, if I be not deceived, a kind of gravity in
merriment; as there is, or perhaps ought to be, respect of persons in the
quality of carriage, which is as it is construed, either so or so.
Fri. Still you come home to me; upon occasion
I find you relish courtship with discretion;
And such are fit for statesmen of your merits.
Pray ye wait the prince, and in his ear acquaint him
With this design; I'll follow and direct ye.
[Exeunt all but FRION.
O, the toil
Of humouring this abject scum of mankind,
Muddy-brained peasants! princes feel a misery
Beyond impartial sufferance, whose extremes
Must yield to such abettors:—yet our tide
Runs smoothly, without adverse winds: run on!
Flow to a full sea! time alone debates
Quarrels forewritten in the book of fates. [Exit.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.—Westminster. The Palace.
Enter King HENRY, with his gorget on, his sword, plume of feathers, and
truncheon, followed by URSWICK.
KHEN. How runs the time of day?
Urs. Past ten, my lord.
K. Hen. A bloody hour will it prove to some,
Whose disobedience, like the sons o' the earth,
Throws a defiance 'gainst the face of heaven.
Oxford, with Essex and stout De la Pole,
Have quieted the Londoners, I hope,
And set them safe from fear.
Urs. They are all silent.
K. Hen. From their own battlements they may behold
Saint George's-fields o'erspread with armèd men;
Amongst whom our own royal standard threatens
Confusion to opposers: we must learn
To practise war again in time of peace,
Or lay our crown before our subjects' feet;
Ha, Urswick, must we not?
Urs. The powers who seated
King Henry on his lawful throne will ever
Rise up in his defence.
K. Hen. Rage shall not fright
The bosom of our confidence: in Kent
Our Cornish rebels, cozened of their hopes,
Met brave resistance by that country's earl,
George Abergeny, Cobham, Poynings, Guilford,
And other loyal hearts; now, if Blackheath
Must be reserved the fatal tomb to swallow
Such stiff-necked abjects as with weary marches
Have travelled from their homes, their wives, and children,
To pay, instead of subsidies, their lives,
We may continue sovereign. Yet, Urswick,
We'll not abate one penny what in parliament
Hath freely been contributed; we must not;
Money gives soul to action. Our competitor,
The Flemish counterfeit, with James of Scotland,
Will prove what courage need and want can nourish,
Without the food of fit supplies:—but, Urswick,
I have a charm in secret that shall loose
The witchcraft wherewith young King James is bound,
And free it at my pleasure without bloodshed.
Urs. Your majesty's a wise king, sent from heaven,
Protector of the just.
K. Hen. Let dinner cheerfully
Be served in; this day of the week is ours,
Our day of providence; for Saturday
Yet never failed in all my undertakings
To yield me rest at night. [A flourish.]—What means this warning?
Good fate, speak peace to Henry!
Enter Lord DAWBENEY, Earl of OXFORD, and Attendants.
Daw. Live the king,
Triumphant in the ruin of his enemies!
Oxf. The head of strong rebellion is cut off,
The body hewed in pieces.
K. Hen. Dawbeney, Oxford,
Minions to noblest fortunes, how yet stands
The comfort of your wishes?
Daw. Briefly thus:
The Cornish under Audley, disappointed
Of flattered expectation, from the Kentish—
Your majesty's right-trusty liegemen—flew,
Feathered by rage and heartened by presumption,
To take the field even at your palace-gates,
And face you in your chamber-royal: arrogance
Improved their ignorance; for they, supposing,
Misled by rumour, that the day of battle
Should fall on Monday, rather braved your forces
Than doubted any onset; yet this morning,
When in the dawning I, by your direction,
Strove to get Deptford-strand bridge, there I found
Such a resistance as might show what strength
Could make: here arrows hailed in showers upon us
A full yard long at least; but we prevailed.
My Lord of Oxford, with his fellow peers
Environing the hill, fell fiercely on them
On the one side, I on the other, till, great sir,—
Pardon the oversight,—eager of doing
Some memorable act, I was engaged
Almost a prisoner, but was freed as soon
As sensible of danger: now the fight
Began in heat, which quenched in the blood of
Two thousand rebels, and as many more
Reserved to try your mercy, have returned
A victory with safety.
K. Hen. Have we lost
An equal number with them?
Oxf. In the total
Scarcely four hundred. Audley, Flammock, Joseph,
The ringleaders of this commotion,
Railèd in ropes, fit ornaments for traitors,
Wait your determinations.
K. Hen. We must pay
Our thanks where they are only due: O, lords,
Here is no victory, nor shall our people
Conceive that we can triumph in their falls.
Alas, poor souls! let such as are escaped
Steal to the country back without pursuit:
There's not a drop of blood spilt but hath drawn
As much of mine; their swords could have wrought wonders
On their king's part, who faintly were unsheathed
Against their prince, but wounded their own breasts.
Lords, we are debtors to your care; our payment
Shall be both sure and fitting your deserts.
Daw. Sir, will you please to see those rebels, heads
Of this wild monster-multitude?
K. Hen. Dear friend,
My faithful Dawbeney, no; on them our justice
Must frown in terror; I will not vouchsafe
An eye of pity to them. Let false Audley
Be drawn upon an hurdle from the Newgate
To Tower-hill in his own coat of arms
Painted on paper, with the arms reversed,
Defaced and torn; there let him lose his head.
The lawyer and the blacksmith shall be hanged,
Quartered; their quarters into Cornwall sent
Examples to the rest, whom we are pleased
To pardon and dismiss from further quest.—
My Lord of Oxford, see it done.
Oxf. I shall, sir.
K. Hen. Urswick!
Urs. My lord?
K. Hen. To Dinham, our high-treasurer,
Say, we command commissions be new granted
For the collection of our subsidies
Through all the west, and that speedily.—
Lords, we acknowledge our engagements due
For your most constant services.
Daw. Your soldiers
Have manfully and faithfully acquitted
Their several duties.
K. Hen. For it we will throw
A largess free amongst them, which shall hearten
And cherish-up their loyalties. More yet
Remains of like employment; not a man
Can be dismissed, till enemies abroad,
More dangerous than these at home, have felt
The puissance of our arms. O, happy kings
Whose thrones are raisèd in their subjects' hearts!
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Edinburgh. The Palace.
Enter Earl of HUNTLEY and Lord 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 tabors,
Hotch-potch of Scotch and Irish twingle-twangles,
Like to so many quiristers of Bedlam
Trolling a catch! The feasts, the manly stomachs,
The healths in usquebaugh and bonny-clabber,
The ale in dishes never fetched 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 ye. 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.
Dal. Alas, sir,
How can you cast a mist upon your griefs?
Which, howsoe'er you shadow, but present
To any judging eye the perfect substance,
Of which mine are but counterfeits.
Hunt. Foh, Dalyell!
Thou interrupt'st the part I bear in music
To this rare bridal-feast; let us be merry,
Whilst flattering calms secure us against storms:
Tempests, when they begin to roar, put out
The light of peace, and cloud the sun's bright eye
In darkness of despair; yet we are safe.
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 apt 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 doted
On every hair that grew to trim her head,
Admits not any pain like one of these.
Come, thou'rt deceived 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 deceived in me.
Dal. Deceived! O, noble Huntley, my few years
Have learnt experience of too ripe an age
To forfeit fit credulity: forgive
My rudeness, I am bold.
Hunt. Forgive me first
A madness of ambition; by example
Teach me humility, for patience scorns
Lectures, which schoolmen use to read to boys
Uncapable of injuries: though old,
I could grow tough in fury, and disclaim
Allegiance to my king; could fall at odds
With all my fellow-peers that durst not stand
Detendants 'gainst the rape done on mine honour:
But kings are earthly gods, there is no meddling
With their anointed bodies; for their actions
They only are accountable to heaven.
Yet in the puzzle of my troubled brain
One antidote's reserved against the poison
Of my distractions; 'tis in thee t' apply it.
Dal. Name it; O, name it quickly, sir!
Hunt. A pardon
For my most foolish slighting thy deserts;
I have culled out this time to beg it: prithee,
Be gentle; had I been so, thou hadst owned
A happy bride, but now a castaway,
And never child of mine more.
Dal. Say not so, sir;
It is not fault in her.
Hunt. The world would prate
How she was handsome; young I know she was,
Tender, and sweet in her obedience;
But lost now: what a bankrupt am I made
Of a full stock of blessings! Must I hope
A mercy from thy heart?
Dal. A love, a service,
A friendship to posterity.
Hunt. Good angels
Reward thy charity! I have no more
But prayers left me now.
Dal. I'll lend you mirth, sir,
If you 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! [Flourish.
Hunt. O, 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 marriage!
A flourish. Enter King JAMES, PERKIN WARBECK leading Lady KATHERINE,
Earl of CRAWFORD and his Countess; JANE DOUGLAS, and other Ladies.
Earl
of HUNTLEY and Lord Dalyell fall in among them.
K. Ja. Cousin of York, you and your princely bride
Have liberally enjoyed such soft delights
As a new-married couple could forethink;
Nor has our bounty shortened expectation:
But after all those pleasures of repose,
Of amorous safety, we must rouse the ease
Of dalliance with achievements of more glory
Than sloth and sleep can furnish: yet, for farewell,
Gladly we entertain a truce with time,
To grace the joint endeavours of our servants.
War. My royal cousin, in your princely favour
The extent of bounty hath been so unlimited,
As only an acknowledgment in words
Would breed suspicion in our state and quality.
When we shall, in the fulness of our fate,—
Whose minister, necessity, will perfect,—
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 distinction.
Then James and Richard, being in effect
One person, shall unite and rule one people,
Divisible in titles only.
K. Ja. Seat ye.—
Are the presenters ready?
Craw. All are entering.
Hunt. Dainty sport toward, Dalyell! sit; come, sit, Sit and be quiet;
here are kingly bug's-words!
Enter at one door Four Scotch Antics, 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 Masquers.
K. Ja. Enough
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,
By four o'clock to-morrow after dinner
Will be wi' ye; speed away!
Craw. I fly, my lord. [Exit.
K. Ja. Our business grows to head now: where's your secretary,
That he attends ye 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 your honours
Must toil in fight abroad.
Hunt. Prayers are the weapons
Which men so near their graves as I do use;
I've little else to do.
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. [A flourish.
War. Rest to our cousin-king.
Kath. Your blessing, sir.
Hunt. Fair blessings on your highness! sure, you need 'em.
[Exeunt all but WARBECK, Lady KATHERINE, 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
A parting ceremony; for to-morrow
It would be sacrilege t' intrude upon
The temple of thy peace: swift as the morning
Must I break from the down of thy embraces,
To put on steel, and trace the paths which lead
Through various hazards to a careful throne.
Kath. My lord, I'd fain go wi' ye; there's small fortune
In staying here behind.
War. The churlish brow
Of war, fair dearest, is a sight of horror
For ladies' entertainment: if thou hear'st
A truth of my sad ending by the hand
Of some unnatural subject, thou withal
Shalt hear how I died worthy of my right,
By falling like a king; and in the close,
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
Is all I can call mine.
War. But we will live,
Live, beauteous virtue, by the lively test
Of our own blood, to let the counterfeit
Be known the world's contempt.
Kath. Pray, do not use
That word; it carries fate in't. The first suit
I ever made, I trust your love will grant.
War. Without denial, dearest.
Kath. That hereafter,
If you return with safety, no adventure
May sever us in tasting any fortune:
I ne'er can stay behind again.
War. You're lady
Of your desires, and shall command your will;
Yet 'tis too hard to 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 minutes
Remain yet; let's be thrifty in our hopes. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.—The Palace at Westminster.
Enter King HENRY, HIALAS, and URSWICK.
K. Hen. Your name is Pedro Hialas, a Spaniard?
Hial. Sir, a Castilian born.
K. Hen. King Ferdinand,
With wise Queen Isabel his royal consort,
Write ye a man of worthy trust and candour.
Princes are dear to heaven who meet with subjects
Sincere in their employments; such I find
Your commendation, sir. Let me deliver
How joyful I repute the amity
With your most fortunate master, who almost
Comes near a miracle in his success
Against the Moors, who had devoured his country
Entire now to his sceptre. We, for our part,
Will imitate his providence, in hope
Of partage in the use on't: we repute
The privacy of his advisement to us
By you, intended an ambassador
To Scotland, for a peace between our kingdoms,
A policy of love, which well becomes
His wisdom and our care.
Hial. Your majesty
Doth understand him rightly.
K. Hen. Else
Your knowledge can instruct me; wherein, sir,
To fall on ceremony would seem useless,
Which shall not need; for I will be as studious
Of your concealment in our conference
As any council shall advise.
Hial. Then, sir,
My chief request is, that on notice given
At my dispatch in Scotland, you will send
Some learnèd man of power and experience
To join entreaty with me.
K. Hen. I shall do it,
Being that way well provided by a servant
Which may attend ye ever.
Hial. If King James,
By any indirection, should perceive
My coming near your court, I doubt the issue
Of my employment.
K. Hen. Be not your own herald:
I learn sometimes without a teacher.
Hial. Good days
Guard all your princely thoughts!
K. Hen. Urswick, no further
Than the next open gallery attend him.—
A hearty love go with you!
Hial. Your vowed beadsman.
[Exeunt URSWICK and HIALAS.
K. Hen. King Ferdinand is not so much a fox,
But that a cunning huntsman may in time
Fall on the scent: in honourable actions
Safe imitation best deserves a praise.
Re-enter URSWICK.
What, the Castilian's passed away?
Urs. He is,
And undiscovered; the two hundred marks
Your majesty conveyed, he gently pursed
With a right modest gravity.
K. Hen. What was't
He muttered in the earnest of his wisdom?
He spoke not to be heard; 'twas about—
Urs. Warbeck:
How if King Henry were but sure of subjects,
Such a wild runagate might soon be caged,
No great ado withstanding.
K. Hen. Nay, nay; something
About my son Prince Arthur's match.
Urs. Right, right, sir:
He hummed it out, how that King Ferdinand
Swore that the marriage 'twixt the Lady Katherine
His daughter and the Prince of Wales your son
Should never be consummated as long
As any Earl of Warwick lived in England,
Except by new creation.
K. Hen. I remember
'Twas so, indeed: the king his master swore it?
Urs. Directly, as he said.
K. Hen. An Earl of Warwick!—
Provide a messenger for letters instantly
To Bishop Fox. Our news from Scotland creeps;
It comes so slow, we must have airy spirits;
Our time requires dispatch.—[Aside] The Earl of Warwick!
Let him be son to Clarence, younger brother
To Edward! Edward's daughter is, I think,
Mother to our Prince Arthur.—Get a messenger.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—Before the Castle of Norham.
Enter King JAMES, PERKIN WARBECK, Earl of CRAWFORD, Lord Dalyell, HERON,
ASTLEY, JOHN A-WATER, Skelton, and Soldiers.
K. Ja. We trifle time against these castle-walls;
The English prelate will not yield: once more
Give him a summons. [A parley is sounded.
Enter on the walls the Bishop of DURHAM, armed, a truncheon in his hand,
with Soldiers.
War. See, the jolly clerk
Appears, trimmed like a ruffian!
K. Ja. Bishop, yet
Set ope the ports, and to your lawful sovereign,
Richard of York, surrender up this castle,
And he will take thee to his grace; else Tweed
Shall overflow his banks with English blood,
And wash the sand that cements those hard stones
From their foundation.
Dur. Warlike King of Scotland,
Vouchsafe a few words from a man enforced
To lay his book aside, and clap on arms
Unsuitable to my age or my profession.
Courageous prince, consider on what grounds
You rend the face of peace, and break a league
With a confederate king that courts your amity,
For whom too? for a vagabond, a straggler,
Not noted in the world by birth or name,
An obscure peasant, by the rage of hell
Loosed from his chains to set great kings at strife.
What nobleman, what common man of note,
What ordinary subject hath come in,
Since first you footed on our territories,
To only feign a welcome? Children laugh at
Your proclamations, and the wiser pity
So great a potentate's abuse by one
Who juggles merely with the fawns and youth
Of an instructed compliment: such spoils,
Such slaughters as the rapine of your soldiers
Already have committed, is enough
To show your zeal in a conceited justice.
Yet, great king, wake not yet my master's vengeance
But shake that viper off which gnaws your entrails.
I and my fellow-subjects are resolved,
If you persist, to stand your utmost fury,
Till our last blood drop from us.
War. O, sir, lend
No ear to this traducer of my honour!—
What shall I call thee, thou gray-bearded scandal,
That kick'st against the sovereignty to which
Thou ow'st allegiance?—Treason is bold-faced
And eloquent in mischief: sacred king,
Be deaf to his known malice.
Dur. Rather yield
Unto those holy motions which inspire
The sacred heart of an anointed body.
It is the surest policy in princes
To govern well their own than seek encroachment
Upon another's right.
Craw. The king is serious,
Deep in his meditations.
Dal. Lift them up
To Heaven, his better genius!
War. Can you study
While such a devil raves? O, sir!
K. Ja. Well, bishop,
You'll not be drawn to mercy?
Dur. Construe me
In like case by a subject of your own:
My resolution's fixed: King James, be counselled,
A greater fate waits on thee.
[Exeunt Bishop of DURHAM and Soldiers from the
walls.
K. Ja. Forage through
The country; spare no prey of life or goods.
War. O, sir, then give me leave to yield to nature
I am most miserable: had I been
Born what this clergyman would by defame
Baffle belief with, I had never sought
The truth of mine inheritance with rapes
Of women or of infants murdered, virgins
Deflowered, old men butchered, dwellings fired,
My land depopulated, and my people
Afflicted with a kingdom's devastation:
Show more remorse, great king, or I shall never
Endure to see such havoc with dry eyes;
Spare, spare, my dear, dear England!
K. Ja. You fool your piety
Ridiculously careful of an interest
Another man possesseth. Where's your faction?
Shrewdly the bishop guessed of your adherents,
When not a petty burgess of some town,
No, not a villager hath yet appeared
In your assistance: that should make ye whine,
And not your country's sufferance, as you term it.
Dal. The king is angry.
Crew. And the passionate duke
Effeminately dolent.
War. The experience
In former trials, sir, both of mine own
Or other princes cast out of their thrones,
Have so acquainted me how misery
Is destitute of friends or of relief,
That I can easily submit to taste
Lowest reproof without contempt or words.
K. Ja. An humble-minded man!
Enter FRION.
Now, what intelligence
Speaks Master Secretary Frion?
Fri. Henry
Of England hath in open field o'erthrown
The armies who opposed him in the right
Of this young prince.
K. Ja. His subsidies, you mean:-
More, if you have it?
Fri. Howard, Earl of Surrey,
Backed by twelve earls and barons of the north,
An hundred knights and gentlemen of name,
And twenty thousand soldiers, is at hand
To raise your siege. Brooke, with a goodly navy,
Is admiral at sea; and Dawbeney follows
With an unbroken army for a second.
War. 'Tis false! they come to side with us.
K. Ja. Retreat
We shall not find them stones and walls to cope with.—
Yet, Duke of York, for such thou sayst thou art,
I'll try thy fortune to the height: to Surrey,
By Marchmont, I will send a brave defiance
For single combat; once a king will venture
His person to an earl, with condition
Of spilling lesser blood: Surrey is bold,
And James resolved.
War. O, rather, gracious sir,
Create me to this glory, since my cause
Doth interest this fair quarrel; valued least,
I am his equal.
K. Ja. I will be the man.—
March softly off: where victory can reap
A harvest crowned with triumph, toil is cheap. [Exeunt.
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.—The English Camp near Ayton, on the Borders.
Enter Earl of SURREY, Bishop of DURHAM, Soldiers, with drums and
colours.
SUR. Are all our braving enemies shrunk back,
Hid in the fogs of their distempered climate,
Not daring to behold our colours wave.
In spite of this infected air? Can they
Look on the strength of Cundrestine defaced?
The glory of Hedon-hall devasted? that
Of Edington cast down? the pile of Fulden
O'erthrown? and this the strongest of their forts,
Old Ayton-castle, yielded and demolished?
And yet not peep abroad? The Scots are bold,
Hardy in battle; but it seems the cause
They undertake, considerèd, appears
Unjointed in the frame on't.
Dur. Noble Surrey,
Our royal master's wisdom is at all times
His fortune's harbinger; for when he draws
His sword to threaten war, his providence
Settles on peace, the crowning of an empire.
[A trumpet within.
Sur. Rank all in order: 'tis a herald's sound;
Some message from King James: keep a fixed station.
Enter MARCHMONT and another in Heralds' coats.
March. From Scotland's awful majesty we come
Unto the English general.
Sur. To me?
Say on.
March. Thus, then; the waste and prodigal
Effusion of so much guiltless blood
As in two potent armies of necessity
Must glut the earth's dry womb, his sweet compassion
Hath studied to prevent; for which to thee,
Great Earl of Surrey, in a single fight
He offers his own royal person; fairly
Proposing these conditions only, that
If victory conclude our master's right,
The earl shall deliver for his ransom
The town of Berwick to him, with the fishgarths;
If Surrey shall prevail, the king will pay
A thousand pounds down present for his freedom,
And silence further arms: so speaks King James.
Sur. So speaks King James! so like a king he speaks.
Heralds, the English general returns
A sensible devotion from his heart,
His very soul, to this unfellowed grace:
For let the king know, gentle heralds, truly,
How his descent from his great throne, to honour
A stranger subject with so high a title
As his compeer in arms, hath conquered more
Than any sword could do; for which—my loyalty
Respected—I will serve his virtues ever
In all humility: but Berwick, say,
Is none of mine to part with; in affairs
Of princes subjects cannot traffic rights
Inherent to the crown. My life is mine,
That I dare freely hazard; and—with pardon
To some unbribed vainglory—if his majesty
Shall taste a change of fate, his liberty
Shall meet no articles. If I fall, falling
So bravely, I refer me to his pleasure
Without condition; and for this dear favour,
Say, if not countermanded, I will cease
Hostility, unless provoked.
March. This answer
We shall relate unpartially.
Dur. With favour,
Pray have a little patience.—[Aside to SURREY] Sir, you find
By these gay flourishes how wearied travail
Inclines a willing rest; here's but a prologue,
However confidently uttered, meant
For some ensuing acts of peace: consider
The time of year, unseasonableness of weather,
Charge, barrenness of profit; and occasion
Presents itself for honourable treaty,
Which we may make good use of. I will back,
As sent from you, in point of noble gratitude
Unto King James, with these his heralds: you
Shall shortly hear from me, my lord, for order
Of breathing or proceeding; and King Henry,
Doubt not, will thank the service.
Sur. [Aside to DURHAM] To your wisdom,
Lord Bishop, I refer it.
Dur. [Aside to SURREY] Be it so, then.
Sur. Heralds, accept this chain and these few crowns.
March. Our duty, noble general.
Dur. In part
Of retribution for such princely love,
My lord the general is pleased to show
The king your master his sincerest zeal,
By further treaty, by no common man:
I will myself return with you.
Sur. Y' oblige
My faithfullest affections t'ye, Lord Bishop.
March. All happiness attend your lordship!
[Exit with Herald.
Sur. Come, friends
And fellow-soldiers; we, I doubt, shall meet
No enemies but woods and hills to fight with;
Then 'twere as good to feed and sleep at home:
We may be free from danger, not secure. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—The Scottish Camp.
Enter PERKIN WARBECK and FRION.
War. Frion, O, Frion, all my hopes of glory
Are at a stand! the Scottish king grows dull,
Frosty, and wayward, since this Spanish agent
Hath mixed discourses with him; they are private,
I am not called to council now:—confusion
On all his crafty shrugs! I feel the fabric
Of my designs are tottering.
Fri. Henry's policies
Stir with too many engines.
War. Let his mines,
Shaped in the bowels of the earth, blow up
Works raised for my defence, yet can they never
Toss into air the freedom of my birth,
Or disavow my blood Plantagenet's:
I am my father's son still. But, O, Frion,
When I bring into count with my disasters
My wife's compartnership, my Kate's, my life's,
Then, then my frailty feels an earthquake. Mischief
Damn Henry's plots! I will be England's king,
Or let my aunt of Burgundy report
My fall in the attempt deserved our ancestors!
Fri. You grow too wild in passion: if you will
Appear a prince indeed, confine your will
To moderation.
War. What a saucy rudeness
Prompts this distrust! If? If I will appear!
Appear a prince! death throttle such deceits
Even in their birth of utterance! cursèd cozenage
Of trust! Ye make me mad: 'twere best, it seems,
That I should turn impostor to myself,
Be mine own counterfeit, belie the truth
Of my dear mother's womb, the sacred bed
Of a prince murdered and a living baffled!
Fri. Nay, if you have no ears to hear, I have
No breath to spend in vain.
War. Sir, sir, take heed!
Gold and the promise of promotion rarely
Fail in temptation.
Fri. Why to me this?
War. Nothing.
Speak what you will; we are not sunk so low
But your advice may piece again the heart
Which many cares have broken: you were wont
In all extremities to talk of comfort;
Have ye none left now? I'll not interrupt ye.
Good, bear with my distractions! If King James
Deny us dwelling here, next whither must I?
I prithee, be not angry.
Fri. Sir, I told ye
Of letters come from Ireland; how the Cornish
Stomach their last defeat, and humbly sue
That with such forces as you could partake
You would in person land in Cornwall, where
Thousands will entertain your title gladly.
War. Let me embrace thee, hug thee; thou'st revived
My comforts; if my cousin-king will fail,
Our cause will never.
Enter JOHN A-WATER, HERON, ASTLEY, and SKELTON.
Welcome, my tried friends!
You keep your brains awake in our defence.—
Frion, advise with them of these affairs,
In which be wondrous secret; I will listen
What else concerns us here: be quick and wary. [Exit.
Ast. Ah, sweet young prince!—Secretary, my fellow-counsellors
and
I have consulted, and jump all in one opinion directly; an if these Scotch
garboils do not fadge to our minds, we will pell-mell run amongst the Cornish
choughs presently and in a trice.
Skel. 'Tis but going to sea and leaping ashore, cut ten or twelve
thousand unnecessary throats, fire seven or eight towns, take half a dozen
cities, get into the market-place, crown him Richard the Fourth, and the
business is finished.
J. a-Wat. I grant ye, quoth I, so far forth as men may do, no more tha
n
men may do; for it is good to consider when consideration may be to the
purpose,
otherwise—still you shall pardon me—little said is soon amended.
Fri. Then you conclude the Cornish action surest?
Her. We do so, and doubt not but to thrive abundantly. Ho, my
masters,
had we known of the commotion when we set sail out of Ireland, the
land had been
ours ere this time.
Skel. Pish, pish! 'tis but forbearing being an earl or a duke a month
or two longer. I say, and say it again, if the work go not on apace, let me
never see new fashion more. I warrant ye, I warrant ye; we will have it so,
and
so it shall be.
Ast. This is but a cold phlegmatic country, not stirring enough
for men
of spirit. Give me the heart of England for my money!
Skel. A man may batten there in a week only, with hot loaves and
butter, and a lusty cup of muscadine and sugar at breakfast, though he make
never a meal all the month after.
J. a-Wat. Surely, when I bore office I found by experience that to be
much troublesome was to be much wise and busy: I have observed how filching
and
bragging has been the best service in these last wars; and therefore conclude
peremptorily on the design in England. If things and things may fall out,
as who
can tell what or how—but the end will show it.
Fri. Resolved like men of judgment! Here to linger
More time is but to lose it: cheer the prince
And haste him on to this; on this depends
Fame in success, or glory in our ends. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.—Another part of the same.
Enter King JAMES, the Bishop of DURHAM, and HIALAS.
Hial. France, Spain, and Germany combine a league
Of amity with England: nothing wants
For settling peace through Christendom, but love
Between the British monarchs, James and Henry.
Dur. The English merchants, sir, have been received
With general procession into Antwerp;
The emperor confirms the combination.
Hial. The king of Spain resolves a marriage
For Katherine his daughter with Prince Arthur.
Dur. France courts this early contract.
Hial. What can hinder
A quietness in England?—
Dur. But your suffrage
To such a silly creature, mighty sir,
As is but in effect an apparition,
A shadow, a mere trifle?
Hial. To this union
The good of both the church and commonwealth
Invite ye.
Dur. To this unity, a mystery
Of providence points out a greater blessing
For both these nations than our human reason
Can search into. King Henry hath a daughter,
The Princess Margaret; I need not urge
What honour, what felicity can follow
On such affinity 'twixt two Christian kings
Inleagued by ties of blood; but sure I am
If you, sir, ratify the peace proposed,
I dare both motion and effect this marriage
For weal of both the kingdoms.
K. Ja. Dar'st thou, lord bishop?
Dur. Put it to trial, royal James, by sending
Some noble personage to the English court
By way of embassy.
Hial. Part of the business
Shall suit my mediation.
K. Ja. Well; what Heaven
Hath pointed out to be, must be: you two
Are ministers, I hope, of blessèd fate.
But herein only I will stand acquitted,
No blood of innocents shall buy my peace:
For Warbeck, as you nick him, came to me,
Commended by the states of Christendom,
A prince, though in distress; his fair demeanour,
Lovely behaviour, unappallèd spirit,
Spoke him not base in blood, however clouded.
The brute beasts have both rocks and caves to fly
And men the altars of the church; to us
He came for refuge: kings come near in nature
Unto the gods in being touched with pity.
Yet, noble friends, his mixture with our blood,
Even with our own, shall no way interrupt
A general peace; only I will dismiss him
From my protection, throughout my dominions,
In safety; but not ever to return.
Hial. You are a just king.
Dur. Wise, and herein happy.
K. Ja. Nor will we dally in affairs of weight:
Huntley, lord bishop, shall with you to England
Ambassador from us: we will throw down
Our weapons; peace on all sides! Now repair
Unto our council; we will soon be with you.
Hial. Delay shall question no dispatch; Heaven crown it. [Exeunt
Bishop of DURHAM and HIALAS.
K. Ja. A league with Ferdinand! a marriage
With English Margaret! a free release
From restitution for the late affronts!
Cessation from hostility! and all
For Warbeck, not delivered, but dismissed!
We could not wish it better.—Dalyell!
Enter Lord DALYELL.
Dal. Here sir.
K. Ja. Are Huntley and his daughter sent for?
Dal. Sent for
And come, my lord.
K. Ja. Say to the English prince,
We want his company.
Dal. He is at hand, sir.
Enter PERKIN WARBECK, Lady KATHERINE, JANE, FRION, HERON, SKELTON, JOHN A-
WATER, and ASTLEY.
K. Ja. Cousin, our bounty, favours, gentleness,
Our benefits, the hazard of our person,
Our people's lives, our land, hath evidenced
How much we have engaged on your behalf:
How trivial and how dangerous our hopes
Appear, how fruitless our attempts in war,
How windy, rather smoky, your assurance
Of party shows, we might in vain repeat:
But now obedience to the mother church,
A father's care upon his country's weal,
The dignity of state, direct our wisdom
To seal an oath of peace through christendom;
To which we're sworn already: it is you
Must only seek new fortunes in the world,
And find an harbour elsewhere. As I promised
On your arrival, you have met no usage
Deserves repentance in your being here;
But yet I must live master of mine own:
However, what is necessary for you
At your departure, I am well content
You be accommodated with, provided
Delay prove not my enemy.
War. It shall not,
Most glorious prince. The fame of my designs
Soars higher than report of ease and sloth
Can aim at: I acknowledge all your favours
Boundless and singular; am only wretched
In words as well as means to thank the grace
That flowed so liberally. Two empires firmly
You're lord of,—Scotland and Duke Richard's heart:
My claim to mine inheritance shall sooner
Fail than my life to serve you, best of kings;
And, witness Edward's blood in me! I am
More loth to part with such a great example
Of virtue than all other mere respects.
But, sir, my last suit is, you will not force
From me what you have given,—this chaste lady,
Resolved on all extremes.
Kath. I am your wife;
No human power can or shall divorce
My faith from duty.
War. Such another treasure
The earth is bankrupt of.
K. Ja. I gave her, cousin,
And must avow the gift; will add withal
A furniture becoming her high birth
And unsuspected constancy; provide
For your attendance: we will part good friends.
[Exit with Lord DALYELL.
War. The Tudor hath been cunning in his plots:
His Fox of Durham would not fail at last.
But what? our cause and courage are our own:
Be men, my friends, and let our cousin-king
See how we follow fate as willingly
As malice follows us. Ye're all resolved
For the west parts of England?
All. Cornwall, Cornwall!
Fri. The inhabitants expect you daily.
War. Cheerfully
Draw all our ships out of the harbour, friends;
Our time of stay doth seem too long, we must
Prevent intelligence; about it suddenly.
All. A prince, a prince, a prince!
[Exeunt HERON, SKELTON, ASTLEY, and JOHN A-WATER.
War. Dearest, admit not into thy pure thoughts
The least of scruples, which may charge their softness
With burden of distrust. Should I prove wanting
To noblest courage now, here were the trial:
But I am perfect, sweet; I fear no change,
More than thy being partner in my sufferance.
Kath. My fortunes, sir, have armed me to encounter
What chance soe'er they meet with.—Jane, 'tis fit
Thou stay behind, for whither wilt thou wander?
Jane. Never till death will I forsake my mistress,
Nor then in wishing to die with ye gladly.
Kath. Alas, good soul!
Fri. Sir, to your aunt of Burgundy
I will relate your present undertakings:
From her expect on all occasions welcome.
You cannot find me idle in your services.
War. Go, Frion, go: wise men know how to soothe
Adversity, not serve it: thou hast waited
Too long on expectation; never yet
Was any nation read of so besotted
In reason as t' adore the setting sun.
Fly to the archduke's court; say to the duchess,
Her nephew, with fair Katherine his wife,
Are on their expectation to begin
The raising of an empire: if they fail,
Yet the report will never. Farewell, Frion!
[Exit FRION.
This man, Kate, has been true, though now of late
I fear too much familiar with the Fox.
Re-enter Lord DALYELL with the Earl of HUNTLEY.
Hunt. I come to take my leave: you need not doubt
My interest in this sometime child of mine;
She's all yours now, good sir.—O, poor lost creature,
Heaven guard thee with much patience! if thou canst
Forget thy title to old Huntley's family,
As much of peace will settle in thy mind
As thou canst wish to taste but in thy grave.
Accept my tears yet, prithee; they are tokens
Of charity as true as of affection.
Kath. This is the cruell'st farewell!
Hunt. Love, young gentleman,
This model of my griefs; she calls you husband;
Then be not jealous of a parting kiss,—
It is a father's, not a lover's offering;
Take it, my last [Kisses her].—I am too much a child.
Exchange of passion is to little use,
So I should grow too foolish: goodness guide thee!
[Exit.
Kath. Most miserable daughter!—Have you aught
To add, sir, to our sorrows?
Dal. I resolve,
Fair lady, with your leave, to wait on all
Your fortunes in my person, if your lord
Vouchsafe me entertainment.
War. We will be bosom-friends, most noble Dalvell;
For I accept this tender of your love
Beyond ability of thanks to speak it.—
Clear thy drowned eyes, my fairest: time and industry
Will show us better days, or end the worst. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—The Palace at Westminster.
Enter Earl of OXFORD and Lord DAWBENEY.
Oxf. No news from Scotland yet, my lord?
Daw. Not any
But what King Henry knows himself: I thought
Our armies should have marched that way; his mind,
It seems, is altered.
Oxf. Victory attends
His standard everywhere.
Daw. Wise princes, Oxford,
Fight not alone with forces. Providence
Directs and tutors strength; else elephants
And barbèd horses might as well prevail
As the most subtle stratagems of war.
Oxf. The Scottish king showed more than common bravery
In proffer of a combat hand to hand
With Surrey.
Daw. And but showed it: northern bloods
Are gallant being fired; but the cold climate,
Without good store of fuel, quickly freezeth
The glowing flames.
Oxf. Surrey, upon my life,
Would not have shrunk an hair's-breadth.
Daw. May he forfeit
The honour of an English name and nature,
Who would not have embraced it with a greediness
As violent as hunger runs to food!
'Twas an addition any worthy spirit
Would covet, next to immortality,
Above all joys of life: we all missed shares
In that great opportunity.
Enter King HENRY, in close conversation with URSWICK.
Oxf. The king!
See, he comes smiling.
Daw. O, the game runs smooth
On his side, then, believe it: cards well shuffled
And dealt with cunning bring some gamester thrift,
But others must rise losers.
K. Hen. The train takes?
Urs. Most prosperously.
K. Hen. I knew it should not miss.
He fondly angles who will hurl his bait
Into the water 'cause the fish at first
Plays round about the line and dares not bite.—
Lords, we may reign your king yet: Dawbeney, Oxford,
Urswick, must Perkin wear the crown?
Daw. A slave!
Oxf. A vagabond!
Urs. A glow-worm!
K. Hen. Now, if Frion,
His practised politician, wear a brain
Of proof, King Perkin will in progress ride
Through all his large dominions; let us meet him,
And tender homage: ha, sirs! liegemen ought
To pay their fealty.
Daw. Would the rascal were,
With all his rabble, within twenty miles
Of London!
K. Hen. Farther off is near enough
To lodge him in his home: I'll wager odds,
Surrey and all his men are either idle
Or hasting back; they have not work, I doubt,
To keep them busy.
Daw. 'Tis a strange conceit, str.
K. Hen. Such voluntary favours as our people
In duty aid us with, we never scattered
On cobweb parasites, or lavished out
In riot or a needless hospitality:
No undeserving favourite doth boast
His issues from our treasury; our charge
Flows through all Europe, proving us but steward
Of every contribution which provides
Against the creeping canker of disturbance.
Is it not rare, then, in this toil of state
Wherein we are embarked, with breach of sleep,
Cares, and the noise of trouble, that our mercy
Returns nor thanks nor comfort? Still the West
Murmur and threaten innovation,
Whisper our government tyrannical,
Deny us what is ours, nay, spurn their lives,
Of which they are but owners by our gift:
It must not be.
Oxf. It must not, should not.
Enter Messenger with a packet.
K. Hen. So then—
To whom?
Mess. This packet to your sacred majesty.
K. Hen. Sirrah, attend without. [Exit Messenger.
Oxf. News from the North, upon my life.
Daw. Wise Henry
Divines aforehand of events; with him
Attempts and executions are one act.
K. Hen. Urswick, thine ear: Frion is caught; the man
Of cunning is outreached; we must be safe.
Should reverend Morton, our archbishop, move
To a translation higher yet, I tell thee
My Durham owns a brain deserves that see;
He's nimble in his industry, and mounting—
Thou hear'st me?
Urs. And conceive your highness fitly.
K. Hen. Dawbeney and Oxford, since our army stands
Entire, it were a weakness to admit
The rust of laziness to eat amongst them:
Set forward toward Salisbury; the plains
Are most commodious for their exercise.
Ourself will take a muster of them there;
And or disband them with reward, or else
Dispose as best concerns us.
Daw. Salisbury!
Sir, all is peace at Salisbury.
K. Hen. Dear friend,
The charge must be our own; we would a little
Partake the pleasure with our subjects' ease.—
Shall I entreat your loves?
Oxf. Command our lives.
K. Hen. Ye're men know how to do, not to forethink.
My bishop is a jewel tried and perfect;
A jewel, lords. The post who brought these letters
Must speed another to the Mayor of Exeter;
Urswick, dismiss him not.
Urs. He waits your pleasure.
K. Hen. Perkin a king? a king!
Urs. My gracious lord,—
K. Hen. Thoughts busied in the sphere of royalty
Fix not on creeping worms without their stings,
Mere excrements of earth. The use of time
Is thriving safety, and a wise prevention
Of ills expected. We're resolved for Salisbury.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.—The Coast of Cornwall.
A general shout within. Enter PERKIN WARBECK, Lord DALYELL, Lady
KATHERINE,
and JANE.
War. After so many storms as wind and seas
Have threatened to our weather-beaten ships.
At last, sweet fairest, we are safe arrived
On our dear mother earth, ingrateful only
To heaven and us in yielding sustenance
To sly usurpers of our throne and right.
These general acclamations are an omen
Of happy process to their welcome lord:
They flock in troops, and from all parts with wings
Of duty fly to lay their hearts before us.—
Unequalled pattern of a matchless wife,
How fares my dearest yet?
Kath. Confirmed in health,
By which I may the better undergo
The roughest face of change; but I shall learn
Patience to hope, since silence courts affliction,
For comforts, to this truly noble gentleman,—
Rare unexampled pattern of a friend!—
And my belovèd Jane, the willing follower
Of all misfortunes.
Dal. Lady, I return
But barren crops of early protestations,
Frost-bitten in the spring of fruitless hopes.
Jane. I wait but as the shadow to the body;
For madam, without you let me be nothing.
War. None talk of sadness; we are on the way
Which leads to victory: keep cowards thoughts
With desperate sullenness! The lion faints not
Locked in a grate, but loose disdains all force
Which bars his prey,—and we are lion-hearted,—
Or else no king of beasts. [Another general shout within.]
—Hark, how they shout,
Triumphant in our cause! bold confidence
Marches on bravely, cannot quake at danger.
Enter SKELTON.
Skel. Save King Richard the Fourth! save thee, king of hearts! The
Cornish blades are men of mettle; have proclaimed, through Bodmin
and the whole
county, my sweet prince Monarch of England: four thousand tall
yeomen, with bow
and sword, already vow to live and die at the foot of King Richard.
Enter ASTLEY.
Ast. The mayor, our fellow-counsellor, is servant for an emperor.
Exeter is appointed for the rendezvous, and nothing wants to
victory but courage
and resolution. Sigillatum et datum decimo Septembris,
anno regni regis primo,
et cætera; confirmatum est. All's cock-sure.
War. To Exeter! to Exeter, march on!
Commend us to our people: we in person
Will lend them double spirits; tell them so.
Skel. and Ast. King Richard, King Richard!
[Exeunt SKELTON and ASTLEY.
War. A thousand blessings guard our lawful arms!
A thousand horrors pierce our enemies' souls!
Pale fear unedge their weapons' sharpest points!
And when they draw their arrows to the head,
Numbness shall strike their sinews! Such advantage
Hath Majesty in its pursuit of justice,
That on the proppers-up of Truth's old throne
It both enlightens counsel and gives heart
To execution; whiles the throats of traitors
Lie bare before our mercy. O, divinity
Of royal birth! how it strikes dumb the tongues
Whose prodigality of breath is bribed
By trains to greatness! Princes are but men
Distinguished in the fineness of their frailty,
Yet not so gross in beauty of the mind;
For there's a fire more sacred purifies
The dross of mixture. Herein stand the odds,
Subjects are men on earth, kings men and gods.
[Exeunt.
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.—St. Michael's Mount, Cornwall.
Enter Lady KATHERINE and JANE in riding-suits, with one Servant.
LADY KATH. It is decreed; and we must yield to fate,
Whose angry justice, though it threaten ruin,
Contempt, and poverty, is all but trial
Of a weak woman's constancy in suffering.
Here, in a stranger's and an enemy's land,
Forsaken and unfurnished of all hopes
But such as wait on misery, I range,
To meet affliction wheresoe'er I tread.
My train and pomp of servants is reduced
To one kind gentlewoman and this groom.—
Sweet Jane, now whither must we?
Jane. To your ships,
Dear lady, and turn home.
Kath. Home! I have none.
Fly thou to Scotland; thou hast friends will weep
For joy to bid thee welcome; but, O, Jane,
My Jane! my friends are desperate of comfort,
As I must be of them: the common charity,
Good people's alms and prayers of the gentle,
Is the revenue must support my state.
As for my native country, since it once
Saw me a princess in the height of greatness
My birth allowed me, here I make a vow
Scotland shall never see me being fall'n
Or lessened in my fortunes. Never, Jane,
Never to Scotland more will I return.
Could I be England's queen,—a glory, Jane,
I never fawned on,—yet the king who gave me
Hath sent me with my husband from his presence,
Delivered us suspected to his nation,
Rendered us spectacles to time and pity;
And is it fit I should return to such
As only listen after our descent
From happiness enjoyed to misery
Expected, though uncertain? Never, never!
Alas, why dost thou weep? and that poor creature
Wipe his wet cheeks too? let me feel alone
Extremities, who know to give them harbour;
Nor thou nor he has cause: you may live safely.
Jane. There is no safety whiles your dangers, madam,
Are every way apparent.
Serv. Pardon, lady,
I cannot choose but show my honest heart;
You were ever my good lady.
Kath. O, dear souls,
Your shares in grief are too-too much!
Enter Lord DALYELL.
Dal. I bring,
Fair princess, news of further sadness yet
Than your sweet youth hath been acquainted with.
Kath. Not more, my lord, than I can welcome: speak it;
The worst, the worst I look for.
Dal. All the Cornish
At Exeter were by the citizens
Repulsed, encountered by the Earl of Devonshire
And other worthy gentlemen of the country.
Your husband marched to Taunton, and was there
Affronted by King Henry's chamberlain;
The king himself in person with his army
Advancing nearer, to renew the fight
On all occasions: but the night before
The battles were to join, your husband privately,
Accompanied with some few horse, departed
From out the camp, and posted none knows whither.
Kath. Fled without battle given?
Dal. Fled, but followed
By Dawbeney; all his parties left to taste
King Henry's mercy,—for to that they yielded,—
Victorious without bloodshed.
Kath. O, my sorrows!
If both our lives had proved the sacrifice
To Henry's tyranny, we had fall'n like princes,
And robbed him of the glory of his pride.
Dal. Impute it not to faintness or to weakness
Of noble courage, lady, but to foresight;
For by some secret friend he had intelligence
Of being bought and sold by his base followers.
Worse yet remains untold.
Kath. No, no, it cannot.
Dal. I fear you are betrayed: the Earl of Oxford
Runs hot in your pursuit.
Kath. He shall not need;
We'll run as hot in resolution gladly
To make the earl our jailor.
Jane. Madam, madam,
They come, they come!
Enter Earl of OXFORD with his Followers.
Dal. Keep back! or he who dares
Rudely to violate the law of honour
Runs on my sword.
Kath. Most noble sir, forbear.—
What reason draws you hither, gentlemen?
Whom seek ye?
Oxf. All stand off!—With favour, lady,
From Henry, England's king, I would present
Unto the beauteous princess, Katherine Gordon,
The tender of a gracious entertainment.
Kath. We are that princess, whom your master-king
Pursues with reaching arms to draw into
His power: let him use his tyranny,
We shall not be his subject.
Oxf. My commission
Extends no further, excellentest lady,
Than to a service; 'tis King Henry's pleasure
That you, and all that have relation t'ye,
Be guarded as becomes your birth and greatness;
For, rest assured, sweet princess, that not aught
Of what you do call yours shall find disturbance,
Or any welcome other than what suits
Your high condition.
Kath. By what title, sir,
May I acknowledge you?
Oxf. Your servant, lady,
Descended from the line of Oxford's earls,
Inherits what his ancestors before him
Were owners of.
Kath. Your king is herein royal,
That by a peer so ancient in desert
As well as blood commands us to his presence.
Oxf. Invites ye, princess, not commands.
Kath. Pray use
Your own phrase as you list: to your protection
Both I and mine submit.
Oxf. There's in your number
A nobleman whom fame hath bravely spoken.
To him the king my master bade me say
How willingly he courts his friendship; far
From an enforcement, more than what in terms
Of courtesy so great a prince may hope for.
Dal. My name is Dalyell.
Oxf. 'Tis a name hath won
Both thanks and wonder from report, my lord:
The court of England emulates your merit,
And covets to embrace you.
Dal. I must wait on
The princess in her fortunes.
Oxf. Will you please,
Great lady, to set forward?
Kath. Being driven
By fate, it were in vain to strive with Heaven. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Salisbury.
Enter King HENRY, Earl of SURREY, URSWICK, and a guard of Soldiers.
K. Hen. The counterfeit, King Perkin, is escaped:—
Escaped! so let him; he is hedged too fast
Within the circuit of our English pale
To steal out of our ports, or leap the walls
Which guard our land; the seas are rough and wider
Than his weak arms can tug with. Surrey, henceforth
Your king may reign in quiet; turmoils past,
Like some unquiet dream, have rather busied
Our fancy than affrighted rest of state.
But, Surrey, why, in articling a peace
With James of Scotland, was not restitution
Of losses which our subjects did sustain
By the Scotch inroads questioned?
Sur. Both demanded
And urged, my lord; to which the king replied,
In modest merriment, but smiling earnest,
How that our master Henry was much abler
To bear the detriments than he repay them.
K. Hen. The young man, I believe, spake honest truth;
He studies to be wise betimes.—Has, Urswick,
Sir Rice ap Thomas, and Lord Brook our steward,
Returned the Western gentlemen full thanks
From us for their tried loyalties?
Urs. They have;
Which, as if health and life had reigned amongst 'em,
With open hearts they joyfully received.
K. Hen. Young Buckingham is a fair-natured prince,
Lovely in hopes, and worthy of his father;
Attended by an hundred knights and squires
Of special name he tendered humble service,
Which we must ne'er forget: and Devonshire's wounds,
Though slight, shall find sound cure in our respect.
Enter Lord DAWBENEY with a Guard, leading in PERKIN WARBECK,
HERON,
JOHN A-WATER, ASTLEY, and SKELTON, chained.
Daw. Life to the king, and safety fix his throne!
I here present you, royal sir, a shadow
Of majesty, but in effect a substance
Of pity; a young man, in nothing grown
To ripeness but the ambition of your mercy,—
Perkin, the Christian world's strange wonder.
K. Hen. Dawbeney,
We observe no wonder: I behold, 'tis true,
An ornament of nature, fine and polished,
A handsome youth indeed, but not admire him.
How came he to thy hands?
Daw. From sanctuary
At Bewley, near Southampton; registered,
With these few followers, for persons privileged.
K. Hen. I must not thank you, sir; you were to blame
T' infringe the liberty of houses sacred:
Dare we be irreligious?
Daw. Gracious lord,
They voluntarily resigned themselves
Without compulsion.
K. Hen. So? 'twas very well;
'Twas very, very well.—Turn now thine eyes,
Young man, upon thyself and thy past actions;
What revels in combustion through our kingdom
A frenzy of aspiring youth hath danced,
Till, wanting breath, thy feet of pride have slipt
To break thy neck!
War. But not my heart; my heart
Will mount till every drop of blood be frozen
By death's perpetual winter: if the sun
Of majesty be darkened, let the sun
Of life be hid from me in an eclipse
Lasting and universal. Sir, remember
There was a shooting-in of light when Richmond,
Not aiming at a crown, retired, and gladly,
For comfort to the Duke of Bretaine's court.
Richard, who swayed the sceptre, was reputed
A tyrant then; yet then a dawning glimmered
To some few wandering remnants, promising day
When first they ventured on a frightful shore
At Milford Haven;—
Daw. Whither speeds his boldness?
Check his rude tongue, great sir.
K. Hen. O, let him range:
The player's on the stage still, 'tis his part;
He does but act.—What followed?
War. Bosworth Field;
Where, at an instant, to the world's amazement,
A morn to Richmond, and a night to Richard,
Appeared at once: the tale is soon applied;
Fate, which crowned these attempts when least assured,
Might have befriended others like resolved.
K. Hen. A pretty gallant! Thus your aunt of Burgundy,
Your duchess-aunt, informed her nephew; so,
The lesson prompted and well conned, was moulded
Into familiar dialogue, oft rehearsed,
Till, learnt by heart, 'tis now received for truth.
War. Truth, in her pure simplicity, wants art
To put a feignèd blush on: scorn wears only
Such fashion as commends to gazers' eyes
Sad ulcerated novelty, far beneath
The sphere of majesty: in such a court
Wisdom and gravity are proper robes,
By which the sovereign is best distinguished
From zanies to his greatness.
K. Hen. Sirrah, shift
Your antic pageantry, and now appear
In your own nature, or you'll taste the danger
Of fooling out of season.
War. I expect
No less than what severity calls justice,
And politicians safety; let such beg
As feed on alms: but if there can be mercy
In a protested enemy, then may it
Descend to these poor creatures, whose engagements,
To the bettering of their fortunes, have incurred
A loss of all; to them if any charity
Flow from some noble orator, in death
I owe the fee of thankfulness.
K. Hen. So brave!
What a bold knave is this!—Which of these rebels
Has been the Mayor of Cork?
Daw. This wise formality.—
Kneel to the king, ye rascals! [They kneel.
K. Hen. Canst thou hope
A pardon, where thy guilt is so apparent?
J. a-Wat. Under your good favours, as men are men, they may
err; for I
confess, respectively, in taking great parts, the one side
prevailing, the other
side must go down: herein the point is clear, if the
proverb hold, that hanging
goes by destiny, that it is to little purpose to say, this thing or that shall
be thus or thus; for, as the Fates will have it, so it must be; and who can
help
it?
Daw. O, blockhead! thou a privy-counsellor?
Beg life, and cry aloud, "Heaven save King Henry!"
J. a-Wat. Every man knows what is best, as it happens; for my own
part,
I believe it is true, if I be not deceived, that kings must be kings and
subjects subjects; but which is which, you shall pardon me for that:
whether we
speak or hold our peace, all are mortal; no man knows his end.
K. Hen. We trifle time with follies.
Her. John a-W. Ast. Skel. Mercy, mercy!
K. Hen. Urswick, command the dukeling and these fellows
[They rise.
To Digby, the lieutenant of the Tower:
With safety let them be conveyed to London.
It is our pleasure no uncivil outrage,
Taunts or abuse be suffered to their persons;
They shall meet fairer law than they deserve.
Time may restore their wits, whom vain ambition
Hath many years distracted.
War. Noble thoughts
Meet freedom in captivity: the Tower,—
Our childhood's dreadful nursery!
K. Hen. No more!
Urs. Come, come, you shall have leisure to bethink ye.
[Exit URSWICK with PERKIN WARBECK and his
Followers, guarded.
K. Hen. Was ever so much impudence in forgery?
The custom, sure, of being styled a king
Hath fastened in his thought that he is such;
But we shall teach the lad another language:
'Tis good we have him fast.
Daw. The hangman's physic
Will purge this saucy humour.
K. Hen. Very likely;
Yet we could temper mercy with extremity,
Being not too far provoked.
Enter Earl of OXFORD, Lady KATHERINE in her richest attire, Lord
DALYELL, JANE, and ATTENDANTS.
Oxf. Great sir, be pleased,
With your accustomed grace to entertain
The Princess Katherine Gordon.
K. Hen. Oxford, herein
We must beshrew thy knowledge of our nature.
A lady of her birth and virtues could not
Have found us so unfurnished of good manners
As not, on notice given, to have met her
Half way in point of love.—Excuse, fair cousin,
The oversight: O, fie! you may not kneel;
'Tis most unfitting: first, vouchsafe this welcome,
A welcome to your own; for you shall find us
But guardian to your fortune and your honours.
Kath. My fortunes and mine honours are weak champions.
As both are now befriended, sir: however,
Both bow before your clemency.
K. Hen. Our arms
Shall circle them from malice.—A sweet lady!
Beauty incomparable!—here lives majesty
At league with love.
Kath. O, sir, I have a husband.
K. Hen. We'll prove your father, husband, friend, and servant,
Prove what you wish to grant us.—Lords, be careful
A patent presently be drawn for issuing
A thousand pounds from our exchequer yearly
During our cousin's life.—Our queen shall be
Your chief companion, our own court your home,
Our subjects all your servants.
Kath. But my husband?
K. Hen. By all descriptions, you are noble Dalyell,
Whose generous truth hath famed a rare observance.
We thank ye; 'tis a goodness gives addition
To every title boasted from your ancestry,
In all most worthy.
Dal. Worthier than your praises,
Right princely sir, I need not glory in.
K. Hen. Embrace him, lords.—Whoever calls you mistress
Is lifted in our charge.—A goodlier beauty
Mine eyes yet ne'er encountered.
Kath. Cruel misery
Of fate! what rests to hope for?
K. Hen. Forward, lords,
To London.—Fair, ere long I shall present ye
With a glad object, peace, and Huntley's blessing.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—London: The Tower-hill.
Enter Constable and Officers, PERKIN WARBECK, URSWICK, and LAMBERT
SIMNEL as a Falconer, followed by the rabble.
Const. Make room there! keep off, I require ye; and none come within
twelve foot of his majesty's new stocks, upon pain of displeasure.—Bring
forward the malefactors.—Friend, you must to this gear, no
remedy.—Open the hole, and in with his legs, just in the middle hole;
there, that hole. [WARBECK is put in the stocks.]—Keep off, or I'll
commit you all: shall not a man in authority be obeyed!—So, so, there;
'tis
as it should be: put on the padlock, and give me the key.—Off, I say,
keep
off!
Urs. Yet, Warbeck, clear thy conscience: thou hast tasted
King Henry's mercy liberally; the law
Has forfeited thy life; an equal jury
Have doomed thee to the gallows; twice most wickedly,
Most desperately, hast thou escaped the Tower,
Inveigling to thy party with thy witchcraft
Young Edward Earl of Warwick, son to Clarence,
Whose head must pay the price of that attempt;
Poor gentleman, unhappy in his fate,
And ruined by thy cunning! so a mongrel
May pluck the true stag down. Yet, yet, confess
Thy parentage; for yet the king has mercy.
Sim. You would be Dick the Fourth; very likely!
Your pedigree is published; you are known
For Osbeck's son of Tournay, a loose runagate,
A landloper; your father was a Jew,
Turned Christian merely to repair his miseries:
Where's now your kingship?
War. Baited to my death?
Intolerable cruelty! I laugh at
The Duke of Richmond's practice on my fortunes:
Possession of a crown ne'er wanted heralds.
Sim. You will not know who I am?
Urs. Lambert Simnel,
Your predecessor in a dangerous uproar;
But, on submission, not alone received
To grace, but by the king vouchsafed his service.
Simn. I would be Earl of Warwick, toiled and ruffled
Against my master, leaped to catch the moon,
Vaunted my name Plantagenet, as you do;
An earl, forsooth! whenas in truth I was.
As you are, a mere rascal: yet his majesty,
A prince composed of sweetness,—Heaven protect him!—
Forgave me all my villainies, reprieved
The sentence of a shameful end, admitted
My surety of obedience to his service,
And I am now his falconer; live plenteously,
Eat from the king's purse, and enjoy the sweetness
Of liberty and favour; sleep securely:
And is not this, now, better than to buffet
The hangman's clutches, or to brave the cordage
Of a tough halter which will break your neck?
So, then, the gallant totters!—prithee, Perkin,
Let my example lead thee; be no longer
A counterfeit; confess, and hope for pardon.
War. For pardon! hold, my heart-strings, whiles contempt
Of injuries, in scorn, may bid defiance
To this base man's foul language!—Thou poor vermin,
How dar'st thou creep so near me? thou an earl!
Why, thou enjoy'st as much of happiness
As all the swing of slight ambition flew at.
A dunghill was thy cradle. So a puddle,
By virtue of the sunbeams, breathes a vapour
T' infect the purer air, which drops again
Into the muddy womb that first exhaled it.
Bread and a slavish ease, with some assurance
From the base beadle's whip, crowned all thy hopes:
But, sirrah, ran there in thy veins one drop
Of such a royal blood as flows in mine,
Thou wouldst not change condition, to be second
In England's state, without the crown itself.
Coarse creatures are incapable of excellence:
But let the world, as all to whom I am
This day a spectacle, to time deliver,
And by tradition fix posterity
Without another chronicle than truth,
How constantly my resolution suffered
A martyrdom of majesty.
Simn. He's past
Recovery; a Bedlam cannot cure him.
Urs. Away, inform the king of his behaviour.
Simn. Perkin, beware the rope! the hangman's coming.
[Exit.
Urs. If yet thou hast no pity of thy body,
Pity thy soul!
Enter Lady KATHERINE, JANE, Lord DALYELL, and Earl of OXFORD.
Jane. Dear lady!
Oxf. Whither will ye,
Without respect of shame?
Kath. Forbear me, sir,
And trouble not the current of my duty.—
O, my loved lord! can any scorn be yours
In which I have no interest—Some kind hand
Lend me assistance, that I may partake
The infliction of this penance.—My life's dearest,
Forgive me; I have stayed too long from tendering
Attendance on reproach; yet bid me welcome.
War. Great miracle of constancy! my miseries
Were never bankrupt of their confidence
In worst afflictions, till this; now I feel them.
Report and thy deserts, thou best of creatures,
Might to eternity have stood a pattern
For every virtuous wife without this conquest.
Thou hast outdone belief; yet may their ruin
In after-marriages be never pitied,
To whom thy story shall appear a fable!
Why wouldst thou prove so much unkind to greatness
To glorify thy vows by such a servitude?
I cannot weep; but trust me, dear, my heart
Is liberal of passion.—Harry Richmond,
A woman's faith hath robbed thy fame of triumph
Oxf. Sirrah, leave-off your juggling, and tie up
The devil that ranges in your tongue.
Urs. Thus witches,
Possessed, even to their deaths deluded, say
They have been wolves and dogs, and sailed in egg-shells
Over the sea, and rid on fiery dragons,
Passed in the air more than a thousand miles,
All in a night:—the enemy of mankind
Is powerful, but false, and falsehood confident.
Oxf. Remember, lady, who you are; come from
That impudent impostor.
Kath. You abuse us:
For when the holy churchman joined our hands,
Our vows were real then; the ceremony
Was not in apparition, but in act.—
Be what these people term thee, I am certain
Thou art my husband, no divorce in Heaven
Has been sued-out between us; 'tis injustice
For any earthly power to divide us:
Or we will live or let us die together.
There is a cruel mercy.
War. Spite of tyranny
We reign in our affections, blessèd woman!
Read in my destiny the wreck of honour;
Point out, in my contempt of death, to memory
Some miserable happiness; since herein,
Even when I fell, I stood enthroned a monarch
Of one chaste wife's troth pure and uncorrupted.
Fair angel of perfection, immortality
Shall raise thy name up to an adoration,
Court every rich opinion of true merit,
And saint it in the calendar of Virtue,
When I am turned into the self-same dust
Of which I was first formed.
Oxf. The lord ambassador,
Huntley, your father, madam, should he look on
Your strange subjection in a gaze so public,
Would blush on your behalf, and wish his country
Unleft for entertainment to such sorrow.
Kath. Why art thou angry, Oxford? I must be
More peremptory in my duty.—Sir,
Impute it not unto immodesty
That I presume to press you to a legacy
Before we part for ever.
War. Let it be, then,
My heart, the rich remains of all my fortunes.
Kath. Confirm it with a kiss, pray.
War. O, with that
I wish to breathe my last! upon thy lips,
Those equal twins of comeliness, I seal
The testament of honourable vows: [Kisses her.
Whoever be that man that shall unkiss
This sacred print next, may he prove more thrifty
In this world's just applause, not more desertful!
Kath. By this sweet pledge of both our souls, I swear
To die a faithful widow to thy bed;
Not to be forced or won: O, never, never!
Enter Earls of SURREY, HUNTLEY, and CRAWFORD, and Lord DAWBENEY.
Daw. Free the condemnèd person; quickly free him!
What has he yet confessed?
[PERKIN WARBECK is taken out of the stocks.
Urs. Nothing to purpose;
But still he will be king.
Sur. Prepare your journey
To a new kingdom, then, unhappy madman,
Wilfully foolish!—See, my lord ambassador,
Your lady daughter will not leave the counterfeit
In this disgrace of fate.
Hunt. I never pointed
Thy marriage, girl; but yet, being married,
Enjoy thy duty to a husband freely.
The griefs are mine. I glory in thy constancy;
And must not say I wished that I had missed
Some partage in these trials of a patience.
Kath. You will forgive me, noble sir?
Hunt. Yes, yes;
In every duty of a wife and daughter
I dare not disavow thee. To your husband,—
For such you are, sir,—I impart a farewell
Of manly pity; what your life has passed through,
The dangers of your end will make apparent;
And I can add, for comfort to your sufferance,
No cordial, but the wonder of your frailty,
Which keeps so firm a station. We are parted.
War. We are. A crown of peace renew thy age,
Most honourable Huntley!—Worthy Crawford!
We may embrace; I never thought thee injury.
Craw. Nor was I ever guilty of neglect
Which might procure such thought. I take my leave, sir.
War. To you, Lord Dalyell,—what? accept a sigh,
'Tis hearty and in earnest.
Dal. I want utterance;
My silence is my farewell.
Kath. O, O!
Jane. Sweet madam,
What do you mean?—My lord, your hand. [To DALYELL.
Dal. Dear lady,
Be pleased that I may wait ye to your lodging.
[Exeunt Lord DALYELL and JANE, supporting Lady
KATHERINE.
Enter Sheriff and Officers with SKELTON, ASTLEY, HERON,
and JOHN
A-WATER, with halters about their necks.
Oxf. Look ye; behold your followers, appointed
To wait on ye in death!
War. Why, peers of England,
We'll lead 'em on courageously: I read
A triumph over tyranny upon
Their several foreheads.—Faint not in the moment
Of victory! our ends, and Warwick's head,
Innocent Warwick's head,—for we are prologue
But to his tragedy,—conclude the wonder
Of Henry's fears; and then the glorious race
Of fourteen kings, Plantagenets, determines
In this last issue male; Heaven be obeyed!
Impoverish time of its amazement, friends,
And we will prove as trusty in our payments
As prodigal to nature in our debts.
Death? pish! 'tis but a sound; a name of air;
A minute's storm, or not so much: to tumble
From bed to bed, be massacred alive
By some physicians, for a month or two,
In hope of freedom from a fever's torments,
Might stagger manhood; here the pain is past
Ere sensibly 'tis felt. Be men of spirit!
Spurn coward passion! so illustrious mention
Shall blaze our names, and style us kings o'er Death.
Daw. Away, impostor beyond precedent!
[Exeunt Sheriff and Officers with the Prisoners.
No chronicle records his fellow.
Hunt. I have
Not thoughts left: 'tis sufficient in such cases
Just laws ought to proceed.
Enter King HENRY, the Bishop of DURHAM, and HIALAS.
K. Hen. We are resolved.
Your business, noble lords, shall find success
Such as your king impórtunes.
Hunt. You are gracious.
K. Hen. Perkin, we are informed, is armed to die;
In that we'll honour him. Our lords shall follow
To see the execution; and from hence
We gather this fit use,—that public states,
As our particular bodies, taste most good
In health when purgèd of corrupted blood. [Exeunt.
EPILOGUE
HERE has appeared, though in a several fashion,
The threats of majesty, the strength of passion,
Hopes of an empire, change of fortunes; all
What can to theatres of greatness fall,
Proving their weak foundations. Who will please,
Amongst such several sights, to censure these
No births abortive, nor a bastard brood,—
Shame to a parentage or fosterhood,—
May warrant by their loves all just excuses,
And often find a welcome to the Muses.
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