 | King Henry the VII. Or The Popish Impostor |  |
SCENE III.
Norham Castle.A March at a Distance, enter the Bishop of York and many Free-holders, Gentlemen, &c.
York.
‘Friend's! Britons! and Free-men! in
Conjunction with the valiant Earl of Surrey, I'm
sent amongst you to defend England's Frontiers,
And Norham's antient Castle 'gainst the avow'd
Enemies of our Land. Consider, Britons, who
those are! a Set of rapacious Scots! Desperadoes!
Out-laws! and a few dastard French! who do not
fight for Fame or Liberty,—but theevish Booty;
your Property; and shall we give up our King,
our Liberties; our Laws, Religion, and our Families
to Rome's greedy Priests, and frenchified
hungry Scots? No, there is a robust Vigour in
Freedom unknown to Slaves. Let but your Minds
be obstinate, your Bodies never can be conquer'd.
Tyranny is a Weed that never did, nor can grow in
English Soil; the Breath of Freedom is it's Banc,
which blasts it sudden as Lightning does the Mountain
Heath.
‘Ay, and may it forever blast it; and
every Tyrant, who comes to plant it amongst us.
York.
‘Then, Englishmen and Friends, let us
but follow the brave Examples of our Ancestors,
and we shall never be Slaves to a tyrant Deputy of
France and Rome. They know our native Plenty
—they long for it; they know our golden Commerce,
—they grieve at it; they know our Freedom,
—they fear and hate it; and well they know
our Courage,—now then let them feel it.
Freeh.
‘And so they shall.—Looky', Lord Bishop
in Behalf of my Neighbours, Countrymen,
and Friends, now present, I speak; and in plain
down-right English, will let you know our
Thoughts—which are these. We love our
King,—we'll fight for him; we love our Country,
we'll fight for that; and we love our Religion,
our Liberty, and our Laws, and we'll fight for
them too. We were born free, we have lived
free, and we'll die free. We have resolved not to
be plunder'd, nor directed by Rome, France, Scotland,
nor a Pretender. So Lord Bishop, let some
true Briton lead us on, and I'll engage we will
beat the Beggars back to their Mountains;—
where we will pen them up 'till they devour one
another; so that's ail we have to say.
York.
‘All! 'tis all that a Brion can say. There
is an Eloquence more prevalent in homely British
Freedom, than in all the Jesuit Rhetoric of France
and Rome. It passes to the Heart, there in spirits
and kindles up an active Vigour unknown to all
Mankind but Britain's Sons.
Gent.
‘A Gentleman disguised, and muffled in
Scotch Garb is at the Castle Gate, and prays Admittance,
and instant Converse with your Lordship,
and if I mistake not it is the gallant Earl of
Huntley;—but from the Battlements your Grace
may descry him plainly.
York.
‘If it be Huntley, we may admit him; for
cold Treachery and he are Strangers? Were Scotland's
Subjects all of his Temper, intermeddling
France would never dare to offer Laws or Kings to
Britain. But let us to the Battlements! if it be
he, perhaps his Business may bring general Good.
[Exeunt.
| King Henry the VII. Or The Popish Impostor | |