University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

King Henry's Tent near Taunton.
Enter King, York, Oxford, Lords and Gentlemen.
K. Hen.
My rev'rend York, let me embrace thee.
[York kneels, the King embraces him.
Rise,—come to my Heart,—and there let my Love
Enshrine your Truth, your Loyalty, and Friendship.
This is indeed a Monarch's Happiness,
In Day of Battle, and wild Rebellion,
To be enpal'd with such Ranks of Loyalty,
Fences, nor War, nor Treachery can shake.
But what of our Brother Scotland? Does he
Still persist in Conjunction with his Allies
Of Rome, France and Spain, to send England Laws and Kings?
Or will he sheath his redoubted Anger?
And let us rule in Peace our Nook of Freedom.

York.
Grievance and Disunion o'erspread their Land;
This brought Huntley disguis'd to Norham Castle;
Where, in the Name of all free-born Scots,
He demanded Friendship with England's King;
I readily embrac'd the mutual Blessing,
When Preliminaries strait by us were settled,
Which the aggriev'd People pray'd their King to sign.
He did—and this contains their full Matter.
[kneels and gives him a Paper.
Which Lord Huntley, with other Scotish Peers,
Fraught with ample Power, are ready to conclude
And ratify, provided the Substance
Shall please your Majesty.

K. Hen.
Lord Prelate, of your
Wisdom in making Terms for our Glory,
And England's Interest, we will not doubt.
Lord Oxford, Huntley is your antient Friend,
I know your honest Heart longs to see him;
Conduct him hither.
[Exit Oxford.
But, my Lord,
What of the Impostor? is he deliver'd up?

York.
So please your Grace, Scotland's King consented
To yield him up—but, suddenly, the Impostor,
His Wife, (the miserable Katherine Gordon)
The Traitor Frion, and others of his Train,
Disappear'd beyond the Reach of labour'd Intelligence.

Enter Oxford and Huntley, and several Scotish Lords.
Ox.
Here he is, my Liege; as tough a Piece as ever
War or Winter foster'd. Many and many a Day have
We harrass'd each other; and many a bitter Night have
Watch'd for the grey Dawn, to steal the Advantage
Of the first Blow—which we old Soldiers think no
Contemptible Part of a Battle.

K. Hen.
Lord Huntley, welcome to our tented Court;
Dignity of Forms, proper to your high Place,
And exalted Worth, confus'd Rebellion
Will not allow. But if sincere Reception
Can compensate Lack of Ceremony,
Scotland's Ambassador, and the Lord Huntley
Are most welcome.

Hunt.
In Scotland's Name I here greet England's Love,
And stand a faithful Hostage of Return.
As for myself, next my royal Master's,
Henry's Esteem is my greatest Honour.

K. Hen.
Lord Huntley, for some Hours
Peaceful Treaty must give Way to Civil War.
When mad Rebellion's lawless Crew have
Awak'd his Wrath, the chastising Vengeance
Of fire-ey'd Mars must keep Pace
With Lightning's Rage. When that precarious Scene
Is over, as the Justness of our Cause
Deserves, your high Business we then will ratify;
Mean Time, my Lord,
Such Accomodation, and such Safety—

Hunt.
As Courage needs in Honour's Cause, ler me have;
Or such as Lord Oxford here shall have, I request;
No other, I beseech your Majesty.
Haggish Age hath not yet so thin'd my Blood,
But I can toil one Day more in Honour's Field
With my honest old Competitor. As Foes
We oft have try'd each other's Soldiership;
To Day let it be try'd as Friends.

K. Hen.
Spoke like a Soldier zealous in our Cause,
We will accept your honest Sword. You shall be
Oxford's, your old Antagonist's Volunteer

Ox.
And a stancher never stood by Cæsar.

Come you veteran Volunteer, come to my
Heart, (embrace)
‘How oft when we have been each
other's Prisoners, for retreating was not in Fashion
with us, have we wish'd for a Cause to joyn our
Hearts in?—At length, Thanks to her Capriciousness,
the blind Lady hath given us the Opportunity;
and in faith we'll make use on't.’ We'll
try what Mettle there is in French-rais'd Rebels. Side
by Side we'll march thro' their disjoynted Ranks,
like Death and Time. The Rogues shall sicken at
our Sight. Pale Pannic shall catch from Eye to Eye,
'till the trembling Phantom beat at their rebel Hearts
Death's last Alarm.

Enter Dawbney.
K. Hen.
Now—Lord Dawbney—the News!

Dawb.
My Liege, by a trusty Spy, just escap'd,
I've learn'd that th'Impostor arriv'd last Night
In the Rebel's Camp; with some straggling French
And Highlanders, a few Priests and Irish;
And a Lady, whose Beauty and Sorrow
Fill'd the whole Camp with Pity and Amazement.

Hunt.
Ha! it is my Child! my brokenh-earted Katherine!

K. Hen.
Heaven be prais'd! now we shall see our bold
Invader. Dawbney, let strict Observance
Be kept at all our Ports, lest he escape.
And a Reward thro'out our Realm proclaim'd
Of one thousand Marks to him who brings his Head.

Dawb.

Our Spy brought farther News—he say'd
'twas rumour'd in the Rebels Camp that the Earl of
Devonshire and his Friends, the Mayor of Exeter,
and many of the Citizens, were march'd to joyn
your Majesty, and that the Rebels had resolv'd to
advance and give us Battle e're the Junction cou'd
be effected—and by a Gentleman just arriv'd, the
Earl is now within an Hour's March.

K. Hen.

The Earl is most valiant, as are all his Friends!

Dawb.

In their March from Exeter, the Villains
have been guilty of most unheard of Outrages; as
if Waste, Ruin, Havock, and Desolation were
their only Purport. At Perrin, my Liege, they
have committed a savage Cruelty. The Commissioner,
for daring to expostulate concerning the Revenue,
was cruelly murder'd! while his Wife, and
two virgin Daughters, before his dying Eyes, were
sacrificed to their brutal Lust!

K. Hen.
Barbarous Villains! Shame to human Kind!
But speedy Vengeance shall o'ertake them.
What may the Number of their savage Force
Amount to?

Dawb.
Rumour calls 'em thirty Thousand,
But the strictest Intelligence, my Liege,
Cannot muster them to above Five and Twenty.

Ox.

Ay, Men, so please your Majesty, meer Men;
not a Soldier amongst them; all Rabble, the rank
hot-blooded Sores of the Commonwealth, which

every now and then will break out into the Murrain
of Rebellion. Then, my Liege, let us not waste
Time in waiting farther Aid; already we are enow
to beat their disordered Numbers thrice told.

King.
Lord Oxford, Security oft hath been
The teeming Mother of blind Destruction.
Let not our Safety then beget our Ruin;
But let us fight with that Caution and Courage,
As if each rude Rebel was a Cæsar.
Let our Judgment be cool, our Battle warm,
The Blow will then be sure. Their Numbers are
Formidable, what e'er their Discipline.
Or Courage may be. Then, e'er we charge 'em, Lords,
Let us into Council, and debate the Means;
Whether it shall be as we now stand muster'd,
Or to wait the Junction of the Earl
And his Friends.

[Exeunt.