University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Field of Battle, Charge, &c.
Enter King, Oxford, York.
King.
Where is this Impostor, who wants a Crown?
This spurious, this Rome-hatch'd Plantagenet?
If he hath royal Blood within his Veins,
Or one Spark of English Flame about his Heart,
Now, now, while War rages, and the Blood boils,
Let him stand forth and prove himself a King.

York.
My Liege, have better Guard upon your Person,
Do not expose it thus in Danger's Front.

King.
How, York! when I am fighting for a Crown,
Wou'd you have me shew my loyal Subjects
I am unworthy wearing it? No
Forward,—Charge,—Victory,—or Death!

Exeunt, Charge, Excursions.
Charge, &c. Enter Huntley.
Hunt.
Thro' War's crimson Chaos I have fought the Impostor
But cannot reach him! if Death is not Death,
Him by my Hand—

Going off meets Catherine, who is taken Prisoner by a Soldier.
Sold.

A Villain, offer to kill my Prisoner in cold
Blood.

Hunt.

Ha! 'tis he! now Scotland and England's

guardian Genius be ready to accept this Sacrifice.

Inspire my Rage with one Blow—

Going to assault Catherine she falls on her Knees.
Cath.
My Father! O behold and bless your Catherine
E'er you give the fatal Blow—

Hunt.

Angels bless and guard my Child!—Fate,
what art thou doing! ha! 'tis she herself—I feel
her at my Heart, nature softens at her Touch.—

(embraces her
The faithful Centinel starts at the Alarm,
And wakens all the Father in my Soul!
My Child! O my Child.

Sold.
Your Child!

Hunt.

Ay, my Child! Lord Huntley's Child, if
thou knowest that Name.

Sold.

As well as I do my General, Lord Oxford's.

Hunt.

Then I am he,—and this my Daughter!

Sold.

Then, Sir, I am glad I have saved her Life
with all my Heart. I took her for the Pretender, and
thought I had had a good Prize,—but as I know my
General loves and honours you, and you him, I assure
you, Sir, I am better pleased with my having
saved a young Lady and your Daughter, than I
should have been with the Reward for Perkin.

Hunt.

Let me embrace thee for that generous
Thought. Thou hast saved my Child from Death,
and me from endless Woe.

(embraces the Soldier.
Cath.
Fear Shame, and Joy
Press all at once upon my longing Heart.
I fain wou'd ask
How poor Scotland fares? How Daliel? How my
Father escap'd the Snares of wicked Sevez?
And if he hath yet forgiven the Disobedience
Of his Catherine?

Hunt.
Forgiven! Why thou art thy Country's Glory!
And your mourn'd Absence is the only Grievance
Scotland now bewails. Me thou hast made
Jocund as lusty Youth. My May of Life's
Return'd; and my Child again is born to me
In Nature's full Perfection. And Daliel,
The solitary, hapless Daliel, still lives,
And languishes for his betroth'd Catherine.

Hunt.

O, I have a thousand Questions to ask
you. But first, what brings you to this dreadful
Place, where Death and Slaughter reign? And why
this vile, this impostor Garb, which had like to ensnare
me into a Crime my Nature starts to think of,
the Murderer of my Child?

Cath.

Quite worn down with Sorrow, my hopelorn
Soul flew to War's Rage, and this detested Garb
as to the surest Means to compass Death; frail Nature's
last Cure for comfortless Despair; but this Soldier
seized and snatch'd me from the raging Conflict,
and would have brought me Prisoner to the King;
when another Soldier follow'd, and claim'd Part in
the Reward; and to make his Claim the surer the
cruel Villain would instantly have kill'd me, which
this honest Soul prevented,—disdaining in cold Blood
to kill an Enemy.

Hunt.

The Soldier's Blessings, Humanity, Courage,
and Success attend him to his Death's Hour.—
If you have Children, may the Father's Joy, the Extasy
I now feel, for ever flow about your humane
Heart. Come, my Mars, in Triumph lead your fair
Prisoner, and thou shalt have Reward, not such as
Monarchs, but doating Fathers give.

Exeunt.