 | The Chronicle Historie of Perkin Warbeck |  |
Actus primus
Scæna prima.
Enter King Henry, Durham, Oxford, Surrey, Sir William Stanly, Lord Chamberlaine, Lord Dawbny. The King supported to his Throne by Stanly and Durham.A Guard.
King.
Still to be haunted; still to be pursued,
Still to be frighted with false apparitions
Of pageant Majestie, and new-coynd greatnesse,
As if wee were a mockery King in state;
Onely ordaind to lauish sweat and bloud
In scorne and laughter to the ghosts of Yorke,
Is all below our merits; yet (my Lords,
My friends and Counsailers) yet we sit fast
In our owne royall birth-right; the rent face
And bleeding wounds of England's slaughterd people,
Haue beene by vs (as by the best Physitian)
At last both throughly Cur'd, and set in safetie;
And yet for all this glorious worke of peace
Our selfe is scarce secure.
The rage of malice
Conjures fresh spirits with the spells of Yorke;
For ninetie yeares ten English Kings and Princes,
Threescore great Dukes and Earles, a thousand Lords
And valiant Knights, two hundred fiftie thousand
Of English Subiects haue in Ciuill Warres,
Beene sacrificd to an vnciuill thirst
Of discord and ambition: this hot vengeance
Of the just powers aboue, to vtter ruine
And Desolation had raign'd on, but that
Mercie did gently sheath the sword of Iustice,
In lending to this bloud-shrunck Common-wealth
A new soule, new birth in your Sacred person.
Daw:
Edward the fourth after a doubtfull fortune
Yeelded to nature; leaving to his sonnes
Edward and Richard, the inheritance
Of a most bloudy purchase; these young Princes
Richard the Tirant their vnnaturall Vncle
Forc'd to a violent graue, so just is Heauen.
Him hath your Majestie by your owne arme
Divinely strengthen'd, pulld from his Boares stie
And strucke the black Vsurper to a Carkasse:
Nor doth the House of Yorke decay in Honors,
Tho Lancaster doth repossesse his right.
For Edwards daughter is King Henries Queene.
A blessed Vnion, and a lasting blessing
For this poore panting Iland, if some shreds
Some vselesse remnant of the House of Yorke
Grudge not at this Content.
Ox:
Margaret of Burgundy
Blowes fresh Coales of Division.
Sur:
Painted fires
Without to heate or scortch, or light to cheerish.
Daw:
Yorkes headlesse trunck her Father, Edwards fate
Her brother King, the smothering of her Nephewes
By Tirant Gloster, brother to her nature;
Nor Glosters owne confusion, (all decrees
Sacred in Heauen) Can moue this Woman-Monster,
But that shee still from the vnbottom'd myne
Of troubles and sedition.
Ox:
In her age
(Great Sir, obserue the Wonder) shee growes fruitfull,
Who in her strength of youth was alwayes barraine
Nor are her birthes as other Mothers are,
At nine or ten moneths end, shee has beene with childe
Eight or seaven yeares at least; whose twinnes being borne
(A prodegie in Nature) even the youngest
Is fifteene yeares of age at his first entrance
As soone as knowne 'ith world, tall striplings, strong
And able to giue battaile vnto Kings.
Idolls of Yorkish malice.
Ox:
And but Idolls,
A steelie hammer Crushes 'em to peeces.
K:
Lambert the eldest (Lords) is in our service,
Prefer'd by an officious care of Dutie
From the Scullery to a Faulkner (strange example!)
Which shewes the difference betweene noble natures
And the base borne: but for the vpstart Duke,
The new reviu'd Yorke, Edwards second sonne,
Murder'd long since 'ith Towre; he liues againe
And vowes to be your King.
Stan:
The throne is filld Sir.
K:
True Stanlie, and the lawfull heire sitts on it;
A guard of Angells, and the holy prayers
Of loyall Subjects are a sure defence
Against all force and Counsaile of Intrusion.
But now (my Lords) put case some of our Nobles,
Our Great Ones, should giue Countenance and Courage
To trim Duke Perkin; you will all confesse
Our bounties haue vnthriftily beene scatter'd
Amongst vnthankfull men.
Daw:
Vnthankfull beasts,
Dogges, villaines, traytors.
K:
Dawbney let the guiltie
Keepe silence, I accuse none, tho I know,
Forraigne attempts against a State and Kingdome
Are seldome without some great friends at home.
Stan:
Sir, if no other abler reasons else
Of dutie or alegiance could divert
A head-strong resolution, yet the dangers
In Lambert Simnells partie, must Command
More than a feare, a terror to Conspiracie,
The high-borne Lincolne, sonne to De la Pole,
The Earle of Kildare, Lord Geraldine,
Francis Lord Louell, and the German Baron,
Bould Martin Swart, with Broughton and the rest,
(Most spectacles of ruine, some of mercy;)
Are presidents sufficient to forewarne
The present times, or any that liue in them,
What follie, nay, what madnesse 'twere to lift
A finger vp in all defence but yours,
Which can be but impostorous in a title.
K.
Stanlie wee know thou lou'st Vs, and thy heart
Is figur'd on thy tongue; nor thinke wee lesse
Of anie's here, how closely wee haue hunted
This Cubb (since he vnlodg'd) from hole to hole,
Your knowledge is our Chronicle: first Ireland
The common stage of Noveltie, presented
This gewgaw to oppose vs, there the Geraldines
And Butlers once againe stood in support
Of this Colossicke statue: Charles of Fraunce
Thence call'd him into his protection;
Dissembled him the lawfull heire of England;
Yet this was all but French dissimulation,
Ayming at peace with vs, which being granted
On honorable termes on our part, suddenly
This smoake of straw was packt from Fraunce againe,
T'infect some grosser ayre; and now wee learne
(Mauger the malice of the bastard Nevill,
Sir Talor, and a hundred English Rebells)
Thei'r all retir'd to Flaunders, to the Dam
That nurst this eager Wholpe, Margaret of Burgundie.
But wee will hunt him there too, wee will hunt him,
Hunt him to death euen in the Beldams Closet,
Tho the Arch-duke were his Buckler.
Sur:
Shee has stil'd him—The faire white rose of England.
Iollie Gentleman, more fit to be a Swabber
To the Flemish after a drunken surfet.
Enter Vrswick.
Vr:
Gracious Soueraigne, please you peruse this paper.
Dur:
The Kings Countenance, gathers a sprightly bloud:
Daw:
Good newes beleeue it.
K:
Vrswick thine eare—
Th'ast lodgd him?
Vr:
Strongly, safe Sir.
K:
Enough, is Barly come to?
Vr:
No, my Lord.
K:
No matter—phew, hee's but a running weede,
At pleasure to be pluck'd vp by the rootes:
But more of this anon—I haue bethought mee.
(My Lords) for reasons which you shall pertake,
It is our pleasure to remoue our Court
From Westminster to th'Tower: Wee will lodge
This very night there, giue Lord Chamberlaine
A present order for it.
Stan:
The Tower—I shall sir.
K:
Come my true, best, fast friends, these clouds will vanish,
The Sunne will shine at full: the Heauens are clearing.
Exeunt.
Flourish.
Enter Huntley and Daliell.
Hun:
You trifle time Sir.
Dal:
Oh my noble Lord,
You conster my griefes to so hard a sence,
That where the text is argument of pittie,
Matter of earnest loue, your glosse corrupts it
With too much ill plac'd mirth.
Hunt:
Much mirth Lord Daliell?
Not so I vow: obserue mee sprightly gallant:
I know thou art a noble ladd, a hansome,
Discended from an honorable Auncestrie,
Forward and actiue, do'st resolue to wrestle,
And ruffle in the world by noble actions
For a braue mention to posteritie:
I scorne not thy affection to my Daughter,
This whoresome tale of honor, (honor Daliell)
So hourely chatts, and tattles in mine eare,
The peece of royaltie that is stitch'd vp
In my Kates bloud, that 'tis as dangerous
For thee young Lord, to pearch so neere an Eaglet,
As foolish for my gravitie to admit it.
I haue spoake all at once.
Dal:
Sir, with this truth
You mix such Worme wood, that you leaue no hope
For my disorderd palate, ere to rellish
A wholesome taste againe; alas, I know Sir,
What an vnequall distance lies betweene
Great Huntlies Daughters birth, and Daliells fortunes.
Shee's the Kings kinswoman, plac'd neere the Crowne,
A Princesse of the bloud, and I a Subject.
Hunt:
Right, but a noble Subject, put in that too.
Dal:
I could adde more; and in the rightest line,
Deriue my pedigree from Adam Mure,
A Scottish Knight; whose daughter, was the mother
To him who first begot the race of Iameses,
That sway the Scepter to this very day.
But kindreds are not ours, when once the date
Of many yeares, haue swallowed vp the memory
Of their originalls: So pasture fields
Neighbouring too neere the Ocean, are soopd vp
And knowne no more: for stood I in my first
And natiue greatnesse, if my Princely Mistresse
Voutsafd mee not her servant, 'twere as good
I were reduc'd to Clownery; to nothing
As to a throane of Wonder.
Hunt:
Now by Saint Andrew
A sparke of mettall, a'has a braue fire in him.
I would a had my Daughter so I knewt not.
But must not bee so, must not:—well young Lord
This will not doe yet, if the girle be headstrong
And will not harken to good Counsaile, steale her
And friske about the world to learne the Languages:
T'will be a thriving trade; you may set vp by't.
Dal:
With pardon (noble Gourdon) this disdaine
Suites not your Daughters vertue, or my constancie.
Hunt:
You are angrie—would awould beate me, I deserue it.
Daliell thy hand, w'are friends; follow thy Courtship
Take thine owne time and speake, if thou prevail'st
With passion more then I can with my Counsaile,
Shees thine, nay, shee is thine, tis a faire match
Free and allowed, Ile onely vse my tongue
Without a Fathers power, use thou thine:
Selfe doe selfe haue, no more words, winne and weare her.
Dal:
You blesse mee, I am now too poore in thankes
To pay the debt I owe you.
Hunt:
Nay, th'art poore enough—I loue his spirit infinitely,
Looke yee, shee comes, to her now, to her, to her.
Enter Katherine and Iane.
Kat:
The King commands your presence Sir.
Hunt:
The gallant—this this this Lord, this
Servant (Kate) of yours, desires to be your Maister.
Kat:
I acknowledge him, a worthy friend of mine.
Dal:
Your humblest Creature.
Hunt:
So, so, the games a foote, I'me in cold hunting,
The hare and hounds are parties.
Dal:
Princely Lady,—how most vnworthy I am to imploy
My services, in honour of your vertues,
How hopelesse my desires are to enjoy
Your faire opinion, and much more your loue;
Are onely matter of despaire, vnlesse
Your goodnesse giue large warrant to my boldnesse,
My feeble-wing'd ambition.
Hunt:
This is scurvie.
Kat:
My Lord I interrupt you not.
Hunt:
Indeede?
Now on my life sheel Court him—nay, nay, on Sir.
Dal:
Oft haue I tun'd the lesson of my sorrowes
To sweeten discord, and inrich your pittie;
And never ris'n againe, to tell a storie
Of the despairing Louer, had not now
Even now the Earle your Father.
Hunt:
A meanes mee sure.
Dal:
After some fit disputes of your Condition,
Your highnesse and my lownesse, giv'n a licence
Which did not more embolden, then encourage
My faulting tongue.
Hunt:
How how? how's that?
Embolden? Encourage? I encourage yee? d'ee heare sir?
A subtill trick, a queint one,—will you heare (man)
What did I say to you, come come toth poynt.
Kate:
It shall not neede my Lord.
Hunt:
Then heare mee Kate:
Keepe you on that hand of her; I on this—
Thou standst betweene a Father and a Suiter,
Both striving for an interest in thy heart:
Hee Courts thee for affection, I for dutie;
Hee as a servant pleads, but by the priviledge
Of nature, tho I might Command, my care
Shall onely Counsaile what it shall not force.
Thou canst but make one choyce, the tyes of marriage
Are tenures not at will, but during life.
Consider whoes thou art, and who; a Princesse,
A Princesse of the royall bloud of Scotland.
In the full spring of youth, and fresh in beautie.
The King that sits vpon the throne is young
And yet vnmarryed, 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 yeelding to a common servile rage
Of female wantonnesse, so I am confident
Thou wilt proportion all thy thoughts to side
Thy equalls, if not equall thy superiors.
My Lord of Daliell young in yeares, is old
In honors, but nor eminent in titles
The expectation of thy fortunes, settle
Thy will and reason by a strength of Iudgement;
For in a word, I giue thee freedome, take it.
If equall fates haue not ordain'd to pitch
Thy hopes aboue my height, let not thy passion
Leade thee to shrinke mine honor in oblivion:
Thou art thine owne; I haue done.
Dal:
Oh! y'are all Oracle,
The living stocke and roote of truth and wisedome.
Kat:
My worthiest Lord and Father, the indulgence
Of your sweete composition, thus commands
The lowest of obedience, you haue graunted
A libertie so large, that I want skill
To choose without direction of Example:
From which I daily learne, by how much more
You take off from the roughnesse of a Father,
By so much more I am engag'd to tender
The dutie of a Daughter. For respects
Of birth, degrees of title, and advancement,
I nor admire, nor slight them; all my studies
Shall ever ayme at this perfection onely,
To liue and dye so, that you may not blush
In any course of mine to owne mee yours.
Hunt:
Kate, Kate, thou grow'st vpon my heart, like peace,
Creating every other houre a Iubile.
Kate:
To you my Lord of Daliell, I addresse
Some few remaining words, the generall fame
That speakes your merit even in vulgar tongues,
Proclaimes it cleare; but in the best a President.
Hunt:
Good wench, good girle y' fayth.
Kat:
For my part (trust mee)
I value mine owne worth at higher rate,
Cause you are pleasd to prize it; if the streame
Of your protested service (as you terme it)
Runne in a constancie, more then a Complement;
It shall be my delight, that worthy loue
Richly to wedde an honourable name:
So every vertuous praise, in after ages,
Shall be your heyre, and I in your braue mention,
Be Chronicled the Mother of that issue,
That glorious issue.
Hunt:
Oh that I were young againe,
Sheed make mee Court proud danger, and sucke spirit
From reputation.
Kat:
To the present motion,
Heeres all that I dare answer: when a ripenesse
Of more experience, and some vse of time,
Resolues to treate the freedome of my youth
Vpon exchange of troathes, I shall desire
No surer credit, of a match with vertue,
Then such as liues in you; meane time, my hopes are
Preser'd secure, in having you a friend.
Dal:
You are a blessed Lady, and instruct
Ambition not to soare a farther flight,
Then in the perfum'd ayre of your soft voyce.
My noble Lord of Huntley, you haue lent
A full extent of bountie to this parley;
And for it, shall command your humblest servant.
Hunt:
Enough; wee are still friends, and will continue
A heartie loue, oh Kate, thou art mine owne:—
No more, my Lord of Crawford.
Enter Crawford.
Craw.
From the King I come my Lord of Huntley,
Who in Counsaile requires your present ayde.
Hunt:
Some weightie businesse!
Craw:
A Secretarie from a Duke of Yorke,
The second sonne to the late English Edward,
Conceal'd I know not where these fourteen yeares,
Craues audience from our Maister, and tis said
The Duke himselfe is following to the Court.
Hunt:
Duke vpon Duke; tis well; 'tis well heeres bustling
For Majestie; my Lord, I will along with yee.
Craw:
My service noble Lady,
Kat:
Please yee walke sir?
“Times haue their changes, sorrow makes men wise,
“The Sunne it selfe must sett as well as rise;
Then why not I—faire Maddam I waite on yee.
Exeunt omnes.
Enter Durham, Sir Robert Clifford, and Vrswick: Lights.
Dur:
You finde (Sir Robert Clifford) how securely
King Henry our great Maister, doth commit
His person to your loyaltie; you taste
His bountie and his mercy even in this;
That at a time of night so late, a place
So private as his Closet, hee is pleasd
To admit you to his favour; doe not faulter
In your Discovery, but as you covet
A liberall grace, and pardon for your follies,
So labour to deserue it, by laying open
All plotts, all persons, that contriue against it.
Vrs:
Remember not the witchcraft, or the Magick,
The charmes, and incantations, which the Sorceresse
Of Burgundie hath cast vpon your reason!
Sir Robert bee your owne friend now, discharge
Your conscience freely, all of such as loue you,
Stand sureties for your honestie and truth.
Take heede you doe not dallie with the King,
He is wise as he is gentle.
Cliff:
I am miserable,
If Henry be not mercifull.
Vrs:
The King comes.
Enter King Henry.
K: H:
Clifford!
Cliff:
Let my weake knees rot on the earth,
If I appeare as leap'rous in my treacheries,
Before your royall eyes; as to mine owne
I seeme a Monster, by my breach of truth.
K: H:
Clifford stand vp, for instance of thy safetie
I offer thee my hand.
Cliff.
A soveraigne Balme
For my bruis'd Soule, I kisse it with a greedinesse.
Sir you are a just Master, but I—
K: H:
Tell me, is every circumstance, thou hast set downe
With thine owne hand, within this paper true?
Is it a sure intelligence of all
Without corruption?
Cliff:
True, as I wish heaven;
Or my infected honor white againe.
K: H:
Wee know all (Clifford) fully, since this meteor
This ayrie apparition first discradled
From Tournay into Portugall; and thence
Advanc'd his firie blaze for adoration
Toth superstitious Irish; since the beard
Of this wilde Comet, Conjur'd into Fraunce,
Sparkled in antick flames in Charles his Court:
But shrunke againe from thence, and hid in darknesse,
Stole into Flaunders, flourishing the ragges
Of painted power on the shore of Kent,
Whence hee was beaten backe with shame and scorne,
Contempt, and slaughter of some naked out-lawes:
But tell me, what new course now shapes Duke Perkin?
Cliff:
For Ireland (mightie Henrie:) so instructed
By Stephen Frion, sometimes Secretarie
In the French tongue vnto your sacred Excellence,
But Perkins tutor now.
K: H:
A subtill villaine!
That Frion, Frion,—you my Lord of Durham
Knew well the man.
Dur.
French both in heart and actions!
K: H:
Some Irish heads worke in this mine of treason;
Speake em!
Cliff.
Not any of the best; your fortune
Hath dulld their spleenes; never had Counterfeit
Such a confused rabble of lost Banquerouts
For Counsellors: first Heron a broken Mercer,
Then Iohn a Water, sometimes Major of Corke,
Sketon a taylor and a Scrivenor
Calld Astley: and what ere these list to treate of,
Perkin must harken to; but Frion, cunning
Aboue these dull capacities, still prompts him,
To flie to Scotland to young Iames the fourth;
And sue for ayde to him; this is the latest
Of all their resolutions.
K. H.
Still more Frion.
Pestilent Adder, hee will hisse out poyson
As dang'rous as infections—we must match 'em.
But Clifford, there are people of our owne
Remaine behinde vntold, who are they Clifford?
Name those and wee are friends, and will to rest,
Tis thy last taske.
Cliff.
Oh Sir, here I must breake
A most vnlawfull Oath to keepe a just one.
K. H.
Well, well, be briefe, be briefe.
Cliff.
The first in ranck
Shall be Iohn Ratcliffe, Lord Fitzwater, then
Sir Simon Mountford, and Sir Thomas Thwaites,
With William Dawbegney, Chessoner, Astwood,
Worsley the Deane of Paules, two other Fryars,
And Robert Ratcliffe.
K. H.
Church-men are turn'd Divells.
These are the principall.
Cliff.
One more remaines
Vn-nam'd, whom I could willingly forget.
K. H.
Ha Clifford, one more?
Cliff.
Great Sir, do not heare him:
For when Sir William Stanlie your Lord Chamberlaine
Shall come into the list, as he is chiefe
I shall loose credit with yee, yet this Lord,
Last nam'd, is first against you.
K. H.
Vrswick the light, view well my face Sirs,
Is there bloud left in it?
Dur.
You alter
Strangely Sir.
K. H.
Alter Lord Bishop?
Why Clifford stab'd mee, or I dream'd a'stabd mee.
Sirra, it is a custome with the guiltie
To thinke they set their owne staines off, by laying
Aspersions on some nobler then themselues:
Lyes waite on treasons, as I finde it here.
Thy life againe is forfeit, I recall
My word of mercy, for I know thou dar'st
Repeate the name no more.
Cliff.
I dare, and once more
Vpon my knowledge, name Sir William Stanlie
Both in his counsaile, and his purse, the chiefe
Assistant, to the fain'd Duke of Yorke.
Dur:
Most strange!
Vrs:
Most wicked!
K: H.
Yet againe, once more;
Cliff:
Sir William Stanlie is your secret enemy,
And if time fit, will openly professe it.
K. H.
Sir William Stanlie? Who? Sir William Stanlie
The pleasure of my Court, my bosome friend,
The Charge, and the Controulement of my person:
The keyes and secrets of my treasurie;
The all of all I am: I am vnhappie:
Miserie of confidence,—let mee turne traytor
To mine owne person, yeeld my Scepter vp
To Edwards Sister, and her bastard Duke!
Dur.
You loose your constant temper.
K. H.
Sir William Stanlie!
Oh doe not blame mee; hee, twas onely hee
Who having rescu'd mee in Bosworth field
From Richards bloudy sword, snatch'd from his head
The Kingly Crowne, and plac'd it first on mine.
Hee never fail'd mee; what haue I deserv'd
To loose this good mans heart, or hee, his owne?
Vrs:
The night doth waste, this passion ill becomes yee;
Provide against your danger.
K. H.
Let it be so.
Vrswick command streight Stanly to his chamber.
Tis well wee are ith Tower; set a guard on him;
Clifford to bed; you must lodge here to night,
Weel talke with you to morrow: my sad soule
Devines strange troubles.
Dawb:
Ho, the King, the King,
I must haue entrance.
K. H.
Dawbneys voyce; admit him.
What new combustions huddle next to keepe
Our eyes from rest?—the newes?
Enter Dawbney.
Daw:
Ten thousand Cornish grudging to pay your
Subsidies, haue gatherd a head, led by a
Blacksmith, and a Lawyer, they make for London,
And to them is joyn'd Lord Audlie, as they march,
Their number daily encreases, they are—
K. H.
Rascalls—talke no more;
Such are not worthie of my thoughts to night:
And if I cannot sleepe, Ile wake:—to bed.
When Counsailes faile, and theres in man no trust,
Even then, an arme from heaven, fights for the just.
Exeunt.
Finis Actus primi.
| The Chronicle Historie of Perkin Warbeck | |