University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Enter the Earl of Salisbury and Lord Clifford.
Salisbury.
Yet hold, good Clifford.

Clifford.
'Tis an old Man's Weakness:
Was it not I that train'd him up to War,
That taught his feeble Arm to grasp the Sword,
And pointed out the Paths that lead to Glory?
Was it for this he robb'd me of my Daughter?

Salisbury.
Forget it, learn to scorn this Royal Robber,
And be at Peace.

Clifford.
It is impossible.
Had he reduc'd me to the Beggar's Lot,
Or stript me of the Honours of my Race,
I could have smil'd at his Ingratitude:
But to deprive me of my greatest Hopes,
To steal away my choicest, sweetest Flower,
To tempt young Innocence with hellish Arts—
'Tis more than Pain—it is—what is it not?—
O 'tis too much for an old Man to bear.
But canst assure me he returns so soon?

Salisbury.
Each Morn expects to see him crown'd with Laurels,
And rich with Spoils: Fortune still takes his Part:
Where-e'er he marches, pale-fac'd Terror stalks
With Giant Strides, and leads his Van of Battle.

Clifford.
Let me do Justice to the Man has wrong'd me:
My Lord of Salisbury, from his Dawn of Youth,
I trac'd the Symptoms of an active Soul,
Suited for warlike Deeds and brave Atchievements:
But then his turbulent Passions work so strong,
His Character is ever an Extreme;
A Hero, or a Dotard in Excess;
This Day, with a deep Sense of Honour stung,
Half-Convert to fair Virtue; and the next,
Born by fierce Appetite, a Slave to Vice.

Salisbury.
His gen'rous Temper one Day may prevail;
For Fate still throws Occasion in his Way,
To put his noble Qualities to Proof:
An unexpected Tempest from the North
Hangs low'ring o'er his Head; and the young Prince,
Who breathes a mighty and right Royal Spirit,
Has with some noble Followers left the Court.

Clifford.
He is ensnar'd by guileful Leicester's Art:
The King, thou know'st, hath banish'd him his Presence,
He meditates Revenge in all its Venom;
And since arose the League 'twixt him and Harry.

Salisbury.
Report has said this Lord, on Terms of Honour,
Woo'd your fair Daughter's Love.

Clifford.
He did profess so;
But much I fear me with a vile Design;
And for full Satisfaction, but this Day
I've penn'd a Note, in female Characters,
As from my Daughter, full of Blandishments,
And cordial Invitations from her Love:
If I surprise him at the Place assign'd,
I shall detect his Baseness to his Face.
Perhaps I but transcribe the Sentiments
Of her abandon'd Heart—that as it may.

Salisbury.
Think not too meanly of thy beauteous Daughter,
Henry 'tis true engrosses all her Soul,
Yet in her lonely, solitary Hours,
Sad, she regrets her ruin'd Innocence,
And mourns, like the first Fair, her fallen State.

Clifford.
'Tis superficial Grief: a barren Soil
Where Reformation never can take Root:
O, that an only Child should be a Curse!
But let us hence, the Thought encroaches on me,
In Pity to myself I would divert it.
Cousin, this Way, I have yet more to tell you,
Of what my Soul is purpos'd tow'rd the King.

[Exeunt.