 | King Henry the VII. Or The Popish Impostor |  |
ACT III.
SCENE I.
An Apartment in the Tower.Enter York, Oxford, and several other Lords, all as from Stanley's Tryal.
(York to one of the Lords.)
[York.]
Please to inform the King we wait his Pleasure.
[Ex. Lord.]
I fear, my Lords, his Majesty, from his
Tenderness innate, and extream Affection,
To this unhappy Stanley, will extend
His royal Mercy beyond its prudent Bounds,
And grant him Pardon of all his Treasons.
Ox.
Will he? Why then 'tis Pity he
Shou'd ever be without a Traitor in
His Bosom; for a blacker, or one so
Unprovok'd, History cannot produce.
Enter King attended.
King.
Well, Lords, what says our apostate Minion;
Have you condemn'd him?
York.
His Treasons have, Sir;
Which were as manifest, as foul and dangerous.
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Press'd him so close, it forc'd Confession from him,
Unimportun'd.
King.
O Lord Bishop, that argued Shame and Sorrow
For his Folly; and tho' in letter'd Law
It stands against him, yet in our Mercy,
And the Softness of our friendly Nature,
It pleads strongly for him.
‘Extremity of Law is sometimes too sharp
‘Even for our traiterous Subjects; on whom,
‘Especially when penitent, Chastisement
‘Shou'd fall not with a rigorous Cruelty,
‘But paternal Sorrow; as the fond Father
‘Corrects his truant Child. Let me then, Lords,’
For this unhappy Man, I once call'd Friend,
Wear a grateful Pity in my Breast.
He gave me Life and Crown in Bosworth Field;
Let me repay the Debt, and give him Life,
Too justly forfeited by foul Rebellion.
Ox.
My Lord, from my Heart I wish the Treason
Cou'd be punish'd, and th'unhappy Traitor
Spar'd. But I believe your Subjects, at this Juncture,
Expect Examples of publick Justice.
It gives me Grief to say it, but Clamour
Is so violent against him, 'mongst all
Degrees of People, that I fear Mercy,
At this Time, wou'd be an Act dangerous
To yourself and State.
York.
Lord Oxford councils well.
Th'Insolence of this Rebellion must be
Crush'd with speedy War and Laws utmost Rigour.
'Mongst the great Ones more particularly,
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And tho' Mercy in Season is a King's
Heav'nly Attribute, yet to use it now
Wou'd, I fear, be deem'd a dangerous Weakness.
King.
Then be it so—since England's Weal demands it.
That we shall ever make the sole Guidance
Of our Laws and Will.—Did he assign no
Cause for his flagitious Crimes?
York.
None, Sir; when urg'd, his humble Request was,
To see his Royal Master e're he dy'd;
That then, the Motives of his Discontent
Shou'd have free and ample Declaration.
King.
O York! I'll see him! but 'tis a hard Tryal
Of tender Nature, to see the Man we've lov'd,
Surrounded by Guilt and Death. The King indeed
At such a Sight may stand unmov'd, but the Friend,
In Spite of Justice, will relent,
And soften into womanish Pity.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
An Apartment in the Tower.Enter Stanley, in black, Guards, &c.
(Stanley.)
What awful Pomp attends the Traitor's Death!
What Preparations to affright his Soul!
Yet all are slight! the Guilt he feels within
Out-shocks them all.
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Ha! the King—once my Joy—
My Ambition! my greatest Happiness!
But now my Reproach! my Terror!
King.
See, Lord Bishop, the unhappy Man is cover'd
With Confusion, and cannot turn this Way.
He looks as Death wou'd be a more welcome Guest
To his afflicted Mind, than our reproachful
Presence.—
[The King approaches him.
O Stanley! how different is this Interview
From that in Richard's Tent,
When Bosworth's slaughter'd Scene was o'er.
When the Tyrant Richard lay extended in our View,
My first Thought was, how to reward
Your Love and Loyalty; I made you Master
Of the Tyrant's Wealth.—The Spoil was mighty;—
And had it been immence as Columbus'
Late discover'd Mines, my o'er-flowing Heart
Wou'd have thought it poor—poor as Beggar's Alms,
For my Stanley's Friendship.—My Mind—My Treasure—
My Will hath since been yours.—My all, at your
Direction. What then cou'd provoke your black,
Your atrocious Perfidy?
Stan.
Ambition.
Misguided, restless, insatiate Ambition!
King.
O thou unhappy Mark of human Frailty!
From Patriot Honour fallen to traiterous Shame.
Sure the utmost Height of human Glory
Is Steadiness in our Country's Good!
Myriads of Blessings
Are pour'd on the Patriot's Head; all are anxious
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From their abundant, their o'erflowing Hearts,
Shout out their Acclamations as he passes.
By his Example Millions are made virtuous;
Even Parricides, who for trait'rous Gold
Wou'd stab the Vitals of their maternal Land,
Are forc'd to sculk behind a patriot Mask,
Lest the good Man's spirit-stirring Virtue
Hurl popular Vengeance on th'Villain's Head.
This is the Patriot.—Now see the Reverse;
See in yourself the Traitor whom all Men curse.
‘Not his noble Titles, nor all the Honours
‘Treacherous Wealth can heap, can screen him
‘From popular Shame, nor ease from Self-reproach
‘His guilt-stab'd Heart.
‘Here you both stand, the Patriot this, the Traitor that;
[Pointing to the Bishop and Stanley.
‘The one England's invaluable Blessing;
‘The other, her deepest, blackest, vilest, Curse.
Stan.
O Sir, I feel the sad Condition.
It hath thrown Guilt intense into my Breast,
And tells me I deserve the worst of Deaths my
Country's Laws, or your just Vengeance can inflict.
King.
Why say—shou'd we grant you Life! shou'd Mercy
Be so abus'd! so prostituted! where!
Where cou'd you reside? With whom associate?
None.—Patriots wou'd shun you out of Virtue,
Traitors out of Policy.
Then the greatest Blessing our Power can give,
Or your sad State admit,—is instant Death.
Stan.
It is, my Liege—and my Request to see you
Was not to protract, or sue for Life.—
But to atone, in some Degree, my Guilt,
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Which hath for ever damn'd my Fame.
Then know, Sir, your Goodness has undone me;
—Your Royal Kindness
Heap'd such abundant Favours on me, that
My ambitious Soul was lost, in Prospect
Of boundless Power. Your Father-in-law,
My Brother, you rais'd to th'Earldom of Darby.
Envy and exorbitant Ambition
Made me request the Earldom of Chester;
Which, without Injury manifest, you
Cou'd not alienate, being ever annex'd
To England's Heir. But I, with Love of Pow'r
Intoxicated, unus'd to meet Repulse,
From that Moment, like a poisonous Serpent,
Whom you had nourish'd in your kindly Bosom,
Lost Sight and Memory of all Gratitude;
Former Favours, by this Refusal, I
Chang'd to Injuries, and my wild Ambition
To inflam'd Revenge; which I sought to
Gratify by stabbing my dear Country
Thro' my Friend and royal Master's Side.
This, Sir, was my dark, my hellish State of Mind.
Which is a glaring, but faithful Picture
Of ambitious, disappointed Courtiers;
Who ne'er know Peace of Mind, 'till they destroy
The State, or, in their Treason, meet their Death:
And if my Example may stand a Beacon
To the lavish Fondness of future Kings,
And to the Pride of insatiate Minions,
My Crime will be of Service to my Country.
So, farewell the best of Kings,—the warmest Friend,
The kindest Master.—And oh for ever
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[Ex. guarded.
King,
Unhappy Victim of incens'd Ambition!
Stain to thy noble Blood, and English Truth!
Enter Dawbney.
Daw.
My Liege, I bring unwelcome News.
King.
Out with it, Dawbney.
Daw.
The Cornish Rebels, so late defeated
On Blackheath, by gallant Oxford, and who
So amply felt your Royal Mercy,
Again are up in Arms, in the Pretender
Perkin's Favour. Rome's Emissaries have
Once more rous'd th'ungrateful Herd, while James
Of Scotland is raising a powerful Army to support
His Claim.
[Gives him the Chamberlain's Staff.
King.
Dawbney, accept this Staff,—wear it with Truth
Equal to my Confidence.—Give Order
Clifford be confin'd within the Limits
Of his own House and Park at Newbury,
'Till Rebellion's Flame is quench'd.—Lord Bishop,
To you and faithful Surry we commit
The important Business of the North;
With ample Power to act as Need shall chance.
Ourself, and my old, my valiant Oxford,
Will to the West to chastise those
Unnatural Rebels.—
Ox.
I warrant you, my Liege, we'll soon chastise
them.—These Traitors have had Royal Mercy
once.—But they are like the ungrateful ditch-sprung
Nettle, which handled tenderly stings with
greater Violence, but with Vigour grasp'd, and
crush'd at once, loses all its Energie.
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Come, my Lords, your Country's Wrongs demand your Swords.
The gaudy Garb of silken Peace must now
Be doff'd, and the mail'd Coat of Mars put on.
Tottering storm-drench'd Tents must be our Palaces,
And our rich-wrought Carpets the aguish Earth;
Our Music must be the leaden Messengers of Death,
Whose whizzing Notes omen to each Man's Ear
Irrevocable Doom.
Ox.
And glorious th'Doom when gain'd in Freedom's Cause;
The noblest Fate an Englishman can meet.
The Hatchment of such a Death will be preserv'd
The patriot Mark to late Posterity;
The free-born Son will kindle at the Sight,
'Till in his King and Country's Cause, he burns
To emulate his Father's deathless Virtue.
York.
For my Part, my Liege, tho' Coward Custom,
And my sacred Function, might exempt me
From the Task; yet, with English Pride, I boast
To change th'holy Crosier
For the defensive Sword.—My Dependants
Brethren, Followers, and Friends I will convene,
And by the Assistance of the Almighty,
Protect our Laws, Religion, and our Rights
Or bravely perish in their Defence.
Ox.
‘I defy the Pope in his whole Conclave to
‘Shew me such a Prelate as this—
‘My Lord, for your Sake I shall
‘Love an English Priest as long as I live.
King.
My Lord,
E're we part let us once embrace.
[They all embrace.
Now each Man to his Charge, and when we fight,
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For English Liberty.
[Exeunt York one Way, King and Oxford t'other.
SCENE III.
Scotland.(In Holy-rood Palace.)
Enter King of Scotland and Sevez.
K. Scot.
Have our Council sat upon those Traitors?
Sevez.
They have, my Liege;
Each Man refus'd to plead, and Lord Huntley,
With his usual Boldness, deny'd your Power,
And the Legality of private Tryals.
Call'd 'em Inquisitions—Us,—pack'd Parasites;
And with his wonted Roughness call'd for Justice,
And demanded his Peers.
But all were over-rul'd, and their Silence
We made the clear Evidence of their Guilt;
Upon which they were quickly attainted,
And Judgment of Death directly follow'd.
But the Time, Place, and Manner, wait on your
Royal Will.
K. Scot.
The Place shall be the Castle.—'Tis not
Meet that Huntley harangue the Populace;
There may be Danger in't.—The giddy Herd
Affect him much.
Are their Lands seized?
Sevez.
They are, my Liege.
K. Scot.
'Tis well—
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Coronation?
Sevez.
All, my Liege.
K. Scot.
Quickly then,
Let the royal Ceremony be perform'd,
With due Magnificence and regal Pomp.
To morrow we resolve for England, there
Again to crown the young Plantagenet.
Sevez.
Do you prepare his Highness.
Ex. Sevez.
Enter a Scot. Lord.
Scot. Lord.
May it please your Majesty, Lord Huntley's
Daughter, the Lady Katharine Gordon,
Is come to Court; and with distracted Aspect,
And grief-swoln Eyes, prays Admittance
To your Royal Presence.
K. of Scot.
Conduct her in—belike she comes to move us
For her Father's Life—but it must not be
But on one Condition.
Enter Katherine.
Kat.
O Royal James! if the House of Gordon
E're deserv'd your Love, if the many Lives
They have lost in your Defence, if the Blood
Of Generations, spilt in Scotland's Cause,
From earliest Time,
Down to my grey-hair'd Sire, if these, I say,
Deserve your Love, or Pity, then spare, spare,
For Love of Mercy, spare my poor old Father.
O, do not stop his Ebb of Life, with the
Traitor's Ax, a Death unknown to Gordon's Sons,
Who all have perish'd in the loyal Field.
K. Scot.
Rise, Katherine,
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The fairest, brightest Jewel in our Crown.
Your Father hath ever been dear to us, dear as Love,
Or the Tyes of kindred Blood could make him.
'Till his o'erbearing Temper leap'd all Bounds;
Till he compell'd us
To shake off his iron Yoke; which hath provok'd him
To Cabals, Jibes, Murmurs, and disloyal Threats.
Kath.
O believe it not, Sir, they abuse your Ear
Who say so. Truth it self
Is not fairer than his Loyalty;
Which is incapable of Stain or Blemish.
O, Royal Sir, if you think him false,
You do not know him. Perchance his Temper,
Warm in his Country's Cause, may urge him beyond
The Bounds of Prudence; but this Heart is sound;—
Sound, as the Genius of our Land could wish.
K. Scot.
Katherine, I commend your filial Warmth,
And wish you had not Cause to sorrow;
But be assur'd from me, Huntley's a Traitor.
Kath.
Royal Sir,
Do not call him Traitor; for well I know,
That Name is sharper to his Soul, than death's
Keenest Dart.—My Liege, he is no Traitor.
K. Scot.
I find, Lady, your Father's daring Spirit,
In some Sort, breathes in your soft Form.
Kath.
It does, my Liege!
From Time, beyond the reach of Record,
It hath been our Race's Pride to cherish
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Our Lives. It hath
Been Huntley's first Precept to his Children,
Night, Morn, Hourly. No wonder then some Part
Remains with me. O had you heard him
Tell the warlike Deeds of Gordon's Ancestors,
For their King and Country; you then, I'm sure,
Wou'd have believ'd him Loyal.
K. Scot.
Katherine, we did believe him faithful,
'Till we found him rising above our Power,
And striving to awe, with subject Insolence,
Our sacred Majesty.
Kath.
Gracious Sir,
If his free Spirit hath outstept Discretion,—
Impute it not to traiterous Insolence,
But to a biass'd Mind in Scotland's Cause.
Merciful Sir, give me his precious Life,
He never, never, shall offend again.
He shall retire to our antient Castle,
The Nursery of Gordon's Ancestors;
Till weary'd Life steals from his feeble Frame,
Gently and unperceived as the setting Sun.
K. Scot.
Well, Katherine, on Condition he reside
For Life's Remains, within the Confines
Of Gordon's fertile Barony, we grant
Him full Pardon.—Provided, my fair Cuz,
That you accord our Sollicitation
In Favour of a royal Suit of ours.
Kath.
Command it, my Liege,
[kneels.
Be it Banishment, or Death, or lingring Famine,
Save but his Life, and conclude it done.
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‘No, my lovely Cuz; nor Death nor Banishment,
‘Nor aught ungentle, or unkind, will reach
‘This lovely Form, while we have Sway to hinder;
‘Nature design'd it for her noblest Use,
‘For a Monarch's Bliss, and Partner of his Crown,
‘For Joy in Youth, Content and Happiness in Age.
A youthful Prince must fill those snowy Arms;
And from this soft Image Albion's King must rise.
Kath.
Sir!
K. Scot.
Know, Katherine, our Cousin, young Plantagenet,
Burns with a Lover's Flame,
And longs to make you the happy Partner
Of his Bed and Throne.
Kath.
Me, Sir!
K. Scot.
Ay, fair Katherine!
Grant his Suit, and Huntley's Life is safe.
If not—You deny him Mercy, not I.
‘For the sharp Ax must fall where Law directs,
‘Unless by you prevented.
Kath.
O, royal Sir.— (kneels,)
how shall I speak it!—O some
Heavenly Power guide my distracted Mind!
O Sir!—My Heart is not my own;—'tis already given,
Betroth'd, and ty'd by Love, Honour, and all
The sweet, the witching Charms of blended Hearts.
Daliel! the blooming Daliel! sweetest Blossom
Of Scotland's Peers, has got my Heart, and to Morrow
By full Consent, and Joy of both our Parents,
The holy Priest was to unite us.
K. Scot.
Rise Cousin;—we will not controvert your Love,
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Your own free Will shall be your Guide,—therefore,
We offer this Alternative,—and chuse
You must this Night—That's our utmost Limit.
Prepare or to be crown'd as England's Queen,
Or to be whelm'd in Grief as Huntley's Orphan.
(Exit.
Kath.
Now, Horror, thou art at Work, and I defy
Thy madning Power to out-terrify
My distracted Mind. Scaffolds—Axes—Daliel,
And Huntley, pierce through my distemper'd Brain,
And Madness must guide me thro' the Chaos.
My Father—no, they shall not murder you.
I will wed sharpest Misery and triumph
In Wretchedness to save a Father's Life.
(Exit.
SCENE IV.
An Apartment in Edinborough Castle.Enter Huntley and Sir David Bruce, meeting.
Sir David.
Good Day, my Lord.
Huntley.
Wou'd it were, Sir David!
But Italian Policy and good Days
Never shine together.
Sir David.
I was in Hopes
E're this, my Lord, that the King's Resentment
Wou'd have 'bated. Lord Huntley, my Heart bleeds,
To see you still within these hated Walls.
Huntley.
Bleed for me, Sir David? O Bruce, let it
Bleed for your poor Country.
Sir David.
My Lord!
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Wou'd to Heav'n the Remedy were as plain;
Did I but know it, at hazard of my Life I wou'd apply it.
Huntley.
Why how dare you declare that Scotland's ruin'd,
While an Italian Legate holds the Helm?
Why I avow'd no more.
But where are my Brother Traitors,
Angus, and Daliel? Mayn't we embrace
E're we shake of our Treason, and set out
Upon our final Journey?
Sir David.
My Lord, I have strict Command
Against your seeing each other, or admitting
Any Person to or from you without
Special Order from the King or Sevez.
Report is, you're all to suffer privately
To morrow, in different Parts of the Castle.
Huntley.
O rare Tyranny! Rome's Christian Policy,
Her Holy Inquisition.
Enter an Officer.
Off.
Sir, your Daughter Lady Catherine is below,
She hath brought a special Order from the King,
For her Admittance.
Huntley.
My Daughter! my Child!
Sr. David.
Pray Sir, conduct the Lady up.
[Exit Officer.
I hope, my Lord, she brings an Order for
Your Enlargement.
Huntley.
Just as King Sevez pleases.
Sir David.
Your Daughter may have some private Converse,
I'll leave you, my Lord.
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Sir, your Confidence shall not be abused.
[Exit. Sir David
Enter Officer and Katherine, Officer goes out again.
Huntley.
So, my Katherine! my Child! (embraces her)
My all that's left,
Of Gordon's antient Stock. The long Descent
Must end to Morrow by the Traitor's Axe.
Kate, what wilt thou do when I am gone?
How wilt employ thy self?
You'll have no feeble Father to sooth now;
Death will rid you of that endearing Care,
And me, of all my doating Fondness.—Nay, nay.
Do not weep.
The Sight of thee hath ever brought
Joy and Comfort to my old Heart; prithee
Do not vex it now. Let me die like Huntley,
You bear it like his Daughter.
Kath.
O Sir!
'Tis Nature's hardest Task to look on Death,
For that fell Tyrant is her utmost Shock.
And in a Father—
Huntley.
Hold, Katherine, mistake not, it is not Death,
But Guilt, Guilt, my Child, is Nature's utmost Shock.
To the Innocent, Death is a Guide to Life eternal.
But to the Guilty, a ghastly Summoner,
Which frights, and goads, and stings to endless Tortures
Death! 'tis Nature's Companion!
He attends every Action of our Lives!
I have seen the bare-rib'd Tyrant in as
Many Forms, as there were armed Soldiers
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Levelling Ranks, and sweeping down armed Files;
While brazen Engines his iron Messengers
Sent forth, and with a Loudness that deafen'd
Nature, proclaim'd his Triumph! and can I
After this, fear his Block and Ax! no Child,
Only the Traitor starts at those; th'Patriot
Beholds them with a Fortitude that smiles
And triumphs, like the holy Martyr; who,
Before his Fall, sees his Reward register'd
In Heaven.
Kath.
Sure, Sir, you cannot be in love
With Death!
Hunt.
No, Katherine; he, who says he is,
Deceives himself; but my declining Life
Is not worth much Concern; the Oyl is almost spent;
And like a dying Flame on an exhausted Lamp
Wou'd of itself have soon expir'd, without
My cruel Master's hasty Breath.
Kath.
By me, Sir, he sends you offer of Life.
Hunt.
Does he!
He cou'd not have chosen, in Mercy's smiling Train
A lovelier Messenger—Thou art her rosy
Cherub—and Life from thee will come with
Double Relish—but, hear you, Katherine, have you
Brought Life's Blessing with it? It's cordial Drop?
It's balmy Sweet?
Kath.
What mean you, Sir?
Hunt.
Liberty, my Child! heav'n-born Liberty!
Without which, Life is a Curse, and he, who
Rids me of the Plague, is my best-lov'd Friend.
Kath.
O, say not so, but accept his Promise;
Accept of precious Life at any Rate.
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Ha! Katherine! what upon base ignoble Terms!
To be a Court Creature; to do filthy Jobs,
As Priests and Rome direct; to bow, defame,
And fawn, and cringe; and beg to be employ'd
In some brave Man's Destruction? To flatter
A pride-swoln Priest; and pamper up
His Avarice and Revenge, with my Country's Ruin.
Is this a Life for Huntley? No.
I know you will not council it—
Well, upon what Terms will our royal Master
Give us Leave to breathe?
Kath.
Know then—O Heav'ns! how shall I speak them!
[apart.]
Hunt.
Nay, if you hesitate, I'm sure they are base.
Your Conscience is a faithful Monitor,
A Dial set by an unerring Hand,
And heavenly Truth is the Light it goes by;
Obey it now, and be silent.
Kath.
No, Sir, I must name it,
Tho' you look me dead, which wou'd be the cruell'st
Death, Fate has in Store. Know then, that the King
Hath promis'd Life, and Liberty, to you, and
The other Lords—on Condition—
Hunt.
Out with it—
Quick—for the Approach of Infamy is
Dreadful.—And I see something in my Katherine's
Eye, was never there before. Shame, conscious Shame!
But come,—the Conditions!
Kath.
The Conditions are,
First, that I marry his suppos'd Cousin,
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Hunt.
Katherine,
We have convers'd enough upon this Subject;
Our Life is short, therefore we must prepare
To give in our Account as perfect as
We can; not on the Eve of Death to add
To the inadvertent Sallies of Youth
Premeditated Infamy.
I trust I shall employ my short Space to more
Advantage.
Kath.
O my foreboding Heart! 'twas what I fear'd!
[To herself.
Hunt.
But, Katherine, lest you shou'd mistake and
Err into Infamy, know that your mangled
Body in Death wou'd give me Joy,
When your lovely blooming Person in such
A prostituted Marriage, wou'd bring cureless
Sorrow;—it wou'd rive my old Heart in twain.
My Child, farewel (embraces her)
when you
Have better Thoughts
Bring them to comfort me. These vex me sorely;
Farewel,—I am going to my Cell, to
Think of Heaven and you.
[Exit.
Kath.
And what shall I think of!
Death! Death! fell horrid Death! turn where I will
I see the Skeleton dogging
My Father's Steps—and softly stealing with
His shadowy Arm uprais'd, ready to aim
His final Dart.
O some unerring Power direct me!
If I wander into Error; the Crime
Is not in my Will, but my Ignorance;
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Nature struggling at my Heart, and prompting
That I must not let Him dye, who gave me Life.
I find Love too pleading for my Daliel;
Sure all this must be right, or Heaven would not
Permit it?—No, they shall not dye;
My Father is cruel to himself and me,
And Nature, sympathizing Nature,
Will be obey'd, and they must live.
For on their Lives alone depends my Fate,
As does the Peace of our distracted State.
[Exit.
| King Henry the VII. Or The Popish Impostor | |