University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI.

A Royal Tent near Norham Castle.
Enter King of Scotland, Perkin, Sevez, Frion, and all the King's Attendants.
K. Scot.
Cousin, after long Absence from our native Land
Nature at our Return feels eager sympathizing Joy;
How happens the Reverse in you?

Perkin.
I own Sadness sits round my Heart,
To think, I must depopulate, and waste
My Native Land; to wade thro' Cruelty,
Blood and Slaughter! to have the Infant slain!
The Aged murder'd! to have Sword, Fire,
And total Devastation overspread the Land,
E're I can purchase my just Inheritance!—
This, in extream Grief, my Soul deplores.
O, Sir, my Heart grieves for my poor People!

K. Scot.
Your People, methinks, deserve your Anger
More than your Sorrow; for not a Man as yet
Hath rais'd Hand or Voice in your Defence.
But, on the contrary, all seem resolute against you.
Why come not Sir Robert Clifford and Stanley,
As they promis'd?

Frion.
Sir, be assur'd they are not inactive.
Clifford, I know, is true as Heart can wish;
And for Stanley, his Resentment is too deep
Within his Heart ever to be eras'd.
The Clergy, to a Man, are warm and zealous;
And, already, under Pretence of not
Paying a Subsidy, have privately
Stirr'd up twenty thousand hardy Britons
Now in Arms in Cornwal.—Many Friends too
Lurk slily in the great Metropolis,
And thro'out the Realm, who artfully joyn
The common Cry against Invasion, France,
Scotland, and the Pretender.—But when Time
Serves, are ready, one and all, to use and
Massacre the Heretics, and all whom
They suspect as Enemies to our Church,
Or young Plantagenet's Claim.

K. Scot.
But, Frion, France and Spain are tardy;
Where are those Troops were to be pour'd
Into Ireland? And the South and West of England?

Frion.
Most royal James, France and Spain
Are prompt as Revenge and Hatred can inspire;
But as yet they cannot stir—the English
With their Fleets will not let them
Look forth; or e're this, Devastation wou'd
Have o'er-run their Land, swift as Contagion,
Or epidemic Plagues.

K. Scot.
Unless your Friends are numerous and powerful
In England, or France send some speedy Aid,
I fear, young Prince, Adversity will still attend you.

Enter a Lord.
Lord.

So please your Highness, a Gentleman just
arriv'd from Cornwall, who calls himself Flamock,
humbly craves Audience of Princely Richard, England's
lawful Heir.

Frion.
I know him well, so please your Majesty;
A warm and active Friend he is, and of much
Power in the West.

K. Scot.
'Tis like he brings Dispatches of Importance!
Give him instant Audience.
[Exit Perkin and Frion.
Sevez, this Business wears not an Aspect
So fair as we cou'd wish—

Sevez.
Dread Sir, I trust this Gentleman from Cornwall
Brings some Intelligence of good Complexion.

K. Scot.
Is Advice arriv'd yet of Huntley's Death?

Sevez.
Not yet, my Liege. But every Moment
I expect it. Sir David Bruce is not
Wont to be remiss. He is sure and trusty,
And will the Instant it is over send Dispatch.

[Three Shouts, each approaching gradually.
Enter Huntley, and all the Lords, with several of the Soldiers all arm'd, their Swords drawn.
[The King starts up, Sevez, and the rest run behind him.
King.
Huntley!

Hunt.
Ay, my Liege!

King.
Where are my Friends?

Hunt.
Here, Sir!
All these are Friends.

King.
Am I to be assassin'd?

Hunt.
No Sir—;
We all kneel, Sir,
[All kneel.
Your natural, loving, Subjects; dutiful—
But free—free as the Glory of our King—
The Welfare of our bleeding Land,—and our
Infringed, constitutional Rights demand.

K. Scot.
Why how now, Sir; who dare controul our Will?

Hunt.
Justice dare—gracious Sir, let Reason school
Your youthful distemper'd Heat, and sound Judgment
Soon will follow; with sincere Allegiance
And Affection we're come to close this Breach,
'Twixt a hasty
Mistaken King, and his much-wrong'd
Banish'd Subjects. Let not the latent Poison
Of subtle France and Rome insinuate and work
Against our Love and Loyalty.

K. Scot.
Well, Sir, let us
See an Instance of your Love and Loyalty.

Hunt.
You shall Sir,—first, you Priest, who Coward like
Puts Majesty in Front when Danger threats,
You, Sir, to your Sphere—the Altar—a Throne
[Pulls him from behind the King, and throws him to the Guard.
Of Freedom never was design'd for Rome's Priests.
Now, Sir,
[To the King.]
You are, as you shou'd be, King of Scotland;
Before, the Pope was.

K. Scot.
Hear me, rash Man—do not presume—

Hunt.
My Liege,
Rome's Legates have no Business round our Throne;
The Church is their Capitol,—there let them thunder out
Their Threats, Pennance, Bulls, and Absolutions;
And if they can, why, let 'em save our Souls;—
But for our Property, and our Freedom,
We can preserve them ourselves without troubling
Their Infallibility.

K. Scot.
Lord Huntley,
This Insolence is beyond Sufferance.

Hunt.
Sir, 'tis not Insolence but Loyalty;
Built on Nature's first Law—and the first Compact
That made a King. The People's Interest,
In a free Nation, is blended, and co-equal
With the King's; and he who separates, or
Over-values either, is the Traitor;
Not we, who want to unite and poise them.

K. Scot.
Sir, this is a Language, I'm unus'd to.

Hunt.
I know it is, young King; therefore I speak it.
For when Tyrant Folly surrounds the Throne,
The Truth to our King is the Nation's best
Loyalty. Look into our honest Neighbour's,
The English Annals; see their Insolence
In Defence of Liberty encroach'd by
Rome-directed Kings. See their determin'd
Honest Souls, wading thro' mercenary
Slavish Blood, to shake off France and Rome's usurp'd
Authority. See each Man, active as
The first Brutus, driving out the Tarquins
Of their Land—and sacrificing themselves
And Sons to Liberty.—Copy them, them
My Liege—not France and Rome.

K. Scot.
These Sounds are harsh
They grate and discord in the Ears of Kings.

Hunt.
Sir, none reverence Majesty more than I.
'Tis the People's sacred Repository
Of Freedom, Justice, Mercy, and all their
Social Happiness; and as such, when pure,
I kneel, and I adore it—but when defil'd
By Tyranny and Priestcraft, it becomes
A Magazine of Vengeance, and all our
Veneration turns to Contempt and Wrath.

K. Scot.
Huntley, if you love us cease this Doctrine.

[Bows to the King—then turns to the Lords.
Hunt.
I have done—my Lords, this reverend Priest,
Our Paramount, sent us from meddling Rome;
See he has safe Conduct to Edinburgh;
My traiterous Apartments in the Castle,
I believe will suit his Reverence; they are
Retir'd and fit for Meditation.

K. Scot.
I charge you, let not his Life be touch'd!

Hunt.
Why Sir—the foremost Man of all the World,
Great Cæsar, bled for wounding Liberty;
And shall a paltry Priest of Rome escape?
Is there not one—one Brutus to be found
Within wide Scotland's Realm, dares stab the Villain
Who wou'd basely enslave his native Land?
Be yourself that Brutus,
And let your Dagger be th'unbiass'd Censure
Of a Scotish Parliament.

K. Scot.
Sir, we are
In your Power; and your Will must be our
Dictator.

Hunt.
No, Sir—your Glory—and Scotland's Welfare
Shall dictate. Dispatch them to the Castle.

[Exit Guards with Sevez.
Enter a Lord.
K. Scot.
The News!

Lord.
So please your Majesty a Herald from
Norham Castle is arrived, Harbinger
To the warlike Prelate York, who in his
Master's Name demands Audience of Scotland's King.

Hunt.
I pray your Majesty will give him Presence.
He may be charged with Power of Treaty,
Such as your Glory and Scotland's Distress
May wish.

King.
Give him Conduct.
[Exit Lord.
Well, Sir, what are the Dictates we must attend to?

Hunt.
Sir, we are not in plight for wasteful War.
Intestine Feuds, and Rome's black Exactions,
Have drain'd us below the Might of coping
With industrious England; who from thriving
Commerce, and domestic Union, are stout
And sinewey. Therefore, we pray this War,
Stirr'd and fomented by subtle-working France,
In favour of an Impostor, may be 'dropt.
Enter York.
Now my Liege you may behold the Difference
'Twixt an English and a Scotish Prelate.
The one roused and spirited by Freedom's Voice
Is fighting for the Franchisement of his Land;
The other, sway'd by the Craft of France and Rome,
Is praying to enslave it.

York.
From England's awful King I come; not to
Cringe or beg for Peace; but for mutual Good
Of both the Realms to stop ruinous War's
Bloody Effusion. And that on such Terms
As befits Scotland's Honour to accept,
England's to offer.

K. Scot.
Lord Prelate, England
Cannot be more in love with Amity
Than Scotland is. But the Insults offer'd
To our Scotish Youth, here on Norham Plain,
At their mirthful annual Festival,
In cold Blood, and in Time of Peace too, hath
Long gone unaton'd, tho' oft remonstrated.

York.
Those, whose Policy it is to create Dissention,
No wonder they have mistold that Business.

King.
Sir, Henry's Scorn of our Alliance with
His Daughter Margaret hath not been mistold.
That we ourself experienced and can't forget.

York.
Sir, I come with Power, I hope, to end all Feuds,
Groundless or otherwise. With Henry's Voice
In this Presence I offer new Alliance
To Scotland; and to make the Bond of strictest
Union now, let there be Affinity with
Royal James, and Princess Margaret; England's
Unparalell'd Beauty; whose Proxy here I stand
Ready to conclude instant Affiance.
And farther, the annual Loan receiv'd
Of France, we promise to make good to Scotland
By way of Portion; which on Survival
Must be settled, as Dower, on Scotland's Queen;—
Provided Connexion be broke with those
Breed-bate French, and their Tool th'Impostor Perkin
Be render'd up.

King.
How! York! break our royal Faith!
No; our sacred Word was his Sanctuary:
Nor will we defile it by Treachery.
Our Tutor,
The rigid Huntley, I believe will not
Prescribe us that.

Hunt.
My Liege, your royal Word was given, as you thought,
To England's Heir; this is an Impostor,
As can be proved; hatch'd and foster'd by the vile,
The hellish Juncto of France, Spain, and Rome;
On Purpose to enslave this Island's Realms.
For when once their Deputy rules in England,
Scotland must bid farewel to Peace and Freedom.

K. Scot.
Let him be proved an Impostor, and we
Shall think ourselves in Justice and in Honour bound
Not only to yield him up, but with Contempt
And Ignominy. But 'till that is done
We must not break our Faith.

Hunt.
My Liege, you shall
Have ample Proof; so full, that not the Shadow
Of a Doubt shall disturb your Mind.

K. Scot.
The other Terms we do accept, and if
Approv'd by Henry, will send Lord Huntley
To ratify them—so inform your Master.

York.
I shall.

[Exit.
K. Scot.
Huntley, we shall trouble you with the Trust.
Attend us for our farther Instructions.

Hunt.
With most willing Duty and Diligence.
[Exit King.
You see, my Lords, that by the King's Commands
[To the Scotch Lords
I must strait to England to ratify
This hasty Peace. His Sincerity, as yet,
I cannot judge of. But lest Rome's wicked,
Temporizing Craft should be his Policy,
I beseech you, let not a Fort, or Castle,
Be surrender'd, till the Legate hath stood
A free, a candid Enquiry of his Peers;
And the Justice they doom, be fairly dealt him:
Saving the Power of royal Mercy,
If it shall think proper to interpose.
Consider, Countrymen, how this Struggle
For native Liberty will shine, when read
To a free Posterity.
The Youth will glow to emulate this Deed,
The Sire will bless us for his Country freed;
And from your Loins a patriot Race proceed.