 | King Henry the VII. Or The Popish Impostor |  |
ACT V.
SCENE I.
King Henry's Tent near Taunton.Enter King, York, Oxford, Lords and Gentlemen.
K. Hen.
My rev'rend York, let me embrace thee.
[York kneels, the King embraces him.
Rise,—come to my Heart,—and there let my Love
Enshrine your Truth, your Loyalty, and Friendship.
This is indeed a Monarch's Happiness,
In Day of Battle, and wild Rebellion,
To be enpal'd with such Ranks of Loyalty,
Fences, nor War, nor Treachery can shake.
But what of our Brother Scotland? Does he
Still persist in Conjunction with his Allies
Of Rome, France and Spain, to send England Laws and Kings?
Or will he sheath his redoubted Anger?
And let us rule in Peace our Nook of Freedom.
Grievance and Disunion o'erspread their Land;
This brought Huntley disguis'd to Norham Castle;
Where, in the Name of all free-born Scots,
He demanded Friendship with England's King;
I readily embrac'd the mutual Blessing,
When Preliminaries strait by us were settled,
Which the aggriev'd People pray'd their King to sign.
He did—and this contains their full Matter.
[kneels and gives him a Paper.
Which Lord Huntley, with other Scotish Peers,
Fraught with ample Power, are ready to conclude
And ratify, provided the Substance
Shall please your Majesty.
K. Hen.
Lord Prelate, of your
Wisdom in making Terms for our Glory,
And England's Interest, we will not doubt.
Lord Oxford, Huntley is your antient Friend,
I know your honest Heart longs to see him;
Conduct him hither.
[Exit Oxford.
But, my Lord,
What of the Impostor? is he deliver'd up?
York.
So please your Grace, Scotland's King consented
To yield him up—but, suddenly, the Impostor,
His Wife, (the miserable Katherine Gordon)
The Traitor Frion, and others of his Train,
Disappear'd beyond the Reach of labour'd Intelligence.
Enter Oxford and Huntley, and several Scotish Lords.
Ox.
Here he is, my Liege; as tough a Piece as ever
We harrass'd each other; and many a bitter Night have
Watch'd for the grey Dawn, to steal the Advantage
Of the first Blow—which we old Soldiers think no
Contemptible Part of a Battle.
K. Hen.
Lord Huntley, welcome to our tented Court;
Dignity of Forms, proper to your high Place,
And exalted Worth, confus'd Rebellion
Will not allow. But if sincere Reception
Can compensate Lack of Ceremony,
Scotland's Ambassador, and the Lord Huntley
Are most welcome.
Hunt.
In Scotland's Name I here greet England's Love,
And stand a faithful Hostage of Return.
As for myself, next my royal Master's,
Henry's Esteem is my greatest Honour.
K. Hen.
Lord Huntley, for some Hours
Peaceful Treaty must give Way to Civil War.
When mad Rebellion's lawless Crew have
Awak'd his Wrath, the chastising Vengeance
Of fire-ey'd Mars must keep Pace
With Lightning's Rage. When that precarious Scene
Is over, as the Justness of our Cause
Deserves, your high Business we then will ratify;
Mean Time, my Lord,
Such Accomodation, and such Safety—
Hunt.
As Courage needs in Honour's Cause, ler me have;
Or such as Lord Oxford here shall have, I request;
No other, I beseech your Majesty.
But I can toil one Day more in Honour's Field
With my honest old Competitor. As Foes
We oft have try'd each other's Soldiership;
To Day let it be try'd as Friends.
K. Hen.
Spoke like a Soldier zealous in our Cause,
We will accept your honest Sword. You shall be
Oxford's, your old Antagonist's Volunteer
Ox.
And a stancher never stood by Cæsar.
Come you veteran Volunteer, come to my
Heart,
(embrace)
‘How oft when we have been each
other's Prisoners, for retreating was not in Fashion
with us, have we wish'd for a Cause to joyn our
Hearts in?—At length, Thanks to her Capriciousness,
the blind Lady hath given us the Opportunity;
and in faith we'll make use on't.’ We'll
try what Mettle there is in French-rais'd Rebels. Side
by Side we'll march thro' their disjoynted Ranks,
like Death and Time. The Rogues shall sicken at
our Sight. Pale Pannic shall catch from Eye to Eye,
'till the trembling Phantom beat at their rebel Hearts
Death's last Alarm.
Enter Dawbney.
K. Hen.
Now—Lord Dawbney—the News!
Dawb.
My Liege, by a trusty Spy, just escap'd,
I've learn'd that th'Impostor arriv'd last Night
In the Rebel's Camp; with some straggling French
And Highlanders, a few Priests and Irish;
And a Lady, whose Beauty and Sorrow
Fill'd the whole Camp with Pity and Amazement.
Hunt.
Ha! it is my Child! my brokenh-earted Katherine!
K. Hen.
Heaven be prais'd! now we shall see our bold
Be kept at all our Ports, lest he escape.
And a Reward thro'out our Realm proclaim'd
Of one thousand Marks to him who brings his Head.
Dawb.
Our Spy brought farther News—he say'd
'twas rumour'd in the Rebels Camp that the Earl of
Devonshire and his Friends, the Mayor of Exeter,
and many of the Citizens, were march'd to joyn
your Majesty, and that the Rebels had resolv'd to
advance and give us Battle e're the Junction cou'd
be effected—and by a Gentleman just arriv'd, the
Earl is now within an Hour's March.
K. Hen.
The Earl is most valiant, as are all his Friends!
Dawb.
In their March from Exeter, the Villains
have been guilty of most unheard of Outrages; as
if Waste, Ruin, Havock, and Desolation were
their only Purport. At Perrin, my Liege, they
have committed a savage Cruelty. The Commissioner,
for daring to expostulate concerning the Revenue,
was cruelly murder'd! while his Wife, and
two virgin Daughters, before his dying Eyes, were
sacrificed to their brutal Lust!
K. Hen.
Barbarous Villains! Shame to human Kind!
But speedy Vengeance shall o'ertake them.
What may the Number of their savage Force
Amount to?
Dawb.
Rumour calls 'em thirty Thousand,
But the strictest Intelligence, my Liege,
Cannot muster them to above Five and Twenty.
Ox.
Ay, Men, so please your Majesty, meer Men;
not a Soldier amongst them; all Rabble, the rank
hot-blooded Sores of the Commonwealth, which
of Rebellion. Then, my Liege, let us not waste
Time in waiting farther Aid; already we are enow
to beat their disordered Numbers thrice told.
King.
Lord Oxford, Security oft hath been
The teeming Mother of blind Destruction.
Let not our Safety then beget our Ruin;
But let us fight with that Caution and Courage,
As if each rude Rebel was a Cæsar.
Let our Judgment be cool, our Battle warm,
The Blow will then be sure. Their Numbers are
Formidable, what e'er their Discipline.
Or Courage may be. Then, e'er we charge 'em, Lords,
Let us into Council, and debate the Means;
Whether it shall be as we now stand muster'd,
Or to wait the Junction of the Earl
And his Friends.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Field near the Rebels Camp.Enter Katherine dress'd like her Husband Perkin, followed by her Maid Jane.
Cath.
I charge you by your Duty and Affection
Follow me no farther; enquire no more
Into my Design.
Jane.
Madam, I will not.
Let me but attend you in any Shape.—
I will purchase manly Garments, and travel
With you. For my Patroness,
Be it Toil, or War, or Famine or Death,
It will be welcome, much more welcome,
Than cruel Banishment, from my dear Mistress.
Cath.
Jane, press me no farther—I must be obey'd,
Return to my Husband's, King Richard's Tent;
There wait my Presence, or my Messenger's.
And as you wish my Happiness, let not
Utterance, or Advertisement, escape you,
By any Means of this my unseemly
Immodest Garb.
Jane, this strange Request, give it not Complyance
As my Servant who obeys, but as my Friend
Who loves.
Jan.
It never shall escape me. But, dear Madam,
From the earliest Time, my Memory
Can trace, my Life hath been employ'd with you;
I've been bred up with you, not under you.
You have not been a Mistress to me, but
A tender Equal. Sorrow and Servitude
Were unknown in Gordon's hospitable House;
Menial Content was the lordly Owner's
Benevolent Joy; and the Servant's Pain
Anguish'd in the kind Master's humane Heart:
Then, Madam, be not angry,
My grateful Heart, bursts to think I never,—
Never shall again behold, from this Moment,
One of Gordon's Race—my impetuous Tears
Are masterless.—I cannot stop them—they
Will gush, in spite of all my Labour to prevent 'em.
Cath.
Jane, do not wound me thus.
There is a Cruelty in this Sorrow
My Nature cannot bear. The grateful Tears
Pity's tender Anguish is in each Drop.
Jane.
They shall offend no more; for tho' they ease
My throbing Heart, yet e're they grieve my Mistress,
They shall turn to liquid Flames, and Etna like,
Destroy their own Mansion—Madam, my Fears
Inform me I shall never see you more.
That in this strange, this English Land, I shall
For ever lose my Patroness.
Again I will not importune to attend,
Or bear you Company in this strange Design.
But shou'd you command me—or give me leave
To follow, and watch at Distance, lest some
Of those hot-blooded English—
Cath.
Fear not, Jane.
Virtue knows no Danger, it is it's own Shield;
It may be assaulted, but never can be hurt:
Therefore as you regard my Peace, or Love,
Expostulate no more; but straight leave me.
Jane.
My Patroness, farewel.
And may the watchful Eye of Providence guard and direct you!
Kath.
Farewel, my tender, honest-hearted Jane.
[They embrace, Exit Jane.
Poor Maid! she was ever gentle and loving;
And her tender Heart will grieve sorely,
When she shall hear that my Soul hath shook off
This galing Prison.
Now Scotland, Huntley, Daliel, Life, and Woe,
Farewell for ever. You dauntless English,
This Day, let th'aking Sighs, the mournful Tears
Of your Parents, Wives, and Children,—let your
Ravag'd Country, your Love of Liberty,
Hold dear,—rouse, and quicken in your honest Hearts,
This Day, that intrepid Courage, my dear Father
So oft hath prais'd in you. O let this Garb,
This Impostor Garb, allure your Vengeance
On me your supposed Invader; so shall
My Husband be the Cause of ending
The cureless Sorrow his detested Love begun.
(Trumpet)
Heark I am summon'd,—
Joyful Sound! O War! Death's fav'rite Harbinger,
If ever thou had'st partial Wrath against
A single Life! Or a first Victim in
Thy raging Onset, O then, for Pity's Sake,
Let me be the cull'd Sacrifice of this
Dreadful Day! let your remorseless Agents,
Sword, Pike, Dart, Javelin, and all your fell Crew,
Swarm, and cover me with distinguishing Wounds,
That when my disfigur'd Body is found,
Memory of Friend may find no Trace of Knowledge,
To shed a Tear o're the mangled Catherine.
Trumpets at a Distance.
Again I am summon'd ! and now,—Despair
And Danger be my Guides.
Exit.
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
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.—
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?
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.
SCENE IV.
A Field, a Retreat sounded.Enter Henry, York, Oxford, Prisoners guarded.
Ox.
Here they are, my Leige, the Ringleaders of these Rebels.
King.
O, you base! you degenerate Britons!
Are you not asham'd to fight for Slavery!
For France and Rome your sworn natural Foes!
Do you not blush to stain your native Herbage
With English Blood, and bruise it with hostile Paces!
Ungrateful Vipers! who with Rebellion's
Intestine Sting, have wounded the Bowels
[To the three Leaders.
Of this fost'ring Land! the tenderest Mother,
And the kindest Nurse this World can boast.
Hence you Parricides! you unfilial Wretches!
(Exeunt three Leaders.
To Execution with them strait!—for you,
(To the Rebels in general.
Blind, mistaken Men, who have been ensnar'd
By these hell-bred Agents, accept the Mercy
Of your Country, whose tender Nature
Out of War's Rage, cannot bear the cool Slaughter
Of her Sons! the Wounds you have given her, she weeps
In Tears of Blood! your intended Parricide,
She grieves and pities! and her relenting
Nature punishes it with Mercy's mildest
Chastisement, Forgiveness and Repentance!
Hence, to your forlorn Families! comfort
Their disconsolate Hearts with domestic Peace;
And your injur'd Country with future Loyalty.
Exeunt Rebels.
A Soldier of your Regiment, whose Face we oft
Have notic'd, to whom we are much indebted.
To his single Arm, ths Day, we owe our Life
He must be found, my Lord, and rewarded,
As becomes the Affection of a fellow Soldier;
The Gratitude and Honour of a King.
Ox.
He shall be sought, my Liege,
With utmost Diligence.
King.
Hath any Discovery yet been made, whither
The Impostor Fled?
Ox.
O, to the old Place, my Liege, the Church;
the Villains accustom'd Sanctuary. The gallant Hero
never appear'd in Battle; but like a politic Prince
in Time of Danger, kept a loof; and at last,
thought proper to make a religious Retreat
to Bewley Monastery. But Lord Dawbney, hath
made bold to beat it about the Abbot's Ears, and
hath dragg'd thence our French-made Monarch.
King.
You see, Lord Bishop, even in the Day
Of Battle; Oxford, will have his Jest upon the Church.
York.
My Liege, it hurts not me. I am the Church's
Advocate, but as it befriend's Religion,
And the Happiness, and Freedom of our Land!
But when with Tyranny and Persecution
It perverts those Blessings
As a Priest, I disown
That Church; and as an Englishman will fight
Against it.
Dawb.
My Liege, we have secured the Impostor;
for so he now stands self-confessed. He acknowledges
himself the Son of a reform'd Jew, one John
Osbeck of Tournay; but nurs'd and cherish'd by
France and Rome, and the evil-hearted Dutchess of
Burgundy, on purpose to plague this Land with
Wars fell Contention.
King.
Bear the Wretch to instant Execution.
Let an ignominious Death put a Period
At once to his Woe, and his Ambition.
Ox.
See, my Liege, where Scotland's Honour
comes; feebly he drags the Remains of Life, which
wasting War and Time have left him. Yet my
Veterian was not unactive to Day; his biting Whinyeard
made some of the Rogues skip.
Enter Hunt. Cath. and Soldier.
Ox.
Welcome my Volunteer, how now, what
have we here another Pretender!
Hunt.
Ay, my Lord, a Pretender she is indeed;
But one who ne'er meant ill to England.
It is my dear Katherine; whose Woes outraging
The Cure of Patience, flew to War, and this
Impostor Garment, as to the swiftest
Means of Death. In the Midst of Battle she
Was taken; and now kneels England's Pris'ner.
King.
Rise, fair Katherine; your Woes we oft have pity'd,
But we hope they now are ended. The Joy
Your Deliverance brings to Huntley's Heart,
Hunt.
Thanks to your Majesty!—but here is the Man,
[takes the Soldier by the Hand.
Whose Humanity and Courage add Lustre
To the Soldier,—Dignity to human Nature.
This is her Deliverer; fated by
Providence this Day to stand between my Child
And Death.
King.
Or Memory plays me false,
Or thou art the Man, who this Day sav'd me
From the Highland Pole-Ax.
Sold.
So please your Majesty, I did see you sorely
smote in the Battle, and down, and bleeding, that
I must confess. And had a common Fellow-Soldier
been in that Condition, I would have cover'd him
from farther Harm if I could. But, when I saw my
King in Danger, I would have lost a thousand Lives,
but I would have brought him off.
King.
Honest Soul—Lord Oxford, let this Soldier
Constantly be near our Person. Let him
Command our Body-Guards,—our Battle-Axes,
As Earnest of what we farther intend him.
Hunt.
Thou dear Deliverer of my Child, let me add
my Acknowledgment to thy Worth. Receive this
Ring, the bright Inheritance which hath descended
thro' the House of Gordon for many Generations.
Wear the precious Pledge, not as a Reward, but a
Mark of endless Gratitude, from a tender Father,
and a loving Friend.
King.
Lord Huntley, we now will haste towards Scotland's Frontiers,
Where we will celebrate the happy Nuptials
Of royal James, and our Daughter Margaret.
Joy shall revel thro' both our Realms, and every
York, Oxford, Huntley, and all my Fellow Soldiers,
Shall be crown'd with Wreaths of smiling Victory;
For they have fought this Day, like true Britons;
Such as great Cœsar had to cope withal;
Whose unpolish'd Courage, not all the Art
And tutor'd Discipline of War—like Rome
Cou'd conquer.
Ox.
Ay, ay, my Liege, let but the Kings of this
little Nook, all act their Parts as you do yours, and
I'll engage the People will never fail in theirs; let
them but give us our constitutional Freedom, and
we in Return will give them our Hearts and Purses;
and then my Life for it, they never fail of Victory,
let who will attack them.
King.
My Lord, your Remark is just; English Courage
Must be forster'd with English Liberty;
And the King's Power supported by the Peoples Hearts.
United thus, let King and Subject stand,
Shields to each other, Guardians of the Land;
Let Faction cease, Commerce and Freedom smile,
The World can't conquer then, this War-Proof Isle.
| King Henry the VII. Or The Popish Impostor | |