University of Virginia Library

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.
Lord Oxford, there is
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.

Enter Dawbney, and Perkin.
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,
We share in; and that Joy shall be your Ransom.

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
Subject's Heart shall abound with Happiness.
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.