 | King Henry the VII. Or The Popish Impostor |  |
1
ACT I.
SCENE I.
SCENE Holy-rood Palace.Sevez and Frion.
Sevez.
Frion , we all were on the Brink of Fate;
A Nobleman who knew him, when a Child,
Avow'd him an Impostor, born at Tournay;
The Son of one John Osbec;—not the Heir
Of England's King—audaciously assumed.
This stagger'd many of the Court, who warmly
Opposed his Audience; I at length stood up,
And in full Council strait produced our Letters
From Charles of France, his Holiness the Pope,
And Maximilian of Bohemia;
And as they all recognize his royal Birth,
The Objection vanish'd; and the King resolved,
To give him instant Audience and support,
Befitting regal State, oppress'd and wrong'd.
Frion.
Most reverend Sir, your Industry and Zeal,
2
Will ever make you dear to France and Rome.
Sevez.
Frion, with religious Joy we will revenge
The irreverent Contempts, lately offer'd
To our holy Church, by unholy England,
My Functions, secular and religious,
Shall to their utmost, stretch, to fix this Perkin
On England's Throne. Henry hath refused
Our King, by my Contrivance, his Daughter
Margaret; which affront hath sown the Seeds
Of Hate too deep within his youthful Mind
Ever to be weeded out. His Soul's on fire,
And burns with Eagerness to pour Invasion
Into their haughty Land; to loose at once
His unremitting Grudge, on a proud Neighbour,
And a dreaded Rival. But, Frion, tho' we
Abound in Scottish Blood, ready to be drain'd
Against England's Peace, yet Treasure is War's
Strongest Sinew; and without that quick'ning Aid,
The devouring Body wastes to needy Peace.
That must be had.
Frion.
Holy, Sir, 'tis ready.
For Years large Collections have been making
In England, Spain, and ever-helping France;
These Sums for the present are lodged with me;
But now a special Order from his Holiness
Divests me of the Charge, and to your Care
Commits the Trust.
Sevez.
Our unerring Father's Confidence
Does Honour to my Zeal; I will bestow
The Treasure as his Holiness directs
And the religious Cause demands. But how
Stands Ireland? What Hopes from thence?
Trion.
None.
3
‘And firmly fixt in the Usurper's Cause;
‘Kildare, Clanrikard, with many others
‘On whom we built absolute Assurance,
‘Have, at their own Charge, arm'd their Friends and Followers,
‘And join'd the English General, Poinings;
‘For which may divine Vengeance taint their Air,
‘And visit them to late Posterity.
Sevez.
How are the Engish affected towards us?
Frion.
As our Hearts could wish;
Sir Robert Clifford, and many others,
All of high Rank, and eminent Esteem,
In Discontent, at present, with their King,
By Gold and Promises have I firmly fixt.
Yet more, the Usurper's Bosom-Friend, the Man
Nearest his Heart, cross'd in ambitious Views,
Has secretly vow'd Revenge, and is ours
By Oath and Heart; so that England's Measures
Are betray'd as soon as form'd.
Sevez.
So far then Probability attends us,
And gives almost Assurance of Success.
But one Thing more.—Is Perkin well prepar'd?
Can he affect the Blush of Innocence?
‘Hath he the steadfast Eye that looks against
‘Enquiry? Can he stand the Shock of gazing
‘Numbers? And tell his Tale without Confusion?
‘Is he Master of the false Tear and feigned Sigh?
‘For to a crowded Presence he must speak.
Frion.
‘He is not to be taught his Lesson now:
‘The blended Care of Nature and of Art
‘Have stamp'd him perfect; a majestic Mein,
‘A Countenance, where Sweetness and Command
‘Smile awfully together; a Deportment,
4
‘That calls him Master of most Languages;
‘But chiefly English; with a soothing Carriage
‘Which beggars the Persuasion of his Tongue.
‘His suppos'd Aunt, Margaret of Burgundy,
‘Has form'd his Education; she has made him
‘A living History of England's Factions;
‘The various Interests, Battles, Revolutions,
‘The Friends, the Enemies of either House,
‘This of Plantagenet, or that of Lancaster.
‘He is Master of many Languages;
‘But chiefly English; to ingratiate him
‘With the People, and stamp him native.
Sevez.
‘The King is soft and warm, susceptible of Pity,
‘Prompt to receive th'Impression of Humanity;
‘If Perkin do but tell his Tale with Skill,
‘Th'unwary Youth will sympathize in Sorrow
‘And take and keep what Form his Art bestows.
Frion.
Doubt not his Art, my Lord, he is compleat;
And often has rehears'd his kingly Part
In France, in Flanders, and in Italy;
Where admiring Crowds have wonder'd forth his Praise.
And given natural Marks of Majesty;
In Look, Tone, Gesture, Gate, and Voice:
And credulous tale-believing Women,
To whom Appearances are sacred Truths,
Have, at his well-told Tale dissolved in Tears.
Thus, my Lord, like a graceful, well-skill'd Actor,
He steals, where e'er he plays his princely Part,
Or popular Applause, or melting Pity.
Sevez.
‘Frion, some subtle Means must be contriv'd
5
‘For should they join their Hearts and Resolutions,
‘The united Pow'r of Europe, nay, the World
‘Could not prevail against them.
Frion.
‘Care is taken.
‘On every Side, our Emissaries ply,
‘And blacken the Usurper; Gold and Prayer
‘Alternately are us'd, and with Success,
‘To bribe his Council and to win his Subjects.
‘Richard's divine, hereditary Right,
‘A Right Infallibility confirms,
‘And which that Power makes indefeasible,
‘Is preach'd amongst them; strengthen'd by the Terror
‘Of Bulls, Anathemas, and Hell eternal
‘To those who disbelieve, or disobey.
Sevez.
'Tis well. But we must haste; the King expects us.
I'll conduct the Youth. Is he ready?
Frion.
He is, my Lord.
Sevez.
Frion, in your publick Manifestos
Be sure you promise free Power of Worship,
To the Lollards, and all Separatists.
Men fight by Halves, with a kind of bastard
Courage on Rebellion's Side, without Religion.
But when that's hook'd in, why then, Biggotry,
Flaming Biggotry, tunes Rebellion's Discord
Into pious Loyalty; and makes Men fight
With hot, enthusiastic Vigour,
And forget the Name of Rebel. For then
The Cause and Quarrel are no longer earthly
But derived of Heaven!
Exeunt.
6
SCENE II.
King of Scotland, Perkin, Courtiers, &c.K. Scot.
Cousin of York, England's undoubted Prince,
To our Court welcome! Welcome to our Heart!
Welcome to Scotland's dearest Blood and Treasure!
Which, in Support of thy undoubted Right,
We promise to pour forth.
Perkin.
Gracious King!
Godlike, puissant, and benificent,—
And still a Title far more glorious,
Friend to Distress and Father to the Wretched;
Prostrate before your royal Feet, behold
A Prince, whose Woes, nor Time, nor weeping Pity,
With all the Store of Wretchedness they've seen,
Can match; a Prince, sprung from the noblest Blood
That ever rul'd fair Albion's Sea-wash'd Isle;
The high, the regal once;—but now the out-cast,
Miserable, forlorn Plantagenet.
O royal Sir, Afflictions numberless
Have rooted in my Heart,
Ev'n from our princely Cradle, to our landing
On your hospitable Shore, Fortune, adverse
And cruel, with her Whip of Thorns hath scourg'd us.
Where e'er we went, we've been pursued and dog'd,
By wither'd Murder; the pale Assassin
Of blood-thirsty Usurpation.
K. Scot.
Rise, royal Cousin, most unhappy Youth!
(Sevez takes him up)
7
My Uncle first, unnatural, crooked Richard,—
Savage and bloody—by my dying Father
Appointed Guardian of the infant Lives
Of princely Edward, and myself, subborn'd
Two hellish Murderers, at dead of Night,
To plunge their Poignards in our guiltless Hearts,
As we lay sleeping in our royal Tower.—
Edward's rich Blood the Butchers soon let forth.—
His Skriek of Death awak'd me;—when Horror!
Stiffening Horror! seiz'd my frighted Soul!
Close by my Side I saw my dying Brother
All weltring in his Gore; Murder's butcher'd Prey!
The grim Assassins,—
Their Hands yet reeking with the royal Blood
Seized me.—shuddering,—I kneel'd and beg'd for Mercy!
Instantly!
As if great Providence had interposed,
The Murderers,—Soul-struck,—stood ghast and flank!
At length soft Mercy, and relenting Nature,
Warm'd about their Hearts; and the up-rais'd Hand,
Unnerv'd by Pity, the fatal Dagger dropt.
Sevez.
O heav'nly Care of injur'd Royalty!
K. Scot.
We must be Marble not to melt at this.
Perkin.
The repenting Men,
With Tears assur'd me of my Life and Safety;
And straight returning to my cruel Uncle,
Deceiv'd him with th'Account that both were dead.
To Tournay thence with Speed I was convey'd,
And there, for some Time, obscurely foster'd;
8
My loving Aunt, declar'd me Edward's Son.
How I have since been toss'd by Fortune's Tempests
Is in the living Volume register'd
Of all Mens Tongues.
K. Scot.
Cousin of England, so I now proclaim you,
In the full Presence of our Nobles here,
Once more, of Aid, and Faith-ty'd Amity,
We give thee royal, and sincere Assurance.
Sevez, give Order that throughout our Realm
He be acknowledged England's rightful King,
With such Appointments, and due Observance
As appertain to unquestion'd Majesty;
And to stamp his Person still more sacred,
Here in our Court shall be his Coronation,—
Sevez, set Preparation forward.
Sevez.
My Leige, I will.
K. Scot.
Say, is our Council summon'd; are they ready.
Sevez.
They are my gracious Prince.
K. Scot.
And are the Lords
Of Huntley, Angus, and Daliel summon'd?
Sevez.
They are.
K. Scot.
'Tis well:—My welcome Cozin, be chearful;
For some few Days, what Pleasures can be found
In Scotland's Court we wish thee to partake;
We'll after march to England, and taste their's;
Where we'll exchange the hospitable Word
Which now you wear, and in my Turn I'll be
Your royal Guest; and e'er 'tis long
We hope to dance a Measure in your Court.
Exeunt all but Sevez and Frion.
9
Thus far the Gale blows right, and all goes well,—
But, Frion, we must leap another Bound;
Another Danger still must be encounter'd;
I must apprize thee that our Scotch Nobility,
Proud, and tenacious of their antient Rights,
Vent daily murmurs and form close Cabals;
Forsake the Court, and bitterly inveigh
Against the Church; as having usurp'd of late
Too much Authority in temporal Sway.
‘Loud are their Complaints that by Priests and Frenchmen
‘They are precluded from the Royal Ear.
Some of these factious Spirits have been quell'd,
Some of them banish'd, and their Lands confiscate;
Others imprison'd, nay and some cut off:
Yet still their dreaded Leaders do remain;
Alexander Gordon, Earl of Huntley,
The young Lord Daliel,
And Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus.
‘Still they erect their Crests, and with Impunity,
‘Vent their black Malice 'gainst the Church and us.
Frion.
‘How have they scap'd?
Sevez.
‘Thro' Fear, not Lenity.
‘Their Friends are numerous, their Possessions large;
‘Their Deaths wou'd be Forerunners of our Ruin.
‘Else, let me speak it like a true Romish Church-Man,
‘Their irksome Beings had not now perplex'd us.
They have absented long from Court and Council;
But late a special Summons from the King
Has order'd their Attendance here to Day,
10
Fri.
But, holy Sir, I doubt these headstrong Lords
Will not assent to aid our Perkin's Claim.
Sevez.
No Matter, Frion, we can do without them;
‘For me, I'm determin'd; and for the King,
‘He acts by my controuling Will, not his own.
‘It is not prudent that the Church of Rome
‘Should e're let Kings or Rulers think for themselves;
‘Th'unerring See should ever be their Guide.
As to those heretic Lords, their Assent
For Perkin is our least Concern. We have
More important Views upon them.—Death, Death.
Frion, Huntley must not live, he stalks and roars
But one Day more in Freedom's spacious Forest.
The Toil is set for th'unwily Lion;
And his own boundless Spirit drives him in.
He thinks the King mislead, and will bellow
Without Guile or Guard; for the Fool is brave,
Ev'n to romantick Madness. ‘Scotland's Good
‘So strongly burns within him, it appears
‘His only Passion. Freedom is his God;
Which he so idolizes, he would make
The World his Proselytes, did they but hear him.
Frion.
Lord Sevez, 'tis not fit such Men exist.
Sevez.
O they are dangerous in a Court like ours,
Where the King's Interest wanders from the Peoples.
But his Majesty's prepar'd,—and resolved
This Day, by my Advice, to silence Huntley's
Free speaking, or his Head answer th'Default.
Frion.
Omniscient Wisdom still directs your Mind
And points your Purpose to some holy End.
But, my right reverend Sir, one thing remains
11
You know this Perkin burns for Huntley's Daughter,
Scotland's gay Ornament, and Nature's Pride;
This Angel-looking Maid, this Katherine Gordon,
To young Lord Daliel has been late betroth'd,
The Follower and fervent Friend of Huntley;
Your Wonder-working Wisdom now must break
This fatal Knot, or England's blazing Crown
Will sit like Death upon his princely Head.
Sevez.
This Business in the Council has been weigh'd;
The King resolves to gratify his Wish,
And give the lovely Katherine to young Perkin.
Which Match will either fix this dangerous
Huntley in our Cause, or with enraged Madness
Break his proud stubborn Heart: For his Daughter
Next to Liberty is his earthly Idol.
But I must leave you;—for the Council sits
To sound those factious Lords.—I must attend.
Exit.
Frion.
My Brother Priest is zealous in our Cause;
His Pride and Avarice must be the Tools,
With which we work.—They are sharp and handy
And in a Priest, who sways the royal Mind,
Will rid much Business: Gordon's lovely Daughter,
(Who is of royal Blood) to Perkin join'd,
Will knit the Scots to us, indissolubly.
For after Marriage, should they find the Cheat,
'Twill then become their Interest to conceal it;
Nay to espouse it too.—Which if they do refuse,
The Magazines of Rome's affrighting Vengeance,
In damning Bulls, and terrible Anathemas,
Shall to the liquid Gulph of penal Flames
Devote their black, their superstitious Souls,
Till Penitence and Gold buy out their Pardon.
Exit.
12
SCENE III.
The Council-Chamber.The King, Sevez, Sir David Bruce, Council and Attendants.
King.
How! not attend!—Angus and Daliel ill.
Sev.
So their Oracle, Lord Huntley, reports,
And farther, the he's emproxied to express
Their Thoughts in aught that may concern the public Weal.
King.
Their Sickness is all Pretence!—but admit him.
(Exit Sir David Bruce, and returns with Huntley.
Lord Huntley, welcome to the royal Walls
Of Holy-rood! and well we wish you never
Had estranged them. It would have joy'd us much
To've seen the Lords Daliel and Angus here.
As you are Subjects, Nobles and Kinsmen,
We wish your Love; and we intreat, all Lets,
That may impede our Concord, be remov'd:
Your Presence will be Gladness to our Heart,
Therefore, be oftener in our Eye.
Huntley.
My Leige, I am unfashion'd for your Court.
My Speech, like my Manners, are plain and uncourtly.
I have been bred a Soldier, a Scotch Soldier,
Not an Italian Flatterer. My old Body
Is dry'd and chill'd with toilsome Marches, thro'
Numbing Frost, and scorching Heat, to grapple with
My Country's Foe.
I have not been used to silken Coverlids,
And Solon Beds,—but to the friendly Plaid,
13
Hath been the dryest Turf, the blooming Hether,
The wholesome Fern. Our unletter'd Bards then
Flatter'd not the Living but prais'd the Dead.
Their Songs were not who steep'd deepest in Italian
Luxury, or deck'd gayest in foreign Frippery,
But who had most Wounds in Battle, or fought
Hardiest in their Country's Cause. This Court
Was not then the Rendezvous of Italian Minstrels,
Priests and Legates,—but the hospitable Home
Of Scotch Nobility; whose Ancestors
This Realm coeval'd; and when grown strengthless
By fighting Scotland's Battles, grew venerably grey
In her faithful Councils.—Where are they now?
Here are none such. Your Nobles are Strangers
To your Court, your Courtiers Strangers to your Nobles.
K. Scot.
Huntley, to taunt and to revile
Was not the Purport of our Summons; but
To counsel and assist.
Huntley.
Sir, Counsel, void of Freedom,
May flatter and mislead, but never can assist.
Freedom is the Guide, the unerring Guide
To sacred Truth, in a Nation's Council.
The free-born Subject's indisputable Right;
And never suffer'd Prohibition yet,
But from Priests and Tyrants.
K. Scot.
—Sir, to your vast,
High-taught Notions of Freedom we are no
Stranger. Rabble Kerns too, we hear, copy your
Licentious Knowledge; and in rude saucy
Language, dare revile our sacred Person;
Libellously branding our Wisdom, with
French and Priest-rid Weakness.
14
My Leige, when the Yoke galls,
Nature will wince. Arrests, Imprisonments,
And Confiscations compose your Subjects Dreams,
And break their restless Sleep. We lie down
With Anguish at our State,—and rise despairing
Ever to see it mend; and the Heart-stinging
Prospect that opens to our View, is,
Posterity scourged, by French and Romish
Tyranny.
K. Scot.
O Sir, your distemper'd Fancy frames
Sprites and Goblins, Men of sounder Judgments never see.
Huntley.
Pray Heaven it may be Fancy.—
My Liege, I have fought my Country's Battles
In Sweat and Blood; when every Object
To Eye, and Ear, and Thought, brought certain Death
Into the Mind; the whole a moving Scene
Of busy Fate. And after Battle, I have
Seen the hard-fought, conquer'd Field, strew'd with Death
And Slaughter. There I've beheld our gallant,
Helpless Nobles, breathing out final Groans;
Their active Blood baked and clotted
By scorching Heat, or swallow'd by the greedy
Sun-crack'd Earth. There I beheld Brothers and
Kinsmen stript, and piled on mangled Heaps
Of Slaughter;—Kerns and Thanes promiscuous.
There searching for my dear, my darling, only Son,
I found his well-known, headless Trunk, all gash'd
And mangled,—with his Brains dash'd and scatter'd
'Gainst a blood-stain'd Oak.—Yet these were Sights of Joy
To what I now behold.
15
I see her Nobles banish'd, imprison'd, and assassin'd;
I see Scotland's Dregs compose her Councils;
All Concerns, sacred, civil, and military,
Sold and huckster'd as in a publick Mart.
I see Majesty—deluded Majesty,
Hem'd in by a Band of crawling Parasites,
Who taint his royal Mind with a King's bluest Plague,
Seditious Jealousie of his best Subjects.
O awake, awake, anointed Sir, and
Be the Father, not the Tyrant of your People.
Ferret from your Court these Rats, who'll undermine
The Roof that shelters them, and leave your Fame
And Country to perish in the Ruins.
Sevez.
Lord Huntley, your ill-manner'd Heat of Temper
Makes you forget the Presence you are in.
The Homage and Respect due to Majesty
You wilfully and audaciously omit.
Hunt.
The Homage and Respect! the envenom'd slander,
And the tell-tale Pick-thanks, you mean, my Lord;
Which taint the purest Loyalty to blackest Treason.
Sevez.
My Lord, your Manners grow foul, and beneath your Rank.
Hunt.
My Priest, your Pride grows insolent,
And above your Rank; and the same Recipe
That discharges the black Stains from your Conscience
Will cleanse my Manners.
Sevez.
Stains from my Conscience, Lord!
Hunt,
Ay Priest, 'twas my Phrase.
Sevez.
My Leige, this Treatment,
16
The Sufferance of wholesome Policy,
And human Nature;—it demands instant
Chastisement.
Hunt.
Chastisement, Priest!
Sevez.
Ay Chastisement, Lord.
K. Scot.
—Huntley,—be calm. Why, how now, Sir,
Have you forgot our Presence?
Hunt.
—No, my Lord—
Bows to to the King, then with a stifled Rage turns to Sevez.
—You are a Priest—in Council,—but no matter—
—'Tis well:—
O Scotland, Scotland, how is thy Spirit broke!
When that a Kern-bred, upstart, Rome-taught Priest
Dares hold a Rod of menaced Chastisement
Over the Minds of free-born Peers.
K. Scot.
Huntley, you grow seditious.
Hunt.
My Liege, Truth will ever be Sedition
While France and Italy direct your Council.
K. Scot.
Sir, my Allies of France and holy Rome
Must not be revil'd by you, or any
Slander-spreading Subject within my Realm.
Sevez.
Pray, my good Lord, if Heart will give you Leave,
Will you inform his Majesty and Council,
In what this out-stretch'd Power of Rome consists.
K. Scot.
Ay, Huntley, let us cooly hear at once,
These arbitrary and oppressive Grievances
In Church and State, and if they appear such,
Our royal Word is 'gaged for the Redress.
Hunt.
Ay, Sir, now you speak like a King,
Whose noblest Office is to hear and to redress.
K. Scot.
Proceed, Sir, in your Grievances, you have free Leave.
17
Most heartily I thank your Majesty.
Your gracious Boon I will accept.
And in my homely Plainness dreadless use it,
Tho' I were sure this Freedom were my last.
To begin then.—
Free-speaking Parliaments are thrown aside,
As superfluous in our State; and prostitute
Bulls from marketing Rome supply their Place.
The regal Council of the Realm consists—
First of William Sevez, now the Pope's Legate;
A Man, issued from the base perfidious Clan
Of vile Mackgreger. He with religious Guile
And Gallic Craft, infacinates the royal Mind.
The Subject's Lives, their Rights, and Properties,
He grinds and arbitrates with tyrant Will;
And, to pleasure subtle France, misguides our Land
To a perfidious War, in support
Of an Impostor's Title, against our
True Allies, the Faith-observing English.
Sevez.
Dread Sir, this Insult to distress'd Royalty
Is not to be borne
King. Scot.
Let him proceed;
'Tis the last Time he speaks in Scotish Council.
Hunt.
Be it so, my Liege. Then 'tis the last Service
I shall do my Country. But to your Council,
Since it is my last. Right against your Priest
An English Minstrel stands, who tho' at Home
A Vagrant, now gives Vote in Council here;
And, for Scotland's Honour, keeps a Court Auction
For royal Boons, where the highest Bidder
Rises to Preferment.
There are many more of the like Nature
About your Palace; and tho' excellent
18
They all unite in, which is—a servile,
Thorough-paced Obedience in Court Measures,
To gall your Subjects, and oppress the Land.
King Scot.
Lord Huntley, ‘Freedom of Speech was your Request;—
‘You had it; and, by my Troth, full freely
‘Hast thou used it. We know to gloss Matters
‘Is not your Use; Plain-dealing, however rude,
‘Is the Mark you aim at:’ You have portraid
A most lively, speaking Picture, of our self,
Our Council, our Religion, and our Laws;
And 'tis but meet such high-colour'd Patriotism
Shou'd be rewarded. Therefore
We here solemnly engage our royal Word
Before our upstart, Rome-directed Council,
To reward your Treasons with immediate Death.
Hunt.
Treason, my Liege!
King Scot.
Ay Treason, frontless Traytor.
Hunt.
My misguided King,—as you love fair Truth,—
For my sacred Master, your dead Father's sake,
Who, in Horrors of the raging Battle,
Proved my Loyalty, do not call me Traytor.
‘The Traitor's Blood is cold, and treacherous;
‘Mine, tho old and dearth, is hot, and loyal.
‘Now indeed it cannot gush as 'twas wont,
‘When lavish'd daringly, in your Defence,
‘And your House's Cause; yet in Scotland's Right
‘It still can trickle, a Sacrifice to your
‘Misguided Vengeance’. Be kind then, sacred Sir,
Take,—Take my old Life, but murder not my Fame.
19
Loyal Heart than all the Tortures Tyranny
Can invent.
K. Scot.
Sir, for your Time, you may find better Use;
'Tis not of long Duration; employ it
To Advantage. Sir David Bruce, he is your Prisoner;
Convey him to the Castle.
Hunt.
My kind Liege,—
To the virtuous Man, Extent of Life
Is but of small Concern; to me 'tis none.
But how Life is spent ought to be a King's
First Care. For as the Welfare of Millions
Depends on him, his Life demands the strictest
Circumspection. Kingship, is not an Office
Of Rapine, Riot, Tyranny, and Will,
But of Care, Affection, Duty, and Circumscription,
Inviolable to the Subject's Right.
If to remind a Monarch of this Duty,
Be deem'd a Traitor's Office—would to Heav'n
Your Council were all such! 'tis the Treason
For which I wish to live; and if it be the Treason
For which I die, next to the Field of Battle,
In our dear Country's Cause, it is the best,
The noblest Death a free-born Soul can meet.
And now, farewell, whom I honour as my King,
Obey as my Master, rev'rence as my Father,
Love as my Friend, and lastly, to that
Which contains, and is dearer than them all,
A long, long Farewell,—my ruin'd Country.
Huntley led off as to the Castle of Edinburgh.
Sevez.
If your faithful Sevez,
My honour'd King, may presume farther to
20
For Lord Huntley's Death, should they survive it,
Instead of quenching their enkindled Spirits,
Would, like Flames pent up in fuell'd Caverns,
Make them burst forth and blaze with treble Fierceness.
Besides, my Leige,
The Confiscation of their Lands will be
A double Prop to your royal Power.
First, 'twill punish, and deter foul Traitors
Who wou'd lessen, or subvert your royal Sway.
Next, 'twill be a rich Exchequer, to push
The War 'gainst scoffing England; who with Eye,
Contemptful, views Scotland's King as poor and needy.
K. Scot.
And with sarcastic Jest scorn'd our Alliance,
And refused their Daughter; but we'll repay
Their gibing Taunts.
Greedy Ravage shall havock thro' their Land,
Till they atone their Insolence, and accord
Plantagenet's Right!
Sevez.
‘Your Reign, great Sir, to future Kings will be
‘A Document of wisest Policy
‘How to direct a State.
King.
Sevez, give Order
Daliel and Angus suffer with Lord Huntley.
Sevez.
I shall, my Liege,
K. Scot.
We'll now prepare for Richard's Coronation,
Then to England; where we'll affix his Right,
Or in that hostile Land resign our Breath.
End of the first ACT.
| King Henry the VII. Or The Popish Impostor | |