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Mountingly o'er the body of this youth,

A round is out of the ladder, and I stop
Mid way; so high, 'twere giddy to look down.
A round, I scarce conceive-
Dull, froward priest !

Urs.

Hen.

What boots that Perkin fill a grave as deep

As the earth's centre, if survive that other,

That Warwick, son of malmsey-drinking Clarence,
Heir of the throne, if York were moved from his path?
Urswick, why all the labours I've gone through,
And this the happiest labour of them all,
Were but to lift the crown from Richard's head,
To place it upon Edward's; While our own,
Bent reverent and bare!—A game's half lost
When but half won.

Urs.

How say you?

He's a youth

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Hen. (To himself)

If Elizabeth

Our wife, were but to see him, natural blood

Would warm to him. White roses grow in groups.

She shall not see him, for the sound of his voice,

They say, is like his father's, and his eyes

Have the same look.

The clock strikes the doors open-the procession begins.

I would not change this hour

Of vengeance on the hated Yorks, the foes

Of me and mine, for all that earth can give !

York and the Duchess advance from the gate. Here comes the villain Edward's son. Thank heaven, The fools are blind!

(Aloud)

Bring me this Warbeck forward !

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Hen. (aside.)

His father's second self!

(Aloud.) You bargain well. Have you forgotten, Sir, Your head is ours already, yours and theirs.

York. I might have kept my sanctuary, Sir,

And wandered from this land untouched, unscathed,
Carrying where' er I went, for forty days,
The Church's holy helm upon my head.

I lift the Church's helm, my head is bare ;
Take it,but spare these men.

Hen.

What are you, Sir?

We thought you were our royal cousin of York,

King Edward's son, true brother of our wife,

True prince, true king. What! Have you changed your note ? Are you our rightful Lord ?

York. I thought so, Sir.

Hen. But you confess you now?-Listen, my Lords,

Listen, good gentlemen, followers of this man.

Now Sir, say on.

York. No.

Are you of royal blood?

Hen. Then who was your father?

York. Warbeck.

Hen. How dare you, Sir !-base, recreant, renegade,

Traitor ! How dare you come into our realm,

You, that confess,-that, now the game is lost

Tell your poor dupes-you 're but a cozening knave;

And now make bargain for your life.

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My life I give as freely give it, Sir,

As Heaven gives light. These, my companions,

Are still within the safeguard of the shrine.

Hen. Are they? Ha! who's that woman? Bring her hither.

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Duch. Dear Warbeck! Oh! I love the name, since yours,

Better than York, since it is yours no longer ;

They shall not part us! He's no traitor, Sir !

Hen. Then he is worse-our prisoner, our sworn foeVanquished.

York. Ah! Catherine, plead for me no more,

My friends, lift up the banners once again,

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Ransom for theirs.-You're pardoned, gentlemen;

Depart in peace. [to Urswick.] If they get thro' the forest,
Your life shall answer.

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Duch. Let not Death come like an envious blight,

That nips but half the blossom.

Thus, linked together.

York.

Let us die

No, my Catherine, no !

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For you and honour.

Duch. I will live for these.

York. Then let us part. No tear! I thank you, Sir,

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Hen.

No. To the Tower-to the Tower
Lead him-quick-hence! And you, fair Catherine,
You shall to Westminster-Nay, answer not.
Lead off that man! and take the lady away.

[Exeunt York, Duch., &c.

Hen. Urswick, come near. How like a York he look'd!

Place him beside his cousin in the Tower,

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Lord Warwick,

Tho' eighteen years, is but a child in thought,
Playmate of Digby's pretty daughter, Mabel;
And 'tis a pleasant sight to see the twain;
For he is innocent as she. He has been
Prison'd so long, he's lost all sense and manhood.

Hen. He has enough of both to sit on a throne,

And give his name to a shilling. Let them meet,
They will hatch treason soon. And now for London.

SCENE II.

[Exeunt.

Westminster. Three weeks have elapsed. The Duchess has had intimation, through

the Earl of Warwick's fool, of Warbeck's intended escape.

The message is conveyed in

the Jester's Bauble, which he leaves behind him; and while the Duchess is weeping with delight at the prospect of joining her husband in his flight,

Hen.

Enter Henry.

Have you not wept enough yet?
Where's the Queen, fair lady?

You shall not see me weep

Where is your mistress?
Duch. Your pardon, Sir.
Again. I think I've done with tears.

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She's this moment gone.

Hen. Go to her. [She is going.] Ho! come back. Well, look at me : I am the King.

Duch. I know you, Sir.

Hen.

What, woman!

Is that the whole ? A word of mine has power
To doom or pardon. Have you nought to ask?
No favour? You once loved a husband, Madam.
Duch. I have no favour, Sir, to ask of you.
Hen. Go then.

Three little weeks are past, that's all,

[Exit Duchess.]

And York's forgotten; she scarce deems his life
Worth asking, or his death worth caring for.

I spoke to try her. He was noble, too,

And loved her. Pah! She'll turn her widow's weeds

Into a net, with meshes villainous close,

To catch another husband. "Twould be shame

To balk her angling.-Urswick !

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[Sees the bauble.

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He must be that.

We must break down his honor, sink him low

In all men's eyes. Will he be bribed, wiled, driven,
To play the spy on Warwick, to betray him?
We'll promise all things, freedom, riches, rank.
How say you?

Urs.

Hen.

He'll not yield.

Then he shall die!

Enter Digby.

Digby (hurriedly) My liege

Hen. What now? Be calm as I am. What? Know you not yet that the quick hurried speech Is but for fools-to speak or listen to?

What is it? Take your breath. What is it, sir!

Dig. My liege, prince Edward and the duke of York. Hen. You mean lord Warwick, sir, and Perkin Warbeck. Dig. Pardon, your grace. They hatch a plot between them. Hen. Fear not that egg will addle. What's the plot? Dig. To fly, my liege. They've tampered with the guards; Four they have now.

Hen.

"Twill cost four ropes, sir John,

To hang them. And when thought they to escape?

Dig. To-night.

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Has been lord Warwick's playmate,-loves him, sir,

As children love their fellows.

Hen.

What is all this?

With Perkin's plot ?

Dig.

My daughter, sir,

Well, sir John,

What has this tale to do

My Mabel, please your grace,

Is of so loving a nature and so kind!

She's kissed me with more heart-love than of wont

Hung over me before she went to bed,

And clung again to me i' the morning, sir,

And wept, and had a heaving at her heart

When she looked on me. And at last, your grace,

For she in her fond fealty to her friend

Was minded to go with them, -she knelt down
And begged my blessing,-weeping fast, and sobs
Choking her voice,-for it might chance, she said,
We should not meet again,

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