Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“

Enter a Scrivener.

Scriv. Here is the Indictment of the good Lord Haftings, Which in a fet Hand fairly is engrofs'd, That it may be to day read o'er in Paul's. And mark how well the fequel hangs together: Eleven hours I have spent to write it over, For yefternight by Catesby was it fent me, The Precedent was full as long a doing, And yet within thefe five hours Haftings liv'd, Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty. Here's a good World the while; who is fo grofs That cannot fee this palpable Device? Yet who fo bold, but fays, he fees it not? Bad is the World, and all will come to nought, When fuch ill dealing must be feen in thought.

[Exit.

Enter Gloucester and Buckingham at feveral Doors.
Glo. How now, how now, what fay the Citizens?
Buck. Now by the holy Mother of our Lord,
The Citizens are mum, fay not a word.

Glo. Touch'd you the Baftardy of Edward's Children?
Buck. I did, with his Contract with Lady Lucy,
And his Contract by Deputy in France.
Th'unfatiate greedinefs of his defire,

And his enforcement of the City Wives,
His Tyranny for Trifles, his own Bastardy,
As being got, your Father then in France,
And his refemblance, being not like the Duke,
Withal, I did infer your Lineaments,
Being the right Idea of your Father,
Both in your Form and Nobleness of Mind;
Laid open all your Victories in Scotland,
Your Difcipline in War, Wisdom, in Peace,
Your Bounty, Virtue, fair Humility:
Indeed left nothing fitting for your Purpose
Untoucht, or flightly handled in Difcourfe.
And when my Oratory grew toward end,
I bid them that did love their Country's good,
Cry, God fave Richard, England's Royal King.
Glo. And did they fo?

Buck. No, fo God help me, they fpake not a Word,
But like dumb Statues or unbreathing Stones,

Star'd

[ocr errors]

Star'd each on other, and look'd deadly pale:
Which when I faw, I reprehended them,

And ask'd the Mayor, what meant this wilful filence?
His answer was, the People were not used
To be spoke to, but by the Recorder.

Then he was urg'd to tell my Tale again:
Thus faith the Ďuke, thus hath the Duke inferr'd,
But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.
When he had done, fome Followers of mine own,
At lower end of the Hall, hurl'd up their Caps,
And fome ten Voices cry'd, God fave King Richard:
And thus I took the vantage of those few.
Thanks, gentle Citizens and Friends, quoth I,
This general Applaufe, and chearful Shout,
Argues your Wisdom, and your love to Richard;
And even here brake off and came away.

Glo. What Tongue-lefs Blocks were they,
Would they not speak?

Will not the Mayor then and his Brethren come?
Buck. The Mayor is here at hand; intend fome fear,
Be not you spoke with, but by mighty fuit;
And look you get a Prayer-Book in your Hand,
And ftand between two Churchmen, good my Lord,
For on that ground I'll make a holy Defcant:
And be not eafily won to our Requests,
Play the Maid's part, ftill anfwer nay, and take it.
Glo. I go: And if you plead as well for them,

As I can fay nay to thee for my felf,

No doubt we bring it to a happy Iffue.

[Ex. Glo.

Buck. Go, go up to the Leads, the Lord Mayor knocks.
Enter Lord Mayor and Citizens.

Welcome my Lord, I dance attendance here,

I think the Duke will not be fpoke withal.

Enter Catesby.

Buck. Now Catesby, what fays your Lord to my Request?
Catef. He doth intreat your Grace, my Noble Lord,
To vifit him to Morrow, or next Day:

He is within, with two right Reverend Fathers,
Divinely bent to Meditation,

And in no worldly Suits would he be mov'd,
To draw him from his holy Exercife.

Buck.

Buck. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious Duke, Tell him, my felf, the Mayor and Aldermen,

In deep Defigns, in matter of

great Moment, No lefs importing than our general Good,

Are come to have fome conference with his Grace.
Catef. I'll fignifie fo much unto him ftraight.

[Exit.

Buck. Ah ha, my Lord, this Prince is not an Edward,

He is not lulling on a lew'd Love-Bed,

But on his Knees at Meditation:
Not dallying with a Brace of Curtizans,
But meditating with two deep Divines:
Not fleeping, to engrofs his idle Body,
But praying, to enrich his watchful Soul.

Happy were England, would this virtuous Prince
Take on his Grace the Soveraignty thereof.

But fure I fear we fhall not win him to it.

Mayor. Marry, God defend, his Grace fhould fay us nay.
Buck, I fear he will; here Catesby comes again.
Enter Catesby.

Now Catesby, what fays his Grace?

Catef. He wonders to what end you have affembled Such Troops of Citizens to come to him,

His Grace not being warn'd thereof before:

He fears, my Lord, you mean no good to him.
Buck, Sorry I am, my noble Coufin fhould

Sufpect me, that I mean no good to him:
By Heav'n, we come to him in perfect Love,

And fo once more return, and tell his Grace. [Exit Catesby.
When holy and devout Religious Men

Are at their Beads, 'tis much to draw them thence,

So fweet is zealous Contemplation.

Enter Gloucefter above, between two Bishops.

Mayor. See where his Grace ftands 'tween two Clergymen.
Buck. Two Props of Virtue, for a Chriftian Prince,
To ftay him from the fall of Vanity:

And fee a Book of Prayer in his Hand,
True Ornaments to know a holy Man.
Famous Plantagenet, moft gracious Prince,
Lend favourable Ear to our requests,
And pardon us the interruption

Of thy Devotion and right Chriftian Zeal.

Glo.

Glo. My Lord, there needs no fuch Apology;
I do befeech your Grace to pardon me,
Who earnest in the Service of th' high God,,
Deferr❜d the Vifitation of my Friends.

But leaving this, what is your Grace's pleafure?
Buck. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above,
And all good Men, of this ungovern'd Ifle.

Glo. I do fufpect I have done fome offence,
That feems difgracious in the City's Eye,
And that you come to reprehend my Ignorance.
Buck. You have, my Lord.

Would it might pleafe your Grace,

On our entreaties to amend your Fault.

Glo. Elfe wherefore breathe I in a Chriftian Land.
Buck. Know then, it is your Fault that you refign
The Supream Seat, the Throne Majestical,
The Sceptred Office of your Ancestors,
Your State of Fortune, and your due of Birth,
The Lineal Glory of your Royal House,
To the corruption of a blemish'd Stock;
Whiles in the mildness of your fleepy Thoughts,
Which here we waken to our Country's good,
The noble Ifle doth want his proper Limbs:
His Face defac'd with skars of Infamy,
His Royal Stock graft with ignoble Plants,
And almost shouldred in the swallowing Gulf
Of dark Forgetfulness, and deep Oblivion.
Which to re-cure, we heartily follicit
Your gracious felf to take on you the charge
And Kingly Government of this your Land:
Not as Protector, Steward, Subftitute,
Or lowly Factor, for another's gain;
But as fucceffively, from Blood to Blood,
Your right of Birth, your Empiry, your own.
For this, conforted with the Citizens,
Your very Worshipful and loving Friends,
And by their vehement Inftigation,

In this juft Caufe come I to move your Grace.
Glo. I cannot tell, if to depart in filence,

Or bitterly to speak in your reproof,

Beft

Beft fitteth my Degree, or your Condition.
For not to answer, you might haply think
Tongue-ty'd Ambition, not replying, yielded
To bear the Golden Yoak of Sovereignty,
Which fondly you would here impose on me.
If to reprove you for this fuit of yours,
So feafon'd with your faithful Love to me,
Then on the other fide I check'd my Friends.
Therefore to speak, and to avoid the first,
And then in fpeaking, not to incur the laft,
Definitively thus I anfwer you.

Your Love deferves my thanks, but my defert
Unmeritable, fhuns your high request.
First, if all Obstacles were cut away,
And that my Path were even to the Crown,
As the ripe Revenue, and due of Birth;
Yet fo much is my poverty of Spirit,
So mighty, and fo many my Defects,

That I would rather hide me from my Greatnefs,
Being a Bark to brook no mighty Sea;
Than in my Greatnefs covet to be hid,
And in the vapour of my Glory fmother'd.
But God be thank'd, there is no need of me,
And much I need to help you, were there need:
The Royal Tree hath left us Royal Fruit,
Which mellow'd by the ftealing hours of time,
Will well become the Seat of Majefty,
And make us, no doubt, happy by his Reign.
On him I lay that, you would lay on me,
The Right and Fortune of his happy Stars,
Which God defend that I fhould wring from him.

Buck. My Lord, this argues Confcience in your Grace,

But the refpecs thereof are nice, and trivial,

All Circumftances well confidered.

You fay, that Edward is your Brother's Son,,
So fay we too, but not by Edward's Wife:
For firft was he contract to Lady Lucy,
Your Mother lives a Witnefs to his Vow,
And afterward by Subftitute betroth'd
To Bona, Sifter to the King of France.
Thefe both put off, a poor Petitioner,

1

« AnkstesnisTęsti »