Wol. Stand forth, and with bold fpirit relate, what you, Moft like a careful fubject, have collected

Out of the Duke of Buckingham.

King. Speak freely.

Surv. First, it was ufual with him, ev'ry day
It would infect his fpeech, that if the King
Should without issue die, he'd carry't so
To make the fcepter his. These very words
I've heard him utter to his fon-in-law,

Lord Aberga'ny, to whom by oath he menac'd
Revenge upon the Cardinal.

Wol. Pleafe your Highness, note

His dangerous conception in this point:
Not friended by his wish to your high perfon,
His will is moft malignant, and it stretches
Beyond you to your friends.

Queen. My learn'd Lord Cardinal,
Deliver all with charity.

King. Speak on;

How grounded he his title to the crown,
Upon our fail to this point haft thou heard him
At any time speak aught?

Surv. He was brought to this,

By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. (7)
King. What was that Hopkins?

Surv. Sir, a Chartreux friar,

His confeffor, who fed him ev'ry minute
With words of fov'reignty.

King. How know'st thou this?

Surv. Not long before your Highnefs fped to France,

(7) By a vain prophecy of Nicholas HENTON] We heard before, from Brandon, of one Nicholas Hopkins; and now his name is chang'd into Henton; fo that Brandon and the furveyor feem to be in two stories. There is, however, but one and the fame perfon meant, Hopkins; as I have reftor'd it in the text: nor will it be any difficulty to account for the other name, when we co ne to confider, that he was a monk of the convent, call'd Henton, near Bristol. So both Hall and Holingfhead acquaint us. And he might, according to the custom of thofe times, be call'd as well Nicholas of Henton, from the place; as Hopkins, from his family. I formerly fet the text right; and Mr. Pope has fince acceded to my alteration.

0 3

The

The Duke being at the Rofe, within the parish
St. Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand
What was the speech among the Londoners
Concerning the French journey? I reply'd,
Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious,
To the King's danger: prefently the Duke
Said, 'twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted,
'Twould prove the verity of certain words
Spoke by a holy monk; that oft, fays he,
Hath fent to me, wishing me to permit
John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour
To hear from him a matter of fome moment:
Whom after under the confeffion's feal (8)
He folemnly had fworn, that, what he spoke,
My chaplain to no creature living, but

To me, fhould utter; with demure confidence,

This paufingly enfu'd :-Neither the King, nor's heirs
(Tell you the Duke) fhall profper; bid him ftrive
To gain the love o' th' commonalty; the Duke
Shall govern England.

Queen. If I know you well,

You were the Duke's furveyor, and lost your office
On the complaint o' th' tenants; take good heed,
You charge not in your fpleen a noble perfon,

And fpoil your nobler foul: I fay, take heed; (9)
Yes, heartily I beseech you.

King. Let him on.

Go forward.

(8) under the commiffion's feal

He folemnly had fworn,] So all the editions down from the very beginning. But, what commiffion's feal? That is a queftion, I dare fay, none of our diligent editors ever afk'd themselves. The text must be reftor'd, as have corrected it; and honeft Holing fhead, from whom our author took the fubftance of this paffage, may be call'd in as a teftimony.-" The Duke in talk told the Monk, that "he had done very well to bind his chaplain, John de la Court, "under the feal of confeffion, to keep fecret fuch matter." Vid. Life of Henry VIII. p. 863.

(9) And Spoil your noble foul:] Mr. Rowe's edition, I think, first fophifticated this paffage: The oldeft copies read, nobler. And it feems very proper for a pious Queen to fay, the foul of any perfon was of a nobler regard than the life of the most noble perfon.

Surv. On my foul, I'll fpeak but truth.

I told my Lord the Duke, by th' devil's illufions
The monk might be deceiv'd, and that 'twas dang'rous
For him to ruminate on this, until

It forg'd him fome defign, which, being believ'd,

It was much like to do: he anfwer'd, Tush,

It can do me no damage: adding further,
That had the King in his laft fickness fail'd,
The Cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovel's heads
Should have gone off.

King. Ha! what, fo rank? ah ah--

There's mischief in this man; canft thou fay further?
Surv. I can, my Liege.

King. Proceed.

Surv. Being at Greenwich,

After your Highnefs had reprov'd the Duke

About Sir William Blomer-

King. I remember

Of fuch a time, he being my fworn fervant,

The Duke retain'd him his.

But on; what hence?

Surv. If, quoth he, I for this had been committed, As to the Tower, I thought; I would have plaid The part my father meant to act upon

Th' ufurper Richard, who, being at Salisbury, Made fuit to come in's prefence; which, if granted, (As he made femblance of his duty) would

Have put his knife into him.

King. A giant traitor!

Wol. Now, Madam, may his Highness live in freedom, And this man out of prison?

Queen. God mend all!

[fay'ft?

King. There's fomething more would out of thee; what Surv. After the Duke his father with the knife,He stretch'd him, and with one hand on his dagger, Another spread on's breaft, mounting his eyes, He did discharge a horrible oath, whofe tenour Was, were he evil us'd, he would out-go His father, by as much as a performance Does an irrefolute purpose.

King. There's his period,

To fheath his knife in us; he is attach'd,
Call him to prefent tryal; if he may
Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none,
Let him not feek't of us: by day and night,
He's traitor to the height.

[Exeunt..

SCENE, an Apartment in the Palace

Enter Lord Chamberlain, and Lord Sands.

I

Cham. S't poffible the fpells of France should juggle Men into fuch ftrange mysteries? (10),

Sands. New customs,

Though they be never fo ridiculous,

Nay let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.
Cham. As far as I fee, all the good our English.
Have got by the laft voyage, is but merely

A fit or two o' th' face, but they are threwd ones;
For when they hold 'em, you would fwear directly
Their very nofes had been counsellors

To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state fo..

[take it, Sands. They've all new legs, and lame ones; one would

(That never faw 'em pace before) the spavin And spring-halt reign'd among 'em..

Cham. Death! my Lord,

Their clothes are after fuch a pagan cut too,

That, fure, they've worn out Chriftendom: how now ?: What news, Sir Thomas Lovel?

(10) Men into fuch ftrange myfteries?] What myfteries were these? Why, new fantastic court-fafhions. But to prove it beyond doubt to be a fpurious reading, let us confider the nature of thofe fupertitions, that the metaphors in the foregoing line allude to. It was the opinion of the common people at that time, that conjurors, jugglers, &c. with their fpells and charms could force men to commit idle fantaftick actions; or change their shapes into fomething grotefque and ridiculous. This being alluded to here, 'tis plain, we muft read in the 2d line;

Men into fuch frange mockeries.

a word, which very well expreffes the whimsical fashions here complain'd of.

Mr. Warburton.

Enter

Enter Sir Thomas Lovel.

Lov. Faith, my Lord,

I hear of none, but the new proclamation
That's clap'd upon the court-gate.

Cham. What is't for?

Lov. The reformation of our travell'd gallants, That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and taylors. Cham. I'm glad, 'tis there; now I would pray our To think an English courtier may be wife, [Monfieurs

And never fee the Louvre.

Lov. They must either

(For fo run the conditions) leave thofe remnants
Of fool and feather, that they got in France;
With all their honourable points of ignorance
Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fire-works;
Abufing better men than they can be,

Out of a foreign wifdom; clean renouncing
The faith they have in tennis, and tall ftockings,
Short bolster'd breeches, and thofe types of travel;
And understand again like honeft men,

Or pack to their old play-fellows; there, I take it,
They may, cum privilegio, wear away

The lag-end of their lewdnefs, and be laugh'd at.
Sands. "Tis time to give them phyfick, their diseases
Are grown fo catching.

Cham. What a lofs our Ladies

Will have of thefe trim vanities?

Lov. Ay, marry,

There will be woe indeed, Lords; the fly whorefons
Have got a fpeeding trick to lay down Ladies:

A French fong and a fiddle has no fellow.

Sands. The devil fiddle 'em! I'm glad, they're going:
For, fure, there's no converting 'em: now, Sirs,
An honeft country Lord, as I am, beaten

A long time out of play, may bring his plain fong,
And have an hour of hearing, and, by'r Lady,
Held current mufick too.

Cham. Well faid, Lord Sands;