I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
And deck my body in gay ornaments,
And witch fweet ladies with my words and looks.
O miferable thought! and more unlikely,
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns!
Why, love forfwore me in my mother's womb:
And, for I fhould not deal in her foft laws,
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe
To fhrink mine arm up like a wither'd fhrub;
To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where fits deformity to mock my body;
To fhape my legs of an unequal fize;
To difproportion me in every part,
Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp,
That carries no impreffion like the dam.
And am I then a man to be belov'd?
O, monftrous fault, to harbour such a thought!
Then, fince this earth affords no joy to me,
But to command, to check, to o'erbear fuch
As are of better perfon than myself,
I'll make my heaven-to dream upon the crown;
And, while I live to account this world but hell,
Until my mithap'd trunk that bears this head,
Be round impaled with a glorious crown.
And yet I know not how to get the crown,
For many lives ftand between me and home:
And I like one loft in a thorny wood,
That reads the thorns, and is rent with the thorns;
Seeking a way, and ftraying from the way;
Not knowing how to find the open air,
But toiling defperately to find it out-
Torment myself to catch the English crown:
And from that torment will I free myself,
Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.
Why, I can fmile, and murder while I fmile;
And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart;
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occafions.
I'll drown more failors than the mermaid fhall;
I'll flay more gazers than the bafilisk;
I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,
Deceive more flily that Ulyffes could,
And like a Sinon, take another Troy :
I can add colours to the cameleon;
Change thapes, with Proteus, for advantages,
And fet the murd'rous Machiavel to fchool.
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?
Tut! were it further off, I'll pluck it down.
Flourish. Enter LEWIS the French King, Lady BONA, BOURBON, Queen MARGARET, Prince EDWARD her Son, and the earl of OXFORD. LEWIS fits, and rifeth up again.
K. Lewis. Fair queen of England, worthy Margaret,
Sit down with us; it ill befits thy ftate,
And birth, that thou shouldst ftand while Lewis doth fit.
Queen. No, mighty king of France; now Margaret Muft ftrike her fail, and learn a while to ferve, Where kings command. I was, I must confess, Great Albion's queen in former golden days: But now mischance hath trod my title down, And with dishonour laid me on the ground; Where I muft take like feat unto my fortune,
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
And deck my body in gay ornaments,
And witch fweet ladies with my words and looks.
O miferable thought! and more unlikely,
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns!
Why, love forfwore me in my mother's womb:
And, for I fhould not deal in her foft laws,
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe
To fhrink mine arm up like a wither'd fhrub;
To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where fits deformity to mock my body;
To fhape my legs of an unequal fize;
To difproportion me in every part,
Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp,
That carries no impreffion like the dam.
And am I then a man to be belov'd?
O, monftrous fault, to harbour such a thought!
Then, fince this earth affords no joy to me,
But to command, to check, to o'erbear fuch
As are of better perfon than myself,
I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown;
And, while I live to account this world but hell,
Until my mishap'd trunk that bears this head,
Be round impaled with a glorious crown.
And yet I know not how to get the crown,
For many lives ftand between me and home:
And I like one loft in a thorny wood,
That rends the thorns, and is rent with the thorns;
Seeking a way, and ftraying from the way;
Not knowing how to find the open air,
But toiling defperately to find it out-
Torment myself to catch the English crown:
And from that torment will I free myself,
Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.
Why, I can fmile, and murder while I fmile; And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart; And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occafions.
I'll drown more failors than the mermaid fhall;
I'll flay more gazers than the bafilisk ;
I'll play the orator as well as Neftor,
Deceive more flily that Ulyffes could,
And like a Sinon, take another Troy :
I can add colours to the cameleon;
Change thapes, with Proteus, for advantages,
And let the murd'rous Machiavel to fchool.
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?
Tut! were it further off, I'll pluck it down.
Flourish. Enter LEWIS the French King, Lady BONA, BOURBON, Queen MARGARET, Prince EDWARD her Son, and the earl of OXFORD. LEWIS fits, and rifeth up again.
K. Lewis. Fair queen of England, worthy Margaret,
Sit down with us; it ill befits thy ftate,
And birth, that thou fhouldft ftand while Lewis doth fit.
Queen. No, mighty king of France; now Margaret Muft ftrike her fail, and learn a while to serve, Where kings command. I was, I must confefs, Great Albion's queen in former golden days: But now mifchance hath trod my title down, And with difhonour laid me on the ground; Where I must take like feat unto my fortune,
And to my humble feat conform myself.
K. Lewis. Why, fay, fair queen, whence springs this deep defpair?
Queen. From fuch a cause as fills mine eyes with tears,
And ftops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in
K. Lewis. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself, And fit thee by our fide: yield not thy neck. [Seats her by him. To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance. Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; It fhall be eas'd, if France can yield relief.
Queen. Thofe gracious words revive my drooping thoughts,
And give my tongue-ty'd forrows leave to speak.
Now, therefore be it known to noble Lewis-
That Henry, fole poffeffor of my love,
Is, of a king, become a banish'd man,
And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn ;
While proud ambitious Edward, duke of York,
Ufurps the regal title and the feat,
Of England's true anointed lawful king,
This is the caufe, that I, poor Margaret-
With this my fon, prince Edward, Henry's heir
Am come to crave thy juft and lawful aid;
And, if thou fail us, all our hope is done:
Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help;
Qur people and our peers are both mis-led,
Our treasure feiz'd, our foldiers put to flight,
And, as thou fee'ft, ourfelves in heavy plight.
K. Lewis. Renowned queen, with patience calm
the storm,
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