GURTON’S Ale House.

Host and Guests.

Host. So they say the king is to die.  Well, his head hath swung at my door many a year, and I cannot say but that there was custom.  Good day to you, Master Gilead Stubbs, you have a good mile to walk.  Shall the boy go with you?

Mast.  Stubbs. Nay! nay!  I thank you, I will with Master Jesson here.  You have lost the Captain.  Where is he?—­

Host. What, that Wyckoff?  Gone, and his score left unpaid.  Moreover, I think ’twas he that hid my keys.

A Guest. Ah! how was it?

Host. I have never lost them before.  It was in my secret place, and yon Wyckoff had to do with it.  He was drunk the morning I missed them without being served.  I am glad he is gone.

Guests. Good day, Master Newborn, good day.

Host. The Lord be with ye; [Exeunt Guests.] and make sound vessels of ye! [Aside.] for the holding of good liquor.  This is the best company I have had for long.  How restless I feel.  I cannot help thinking of my dream, that Wyckoff and the other would have slain me, and ’twas in this very room.  Let me see, I dreamt too they hid something—­this plank seems loose.  I could fancy now this were the fag-end of my dream—­[Lifts the Plank.] What is here?—­As I live, my keys, and a bundle of papers.—­ [Reads.] “To Master Arthur Walton?” Why, he hath not been here, for long.  If now it ’twere Basil his brother and the Captain had left them here—­from Sir Marmaduke Langdale too.  Here is something wrong.  I feel choked.  Let me put them back.  Why now, I could swear I had seen them placed there.  It is very odd.  And to think of my keys too.  I could fancy they were only skeletons.  Yet I know their jingle well.  I’ll to my brewer now, and, as there is no one here, I say [looks round] God keep the poor king’s head on his shoulders, and may it be long ere he die on his bier! [Exit, R.]

SCENE II.

[1st Cut.] [3rd Grooves.]

An Apartment in Hampton Court.  The LADY ELIZABETH reading.  In an inner chamber are ARTHUR and FLORENCE.  Practicable door 2nd E.R.

[ARTHUR is heard singing to a lute in the adjoining chamber.]

SONG

 When thy lover, dear, is nigh thee,
   Look not on the world around,
 In his eyes be thy blue vision,
   In his eyes thy vision bound—­
 For thou’lt find all Heaven, I swear,
 By thy gaze reflected there!

 In thy ripe lips is his summer,
   Autumn in thy braided hair;
 Jealous is he of spring’s snow-drops
   Stolen from thy neck’s warm care;
 But the winter of his mind
 Is when thou, love, art unkind: 
 In thee rounded, thus, his year,
 Joy, doubt, sweet content, and fear.