Hen. From Scotland am I stolne euen of pure loue,
5 And thus disguisde to greet my natiue land.
No, Henrie no, It is no land of thine,
No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now,
No humble suters sues to thee for right,
For how canst thou helpe them and not thy selfe?
[10] Keeper. I marrie sir, here is a deere, his skin is a
Keepers fee. Sirra stand close, for as I thinke,
This is the king, king Edward hath deposde.
[♦] Hen. My Queene and sonne poore soules are gone to