The verse of Ford is measured, passionless, polished. There is a subtle music in his lines which haunts the memory.
"Parthenophil is lost, and I would see him; For he is like to something I remember, A great while since, a long, long time ago."
With Ford the sun-born radiance of the noblest Elizabethan drama fades from the stage. An artificial light, thereafter, replaced it.
[Perkin Warbeck and his followers are presented to King Henry VII. by Lord Dawbeny as prisoners.]
Life to the King, and safety fix his throne. I here present you, royal sir, a shadow Of Majesty, but in effect a substance Of pity; a young man, in nothing grown To ripeness, but th' ambition of your mercy; Perkin, the Christian world's strange wonder!
Dawbeny, We observe no wonder; I behold ('tis true) An ornament of nature, fine and polished, A handsome youth, indeed, but not admire him. How come he to thy hands?
From sanctuary. At Bewley, near Southampton; registered, With these few followers, for persons privileged.
I must not thank you, sir! you were to blame To infringe the liberty of houses sacred; Dare we be irreligious?
Gracious lord! They voluntarily resigned themselves, Without compulsion.
So? 'twas very well 'Twas very well. Turn now thine eyes, Young man! upon thyself and thy past actions: What revels in combustion through our kingdom A frenzy of aspiring youth has danced; Till wanting breath, thy feet of pride have slipt To break thy neck.
But not my heart; my heart Will mount till every drop of blood be frozen By death's perpetual winter. If the sun Of Majesty be darkened, let the sun Of life be hid from me, in an eclipse Lasting and universal. Sir, remember There was a shooting in of light when Richmond (Not aiming at the crown) retired, and gladly, For comfort to the Duke of Bretagne's court. Richard, who swayed the sceptre, was reputed A tyrant then; yet then, a dawning glimmer'd To some few wand'ring remnants, promising day When first they ventur'd on a frightful shore At Milford Haven.
Whither speeds his boldness? Check his rude tongue, great sir.
Oh, let him range: The player's on the stage still; 'tis his part: He does but act.--What followed?
Bosworth Field: Where at an instant, to the world's amazement, A morn to Richmond and a night to Richard Appear'd at once. The tale is soon applied: Fate which crowned these attempts, when least assured, Might have befriended others, like resolved.