I have been prevised that thou hast letters for King Henry; produce them, quick!" A deep glow of indignation had overspread the enthusiast's face at the commencement of this address; but the close reminded him, in truth, of his errand.
"Hot youth," said he, with dignity, "a future age may judge differently of what thou deemest trivial fables, and may rate high this poor invention when the brawls of York and Lancaster are forgotten." "Hear him," said Henry, with a soft smile, and laying his hand on the shoulder of the young man, who was about to utter a passionate and scornful retort,--"hear him, sir.

Have I not often and ever said this same thing to thee?
We children of a day imagine our contests are the sole things that move the world.

Alack! our fathers thought the same; and they and their turmoils sleep forgotten! Nay, Master Warner,"-- for here Adam, poor man, awed by Henry's mildness into shame at his discourteous vaunting, began to apologize,--"nay, sir, nay--thou art right to contemn our bloody and futile struggles for a crown of thorns; for--" 'Kingdoms are but cares, State is devoid of stay Riches are ready snares, And hasten to decay.' [Lines ascribed to Henry VI., with commendation "as a prettie verse," by Sir John Harrington, in the "Nugae Antiquate." They are also given, with little alteration, to the unhappy king by Baldwin, in his tragedy of "King Henry VI."] "And yet, sir, believe me, thou hast no cause for vain glory in thine own craft and labours; for to wit and to lere there are the same vanity and vexation of spirit as to war and empire.

Only, O would-be wise man, only when we muse on Heaven do our souls ascend from the fowler's snare!" "My saint-like liege," said Allerton, bowing low, and with tears in his eyes, "thinkest thou not that thy very disdain of thy rights makes thee more worthy of them?
If not for thine, for thy son's sake, remember that the usurper sits on the throne of the conqueror of Agincourt!--Sir Clerk, the letters." Adam, already anxious to retrieve the error of his first forgetfulness, here, after a moment's struggle for the necessary remembrance, drew the papers from the labyrinthine receptacle which concealed them; and Henry uttered an exclamation of joy as, after cutting the silk, his eye glanced over the writing-- "My Margaret! my wife!" Presently he grew pale, and his hands trembled.
"Saints defend her! Saints defend her! She is here, disguised, in London!" "Margaret! our hero-queen! the manlike woman!" exclaimed Allerton, clasping his hands.

"Then be sure that--" He stopped, and abruptly taking Adam's arm, drew him aside, while Henry continued to read--"Master Warner, we may trust thee,--thou art one of us; thou art sent here, I know; by Robin of Redesdale,--we may trust thee ?" "Young sir," replied the philosopher, gravely, "the fears and hopes of power are not amidst the uneasier passions of the student's mind.