. 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,