The tragedy of the Lady Jane Gray: As it is acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. By N. Rowe Esq;. Rowe, Nicholas, 1674-1718. 79 600dpi bitonal TIFF page images and SGML/XML encoded text University of Michigan Library Ann Arbor, Michigan 2008 September 004903702 T51546 CW112882512 K046880.000 CW3312882512 ECLL 0479200300

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 The tragedy of the Lady Jane Gray: As it is acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. By N. Rowe Esq;. Rowe, Nicholas, 1674-1718. x,[2],66,[2]p. ; 4⁰. printed for Bernard Lintott, London : 1715. Reproduction of original from the British Library. English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT51546. Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).

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 eng

THE TRAGEDY OF THE Lady JANE GRAY. As it is Acted at the THEATRE-ROYAL in Drury-Lane.

By N. ROWE Eſq

Sed fruſtra Leges & inania Jura tuenti Scire mori Sors optima.

LONDON, Printed for BERNARD LINTOTT at the Croſs-Keys between the Temple-Gates in Fleetſtreet. 1715.

TO Her Royal Highneſs THE PRINCESS of WALES. MADAM,

A Princeſs of the ſame Royal Blood to which you are ſo cloſely and ſo happily ally'd, preſumes to throw her ſelf at the Feet of YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS for Protection. The Character of that Excellent Lady, as it is deliver'd down to us in Hiſtory, is very near the ſame with the Picture I have endeavour'd to draw of her: And if, in the Poetical Colouring, I have aim'd at heightning and improving ſome of the Features, it was only to make her more worthy of thoſe Illuſtrious Hands to which I always intended to preſent her.

As the Britiſh Nation, in general, is infinitely indebted to YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS, ſo every particular Perſon amongſt us ought to contribute, according to their ſeveral Capacitys and Abilitys, towards the diſcharging that Publick Obligation.

We are your Debtors, MADAM, for the Preference You gave us, in chuſing to wear the Britiſh rather than the Imperial Crown; for giving the Beſt Daughter to our KING, and the Beſt Wife to our PRINCE. It is to YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS we owe the Security that ſhall be deliver'd down to our Childrens Children, by a moſt Hopeful and Beautiful, as well as a Numerous Royal Iſſue. Theſe are the Bonds of our Civil Duty: • ut YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS has • aid us under others yet more Sacred and Engaging; I mean, thoſe of Religion. You are not only the Brighteſt Ornament, • ut the Patroneſs and Defender of our Holy Faith.

Nor is it Britain alone, but the World, ••… t the preſent and all ſucceeding Ages, •… ho ſhall bleſs Your Royal Name for the greateſt Example that can be given of a Diſintereſted Piety and Unſhaken Con •… ancy.

This is what we may certainly reckon • mongſt the Benefits YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS has confer'd upon us. Tho 〈◊〉 the ſame time, how partial ſoever we • ay be to our ſelves, we ought not to believe You declin'd the Firſt Crown of Europe in regard to Britain only. No, MADAM, it is in Juſtice to YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS that we muſt confeſs, you had more excellent Motives for ſo great an Action as that was. Since You did it, in Obedience to the Dictates of Reaſon and Conſcience, for the Sake of True Religion, and for the Honour of God. All things that are Great have been offer'd to You, and all things that are Good and Happy, as well in this World as a Better, ſhall become the Reward of ſuch Exalted Virtue and Piety. The Bleſſings of our Nation, the Prayers of our Church, with the faithful Service of all good Men, ſhall wait upon YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS as long as You live. And whenever, for the Puniſhment of this Land, You ſhall be taken from us, your Sacred Name ſhall be dear to Remembrance, and Almighty God, who alone is able, ſhall beſtow upon you the Fulneſs of Recompence.

Amongſt the ſeveral Offerings of Duty which are made to You here, be graſiouſly pleas'd to accept of this Unworthy Trifle, which is, with the greateſt Repect and loweſt Submiſſion, preſented to YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS by,

MADAM, YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS's Moſt Obedient, Moſt Devoted, and Moſt Faithful Humble Servant, N. ROWE.
PREFACE.

THO I have very little Inclination to writ • Preface before Works of this nature, yet, upon this particular Occaſion, I cannot but think my ſelf oblig'd to give ſome ſhort Account of this Play, 〈…〉 juſtice to my ſelf, as to a very Learned and Ingenious 〈◊〉 man, my Friend, who is dead. The Perſon 〈…〉 Mr. Smith of Chriſt-Church, Oxon: one whoſe 〈◊〉 I could with great pleaſure enter into, if it was 〈…〉 very well known to the World. As I had the Happineſs to be intimately acquainted with him, he often told me 〈…〉 ſign'd writing a Tragedy upon the Story of the Lady Jane Gray; and if he had liv'd, I ſhould never have •• ought 〈◊〉 meddling with it my ſelf. But as he dy'd without doing 〈◊〉 in the beginning of the laſt Summer I reſolv'd to undertake 〈◊〉 And indeed the hopes I had of receiving ſome conſiderable Aſſiſtances from the Papers he left behind him, were one of 〈◊〉 principal Motives that induc'd me to go about it. Theſe Papers were in the hands of Mr. Ducket, to whom my Fri ••• Mr. Tho. Burnett was ſo kind to write and procure 'em for me. The leaſt Return I can make to thoſe Gentlemen is this publick Acknowledgment of their great Civility on th •… occaſion. I muſt confeſs, before thoſe Papers came to my • and; I had intirely form'd the Deſign or Fable of my own Play: And when I came to look 'em over, I found it was very different from that which Mr. Smith intended; the Plan of his being drawn after that, which is in Print, of Mr. Banks: at leaſt I thought ſo, by what I could pick out of his Papers, To ſay the truth, I was a good deal ſur • iz'd and diſappointed at the ſight of 'em. I hop'd to have • et with great part of the Play written to my hand, or at •… aſt the whole Deſign regularly drawn out. Inſtead of that, • found the quantity of about two Quires of Paper written over 〈◊〉 odd pieces, blotted, interlin'd and confus'd. What was •• ntain'd in 'em in general, was looſe Hints of Sentiments, 〈◊〉 ſhort obſcure Sketches of Scenes. But how they were 〈◊〉 be apply'd, or in what order they were to be rang'd, I •• uld not by any Diligence of mine (and I look'd 'em very •• refully over more than once) come to underſtand. One • cene there was, and one only, that ſeem'd pretty near per •• ct; in which Lord Guilford ſingly perſuades the Lady •• ne to take the Crown. From that I borrow'd all that I •• uld, and inſerted it in my own third Act. But indeed the •••… er and Turn of his Fable was ſo different from mine, 〈◊〉 I could not take above five and twenty or thirty Lines at 〈◊〉 moſt; and even in thoſe I was oblig'd to make ſome Al •• ration. I ſhould have been very glad to have come into a •• rtnerſhip of Reputation with ſo fine a Writer as Mr. Smith 〈◊〉 ; but in truth his Hints were ſo ſhort and dark (many 'em mark'd ev'n in Short-Hand) that they were of little 〈◊〉 ſervice to me. They might have ſerv'd as Indexes 〈◊〉 own Memory, and he might have form'd a Play out of 'em; but I dare ſay, no body elſe could. In one part of 〈◊〉 Deſign he ſeem'd to differ from Mr. Banks, whoſe Tale 〈◊〉 generally deſign'd to follow; ſince I obſerv'd in many of thoſe ſhort Sketches of Scenes he had introduc'd Queen Mary. He ſeem'd to intend her Character Pitiful and inclining to Mercy, but urg'd on to Cruelty by the Rage and 〈◊〉 Diſpoſitions of Bonner and Gardiner. This Hint 〈…〉 wiſe taken from the late Biſhop of Salisbury's 〈…〉 the Reformation; who lays, and I believe very 〈…〉 horrible Cruelties that were acted at that time, 〈…〉 charge of that Perſecuting Spirit by which the 〈…〉 then animated, than to the Queen's own natural Diſp •••••…

Many People believ'd, or at leaſt ſaid, that Mr Smi •• left a Play very near entire behind him. All that I am 〈◊〉 for, is, that it was not ſo in fact. I ſhould have 〈◊〉 ſcruple of taking three, four, or even the whole five 〈◊〉 from him; but then I hope I ſhould have had the 〈◊〉 to let the World know they were his, and not take 〈◊〉 Man's Reputation to my ſelf.

This is what I thought neceſſary to ſay, as well 〈◊〉 own account, as in regard to the Memory of my Friend.

For the Play, ſuch as it is, I leave it to proſper • can: I have reſolv'd never to trouble the World with 〈◊〉 publick Apologies for my Writings of this kind, as much 〈◊〉 have been provok'd to it. I ſhall turn this my young Child out into the World, with no other Proviſion tha • Saying which I remember to have ſeen before 〈◊〉 Mrs. Behn's:Va! mon Enfant prend ta Fortune.

PROLOGUE: Spoken by Mr. BOOTH. TO night the Nobleſt Subject ſwells our Scene, A Heroine, a Martyr, and a Queen. And tho the Poet dares not boaſt this Art, The very Theme ſhall ſomething Great impart, To warm the generous Soul, and touch the tender Heart. To you, Fair Judges, we the Cauſe ſubmit; Your Eyes ſhall tell us how the Tale is writ. If your ſoft Pity waits upon our Woe, If ſilent Tears for ſuff'ring Virtue flow; Your Grief the Muſe's Labour ſhall confeſs, The lively Paſſions, and the juſt Diſtreſs. Oh could our Author's Pencil juſtly paint, Such as ſhe was in Life, the Beauteous Saint; Boldly your ſtrict Attention might we claim, And bid you mark, and copy out the Dame. No wandring Glance one wanton Thought confeſs'd, No guilty Wiſh influm'd her ſpotleſs Breaſt: The only Love that warm'd her blooming Youth, Was, Husband, England, Liberty, and T ••••… . For theſe ſhe fell; while, with too weak a Hand, She ſtrove to ſave a blind ungrateful Land. But thus the ſecret Laws of Fate ordain; WILLIAM's Great Hand was doom'd to break that Chain, And end the Hopes of Rome's Tyrannick Reign. For ever, as the circling Years return, Ye grateful Britons! crown the Hero's Ʋrn. To his juſt Care you ev'ry Bleſſing owe, Which, or his own, or following Reigns beſtow. Tho his hard Fate a Father's Name deny'd, To you a Father, he that Loſs ſupply'd. Then while you view the Royal Lines increaſe, And count the Pledges of your future Peace; From this great Stock while ſtill new Glorys come, Conqueſt abroad, and Liberty at home; While you behold the Beautiful and Brave, Bright Princeſſes to grace you, Kings to ſave, Enjoy the Gift, but bleſs the Hand that gave.
Dramatis Perſonae. MEN. Mr. Mills. Mr. Boman. Mr. Booth. Mr. Elrington. Mr. Ryan. Mr. Cibber. Mr. Shepherd. Mr. Quin. Mr. Maddocks. WOMEN. Mrs. Porter. Mrs. Oldfield. Lords of the Council, Gentlemen, Guards, Women, and Attendants.
ACT I. SCENE I. Scene, The Court. Enter the Duke of NORTHUMBERLAND, Duke of SUFFOLK, and Sir JOHN GATES. North. 'TIS all in vain, Heaven has requir'd its Pledge, And he muſt die. Suff. Is there an honeſt Heart, That loves our England, does not mourn for Edward? The Genius of our Iſle is ſhook with Sorrow, He bows his venerable Head with Pain, And labours with the Sickneſs of his Lord. Religion melts in ev'ry holy Eye, All comfortleſs, afflicted and forlorn She ſits on Earth, and weeps upon her Croſs: Weary of Man, and hi • deteſted Ways, Ev'n now ſhe ſeems to meditate her Flight, And waft her Angel to the Thrones above. North. Ay, there, my Lord, you touch our heavieſt Loſs. With him our holy Faith is doom'd to ſuffer; With him our Church ſhall vail her ſacred Front, That late from Heaps of Gothick Ruins roſe, In her firſt native ſimple Majeſty; The Toil of Saints, and Price of Martyr's Blood Shall fail with Edward; and again Old Rome Shall ſpread her Banners, and her Monkiſh Hoſt; Pride, Ignorance, and Rapine ſhall return; Blind bloody Zeal, and cruel Prieſtly Power Shall ſcourge the Land for ten dark Ages more. Sir J. Gates. Is there no Help in all the healing Art, No potent Juice or Drug to ſave a Life So precious, and prevent a Nation's Fate? North. What has been left untry'd that Art could do? The hoary wrinkled Leach has watch'd and toil'd, Try'd ev'ry Health-reſtoring Herb and Gum, And weary'd out his painful Skill in vain. Cloſe, like a Dragon folded in his Den, Some ſecret Venom preys upon his Heart. A ſtubborn and unconquerable Flame Creeps in his Veins, and drinks the Streams of Life; His youthful Sinews are unſtrung, cold Sweats And deadly Paleneſs ſit upon his Viſage, And ev'ry Gaſp we look ſhall be his laſt. Sir J. Gates. Doubt not, your Graces, but the Popiſh Faction Will at this Juncture urge their utmoſt Force. All, on the Princeſs Mary, turn their Eyes, Well hoping ſhe ſhall build again their Altars, And bring their Idol-Worſhip back in Triumph. North. Good Heaven ordain ſome better Fate for England! Suff. What better can we hope, if ſhe ſhould Reign? I know her well, a blinded Zealot 〈◊〉 ſhe, A gloomy Nature, ſullen and ſevere, Nurtur'd by proud preſuming Romiſh Preiſts, Taught to believe they only cannot err, Becauſe they cannot err; bred up in Scorn Of Reaſon, and the whole Lay World; Inſtructed To hate whoe'er diſſent from what they teach, To purge the World from Hereſy by Blood, To maſſacre a Nation, and believe it An Act well pleaſing to the Lord of Mercy. Theſe are thy Gods, Oh Rome! and this thy Faith. North. And ſhall we tamely yield our ſelves to Bondage? Bow down before theſe holy Purple Tyrants, And bid 'em tread upon our ſlaviſh Necks? No, let this faithful free-born Engliſh Hand Firſt dig my Grave in Liberty and Honour. And tho' I found but one more thus reſolv'd, That honeſt Man and I wou'd die together. Suff. Doubt not, there are ten Thouſand, and ten Thouſand, To own a Cauſe ſo juſt. Sir J. Gates. The Liſt I gave Into your Grace's Hand laſt Night, declares My Power and Friends at full. [to Northumb. North. Be it your Care, Good Sir John Gates, to ſee your Friends appointed, And ready for the Occaſion. Haſt this Inſtant, Looſe not a Moment's time. Sir J. Gates. I go, my Lord. [Exit Sir J. Gates. North. Your Grace's Princely Daughter, Lady JANE, Is ſhe yet come to Court? Suff. Not yet arriv'd: But with the ſooneſt I expect her here. I know her Duty to the dying King, Join'd with my ſtrict Commands to haſten hither, Will bring her on the Wing. North. Beſeech your Grace, To ſpeed another Meſſenger to preſs her; For on her happy Preſence all our Counſels Depend, and take their Fate. Suff. Upon the Inſtant Your Grace ſhall be obey'd. I go to ſummon her. [Exit Suff. North. What trivial Influences hold Dominion O'er wiſe Mens Counſels, and the Fate of Empire? The greateſt Schemes that human Wit can forge, Or bold Ambition dares to put in practice, Depend upon our husbanding a Moment, And the light laſting of a Woman's Will. As if the Lord of Nature ſhou'd delight To hang this ponderous Globe upon a Hair, And bid it dance before a Breath of Wind. She muſt be here, and lodg'd in Guilford's Arms, E'er Edward dies, or all we've done is marr'd. Ha! Pembroke! that's a Bar which thwarts my Way, His fiery Temper brooks not Oppoſition, And muſt be met with ſoft and ſupple Arts; With crouching Courteſy, and honey'd Words, Such as aſſwage the Fierce, and bend the Strong. Enter the Earl of Pembroke. Good morrow, Noble Pembroke, we have ſtay'd The Meeting of the Council for your Preſence. Pem. For mine, my Lord! you mock your Servant, ſure, To ſay that I am wanted, where your ſelf, The Great Alcides of our State is preſent. Whatever Dangers menace Prince or People, Our Great Northumberland is arm'd to meet 'em; The ableſt Head, and firmeſt Heart you bear, Nor need a ſecond in the glorious Task; Equal your ſelf to all the Toils of Empire. North. No, as I honour Virtue: I have try'd, And know my Strength too well; nor can the Voice Of friendly Flattery, like your's, deceive me. I know my Temper liable to Paſſions, And all the Frailties common to our Nature; Blind to Events, too eaſy of Perſwaſion, And often, too too often have I err'd. Much therefore have I need of ſome good Man, Some wiſe and honeſt Heart, whoſe friendly Aid Might guide my treading thro' our preſent Dangers. • nd by the Honour of my Name I ſwear, 〈◊〉 know not one of all our Engliſh Peers, Whom I would chooſe for that beſt Friend, like Pembroke. Pem. What ſhall I anſwer to a Truſt ſo noble, This Prodigality of Praiſe and Honour? Were not your Grace too Generous of Soul, To ſpeak a Language differing from your Heart, • ow might think you could not mean this Goodneſs, • o one whom his Ill-Fortune has ordain'd • he Rival of your Son. North. No more! I ſcorn a Thought 〈◊〉 much below the Dignity of Virtue. Tis true I look on Guilford like a Father, •… ean to his Side and ſee but half his Failings: • ut on a Point like this, when equal Merit • ands forth to make its bold Appeal to Honour, • nd calls to have the Ballance held in Juſtice; • way with all the Fondneſſes of Nature! 〈◊〉 Judge of Pembroke and my Son alike. Pem. I ask no more to bind me to your Service. North. The Realm is now at Hazard: and bold Factions • reaten Change, Tumult and diſaſtrous Days. • heſe Fears drive out the gentler Thoughts of Joy, 〈◊〉 Courtſhip and of Love. Grant Heaven the State 〈◊〉 fix in Peace and Safety once again; • hen ſpeak your Paſſion to the Princely Maid, • nd fair Succeſs attend you. For my ſelf, •… y Voice ſhall go as far for you, my Lord, 〈◊〉 for my Son, and Beauty be the Umpire. 〈◊〉 now a heavier Matter calls upon us, • he King with Life juſt Lab'ring; and I fear, • he Council grow impatient at our Stay. Pem. One Moments Pauſe, and I attend your Grace. [Exit North. Old Wincheſter cries to me oft, beware Of Proud Northumberland. The Teſty Prelate, Froward with Age, with diſappointed Hopes, And zealous for old Rome, rails on the Duke, Suſpecting him to favour the New Teachers. Yet ev'n in that, if I judge right, he errs. But were it ſo, what are theſe Clergy Quarrels, Theſe wordy Wars of proud ill-manner'd Schoolmen To us and our Lay-Intereſts? Let 'em rail And worry one another at their Pleaſure. This Duke of late by many worthy Offices Has ſought my Friendſhip. And yet more,—his Son, The nobleſt Youth our England has to boaſt of, The gentleſt Nature and the braveſt Spirit, Has made me long the Partner of his Breaſt. Nay when he found in Spite of the Reſiſtance My ſtrugling Heart had made, to do him Juſtice, That I was grown his Rival; he ſtrove hard, And would not turn me forth from out his Boſom, But call'd me ſtill his Friend. And ſee! he comes. Enter Lord GUILFORD. Oh! Guilford juſt as thou wer't entring here, My Thought was running all thy Virtues over, And wond'ring how thy Soul could chooſe a Partner, So much unlike it ſelf. Guil. How cou'd my Tongue Take Pleaſure and be laviſh in thy Praiſe! How cou'd I ſpeak thy Nobleneſs of Nature, Thy open manly Heart, thy Courage, Conſtancy, And inborn Truth unknowing to diſſemble! Thou art the Man in whom my Soul delights, In whom next Heaven I truſt. Pem. Oh! generous Youth! What can a Heart ſtubborn and fierce like mine, •… urn to all thy Sweetneſs?—Yet I would •… ould be grateful,—Oh my Cruel Fortune! ••… 'd I had never ſeen her! never caſt 〈◊〉 Eyes on Suffolk's Daughter. Guil. So wou'd I; 〈◊〉 'twas my Fate to ſee and love her firſt. Pem. Oh why ſhould ſhe, that Univerſal Goodneſs, 〈◊〉 Light a common Bleſſing to the World, 〈◊〉 like a Comet fatal to our Friendſhip, 〈◊〉 threaten it with Ruin? Guil. Heaven forbid! 〈◊〉 tell me Pembroke, Is it not in Virtue, 〈◊〉 arm againſt this proud imperious Paſſion? 〈◊〉 Holy Friendſhip dwell ſo near to Envy, 〈◊〉 could not bear to ſee another happy? •••… ind miſtaking Chance and partial Beauty •••… ld join to favour Guilford.— Pem. Name it not, 〈◊〉 fiery Spirits kindle at the Thought, 〈◊〉 hurry me to Rage. Guil. And yet I think, ••… ould not murmur were thy Lot to proſper, 〈◊〉 mine to be refus'd. Tho' ſure the Loſs ••… 'd wound me to the Heart. • em. Ha! coud'ſt thou bear it? 〈◊〉 yet perhaps thou might'ſt. Thy gentle Temper, •••… m'd with Paſſions mixt in due Proportion, ••… ere no one overbears nor plays the Tyrant, ••… join in Nature's Buſineſs, and thy Happineſs: 〈◊〉 mine diſdaining Reaſon and her Laws, 〈◊〉 all thou can'ſt imagine wild and furious, 〈◊〉 drive me head-long on, now whirl me back, 〈◊〉 hurry my unſtable flitting Soul ••… w'ry mad Extream. Then Pity me, 〈◊〉 let my Weakneſs ſtand.— Enter a Meſſenger. Meſſ. The Lords of Council Wait with Impatience— Pem. I attend their Pleaſure. [Exit M •… This only, and no more then. Whatſoever Fortune decrees, ſtill let us call to Mind Our Friendſhip and our Honour. And ſince Love Condemns us to be Rivals for one Prize, Let us contend as Friends and brave Men ought; With Openneſs and Juſtice to each other. That he who wins the Fair one to his Arms, May take her as the Crown of great Deſert: And if the wretched Loſer does repine, His own Heart and the World may all condemn him. [Exit Pem Guil. How croſs the Ways of Life lye! while we think We travel on direct in one high Road, And have our Journey's End oppos'd in View, A Thouſand thwarting Paths break in upon us, To puzzle and perplex our wandring Steps. Love, Friendſhip, Hatred, in their Turns miſlead us, As ev'ry Paſſion has its ſeparate Intereſt. Where is that piercing Foreſight can unfold, Where all this mazy Error will have end, And tell the Doom reſerv'd for me and Pembroke? There is but one End certain, that is—Death. Yet ev'n that Certainty is ſtill incertain. For of theſe ſeveral Tracks which lye before us, We know that one leads certainly to Death, But know not which that one is. 'Tis in vain This blind divining, let me think no more on't, And ſee the Miſtreſs of our Fate appears! Enter Lady JANE GRAY. Attendants. Hail Princely Maid! who with auſpicious Beauty, Chear'ſt every drooping Heart in this ſad Place; Who, like the Silver Regent of the Night, Lift'ſt up thy ſacred Beams upon the Land, To bid the Gloom look gay, diſpell our Horrors, And make us leſs lament the ſetting Sun. L.J.G. Yes, Guilford, well doſt thou compare my Preſence, To the faint Comfort of the waining Moon; Like her cold Orb, a chearleſs Gleam I bring, Silence and Heavineſs of Heart, with Dews To dreſs the Face of Nature all in Tears. But ſay how fares the King? Guil. He lives as yet, But ev'ry Moment cuts away a Hope, Adds to our Fears, and gives the Infant Saint A nearer Proſpect of his opening Heaven. L. J. Gray. Deſcend ye Quires of Angels to receive him, Tune your melodious Harps to ſome high Strain, And waft him upwards with a Song of Triumph; A purer Soul and one more like your ſelves, Ne'er enter'd at the golden Gates of Bliſs. Oh Guilford! what remains for wretched England, When he our Guardian Angel ſhall forſake us? • or whoſe dear Sake Heaven ſpar'd a guilty Land, • nd ſcatter'd not its Plagues while Edward reign'd. Guil. I own my Heart bleeds inward at the Thought, • nd riſing Horrors crowd the opening Scene. • nd yet forgive me, thou my native Country, • hou Land of Liberty, thou Nurſe of Heroes, • orgive me, if in Spight of all thy Dangers, • ew Springs of Pleaſure flow within my Boſom, • hen thus 'tis giv'n me to behold thoſe Eyes, • hus gaze and wonder, how excelling Nature Can give each Day new Patterns of her Skill, And yet at once ſurpaſs 'em. L. J. Gray. Oh vain Flattery! Harſh and ill ſounding ever to my Ear, But on a Day like this the Raven's Note, Strikes on my Senſe more ſweetly. But no more, I charge thee touch th' ungrateful Theme no more. Lead me to pay my Duty to the King, To wet his pale cold Hand with theſe laſt Tears, And ſhare the Bleſſings of his parting Breath. Guil. Were I like dying Edward, ſure a Touch, Of this dear Hand, would kindle Life anew. But I obey, I dread that gath'ring Frown, And oh! whene'er my Boſom ſwells with Paſſion, And my full Heart is pain'd with ardent Love, Allow me but to look on you and ſigh, 'Tis all the humble Joy that Guilford asks. L.J.G. Still wilt thou frame thy Speech to this vain Purpo •• When the wan King of Terrors ſtalks before us, When Univerſal Ruin gathers round, And no Eſcape is left us? Are we not, Like Wretches in a Storm, whom ev'ry Moment, The greedy Deep is gaping to devour? Around us ſee the pale deſpairing Crew, Wring their ſad Hands and give their Labour over; The Hope of Life has ev'ry Heart forſook, And Horror ſits on each diſtracted Look, One ſolemn Thought of Death does all employ, And cancels like a Dream Delight and Joy, One Sorrow ſtreams from all their weeping Eyes, And one conſenting Voice for Mercy cries, Trembling they dread juſt Heav'ns avenging Power, Mourn their paſt Lives, and wait the fatal Hour. [Exeu •… The End of the Firſt Act.
ACT II. SCENE. I. Scene continues. Enter the Duke of NORTHUMBERLAND, and the Duke of SUFFOLK. Nor. YET then be chear'd my Heartamidſt thy Mourning, Tho' Fate hang heavy o'er us, tho' pale Fear, And wild Diſtraction ſit on ev'ry Face, Tho' never Day of Grief was known like this, Let me rejoice, and bleſs the hallowed Light, Whoſe Beams auſpicious ſhine upon our Union, And bid me call the Noble Suffolk Brother. Suff. I know not what my ſecret Soul preſages, But ſomething ſeems to whiſper me within, That we have been too haſty. For my ſelf, I wiſh this Matter had been yet delay'd; That we had waited ſome more bleſſed Time, Some better Day with happier Omens hallowed, For Love to kindle up his holy Flame. But you, my noble Brother, wou'd prevail, And I have yielded to you. North. Doubt not any Thing; Nor hold the Hour unluckly. That good Heaven, Who ſoftens the Corrections of his Hand, And mixes ſtill a Comfort with Afflictions, Has giv'n to Day a Bleſſing in our Children, To wipe away our Tears for dying Edward. Suff. In that I truſt. Good Angels be our Guard, And make my Fears prove vain. But ſee! my Wife! With her your Son the generous Guilford comes, She has inform'd him of our preſent Purpoſe. Enter the Dutcheſs of Suffolk, and Lord Guilford. L. Guil. How ſhall I ſpeak the Fulneſs of my Heart? What ſhall I ſay to bleſs you for this Goodneſs? Oh! gracious Princeſs! but my Life is your's, And all the Buſineſs of my Years to come, Is to attend with humbleſt Duty on you, And pay my vow'd Obedience at your Feet. Dutc. Suff. Yes, noble Youth, I ſhare in all thy Joys, In all the Joys which this ſad Day can give. The dear Delight I have to call thee Son, Comes like a Cordial to my drooping Spirits; It broods with gentle Warmth upon my Boſom, And melts that Froſt of Death which hung about me. But haſt! inform my Daughter of our Pleaſure, Let thy Tongue put on all it's pleaſing Eloquence, Inſtruct thy Love to ſpeak of Comfort to her, To ſooth her Griefs and chear the mourning Maid. North. All deſolate and drown'd in flowing Tears, By Edward's Bed the pious Princeſs ſits. Faſt from her lifted Eyes the Pearly Drops, Fall trickling o'er her Cheek, while Holy Ardor, And fervent Zeal pour forth her lab'ring Soul; And ev'ry Sigh is wing'd with Pray'rs ſo potent, As ſtrive with Heav'n to ſave her dying Lord. Dutc. Suff. From the firſt early Days of Infant Life, A gentle Band of Friendſhip grew betwixt 'em. And while our royal Uncle Henry reign'd, As Brother and as Siſter bred together, •• neath one common Parent's Care they liv'd. North. A wondrous Sympathy of Souls conſpir'd, To form the ſacred Union. Lady JANE, Of all his royal Blood was ſtill the deareſt: 〈◊〉 ev'ry innocent Delight they ſhar'd, They ſung and danc'd, and ſat and walk'd together. • ay, in the graver Buſineſs of his Youth, • hen Books and Learning call'd him from his Sports, •… 'n there the princely Maid was his Companion. 〈◊〉 left the ſhining Court to ſhare his Toil, 〈◊〉 turn with him the grave Hiſtorians Page, • nd taſte the Rapture of the Poet's Song; 〈◊〉 ſearch the Latin and the Grecian Stores, • nd wonder at the mighty Minds of old. Enter Lady JANE GRAY weeping. L. J. Gray. Wo't thou not break my Heart!— Suff. Alas! what mean'ſt thou? Guil. Oh ſpeak! Dt. Suff. How fares the King? North. Say! Is he dead? L. J. Gray. The Saints and Angels have him. Dutc. Suff. When I left him 〈◊〉 ſeem'd a little chear'd, juſt as you enter'd.— L. J. Gray. As I approach'd to kneel and pay my Duty, 〈◊〉 rais'd his feeble Eyes, and faintly ſmiling, 〈◊〉 you then come? he cry'd. I only liv'd, 〈◊〉 bid farewel to thee my gentle Couſin, 〈◊〉 ſpeak a few ſhort Words to thee and dye. 〈◊〉 that he preſt my Hand, and Oh;—he ſaid, 〈◊〉 I am gone do thou be good to England; 〈◊〉 to that Faith in which we both were bred, 〈◊〉 to the End be conſtant. More I wou'd, 〈◊〉 cannot,—there his falt'ring Spirits fail'd, 〈◊〉 turning ev'ry Thought from Earth at once, To that bleſt Place where all his Hopes were fix'd, Earneſt he pray'd,—Mercyful, great Defender! Preſerve thy holy Altars undefil'd, Protect this Land from bloody Men and Idols, Save my poor People from the Yoak of Rome, And take thy painful Servant to thy Mercy. Then ſinking on his Pillow with a Sigh, He breath'd his innocent and faithful Soul, Into his Hands who gave it. Guil. Crowns of Glory, Such as the brighteſt Angels wear, be on him; Peace guard his Aſhes here, and Paradice With all its endleſs Bliſs be open to him. North. Our Grief be on his Grave. Our preſent D ••… Injoins to ſee his laſt Commands obey'd. I hold it fit his Death be not made known, To any but our Friends. To Morrow early The Council ſhall aſſemble at the Tower. Mean while, I beg your Grace would ſtrait inform [to Dutcheſs of Suf •… Your Princely Daughter of our Reſolution. Our common Intereſt in that happy Tye, Demands our ſwifteſt Care to ſee it finiſh'd. D.S. My Lord, you have determin'd well. Lord Gui •… Be it your Task to ſpeak at large our Purpoſe. Daughter, receive this Lord as one whom I, Your Father and his own, ordain your Husband. What more concerns our Will and your Obedience, We leave you to receive from him at leiſure. [Exeunt Duke and Dutcheſs of Su ••… and Duke of Northumber ••… Guil. Wo't thou not ſpare a Moment from thy So ••… And bid theſe bubbling Streams forbear to flow? Wo't thou not give one interval to Joy, One little Pauſe while humbly I unfold • he happieſt Tale my Tongue was ever bleſt with? L. J. Gray. My Heart is cold within me, ev'ry Senſe, ••… dead to Joy, but I will hear thee, Guilford, •… ay, I muſt hear thee, ſuch is her Command, • hom early Duty taught me ſtill t'obey. 〈◊〉 oh! forgive me if to all thy Story, • ho' Eloquence divine attend thy ſpeaking, • ho' ev'ry Muſe and ev'ry Grace do crown thee, • orgive me if I cannot better anſwer, • han weeping—thus—and thus—. Guil. If I offend thee, 〈◊〉 me be dumb for ever, let not Life, ••… form theſe breathing Organs of my Voice, 〈◊〉 any Sound from me diſturb thy Quiet. • hat is my Peace or Happineſs to thine? 〈◊〉 , tho' our noble Parents had decreed, • nd urg'd high Reaſons which import the State, • his Night to give thee to my faithful Arms, •… y faireſt Bride, my only earthly Bliſs— L. J. Gray. How Guilford? on this Night? Guil. This happy Night. 〈◊〉 if thou art reſolv'd to croſs my Fate, 〈◊〉 this my utmoſt Wiſh ſhall give thee Pain, 〈◊〉 rather let the Stroke of Death fall on me, • nd ſtretch me out a lifeleſs Coarſe before thee, 〈◊〉 me be ſwept away with Things forgotten, 〈◊〉 huddl'd up in ſome obſcure blind Grave, 〈◊〉 thou ſhoud'ſt ſay my Love has made thee wretched, 〈◊〉 drop one ſingle Tear for Guilford's Sake. L. J. Gray. Alas! I have too much of Death already, • nd want not thine to furniſh out new Horror. 〈◊〉 dreadful Thought! If thou wert dead indeed, 〈◊〉 Hop •… were left me then! Yes I will own, 〈◊〉 of the Bluſh that burns my Maiden Cheek, • y Heart has fondly lean'd toward thee long: Thy Sweetneſs, Virtue and unblemiſh'd Youth, Have won a Place for thee within my Boſom: And if my Eyes look coldly on thee now, And ſhun thy Love on this diſaſtrous Day, It is becauſe I would not deal ſo hardly, To give thee Sighs for all thy faithful Vows, And pay thy Tenderneſs with nought but Tears. And yet 'tis all I have. Guil. I ask no more, Let me but call thee mine, confirm that Hope, To charm the Doubts which vex my anxious Soul, For all the reſt, do thou allot it for me, And at thy Pleaſure portion out my Bleſſings. My Eyes ſhall learn to ſmile or weep from thine, Nor will I think of Joy while thou art ſad. Nay, coud'ſt thou be ſo cruel to command it, I will forego a Bridegroom's ſacred Right, And ſleep far from thee, on the unwholeſom Earth, Where Damps ariſe and whiſtling Winds blow loud. Then when the Day returns come drooping to thee, My Locks ſtill drizzling with the Dews of Night, And chear my Heart with thee as with the Morning. L.J.G. Say, wo't thou conſecrate the Night to So ••… And give up ev'ry Senſe to ſolemn Sadneſs? Wo't thou in watching waſt the tedious Hours, Sit ſilently and careful by my Side, Liſt to the tolling Clocks, and Crickets Cry, And ev'ry melancholy Midnight Noiſe? Say, wo't thou baniſh Pleaſure and Delight, Wo't thou forget that ever we have lov'd, And only now and then let fall a Tear, To mourn for Edward's Loſs and England's Fate? Guil. Unweary'd ſtill I will attend thy Woes, And be a very faithful Partner to thee. Near thee I will complain in Sighs as numberleſs, As Murmurs breathing in the leafy Grove: My Eyes ſhall mix their falling Drops with thine, Conſtant, as never-ceaſing Waters roll, That purl and gurgle o'er their Sands for ever. The Sun ſhall ſee my Grief thro' all his Courſe; And when Night comes. ſad Philomel who plains, From ſtarry Veſper to the roſy Dawn, Shall ceaſe to tune her lamentable Song, E'er I give o'er to weep and mourn with thee. L. J. Gray. Here then I take thee to my Heart for ever, [Giving her Hand. The dear Companion of my future Days: Whatever Providence allots for each, Be that the common Portion of us both. Share all the Griefs of thy unhappy JANE; But if good Heav'n have any Joy in Store, Let that be all thy own. Guil. Thou wondrous Goodneſs! Heav'n gives too much at once in giving thee. And by the common Courſe of Things below, Where each Delight is temper'd with Affliction, Some Evil terrible and unforeſeen, Muſt ſure enſue, to poize the Scale againſt This vaſt Profuſion of exceeding Pleaſure; But be it ſo, let it be Death and Ruin, On any Terms I take thee. L. J. Gray. Truſt our Fate, To Him whoſe gracious Wiſdom guides our Ways, And makes what we think Evil turn to Good. Permit me now to leave thee and retire; • 'll ſummon all my Reaſon and my Duty, To ſcoth this Storm within, and frame my Heart, To yield Obedience to my noble Parents. Guil. Good Angels miniſter their Comforts to thee. And Oh! If as my fond Belief would hope, If any Word of mine be gracious to thee, I beg thee, I conjure thee, drive a way Thoſe murd'rous Thoughts of Grief that kill thy Quiet, Reſtore thy gentle Boſom's native Peace, Lift up the Light of Gladneſs in thy Eyes, And chear my Heavineſs with one dear Smile. L. J. Gray. Yes Guilford, I will ſtudy to forget All that the Royal Edward has been to me, How we have lov'd, ev'n from our very Cradles. My private Loſs no longer will I mourn, But ev'ry tender Thought to thee ſhall turn. With Patience I'll ſubmit to Heav'ns Decree, And what I loſt in Edward, find in thee. But oh! when I revolve, what Ruins wait Our ſinking Altars, and the falling State; When I conſider what my native Land, Expected from her pious Sov'raign's Hand, How form'd he was to ſave her from Diſtreſs, A King to govern, and a Saint to bleſs: New Sorrow to my lab'ring Breaſt ſucceeds, And my whole Heart for wretched England bleeds. [Exit Lady JANE GRAY. Guil. My Heart ſinks in me at her ſoft complaining, And ev'ry moving Accent that ſhe breaths, Reſolves my Courage, ſlackens my tough Nerves, And melts me down to Infancy and Tears. My Fancy palls, and takes Diſtaſt at Pleaſure; My Soul grows out of Tune, it loaths the World, Sickens at all the Noiſe and Folly of it; And I could ſit me down in ſome dull Shade, Where lonely Contemplation keeps her Cave, And dwells with hoary Hermits; there forget my ſelf, There fix my ſtupid Eyes upon the Earth, And muſe a way an Age in deepeſt Melancholy. Enter Pembroke. Pem. Edward is dead: ſo ſaid the great Northumberland, As now he ſhot along by me in Haſt. He preſs'd my Hand, and in a Whiſper beg'd me, To guard the Secret carefully as Life, Till ſome few Hours ſhou'd paſs; for much hung on it. Much may indeed hang on it. See my Guilford! My Friend! [Speaking to him. Guil. Ha! Pembroke! [Starting. Pem. Wherefore doſt thou ſtart? Why ſits that wild Diſorder on thy Viſage, Somewhat that looks like Paſſions ſtrange to thee, The Paleneſs of Surprize, and gaſtly Fear? Since I have known thee firſt, and call'd thee Friend, I never ſaw thee ſo unlike thy ſelf, So chang'd upon the ſudden. Guil. How! ſo chang'd! Pem. So to my Eye thou ſeem'ſt. Guil. The King is dead. Pem. I learn'd it from thy Father, Juſt as I enter'd here. But ſay, cou'd that, A Fate which ev'ry Moment we expected, Diſtract thy Thought, or ſhock thy Temper thus? Guil. Oh! Pembroke, 'tis in vain to hide from thee; For thou haſt look'd into my artleſs Boſom, And ſeen at once the Hurry of my Soul. 'Tis true thy coming ſtrook me with Surprize. I have a Thought—but wherefore ſaid I one, I have a thouſand Thoughts all up in Arms, Like populous Towns diſturb'd at dead of Night, That mixt in Darkneſs buſtle to and fro, As if their Buſineſs were to make Confuſion. Pem. Then ſure our better Angels call'd me hither. For this is Friendſhip's Hour and Friendſhip's Office, To come when Counſel and when Help is wanting, To ſhare the Pain of every gnawing Care, To ſpeak of Comfort in the Time of Trouble, To reach a Hand and ſave thee from Adverſity. Guil. And wo't thou be a Friend to me indeed? And while I lay my Boſom bare before thee, Wo't thou deal tenderly, and let thy Hand Paſs gently over ev'ry painful Part? Wo't thou with Patience hear, and judge with Temper? And if perchance thou meet with ſomewhat harſh, Somewhat to rouſe thy Rage and grate thy Soul, Wo't thou be Maſter of thy ſelf and bear it? Pem. Away with all this needleſs Preparation. Thou know'ſt thou art ſo dear, ſo ſacred to me, That I can never think thee an Offender. If it were ſo, that I indeed muſt judge thee, I ſhould take part with thee againſt my ſelf, And call thy Fault a Virtue. Guil. But ſuppoſe, The Thought were ſomewhat that concern'd our Love. Pem. No more, thou know'ſt we ſpoke of that to Day, And on what Terms we left it. 'Tis a Subject, Of which if poſſible, I wou'd not think. I beg that we may mention it no more. Guil. Can we not ſpeak of it with Temper? Pem. No. Thou know'ſt I cannot. Therefore prithee ſpare it. Guil. Oh! cou'd the Secret, I would tell thee, ſleep, And the World never know it, my fond Tongue, Shou'd ceaſe from ſpeaking, e'er I wou'd unfold it, Or vex thy Peace with an officious Tale. But ſince howe'er ungrateful to thy Ear It muſt be told thee once, hear it from me. Pem. Speak then, and eaſe the Doubts that ſhock my Soul. Guil. Suppoſe thy Guilford's better Stars prevail, • nd crown his Love.— Pem. Say not ſuppoſe, 'tis done. •• ek not for vain Excuſe nor ſoft'ning Words, • hou haſt prevaricated with thy Friend, • y under-hand Contrivances undone me; • nd while my open Nature truſted in thee, • hou haſt ſtep'd in between me and my Hopes, • nd raviſh'd from me all my Soul held dear. • hou haſt betray'd me,— Guil. How! betray'd thee! Pembrook! Pem. Yes, falſly, like a Traytor. Guil. Have a Care. Pem. But think not I will bear the foul Play from thee. • here was but this which I cou'd ne'er forgive. • y Soul is up in Arms, my injur'd Honour, •… patient of the Wrong, calls for Revenge; • nd tho' I lov'd thee—fondly— Guil. Hear me yet, 〈◊〉 Pembrook ſhall acquit me to himſelf. 〈◊〉 while I tell how Fortune dealt between us, 〈◊〉 gave the yielding Beauty to my Arms.— Pem. What hear it! ſtand and liſten to thy Triumph! • ou think'ſt me tame indeed. No, hold I charge thee, • aſt I forget that ever we were Friends, • aſt in the Rage of diſappointed Love, ••… ſh at once and tear thee for thy Falſhood. Guil. Thou warn'ſt me well; and I were raſh as thou art, 〈◊〉 truſt the ſecret Sum of all my Happineſs, 〈◊〉 one not Maſter of himſelf. Farewel. [Going. Pem. Ha! art thou going? Think not thus to part, 〈◊〉 leave me on the Rack of this Incertainty. Guil. What woud'ſt thou further? Pem. Tell it to me all. Say thou art marry'd, ſay thou haſt poſſeſs'd her, And rioted in vaſt Exceſs of Bliſs; That I may curſe my ſelf, and thee, and her. Come, tell me how thou didſt ſupplant thy Friend? How didſt thou look with that betraying Face, And ſmiling plot my Ruin? Guil. Give me Way. When thou art better temper'd I may tell thee, And vindicate at full my Love and Friendſhip. Pem. And do'ſt thou hope to ſhun me then, thou Traytor No, I will have it now, this Moment, from thee; Or drag the Secret out from thy falſe Heart. Guil. Away thou Madman! I would talk to Winds, And reaſon with the rude tempeſtuous Surge, Sooner than hold Diſcourſe with Rage like thine. Pem. Tell it, or by my injur'd Love I ſwear, [laying his Hand upon his S •••… I'll ſtab the lurking Treaſon in thy Heart. Guil. Ha! Stay thee there; nor let thy frantick Hand, [ſtopping 〈◊〉 Unſheath thy Weapon; if the Sword be drawn, If once we meet on Terms like thoſe; Farewel To ev'ry Thought of Friendſhip; one muſt fall. Pem. Curſe on thy Friendſhip, I would break the B •••… Guil. That as you pleaſe—beſide this Place is ſa •• ed, And wo'not be profan'd with Brawls and Outrage. You know I dare be found on any Summons. Pem. 'Tis well. My Vengeance ſhall not not loiter lo •• Henceforward let the Thoughts of our paſt Lives Be turn'd to deadly and remorſeleſs Hate. Here I give up the empty Name of Friend, Renounce all Gentleneſs, all Commerce with thee, To Death defy thee as my mortal Foe; • nd when we meet again, may ſwift Deſtruction, • id me of thee, or rid me of my ſelf. [Exit Pembrook. Guil. The Fate I ever fear'd is fall'n upon me; • nd long ago my boding Heart divin'd 〈◊〉 Breach like this from his ungovern'd Rage. 〈◊〉 Pembroke! thou haſt done me much Injuſtice, 〈◊〉 I have born thee true unfeign'd Affection. 〈◊〉 paſt and thou art loſt to me for ever. 〈◊〉 is or ought to be our greateſt Bliſs; 〈◊〉 ev'ry other Joy how dear ſoever, 〈◊〉 way to that, and we leave all for Love. 〈◊〉 the Imperious Tyrant's lordly Call, 〈◊〉 Spite of Reaſon and Reſtraint we come, 〈◊〉 Kindred, Parents, and our native Home. 〈◊〉 trembling Maid, with all her Fears, he charms, 〈◊〉 pulls her from her weeping Mother's Arms. 〈◊〉 laughs at all our Leagues, and in proud Scorn, ••… mmands the Bands of Friendſhip to be torn: ••… dains a Partner ſhou'd partake his Throne, 〈◊〉 reigns unbounded, lawleſs, and alone. [Exit. The End of the Second Act.
ACT III. SCENE I Scene, The Tower. Enter PEMBROKE and GARDINER. Gar. NAY, by the Rood, my Lord, you were to bla •… To let a Hair-brain'd Paſſion be your Guide, And hurry you into ſuch mad Extreams. Marry! you might have made much worthy Profit, By patient hearing; the unthinking Lord, Had brought forth ev'ry Secret of his Soul. Then when you were the Maſter of his Boſom, That were the Time to uſe him with Contempt, And turn his Friendſhip back upon his Hands. Pem. Thou talk'ſt as if a Madman cou'd be wiſe. Oh! Wincheſter, thy hoary frozen Age Can never gueſs my Pain; can never know The burning Tranſports of untam'd Deſire. I tell thee, Rev'rend Lord, to that one Bliſs, To the Enjoyment of that lovely Maid, As to their Center, I had drawn each Hope, And ev'ry Wiſh my furious Soul could form; Still with Regard to that my Brain forethought, And faſhion'd ev'ry Action of my Life. Then to be rob'd at once, and unſuſpecting, Be daſh'd in all the Height of Expectation, It was not to be born. Gar. Have you not heard of what has happen'd ſince? Pem. I have not had a Minutes Peace of Mind, A Moments Pauſe, to reſt from Rage, or think. Gar. Learn it from me then: but or e'er I ſpeak, I warn you to be Maſter of your ſelf. Tho', as you know they have confin'd me long, Gra'mercy to their Goodneſs, Pris'ner here; Yet as I am allow'd to walk at large Within the Tower, and hold free Speech with any; I have not dream't a way my thoughtleſs Hours, Without good Heed to theſe our righteous Rulers. To prove this true, this Morn a truſty Spy, Has brought me Word that yeſter Evening late, In Spice of all the Grief for Edward's Death, Your Friends were marry'd. Pem. Marry'd! Who?—Damnation! Gar Lord Guilford Dudley, and the Lady JANE. Pem. Curſe on my Stars! Gar. Nay, in the Name of Grace, Reſtrain this ſinful Paſſion; all's not loſt In this 〈◊〉 ſingle Woman. Pem. I have loſt More than the Female World can give me back. I had beheld, ev'n her whole Sex unmov'd, Look'd o'er 'em like a Bed of gaudy Flowers, That lift their painted Heads and live a Day, Then ſhe •… their trifling Glories unregarded. My He ••• diſdain'd their Beauties, till ſhe came, With ev'ry Grace that Nature's Hand cou'd give, And with a Mind ſo great, it ſpoke its Eſſence Immortal and Divine. Gar She was a Wonder, Detraction muſt allow that. Pem. The Virtues came, Sorted in gentle Fellowſhip to crown her, As if they meant to mend each others Work. Candour with Goodneſs, Fortitude with Sweetneſs, Strict Piety and Love of Truth, with Learning, More than the Schools of Athens ever knew, Or her own Plato taught. A Wonder! Wincheſter! Thou know'ſt not what ſhe was, nor can I ſpeak her, More than to ſay, ſhe was that only Bleſſing My Soul was ſet upon, and I have loſt her. Gar. Your State is not ſo bad as you wou'd make it; Nor need you thus abandon ev'ry Hope. Pem. Ha! wo't thou ſave me, ſnatch me from Deſpair, And bid me live again? Gar. She may be yours. Suppoſe her Husband die. Pem. O vain vain Hope! Gar. Marry, I do not hold that Hope ſo vain Theſe Goſpellers have had their golden Days, And lorded it 〈◊〉 Will, with proud Deſpight, Have trodden down our Holy Roman Faith, Ranſack'd her Shrines, and driv'n her Saints to Exile, But if my Divination fail me not, Their haughty Hearts ſhall be abas'd e'er long, And feel the Vengeance of our Mary's Reign. Pem. And woud'ſt thou have my fierce Impatience ſtay Bid me lye bound upon a Rack, and wait For diſtant Joys, whole Ages yet behind? Can Love attend on Politicians Schemes, Expect the ſlow Events of cautious Counſels, Cold unreſolving Heads and creeping Time? Gar. To Day, or I am ill inform'd, Northumberland, With eaſy Suffolk, Guilford, and the reſt, Meet here in Council on ſome deep Deſign, Some 〈◊〉 Contrivance, to protect Their up ••••… Faith from near approaching Ruin. 〈◊〉 there are Puniſhments—Halters and Axes 〈◊〉 Traitors, and conſuming Flames for Hereticks. The happy Bridegroom may be yet cut ſhort, •… 'n in his higheſt Hope—but go not you, •… owe'er the fawning Sire, old Dudley, court you. 〈◊〉 , by the Holy Rood I charge you mix not •… ith their pernicious Counſels.—Miſchief waits 'em, •… re, certain, unavoidable Deſtruction. Pem. Ha! join with them! the curſed Dudley's Race! 〈◊〉 , while they held me in their Arms, betray'd me, ••••… n'd me for not ſuſpecting they were Villains, • nd made a Mock'ry of my eaſy Friendſhip. 〈◊〉 , when I do, Diſhonour be my Portion, • nd ſwift Perdition catch me,—join with them! Gar. I wou'd not have you—hie you to the City, 〈◊〉 join with thoſe who love our antient Faith. 〈◊〉 your Friends about you, and be ready 〈◊〉 aſſert our zealous Mary's Royal Title. 〈◊〉 doubt not but her grateful Hand ſhall give you 〈◊〉 ſee your Soul's Deſire upon your Enemies. 〈◊〉 Church ſhall pour her ample Treaſures forth too, 〈…〉 with ten thouſand Years of Pardon. Pem. No, keep your Bleſſings back, and give me Vengeance; 〈…〉 to tell that ſoft Deceiver, Guilford, 〈◊〉 Traytor haſt thou done, thus haſt thou wrong'd me, 〈◊〉 thus thy Treaſon finds a juſt Reward. Gar. But ſoft! no more! the Lords o' th' Council come. 〈◊〉 ! by the Maſs! the Bride and Bridegroom too! ••… tire with me, my Lord, we muſt not meet 'em. Pem. 'Tis they themſelves, the curſed happy Pair! 〈◊〉 , Wincheſter, haſt! let us fly for even, 〈◊〉 drive her from my very Thoughts if poſſible. Oh! Love what have I loſt!—Oh! Reverend Lord, Pity this fond, this fooliſh Weakneſs in me. Methinks, I go like our firſt wretched Father, When from his bliſsful Garden he was driven. Like me he went deſpairing, and like me, Thus at the Gate ſtopt ſhort for one laſt View. Then with the chearleſs Partner of his Woe, He turn'd him to the World that lay below. There for 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 's happy Plains beheld, A Barren, wild, uncomfortable Field. Ho ſaw 'twas vain the Ruin to deplore, He try'd to give the ſad Remembrance o'er, The ſad Remembrance ſtill return'd again, And his loſt Paradiſe renew'd his Pain. [Exeunt Pembrook and Gardine • Enter Lord Guilford, and Lady JANE Guil. What ſhall I ſay to thee? What Pow'r Divine, Will teach my Tongue to tell thee what I feel? To pour the Tranſports of my Boſom forth, And make thee Partner of the Joy dwells there? For thou art comfortleſs, full of Affliction, Heavy of Heart as the forſaken Widow, And deſolate as Orphans. Oh my fair one! Thy Edward ſhines amongſt the brighteſt Stars, And yet thy Sorrows ſeek him in the Grave. L.J. Alas, my deareſt Lord! a thouſand Griefs Beſet my anxious Heart, and yet as if The Burthen were too little, I have added The Weight of all thy Cares. And like the Miſer, Increaſe of Wealth has made me but more wretched. The Morning Light ſeems not to riſe as uſual; It dawns not to me, like my Virgin Days, But brings new Thoughts and other Fears upon me; • tremble, and my anxious Heart is pain'd, • eaſt ought but Good ſhould happen to my Guilford. Guil. Nothing but G •• d can happen to thy Guilford, While thou art by his Side, his better Angel, His Bleſſing and his Guard. L.J. Why came we hither? Thy was I drawn to this un ••• ky Place, • his Tower, ſo often ſtain'd with Royal Blood? • ere the fourth Edward's helpleſs Sons were murder'd, • nd pious Henry fell by Ruthleſs Gloſter. 〈◊〉 this the Place allotted for rejoicing, The Bower adorn'd to keep our Nuptial Feaſt in? Methinks Suſpicion and Diſtruſt dwell here, •… aring with meager Forms thro' grated Windows. 〈…〉 within, and unrelenting Puniſhment. 〈…〉 Danger, Fear, and fierceſt Power, 〈◊〉 on the •• de old Tow'rs and Gothick Battlements; • hile Horror overlooks the dreadful Wall, • nd frowns on all around. Guil. In Safety here, 〈◊〉 Lords o'th' Council have this Morn decreed, 〈◊〉 meet and with united Care ſupport 〈◊〉 feeble tottering State. To thee, my Princeſs, ••• ſe Royal Veins are rich in Henry's Blood, 〈◊〉 one Conſent the nobleſt Heads are bow'd; 〈…〉 they ask a Sanction to their Counſels, 〈…〉 thy healing Hand expect a Cure 〈◊〉 England's Loſs in Edward. L.J. How! from me! 〈◊〉 my Lord!—but ſure thou mean'ſt to mock me. Guil. No, by the Love my faithful Heart is full of! 〈…〉 , thy Mother, gracious Suffolk comes, 〈…〉 my Story. She ſhall tell thee, 〈◊〉 her Look I read the lab'ring Thought, 〈…〉 Event thy Fate is now diſcloſing. Enter the Dutcheſs of Suffolk. Dutc. Suff. No more complain, indulge thy Tears 〈…〉 Thy pious Grief has giv'n the Grave its Due: Let thy Heart kindle with the higheſt Hopes, Expand thy Boſom, let thy Soul inlarg'd, Make Room to entertain the coming Glory, For Majeſty and Purple Greatneſs court thee, Homage and low Subjection wait: A Crown, That makes the Princes of the Earth like Gods. A Crown, my Daughter, England's Crown attends, To bind thy Brows with its Imperial Wreath. L.J. Amazement chills my Veins! what ſays my Mothe Dutc. Suff. 'Tis Heav'ns Decree; for our expiring Edwa ••… When now juſt ſtrugling to his native Skies, Ev'n on the Verge of Heav'n, in Sight of Ang ••• . That hover'd round to waft him to the Stars, Ev'n then declar'd my JANE his Succeſſor. L.J. Could Edward do this? could the dyi •• Saint, Bequeath his Crown to me? Oh fatal Bounty To me! but 'tis impoſſible! we dream. A thouſand and a thouſand Bars oppoſe me, Riſe in my Way and intercept my Paſſage. Ev'n you, my gracious Mother, what muſt you be, E'er I can be a Queen? Dutc. Suff. That and that only; Thy Mother, fonder of that tender Name Than all the proud Additions Pow'r can give. Yes, I will give up all my Share of Greatneſs, And live in low Obſcurity for ever, To ſee thee rais'd thou Darling of my Heart, And fix'd upon a Throne. But ſee! thy Father. Northumberland, with all the Council come, To pay their vow'd Allegiance at thy Feet, 〈◊〉 kneel and call thee Queen. L.J. Support me Guilford, 〈…〉 thy Aid, ſtay thou my fainting Soul, 〈◊〉 help 〈◊〉 to repreſs this growing Danger. 〈◊〉 Suffolk, Northumberland, Lords and others of the Privy-Council. North. Hail! ſacred Princeſs! ſprung from antient Kings; 〈◊〉 England's deareſt Hope, undoubted Off-ſpring 〈◊〉 York and Lancaſter's united Line. 〈◊〉 whoſe bright Zeal, by whoſe victorious Faith, •… arded and fenc'd around our pure Religion, 〈◊〉 Lamp of Truth which ſhines upon our Altars, 〈◊〉 lift its golden Head and flouriſh long. •… eath whoſe awful Rule and righteous Scepter, 〈◊〉 plenteous Years ſhall roll in long Succeſſion: 〈◊〉 ſhall prevail and antient Right take Place, 〈◊〉 Liberty ſhall lift her chearful Head, ••… rleſs of Tyranny and proud Oppreſſion. 〈◊〉 ſad complaining in our Streets ſhall cry, 〈◊〉 Juſtice ſhall be exercis'd in Mercy. 〈◊〉 Royal JANE! behold we band our Knees, [they kneel 〈◊〉 Pledge of Homage and thy Land's Obedience, 〈◊〉 humbleſt Duty th •• we kneel, and own thee 〈◊〉 Liege, our Soveraign Lady, and our Queen. L.J. Oh! riſe! 〈◊〉 Father riſe! [to Suff. 〈◊〉 you my Father too! [to North. 〈…〉 me with this Confuſion [they riſe. 〈◊〉 means this Mock, this maſquing Shew of Greatneſs? 〈◊〉 do you hang theſe Pageant Glories on me. 〈◊〉 dreſs me upon Honours not my own? 〈◊〉 The Daughters of our late great Maſter Henry, 〈◊〉 both by • aw excluded from Succeſſion. To make all firm, And fix a Pow'r unqueſtion'd in your Hand, Edward by Will bequeath'd his Crown to you And the concurring Lords in Council met, Have ratified the Gift. L.J. Are Crowns and Empire, The Government and Safety of Mankind. Trifles of ſuch light Moment, to be left, Like ſome rich Toy, a Ring or fancy'd Gem, The Pledge of parting Friends? can Kings do thus, And give away a People for a Legacy? North. Forgive me, Princely Lady, if my Wonder, Seizes each Senſe, each Faculty of Mind. To ſee the utmoſt Wiſh the Great can form, A Crown thus coldly met: A Crown, which ſlighted, And left in Scorn by you, ſhall ſoon be ſought And find a joyful Wearer; One perhaps, Of Blood unkindred to your Royal Houſe, And fix its Glories in another Line. L.J. Where art thou now, thou Partner of my Ca •… [turning to Gui • Come to my Aid, and help to bear this Burthen. Oh! ſave me from this Sorrow, this Misfortune, Which in the Shape of gorgeous Greatneſs comes, To crown and make a Wretch of me for ever. Guil. Thou weep'ſt, my Queen, and hang'ſt thy dr •… Like nodding Poppies heavy with the Rain, That bow their weary Necks and bend to Earth. See, by thy Side, thy faithful Guilford ſtands, Prepar'd to keep Diſtreſs and Danger from thee, To wear thy ſacred Cauſe upon his Sword, And war againſt the World in thy Defence. North. Oh! ſtay this inauſpicious Stream 〈…〉 And chear your People with one gracious 〈◊〉 Nor comes your Fate in ſuch a dreadful Form To bid you ſhun it. Turn thoſe ſacred Eyes On the bright Proſpect Empire ſpreads before you. Methinks: ſee you ſeated on the Throne; Beneath your Feet, the Kingdoms great Degrees 〈◊〉 brigh • Confuſion ſhine, Mitres and Coronets, The various Ermin, and the glowing Purple: Aſſemb ••• Senates wait with awful Dread To firm your high Commands, and make 'em Fate. L. Jane. You turn to view the painted ſide of Royalty, And cove • all the Cares that lurk beneath. 〈◊〉 it to 〈◊〉 Queen, to ſit aloft 〈◊〉 ſolemn, dull, uncomfortable State, The •••••… 'd Idol of a Servile Court? 〈◊〉 it to draw • pompous Train along, 〈◊〉 Pageant, for the wondring Crowd to gaze at? 〈◊〉 it in Wantonneſs of Pow'r, to Reign, • nd make the World ſubſervient to my Pleaſure? 〈◊〉 it not rather to be Greatly Wretched, To Watch, to Toil, to take a ſacred Charge, To bend each Day before high Heaven, and own, 〈◊〉 People haſt thou truſted to my Hand, •• d at my Hand, I know, thou ſhalt require 'em? 〈◊〉 Northumberland!—my Father!—Is it not 〈◊〉 live a Life of Care; and when I die, 〈◊〉 more to anſwer for before my Judge, 〈◊〉 any of my Subjects? Suff. Ev'ry State •… lotted 〈◊〉 the Race of Man below, 〈◊〉 in proportion, doom'd to taſt ſome Sorrow. 〈◊〉 is the golden Wreath on a King's Brow •••… mpt from Care; and yet, Who wou'd not bear it? 〈…〉 the Monarchs of our Royal Race, 〈◊〉 liv'd not for Themſelves: How many Bleſſings, 〈◊〉 many lifted Hands, ſhall pay thy Toil, 〈◊〉 thy Peoples Good thou happ'ly borrow Some portion from the Hours of Reſt, and Wake To give the World Repoſe. Suff. Behold, we ſtand upon the Brink of Ruin, And only Thou canſt ſave us. Perſecution, That Fiend of Rome and Hell, prepares her Tortures; See where ſhe comes in Mary's Prieſtly Train. Still wo't thou doubt? 'till thou behold her ſtalk Red with the Blood of Martyrs, and Wide-waſting O'er England's Boſome? All the mourning Year Our Towns ſhall glow with unextinguiſh'd Fires; Our Youth on Racks ſhall ſtretch their Crackling Bones; Our Babes ſhall ſprawl on Conſecrated Spears; Matrons and Husbands, with their New-born Infants, Shall burn promiſcuous; a continu'd Peal Of Lamentations, Groans and Shrieks ſhall ſound Through all our purple Ways. Guil. Amidſt that Ruin, Think thou behold'ſt thy Guilford's Head laid Low, Bloody and Pale— L. Jane. Oh! ſpare the Dreadful Image! Guil. Oh! wou'd the Miſery be bounded there, My Life were little; but the Rage of Rome Demands whole Hecatombs, a Land of Victims. With Superſtition comes that other Fiend, That Bane of Peace, of Arts and Virtue, Tyranny; That Foe to Juſtice, Scorner of all Law; That Beaſt, which thinks Mankind were born for One, And made by Heav'n to be a Monſter's Prey; That heavieſt Curſe of groaning Nations, Tyranny. Mary ſhall, by her Kindred Spain, be taught To bend our Necks beneath a Brazen Yoke, And Rule o'er Wretches with an Iron Sceptre. L. Jane. Avert that Judgment, Heaven! Whate'er thy Providence allots for me, In Mercy ſpare my Country. Guil. Oh, my Queen! Does not thy Great, thy Generous Heart Relent, To think this Land, for Liberty ſo fam'd, Shall have her Tow'ry Front at once laid low, And robb'd of all it's Glory? Oh! my Country! Oh! Faireſt Albion, Empreſs of the Deep. How have thy Nobleſt Sons with ſtubborn Valour Stood to the laſt, dy'd many a Field in Blood, In dear Defence of Birth-right and their Laws! And ſhall thoſe Hands, which fought the Cauſe of Freedom, Be manacl'd in baſe unworthy Bonds? Be tamely yielded up? the Spoil, the Slaves Of Hair-brain'd Zeal, and Cruel Coward Prieſts? L. Jane. Yes, my lov'd Lord, my Soul is mov'd, like Thine. At ev'ry Danger which Invades our England; My cold Heart kindles at the great Occaſion, And could be more than Man, in her Defence. But where is my Commiſſion to Redreſs? Or whence my Pow'r to Save? Can Edward's Will, Or Twenty met in Council, make a Queen? Can you, my Lords, give me the Pow'r to canvaſs A doubtful Title with King Henry's Daughters? Where are the Rev'rend Sages of the Law, To guide me with their Wiſdoms, and point out The Paths which Right and Juſtice bid me tread? North. The Judges all attend, and will at leiſure Reſolve you ev'ry Scruple. L. Jane. They expound, But where are thoſe, my Lord, who make the Law? Where are the Ancient Honours of the Realm, The Nobles, with the Miter'd Fathers join'd? The Wealthy Commons ſolemnly Aſſembled? Where is that Voice of a Conſenting People, To pledge the Univerſal Faith with mine, And call me juſtly Queen? North. Nor ſhall that long Be wanting to your Wiſh: The Lords and Commons Shall, at your Royal Bidding, ſoon Aſſemble, And with united Homage own your Title. Delay not then to meet the General Wiſh, But be our Queen; be England's better Angel. Nor let miſtaken Piety betray you To join with Cruel Mary in our Ruin: Her bloody Faith commands her to Deſtroy, And yours forbids to Save. Guil. Our Foes, already High in their Hopes, devote us all to Death: The Droniſh Monks, the Scorn and Shame of Manhood Rouze and prepare once more to take Poſſeſſion, To neſtle in their ancient Hives again; Again they furbiſh up their Holy Trumpery, Relicks, and Wooden Wonder-working Saints, Whole Loads of Lumber and Religious Rubbiſh, In high Proceſſion mean to bring 'em back, And place the Puppets in their Shrines again: While thoſe of keener Malice, Savage Bonner, And Deep-deſigning Gard'ner, dream of Vengeance; Devour the Blood of Innocents, in Hope, Like Vultures, ſnuff the Slaughter in the Wind, And ſpeed their Flight to Havock and the Prey, Haſte then and ſave us, while 'tis giv'n to ſave Your Country, your Religion. North. Save your Friends! Suff. Your Father! D. Suff. Mother! Guil. Husband! L. Jane. Take me, Crown me; Inveſt me with this Royal Wretchedneſs; Let me not know one happy Minute more, Let all my ſleepleſs Nights be ſpent in Care, My Days be vex'd with Tumults and Alarms, If only I can ſave you; if my Fate Has mark'd me out to be the Publick Victim, I take the Lot with Joy. Yes, I will Die For that Eternal Truth my Faith is fix'd on, And that dear Native Land which gave me Birth. Guil. Wake ev'ry Tuneful Inſtrument to tell it, And let the Trumpets ſprightly Note proclaim My Jane is England's Queen! Let the loud Cannon In pe •••… Thunder ſpeak it to Auguſta. Imperial Thames, catch thou the ſacred Sound, And 〈◊〉 it to the ſubject Ocean down: Tell the old Deep, and all thy Brother-Floods, My Jane is Empreſs of the Watry World! Now 〈◊〉 glad Fires our bloodleſs Streets ſhall ſhine; With 〈◊〉 of Joy our chearful Ways ſhall ring; Thy Name ſhall eecho through the reſcu'd Iſle, And reach Applauding Heaven! L. Jane. Oh, Guilford! What do we give up for Glory! For Glory! That's a Toy I wou'd not purchaſe, 〈…〉 empty Bubble. But for England! What muſt we loſe for That! Since then my Fate 〈…〉 his hard Exchange upon my Will, 〈◊〉 gracious Heav'n allow me one Requeſt: 〈◊〉 that bleſt Peace in which I once did dwell, 〈◊〉 Book •… Retirement, and my ſtudious Cell, 〈◊〉 all th • ſe Joys my happier Days did prove, 〈◊〉 Plato and his Academick Grove; 〈◊〉 that 〈◊〉 , is, Tho' my Fortune frown, 〈…〉 beneath this fatal Crown; 〈◊〉 that 〈◊〉 Good be added to my Doom, 〈◊〉 ſave this Land from Tyranny and Rome [Exeunt. End of the Third ACT
ACT IV. SCENE I. Scene Continues. Enter PEMBROKE and GARDINER. Gardiner. IN an unlucky and accurſed Hour Set forth that Traytor Duke, that Proud Northumberland, To draw his Sword upon the ſide of Hereſy, And War againſt our Mary's Royal Right: Ill Fortune fly before and pave his Way With Diſappointment, Miſchief and Defeat: And thou, O, holy Becket, the Protector, The Champion, and the Martyr of our Church, Appear, and once more own the Cauſe of Rome; Beat down his Launce, break thou his Sword in Battle, And cover foul Rebellion with Confuſion. Pem. I ſaw him marching at his Army's Head; I mark'd him iſſuing through the City Gate In Harneſs, all appointed as he paſs'd; And (for he wore his Beaver up) could read Upon his Viſage Horror and Diſmay: No Voice of friendly Salutation chear'd him, None wiſh'd his Arms might thrive, or bad God-ſpeed him; But through a ſtaring Gaſtly-looking Croud, Unhail'd, unbleſs'd, with heavy Heart he went: As if 〈◊〉 • raytor Father's haggard Ghoſt, And 〈◊〉 freſh bleeding from the Ax, On •… ther hand had uſher'd him to Ruin. Gar. Nor ſhall the holy Vengeance loiter long. At Framingham in Suffolk lies the Queen, 〈…〉 Pious Miſtreſs; where each Day The Nobles of the Land, and ſwarming Populace Gather, 〈◊〉 Liſt beneath her Royal Enſigns. The Fleet Commanded by Sir Thomas Jerningham, Set 〈◊〉 Warlike manner to oppoſe her, With one Conſent have join'd to own her Cauſe: The •••… ant Suſſex, and Sir Edward Haſtings, With many more of Note, are up in Arms, And all Declare for Her. Pem. The Citizens, Who held the Noble Somerſet right dear, Hate this aſpiring Dudley and his Race, And wou'd, upon the Inſtant, join t'oppoſe him; Could we but draw ſome of the Lords o'th' Council T' ••• ear among 'em, own the ſame Deſign, And bring the Rev'rend Sanction of Authority To lead 'em into Action. For that Purpoſe, To thee, as to an Oracle, I come To learn what fit Expedient may be found, To 〈◊〉 the wary Council to our ſide. Say thou, whoſe Head is grown thus Silver White, In A ••… of Government, and Turns of State, How we may blaſt our Enemies with Ruin, And 〈…〉 curs'd Northumberland to Hell. Gar. In happy Time be your whole Wiſh accompliſh'd. Since the Proud Duke ſet out, I have had Conference, As in Occaſion ſerv'd, with divers of 'em, The Earl of Arundel, Maſon, and Cheyney, And find 'em all diſpos'd as we could ask. 〈◊〉 Holy Mary, if I count aright, To Day, the better Part ſhall leave this Place, And meet at Baynard's-Caſtle in the City; There own our Sovereign's Title, and defy Jane, and her Goſpel-Crew. But hye you hence? This Place is ſtill within our Foes Command, Their Puppet-Queen reigns here. Enter an Officer with a Guard. Off. Seize on 'em both. [Guard ſeize Pembroke and Gardiner. My Lord, you are a Priſoner to the State. Pem. Ha! By whoſe Order? Off. By the Queen's Command, Sign'd and Deliver'd by Lord Guilford Dudley. Pem. Curſe on his Traytor's Heart! Gar. Reſt you Contented: You have loiter'd here too long; but uſe your Patience, Theſe Bonds ſhall not be laſting. Off. As for you, Sir, [To Gardiner. 'Tis the Queen's Pleaſure, you be cloſe Confin'd: You've us'd that fair Permiſſion was allow'd you, To walk at large within the Tower, unworthily. You're noted for an Over-buſy Medler, A Secret Practicer againſt the State; For which, henceforth, your ••• its ſhall be ſtraiter. Hence! to his Chamber. Gar. Farewel, gentle Pembroke, I truſt, that we ſhall meet on blither Terms; Till then, amongſt my Beads, I will remember you, And give you to the Keeping of the Saints. [Exeunt part of the Guard with Gardiner. Pem. Now! whither muſt I go? Off. This way, my Lord. [Going off. Enter Guilford. Gui • . Hold, Captain! e're you go, I have a Word or two For this your Noble Pris'ner. Off. At your Pleaſure: I know my Duty, and attend your Lordſhip. [The Officer and Guard retire to the farther part of the Stage. G ••• 〈…〉 the Gentleneſs that was betwixt us So 〈…〉 ſwept away from thy Remembrance, Thou canſt not look upon me? Pem. Ha! not look! What Terrors are there in the Dudley's Race, That Pembroke dares not look upon and ſcorn? And yet, ,tis true, I wou'd not look upon thee: Our Eyes avoid to look on what we hate, As well as what we fear. Guil. You hate me, then? Pem. I do; and wiſh Perdition may o'ertake Thy Father, thy falſe Self, and thy whole Name. Guil. And yet, as ſure as Rage diſturbs thy Reaſon, And maſters all the noble Nature in thee; As ſure as thou haſt Wrong'd me, I am come In tenderneſs of Friendſhip to Preſerve thee; To plant ev'n all the Pow'r I have before thee, And fence thee from Deſtruction, with my Life. Pem. Friendſhip from thee! But, my juſt Soul diſdains thee: Hence! take the proſtituted Bawble back, Hang it to grace ſome ſlavering Ideot's Neck, For none but Fools will prize the Tinſel Toy: But thou art come, perhaps, to vaunt thy Greatneſs, And ſet thy Purple Pomp to view before me; To let me know that Guilford is a King, That he can ſpeak the Word, and give me Freedom. Oh! Short-liv'd Pageant! Had'ſt thou all the Pow'r Which thy vain Soul would graſp at, I would Die, Rot in a Dungeon, e're receive a Grace, The leaſt, the meaneſt Courteſy from Thee. Guil. Oh! Pembroke! But I have not time to Talk. For Danger preſſes; Danger unforeſeen, And ſecret as the Shaft that flies by Night, Is aiming at thy Life. Captain, a Word! [To the Officer. I take your Pris'ner to my proper Charge; Draw of your Guard, and leave his Sword with me [The Officer Delivers the Sword to Lord Guilford, and goes out with the Guard.] [L. Guil. offering the Sword to Pembroke.] Receive this Gift, ev'n from a Rival's Hand; And if thy Rage will ſuffer thee to hear The Counſel of a Man once call'd thy Friend, Flie from this fatal Place, and ſeek thy Safety. Pem. How now! What Shew, What Mockery is this? Is it in Sport you uſe me thus? What means This ſwift fantaſtick changing of the Scene? Guil. Oh! take thy Sword; and let thy va ••… ant Hand Be ready arm'd to Guard thy Noble Life: The Time, the Danger, and thy wild Impatience, Forbid me all to enter into Speech with thee, Or I cou'd tell thee— Pem. No, it needs not, Traytor! For all thy poor, thy little Arts are known. Thou fear'ſt my Vengeance, and art come to Fawn, To make a Merit of that proffer'd Freedom, Which, in deſpite of thee, a Day ſhall give me: Nor can my Fate depend on thee, falſe Guilford; For know, to thy Confuſion, e're the Sun Twice gild the Eaſt, our Royal Mary comes To End thy Pageant Reign, and ſet me Free. Guil. Ungrateful and Unjuſt! Haſt thou then 〈…〉 So little, to accuſe my Heart of Fear? Haſt thou forgotten Muſſelborough's Field? 〈…〉 Fear, when by thy Side I fought, And dy'd my Maiden Sword in Scottiſh Blood? But this is Madneſs all. Pem. Give me my Sword. [Taking his Sword. Perhaps indeed, I wrong thee. Thou haſt thought; And, conſcious of the Injury thou haſt done me, Art come to proffer me a Soldier's Juſtice, And meet my Arm in ſingle Oppoſition: Lead then, and let me Follow to the Field. Guil. Yes, Pembroke, thou ſhalt ſatisfy thy Vengeance. And 〈◊〉 thy bloody Purpoſe on my Boſom. 〈◊〉 Death wait to Day. By our paſt Friendſhip, In Honour's Name, by ev'ry ſacred Tie, I beg thee ask no more, but haſte from hence. Pem. What myſtick Meaning lurks beneath thy Words? What Fear is this, which thou would'ſt awe my Soul with? 〈…〉 Danger Pembroke dares not meet? Guil. Oh! ſpare my Tongue a Tale of Guilt and Horror; 〈…〉 this once; believe me, when I tell thee 〈…〉 thy Life is all I ſeek. Away! Pem. By Heav'n! I wo'not ſtir a Step. 〈◊〉 on this ſhuffling, dark, ambiguous Phraſe. If thou wou'dſt have me think thou mean'ſt me fairly, Speak with that plainneſs Honeſty delights in, And let thy Double-Tongue for once be True. Guil. Forgive me, Filial Piety and Nature, If, thus compell'd, I break your ſacred Laws, Reveal my father's Crime, and blot with Infamy The Hoary Head of him who gave me Being, To ſave the Man whom my Soul loves, from Death. [Giving a Paper.] Read there the fatal Purpoſe of thy Foe, A Thought which Wounds my Soul with Shame and Horror, Somewhat that Darkneſs ſhou'd have hid for Ever, But that thy Life—Say, haſt thou ſeen that Character? Pem. I know it well; the Hand of Proud Northumberland, Directed to his Minions Gates and Palmer. What's this? [Reads.

Remember with your cloſeſt Care, to obſerve thoſe whom 〈◊〉 nam'd to you at parting; eſpecially keep your Eye upon the Earl of Pembroke; as his Power and Intereſt are moſt 〈◊〉 , ſo his Oppoſition will be moſt Fatal to us. 〈…〉 Reſolution was taken, if you ſhould find him inclin'd to 〈◊〉 Enemies. The Forms of Juſtice are tedious, and 〈…〉 Dangerous. If he falters, loſe not the ſight of him 〈…〉 Daggers have reach'd his Heart.

 My Heart! Oh! Murd'rous Villain! Guil. Since he parted, Thy Ways have all been Watch'd, thy Steps been M •• 'd; Thy Secret Treaties with the Malecontents That Harbour in the City; thy Conferring With Gard'ner here in the Tower, all is known, And, in purſuance of that Bloody Mandate, A Set of Choſen Ruffians wait to End thee. There was but one way left me to preſerve thee: I took it; and this Morning ſent my Warrant To ſeize upon thy Perſon—But be gone! Pem. 'Tis ſo—'tis Truth—I ſee his Honeſt H •••• Guil. I have a Friend of well try'd Faith and Courage, Who with a fit Diſguiſe, and Arms conceal'd, Attends without, to guide thee hence in Safety. Pem. What is Northumberland? and what art Thou? Guil. Waſte not the Time. Away! Pem. Here let me fix And gaze with Everlaſting Wonder on thee. What is there Good or Excellent in Man, That is not found in thee? Thy Virtues flaſh, They break at once on my aſtoniſh'd Soul; 〈…〉 Curtains of the Dark were drawn, To 〈◊〉 Day at Midnight. Guil. Think me True; And tho' Ill-fortune croſs'd upon our Friendſhip— Pem Curſe on our Fortune!—Think!—I know thee honeſt. Guil. For ever I cou'd hear thee—but thy Life— Oh, Pembroke, linger not— Pem. And can I leave thee 〈◊〉 I have claſp'd thee in my eager Arms, And 〈◊〉 thee back my ſad repenting Heart? Believe 〈◊〉 , Guilford, like the Patriarch's Dove, [Embracing. It 〈◊〉 forth, but found no Reſting-place Till 〈…〉 Home again to lodge with thee. G ••• What is there that my Soul can more deſire, 〈…〉 dear Marks of thy returning Friendſhip? The Danger comes—If you ſtay longer here, 〈…〉 my Pembroke. Pem. Let me ſtay and Die; 〈◊〉 if I go, I go to work thy Ruin. 〈◊〉 •• ow'ſt not what a Foe thou 〈◊〉 me forth, 〈…〉 ſworn Deſtruction to thy Queen, And pledg'd my Faith to Mary and her Cauſe: My Honour is at ſtake. Guil. I know 'tis given: But go—the ſtronger thy Engagement's there, The more's thy Danger here. There is a Power Who ſits above the Stars, in him I Truſt; All that I have, his bounteous Hand beſtow'd; And he that gave it, can preſerve it to me. 〈◊〉 ••… er-ruling Will ordains my Ruin, 〈…〉 more, but to fall down before him, And humbly yield Obedience!—Flie!—Be gone! Pem. Yes, I will go—For ſee! Behold who comes! Oh, Guilford, hide me, ſhield me from her Sight; Ev'ry mad Paſſion kindles up again, Love, Rage, Deſpair—and yet I will be Maſter— I will Remember Thee—Oh, my torn Heart! I have a Thouſand thouſand Things to ſay, But cannot, dare not ſtay to look on her. Thus gloomy Ghoſts, whene'er the breaking Morn Gives notice of the chearful Sun's Return, Fade at the Light, with Horror ſtand Oppreſt, And ſhrink before the Purple-dawning Eaſt; Swift with the fleeting Shades they wing their way, And dread the Brightneſs of the Riſing Day. [Exeunt Guil. and Pem. Enter Lady Jane, Reading. L. Jane. 'Tis falſe! The thinking Soul is ſomewhat 〈◊〉 Than Symmetry of Atoms well diſpos'd, The Harmony of Matter. Farewel elſe The Hope of all hereafter, that New Life, That ſeparate Intellect, which muſt ſurvive, When this fine Frame is moulder'd into Duſt. Enter Guilford. Guil. What read'ſt thou there, my Queen? L. Jane. 'Tis Plato's Phaedon, Where Dying Socrates takes leave of Life, With ſuch an eaſy, careleſs, calm Indifference, As if the Trifle were of no Account, Mean in it ſelf, and only to be worn In honour of the Giver. Guil. Shall thy Soul Still ſcorn the World, ſtill flie the Joys that court Thy blooming Beauty, and thy tender Youth? Still ſhall ſhe ſoar on Contemplation's Wing, And mix with nothing meaner than the Stars; As Heaven and Immortality alone Were Objects worthy to employ her Faculties. L. Jane. Bate but thy Truth, what is there here below Deſerves the leaſt Regard? Is it not time To bid our Souls look out, explore hereafter, And ſeek ſome better, ſure-abiding Place; When all around our gathering Foes come on, To drive, to ſweep us from this World at once? Guil. Does any Danger new— L. Jane. The faithleſs Councellors Are fled from hence, to join the Princeſs Mary. The ſervile Herd of Courtiers, who ſo late In low Obeyſance bent the Knee before me; They, who with zealous Tongues, and Hands uplifted, Beſought me to Defend their Laws and Faith; Vent their lewd Execrations on my Name, Proclaim me Trait'reſs now, and to the Scaffold Doom my devoted Head. Guil. The Changling Villains That pray for Slavery, fight for their Bonds, And ſhun the Bleſſing, Liberty, like Ruin. What art thou, Human Nature, to do thus? Does Fear or Folly make thee, like the Indian, Fall down before this dreadful Devil, Tyranny, And Worſhip the Deſtroyer? But wherefore do I loiter tamely here? Give me my Arms: I will Preſerve my Country, Ev'n in her own deſpite: Some Friends I have Who will or Die or Conquer in thy Cauſe, Thine and Religion's, Thine and England's Cauſe. L. Jane. Art thou not all my Treaſure, all my Guard? And wo' • thou take from me the only Joy, The laſt Defence is left me here below? Think not thy Arm can ſtem the driving Torrent, Or ſave a People who with blindfold Rage, Urge their own Fate, and ſtrive to be Undone. Northumberland, thy Father, is in Arms; And if it be in Valour to defend us, His Sword, that long has known the way to Conqueſt. Shall be our ſureſt Safety. Enter the Duke of Suffolk. Suff. Oh! my Children! L. Jane. Alas! What means my Father? Suff. Oh! my Son! Thy Father, great Northumberland, on whom Our deareſt Hopes were built— Guil. Ha! What of him? Suff. Is Loſt, Betray'd! His Army, onward as he march'd, ſhrunk from him, Moulder'd away, and melted from his ſide, Like falling Hail thick ſtrown upon the Ground, Which, e're we can eſſay to count, is vaniſh'd: With ſome few Followers he arriv'd at Cambridge; But there, ev'n they forſook him; and himſelf Was forc'd, with heavy Heart and watry Eye, To caſt his Cap up, with diſſembled Chear, And cry, God ſave Queen Mary. But alas! Little avail'd the ſemblance of that Loyalty: For ſoon thereafter, by the Earl of Arundel, With Treaſon was he charg'd, and there Arreſted; And now he brings him Pris'ner up to London. L. Jane. —Then there's an end of Greatneſs the vain Dream Of Empire and a Crown, that danc'd before me, With all thoſe unſubſtantial, empty Forms, Waiting in idle Mockery around us: The gaudy Maſque, tedious, and nothing meaning, Is vaniſh'd all at once—Why, fare it well. Guil. And canſt thou bear this ſudden Turn of Fate With ſuch unſhaken Temper? L. Jane. For my ſelf, If I cou'd form a Wiſh for Heav'n to grant, It ſhould have been to 〈…〉 of 〈◊〉 Crown, And thou o'er-ruling, great, all-knowing Power! Th •• who diſcern'ſt our Thoughts, who ſee'ſt 'em riſing, And •••… ing in the Soul, Oh judg me, Thou! If e'er ambition's guilty Fires have warm'd me, If e'er my Heart inclin'd to Pride, to Power, Or joy'd in being a Queen. I took the Scepter 〈…〉 this Land, thy People, and thy Altars: And 〈◊〉 behold I bend my grateful Knee, [Kneeling. In humble Adoration of that Mercy, Which quits me of the vaſt unequal Task. Enter the Dutcheſs of Suffolk. Dſs Suff. Nay, keep that Poſture ſtill; and let us join, 〈◊〉 all our Knees by thine, lift up our Hands, And ſeek for Help and Pity from above, For Earth and faithleſs Man will give us none. L. Jane. What is the worſt our cruel Fate ordains us? Dſs Suff. Curs'd be my fatal Counſel, curs'd my Tongue, That pleaded for thy Ruin, and perſuaded Thy guiltless Feet to tread the Paths of Greatneſs! My Child!—I have undone thee!— L. Jane. Oh my Mother! Shou'd I not bear a Portion in your Sorrows? Dſs Suff. Alas! thou haſt thy own, a double Portion. Mary is come, and the revolting Londoners, 〈…〉 the Heavens with thy applauded Name, 〈…〉 to meet and hail her as their Queen. Suſſex is 〈◊〉 here, commands the Tower, 〈◊〉 plac'd his Guards around: And this ſad Place, So late thy Palace, is become our Priſon. I ſaw him bend his Knee to cruel Gardiner, Who freed from his Confinement, ran to meet him, Embrac'd and bleſt him with a Hand of Blood. Each haſt'ning moment I expect 'em here, To ſeize, and paſs the Doom of Death upon us. Guil. Ha! ſeiz'd! ſhalt thou be ſeiz'd! and ſhall I ſtand, And tamely ſee thee born away to Death? Then blaſted be my Coward Name for ever: No, I will ſet my ſelf to guard this Spot, To which our narrow Empire now is ſhrunk; Here will I grow the Bulwark of my Queen; Nor ſhall the Hand of Violence profane thee, Until my Breaſt have born a thouſand Wounds; Till this torn mangled Body ſink at once A Heap of Purple Ruin at thy Feet. L. Jane. And could thy raſh diſtracted Rage do thus? Draw thy vain Sword againſt an armed Multitude, Only to have my poor Heart ſplit with Horrour, To ſee thee ſtab'd and butcher'd here before me. Oh call thy better nobler Courage to thee, And let us meet this adverſe Fate with Patience! Greet our inſulting Foes with equal Tempers, With even Brows, and Souls ſecure of Death. Here ſtand unmov'd, as once the Roman Senate Receiv'd fierce Brennus and the conquering Gauls, Till ev'n the rude Barbarians ſtood amaz'd At ſuch ſuperior Vertue. Be thy ſelf, For ſee the Trial comes! Enter Suſſex, Gardiner, Officers and Soldiers. Suſſ Guards, execute your Orders; ſeize the Traitors: Here my Commiſſion ends. To you, my Lord, [To Gardiner. So our great Miſtreſs, Royal Mary, bids, I leave the full Diſpoſal of theſe Pris'ners; To your wiſe Care the pious Queen commends Her Sacred Self, her Crown, and what's yet more The Holy Roman Church; for whoſe dear Safety, She wills your utmoſt Diligence be ſhewn, To bring Rebellion to the Bar of Juſtice. 〈…〉 , to proclaim •• w much ſhe truſts In Wincheſter's deep Thought, and well-try'd Faith, The Seal attends to grace thoſe Reverend Hands; And when I next ſalute you, I muſt call you Chief Miniſter and Chancellor of England. Gar. Unnumber'd Bleſſings fall upon her Head, My Ever-gracious Lady • to remember With ſuch full Bounty her old humble Beadſman! For theſe her Foes leave me to deal with them. Suſſ. The Queen is on her Entrance, and expects me: My Lord farewel. Gar. Farewel, Right Noble Suſſex. Commend me to the Queen's Grace, ſay her Bidding Shall be obſerv'd by her moſt lowly Creature. [Exit Suſſex Lieutenant of the Tower, take hence your Pris'ners, Be it your Care to ſee 'em kept apart, That they may hold no Commerce with each other. L. Jane. That Stroke was unexpected. Guil. Wo't thou part us? Gar. I hold no Speech with Hereticks and Traitors. Lieutenant, ſee my Orders be obey'd. [Exit Gardiner. Guil. Inhuman, monſtrous, unexampled Cruelty! Oh 〈…〉 ! but the Task becomes thee well; Thy ••… age Temper joys to do Death's Office; To 〈◊〉 the Sacred Bands of Love aſunder, And part thoſe Hands which Heav'n it ſelf had join'd. Dſs Suff. To let us waſte the little Reſt of Life Together, had been merciful. Suff. Then it had not Been done like Wincheſter. Guil Thou ſtand'ſt unmov'd; Calm Temper ſits upon thy beauteous Brow; Thy Eyes, that ſlow'd ſo faſt for Edward's Loſs, Gaze unconcern'd upon the Ruin round thee; As if thou hadſt reſolv'd to brave thy Fate, And triumph in the midſt of Deſolation. Ha! ſee it ſwells, the liquid Chryſtal riſes, It ſtarts in ſpight of thee,—but I will catch it, Nor let the Earth be wet with Dew ſo rich. L. Jane. And doſt thou think, my Guilford, 〈…〉 My Father, Mother, and ev'n thee my Husband Torn from my Side without a Pang of Sorrow? How art thou thus unknowing in my Heart! Words cannot tell thee what I feel. There is An agonizing Softneſs buſy here, That rugs the Strings, that ſtruggles to get looſe, And pour my Soul in Wailings out before thee. Guil. Give way, and let the guſhing Torrent come: Behold the Tears we bring to ſwell the Deluge, Till the Flood riſe upon the guilty World, And make the Ruin common. L. Jane. Guilford, no: The time for tender Thoughts and ſoft Endeaments Is fled away and gone; Joy has forſaken us; Our Hearts have now another Part to play; They muſt be ſteel'd with ſome uncommon Fortitude, That fearleſs we may tread the Path of Horrour; And in deſpight of Fortune and our Foes, Ev'n in the Hour of Death be more than Conquerors. Guil. Oh teach me! ſay, what Energy Divine Inſpires thy ſofter Sex and tender Years With ſuch unſhaken Courage? L. Jane Truth and Innocence; A conſcious Knowledg rooted in my Heart, That to have ſav'd my Country was my Duty. Yes, England, yes, my Country, I would ſave thee; But Heav'n forbids, Heav'n diſallows my Weakneſs, And to ſome dear ſelected Hero's Hand, Reſerves the Glory of thy great Deliverance. Lieut. My Lords, my Orders— Guil See! we muſt—muſt part L. Jane. Yet ſurely we ſhall meet again. Guil. Oh! Where? L. Jane. If not on Earth, among yon golden Stars. Where other Suns ariſe on other Earths, And happier Beings reſt in happier Seats: Where, with a Reach enlarg'd, the Soul ſhall view The great Creator's never-ceaſing Hand • our forth new Worlds to all Eternity, • nd people • he Infinity of Space. Guil 〈◊〉 wou'd I chear my Heart with Hopes like theſe; 〈…〉 Thought turns ever to the Grave, 〈◊〉 that laſt Dwelling, whither now we haſt, 〈…〉 black Shade ſhall interpoſe betwixt us, 〈…〉 from theſe longing Eyes for ever. L. Jane. Tis true, by thoſe dark Paths our Journey leads, 〈◊〉 thro the Vale of Death we paſs to Life: 〈◊〉 what is there in Death to blaſt our Hopes? ••… old the univerſal Works of Nature, ••… ere Life ſtill ſprings from Death. To us the Sun 〈◊〉 every Night, and every Morn revives. 〈◊〉 Flow'rs, which Winter's icy Hand deſtroy'd, 〈◊〉 their fair Heads, and live again in Spring. 〈◊〉 with what Hopes upon the furrow'd Plain 〈…〉 Plowman caſts the pregnant Grain; 〈…〉 a Grave awhile it lies, 〈…〉 •… ing Seaſon bids it riſe, Nature •• Pow'rs command a Birth, 〈◊〉 potent 〈◊〉 it from the teeming Earth: 〈◊〉 large Increaſe the bury'd Treaſures yield, 〈◊〉 with full Harveſt crown the plenteous Field. [Exeunt ſeverally with the Guards. End of the Fourth Act.
ACT V. SCENE I. Scene continues. Enter GARDINER, as Lord Chancellor, and the Lieuten ••• of the Tower. Servants with Lights before 'em. Lieut. GOOD Morning to your Lordſhip! you 〈◊〉 Gar. Nay, by the Rood, there are too many Sleepers; Some muſt ſtir early, or the State ſhall 〈◊〉 Did you, as yeſterday our Mandate bad, Inform your Pris'ners, Lady Jane and Guilford, They were to die this Day? Lieut. My Lord, I did. Gar. 'Tis well. But ſay, how did your Meſſage like 'em Lieut. My Lord, they met the Summons with a Temp •… That ſhew'd a ſolemn ſerious Senſe of Death, Mix'd with a noble Scorn of all its Terrors. In ſhort, they heard me with the ſelf-ſame Patience With which they ſtill have born them in their Priſon. In one Requeſt they both concur'd: Each begg'd To die before the other. Gar. That, diſpoſe As you think fitting. Lieut. The Lord Guilford only Implor'd another Boon, and urg'd it warmly; That e'er he ſuffer'd he might ſee his Wife, And take a laſt Farewel. Gar. That's not much; That Grace may be allow'd him: See you to it. How goes the Morning? Lieut. Not yet Four, my Lord. Gar. By Ten they meet their Fate. Yet one thing more, You know 'twas order'd that the Lady Jane Shou'd ſuffer here within the Tow'r. Take care No Crouds may be let in, no maudlin Gazers, To wet their Handkerchiefs, and make Report How like a Saint ſhe ended. Some fit Number, And thoſe too of our Friends, were moſt convenient: But above all, ſee that Good Guard be kept; You know the Queen is lodg'd at preſent here, Take care that no Diſturbance reach her Highneſs. And ſo good Morning, good Maſter Lieutenant. [Ex. Lieut. How 〈◊〉 ! What Light comes here? Serv. So pleaſe your Lordſhip, If I miſtake not 'tis the Earl of Pembroke. Gar. Pembroke!—'Tis he, What calls him forth thus early? • omewhat he ſeems to bring of high Import; • ome Flame uncommon kindles up his Soul, And flaſhes forth impetuous at his Eyes. Enter Pembroke, a Page with a Light before him. Good morrow, Noble Pembroke! What importunate And ſtrong Neceſſity breaks on your Slumbers, And rears your youthful Head from off your Pillow At this unwholeſom Hour; while yet the Night • ags in her latter Courſe, and with her raw And rheumy Damps infects the dusky Air? Pem. Oh Reverend Wincheſter! my beating Heart •… ults and labours with the Joy it bears. The News I bring ſhall bleſs the breaking Morn; This coming Day the Sun ſhall riſe more glorious, Than when his maiden Beams firſt gilded o'er The rich immortal Greens, the flow'ry Plains, And fragrant Bow'rs of Paradiſe new-born. Gar. What Happineſs is this? Pem. 'Tis Mercy! Mercy, The Mark of Heaven impreſs'd on Human Kind, Mercy that glads the World, deals Joy around; Mercy that ſmooths the dreadful Brow of Power, And makes Dominion light; Mercy that ſaves, Binds up the broken Heart, and heals Deſpair. Mary, our Royal Ever-gracious Miſtreſs, Has to my Services and humbleſt Prayers, Granted the Lives of Guilford and his Wife; Full, and free Pardon! Gar. Ha▪ What ſaid you? Pardon! But ſure you cannot mean it, cou'd not urge The Queen to ſuch a raſh and ill-tim'd Grace? What! ſave the Lives of thoſe who wore her My Lord! 'tis moſt unweigh'd pernicious Cou ••… And muſt not be comply'd with. Pem. Not comply'd with! And who ſhall dare to bar her Sacred Pleaſure, And ſtop the Stream of Mercy? Gar. That will I, Who wo'not ſee her gracious Diſpoſition Drawn to deſtroy her ſelf. Pem. Thy narrow Soul Knows not the godlike Glory of Forgiving; Nor can thy cold, thy ruthleſs Heart conceive How large the Pow'r, how fix'd that Empire is, Which Benefits confer on generous Minds: Goodneſs prevails upon the ſtubborn'ſt Foes, And conquers more than ever Caeſar's Sword did. Gar. Theſe are romantick, light, vain-glorious Dreams Have you conſider'd well upon the Danger? How dear to the fond Many, and how popular Theſe are whom you wou'd ſpare? Have you forgot When at the Bar, before the Seat of Judgment, This Lady Jane, this beauteous Traitreſs ſtood, W ••• what Command ſhe charm'd the whole Aſſembly? With ſilent Grief the mournful Audience ſat, Fix'd on her Face, and liſt'ning to her Pleading. Her very Judges wrung their Hands for Pity; Their old Hearts melted in 'em as ſhe ſpoke, And Tears ran down upon their ſilver Beards. Ev'n I my ſelf was mov'd, and for a moment Felt Wrath ſuſpended in my doubtful Breaſt, And queſtion'd if the Voice I heard was mortal. But 〈◊〉 her Tale was done, what loud Applauſe Like Burſts of Thunder ſhook the ſpacious Hall! At laſt, when, ſore conſtrain'd, th' unwilling Lords Pronounc'd the fatal Sentence on her Life; A Peal of Groans ran thro the crouded Court, As every Heart were broken, and the Doom, Like that which waits the World, were univerſal. Pem. And can that ſacred Form, that Angel's Voice, Which mov'd the Hearts of a rude ruthleſs Croud, Nay, mov'd ev'n thine, now ſue in vain for Pity? Gar. Alas! you look on her with Lover, Eyes: I hear and ſee thro reaſonable Organs, Where Paſſion has no Part, Come, come, my Lord, You have too little of the Stateſman in you. Pem. And you, my Lord, too little of the Churchman. Is not the ſacred Purpoſe of our Faith Peace and Good-will to Man! The hallow'd Hand, Ordain'd to bleſs, ſhou'd know no Stain of Blood. 'Tis true, I am not practis'd in your Politicks. 'Twas your pernicious Counſel led the Queen To break her Promiſe with the Men of Suffolk, To violate what in a Prince ſhould be Sacred above the reſt, her Royal Word. Gar. Yes, and I dare avow it; I advis'd her To break thro all Engagements made with Hereticks, And keep no Faith with ſuch a Miſcreant Crew. Pem. Where ſhall we ſeek for Truth, when ev'n Religion, The Prieſtly Robe and miter'd Head diſclaim it? But thus bad Men diſhonour the beſt Cauſe. I tell thee, Wincheſter, Doctrines like thine Have ſtain'd our holy Church with greater Infamy Than all your Eloquence can wipe away. Hence 'tis, that thoſe who differ from our Faith Brand us with Breach of Oaths, with Perſecution, With Tyranny o'er Conſcience, and proclaim Our ſcarlet Prelates Men that thirſt for Blood, And Chriſtian Rome more cruel than the Pagan. Gar. Nay if you rail, farewel. The Queen 〈◊〉 be Better advis'd, than thus to cheriſh Vipers, [Aſide. Whoſe mortal Stings are arm'd againſt her Life. But while I hold the Seal, no Pardon paſſes For Hereticks and Traitors. [Exit Gardiner. Pem. 'Twas unlucky To meet and croſs upon this froward Prieſt: But let me loſe the Thought on't; let me haſte, Pour my glad Tidings forth in Guilford's Boſom, And pay him back the Life his Friendſhip ſav'd. [Exit. [The Scene draws, and diſcovers the Lady Jane kneeling, as at her Devotion; a Light and a Book plac'd on a Table before her.] Enter Lieutenant of the Tower, Lord Guilford, and one of Lady Jane's Women. Lieut. Let me not preſs upon your Lordſhip further, But wait your Leiſure in the Antichamber. Guil. I will not hold you long. [Exit. Lieutenant. Wom. Softly, my Lord! For yet behold ſhe kneels. Before the Night Had reach'd her middle Space, ſhe left her Bed, And with a pleaſing ſober Cheerfulneſs, As for her Funeral, array'd her ſelf 〈◊〉 thoſeſad ſolemn Weeds. Since then, her Knee 〈◊〉 known that Poſture only, and her Eye, 〈…〉 upon the ſacred Page before her, 〈…〉 with her riſing Hopes to Heaven. 〈◊〉 See! with what Zeal thoſe holy Hands are rear'd! Mark her Vermilion Lip with Fervour trembling! Her ſpotleſs Boſom ſwells with ſacred Ardour, And burns with Extaſy and ſtrong Devotion. Her Supplication ſweet, her faithful Vows F • agrant and pure, and grateful to high Heaven, Like incenſe from the golden Cenſor riſe: Or bleſſed Angels miniſter unſeen, Catch the ſoft Sounds, and with alternate Office Spread their Ambroſial Wings, then mount with Joy, And waft 'em upwards to the Throne of Grace. But ſhe has ended, and comes forward. [Lady Jane riſes, and comes towards the Front of the Stage. L. Jane. Ha! Art thou my Guilford! Wherefore doſt thou come To break the ſettled Quiet of my Soul? I meant to part without another Pang, And lay my weary Head down full of Peace. Guil. Forgive the Fondneſs of my longing Soul, That melts with Tenderneſs, and leans towards thee; Tho the imperious dreadful Voice of Fate Summon her hence, and warn her from the World. But if to ſee thy Guilford, give thee Pain, Wou'd I had dy'd, and never more beheld thee: Tho my lamenting diſcontented Ghoſt Had wander'd forth unbleſt by thoſe dear Eyes, And wail'd thy Loſs in Death's eternal Shades. L. Jane. My Heart had ended ev'ry earthly Care, 〈…〉 up its Prayers for thee and England, And fix'd its Hope upon a Rock unfailing; While all the little Bus'neſs that remain'd, Was but to paſs the Forms of Death with Conſtancy, And leave a Life become indifferent to me: But thou haſt waken'd other Thoughts within me: Thy Sight, my deareſt Husband and my Lord, Strikes on the tender Strings of Love and Nature; My vanquiſh'd Paſſions riſe again, and tell me 'Tis more, far more than Death to part from thee. Enter Pembroke. Pem. Oh let me fly! bear me, thou ſwift Impatience, And lodge me in my faithful Guilford's Arms; [Embracing. That I may ſnatch him from the greedy Grave, That I may warm his gentle Heart with Joy, And talk to him of Life, of Life and Pardon. Guil. What means my deareſt Pembroke? Pem. Oh! my Speech Is choak'd with Words that croud to tell my Tidings: But I have ſav'd thee, and—Oh Joy unutterable! The Queen, my gracious, my forgiving Miſtreſs, Has given not only thee to my Requeſt, But ſhe, ſhe too in whom alone thou liv'ſt, The Partner of thy Heart, thy Love is ſafe. Guil. Millions of Bleſſings wait her!—Has ſhe—tell me! Oh has ſhe ſpar'd my Wife? Pem. Both, both are pardon'd. But haſte, and do thou lead me to thy Saint, That I may caſt my ſelf beneath her Feet, And beg her to accept this poor Amends For all I've done againſt her—Thou fair Excellence, [Kneeling. Can'ſt thou forgive the hoſtile Hand that arm'd Againſt thy Cauſe, and robb'd thee of a Crown? L. Jane. Oh riſe, my Lord, and let me take your Poſture! Life and the World were hardly worth my Care; But you have reconcil'd me to 'em both. Then let me pay my Gratitude, and for This free, this noble unexpected Mercy, Thus low I bow to Heaven, the Queen, and You. Pem. To me! Forbid it Goodneſs! If I live, Somewhat I will do ſhall deſerve your Thanks; All Diſcord and Remembrance of Offence Shall be clean blotted out, and for your Freedom My ſelf have underta'en to be your Caution. Hear me, you Saints, and aid my pious Purpoſe; Theſe that deſerve ſo much, this wondrous Pair, Let theſe be happy, ev'ry Joy attend 'em; A Fruitful Bed, a Chain of Love unbroken, A good Old Age, to ſee their Childrens Children, A holy Death, and everlaſting Memory: While I reſign to them my Share of Happineſs; Contented ſtill to want what they enjoy, And ſingly to be wretched. Enter Lieutenant of the Tower. Lieut. The Lord Chancellor Is come with Orders from the Queen. Enter Gardiner, and Attendants. Pem. Ha! Wincheſter! Gar. The Queen, whoſe Days be many, By me confirms her firſt accorded Grace: But as the pious Princeſs means her Mercy Shou'd reach e'en to the Soul as well as Body, By me ſhe ſignifies her Royal Pleaſure, That thou, Lord Guilford, and the Lady Jane, Do inſtantly renounce, abjure your Hereſy, And yield Obedience to the See of Rome. L. Jane. What, turn Apoſtate! Guil. Ha! Forgo my Faith! Gar. This one Condition only ſeals your Pardon. But if thro Pride of Heart and ſtubborn Obſtina •… With wilful Hands you puſh the Bleſſing from you, And ſhut your Eyes againſt ſuch manifeſt Light Know ye, your former Sentence ſtands confirm'd. And you muſt die to-day. Pem. 'Tis • alſe as Hell: The Mercy of the Queen was free and full. Think'ſt thou that Princes merchandize their Graces, As Roman Prieſts their Pardons? Do they barter, Skrew up like you the Buyer to a Price, And doubly ſell what was deſign'd a Gift? Gar. My Lord, this Language ill beſeems your Nobleneſs, Nor come I here to bandy Words with Madmen Behold the Royal Signet of the Queen, Which amply ſpeaks her Meaning. You, the Pri • 'ners, Have heard at large its Purport, and muſt inſtantly Reſolve upon the Choice of Life or Death. Pem. Curſe on—But wherefore do I loiter here? I'll to the Queen this moment, and there know What 'tis this miſchief-making Prieſt intends. [Exit. Gar. Your Wiſdom points you out a proper Courſe. A Word with you, Lieutenant. [Talks with Lieut. 〈◊〉 Guil. Muſt we part then? Where are thoſe Hopes that flatter'd us but now? Thoſe Joys, that like the Spring with all its Flowers, Pour'd out their Pleaſures ev'ry where around us? In one poor Minute gone, at once they wither'd. And left their Place all deſolate behind 'em. L. Jane. Such is this fooliſh World, and ſuch the Certa ••… Of all the boaſted Bleſſings it beſtows: Then, Guilford, let as have no more to do with it: Think only how to leave it as we ought, But truſt no more, and be deceiv'd no more. Guil. Yes, I will copy thy Divine Example, And tread the Paths are pointed out by thee: By thee inſtructed, to the fatal Block I bend my Head with Joy, and think it Happineſs To give my Life a Ranſom for my Faith. From thee thou Angel of my Heart, I learn That greateſt, hardeſt Task, to part with thee. L. Jane. Oh gloriouſly reſolv'd! Heaven is my Witneſs, My Hea • t rejoices in thee more ev'n now, 〈…〉 ••… lant as thou art in Death, thus Faithful, 〈…〉 the holy Prieſt firſt join'd our Hands, And 〈◊〉 the ſacred Knot of Bridal Love. Gar The Day wears faſt; Lord Guilford, have you thought? Will you lay hold on Life? Guil ••… at are the Terms? Gar. Death or the Maſs attend you. Guil 'Tis determin'd; Lead to the Scaffold Gar. 〈◊〉 him to his Fate. Guil. Oh let me fold thee once more in my Arms, Thou •… eſt Treaſure of my Heart, and print A dying Husband's Kiſs upon thy Lip! Shall we not live again, ev'n in theſe Forms? Shall I not gaze upon thee with theſe Eyes? L. Jane. O wherefore doſt thou ſooth me with thy Softneſs? Why doſt thou wind thy ſelf about my Heart, And make this Separation painful to us? Here break we off at once; and let us now, Forge 〈◊〉 Ceremony, like two Friends That 〈◊〉 a little Bus'neſs to be done, Take a ſhort Leave, and haſte to meet again. Guil. Reſt on that Hope, my Soul—my Wife— L Jane. No more. Guil. My Sight hangs on thee—Oh ſupport me, Heav'n, In this laſt Pang—and let us meet in Bliſs. [Guilford is led off by the Guards. L. Jane. Can Nature bear this Stroke?— Wom. Alas! ſhe faints— [Supporting L. Jane. Wou't thou fail now!—the killing Stroke is paſt, And all the Bitterneſs of Death is over. Gar. Here let the dreadful Hand of Vengeance ſtay: Have pity on your Youth and blooming Beauty; Caſt not away the Good which Heaven beſtows; Time may have many Years in ſtore for you, All crown'd with fair Proſperity: Your Husband Has periſh'd in Perverſeneſs. L. Jane. Ceaſe, thou Raven; Nor violate with thy profaner Malice My bleeding Guilford's Ghoſt—'tis gone, 'tis flown; But lingers on the wing, and waits for me. [The Scene draws, and diſcovers a Scaffold hung with Bl ••… , Executioner and Guards.] And ſee my Journey's End! 1 Wom. My deareſt Lady. [Weeping. 2 Wom. Oh Miſery! L. Jane. Forbear, my gentle Maids, Nor wound my Peace with fruitleſs Lamentations: The good and gracious Hand of Providence Shall raiſe you better Friends than I have been. 1 Wom. Oh never! never!— L. Jane. Help to diſarray, And fit me for the Block: Do this laſt Service, And do it chearfully. Now you will ſee Your poor unhappy Miſtreſs ſleep in Peace, And ceaſe from all her Sorrows. Theſe few T ••• les, The Pledges of a dying Miſtreſs' Love, Receive and ſhare among you. Thou, Maria, To 1 Wo • Haſt been my old, my very faithful Servant; In dear Remembrance of thy Love, I leave thee This Book, the Law of Everlaſting Truth: Make it thy Treaſure ſtill, 'twas my Support When all Help elſe forſook me. Gar. Will you yet Repent, be wiſe; and ſave your precious Life? L. Jane. Oh Wincheſter! has Learning taught thee that, To 〈◊〉 Truth for Life? Gar. Miſtaken Folly! You toil and travail for your own Perdition, And die for damned Errors. L. Jane. Who judge rightly, And who perſiſt in Error, will be known, Then, when we meet again. Once more farewel; [To her Wom. Goodne •… be • ver with you. When I'm dead, Intreat they do no rude diſhoneſt Wrong To my cold headleſs Corſe; but ſee it ſhrouded, And decent laid in Earth. Gar. Won't thou then die? Thy Blood be on thy Head. L. Jane. My Blood be where it falls, let the Earth hide it, And may it never riſe, or call for Vengeance: 〈◊〉 that it were the laſt ſhall fall a Victim To Zeal's inhuman Wrath! Thou gracious Heaven, Hear and defend at length thy ſuff'ring People. Raiſe up a Monarch of the Royal Blood, Grave, Pious, Equitable, Wiſe, and Good: In thy due Seaſon let the Hero come, To ſave thy Altars from the Rage of Rome: Long let him reign, to bleſs the reſcu'd Land, And deal out Juſtice with a righteous Hand. And when he fails, Oh may he leave a Son, With equal Vertues to adorn his Throne; 〈…〉 Bleſſing to convey, And guard 〈◊〉 Faith for which I die to-day. [Lady Jane goes up to the Scaffold, the Scene cloſes.] Enter Pembroke. Pem. 〈…〉 Horror! blaſted be the Hand That ſtruck my Guilford! Oh! his bleeding Trunk Shall live in theſe diſtracted Eyes for ever. Curſe on thy fatal Arts, thy cruel Counſels! [To Gardiner The Queen is deaf and pitileſs as thou art. Gar. The juſt Reward of Hereſy and Treaſon Is fal'n upon 'em both for their vain Obſtinacy, Untimely Death with Infamy on Earth, And everlaſting Puniſhment hereafter. Pem. And canſt thou tell? Who gave thee to explore The Secret Purpoſes of Heaven, or taught thee To ſet a Bound to Mercy unconfin'd? But know, thou proud perverſly-judging Wincheſter, Howe'er your hard imperious Cenſures doom, And portion out our Lot in Worlds to come; Thoſe, who with honeſt Hearts purſue the Right, And follow faithfully Truth's Sacred Light, Tho ſuffering here, ſhall from their Sorrows ceaſe, Reſt with the Saints, and dwell in endleſs Peace. [Exeunt Om •…
FINIS.
EPILOGUE: Spoken by Mrs. PORTER. THE Palms of Virtue Heroes oft have worn, Thoſe Wreaths, to-night, a Female Brow adorn. The De •… rin'd Salar, unfortunately Brave, 〈…〉 thoſe Altars which ſhe ſtrove to ſave. 〈◊〉 ſhe dar'd to prop the Juſter Side, 〈◊〉 greatly with her adverſe Fate comply'd, 〈…〉 that Heav'n cou'd ask, Reſign'd and Dy'd. 〈…〉 the Land for which ſhe wiſh'd to Live, And gain'd that Liberty ſhe could not give. Oh! Happy People! of this Fav'rite Iſle, On whom ſo many better Angels ſmile. For you, kind Heav'n new Bleſſings ſtill ſupplies, 〈◊〉 other Saints and other Guardians riſe. For you the Faireſt of her Sex is come, Adopts our Britain, and forgets her Home. For Truth and you, the Heroine declines Auſtria's Proud Eagles and the Indian Mines. What Senſe of ſuch a Bounty can be ſhown! But Heav'n muſt make the vaſt Reward its own, And Stars ſhall join to form her future Crown. Your Gratitude with eaſe may be expreſs'd; Strive but to be, what ſhe wou'd make you, Bleſs'd. Let no vile Faction vex the vulgar Ear With fond Surmiſe, and falſe affected Fear: Confirm but to your ſelves the given Good, 'Tis all She asks, for all She has beſtow'd. Such was our great Example ſhown to-day, And 〈…〉 Thanks our Author's Pains repay. If 〈…〉 Scenes, to guard your Faith you learn, If for your Laws to ſhew a juſt Concern, If you are taught to dread a Popiſh Reign, Our Beauteous Patriot has not dy'd in vain.
A PROLOGUE to Lady JANE GRAY, ſent by an Unknown Hand. WHEN waking Terrors rouze the guilty Breaſt, And ſatal Viſions break the Murd'rer's Reſt; When Vengeance does Ambition's Fate decree, And Tyrants bleed, to ſet whole Nations free; Tho the Muſe ſaddens each diſtreſſed Scene, Unmov'd is ev'ry Breaſt, and ev'ry Fate ſerene; The mournful Lines no tender Heart ſubdue, Compaſſion is to ſuff'ring Goodneſs due. The Poet your Attention begs once more, T' atone for Characters here drawn before: No Royal Miſtreſs ſighs through ev'ry Page, And breathes her dying Sorrows on the Stage: No lovely Fair by ſoft Perſuaſion won, Lays down the Load of Life, when Honour's gone. Nobly to bear the Changes of our State, To ſtand unmov'd againſt the Storms of Fate, A brave Contempt of Life, and Grandeur loſt; Such glorious Toils a Female Name can boaſt. Our Author draws not Beauty's heavenly Smile, T' invite our Wiſhes, and our Hearts beguile. No ſoft Enchantments languiſh in her Eye, No Bloſſoms ſade, nor ſick'ning Roſes die: A nobler Paſſion ev'ry Breaſt muſt move, Than youthful Raptures, or the Joys of Love. A Mind unchang'd, ſuperiour to a Crown, Bravely defies the angry Tyrant's Frown; The ſame, if Fortune ſinks, or mounts on high, Or if the World's extended Ruins lie: With gen'rous Scorn ſhe lays the Scepter down, Great Souls ſhine brighteſt, by Misfortunes ſhown: With patient Courage ſhe ſuſtains the Blow, And triumphs o'er Variety of Woe. Through ev'ry Scene the ſad Diſtreſs is new; How well feign'd Life does repreſent the true! Unhappy Age! who views the bloody Stain, But muſt with Tears record Maria's Reign? When Zeal, by Doctrine flatter'd lawleſs Will, Inſtructed by Religion's Voice to kill. Ye Britiſh Fair! lament in ſilent Woe, Let ev'ry Eye with tender Pity flow: The lovely Form through falling Drops will ſeem Like flou'ry Shadows on the ſilver Stream. Thus beauty, Heaven's ſweet Ornament, ſhall prove Enrich'd by Virtue, as ador'd by Love. Forget your Charms, fond Woman's dear Delight, The Fops will languiſh here another Night. No Conqueſt from diſſembline Smiles we fear, She only kills, who wounds us with a Tear.