University of Virginia Library

SCENE. I.

Scene continues.
Enter the Duke of Northumberland, and the Duke of Suffolk.
Nor.
Yet then be chear'd my Heart amidst 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,
Beneath 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:
In ev'ry innocent Delight they shar'd,
They sung and danc'd, and sat and walk'd together.
Nay, in the graver Business of his Youth,
When Books and Learning call'd him from his Sports,
Ev'n there the princely Maid was his Companion.
She left the shining Court to share his Toil,
To turn with him the grave Historians Page,
And taste the Rapture of the Poet's Song;
And search the Latin and the Grecian Stores,
And 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!

Ds. 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
He seem'd a little chear'd, just as you enter'd.—

L. J. Gray.
As I approach'd to kneel and pay my Duty,
He rais'd his feeble Eyes, and faintly smiling,
Are you then come? he cry'd. I only liv'd,
To bid farewel to thee my gentle Cousin,
To speak a few short Words to thee and dye.
With that he prest my Hand, and Oh;—he said,
When I am gone do thou be good to England;
Keep to that Faith in which we both were bred,
And to the End be constant. More I wou'd,
But cannot,—there his falt'ring Spirits fail'd,
And 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 Duty
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 Suffolk
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 Guilford
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 Suffolk and Duke of Northumberland
Guil.
Wo't thou not spare a Moment from thy Sorrow
And bid these bubbling Streams forbear to flow?
Wo't thou not give one interval to Joy,
One little Pause while humbly I unfold
The happiest Tale my Tongue was ever blest with?

L. J. Gray.
My Heart is cold within me, ev'ry Sense,
Is dead to Joy, but I will hear thee, Guilford,
Nay, I must hear thee, such is her Command,
Whom early Duty taught me still t'obey.
But oh! forgive me if to all thy Story,
Tho' Eloquence divine attend thy speaking,
Tho' ev'ry Muse and ev'ry Grace do crown thee,
Forgive me if I cannot better answer,
Than weeping—thus—and thus—.

Guil.
If I offend thee,
Let me be dumb for ever, let not Life,
Inform these breathing Organs of my Voice,
If any Sound from me disturb thy Quiet.
What is my Peace or Happiness to thine?
No, tho' our noble Parents had decreed,
And urg'd high Reasons which import the State,
This Night to give thee to my faithful Arms,
My fairest Bride, my only earthly Bliss—

L. J. Gray.
How Guilford? on this Night?

Guil.
This happy Night.
Yet if thou art resolv'd to cross my Fate,
If this my utmost Wish shall give thee Pain,
Now rather let the Stroke of Death fall on me,
And stretch me out a lifeless Coarse before thee,
Let me be swept away with Things forgotten,
Be huddl'd up in some obscure blind Grave,
E'er thou shoud'st say my Love has made thee wretched,
Or drop one single Tear for Guilford's Sake.

L. J. Gray.
Alas! I have too much of Death already,
And want not thine to furnish out new Horror.
Oh! dreadful Thought! If thou wert dead indeed,
What Hope were left me then! Yes I will own,
Spite of the Blush that burns my Maiden Cheek,
My 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 Sorrow
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, the 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;
I'll summon all my Reason and my Duty,
To sooth 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 away
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 away 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,
And crown his Love.—

Pem.
Say not suppose, 'tis done.
Seek not for vain Excuse nor soft'ning Words,
Thou hast prevaricated with thy Friend,
Thy under-hand Contrivances undone me;
And while my open Nature trusted in thee,
Thou hast step'd in between me and my Hopes,
And ravish'd from me all my Soul held dear.
Thou 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.
There was but this which I cou'd ne'er forgive.
My Soul is up in Arms, my injur'd Honour,
Impatient of the Wrong, calls for Revenge;
And tho' I lov'd thee—fondly—

Guil.
Hear me yet,
And Pembrook shall acquit me to himself.
Hear while I tell how Fortune dealt between us,
And gave the yielding Beauty to my Arms.—

Pem.
What hear it! stand and listen to thy Triumph!
Thou think'st me tame indeed. No, hold I charge thee,
Lest I forget that ever we were Friends,
Lest in the Rage of disappointed Love,
I rush at once and tear thee for thy Falshood.

Guil.
Thou warn'st me well; and I were rash as thou art,
To trust the secret Sum of all my Happiness,
With one not Master of himself. Farewel.

[Going.
Pem.
Ha! art thou going? Think not thus to part,
Or 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 Sword
I'll stab the lurking Treason in thy Heart.

Guil.
Ha! Stay thee there; nor let thy frantick Hand,
[stopping him
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 Band.

Guil.
That as you please—beside this Place is sacred,
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 long.
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;
And when we meet again, may swift Destruction,
Rid me of thee, or rid me of my self.
[Exit Pembrook.

Guil.
The Fate I ever fear'd is fall'n upon me;
And long ago my boding Heart divin'd
Breach like this from his ungovern'd Rage.
Oh, Pembroke! thou hast done me much Injustice,
For I have born thee true unfeign'd Affection.
Tis past and thou art lost to me for ever.
Love is or ought to be our greatest Bliss;
Since ev'ry other Joy how dear soever,
Gives way to that, and we leave all for Love.
At the Imperious Tyrant's lordly Call,
In Spite of Reason and Restraint we come,
Leave Kindred, Parents, and our native Home.
The trembling Maid, with all her Fears, he charms,
And pulls her from her weeping Mother's Arms.
He laughs at all our Leagues, and in proud Scorn,
Commands the Bands of Friendship to be torn:
Disdains a Partner shou'd partake his Throne,
But reigns unbounded, lawless, and alone.

[Exit.