University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

KING EDWARD, CLARENCE, SUFFOLK, BUCKINGHAM, PEMBROKE, WARWICK.
EDWARD.
Thrice welcome, noble Warwick,
Welcome to all!

[to Clarence, Pembroke, &c.
SUFFOLK.
You've had, my lord, I fear,
An arduous task, which few cou'd execute.
But Warwick, in the council and the field,
A like distinguish'd, and a like successful.

EDWARD.
What says our cousin France?

WARWICK.
By me, my liege,
He greets you well, and hopes in closer ties
United soon to wear a dearer name.
At length, thank heav'n! the iron gates of war
Are clos'd, and peace displays her silken banners
O'er the contending nations, ev'ry doubt
Is now remov'd, and confidence establish'd,
I hope, to last for ages.

EDWARD.
Peace, my lord,
Is ever welcome; 'tis the gift of heav'n,
The nurse of science, art's fair patroness,
And merit's best protector; but if France
Wou'd chain us down to ignominious terms,
Cramp our free commerce, and infringe the rights
Of our liege subjects, England may repent
Too late her rash credulity, and peace
With all her blessings may be bought too dear.

WARWICK.
The shame wou'd then be his, who made the purchase.
If any doubt my faith, my honest zeal
For thee and for my country, let him speak,
And I will answer: punish me, just heav'n,
If in the task I have consulted ought
But England's honour, and my sov'reign's glory!

EDWARD.
Mistake me not, good Warwick, well I know
Thy spotless truth, thy honour, and thy love;
But glory has no further charms for me:
Rais'd by thy pow'rful aid to England's throne,
I ask no more:—already I am great
As fame and fortune with their smiles can make me,
And all I wish for now is—to be happy.

WARWICK.
That too my liege, hath been thy Warwick's care:
Happy thou shalt be if the fairest form
That ever caught a gazing lover's eye,
Join'd to the sweetest most engaging virtues
Can make thee so:—Bona accepts with joy
Thy proffer'd hand: she is indeed a gem
Fit to adorn the brightest crown: to see
Is to admire her; trust me, England's self
The seat of beauty, and the throne of love,
Boasts not a fairer.

EDWARD.
Beauty, good my lord,
Is all ideal, 'tis the wayward child
Of fancy, shifting with the changeful wind
Of fond opinion; what to you appears
The model of perfection, may disgust
My strange capricious taste.

WARWICK.
Such charms would fix
Inconstancy itself:—her winning virtues,
Ev'n if her beauty fail'd, would soon subdue
The rebel heart, and you wou'd learn to love her.

EDWARD.
Is passion to be learn'd then? woud'st thou make
A science of affection, guide the heart,
And teach it where to fix? impossible!
'Tis strange philosophy.
(Rises and comes forward.)
My lord, of Warwick,
Your zeal in England's, and in Edward's cause
Merits our thanks; but for th'intended marriage
With France's daughter—it may never be.

WARWICK.
Not be! it must: your sacred word is pass'd,
And cannot be recall'd: but three days since
I sign'd the contract, and my honour's pledg'd
For the performance: heav'n's! whilst fickle France
Is branded 'midst the nations of the earth,
For breach of public faith, shall we, my liege,
Practise ourselves the vices we condemn,
Pass o'er a rival nation's ev'ry virtue,
And imitate their perfidy alone?

EDWARD.
You'll pardon me, my lord, I thought it part
Of a king's pow'r to have a will, to see
With his own eyes, and in life's little feast,
To cater for himself; but 'tis, it seems,
A privilege his servants can refuse him.

WARWICK.
And so they ought—the king, who cannot conquer
His private int'rest for the public welfare,
Knows not his duty.

EDWARD.
Kings, my lord, are born
With passions, feelings, hearts—like other men;
Nor see I yet, why Edward's happiness
Must fall a sacrifice to Warwick's honour.

WARWICK.
My honour, Sir, is your's; my cause your own:
Who sent me, and whose image did I bear,
The image of a great and glorious king,
Or of a weak and wav'ring boy?—henceforth,
Choose from the herd of fawning sycophants,
Some needy slave for your mock ambassys,
To do your work, and stain the name of England
With foul reproach—Edward, I blush for thee,
And for my country; from this hour, expect
From injur'd France contempt, with deep resentment
For broken faith, and enmity eternal.

EDWARD.
Eternal be it then; for, as I prize
My inward peace, beyond the pomp of state,
And all the tinsel glare of fond ambition,
I will not wed her. Gracious heav'n! what am I?
The meanest peasant in my realm may chuse
His rustic bride, and share with her the sweets
Of mutual friendship and domestic bliss;
Why shou'd my happier subjects then deny me
The common rights, the privilege of nature,
And in a land of freedom thus conspire
To make their king the only slave amongst 'em?

WARWICK.
The worst of slaves is he whom passion rules,
Uncheck'd by reason and the pow'rful voice
Of friendship, which, I fear, is heard no more
By thoughtless Edward—'tis the curse of kings
To be surrounded by a venal herd
Of flatterers, that sooth his darling vices,
And rob their master of his subjects love.
Nay, frown not, Sirs, supported as ye are,
I fear you not—which of this noble train,
These well-beloved counsellors and friends,
Assembled here to witness my disgrace,
Have urg'd to this base unmanly falsehood?
Shame on you all! to stain the spotless mind
Of uncorrupted youth, undo the work
Of Warwick's friendly hand, and give him back
A sov'reign so unlike the noble Edward.

SUFFOLK.
My lord, we thank you for the kind suggestion
Howe'er ill-founded, and when next we meet,
To give our voice in ought that may concern
The public weal, no doubt shall ask your leave
E'er we proceed.

PEMBROKE.
My lord of Suffolk, speak
But for yourself; Warwick hath too much cause
To be offended: in my poor opinion,
Whate'er you courtiers think, the best support
Of England's throne are equity and truth;
Nor will I hold that man my sov'reign's friend,
Who shall exhort him to forsake his word,
And play the hypocrite: what tye shall bind
The subject to obedience, when his king,
Bankrupt in honour gives the royal sanction
To perfidy and falshood?

BUCKINGHAM.
It becomes
But ill the earl of Pembroke—

EDWARD.
Good my lords—
Let us have no dissentions here; we met
For other purposes—some few days hence
We shall expect your counsel in affairs
Of moment—for the present urge no further
This matter—fare ye well.
[The council break up and disperse.
EDWARD comes up to Warwick.
Lord Warwick, keep
In narrower bounds, that proud impetuous temper;
It may be fatal: there are private reasons—
When time befits we shall impart them to you,
Mean-while—if you have friendship, love, or duty,
No more of Bona—I'm determin'd.