University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Northumberland
solus.
O curst Ambition! fatal to Mankind;
Banefull'st of all the Passions of the Mind!
Too big for the Foundation, thou must fall,
And coveting too much, dost hazard all.
Nameless and dead, Posterity and thee,
The Branches perish'd with the fatal Tree.
No Age to come shall speak of Dudley's Name,
Recount his Glories, or his Childrens Fame;
The Seeds that I had Sown to Heav'n to shoot,
Storm'd in a Night, and shaken with the Root:
Yet the Queen's pious to a Miracle,
Will spare thy Life to save a Soul from Hell.
Bend supple Conscience, when Life's to be gain'd,
That may be certain, what's hereafter feign'd;
We know not what's on th'other side the Skreen,
Behind yon dreadful Curtain to be seen.
Turn Prodigal, and let the Husks alone,
Rome's an Indulgent Mother to her Son.

Enter Gardner.
Gard.
I come, my Lord, tho' loth, at your Request.
To see a Noble Man in Misery,
Northumberland that was so great, in Chains,
Looks like Malitious Triumph in Revenge,
Of the ill Offices I had from him.

North.
For which, my Lord, I kneel to be forgiv'n,
And bend with Sorrow lower than my Fortune;
The frailties of Mankind, wise Angels hide.
Man is but Man, and Heav'ns best Grace is Pardon;
None can accuse me, nor defend me better.
My Lord of Winchester had rather be
My Confessor, than Witness to Arraign me.

Gard.
Rise full of Pardon from above, and me,
If there be ought within the Miters Power,
Or my small Management of State to grant you,
With Charity and Love, profest and real,
With vilest Malice thrown behind my back,
And worst of Injuries forgot; I'll do't.

North.
I wou'd forsake this Step-Mother to Truth,
This wrong Religion of my own Adoption,
And fain wou'd turn to the true Womb that bore me;
The Natural Parent of my long lost Faith,
But want a Guide, like you, to shew the way.

Gard.
What said you? are you real, Noble Duke!
The Vault of Heav'n shall ring with Hallalujahs,
And Rome for this, Eternal Anthems sing,
That you, my Lord, forsake your fatal Error.

North.
By all the Host of Angels that in Choirs
Resound the Praise of one repenting Sinner,
I thirst, I burn, I kneel to be receiv'd.
Into the Bosom of Rome's Faith again.

Gard.
By what strange Miracle wert thou, my Son,
Snatch'd from that stubborn Anvile of Religion
(Which forg'd so many harden'd Hereticks)
Into the tender mouldings of the Church?

North.
Tho' still convinc'd of Rome's Immortal Power,
Charm'd with the dazling hopes of being great,
Feigning what pleas'd the Headstrong Harry best,
I, for so mean a price as Favour, sold
My dearest Faith, deceiv'd young Edward too;
And knowing Jane in Luther's Heresie,
To be more strongly rooted, than to change,
Ambitious to intail the Crown on Gilford,
Still own'd my self a zealous Protestant.
But since, the Prime of Saints that's now in Heav'n,
Did once, like me, deny his Lord on Earth,
May not I hope, and you pronounce my Pardon?

Gard.
My Lord, my welcome Son, let me embrace you,
But are you griev'd for this Apostacy?
A real Catholick now, and do believe
There is no other Faith on Earth to save you,
And are resolv'd to die in that Opinion?

North.
I am, and by my Vows and Tears confirm it.

Gard.
O then let me adopt thee.

North.
Best of Fathers!
Mine gave me Birth, and launch'd me to the World,
He lent this Frame, but you an Arm to steer it.
O Pilate of the Soul! blest Guide to Heav'n!
That with the softest and the mildest Function,
Brings Man to Glory through a Milky way.

Gard.
Enough.

North.
Cou'd I but win my Gilford too in death,
To Seal the Roman Faith with Dudley's Blood,
Then had I all that I can wish.

Gard.
O Miracle!
That were a Triumph worthy of the Cause.
Mark me, O gallant Duke.
Bring but young Gilford home to deck Rome's Lawrels,
And that proud Champion of their Worship, Jane;
To make thee happy, and reward thee greatly,
The Powers of either World shall be at strife,
I'll give thee Heav'n, the Queen shall grant thee Life.

North.
Shall they have Mercy too?

Gard.
Yes, all shall live.
I'll instantly about it to the Queen,
Who shall send Orders to conduct you to 'em.
Enter Dutchess of Suffolk.
Behold fall'n Man, the Slaughter of Ambition.
Pride like a Vulture, tears the lovely Quarry—
This Woman once an Angel in her Sphere,
Has now within her Breast a greater Hell,
Than those damn'd Spirits that for her vice so fell.
Why is this Fury let abroad?

Dutch.
I come to seek a Virtuous Priest like thee;
And that I may be sure, I hunt by Night,
Grope in the Dark.

Gard.
And why by Night?

Dutch.
O there's a Reason for it.
For mind me, Sirs, by Day they are as thick
As Whales in Forrests, or as Stars at Noon,
So thick they cross the Scent—
Besides by Day we know not one from t'other,
They all look grave and wise like Thee, and Godly;
But then at Midnight, mark me, if I find
(As 'tis a chance, and very rare, my Lords)
One on his knees a Fasting and a Praying,
Then I let loose my Guard of Furies on him,
That worry him to Death—I'll have no Praying
Amongst your Tribe at all, but in the Pulpit,
Nor Fasting, but at Meals—Ha! what does ail me!

Gard.
A little sick of Pride, a Fit o'th' Mother.

Dutch.
Ha! am I troubled then with thy Disease?
I'll turn Physician first, and kill more Bodies,
Than thou hast made despair, and murder'd Souls.
Say, Reverend Hypocrites, wilt thou teach me?

Gard.
'Tis like she'd fall to Physick after eating.

Dutch.
Ha! now you talk of eating, rarely thought.
Pray, will your Lordship sup with me to Night?

Gard.
Why?

Dutch.
I invite you to a Dish you love.

Gard.
What is't?

Dutch.
It is a fine plump Diocess,
Larded with six fat Parsonages at least,
Besides two Bishopricks of Hereticks,
Sticking like Gizards to it in Comendam.

Gard.
Malice and Pride turns Witchcraft straight, or Madness.
This sickness of the Mind ill bodes the Body.
You are not well, Repent, and think of dying.

Dutch.
I will not think of Death this twenty
I am non fifty yet, and find my self
As gay and young as any of my Daughters.
Look I not killing, fit to grace the Park?
[Looks in her Pocket-Glass.
I'll take the Air to Night—My Charriot ready.
Hear me, you Slaves, be sure I have my Coach.
Which the Queen said was finer than her own.
I'll have eight Horses too, to draw me thither;
Six is a sneaking number—Fy upon it;
My Chaplain's Wife, that was my Chamber Maid,
Has six, and has not dub'd her Husband yet a Bishop.

Gard.
How her Brain soars, and her Ambition praunces!
The Asp has stung like Tarrantala.

Dutch.
So, is my Charriot come? My Lords, farewell.
Wou'd you have any Service where I'm going?

Gard.
Where's that?

Dutch.
I'll tell you in your Ear—to Hell, my Lord:
Resolve to go and bear me company:
My Flanders Mares are somewhat of the heaviest;
But if you please, I'll go your Lordships pace,
And lay fresh Horses to be there betimes.
Will you, my Lord? Come, take me by the hand:
[To North.
Hang creeping in a Sledge, 'tis base and vile.
You that was such a high and towring Falcon,
And flew at nought but Crowns—Dost see that Churchman?
The Devil and he are drawing Cuts to have thee.
I pity thy Estate—Priest I defie thee.

Gard.
How curst is Madness when it turns Prophane!

Dutch.
O what a gaudy Kingdom is this Hell!
Courts made of burning Brass, and dropping Gold,
Gallants a riding in hot Emrold Coaches,
Shining like Meteors in the fiery Region,
With Horses that have Flames instead of Wings,
Ladies that scorching Planets have for eyes,
Freckl'd all o'er with Carbuncles and Rubies,
That glow like Stars, and crackle with the heat.
There sumptuous Bagnio's carv'd of Rocky Ice,
Here Ponds of liquid Crystal made to bathe in,
That's colder in degree than Hell is hot.
Who wou'd not be a Knave to be so tortur'd!

North.
Alas, my Lord! she's pitiful.

Dutch.
Ha! what a gallant smell of Roman, French,
Italian Essences, and rich Perfumes here are!
It overcomes me, and corrects the steem
Of Hell—Ha! ha! ha!

Gard.
What does she see now?

Dutch.
My Lord Northumberland, does your Grace see 'em?

North.
See whom?

Dutch.
Empson and Dudley gaping wide as Famine;
And two stout Fiends with Buckets full of Ore
Pouring the melted Mass into their Mouths,
Which they disgorge into a Leathern Sack,
That Richmond laughing out aloud, does hold
Betwixt 'em—Ha! ha! ha!

[Exeunt.
Gilford and Jane lying on the Floor asleep. A Basket of Flowers and a Garland. Gilford wakes.
Gilf.
Who calls! Methought I heard 'em cry awake,
The Ax is ready, and the Scaffold fix'd;
For an Immortal Diadem prepare.
The swarming Streets with gazing Crowds are fill'd,
Turrets and Windows, like a Day of Triumph,
With Tissue hung, and cruel Beauties throng'd,
To see us mount the dismal Throne of Death.
Arise, my Soul's couragious Guard, my Jane!
Wake, wake, my Love, thy fatal hour's at hand—
Ha! how she sleeps!
Such were her looks when in my Arms she slep't,
The happy Morning to our Marriage-Night,
Thus heav'd her panting Breasts, and thus she smil'd.
The bubbling Joys born from our eager Kisses,
Like wanton Spirits dancing on her Lips.
O Virtue most Divine! O form Angellick!
How rich a paint is Innocence to Beauty!
How calm they sleep whom Pious Thoughts have lull'd!
What charming Stories do they count in Dreams,
Whose Prayers like thine, are Prologue to their Slumbers!

Ja.
Where is my Love! where think'st thou I have been?
Is this the World, and this the Ground we rest on?
And are we yet the Gulf of Death to pass?

Gilf.
Behold, if thou canst form within thy mind
That dismal Fall of Waters near to view,
How, like two Arrows, down the Stream it shoots us,
There we must plunge; for loe they come to fetch us.
Where hast thou been? what did thy Fancy shew thee?

Ja.
Methought I softly stole from thee away,
As thou safe sleeping on my Bosom lay,
And, glad that I had pass'd grim Death alone,
Mounted on Pinions that out-flew the Sun;
But on the Confines of that Heavenly Race
A Warlike Angel stood to Guard the place,
The same whom Sacred Story says to be,
'Twas Raphael sure, or one more great than he;
Who looking terrible (with this Command)
A Beamy Garland put into my hand.
Return, said he, Crown him thou lov'st most dear,
Without thy Gilford there's no entrance here.
At that last word, I starting back did fly
Swift as a falling Meteor from the Skie,
And come to fetch thee on my Cherubs wings,
Where we will Raign more absolute than Kings.

Gilf.
Cou'dst thou, alas! thou Darling of my Heart!
Alone to Heav'n without thy Gilford part?
Nay, if thy Dreams can foster such a Crime;
No Sleep but Death shall part us from this time.
Like Turtles we have languish'd here in Love,
And will, like loving Angels, dwell above.

Ja.
Let me adorn thy Temples, and obey
The Angels and the Deity's Decree.
Behold this Wreath the Beauties of the Field,
The rarest Sweets the Bowers of England yield—
Now Spring and Paradise are on thy Brow,
[Puts the Garland on his Head.
And richer Flowers in Eden never grew.
The spotless Ram thus Hymen's Victim dies,
To Love an Off'ring, Death a Sacrifice.

Gilf.
These lovely Blossoms of the fruitful Year
Are proud that they thy Beauty's Livery wear.
I saw thy hands new mould 'em all the night,
And with thy Fingers turn the Lillies white:
Saw thee too lift the Garland to thy Head,
And with a kiss made every Rose so red.

Ja.
Not Incense, nor Arabian Spices smell
So sweet as does the Breath as here does dwell.

Gilf.
O Paradise! O Virtue most Divine!
In whom all Graces with all Beauties shine.

Ja.
Pity my case, perhaps, when I shall see
This Head without the Body brought to me,
These Lips that were so red, then ghastly pale,
Gasping for Life, that now with Pleasures swell,
No Breath to give thy Harmonious Voice a Tone,
Nor Tongue to tell thy Jane its pitious Moan;
These Eyes, that now my shining Planets are,
Extended, and like angry Meteors glare;
These Locks my Fingers did so often twine,
With Sweets of Amber strew, and Jessamine,
Powder'd with Dirt, and matted all with Gore,
(Horrid to view) shall shine like Gold no more.

Gilf.
The jealous Queen cannot so cruel be,
But let one Ax, one Moment set us free,
Whilst taking thus our last Farewells like this,
The Blow shall but divide a parting Kiss;
Then as the Steel does to the Loadstone cleave,
We'll meet again, and end the Kiss we leave.

Enter Northumberland Guarded.
North.
All Blessings reign on Suffolk's happy Daughter.
New Springs of Love adorn your Faithful Garland:
Health and long Life the Queen by Dudly sends.

Gilf.
Are you my Father's Spirit, or kinder Genius,
From the Immortal Region come to chide
Your Gilford's and your Daughter's long delay?
What e'er thou art, thus shou'd our knees adore thee,
Or Deity, or Angel, or as fear'd, my Father!

North.
Rise Gilford, rise, I am that Earthly Mould
From whence my Son receiv'd this Manly Form;
I once begot thee on a Beauteous Mother;
But now, like Heaven, without a Female Aid,
Have Power to make thee with my Godlike Breath,
And give thee Life, as in the Womb again.

Ja.
Blest Prophet's voice to a despairing Sinner,
Let me again the charming sound devour—
Say, shall thy Gilford? Shall my Husband live?
Speak quickly with a Parent's Zeal, and tell
The welcom'st News that Heav'n can send to Jane.

North.
Come, sit we down—I know thou dy'st to hear,
But this transcends ev'n all thy Womans Longings.
'Tis Business of Import I have to say.
What cou'dst thou do for this dear pretious Youth?
This tender Shoot that longs to grow a Cedar?
This Darling of my Blood, and Joy of thine,
Whose Soul is wov'n by Fate with both our Souls,
And in each others Breast makes two but one,
That I may challenge Pardon of Heav'n, and say,
I ne'er did greatly ill, but for his sake
What wou'dst thou do to save his life, and mine?

Ja.
What wou'd I do! propose the speedy way.
Were I to swim the Sea with these weak Arms,
Kind Heav'n shou'd lend me Strength to stem the Waves,
And make the Ocean but a narrow Brook.

Gilf.
Quick, quick, my Lord, trembling I ask the means,
What is the Task that she must do for this?
I fear her life must be for mine the Ransom;
If so, be dumb as threatning Meteors rather,
And never word drop from My Father's Tongue
Of any sound, tho' 'twere to give his Blessing—
Hear him not, pri'thee Jane.

North.
Have hopes, my Boy.
Yet is th'Adventure hard; I know 'twill shock you.

Ja.
Quickly disclose it—By my hopes you wrack me.
This Wonder? for I am in pain to know
What I can grant, and will not fly to do.

North.
'Tis meet you know how many Lives depend
On the least Sentence of your precious Breath,
And what a Train of Happinesses spring,
Or die with this mean Syllable of Ay,
Or No.

Ja.
What must I do? the Day runs on a-pace;
The murmurings of the Crowd, alas, I hear,
And Ratlings of the Sledge approach my Ear.

North.
Come Gilford, lean thy Head upon her Breast,
And listen to the pantings of her Heart,
And tell me how she bears it—This it is.
The Queen requires you but to set your Name,
Nay, for the Ransom of our Lives conjures you
To sign this Paper, and to charm you to't,
Know 'twas Indicted by a Man so just,
Whose Life stands Candidate with all the Saints
For Holiness—'tis but to own thy self—

Ja.
Is it to own the Blackness of my Crime?
Profess that I am Guilty, and deserve
The Death that I am doom'd to suffer? Give't me,
And I'll subscribe my self, I Jane to be
The vilest Traitress Heav'n did ever punish.

North.
Peruse it.

Ja.
I have seen a Bassalisk!
H'as shot his pointed Venom through my Eyes,
And numm'd my Body to a Senceless Clay—
O Gllford! 'tis not in my Power to save
Thy Life, nor mine from Tortures.

Gilf.
Ha! what say'st thou!

Ja.
Judge with thy Eyes if thou canst bear the Monster.

North.
O Jane! the lowest Ebb of time is now.
Mercy is Heaven's Prerogative and thine,
And this must be dispenc'd; alas! this Moment—
Nay, I have more to tell thee—Gilford, hear thou.
The Duke, thy tender Father, so belov'd,
Falling into Conspiracy with Wyatt,
Is doom'd to suffer with the Fatal Crew—
Thy Life, thy Father's Life, if not thy Gilford's.
Be those the Planets that should bear the Blame.

Ja.
Ha!

Gilf.
The tempting Fiend goes cunningly to work,
The damning Fruit to our first Parent was
Thus Minister'd by her whom most he lov'd,
As this is by a Father.

Ja.
Ay, my Love!
Would'st thou for some few years of Life? perhaps
Some days may finish what we prize so dearly;
Would'st thou consent that I shou'd forfeit Heav'n,
My Spotless, Innocent, and Bosom Faith,
Forsake the Truth that was so lov'd by me,
And lose the Joys of Immortality?

Gilf.
I know what I wou'd act were I my Jane;
Were Gilford's safety only in the Ballance.
O all you Saints that wear Immortal Crowns!
Spirits of Martyrs that bright Angels are!
Not Racks, nor Tortures, burning Pincers, Fires,
Shou'd make me leave this Faith the most Divine,
Which adorns thee, and thou hast made to shine.

Ja.
O Young! O Good! O Youth belov'd of Heav'n!

Gilf.
But when I see a Father's Agonies,
Sweating cold Drops with terrour, to behold
The Heads-man diving in thy Gilford's Bowels,
And in the Hearts of four unhappy Brothers—
But oh! and which is more than all the Lives
Of all the Sons and Daughters of Mankind,
Thy precious Life, if that's a Crime to save!
You Heavenly Powers, if then 'tis Sin to change!
The Fact it self wou'd from your doom appeal,
And quash Damnation with the very mention.

North.
Ay, there my Son; do, press her, hold her there.

Ja.
What is my Husband Traytor to my Soul!
Then I may say, as Cæsar did to Brutus,
Dost thou too, Gilford, stab me to the Heart!

North.
Come, prostrate fall with me—Lo, at your Feet
The Sad and Miserable Dudley lies;
See on the Ground the Father and the Son,
Thy Husband too that shou'd Command thee all,
And reign the Conq'ring Rival of thy Soul.
O say the word, thou Woman most Divine!
Quick, e'er they come to fetch thee and my Children,
Like a dumb Drove with Pantings to the Shambles.
First they begin with him, and in in thy sight,
Fasten his Manly Body to the Sledge,
Which ne'er was bound before, but in thy Arms.
Then see the Villain with a Butcher's Knife
Ripping his Bowels open to the Throat,
And tearing thence the Heart, he holds to view,
That Heart which did so oft in silent Language
Whisper the Story of your Faithful Loves;
But now insenc'd, leaps in the Ruffin's hand,
And cries more fierce, the Cruelty of Jane.
Then, then it stabs, and e'er I come to die,
Breaks his poor Father's Heart, and all the Standers by.

Ja.
What must be done, must then be done this Moment.
The time is suddain; but the Gate of Heav'n
Is easie to be lock'd, yet hard to open,
It has a Spring without a Key, which when
We shut too rashly, we no more can enter—
I am resolv'd—

North.
Of what?

Ja.
Not to be chang'd till I am dead,
For all the Blood that's threaten'd to be shed,
Nor for the Crown took lately trom this head.

North.
Hell! Scalding Lead! and Sulphures! said'st thou! ha!
O Jane! think, think of the Pains of Death, remember
Thy tortur'd Father, and the Womb that bore thee,
Who brought thee not into this Cursed World
With half the Pangs that thou and they must suffer.

Ja.
No more, I have inevitably said.

North.
Fly Gilford, fly, let's vanish from her Presence.
Damnation came from Woman first, and still
The mischief reigns in her and all the Sex.
O Woman! Woman! false as are thy Beauties!
Thou art a Tempting, Fair, Deceitful Way,
Leading by smooth Degrees to narrow Fastness,
Through which most Mortal Men do slide to Ruine,
But out of Ruine, none.

Gilf.
Stay, stay, my Lord.

North.
Not were the Ax a falling on my Head,
And she shou'd cry aloud, I turn, I turn;
Were there but one Religion in the World,
I'd sooner die an Atheist, and be Damn'd,
Than be of one Belief with her.

Gilf.
Alas!

North.
Since first the Serpent tempted Womankind,
The Snake lies lurking in the Sex's mind.
False! Subtile! Vain! to keep your Faiths secure,
There need a thousand Bolts to bar the Door.
Without, like gilded Sepulchers, you shine,
But open'd, full of Rottenness and Sin.
At best, who hopes to find a Goddess there,
Is cheated with a Bubble fraught with Air.
Therefore the safe retreat of Human Life,
Is far from all the Sex, but most a Wife—
Gilford, why should we fear worse pains to feel,
The Marry'd Wretch has sure no other Hell.
[Exit North.

Enter Pembrook, Gardner attended.
Gard.
I met the Duke, your Victim, led to Death,
Not as we wish'd, with Roman Laurels Crown'd,
Nor with the Visage of a Conqueror,
When 'tis in your sole Power—

Ja.
My Lord, Rome's Markets ne'er were counted cheap,
Which makes me fear (the Purchase being so great)
The price is more than my Estate can pay.

Gard.
O thou whose wond'rous Mind and Body's blest
With all the parts and Beauties of thy Sex,
And Excellence of Man! I come not here
To wean an Infant, turn a spleenful Woman
To her resolv'd and fix'd Chymera wed;
But to a Judge, who, though a Child in Years,
Is fit to teach Philosophy a Rule,
And tell the Schools they erre.

Ja.
Alas, my Lord!
This Flattery bespeaks you more a Courtier
Than an Embassador from the Court of Heav'n.

Gard.
Yet, Madam, let it not be thought that you
To cruel Niceness should have such regard,
That Jane out of a sullen Piety—

Ja.
My Lord,
You will confess that one Divinity,
One Center moves the Catholick Faith and yours;
That wise Religious are like Skilful Pilots,
May with contrary winds the same way steer,
And meet together in one Port at last.

Gard.
There you come close; be wise, and oh! come nearer.
Then since not our Beliefs, but Forms do vary,
This difference only seems 'twixt us and you;
Ours is a nearer Cut, but o'er a River,
And yours a new invented Way through Desarts.
Who'd then refuse to pass the narrow Water,
And go vast Leagues about for fear of drowning?

Ja.
My Lord, I am a Wretch condemn'd to die,
And now am almost at my Journey's end.
Is this a time to tempt me to draw back,
And tell me I havt left a nearer way?

Gard.
Yet save your Life, and all their Lives—Consider,
Say but the word, and this shall hold the Ax.

Ja.
Witness, you Powers, so woven is my Belief,
So one with me, that as my Nurses Milk
Infus'd its Nourishment into my Blood,
Heav'n did distil this Balm into my Soul:
Yet had not the Almighty taught me this,
The Truth to me another Godhead is,
A Faith that no Apostacy endures:
Nor envy I that constancy in yours,
Far be my hopes, but you in Heav'n may shine,
Live you in yours, and let me die in mine.

Gard.
Then since no President from Time can win you,
No Arguments Divine, nor Human Wisdom,
Nor yet those Wretches Lives your Marble Heart
Can turn, you drive the Law to take its course.

Ja.
Go on, I dare the utmost of your Malice,
Till with your Cruelty, my Death become,
What was your Justice, Noble Martyrdom.
I see your Plots contriv'd in dark Cabals,
Your Leopard Consciences, and freckl'd Souls.
All your feign'd Zeal, that your great Lord may Raign
Tyrant of Souls, and Landlord of their Gain.

Gard.
Haste, lead 'em all to Execution straight,
All that have Names contain'd within this Pardon,
Her Foolish Father, Proud Northumberland,
And his three other Sons—Away with 'em:
When that is Acted, as she likes the Shew,
Let they begin it! Come, my Lord.

[Exeunt Gard. and Pemb
Ja.
Come to me, Gilford, cleave thou to my Breast,
Till as one Soul, we one lov'd Body grow,
And equal Pain, and equal Death divide us.

Gilf.
O Jane!

Ja.
What dire thoughts possess my Love!

Gilf.
Oh!

Ja.
Breathe thy Immortal Soul with mine at once,
And let us mount on Wings of Cherubims together.

Gilf.
But e'er that comes, there is a gloomy Vale,
A Darkness worse than Chaos to be pass'd;
How shall I wander, how go through the Maze
Without thy hand to guide!

Ja.
Thou dearer far
Than new born Babes are to their tender Mothers!
Fear not, my Love, I'll trust thee from thy Jane
No farther than the Nurse her tender Charge
She fain wou'd teach to go, watching its steps,
Beholds it trip; but e'er it falls to Ground,
Catches it thus, and hugs it in her Arms.

Gilf.
Wilt thou?

Ja.
I'll overtake thee in that dreadful Vale,
Hallow aloud, and cry, My Love, where art thou?
But e'er my Voice can reach thee, thou shalt spy
The Nuptial Beams fresh kindl'd in my Eyes,
To bring me to thee stumbling as thou art,
And bear my Child away.

Gilf.
Be not so tender if thou mean'st to part.
Thou give'st me Kisses, and, instead of dreining,
Dost pour more Oil into my dying Lamp.

Re-enter Pembrook and Gardner.
Ja.
My Lords, is my unhappy Father dead?

Pemb.
He is no more.
I saw the Ax, as Mortal as the Plague,
In one short space sweep Families away.
Northumberland dy'd sullen, and reserv'd,
Made a short Speech, and then as short a Prayer;
Beg'd Pardon of the Queen, and said he dy'd
A real Convert to the Church of Rome.

Ja.
Heav'n spare his Faults, and Crown his just Intent.

Gilf.
Are they all dead?

Pemb.
They are.
But oh! how pitiful it was to see!
There lay the Duke with his three Sons, surrounded
Like a vast Oak, its Branches spreading wide,
By some huge Storm laid flat upon the ground.
Thy Father's Death, O Jane! succeeded his.

Gilf.
There wanted me to make the Pomp more awful.

Pemb.
Permit me, oh! to end this dreadful Tale;
For sure my Tongue was doom'd to tell thee Horrors.
Thy Mother likewise, in a Fit of Frenzie,
Resign'd her Spirit to that milder Region
Where Souls refine like purest Gold from dross.

Ja.
Enough, enough.

Gilf.
Break Heart of Adamant, enough.

Ja.
Then our turn's next—lead, which way must we follow?
And where commence the last Degree of Mortals?
Since like the first of all my Sinful Sex,
I wrought my dearest Husband to his Fall,
'Tis just I lead the way to Punishment.

Gilf.
By that kind simpathizing Sun, who, to,
Avoid the dismal Object of thy Death,
Is now retir'd behind yon Cloud to mourn,
I swear thou shalt not—By our Loves, I charm thee;
If e'er thou wert Obedient, or had Virtue,
Let me die first—Cruel, Hard-hearted Jane!
If thou deny'st me this.

Ja.
Thou art my Lord.

Gilf.
Come, bring me to your Shambles—Where's my Death?

Gard.
Draw then that Curtain.

Ja.
O hear the tender voice of Pity cry.
Do not disclose that dreadful Scene of Horror,
But lead my Love some other way.

Pemb.
Do so.

Gilf.
O Jane!
That precious Purple nearest to my Heart.
In whose pure Stream the Soul imbalm'd does lie,
Is not so hugg'd within my Breast as thou;
Yet we must part—For lo, the Fight's prepar'd,
And Honour calls me to begin the Charge.
Remember, Jane—

Ja.
Courage, Heroick Gilford!
Face but this Tyrant of the World a Moment,
Then see thy Jane her self shall quickly come,
And bring thee Succors from the Camp of Love,
Shall chace grim Death and all its Fears away.
Farewell.

Gilf.
O Dart! there is no Armour against thee,
Darkness and Death attends it on a suddain.
O Star! O Planet of my Life? Farewell.

Ja.
No more—Farewell.

Gilf.
When this tempestuous Blast I go to meet,
Has blown my glimmering Flame of Life quite out,
O haste thou Brightness, to relume my Torch.

Ja.
Our Loves bright Tapers ne'er shall be extinguish'd,
This parting's but the Door that's shut between us,
But when that's o'er, and Death has broke the Bars,
We'll mingle and unite our Beams together.
Let endless silence now, like Seas, divide us;
Thy Lips end all their Charms in this last Kiss,
And lock thy Speech for ever in my Bosom.

Gilf.
A Sigh or Groan cannot be call'd a Word,
Hands, Eyes, and Heart conclude my Mournful Song,
For thy Commands, like Death, have charm'd my Tongue.

Pemb.
How now, my Lord!
Wants this the Virtue to extract your Pity!
My Eyes are too big loaded to be hid.
Were Bonner in thy place, a' wou'd have wept.
Yet save his Life and thine.

[To Jane.
Gard.
Lead him away; tho' stubborn as she is,
We will have Pity on his Youth, my Lord.
Some Reverend Prelate of the Faith be by,
Invoke the Saints, say Mattins for his Soul,
And sprinkle him with Pardon.

Ja.
Courage, my Gilford, shut thy Eyes and Ears;
Be Blind and Deaf to all their Tricks and Prayers;
Let not one Superstitious Drop remain,
But with thy Tears wash off the Brinish stain.
Whilst they their Picture-Gods invoke to hear,
Call thou on Luther, Cranmer, Latimer;
One Syllable of theirs shall aid thee more,
Than all the thousand Saints that they adore.

Gard.
Away with him.

Gilf.
O Jane!

Ja.
Turn, turn, my Gilford, one last look again.
Expand thy longing Arms, 'tis not in vain,
And take my Wishes, though deny'd thy Jane.

[Exit Gilford to Execution.
Pemb.
Unhappy Pair! O Innocent Usurper!

Ja.
Dry up those Tears, and now with Joy prepare
To do your last kind Office to your Mistress.
When I am dead, and laid upon the Scaffold,
Protect, I pray, these bashful Limbs from Shame,
See not in Death their Innocence expos'd,
That when alive, had awful Modesty
To Guard 'em—Here, receive this Scarf;
It was my Maiden-Present to my Gilford;
In it I wrought the Tale of Iphegenia
(A Fatal Omen of this Fatal Day)
Doom'd by her Cruel Parent to be Slain.
In this, when th'Ax has done its welcome Office,
Be sure you wrap my Husband's Head, and with it
This Head that's to be Sacrific'd to Peace,
Now I am ready.
Scene draws, and discovers Gilford and the rest lying upon it beheaded.
Is then this Pomp of Death, this dreaded Horrour
So talk'd on, and so fear'd by all Mankind,
So quickly o'er!—Come, bring me to the Test—
Where is my Lord?

Pemb.
There.
Look not upon't, methinks it shou'd offend you.

Ja.
Not at all.
What signifies this Clay? that mangl'd Head?
The broken Casket, now the Jewel's fled?
Gilford, I come, this Moment sends me to thee.

Pemb.
Yet save thy exquisite and precious Life.

Gard.
Do not these dismal Objects stir thee!
No fright, nor fear of Pain can make thee turn!
Yet hear—

Ja.
Away with me, were they alive again,
Shou'd Father, Mother, Kindred, all
Joyn'd with this fatal number, with me fall,
And in the very Moment of their Deaths,
Shot Curses on me with their flying Breaths,
To save their gasping Lives, I wou'd not chuse
One hour of Immortality to lose.
Sou'd all your torterous Racks on me be try'd;
Broil me on Grid-Irons, turn the other side,
Till the Abortive Infant where it lay
Shou'd from my flaming Intrails burst its way,
To my vow'd Faith I'll be for ever true,
In spight of all your Roman Gods, and you.

[Curtain falls.