University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter Duke of Suffolk, Attendant.
Suff.
Let the Sun's fruitful Rays abhor this Isle,
And smile no more on this unfaithful Land—
Haste, and acquaint your Lady that I want her.
[To a Gent. who goes out.
Why does she sleep, when all the World should wake?
Do not the Groans of dying Edward reach her?
That from deep Quarries force condoling Thunder,
And Eccho to the Marble Vault of Heaven,
His Prayers? Hear Angels, Cherubims, and Thrones;
And grant, what Man has only power to wish him,
A thousand years.

Enter Dutchess of Suffolk.
Dutch.
What has alarm'd my Lord
To be thus early up? Is Edward dead?

Suff.
Dead! all the merciful in Heaven forbid.

Dutch.
Go to—Are you a Man? have you that Blood
Yet left within you that your Birth created?
Or did it only boast (hoping to mix
With mine) that you were Noble and Ambitious?
O Gods! that Woman should so far excel
Mankind in ev'ry thing, yet be so curst
To be born Slaves, and live in loath'd Subjection!
Sure Woman was th'Almighty's first Essay,
And his creating hand did form her Mind
(Vying with all the Beauties of her Body)
With Courage, Wit, Invention, more than Man,
But soon perceiving what he did was wrong,
Left off the charming and unfinish'd Wonder
(She else had nearest been to the Immortal)
And gave the Reins of Government to you.

Suff.
Something of dread hangs heavy on my Soul;
Mistrust, or Conscience, name it what you please,
That bodes Despair to our uncertain hopes—
Frances! I will no further tempt my Fate;
Let's wash our hands of this disloyal Duke,
And quit Northumberland; for he's a Traytor—
Last night I saw the Spirit of Katherine.

Dutch.
Where? in your dreams? or in your shameless fears?
If you have lost the Courage of your Sex,
Behold, and bless the Spirit of thy Wife;
Who holds it nobler to dispose of Crowns,
Like Godlike Roman Consuls, than to wear
The Globe it self; therefore she takes that Scepter,
By Right and Merit hers, and gives thy Daughter—
Has Cranmer witness'd to the Confirmation?

Suff.
He and the Council, all have sign'd at last;
But only Hales stands out with Resolution;
And that most Learn'd of Judges says 'tis Treason.

Dutch.
The Prince in Power can only judge of that,
And turn the Treason on the Traytor's head—
Here comes Northumberland; the Instrument
Is in his hand. O glorious, happy fight! Neither
The Silver Crescent, nor the Golden Eagle
Is halfs' ador'd an Ensign, as that Parchment.
Enter Northumberland.
No more mean Scruples of ignoble fears,
But joyn with us, and meet this Tide of Glory.
Hail, thou true Successor of Warwick's Fame!

North.
Are we alone? the Court has list'ning Ears,
And Knaves in ev'ry corner.

Suff.
What's the News?

Dutch.
Great Spirit of Man! Is Edward now no more?

North.
He lives, nor cou'd he die till this was done;
This is his Passport, now to Heav'n a' goes.

Suff.
Alas!

North.
What voice was that? We are one mind?

Dutch.
Whom left you with the King?

North.
Cranmer, and Ridley,
Who has been praying by his Watch this hour,
And such another space will surely end him.

Dutch.
What, will he live so long!

Suff.
O cruel Panther!

North.
He cannot breathe a quarter of that time.
The Woman that pretended to restore him,
Last night was turn'd away, and the Physicians
Again were call'd; who finding him so desperate,
Stood mute, and gaz'd like Wretches scap'd from Fire,
Viewing their Houses and Estates in Flames,
When past their Power to quench the Conflagration.

Dutch.
What must be done with Mary when he dies?

North.
That has been long debated of in Council,
And wisely thought by all, that Edward's death
Should be kept secret for some time, and Letters
Sent to the Princess in her Brother's Name,
Inviting her to see him e'er he dies;
Whom, when she comes, we mean so to secure,
That she shall ne'er have hopes to Reign in England.

Dutch.
Whom send you with these Orders?

North.
Valiant Sussex.
Who has Commission too, to head some Forces,
And lead 'em with him speedily to Norfolk,
To keep those parts in awe where now she dwells.

Suff.
Wisely intended, but I doubt the Person.

North.
No Brave Design was ever done alone,
And in Vast Numbers all are to be fear'd.
Therefore, because we doubt, must none be trusted?
Enter Pembrook.
My Lord, left you the King?

Pemb.
I came now from him;
But curst am I who am the first Informer.
The King has left you, me, and all the World—
Alas! he's dead.

Dutch.
Sweet Prince!

Pemb.
Sweet Prince! Sweet Saint!
Sweet Angel! more, nay Prince of Cherubims!

North.
All Tongues be silent yet of his departure,
As is the Grave, or mouth of Death it self.
Madam, find out the Queen in her Apartment;
I call her so, but yet she must not know it,
As likewise Edward's death; the News is stunning;
A Banquet of such Joy should be prepar'd,
And wisely serv'd to furnish several Feasts.

[Exit Dutch.
Pemb.
You mist a sight wou'd fix your admiration;
For oh! to see this Miracle depart,
Was such Instruction to Mankind, that all
The Volumes of Disciples, Chronicles of Martyrs
Cou'd never parallel; He liv'd like Age,
Yet dy'd as if he ne'er had known the World.

Suff.
It was an Object full of Dread and Pity.

Pemb.
Tho' Flesh and Blood, his Thoughts were still Divine,
No Vice cou'd ever make Impression there.
Have you not seen the Swan on Isis Stream,
To dive her Downy Neck beneath the Flood,
White as the Snow upon the tops of Cedars;
Then lifting up her Iv'ry Crest again,
The Crystal Drops despairing slide away,
Leaving no track nor watery stain behind?
Thus he in all his fiercest Blooming Youth,
Harder to Govern than a Raging Steed,
And Hunting Pleasures like the rushing Winds;
Yet then, oh, then, did he hold fast the Reins,
And in the midst of Flames was never scorch'd.

North.
The King, my Lord, dy'd in the same resolve?

Pemb.
The last words that he spar'd from his Devotion,
Were, that his Cousin Jane shou'd after him
Be Queen.

North.
May she Reign long, and dye at last like him.

Pemb.
If Spirits sent from Heaven were ever doom'd
To suffer Penance here in Mortal Bodies,
Sure his was such;
For none but one acquainted with such Joys,
Cou'd part so willingly with Life and Empire,
And long to lay 'em both as Burthens down;
So dy'd this Prince, beneath the stroak of Death,
As silent as the Lamb lies down to sleep;
As Blossoms, when the Tree is shaken, fall;
Or tender Grass before the Mower's hand.

North.
My Lord, I doubt not, but the Cause has reach'd you,
Wherefore, the King hath Disinherited
His Sisters, Mary and Elizabeth.
King Harry's Marriage with Prince Arthur's Widdow;
The Mother of the first, was for that Reason,
By all the Laws of England, disannull'd;
Then Anna Bullen in Attainder dead,
By Parliament her Issue was Excluded;
Whereto, I think, your Lordship gave your Vote?

Pemb.
I well remember it; 'twas just when Age
Had Priviledg'd me to sit among the Peers.

North.
There was another Motive yet more urging;
The Princess Mary is a fierce Bigot;
'Tis to be fear'd, if e're she wears the Crown,
This Reformation which King Harry planted,
And Edward all his Reign with care increas'd,
She'll blast and turn to Ruine in a Day;
Then yours and mine, and all our choicest Mannors,
Like Limbs hack'd off from the great See of Rome,
Will soon return to Animate that Monster,
Whilst like a great Coloss he sets his Foot,
And strides o're us, as over half the World.

Pemb.
These Accidents the young King wisely weigh'd.

North.
There is a third, the like to be avoided;
Lest Harry's Daughter shou'd some Monarch Wed,
Who, having of his own a larger Kingdom,
Shou'd leave us to be Govern'd by some Proxy,
And make the Less depend upon the Greater.

Pemb.
How can we be assur'd this Queen will not,
We have the like fear of Suffolk's Daughter.

North.
There you are come to touch the String that will
Soft Musick yield, or jar in England's Ear.
Now Pembrook hear, and Sensure like a Friend;
Believe with all the pitying Powers above,
And purge this Act of an Ambitious stain:
For who's not ignorant, the mighty Dudly,
Whose Rank is next the foremost in three Kingdoms,
And Second to his Prince, Fear'd and Ador'd
By all, can add more Glory to his Name,
Were it himself, by Bedding of a Queen,
And be at best but Subject to a Wife—
The Queen has chos'n a Husband.

Pemb.
Whom intends she?

North.
She is already Marry'd.

Pemb.
Ha!

North.
Last Night took a Companion in her Bosom,
Disclos'd the Beauties of her Mind and Person,
More worth than England's Crown she carries with 'em.
To my best Son, my Lov'd, my Darling Guilford.

Pemb.
(Aside...)
Heavens! whither will this Man's Ambition hurl him!
Till he has rais'd the Ladder of Vain Hopes,
To such prodigious height, till it has nought
But Airy Clouds to rest upon—But hold,
'Tis now the times Necessity to flatter. (...Aside.)

Sir, you surprize me both with Joy and Wonder,
At your Son's strange Promotion to a Crown—
Thus I Congratulate your Hopes, and think
None but so Fortunate and Wise a Man,
As great Northumberland, cou'd bring't to pass.

North.
Their Innocent Scenes of Love were acted first
In our young Monarch's Life-time, long before
She was design'd by Edward to Succeed,
And, as a lucky Crime, without my Knowledge
Were privately Contracted—Judge then you
That know this Miracle of Innocence;
Sooner an Angel wou'd Blaspheme in Heaven,
Than she, to gain the Empire of the World,
Wou'd break her Vow to Gilford; tell me then,
Is there a Man who for Religions Cause,
To fix the Glory of his House for ever,
And join two Lovers Hearts, made one before
By mutual Vows, but wou'd have done as I did?

Pemb.
The Ministers above are on your side,
And pleas'd to make your great Attempt successful.
(Aside...)
Heav'ns! have you not a Bolt in all your store,
Left yet to ram this Traytor to the Center!
Nay me, that knows all this to be the forging of
His Brain, yet dare not tell him that he Lies. (...Aside.)


North.
Haste then, my Lord, you are our Hopes—have you
The suppos'd Letters of the King to Mary,
And Council's Order of dispatch?

Pemb.
I have;
But mine e'er this I hope she has receiv'd,
To give her Caution—Fare you well, my Lord.

North.
Yet but a word. If Edward's Death she chance
To hear of, and so miss to fall into our Snare;
By my Command, unknown to all the Council,
Six of the tallest, best appointed Ships,
Are Cruising now about the Coast of Yarmouth,
To intercept her Flight that way.

Pemb.
'Twas Bravely done, and Wisely—
How Villany betrays it self! Farewell.
Success at home attend you, doubt not mine.
[Exit Pemb.

North.
Help now you Powers! whether from Heaven or Hell;
Descend, ascend, bring but a Crown, I care not;
That from this Moment may grow up my Basis,
Whilst thus, having compleated all my Labours,
Like Hercules I six my Pillars here,
And by this Foot of ground on which I tread,
Hold and take seizen now of all the rest,
Lighting my Torch at Tudor's short liv'd flame,
Till Dudly's Name shall blaze in England's Crown,
As long, and fear'd, as Proud Plantagenet's.
Let none admire, that Thracian Maximin,
A Peasant, once attain'd the Roman Empire,
Or that Ogothocles a Potter's Son,
With Armies Conquer'd the Cicilian State;
Since Whirl-winds, Storms, and Earthquakes, root up Towns,
And watery Deluges have drown'd whole Countries;
But this to do without the noise of Thunder,
Alone, and with the Fox's Tayl unarm'd;
The Fame of this is only due to Dudly—
Behold a' comes! the Pledge of all my Wishes!
The Star of my Ambition! for whose sake
I'de wrest the War out of the Gyants hand,
And undertake a second fight with Heaven.

Enter Gilford.
Gilf.
What have I felt! what Ravishing Delight!
What Mines of Pleasure hast thou found this Night!
What Mysteries of Love without a Name!
What quenching Cordials, and what killing Flame!
Soft like a Babe she laid me in her Bosom,
Whilst all the night I revell'd in her Arms.
In Dreams of Love, I've done the like before,
But always wak'd till now, cheated and poor.

North.
O Son of all my hopes! my Darling Gilford!
For whom thy Father feels within his Breast,
What far exceeds the Love of Youth to Beauty.

Gilf.
My Lord, my Father!
The Parent of my Life and of my Joys,
The Shrine of all my Offerings, Prayers, and Thanks!
And God of my Obedience here on Earth;
O let me bend beneath your feet for ever.
And kiss the Sacred Ground your steps have blest.

North.
Rise to my Arms, my Son, I do Command thee—
What means my Gilford?

Gilf.
O Sir, you Begot me.

North.
I did, my Boy; so did my Father me:
And all Mankind came so into the World.
Is that so strange?

Gilf.
O Yes, when I have told
What Stars of Blessings rul'd when I was Born,
What lavish Plannet Reign'd that Night, you'll say
My Birth's a Miracle, my Life a wonder.

North.
Thy Vertues shine indeed like Prodigies.

Gilf.
Was ever Man before Conceiv'd like me!
O speak, when first you won my Mother's Love,
Had you not then the fierce desires of Jove?
Who got Alcides with such vast Delight,
He mask'd three Suns to make a treble Night;
And join'd three bright December Moons in one,
To get so Lov'd, to make so Blest a Son.

North.
How fares thy Lovely Bride? my Beauteous Daughter?

Gilf.
O there you dive into the precious Stream,
That purls through ev'ry Vein about my Heart,
The String that when with the least Breath you touch,
A thrilling Musick runs through all my Blood,
And ev'ry Pulse leaps but to hear her Nam'd.

North.
O tell me of her Health—how fares thy Jane?

Gilf.
To see her, is the Blessing of the Eyes;
But to lie by her panting side, and hear
The beatings of her heart, Love's softest Language;
To count the Balmy Sighs her Soul breathes out,
And sweeter Kisses dropping from her Lips,
Are sure the Pleasures that th'Immortals feel,
The Springs where Angels every thousand years
Fledge their cast Wings, to make them young again.
And now can you believe, if ever Father
Did make a Son so blest; if ever Son
Had so much cause as I to bless a Father?

North.
True, if thou knew'st the mighty things I've done.
Prepare with awe, and listen to thy Father.
If this small gust of Passion shakes thy Frame;
Son, I have News will root thee up with Joy—
Wou'd not thy Jane look lovely with a Crown?

Gilf.
A Crown! where e'er she goes she is the Queen,
And makes her Presence still the Court of Love,
Cupids, like Subjects, waiting on her looks,
Crowns in her Eyes, and Scepters in her Smiles.
She, like the Golden World, in Bed did lie,
Like Conquering Alexander, I lay by;
And what in Ages he cou'd scarce inthrall,
Won in a Night, and Crown'd me King of all.

North.
Still have you no regard to my Request?
Curb your wild Joy, and listen to my Story;
I lay it on you as my last Commands
I ever must, or dare from hence pronounce.

Gilf.
Ha! you have shock'd me, Sir, with somewhat which
I fear to know. What is't? I'm all Attention.

North.
Young Edward's dead.

Gilf.
Alas, that Rose of Kings!
That Sacred Bud of Royalty, e'er it
Cou'd blossom into Man! Say not, he's dead.

North.
Gilford, your pity spare, and hear me out.
And now you have indur'd the bitter Rind,
Prepare to taste the luscious Fruit that follows.

Gilf.
Methought I heard a Father's voice again.
Say, if he's dead, who must restore our Joys?
Why mourns the Kingdom then without a head?
Whom must I kneel to? whom must we obey?

North.
There lives a Prince—to undeceive you, let
This Posture then instruct you who he is.

Gilf.
Why kneels my Father! why d'you heap more wonders?

North.
Why bends the Subject to his lawful King?
I'm in the presence of my Soveraign.

Gilf.
Ha! where? if so, then I must cleave to Earth.
What means my Father! say. I see no Prince,
No Person that I owe Obedience to
But you—Heav'n! what do you intend by this!
D'you rain down Miracles to distract me quite!
Or do you this, to let me know that all
Those Joys I tasted but last night, were mortal?

North.
To rid your Soul of racking doubts for ever:
Know that I kneel to you.

Gilf.
All Heav'n forbid!
Rivers no more shall pay the Ocean duty;
But rushing back, shall mingle with their Source,
And, like a Deluge, drown the Springs, from whence
They flow: Man shall no more have kindly Birth,
But, Viper like, shall gnaw his Passage through the Womb,
E'er this shall be—For such another crime
Were the Rebellious Angels dash'd from Heav'n.
So banish me for ever from your Breast,
Damn'd with my Mother's Wrongs, and Father's Curses,
If e'er I suffer this.

North.
I bind you, on my Blessing, rise.
By Heaven's Decree, by Edward's Testament,
And by these Letters Patents witness'd to
By the whole Council, Officers of State,
Sworn to by all in places of high Trust
To see this deed perform'd, he has intail'd
The Crown upon his Cousin Jane for ever.

Gilf.
What said you, Sir?

North.
See, and defer your Wonder.

[Shews him the Patent.
Gilf.
What Harmony! What Angel's Voice is this!
What Divine Prophet's reaching out a Cruise,
Like him who did the Royal Shepherd Crown.
I see, I read, I'm wrapt, and in a Trance—
O let me, Sir, be sure I am awake, that you
Are not my Father's Image, this a Vision—
Tortures and Hell! If this shou'd prove a Dream!
Mow my Tongue trembles, Palsies shake my Limbs,
And my Joints quiver with the dread of waking.
O come no nearer; for methinks my Body,
As are my hopes, is made of brittle Glass,
And if you touch, you break the Bubble.

North.
Wrestle no more with doubts, but haste, my Son,
Swift as an Angel from th'Immortal Throne,
Holding a Beamy Garland in his hand
To wreath the Temples of the dying just,
And be the first Salutes her with a Crown,
As both her Merit's and her Beauty's due.

Gilf.
O, Sir! bear with my Frailty but this once.
There is a load pulls back my mounting Wishes,
And stops the Tide of over-flowing Joy—
Heav'n is in Little Pictur'd in her Soul,
More Virtues, than in all the Saints together;
Beauties and Graces shining in her Looks,
As are enough t'adorn all Woman-kind,
And Damn the Sex with Pride.

North.
What then, my Boy?

Gilf.
If then this Angel, or this Goddess shou'd
(Finding too little Charms in England's Crown,
And Gilford's Love) escape from these loath'd Arms,
And claim her Seat amongst the Cherubims?

North.
Run then, and fetter her in thy Embraces;
Bind her with Crowns, and Chain her with thy Love,
Whilst I in Council will declare your Marriage.

Gilf.
Ha! think you I'le be slow in search of Heaven;
To run with Lightning is the Lover's pace;
For my Desires have Wings enough to fly,
Far as the Sun does visit in a day—
But first Instruct me how I must approach her?
What Posture has most dread, and most respect,
That let me chuse—What distance I shall keep?
If I shall stand, sit, kneel, or prostrate fall?
O Father teach me:
For she is now no longer Guilford's Wife,
But Queen—Sound ye loud Choiristers above,
And join in Consort, when I speak her Title,
With all the shouting World, that She is Queen.

North.
Fly, lest some Rival Angel should grow Jealous,
And dare to peep between her Curtains drawn,
And tell the News before thee.

Gilf.
Then, in what sillables shall I accost her?
What shall I say? what awful Hail pronounce?
As she's my Soveraign, Empress, or yet higher,
Or in the Phrase of Love, and soft Desire;
Sweeter than Hony dropping from the Comb,
And loftier than the Stile of Antient Rome.
To talk to her, all Language is but poor,
I wou'd have words that ne're were said before;
The Voice of Cherubims, welcome and kind,
As Prophets in their Heav'nly Visions find:
What the first Man in Paradise did sound,
When first he Lov'd, and was with Beauty Crown'd,
With more than can be wish'd by greedy Life,
Made Lord of all the World, and then a Wife.

[Exeunt Omnes.