University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enter Northumberland, and Dutchess of Suffolk, severally.
Dutch.
The spiteful Stars have Blasted our Designs,
And ballanc'd our proud Hopes with dire Success.
The Royal Game has scap'd the Hunter's Net;
For Mary in her speedy way to London,
On what Intelligence 'tis yet unknown,
Has turn'd her course, and fled to Framingham.

North.
So let it be, our Wishes then are Crown'd,
True Courages like Eagles soar on high,
And sink not at the Lure of small Misfortunes.
'Tis well she flies, Cæsar cou'd wish no more,
Then 'tis the Victor's part and ours to follow.

Enter Duke of Suffolk, hastily.
Suff.
My Lord, I bring ill News.

North.
What is't my Lord?
Tell it before thou Dyest—He's frighted, Madam!
Speak without Trembling—Is the Tower Besieg'd?
Did I suspect my Son had such a Heart,
I'de rip his Bosome, tear the Craven thence;
Then dig my own out, and with hands all Gore,
With Pythagorian Art, and God-like Skill,
Plant there a Warlike Eagle's in its stead.

Suff.
The Princess May's fled to Framingham;
Where Wharton, Mordant, Beddingfield, and others,
Are with their Warlike Train of Friends resorted.

North.
Relate th'ill News.

Suff.
Six of the Royal Fleet
Have steer'd themselves into the Port of Yarmouth,
And there Revolted to Sir Thomas Jarningham.

North.
The Ships that were imploy'd to seize the Princess!
[Aside.
And what's all this to Souls resolv'd like ours?
Ambition is but base, that dares not leap
O're Mountains of Impossibilities,
High above these, as Atlas to a Mole-hill;
Was not the World of justling Atoms fram'd?
No Musick can beget an Harmony
Without some discord, nor can Fate bestow
A Crown without some hazard to the Conquerour.
The smoothest Cast at Bowls is seldom known,
Without a Rub to bring it to the mark.

Suff.
I fear we have deferr'd the Publishing
Of the King's Death too long, till it be found
A Cheat.

North.
Now is the time—Where is the Queen?

Dutch.
She's just now up, and parted from her Bed-Chamber—
Behold she comes this way.

North.
And Gilford with her?

Dutch.
No.

North.
Soon as he appears, withdraw and leave 'em.
My Lord, the Council waits, to whom we'll now
Relate the hidden News of Edward's Death;
Then with the King at Arms our selves will haste,
And, tho' the Furies gnash their Teeth and grin,
Through all the Ecchoing Streets Proclaim her Queen.

[Ex. Dukes.
Enter Lady Jane, Attended.
Ja.
Saw you my Lord? Mind, listen for his steps.
So early up, and yet so long returning?
My Mother! many a Morning Blest as this
To me, and many a Night as was the last,
Adorn your Life.

Dutch.
All Blessings on my Daughter—Why that Blush?
And why (as tho' I chid my Dearest Child)
That suddain Paleness? Do not mock thy Wishes;
Ha! why that Tear? and why that Smile to hide it?
Thy Face is Checquer'd o're with Joy and Sadness,
Like Rain and Sunshine in an April Skye.

Ja.
Sure never Virgin was so Blest as I,
And never Bridal Arms so Rich as these:
The Rose of Youth, the Majesty of Kings,
Mildness of Babes, and Fondness of a Lover,
Are all Angelically mixt in him,
To make your Daughter Happy; yet there's something,
I know not what, hangs like a Clowd betwixt,
And will not let my pregnant Heart bring forth
Those kindly Joys, the Beams of Love have kindled.

Dutch.
'Tis nought but Fondness and Excess of Passion,
Like Misers Wealth, which oft begets a Fear,
Without a Cause, of losing what they covet.

Ja.
Why in the Tower! this Palace more befits
A Coronation, than a private Wedding.
Love rather wou'd have chosen some lonely Bower,
Or humble Cottage, than this mighty Prison.
Alas! why at this time! why are we lodg'd
In the Apartment of the King, and here attended
With more than usual State?

Dutch.
It is, my Child,
By the Appointment of his Majesty.

Ja.
By his Appointment! say. Then is he well?

Dutch.
I do not know.

Ja.
Ha! then I fear 'tis bad;
For every one I ask tells me the same.
Does his devouring Malady increase?
Then Bane to all our Marriage-Sweets for ever.
If he does languish, why should we rejoyce?
Why should our Hymen's Torch so proudly blaze,
When he, our brightest Sun, is in Eclipse?
Why shou'd we laugh, and drink deep Draughts of Joy,
When Edward Groans, and all the Nation Weeps?

Dutch.
Disturb the quiet of thy Breast no more.
Thou shou'dst rejoyce to see thy Mother glad.
Her Floods of Sorrow, and her Tides of Bliss,
Are Govern'd by the Stars of thy Success.
Wines of sweet Relish may be drunk too fast,
And what you are, should not be told in haste.
[Exit Dutch.

Ja.
Ha! Gone! Was I but yesterday so blest!
And now a Stranger to my Mother's Breast!
What is the cause, just Heav'n, she shuns my sight?
Has then a Wife so chang'd me in a Night?
What News is that, too great for me to bear?
And yet I dread it is too bad to hear—
But see a' comes, my Oracle of Love!
That will all Doubts from this dear Heart remove;
In whose sweet Tongue's more Musick, soft Desire,
Than in Apollo's Voice, or Charming Lyre.

Enter Gilford.
Gilf.
My Life! My Soul! My Angel, and my Love!

Ja.
Come to my Breast, thou faithless Wanderer,
And listen to the Language of my Heart.
The Dove within my Bosom, left alone,
Has pin'd, and coo'd, and made such piteous Moan!
And in its doleful Cage no rest cou'd get
This long long hour, and all for thee its Mate.

Gilf.
Ye Powers that ever felt a Lover's Joy!
Why have ye made such Beauties to destroy!
For here are Arms to bind the Brave and Young,
Nets for the Wise, and Fetters for the Strong.

Ja.
O thou lov'd Man! in whom are sweetly mixt
Thy Father's Roughness, and thy Mother's Softness.
Where hast thou been, thou Darling dear of Love!
Where hast thou been, thou Stragler? Thy whole Sex
Are like the little Robbers of the Hive;
Who having cull'd the Sweets of ev'ry Flower,
Rifl'd their Wealth, and ravish'd all their Store,
Proud with their Conquest, leave the Plunder'd Bower
To every Storm, and every Blast that blows;
Thus like the Violet, and the fragrant Rose,
Women Enjoy'd, you Banish, and Expose.

Gilf.
Atlas wou'd sink beneath this weight of Bliss;
I die, I live, and all with ev'ry kiss!
This Downy softness, Snowy white, excels
The Beauty that in yonder Heaven dwells.
O shun me, fly me, banish me—I fear
These Raptures are too exquisite to bear.

Ja.
I charm thee then, by our past Scenes of Love!
By all those Sacred and Religious Rites
Unravell'd to our languishing Delights!
By the disclosing of that Gordian Knot,
Which like the greedy Conqueror of the World,
Thou in the Temple of these Arms unfolded!
If there be any thing within this Breast
Worth a kind thought—O rid it then from Tortures,
And tell me why this place of Blood and Death
Is chosen to be the Seat of tender Love?
Where dreadful Cannons drown soft Lutes and Songs,
And Bullets fly instead of Cupid's Darts.
But first, by all those Tyes, again I charge thee,
Inform me of the Welfare of the King.
If he be well, no matter where we are.

Gilf.
O then prepare to hear the Joyful Wonder,
Fit only for an Angel's Voice to tell,
And thou to hear—King Edward by his Will—

Ja.
What was't you said? his Will! then is he dead?

Gilf.
As Winters Clay—he's dead; but that's not all.

Ja.
Not all!
Is not that more than all the Plagues at once
On England—Dead! O Heav'ns! recall that word;
And Trumpet with an Angel's Voice aloud
To all his Subjects Ears, that now are deaf
With howlings, that he lives—Say, does he live?

Gilf.
In Heav'n a' does.

Ja.
O Gilford! can you say
He's dead, and not relate it with a Tone
So mournful, that wou'd strike with sudden death
The wretched hearers.

Gilf.
Cease, thou profuse and lavish Mourner, cease;
Dudley will else grow jealous of his Shade,
And wish to die to be lamented so.
Tears are but wasted that are spent in Sorrow:
Hadst thou a Stock wou'd fill the Ocean up,
I bring such News wou'd drain 'em all with Joy.
Shake off those Clouds that shade thy Summer's Beams,
And O! put on, put on with all thy Smiles,
Thy Spring of Beauty straight to welcome Glory.

[Kneels.
Ja.
What means, my Lord?

Gilf.
Start not; for what th'Almighty is above,
And Edward was on Earth, ev'n that you are.

Ja.
Ha! quickly tell me—what is that?

Gilf.
My Princess, and the Soveraign Queen of England.

Ja.
Rise, rise, and flatter those that are Ambitious.

Gilf.
I dare not, for the Ocean's not so wide,
Nor distance up from Earth to Heaven so great,
As this vast Space a Crown has made betwixt us.

Ja.
Now I have hopes again thou art not serious,
That the King lives, and this is acted all—
Rise to my Breast, and take those fancy'd Crowns:
Were here the Empire of the World, my Lord
Should share it.

Gilf.
Can you be so Heav'nly lavish!
Imagine then, thy Beauty's on a Throne,
High as the Star, the Ruler of the Morn,
From whence thou may'st behold
Joy spread its Wings o'er all the Ravish'd Island,
Augusta with her Bells and Trumpets sounding
Jane, Brittain's Empress, and the Ocean's Queen.

Ja.
Haste, and in few and plainer words explain you.
Truly I bind you by that Sacred Truth above—
I die to be deliver'd of this doubt,
But fear the Knowledge will be worse than Death.
What am I? Who are you? And if the King
Be dead (as all the Pow'rs o'er Life forbid)
Who shou'd the Nation kneel to, but his Sister?

Gilf.
Your self.

Ja.
My self!

Gilf.
Ask me not whom the People,
But whom the Heav'ns have chosen, whom the King
On his Sick Bed, by Patent, and by Will,
Ordain'd? And I must answer, only you.

Ja.
Ha! Me! Me Heav'ns!—Yet, yet recant, my Guilford;
Say this is feign'd, and pour not down at once
More Plagues than Earth has left in store to curse us.
Condemn not with thy once melodious Tongue
These Breasts to Banishment, and further too
Than Seas can part us, or than Death can do.

Gilf.
What says my Jane! has she not one kind look,
To give the Messenger! nor Gilford too!
Heark, heark, they come, approaching with a Crown?
[Shouts within.
A Crown! O Sacred and Immortal sound!
Does not the dazling Object fill thy Breast
With such Ætherial Brightness, strange Delight,
As Eden's Goddess, when her Eyes were open'd,
And saw the World her Subjects, all Obey her?

Ja.
Indeed 'tis not unlike, but has this difference,
She dreaded not the Poyson she had swallow'd;
This is Damnation, we too surely know,
A Sin will Edge the Flaming Sword of Justice,
To drive us from our Paradise of Love.
Where is the Princess Mary? She's not Dead?

Gilf.
But Disinherited.

Ja.
It cannot be, 'tis such a horrid Act
That is not in the Power of Hell to do.

Gilf.
The King, who left it you,
Has cut off both his Sisters from the Throne.

Ja.
He durst not, cou'd not—Oh! he was too good—
'Twas in his Sleep, or else when cruel Pain
Had stole his Sences, that some Devil appear'd;
And if it be so, guided his weak hand
To give another's Right, the Nation's Choice,
And Heav'ns Prerogative away—
Far be the thoughts of such a Guilt from us—
Gilford, I will not take the Crown.

Gilf.
Ha!

Ja.
Pardon this one denial of thy Jane,
This only Disobedience of thy Wife,
And all the Meekness of a Tender Bride
Is thine hereafter.

Gilf.
What! not be a Queen?

Ja.
Rouze, rouze my Gilford from this deadly slumber,
Start from this Lethargy of vile Ambition,
A fatal Vision of deceitful Glory;
Lest it shou'd prove with thee, like him who dreamt
That he was mounted on a Precipice,
And, finding it was real when he wak'd,
Did in a Frenzy to the bottom fall,
And dasht his Bones to pieces.

Gilf.
O my Angel!

Ja.
Come to these Arms, far safer than a Crown:
Let us the noise of Courts, and Courtiers shun,
And heavier load of interrupting State,
The little God will bend beneath the weight.

Gilf.
O, my Goddess!

Ja.
Wou'd you this Empire leave, to Reign with Guilt?
This Lambent Crown, for one of drossy Gold?
Shall we this Heav'n forego, and Heav'n hereafter?
To live and wear the hated Name of Tyrants?
And die the death of Traitors?

Gilf.
Ha!

Ja.
Do you love me? and do you prize my Love?

Gilf.
O Heav'ns! Why doubts my Soul?

Ja.
Wou'd you indure to see this Body then
(Which Heav'n and Earth, all Vote to be thy Right)
Torn from thy Embraces, and before thy Face;
By these lov'd Tresses fasten'd to the Ground,
This Bosom threaten'd, and these Beauties mangl'd;
Ravish'd, and made the Lustful Victor's Prize?

Gilf.
Mothers would see their Infants with less Moans,
Torn from their Breasts, and dasht against the Flints.

Ja.
O Gilford! Thou'st Condemn'd us both, to snatch
The Crown and Mary's Birth-Right from her Head;
Such Ravishers are we.

Gilf.
Forgive thy Husband.

Ja.
I know thou wou'dst not—
Had I my Sexes Appetite unbound,
Let loose the Raging Woman from her Temper,
And seiz'd the Crown, thou wou'dst have chid thy Jane,
Pull'd from my Head the Sacrilegious Plunder,
And streight restor'd the Royal Theft again.
Take Counsel of this Faithful Breast that loves thee,
Resolve no more to split upon a Throne,
Let's wear our Innocence, but not the Crown.

Enter Northumberland, Duke and Dutchess of Suffolk, Officers of State, Lords, Ladies, Attendants and Guards. All kneel.
North.
Long live the Virtuous, Happy and Ador'd
Jane Queen of England, France, and Ireland.

Ja.
Kneel not to me, I charge you by those Powers
That first taught Children Duty to their Parents.
Oh! here are some this posture not befits,
Were I the Queen of all the wealthy Globe;
If Angels shou'd descend and worship Men,
It would not be to me so strange a sight—
Rise, or I'll grow thus one with Earth for ever,
Why is all this to me?

North.
Be pleas'd to wear th'Imperial Crown of England,
The Sacred Relicks of most Pious Edward,
At whose Commands, and by consent of all,
We beg you wou'd Adorn, and put 'em on.

Suff.
And make the Widdow'd Nation happy.

Ja.
My Lords, whose Crown wou'd you invest me with?

North.
Deceas'd King Edward's.

Ja.
And tell me, whose Estate d'you now enjoy?

North.
My Father's, Madam.

Ja.
Cou'd then this most deplor'd, the best of Kings,
Our Royal Master, Owner of that Crown,
(Suppose the Will) have so much Power to be
Unjust, and take your own Inheritance,
By Law, and Right of Nature, only yours,
And give it to a Stranger?

North.
I think not.

Ja.
Yet you wou'd take his Crown, his Sister's Right,
And make a Gift of it to me, these Kingdoms
That are as justly now the Princess's Portion,
As are your Father's Lordships yours.

North.
Ha! Gilford!—

Ja.
I see y'are fix'd with wonder at my words.

North.
Madam—

Ja.
Illustrious Parents! Lords, and Country Men,
Why mock you this Unroyal Head with Crowns?
This head that was not made for Rule,
But to Obey; for here's my Lord;
To serve is all the scope of my Ambition.
What me! O Father! Lords, and Councellors!
And all good English Men forbid—O be not,
Be not so rash, as in the Fable, once
The Woods and Trees, the Rebels of the Forrest,
That sought t'elect a Monarch of their own,
And basely chose the Bramble for their King,
Whilst the tall Princely Cedar stood neglected.

Suff.
O Child of Virtue!

Dutch.
Daughter!

North.
Rebellious Boy! Is this all real!

Ja.
Are you so soon forgetful of the Wounds,
Whose Scars you carry fresh about you, like
So many gaping Witnesses against you;
When the Revengeful House of Lancaster,
And that of York, did from your selves and Fathers,
By Usurpation drain a Sea of Blood;
When the white Rose
Grew Crimson with the Vitals of the Red,
And the bold Red turn'd White with the vast Blood
It lost—That I shou'd be th'Agressor!
The hanging Meteor that shou'd bode your Ruines!
O take me rather, quench me from this Orb,
This Basilisk, and lay me deep in Earth.

Dutch.
Degenerate Girl!

North.
Furies and Death! Is this in earnest, Madam.

Ja.
O that these Drops were Tongues instead of Tears,
And every word a Seraphim to charm you,
With all the Virtues, Graces, Worth of her
That is your Queen; add too, divinely born,
Daughter and Sister to your two late Kings.
Whom do the Savages in Desarts chuse
To be their Head, but of the Lyon's Race?
And whom the Feather'd Songsters of the Air,
But of the Royal Eagle's Brood?—Let not
Birds and Brute Beasts instruct your Loyalty.
None but Mankind from smooth Succession strays:
But only Man, nor God, nor King obeys.

North.
My Lords, in low Submission to the Queen,
All this more shews her Noble Mind to Govern,
Than just Excuses to refuse the Crown—
You know how deep our hands are in, how close
Our Lives are with this Common Interest joyn'd.
Consult of this within, and in a Moment
[Exeunt Officers of State.
I will expect your Resolutions—Madam,
By all your precious hopes, y'are lost and ruin'd,
Unless you mean to dally with the Crown.
As your uncertain Sex deal all with Love,
And the same Moment both refuse and take it.
Be suddain, for there's now no going back:
Like Cæsar you have past the Rubicon;
Therefore resolve like him, and take the Crown.

Dutch.
Say not th'art Conscious now of shedding Blood;
All we must perish if thou cease to guard us,
Already y'are proclaim'd through all the Kingdom;
And by a Claim lesser than Mary's, think you!
Was not my Mother, Harry's only Sister?
And every drop of Blood of thine as Royal
As the best vein from whence her Title streams.

North.
Ha! mute! Gilford, where is thy boasted Power?
Where's now thy Empire o'er her bending Mind?
Thy soft, thy obey'd, thy quick Commands to win her?
Thou speechless too! then we are all betray'd.
'Tis so, Madam, w'are sold, basely and Cowardly,
Whilst Correspondence with the Candidate
Is held, in hopes that when my Life and all
My wretched Sons are forfeited to Death,
They shall be Heirs, and so of you, my Lord,
Is it not so?

Gilf.
O Jane!

Ja.
Give me thy hand, let's fall thus low together.
O Father! Mother! far more priz'd than Life!
And Parent of my Lord, as near my Heart!
By the Divine above, and Just on Earth!
By this dear Pledge that you have given these Arms,
To bind me to your Love thus fast for ever,
Your Safety is the only Charm that binds me,
And Life the Sentence that Condemns me Guilty.

Dutch.
What's to be done? the Storm comes on apace,
And Mary like a Torrent from a Hill,
Will quickly drive us hence, or pour upon us.

Suff.
There's now no hopes in any thing but Flight—
Let us secure our selves.

Dutch.
Inglorious Wretch! Shame of thy Mother's Blood!

Suff.
Say, what do you intend to do, my Lord?

North.
Stay here like Titan, and devour my Race,
To tear him, her, thee, and then my hated self—
Yet I'll be gone—but whither? that's no matter.
Behold me, O! thou that wert once my Son!
But now a Stranger to my Bowels—Jove hurl'd
Not Saturn from so proud a heighth as thou hast me.
I, who this Moment in my hand had Crowns,
And Kingdoms with my Breath to give away,
Now am not worth this Spot, this Earth I tread on.

Gilf.
O cruel Jane! O most Inhumane Virtue!

North.
Yet I will live, and feed this Breast with Curses.
There is this Comfort too, I may run mad;
At worst, but beg and starve out Life, as lately
A Noble Duke of the Lancastrian Line,
That us'd in Burgundy, by Horsemens sides
To run and crave an Alms—and so farewel.

Gilf.
My Father! Lord! you must not, shall not stir.
Take not your self, take not your Blessing from us.
Lo, at your Feet the worst Delinquent falls;
Spurn this Hard-hearted and Rebellious Son,
Spurn me to Atoms, hence you shall not go;
For thus I'll hold 'em, chain 'em with my Hands,
Wash 'em with Tears, and glew 'em to my Lips—
Take me along, your Son shall be your Shield;
I'll plant my self like Marble round your Heart,
Save you from Want, and guard you from your Foes.

North.
Loose me—Fond Nature will not let me hurt thee;
The Father's in my Heart, and Mother's in my Eyes.
Wilt thou not let me go, to save my Life?
But see thy Father like a Traitor seiz'd,
Drawn on a Sledge, and mounted on a Gibbet;
Then by the common Executioner
Of Rogues and Thieves, these Bowels to be ripp'd,
And this great Heart yet panting in his hand,
Thrown in the Flames, and burnt before thy Face.

Gilf.
Now by the Heavenly Pity in her Soul!
She'll not indure it—See, she'll take the Crown.
And mount the Precipice of yonder Throne;
Were it as high, or Mortal to ascend,
As Atlas, Teneriff, or burning Ætna,
I know my Jane wou'd Travel to the top,
At my Request; one of these Tears shou'd force her.—
Turn best of Fathers, turn; behold, she will,
I see it in her Soul; her Lips are pregnant—
Now, now, they open—Heav'nly Angel, say?
Let thy Tongue speak the Language of thy Eyes,
And save my Father's Life.

Ja.
Heav'n knows, my Gilford,
How dear's thy Love! How Eloquent thy Tears!
And more, how near thy Father's Danger wracks me;
Yet this I must not yield to; All is none,
To Vultures here, and Daggers in a Throne.

Gilf.
Ha! Then I'll search amongst the Stars, or dive
To th'bottom, where this Merciless Virtue grows—
Farewel, O most Belov'd! And yet most Cruel!
Farewel to those false Dreams of Crowns by Day,
And Heav'n by Night; Farewel to Love for ever.
Perhaps when I am Dead, she'll take the Crown;
Then of necessity, this way's the best,
To save a Father's Life, and be at rest.

[Offers to fall on his Sword.
Ja.
Hold, hold, my Love—Give me this fatal Weapon,
Where is this Throne? Where is this Golden Wreath?
This Magick Circle to Inchant my Brow!
Load me with Crowns, were it the Tripple Crown,
To save your Lives, you shall then put it on.

North.
Immortal Crowns reward your Soul for this.

Gilf.
Shout, shout aloud, till Angels catch the sound,
And Joy in Heav'n, that she on Earth is Crown'd.

[Shouts.
Scene draws, and discovers the Throne and Regalias: Re-enter Lords.
Ja.
Is this the fatal Glory of Mankind!
The dazling Object that so fires his Mind!
Curst as in Mines thou art, dug up with pain,
With Labour got, and Sorrow lost again—
Methinks when I ascend yon dreadful height,
[Putting on the Crown.
I am like one, who when a Storm's in sight,
Climbs up some dangerous Cliff that hits the Skies,
To view the Labouring Barks with weeping Eyes;
How they against the raging Billows strive,
And wonders that the little Wretches live;
But still forgets what slippery place he's on,
How safe they are, how near he is to drown.

[Exeunt Omnes.