University of Virginia Library

SCEN. II.

Princess, Sir William Stanly.
Mrs. Stanly.
Madam I humbly beg, that I may have
Leave to expose my Life, your Life to save.
My Zeal has long lain speechless, though not weak;
And 'tis your Danger now, that makes it speak.

Prin.
Sir by the Queen's Advertisement I learn,
How great a sense you have in my Concern.
You have a Brother too, whose Constant Love
By many secret Tryals I approve:
And, though Court-Favours on his Person shine,
His Outside is the King's, his Inside mine.

Sir W. Stanly.
'Tis my Misfortune, Madam, that I must
More, then my own, to others Merit trust:
And yet ere long I may deserve your Ear
Without the help of an Interpreter:
I in your Favour should to none submit,
If more, then all the World, I merit it.
I hope, if I relieve your present State,
You will my Love by my Performance rate.

Prin.
Your Language too mysterious is; more plain
Expressions sooner will my Credit gain.
In your pretended Love you must not vye
With those, who wish me well by Natures tye.

Sir W. Stanly.
Madam, There is a Love which does outgo
All that of Sisters, and of Mothers too.

Prin.
Hold Sir; These aiery Notions pray forbear:
For I am deaf to what I should not hear.
Give me no Cause to make a Foe of him,
Whose Friendship to my House I would esteem:
For I the Tyrant's Rage shall more approve,
Then the rude Boldness of a Subject's Love.

Sir W. Stanly.
So far from us below you are remov'd,
As makes you fit to be ador'd, not lov'd;
Yet from such Love, as does Heaven's Favour gain,
I need not, Madam, as from Sin, abstain:
If Heavenly objects you resemble most,
Can Heaven be gain'd, and you the same way lost?

Prin.
Hold Sir; This vain Discourse does ill become
Her, who is newly summon'd to her Tomb.

Sir W. Stanly.
Madam, those Summons you shall ne're obey;
I, or the Tyrant first shall lead the Way:
Your Death design'd shall forfeit him his Crown;
The Grave, he digs for you, shall be his own.

Prin.
What sure Foundation, Sir, can I descry
Of this bold Promise, which you raise so high?

Sir W. Stanly.
Foundations, Madam, are laid under Ground;
And mine, though not expos'd to View, are sound.
By painful Flattery, and by long Address
I to the Tyrant's Bosom have Access:
And Death by Steel or Poyson is his Due,
Who forms a black Design to murther you.

Prin.
Those Southern Arts to stab, or poyson Foes,
Become the Climates, where such Poyson grows:
He, that is born of a true English Race,
Never destroys a Foe, but to his Face.

Sir W. Stanly.
But, Madam, can you give your Life away,
And to the Tyrant be a willing Prey?

Prin.
To see him fairly kill'd, I would resign
All Right to what he holds, and should be mine.

Sir W. Stanly.
Verst in the World, but yet not knowing you,
Madam, I ne're till now, true Honour knew:
I am your Convert; and so taught, I may
Ere long to perfect Glory find the way.
And, Madam, for a Tryal, I this Vow
Here solemnly declare to Heaven, and you;
The Tyrant shall be slain, and your releast
Nobly by him, whom, Madam, you love best.
In the Suns Eye, and in the open Field
Fierce Richard shall by Richmond's Sword be kill'd.
You, Honour's Mistris, when this Work is done,
Without Reproch your Proselite may owne.

Prin.
I fear, you take great pleasure to surprise
My thoughts with Riddles, and dark Prophecies:
I shall refer my Faith to their Event;
Now my last hours must otherwise be spent.
[Exit Princess.

Sir W. Stanly.
As Chymists vex themselves, and Nature too,
When her Elixir they in vain pursue;
And yet their toyl does other Secrets find,
Which improve Art, and benefit Mankind;
So, though a hidden Love I seek in vain,
Yet in the Pursuit I shall Glory gain.

[Exit.
The Scene is changed to a Field adjoyning to Richmond's Quarters.