University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

SCENE the Tower.
Enter the Duke of Gloster, Sir Richard Ratcliffe, and Catesby.
Glost.
Thus far Success attends upon our Councils,
And each Event has answer'd to my Wish;
The Queen and all her upstart Race are quell'd;
Dorset is banish'd, and her Brother Rivers
'Ere this lies shorter by the Head at Pomfret.
The Nobles have with joint Concurrence nam'd me
Protector of the Realm: My Brother's Children,
Young Edward and the little York, are lodg'd
Here, safe within the Tower. How say you, Sirs.
Does not this business wear a lucky Face?
The Scepter and the Golden Wreath of Royalty
Seem hung within my Reach.

Ratel.
Then take 'em to you
And wear them long and worthily; you are
The last remaining Male of princely York:
(For Edward's Boys, the State Esteems not of 'em,)
And therefore on your Sovereignty and Rule
The Common-Weal does her Dependence make.
And leans upon your Highness's able Hand.

Cat.
And yet to Morrow does the Council meet
To fix a Day for Edward's Coronation:
Who can expound this Riddle?

Glost.
That can I.
Those Lords are each one my approv'd, good Friends.
Of special Trust and Nearness to my Bosom;
And howsoever busie they may seem,
And diligent to bustle in the State,
Their Zeal goes on no farther than we lead,
And at our bidding stays.

Cat.
Yet there is one,
And he amongst the foremost in his Power,
Of whom I wish your Highness were assur'd:
For me, perhaps it is my Nature's Fault,
I own, I doubt of his inclining, much.

Glost.
I guess the Man at whom your Words wou'd point:
Hastings—

Cat.
The same.

Glost.
He bears me great Good Will.

Cat.
'Tis true, to you, as to the Lord Protector
And Gloster's Duke, he bows with lowly Service:
But were he bid to cry, God save King Richard.
Then tell me in what Terms he wou'd reply.
Believe me, I have prov'd the Man, and found him:
I know he bears a most religious Reverence
To his dead Master Edward's Royal Memory.
And whither that may lead him is most plain;
Yet more—One of that stubborn sort he is
Who, if they once grow fond of an Opinion,
They call it Honour, Honesty, and Faith.
And sooner part with Life than let it go.

Glost.
And yet, this tough impracticable Heart.
Is govern'd by a dainty-finger'd Girl;
Such Flaws are found in the most worthy Natures;
A laughing, toying, wheadling, whimpering she.
Shall make him amble on a Gossips Message.
And take the Distaff with a Hand as patient
As e'er did Hercules.

Ratcl.
The fair Alicia
Of noble Birth, and exquisite of Feature,
Has held him long a Vassal to her Beauty.

Cat.
I fear, he fails in his Allegiance there;
Or my Intelligence is false, or else
The Dame has been too lavish of her Feast.
And fed him 'till he loaths.

Glost.
No more, he comes.

Enter Lord Hastings.
L. Hast.
Health and the Happiness of many Days
Attend upon your Grace.

Glost.
My good Lord Chamberlain!
W'are much beholden to your gentle Friendship.

L. Hast.
My Lord, I come an humble Suitor to you.

Glost.
In right good time. Speak out your Pleasure freely.

L. Hast.
I am to move your Highness in behalf
Of Shore's unhappy Wife.

Glost.
Say you? of Shore?

L. Hast.
Once a bright Star that held her Place on high:
The first and fairest of our English Dames
While Royal Edward held the Sovereign Rule
Now sunk in Grief, and pining with Despair.
Her waining Form no longer shall incite
Envy in Woman, or Desire in Man.
She never sees the Sun but thro' her Tears,
And wakes to sigh the live-long Night away.

Glost.
Marry! the Times are badly chang'd with her
From Edward's Days to these. Then all was Jollity.
Feasting, and Mirth, light Wantonness and Laughter.
Piping and Playing, Minstrelsie and Masquing;
Till Life fled from us like an idle Dream,
A Shew of Mommery without a Meaning.
My Brother, Rest and Pardon to his Soul,
Is gone to his Account; For this his Minion
The Revel-rout is done—But you were speaking
Concerning her—I have been told that you
Are frequent in your Visitation to her.

L. Hast.
No farther, my good Lord, than friendly Pity
And tender hearted Charity allow.

Glost.
Go to. I did not mean to chide you for it.
For, sooth to say, I hold it noble in you
To cherish the Distress'd—On with your Tale.

L. Hast.
Thus is it, gracious Sir, that certain Officers
Using the Warrant of your mighty Name,
With Insolence unjust, and lawless Power,
Have seiz'd upon the Lands, which late she held
By Grant from her great Master Edward's Bounty.

Glost.
Somewhat of this, but slightly, have I heard;
And tho' some Counsellors of forward Zeal,
Some of most ceremonious Sanctity,
And bearded Wisdom, often have provok'd
The Hand of Justice to fall heavy on her,
Yet still in kind Compassion of her Weakness,
And tender Memory of Edward's Love.
I have withheld the merciless stern Law,
From doing Outrage on her helpless Beauty.

L. Hast.
Good Heav'n, who renders Mercy back for Mercy,
With open-handed Bounty shall repay you:
This gentle Deed shall fairly be set foremost,
To screen the wild escapes of lawless Passion,
And the long Train of Frailties Flesh is Heir to.

Glost.
Thus far, the Voice of Pity pleaded only;
Our farther and more full Extent of Grace
Is given to your Request. Let her attend,
And to our self deliver up her Griefs.
She shall be heard with Patience, and each Wrong
At full redrest. But I have other News
Which much import us both, for still my Fortunes
Go hand in hand with yours; Our common Foes,
The Queen's Relations, our new fangl'd Gentry,
Have fall'n their haughty Crests—That for your Privacy.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

An Apartment in Jane Shore's House.
Enter Bellmour and Dumont.
Bell.
How she has liv'd you've heard my Tale already;
The rest your own Attendance in her Family,
Where I have found the Means this Day to place you,
And nearer Observation best will tell you.
See! with what sad and sober Cheer she comes.

Enter Jane Shore.
Sure, or I read her Visage much amiss,
Or Grief besets her hard. Save you fair Lady,
The Blessings of the chearful Morn be on you,
And greet your Beauty with its opening Sweets.

J. Sh.
My gentle Neighbour! your good Wishes still
Pursue my hapless Fortunes: Ah! good Bellmour!
How few, like thee, enquire the wretched out,
And court the Offices of soft Humanity;
Like thee, reserve their Raiment for the Naked,
Reach out their Bread, to feed the crying Orphan,
Or mix their pitying Tears with those that Weep:
Thy praise deserves a better Tongue than mine
To speak and bless thy Name. Is this the Gentleman,
Whose friendly Service you commended to me?

Bell.
Madam! it is.

J. Sh.
A venerable Aspect!
[Aside.
Age sits with decent Grace upon his Visage.
And worthily becomes his Silver Locks;
He wears the Marks of many Years well spent.
Of Virtue, Truth well try'd, and wife Experience;
A Friend like this, would suit my Sorrows well.
Fortune, I fear me, Sir, has meant you ill,
[To Dumont.
Who pays your Merit with that scanty Pittance.
Which my poor hand and humble Roof can give.
But to supply those golden Vantages,
Which elsewhere you might find, expect to meet
A just Regard and Value for your Worth,
The Welcome of a Friend, and the free Partnership
Of all that little Good the World allows me.

Dum.
You over-rate me much; and all my Answer
Must be my future Truth; let that speak for me.
And make up my deserving.

J. Sh.
Are you of England?

Dum.
No, gracious Lady, Flanders claims my Birth,
At Antwerp has my constant biding been,
Where sometimes I have known more plenteous Days
Than those which now my failing Age affords.

J. Sh.
Alas! at Antwerp!—Oh forgive my Tears!
[Weeping.
They fall for my Offences—and must fall.
Long, Long e'er they shall wash my Stains away.
You knew perhaps—oh Grief! oh Shame!—my Husband.

Dum.
I knew him well—but stay this Flood of Anguish,
The Senseless Grave feels not your pious Sorrows:
Three Years and more are past, since I was bid,
With many of our common Friends, to wait him,
To his last peaceful Mansion. I attended.
Sprinkled his Clay-cold Coarse with holy Drops,
According to our Church's Reverend Rite,
And saw him laid, in hallow'd Ground, to rest.

J. Sh.
Oh! that my Soul had known no Joy but him,
That I had liv'd within his guiltless Arms,
And dying slept in Innocence beside him!
But now his honest Dust abhors the Fellowship.
And scorns to mix with mine.

Enter a Servant.
Serv.
The Lady Alicia,
Attends your Leisure.

J. Sh.
Say I wish to see her.
[Exit Servant.
Please, gentle Sir, one Moment to retire,
I'll wait you on the instant; and inform you
Of each unhappy Circumstance, in which
Your friendly Aid and Counsel much may stead me.

[Exeunt Bellmour and Dumont.
Enter Alicia.
Alic.
Still, my fair Friend, still shall I find you thus,
Still shall these Sighs heave after one another.
These trickling Drops chase one another still.
As if the posting Messengers of Grief
Could overtake the Hours fled far away.
And make old Time come back.

J. Sh.
No, my Alicia,
Heaven and its Saints be witness to my Thoughts,
There is no Hour of all my Life o'er past,
That I could wish should take its turn again.

Alic.
And yet some of those Days my Friend has known.
Some of those Years, might pass for golden ones,
At least, if Womankind can judge of Happiness.
What could we wish, we who delight in Empire,
Whose Beauty is our Sovereign Good, and gives us
Our Reasons to Rebel, and Power to Reign,
What could we more than to behold a Monarch,
Lovely, Renown'd, a Conqueror, and Young,
Bound in our Chains, and sighing at our Feet.

J. Sh.
'Tis true, the Royal Edward was a Wonder.
The goodly Pride of all our English Youth;
He was the very Joy of all that saw him,
Form'd to delight, to love, and to persuade.
Impassive Spirits, and angelick Natures
Might have been charm'd, like yielding human Weakness,
Stoop'd from their Heav'n, and listen'd to his talking.
But what had I to do with Kings and Courts?
My humble Lot had cast me far beneath him;
And that he was the first of all Mankind,
The bravest and most lovely was my Curse.

Alic.
Sure, something more than Fortune join'd your Loves;
Nor could his Greatness, and his gracious Form.
Be elsewhere match'd so well, as to the Sweetness
And Beauty of my Friend.

J. Sh.
Name him no more:
He was the Bane and Ruin of my Peace.
This Anguish and these Tears, These are the Legacies,
His fatal Love has left me. Thou wilt see me,
Believe me, my Alicia, thou wilt see me,
E'er yet a few short Days pass o'er my Head.
Abandon'd to the very utmost Wretchedness.
The Hand of Pow'r has seiz'd almost the whole,
Of what was left for needy Life's Support;
Shortly thou wilt behold me poor, and kneeling
Before thy charitable Door for Bread.

Alic.
Joy of my Life, my dearest Shore, forbear
To wound my Heart with thy foreboding Sorrows.
Raise thy sad Soul to better Hopes than these,
Lift up thy Eyes, and let 'em shine once more,
Bright as the Morning Sun above the Mists.
Exert thy Charms, seek out the stern Protector,
And sooth his savage Temper, with thy Beauty:
Spite of his deadly unrelenting Nature,
He shall be mov'd to pity and redress Thee.

J. Sh.
My Form, alas! has long forgot to please;
The Scene of Beauty and Delight is chang'd,
No Roses bloom upon my fading Cheek,
Nor laughing Graces wanton in my Eyes;
But haggard Grief, lean-looking sallow Care,
And pining Discontent, a rueful Train,
Dwell on my Brow all hideous and forlorn.
One only Shadow of a Hope is left me;
The noble-minded Hastings, of his Goodness,
Has kindly underta'en to be my Advocate,
And move my humble Suit to angry Gloster.

Alic.
Does Hastings undertake to plead your Cause?
But wherefore should he not? Hastings has Eyes;
The gentle Lord has a right tender Heart,
Melting and easy, yielding to Impression,
And Catching the soft Flame from each new Beauty.
But yours shall charm him long.

J. Sh.
Away, you Flatterer!
Nor charge his generous Meaning with a Weakness,
Which his great Soul and Vertue must disdain.
Too much of Love thy hapless Friend has prov'd,
Too many giddy foolish Hours are gone,
And in fantastick Measures danc'd away:
May the remaining few know only Friendship.
So thou, my dearest, truest, best Alicia,
Vouchsafe to lodge me in thy gentle Heart,
A Partner there; I will give up Mankind,
Forget the Transports of encreasing Passion,
And all the Pangs we feel for its Decay.

Alic.
Live! live and Reign for ever in my Bosom,
[Embracing.
Safe and unrivall'd there possess thy own;
And you, ye brightest of the Stars above,
Ye Saints that once were Women here below.
Be witness of the Truth, the holy Friendship,
Which here to this my other self I vow.
If I not hold her nearer to my Soul,
Then ev'ry other Joy the World can give,
Let Poverty, Deformity and Shame,
Distraction and Despair seize me on Earth,
Let not my faithless Ghost have Peace hereafter.
Nor Tast the Bliss of your cœlestial Fellowship.

J. Sh.
Yes, thou art true, and only thou art true;
Therefore these Jewels, once the lavish Bounty.
Of Royal Edward's Love, I trust to thee;
[Giving a Casket.
Receive this all, that I can call my own,
And let it rest unknown and safe with thee:
That if the State's Injustice should oppress me,
Strip me of all, and turn me out a Wanderer,
My Wretchedness may find Relief from thee,
And Shelter from the Storm.

Alic.
My all is thine;
One common Hazard shall attend us both,
And both be fortunate, or both be wretched:
But let thy fearful doubting Heart be still,
The Saints and Angels have thee in their Charge,
And all things shall be well. Think not, the good,
The gentle Deeds of Mercy thou hast done,
Shall dye forgotten all; the Poor, the Pris'ner,
The Fatherless, the Friendless, and the Widow,
Who daily own the Bounty of thy Hand,
Shall cry to Heav'n, and pull a Blessing on thee;
Ev'n Man, the merciless Insulter, Man,
Man, who rejoices in our Sex's Weakness,
Shall pity thee, and with unwonted Goodness,
Forget thy Failings, and record thy Praise.

J. Sh.
Why should I think that Man will do for me.
What yet he never did for Wretches like me.
Mark by what partial Justice we are judg'd;
Such is the Fate unhappy Women find,
And such the Curse intail'd upon our kind,
That Man, the lawless Libertine may rove,
Free and unquestion'd through the Wilds of Love;
While Woman, Sense and Nature's easy Fool,
If poor weak Woman swerve from Virtue's Rule,
If strongly charm'd, she leave the thorny way,
And in the softer Paths of Pleasure stray;
Ruin ensues, Reproach and endless Shame,
And one false Step entirely damns her Fame.
In vain with Tears the Loss she may deplore,
In vain look back to what she was before,
She sets, like Stars that fall, to rise no more.

[Exeunt.