University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Scene continues.
Enter Gardiner, as Lord Chancellor, and the Lieutenant of the Tower. Servants with Lights before 'em.
Lieut.
Good Morning to your Lordship! you rise early

Gar.
Nay, by the Rood, there are too many Sleepers;
Some must stir early, or the State shall suffer.
Did you, as yesterday our Mandate bad,
Inform your Pris'ners, Lady Jane and Guilford,
They were to die this Day?

Lieut.
My Lord, I did.

Gar.
'Tis well. But say, how did your Message like 'em?

Lieut.
My Lord, they met the Summons with a Temper
That shew'd a solemn serious Sense of Death,
Mix'd with a noble Scorn of all its Terrors.
In short, they heard me with the self-same Patience
With which they still have born them in their Prison.
In one Request they both concur'd: Each begg'd
To die before the other.

Gar.
That, dispose
As you think fitting.

Lieut.
The Lord Guilford only
Implor'd another Boon, and urg'd it warmly;
That e'er he suffer'd he might see his Wife,
And take a last Farewel.

Gar.
That's not much;
That Grace may be allow'd him: See you to it.
How goes the Morning?

Lieut.
Not yet Four, my Lord.

Gar.
By Ten they meet their Fate. Yet one thing more,
You know 'twas order'd that the Lady Jane
Shou'd suffer here within the Tow'r. Take care
No Crouds may be let in, no maudlin Gazers,
To wet their Handkerchiefs, and make Report
How like a Saint she ended. Some fit Number,
And those too of our Friends, were most convenient:
But above all, see that Good Guard be kept;
You know the Queen is lodg'd at present here,
Take care that no Disturbance reach her Highness.
And so good Morning, good Master Lieutenant.
[Ex. Lieut.
How now! What Light comes here?

Serv.
So please your Lordship,
If I mistake not 'tis the Earl of Pembroke.

Gar.
Pembroke!—'Tis he, What calls him forth thus early?
Somewhat he seems to bring of high Import;
Some Flame uncommon kindles up his Soul,
And flashes forth impetuous at his Eyes.
Enter Pembroke, a Page with a Light before him.
Good morrow, Noble Pembroke! What importunate
And strong Necessity breaks on your Slumbers,
And rears your youthful Head from off your Pillow
At this unwholesom Hour; while yet the Night
Lags in her latter Course, and with her raw
And rheumy Damps infects the dusky Air?

Pem.
Oh Reverend Winchester! my beating Heart
Exults and labours with the Joy it bears.
The News I bring shall bless the breaking Morn;
This coming Day the Sun shall rise more glorious,
Than when his maiden Beams first gilded o'er
The rich immortal Greens, the flow'ry Plains,
And fragrant Bow'rs of Paradise new-born.

Gar.
What Happiness is this?

Pem.
'Tis Mercy! Mercy,
The Mark of Heaven impress'd on Human Kind
Mercy that glads the World, deals Joy around;
Mercy that smooths the dreadful Brow of Power
And makes Dominion light; Mercy that saves,
Binds up the broken Heart, and heals Despair.
Mary, our Royal Ever-gracious Mistress,
Has to my Services and humblest Prayers
Granted the Lives of Guilford and his Wife;
Full, and free Pardon!

Gar.
Ha! What said you? Pardon!
But sure you cannot mean it, cou'd not urge
The Queen to such a rash and ill-tim'd Grace?
What! save the Lives of those who wore her Crown!
My Lord! 'tis most unweigh'd pernicious Counsel,
And must not be comply'd with.

Pem.
Not comply'd with!
And who shall dare to bar her Sacred Pleasure,
And stop the Stream of Mercy?

Gar.
That will I,
Who wo'not see her gracious Disposition
Drawn to destroy her self.

Pem.
Thy narrow Soul
Knows not the godlike Glory of Forgiving;
Nor can thy cold, thy ruthless Heart conceive
How large the Pow'r, how fix'd that Empire is,
Which Benefits confer on generous Minds:
Goodness prevails upon the stubborn'st Foes,
And conquers more than ever Cæsar's Sword did.

Gar.
These are romantick, light, vain-glorious Dreams
Have you consider'd well upon the Danger?
How dear to the fond Many, and how popular
These are whom you wou'd spare? Have you forgot
When at the Bar, before the Seat of Judgment,
This Lady Jane, this beauteous Traitress stood,
With what Command she charm'd the whole Assembly?
With silent Grief the mournful Audience sat,
Fix'd on her Face, and list'ning to her Pleading.
Her very Judges wrung their Hands for Pity;
Their old Hearts melted in 'em as she spoke,
And Tears ran down upon their silver Beards.
Ev'n I my self was mov'd, and for a moment
Felt Wrath suspended in my doubtful Breast,
And question'd if the Voice I heard was mortal.
But when her Tale was done, what loud Applause
Like Bursts of Thunder shook the spacious Hall!
At last, when, sore constrain'd, th'unwilling Lords
Pronounc'd the fatal Sentence on her Life;
A Peal of Groans ran thro the crouded Court,
As every Heart were broken, and the Doom,
Like that which waits the World, were universal.

Pem.
And can that sacred Form, that Angel's Voice,
Which mov'd the Hearts of a rude ruthless Croud,
Nay, mov'd ev'n thine, now sue in vain for Pity?

Gar.
Alas! you look on her with Lovers Eyes:
I hear and see thro reasonable Organs,
Where Passion has no Part. Come, come, my Lord,
You have too little of the Statesman in you.

Pem.
And you, my Lord, too little of the Churchman.
Is not the sacred Purpose of our Faith
Peace and Good-will to Man! The hallow'd Hand,
Ordain'd to bless, shou'd know no Stain of Blood.
'Tis true, I am not practis'd in your Politicks.
'Twas your pernicious Counsel led the Queen
To break her Promise with the Men of Suffolk,
To violate what in a Prince should be
Sacred above the rest, her Royal Word.

Gar.
Yes, and I dare avow it; I advis'd her
To break thro all Engagements made with Hereticks,
And keep no Faith with such a Miscreant Crew.

Pem.
Where shall we seek for Truth, when ev'n Religion,
The Priestly Robe and miter'd Head disclaim it?
But thus bad Men dishonour the best Cause.
I tell thee, Winchester, Doctrines like thine
Have stain'd our holy Church with greater Infamy
Than all your Eloquence can wipe away.
Hence 'tis, that those who differ from our Faith
Brand us with Breach of Oaths, with Persecution,
With Tyranny o'er Conscience, and proclaim
Our scarlet Prelates Men that thirst for Blood,
And Christian Rome more cruel than the Pagan.

Gar.
Nay if you rail, farewel. The Queen must be
Better advis'd, than thus to cherish Vipers,
[Aside.
Whose mortal Stings are arm'd against her Life.
But while I hold the Seal, no Pardon passes
For Hereticks and Traitors.
[Exit Gardiner.

Pem.
'Twas unlucky
To meet and cross upon this froward Priest:
But let me lose the Thought on't; let me haste,
Pour my glad Tidings forth in Guilford's Bosom,
And pay him back the Life his Friendship sav'd.

[Exit.
[The Scene draws, and discovers the Lady Jane kneeling; as at her Devotion; a Light and a Book plac'd on a Table before her.]
Enter Lieutenant of the Tower, Lord Guilford, and one of Lady Jane's Women.
Lieut.
Let me not press upon your Lordship further,
But wait your Leisure in the Antichamber.

Guil.
I will not hold you long.

[Exit. Lieutenant.
Wom.
Softly, my Lord!
For yet behold she kneels. Before the Night
Had reach'd her middle Space, she left her Bed,
And with a pleasing sober Cheerfulness,
As for her Funeral, array'd her self
In those sad solemn Weeds. Since then, her Knee
Has known that Posture only, and her Eye,
Or fix'd upon the sacred Page before her,
Or lifted with her rising Hopes to Heaven.

Guil.
See! with what Zeal those holy Hands are rear'd!
Mark her Vermilion Lip with Fervour trembling!
Her spotless Bosom swells with sacred Ardour,
And burns with Extasy and strong Devotion.
Her Supplication sweet, her faithful Vows
Fragrant and pure, and grateful to high Heaven,
Like Incense from the golden Censor rise:
Or blessed Angels minister unseen,
Catch the soft Sounds, and with alternate Office
Spread their Ambrosial Wings, then mount with Joy,
And waft 'em upwards to the Throne of Grace.
But she has ended, and comes forward.

[Lady Jane rises, and comes towards the Front of the Stage.
L. Jane.
Ha!
Art thou my Guilford! Wherefore dost thou come
To break the settled Quiet of my Soul?
I meant to part without another Pang,
And lay my weary Head down full of Peace.

Guil.
Forgive the Fondness of my longing Soul,
That melts with Tenderness, and leans towards thee;
Tho the imperious dreadful Voice of Fate
Summon her hence, and warn her from the World.
But if to see thy Guilford, give thee Pain,
Wou'd I had dy'd, and never more beheld thee:
Tho my lamenting discontented Ghost
Had wander'd forth unblest by those dear Eyes,
And wail'd thy Loss in Death's eternal Shades.

L. Jane.
My Heart had ended ev'ry earthly Care,
Had offer'd up its Prayers for thee and England,
And fix'd its Hope upon a Rock unfailing;
While all the little Bus'ness that remain'd,
Was but to pass the Forms of Death with Constancy,
And leave a Life become indifferent to me.
But thou hast waken'd other Thoughts within me:
Thy Sight, my dearest Husband and my Lord,
Strikes on the tender Strings of Love and Nature;
My vanquish'd Passions rise again, and tell me
'Tis more, far more than Death to part from thee.

Enter Pembroke.
Pem.
Oh let me fly! bear me, thou swift Impatience,
And lodge me in my faithful Guilford's Arms;
[Embracing.
That I may snatch him from the greedy Grave,
That I may warm his gentle Heart with Joy,
And talk to him of Life, of Life and Pardon.

Guil.
What means my dearest Pembroke?

Pem.
Oh! my Speech
Is choak'd with Words that croud to tell my Tidings:
But I have sav'd thee, and—Oh Joy unutterable!
The Queen, my gracious, my forgiving Mistress,
Has given not only thee to my Request,
But she, she too in whom alone thou liv'st,
The Partner of thy Heart, thy Love is safe.

Guil.
Millions of Blessings wait her!—Has she—tell me!
Oh has she spar'd my Wife?

Pem.
Both, both are pardon'd.
But haste, and do thou lead me to thy Saint,
That I may cast my self beneath her Feet,
And beg her to accept this poor Amends
For all I've done against her—Thou fair Excellence,
[Kneeling.
Can'st thou forgive the hostile Hand that arm'd
Against thy Cause, and robb'd thee of a Crown?

L. Jane.
Oh rise, my Lord, and let me take your Posture!
Life and the World were hardly worth my Care;
But you have reconcil'd me to 'em both.
Then let me pay my Gratitude, and for
This free, this noble unexpected Mercy,
Thus low I bow to Heaven, the Queen, and You.

Pem.
To me! Forbid it Goodness! If I live,
Somewhat I will do shall deserve your Thanks;
All Discord and Remembrance of Offence
Shall be clean blotted out, and for your Freedom
My self have underta'en to be your Caution.
Hear me, you Saints, and aid my pious Purpose;
These that deserve so much, this wondrous Pair,
Let these be happy, ev'ry Joy attend 'em;
A Fruitful Bed, a Chain of Love unbroken,
A good Old Age, to see their Childrens Children,
A holy Death, and everlasting Memory:
While I resign to them my Share of Happiness;
Contented still to want what they enjoy,
And singly to be wretched.

Enter Lieutenant of the Tower.
Lieut.
The Lord Chancellor
Is come with Orders from the Queen.

Enter Gardiner, and Attendants.
Pem.
Ha! Winchester!

Gar.
The Queen, whose Days be many,
By me confirms her first accorded Grace:
But as the pious Princess means her Mercy
Shou'd reach e'en to the Soul as well as Body,
By me she signifies her Royal Pleasure,
That thou, Lord Guilford, and the Lady Jane,
Do instantly renounce, abjure your Heresy,
And yield Obedience to the See of Rome.

L. Jane.
What, turn Apostate!

Guil.
Ha! Forgo my Faith!

Gar.
This one Condition only seals your Pardon.
But if thro Pride of Heart and stubborn Obstinacy,
With wilful Hands you push the Blessing from you,
And shut your Eyes against such manifest Light;
Know ye, your former Sentence stands confirm'd,
And you must die to-day.

Pem.
'Tis false as Hell:
The Mercy of the Queen was free and full.
Think'st thou that Princes merchandize their Graces,
As Roman Priests their Pardons? Do they barter,
Skrew up like you the Buyer to a Price,
And doubly sell what was design'd a Gift?

Gar.
My Lord, this Language ill beseems your Nobleness;
Nor come I here to bandy Words with Madmen:
Behold the Royal Signet of the Queen,
Which amply speaks her Meaning. You, the Pris'ners,
Have heard at large its Purport, and must instantly
Resolve upon the Choice of Life or Death.

Pem.
Curse on—But wherefore do I loiter here?
I'll to the Queen this moment, and there know
What 'tis this mischief-making Priest intends.

[Exit.
Gar.
Your Wisdom points you out a proper Course.
A Word with you, Lieutenant.

[Talks with Lieut. aside.
Guil.
Must we part then?
Where are those Hopes that flatter'd us but now?
Those Joys, that like the Spring with all its Flowers,
Pour'd out their Pleasures ev'ry where around us?
In one poor Minute gone, at once they wither'd,
And left their Place all desolate behind 'em.

L. Jane.
Such is this foolish World, and such the Certainty
Of all the boasted Blessings it bestows:
Then, Guilford, let us have no more to do with it;
Think only how to leave it as we ought,
But trust no more, and be deceiv'd no more.

Guil.
Yes, I will copy thy Divine Example,
And tread the Paths are pointed out by thee:
By thee instructed, to the fatal Block
I bend my Head with Joy, and think it Happiness
To give my Life a Ransom for my Faith.
From thee, thou Angel of my Heart, I learn
That greatest, hardest Task, to part with thee.

L. Jane.
Oh gloriously resolv'd! Heaven is my Witness,
My Heart rejoices in thee more ev'n now,
Thus Constant as thou art in Death, thus Faithful,
Than when the holy Priest first join'd our Hands,
And knit the sacred Knot of Bridal Love.

Gar.
The Day wears fast; Lord Guilford, have you thought?
Will you lay hold on Life?

Guil.
What are the Terms?

Gar.
Death or the Mass attend you.

Guil.
'Tis determin'd;
Lead to the Scaffold.

Gar.
Bear him to his Fate.

Guil.
Oh let me fold thee once more in my Arms,
Thou dearest Treasure of my Heart, and print
A dying Husband's Kiss upon thy Lip!
Shall we not live again, ev'n in these Forms?
Shall I not gaze upon thee with these Eyes?

L. Jane.
O wherefore dost thou sooth me with thy Softness?
Why dost thou wind thy self about my Heart,
And make this Separation painful to us?
Here break we off at once; and let us now,
Forgetting Ceremony, like two Friends
That have a little Bus'ness to be done,
Take a short Leave, and haste to meet again.

Guil.
Rest on that Hope, my Soul—my Wife—

L. Jane.
No more.

Guil.
My Sight hangs on thee—Oh support me, Heav'n,
In this last Pang—and let us meet in Bliss.

[Guilford is led off by the Guards.
L. Jane.
Can Nature bear this Stroke?—

Wom.
Alas! she faints—

[Supporting
L. Jane.
Wou't thou fail now!—the killing Stroke is past,
And all the Bitterness of Death is over.

Gar.
Here let the dreadful Hand of Vengeance stay:
Have pity on your Youth and blooming Beauty;
Cast not away the Good which Heaven bestows;
Time may have many Years in store for you,
All crown'd with fair Prosperity: Your Husband
Has perish'd in Perverseness.

L. Jane.
Cease, thou Raven;
Nor violate with thy profaner Malice
My bleeding Guilford's Ghost—'tis gone, 'tis flown;
But lingers on the wing, and waits for me.
[The Scene draws, and discovers a Scaffold hung with Black, Executioner and Guards.]
And see my Journey's End!

1 Wom.
My dearest Lady.

[Weeping.
2 Wom.
Oh Misery!

L. Jane.
Forbear, my gentle Maids,
Nor wound my Peace with fruitless Lamentations:
The good and gracious Hand of Providence
Shall raise you better Friends than I have been.

1 Wom.
Oh never! never!—

L. Jane.
Help to disarray,
And fit me for the Block: Do this last Service,
And do it chearfully. Now you will see
Your poor unhappy Mistress sleep in Peace,
And cease from all her Sorrows. These few Trifles,
The Pledges of a dying Mistress' Love,
Receive and share among you. Thou, Maria,
[To 1 Wom
Hast been my old, my very faithful Servant;
In dear Remembrance of thy Love, I leave thee
This Book, the Law of Everlasting Truth:
Make it thy Treasure still, 'twas my Support
When all Help else forsook me.

Gar.
Will you yet
Repent, be wise, and save your precious Life?

L. Jane.
Oh Winchester! has Learning taught thee that,
To barter Truth for Life?

Gar.
Mistaken Folly!
You toil and travail for your own Perdition,
And die for damned Errors.

L. Jane.
Who judge rightly,
And who persist in Error, will be known,
Then, when we meet again. Once more farewel;
[To her Wom.
Goodness be ever with you. When I'm dead,
Intreat they do no rude dishonest Wrong
To my cold headless Corse; but see it shrouded,
And decent laid in Earth.

Gar.
Wou't thou then die?
Thy Blood be on thy Head.

L. Jane.
My Blood be where it falls, let the Earth hide it
And may it never rise, or call for Vengeance:
Oh, that it were the last shall fall a Victim
To Zeal's inhuman Wrath! Thou gracious Heaven,
Hear and defend at length thy suff'ring People.
Raise up a Monarch of the Royal Blood,
Brave, Pious, Equitable, Wise, and Good:
In thy due Season let the Hero come,
To save thy Altars from the Rage of Rome:
Long let him reign, to bless the rescu'd Land,
And deal out Justice with a righteous Hand.
And when he fails, Oh may he leave a Son,
With equal Vertues to adorn his Throne:
To latest Times thy Blessing to convey,
And guard that Faith for which I die to-day.

[Lady Jane goes up to the Scaffold, the Scene closes.]
Enter Pembroke.
Pem.
Horror on Horror! blasted be the Hand
That struck my Guilford! Oh! his bleeding Trunk
Shall live in these distracted Eyes for ever.
Curse on thy fatal Arts, thy cruel Counsels!
[To Gardiner.
The Queen is deaf and pitiless as thou art.

Gar.
The just Reward of Heresy and Treason
Is fal'n upon 'em both for their vain Obstinacy;
Untimely Death with Infamy on Earth,
And everlasting Punishment hereafter.

Pem.
And canst thou tell? Who gave thee to explore
The Secret Purposes of Heaven, or taught thee
To set a Bound to Mercy unconfin'd?
But know, thou proud perversly-judging Winchester,
Howe'er your hard imperious Censures doom,
And portion out our Lot in Worlds to come;
Those, who with honest Hearts pursue the Right,
And follow faithfully Truth's Sacred Light,
Tho suffering here, shall from then Sorrows cease,
Rest with the Saints, and dwell in endless Peace.

[Exeunt Omnes.