University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Duke of York. Earl of Salisbury. Earl of Warwick.
YORK.

Salisb.

York.
Speak, Warwick:—For, on Gloucester's mighty Fate,
The doubtfull Welfare of the Land is poiz'd:—
Say, how he bears the Seisure of his Wife;
This rude Attack, where most he lies unguarded.

Warw.
Right-Noble York; I need not to unfold
Duke Humfrey's Scorn of Slander.—He contemns
The trivial Malice of his Foes; and bids
His injur'd Consort, pay their Spight with Smiles;
Till Time shall shew Her loyal, as Himself.

York.
Till Time shall shew!—Wherein is She Disloyal?
Most frivolous Pretence of Guilt!—

Warw.
That, She had fashion'd
A Model of his Majesty, in Wax;
With which, his Person is to Sympathize;
Consuming daily, as the Wax consumes.

York.
Now, by my Hopes of Heaven, I could not brooke
Such Forgeries against my Bosome's Darling!—
Such feign'd Offences, as exceed all Faith;
And bid Defiance to Man's Understanding.

Salisb.

York.
I like it not.

Warw.
Nor I.—
In Mischief's dark Designs, Rome is Infallible!

Salisb.
This unexpected Summons from the King,
To meet in Parliament, to Morrow,—bodes—
What, shall I say?—Perhaps, I over-rate
The Policy of Knaves.—And yet, I know,
The Proclamation was not Gloucester's Doing.

Warw.
But,—see where Beaufort comes:—The Cardinal,
Who bears his Head aloft, beneath his Hat,
And looks with Scorn on Princes.

York.
Hence, my Lords!—
His consecrated Pride offends my Eye.

Warw.
To me, it ministers but daily Mirth.

York.
We leave you to your Humour.

Warw.
But a Moment.

SCENE II.

Warwick, Beaufort.
Warw.
How he collects his Brow!—Intent on Mischief:
His own ambitious Views;—or, Gloucester's Ruin.

Beauf.
First, to disgrace him, in his Wife:—In That,
We gratify the Queen; who, now, expects us.

Warw.
Save you, my good Lord Cardinal.—You seem
To stoop; as burden'd with some weighty Thought.

Beauf.
Alas my Lord!—It is my Grief fits heavy.

Warw.
Grief, for the Lady's Innocence;—I fear.

Beauf.
So would my Nephew Gloucester have reply'd.—
But;—of Her Innocence, the reverend Bishops
Will give their upright Judgments.—Heaven knows,
My Heart is void of Malice,—as of Favour:
And,—were it not, my Brethren might suspect
Me partial for the Honour of my Niece;
I would, my self, assist upon her Trial.

Warw.
Come, come; my Lord of Winchester:—For shame,
Prevent a Complet of so foul a Nature!
And free the Dutchess;—for the Kingdom's Quiet.

Beauf.
Wherefore am I reproached?—Can I restrain,
Or, can I turn aside, the Course of Law?

Warw.
But if, in Times of zealous Ignorance,
A Law be made, which Reason disannulls;—

Beauf.
Warwick,—no more:—Thy Mind is libertine.—
If thou think'st Witchcraft, but a fabled Crime;
To Morrow, may'st Thou, in free Parliament,
Declare in Favour of that deadly Sin,
Our holy Church condemns.—Mean time, We trust,
The Lord Protectour's Wife is innocent.

SCENE III.

Warwick.

SCENE IV.

Queen Margaret. Duke of Suffolk. Cardinal Beaufort.
Queen.
Still in our Favour, Suffolk shalt Thou Stand
The Foremost.—Well; my Lord Cardinal:—How goes
The Business of the Day?—Is Eleanor
Adjudged?—Or, must her Treason prosper;
And Henry's Life submit to magick Spells?
That She may place the Crown on Gloucester's Brow;
And drive Us, like a Vagrant, from the Realm.

Suff.
First, perish the Protectour, and his Friends!

Beauf.
Have better Hopes.—Within Saint Stephen's Chappel,
This Hour, and more, the Spiritual Court is sate:
In which, presides his Grace of Canterbury.

Queen.
I fear his Courage.—Is he firm of Purpose?
Does he not dread that overbearing Gloucester?
Can he despise the clamouring Populace;
And prize the Friendship of a grateful Queen?

Beauf.
Fear not for Chicheley, Madam: Most Orthodox,
In every Point; the Scourge of Hereticks.
He will not be inclin'd to strain for Mercy
Toward One, turn'd Proselyte to Wickliff's Errours.

Queen.
But, will your Evidence inforce Conviction?—
For, oftentimes in Courts, when Doubts arise,
Do Crimes evade the Intention of the Law.

Suff.
The Queen observes judiciously.—There lies
The very Stress of all our Hopes.—How say you,
My Lord of Winchester?—For should we fail
In this Attempt;—

Beauf.
Suffolk;—goe tutour Boys!—
I will not fail,—as Thou did'st fail, in France.—
If you approve not of my Working;—So!—
Get abler Heads.

Queen.
The Duke is over-zealous.—
We doubt not of your Policy; long vers'd
In Court-Intrigues.—But, this Affair is Nice;
And, as it turns, Duke Humfrey stands, or falls.

Beauf.

Suff.
Yours be the Merit:—

Queen.

Beauf.
Alas, I covet not!—Of honest Gains
I would have Store, indeed;—for pious Uses.

Suff.
Your Eminency is too Good, we know,—
Too Wise;—to missapply your Wealth.—But, see:
The Duke of Buckingham.

SCENE V.

The Queen. Duke of Suffolk. Cardinal Beaufort. Duke of Buckingham.
Beauf.
What of Dame, Eleanor?—

Queen.
Speak Buckingham.—

Buckin.
Madam, the Trial is over.

Queen.
But, how?—

Buckin.
I heard her Doom pronounced.—

Queen.
Give me the Words.—
Pronounce it o'er again:—Miss not a Tittle.

Buckin.
The Bishops were unanimous:—When, from his Throne,
Old, venerable Chicheley, thus, gave Sentence.
“Dame Eleanor;—Thou stand'st convict of Sorcery:—
“Sorcery most foul, against the Lord's Anointed;
“Our Sovereign Liege:—A Crime, that merits Death.—
“For which Offence, thy Penance is; Bare-foot,
“To pass along, through the wide City-Streets;
“Carrying a lighted Taper in thy Hand:—
“That every Witness of Thy publick Shame
“May see, No Dignity is rais'd above
“The Censure of the Church.—

Queen.
Proceed.—What, more?—
Pause, yet, a While; and recollect the Whole.

Buckin.

Beauf.
A merciful Award, for such a Crime!

Queen.
It is sufficient, Beaufort!—Let her Live:—
Live Infamous;—far, from her Lord, divided;—
The publick Scorn;—Derision of the Court!

Beauf.
I know, your Majesty does not require
Extremity of Justice:—

Queen.

Beauf.
On this Success,—methinks,—
Another might be rais'd;—of higher Import.—

Queen.
As how?

Suff.
Disclose it to the Queen.

Beauf.
Somewhat,—
More tending—to the Honour—of the King.

Queen.
Speak out; good Cardinal.

Beauf.
And yet,—my Zeal,
Perhaps, is over-sedulous.

Buckin.
Fear not.—
Suffolk and I shall not betray the Secret:—

Suff.
Nor, start from any Purpose,—here, approv'd.

Beauf.
What, though the Duke of Gloucester be a Man,
Not lightly moved?—Yet,—can I well conceive,
His doating Love for Eleanor will raise
A Ferment in his Blood.—Confiding in his Power,
And, desperate to prevent her publick Shame;
He may be wrought to such a Pitch of Rashness,
That We, at once, may lift him from his Office:—
His Usurpation of the Sovereign Power.

Queen.
That were a Master-Stroke, in Policy!

Beauf.
Not, that I bear Displeasure to my Nephew.—
But,—while he stiles himself the Lord Protectour;
He does eclipse the Lustre of the Crown:—

Suff.
That, in Another, would be construed Treason:—

Buckin.
Nor, is it less, in Him.

Queen.
What think you, then; my Lords?—
Seems not the Cardinal to counsell wisely?

Suff.
I think, the Event will answer to our Wishes.

Buckin.
It cannot fail.

Queen.
Then,—am I Queen, indeed!—

Beauf.
Or,—should our Expectation fail.—Why, then;—
We think,—again.—You, my Lord Buckingham,
Find Gloucester out;—and, sharpen his Resentments:
While I prepare my Brethren, to assert
The Justice of their Sentence.

Queen.
May your Purpose
Prove as successful, as the Hopes are pleasing

SCENE VI.

The Queen. Duke of Suffolk.
Queen.
Protectour of the Realm!—It must not be.—

Suff.
And yet,—how long, have We endur'd his Sway!

Queen.
Is not the King of Years to rule?—Beside;—
It turns to My Dishonour:—And, my Father,
In all his Letters, chides my mean Submission.—
Must I be Gloucester's Pupil, too?—Oh, Suffolk!
If Thou doest love me;—If Thou lov'st Thy self;
As thou hast seated me on England's Throne,
Let me not be control'd:—Assist,—resolve,
To rescue me from such Disgrace!

Suff.
By those bright Charms,
That heavenly Form, which captivates my Soul;
Your Suffolk will employ his utmost Skill,
His whole Endeavours; risque his Life and Fame,
To humble haughty Gloucester to your Nod!—
And those fair Hands shall hold the Reins of Empire.

Queen.
Then, shall my Suffolk share the Rule with Me!—
A Rule, too turbulent for Henry's Meekness.

Suff.
But,—should Duke Humfrey see the King;—

Queen.
I know—
His Presence overaws him.—Leave, to Me,
That Care.

Suff.
Mean time, will I advise with Beaufort;
Whose working Brain is bent on Gloucester's Ruin:
Not, for Your Service, Madam;—nor, the King's;—
But, to destroy the Man, who Twice accus'd him,
And Studies to defeat his whole Ambition.

Queen.
Fear not his towering Hopes.—When the Time comes,
We shall exclude him from Saint Peter's Chair.

SCENE VII.

A Prison; belonging to the Palace.
Dutchess of Gloucester.

SCENE VIII.

Dutchess of Gloucester. Duke of Gloucester.
Dutch.
O, Gloucester!—Lord of my Desires!—My Glory!—
Oh,—wherefore should'st Thou visit Thy Dishonour?—
Fain would I hide my Shame from Thee!—Be gone;
And leave me to my Penance.

Duke.

Dutch.
My dearest Lord;
For Your loved Sake, I wish, it might not be!

Duke.

Dutch.
If, to be zealous in the Search of Truth;
If, to abhorr foul Errours, be a Crime;
Then, is my heavy Condemnation just:—
If Heaven thinks otherwise;—Heaven be my Comfort!

Duke.

Dutch.
But,—the Church injoins it.—
And, who shall dare oppose What They decree?

Duke.
Oppose Iniquity?—Impiety?—and Craft?—
And Pride?—And Insolence; beyond Support!—
Are there no Free,—no Righteous, English Spirits?—
Has the Protectour, then, no Power? No Friends?—
What?—Give thee up,—a Sacrifice to Falsehood!
And be the Scoff of Beaufort; and of Suffolk;
And, of that Queen;—indigent Reiner's Daughter!—
Judge not, so meanly, of thy Gloucester's Love.

Dutch.

Duke.
It is thy Tenderness creates these Fears!—
Fenced with Integrity, I live secure:
My Loyalty admits of no Suspicion.

Dutch.
So, did you judge of Me.

Duke.

Dutch.
Be assur'd,
Beaufort and She, Both in Contrivance subtle,
Have plotted, deep, against your envied Power:—
And,—That destroy'd;—Who answers for your Life?—
Oh, did you know the Terrours of my Heart,
You would not tempt the Malice of your Foes!

Duke.
I tempt it not.—But, I am stung,—to Death!—
And, how shall I divest my self of Feeling?—
Say, injur'd Innocence!—What can I, more?

Dutch.
Let your Resentment sleep.—The patient Mind,
By yielding, overcomes.—This shamefull Penance
Will turn, hereafter, to our lasting Praise;
When Men shall speak of Eleanor's Submission,
And Gloucester's brave Forbearance!—Both, alike,
Preferring England's Quiet, to their Own.

Duke.
Excellent Woman!—How doest Thou perswade!

Dutch.
This is no Time for Rage;—nor private Grudgings.—
The People's Discontents, the King's Affairs,
The Nation's Weal, require your cool Advice.

Duke.
O, Eleanor!—In Vertue finish'd;—Wise,
Beyond thy Sex!—Well doest Thou caution me.

Dutch.
Let them enjoy their poor Revenge, a While.—
Conscious of no Offence,—Why should I grieve?
Where Guilt is absent, there can be no Shame.

Duke.
But,—if I live,—I will repay their Malice.—
Fellow;—What would'st thou?—

Enter an Officer.
Dutch.
Good my Lord;—speak gently.—
He comes to lead me forth, to—

Duke.
Hence,—Miscreant!

Dutch.
I do beseech you!—Use your Moderation.

Duke.
Begone!—The Duke of Gloucester warns thee hence:—
The Lord Protectour warns thee;—on thy Life!

Dutch.
Stay, Officer:—I come.—The Duke forgets—
Sweet Heaven, appease him, now!—My Lord,—

Duke.
I say,
Thou shalt not goe;—till I appoint the Time.—
Nay;—Never, will I suffer thee to goe!—
Nor, shalt thou, Here, abide.—I am determin'd!—
If, it be Rashness;—Let me, then, be rash;—
Let me desperate!—in thy Defence.—
The People,—All, will justify my Conduct.

Dutch.
O, my lov'd Gloucester!—Oh, recall your Reason.—
We stand upon a Precipice!—Thus, kneeling,
Do I supplicate.—Preserve your self;—and Me:—
Preserve the King;—Preserve the publick Peace:—
And, make not Me the Cause of civil Discord.

Duke.

Dutch.
Mean Time,—Adieu.—Each Night,—
Each lonely Hour,—will I not cease to pray
For England's Happiness and Gloucester's Safety.

Duke.
Heaven have thee in Protection!—This Embrace,—

Dutch.
And—This;—my Lord!—

Duke.
Oh,—Eleanor!—

Dutch.
Nay,—do not grieve.—

Duke.
Do Thou
Not grieve.—

Dutch.
Once more,—Adieu.

Duke.
Oh,—stay!—And, take—
The tenderest Rapture of my Soul,—to cherish!—

SCENE IX.

Duke of Gloucester.