University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

MARGARET, CLIFFORD, Attendants.
MARGARET.
[to a gentleman.
Dispatch these letters strait; to Scotland—this
To the French envoy—these to th'earl of Pembroke.
[turning to lady Clifford.
Thus far, my friend, hath fortune favour'd us
Beyond our hopes: the soul of haughty Warwick
Is all on fire, and puling Edward loves
With most romantic ardour—O my Clifford,
You wou'd have smil'd to see how artfully
I play'd upon him: flatter'd, sooth'd, provok'd,
And wrought him to my purpose: we are link'd
In firmest bonds of amity and love.

CLIFFORD.
Hath Warwick then so soon forgot his Edward?
Think'st thou the frantic earl will e'er exert
His ill-directed powers to pull down
The royal structure, which himself had rais'd?
Never.

MARGARET.
What is there disappointed love
And unrestrain'd ambition will not do?
I tell thee, we are sworn and cordial friends.

CLIFFORD.
Thou know'st he hates the house of Lancaster.

MARGARET.
No matter—he has marvellous good skill
In making kings, and I—have business for him.

CLIFFORD.
And can'st thou then forget the cruel wrongs,
The deep-felt inj'ries of oppressive Warwick,
To join the hand that forg'd thy husband's chains
And rob'd thee of a crown?

MARGARET.
But what—my Clifford,
If the same hand that ravish'd shou'd restore it!
'Tis a court friendship and may last as long
As int'rest shall direct: I've not forgot,
No, nor forgiv'n; I hate, abhor, detest him,
But I will use him as my instrument;
My necessary tool, I'll make him draw
His trait'rous sword, to sheath it in the breast
Of him he loves, then point it to his own:
Yes, Clifford, I have twin'd me round his heart;
Like the fell serpent crept into his bosom,
That I might sting more surely: he shall perish;
I keep him for the last dear precious morsel,
To crown the glorious banquet of revenge.

CLIFFORD.
'Tis what he merits from us, yet th'attempt
Were dang'rous, he is still the people's idol,

MARGARET.
And so perhaps shall Marg'ret be; applause
Waits on success; the fickle multitude,
Like the light straw that floats along the stream,
Glide with the current still and follow fortune.
Our prospect brightens every hour:—the people
Are ripe for a revolt: by civil wars,
Long time inur'd to savage scenes of plunder
And desolation, they delight in war:
These English heroes, when once flesh'd with slaughter,
Like the keen mastiff, lose not soon the track
Of vengeance, nor forget the taste of blood.

CLIFFORD.
What further succours have we to depend on,
Beside earl Warwick's?

MARGARET.
O his name alone
Will be an army to us.

CLIFFORD.
If we have it:
Resentment is a short-liv'd passion—what
If Warwick should relent, and turn again
To Edward?

MARGARET.
Then I have a bosom friend
That shall be ready to reward him for it;—
But I have better hopes: without his aid;
We are not friendless: Scotland's hardy sons
Who smile at danger, and defy the storm,
Will leave their barren mountains to defend
That liberty they love: add too the aid
Of gallant Pembroke, and the pow'rs which France
Will send to vindicate her injur'd honour:
E'er Edward can collect his force and take
The field, we shall be thirty thousand strong.

CLIFFORD.
But what becomes of the young prince?

MARGARET.
Aye; there
I am indeed unhappy, O my child,
How shall I set him free?—hear nature, hear
A mother's pray'r! O guide me with thy counsel,
And teach me how to save my darling boy.
—Aye, now I have it: monitress divine,
I thank thee:—yes; I wait but for the means
Of his escape, then fly this hated palace,
Nor will return till I can call it mine.

SCENE II.

EDWARD, SUFFOLK.
EDWARD.
I fear we've gone too far: th'indignant Warwick
Ill brook'd our steady purpose; mark'd you, Suffolk,
With what an eye of scorn he turn'd him from us,
And lowr'd defiance—that prophetic woman!
Half of her curse already is fulfill'd,
And I have lost my friend.

SUFFOLK.
Some friends, perhaps,
Are better lost: you'll pardon me, my liege,
But, were it fitting, I could tell a tale
Wou'd soon convince you—Warwick is as weak—

EDWARD.
As Edward thou woud'st say.

SUFFOLK.
But 'twill distress
Thy noble heart too much, I dare not, Sir,
Yet one day you must know it.

EDWARD.
Then by thee
Let it be told me, Suffolk, thy kind hand
Will best administer the bitter draught:
Go on, my Suffolk, speak, I charge thee, speak.

SUFFOLK.
That rival whom you wish'd me to discover—

EDWARD.
Aye, what of him? quick, tell me, hast thou found
The happy traitor? give me but to know
That I may wreak my speedy vengeance on him.

SUFFOLK.
Suppose that rival were the man whom most
You lov'd, the man, perhaps, whom most you fear'd;
Suppose 'twere—Warwick.

EDWARD.
Ha! it cannot be:
I would not think it for a thousand worlds—
Warwick in love with her, impossible!
Now, Suffolk, do I fear thou speak'st from envy
And jealous hatred at the noble Warwick,
Not from the love of justice or of Edward;
Where didst thou learn this falshood?

SUFFOLK.
From the lips
Of truth, from one whose honour and whose word
You will not question; from—Elizabeth.

EDWARD.
From her! nay, then I fear—it must be so.

SUFFOLK.
When last I saw her, for again I went
By your command, tho' hopeless of success,
With all the little eloquence that I
Was master of, I urg'd your ardent passion.
Told her how much, how tenderly you lov'd her,
And press'd with eagerness to know the cause
Of her unkind refusal, till at length
Reluctantly, with blushes she confess'd
There was a cause;—she thank'd you for your goodness,
'Twas more she said, much more than she deserv'd,
She ever shou'd revere her king: and if
She had a heart to give it shou'd be—Edward's.

EDWARD.
So kind, and yet so cruel: well, go on.

SUFFOLK.
Then told me all the story of her love,
That Warwick long had woo'd her—that her hand
Was promis'd; soon as he return'd from France,
Though once her father cruelly opposed it,
They were by his consent to be united.

EDWARD.
O never, Suffolk, may I live to see
That dreadful hour! designing hypocrite.
Are these his arts, is this the friend I lov'd?
By heav'n! she shall be mine; I will assert
A sov'reign's right, and tear her from him—what
If he rebel—another civil war!
'Tis terrible—O that I cou'd shake off
This cumbrous garb of majesty that clings
So close around me, meet him man to man,
And try who best deserves her! but when kings
Grow mad, their guiltless subjects pay the forfeit.
Horrible thought—good Suffolk, for a while
I wou'd be private—therefore wait without,
Let me have no intruders; above all,
Keep Warwick from my sight—

SCENE III.

WARWICK, EDWARD.
WARWICK.
Behold him here;
No welcome guest it seems, unless I ask
My lord of Suffolk's leave—there was a time
When Warwick wanted not his aid to gain
Admission here.

EDWARD.
There was a time perhaps,
When Warwick more desired and more—deserv'd it.

WARWICK.
Never; I've been a foolish faithful slave;
All my best years, the morning of my life,
Hath been devoted to your service: what
Are now the fruits? disgrace and infamy;
My spotless name which never yet the breath
Of calumny had tainted, made the mock
For foreign fools to carp at: but 'tis fit
Who trust in princes, shou'd be thus rewarded.

EDWARD.
I thought, my lord, I had full well repay'd
Your services with honours, wealth, and pow'r
Unlimited: thy all-directing hand
Guided in secret ev'ry latent wheel
Of government, and mov'd the whole machine:
Warwick was all in all, and pow'rless Edward
Stood like a cypher in the great account.

WARWICK.
Who gave that cypher worth, and seated thee
On England's throne? thy undistinguish'd name
Had rotted in the dust from whence it sprang,
And moulder'd in oblivion, had not Warwick
Dug from its sordid mine the useless ore,
And stamp'd it with a diadem. Thou know'st,
This wretched country, doom'd, perhaps, like Rome,
To fall by its own self-destroying hand,
Tost for so many years in the rough sea
Of civil discord, but for me had perish'd.
In that distressful hour I seiz'd the helm,
Bade the rough waves subside in peace, and steer'd
Your shatter'd vessel safe into the harbour.
You may despise, perhaps, that useless aid
Which you no longer want; but know, proud youth,
He who forgets a friend, deserves a foe.

EDWARD.
Know too, reproach for benefits receiv'd
Pays ev'ry debt, and cancels obligation.

WARWICK.
Why, that indeed is frugal honesty,
A thristy saving knowledge, when the debt
Grows burthensome, and cannot be discharg'd.
A spunge will wipe out all, and cost you nothing.

EDWARD.
When you have counted o'er the numerous train
Of mighty gifts your bounty lavish'd on me,
You may remember next the inj'ries
Which I have done you; let me know 'em all,
And I will make you ample satisfaction.

WARWICK.
Thou can'st not; thou hast robb'd me of a jewel
It is not in thy pow'r to restore:
I was the first, shall future annals say,
That broke the sacred bond of public trust
And mutual confidence; ambassadors,
In after times, mere instruments, perhaps,
Of venal statesmen, shall recal my name
To witness, that they want not an example,
And plead my guilt, to sanctify their own.
Amidst the herd of mercenary slaves
That haunt your court, cou'd none be found but Warwick,
To be the shameless herald of a lye?

EDWARD.
And woud'st thou turn the vile repoach on me?
If I have broke my faith, and stain'd the name
Of England, thank thy own pernicious counsels
That urg'd me to it, and extorted from me
A cold consent to what my heart abhor'd.

WARWICK.
I've been abus'd, insulted, and betray'd;
My injur'd honour cries aloud for vengeance,
Her wounds will never close!

EDWARD.
These gusts of passion,
Will but inflame them; if I have been right
Inform'd, my lord, besides these dang'rous scars
Of bleeding honour, you have other wounds
As deep, tho' not so fatal: such perhaps
As none but fair Elizabeth can cure.

WARWICK.
Elizabeth!

EDWARD.
Nay, start not, I have cause
To wonder most: I little thought indeed
When Warwick told me I might learn to love,
He was himself so able to instruct me:
But I've discovered all.—

WARWICK.
And so have I;
Too well I know thy breach of friendship there,
Thy fruitless base endeavours to supplant me,

EDWARD.
I scorn it, sir,—Elizabeth hath charms,
And I have equal right with you t'admire them:
Nor see I ought so godlike in the form,
So all-commanding in the name of Warwick,
That he alone shou'd revel in the charms
Of beauty, and monopolize perfection.
I knew not of your love.

WARWICK.
By heav'n, 'tis false!
You knew it all, and meanly took occasion,
Whilst I was busy'd in the noble office,
Your grace thought fit to honour me withal.
To tamper with a weak unguarded woman,
To bribe her passions high, and basely steal
A treasure which your kingdom cou'd not purchase.

EDWARD.
How know you that? but be it as it may,
I had a right, nor will I tamely yield
My claim to happiness, the privilege,
To choose the partner of my throne and bed:
It is a branch of my prerogative.

WARWICK.
Prerogative!—what's that? the boast of tyrants:
A borrow'd jewel, glitt'ring in the crown
With specious lustre, lent but to betray,
You had it, sir, and hold it—from the people.

EDWARD.
And therefore do I prize it; I wou'd guard
Their liberties, and they shall strengthen mine:
But when proud faction and her rebel crew
Insult their sov'reign, trample on his laws,
And bid defiance to his pow'r, the people
In justice to themselves, will then defend
His cause, and vindicate the rights they gave.

WARWICK.
Go to your darling people then; for soon,
If I mistake not, 'twill be needful; try
Their boasted zeal, and see if one of them
Will dare to lift his arm up in your cause,
If I forbid them.

EDWARD.
Is it so, my lord,
Then mark my words: I've been your slave too long,
And you have rul'd me with a rod of iron,
But henceforth know, proud peer, I am thy master,
And will be so: the king, who delegates
His pow'r to other's hands, but ill deserves
The crown he wears.

WARWICK.
Look well then to your own;
It sits but loosely on your head, for know,
The man who injur'd Warwick never pass'd
Unpunish'd yet.

EDWARD.
Nor he who threaten'd Edward—
You may repent it, Sir,—my guards there—seize
This traitor, and convey him to the tow'r,
There let him learn obedience.
(Guards enter, seize Warwick, and endeavour to disarm him.

WARWICK.
Slaves, stand off:
If I must yield my sword, I'll give it him
Whom it so long has serv'd; there's not a part
In this old faithful steel, that is not stain'd
With English blood in grateful Edward's cause.
Give me my chains, they are the bands of friendship,
Of a king's friendship, for his sake a while
I'll wear them.

EDWARD.
Hence: away with him—

WARWICK.
'Tis well:
Exert your pow'r, it may not last you long;
For know, tho' Edward may forget his friend,
That England will not.—now, sir, I attend you.

[Exit Warwick.
EDWARD.
Presumptuous rebel—ha! who's here?

SCENE IV.

MESSENGER, EDWARD,
MESSENGER.
My liege;
Queen Marg'ret with the prince her son are fled;
In a few hours she hopes, for so we learn,
From those who have pursued her, to be join'd
By th'earl of Warwick, in his name it seems
She has already rais'd three thousand men.

EDWARD.
Warwick in league with her! O heav'n! 'tis well
We've crush'd the serpent e'er his poison spread
Throughout our kingdom—guard the palace gates,
Keep double watch; summon my troops together,
Where is my brother Clarence, Buckingham
And Pembroke? we must check this soul rebellion—

SCENE V.

EDWARD SUFFOLK.
SUFFOLK.
My liege, the duke of Clarence—

EDWARD.
What of him?

SUFFOLK.
Hath left the court; this moment I beheld him
In conf'rence deep with Pembroke, who, it seems,
Is Marg'ret's firmest friend: 'tis whisper'd, both
Will join the queen.

EDWARD.
Well:—'tis no matter: I
Have deeper cause for grief, he cannot feel
A brother's falshood, who has lost a friend,
A friend like Warwick,—Suffolk, thou behold'st me
Betray'd, deserted by the man I lov'd;
Treated with cold indifference by her
Whom I ador'd, forsaken by my brother,
And threaten'd by the subjects I protect,
Oppress'd on every side: but, thou shalt see,
I have a soul superior to misfortunes.
Tho' rebel Clarence wrings my tortur'd heart,
And faithless Warwick braves me, we will yet
Maintain our right—come on, my friend, thou know'st,
Without his boasted aid, I cou'd have gain'd
The crown, without him now I will preserve it.