University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

A Prison in the Tower.
Lady Jane, alone, sewing a shroud. She turns an hour glass.
JANE.
I never more shall turn that glass. For me
Time is fulfilled: and ere those sands run down,
My trembling fingers must complete their task—
Their final task—or not in work of mine
Shall his dear limbs, composed in death, be wrapped.
With what a speed they haste! by mine own heart
I count the flying seconds of his life.
Oh what a task for wedded hands!—'Tis done!
And now I fold and lay thee to my bosom,
Which his espoused head so loved to press.
Enter the Duchess of Suffolk.
What noise is that? not time—it is not time?
Oh my dear Mother.

[Falls on her neck.
DUCHESS.
Wretched—wretched Mother!

JANE.
It is not much to die. Whoever faints
Has tasted death, waking in pain to sorrow.
Have comfort—Desolate I leave you not:
My father near and other duteous daughters.

DUCHESS.
Thy father hath gone forth and raised his banner
To dare the Queen. This act hath sealed thy doom.
The father slays his child!

JANE.
God's will be done!
How dark soe'er his ways or blind our eyes!
My precious mother! weep not—leave me some strength!

DUCHESS.
Would I were dead!

JANE.
Live for my sister's sake.
She needs thy counsel, and my sad example:
For there is that in Herbert's father's heart,
May move him to attempt the crown for her.

DUCHESS.
O let her rather labour in the fields,
And spin for bread beside a cottage hearth,
Than step unto a throne! Thou fatal Blood!
Predestinated race! all who partake
Thy veins must pour them forth on battle fields,
Or the foul scaffold! Doomed Plantagenet!
The Tudor follows in your steps.

JANE.
Our sands
Have almost run. I must be quick. Will he
See me once more? one last, last kiss bestow?

DUCHESS.
The malice of the Queen forbids.

JANE.
Say mercy—
Else were our hearts left beggared of all firmness.
'Tis best thus. We shall meet—yes, ere yon sun,
Now high in heaven, shall from the zenith stoop,
Together they will lay us in one coffin,
Together our poor heads. Weep not, my mother!
But hear me. Promise you will see this done.

DUCHESS.
I promise.

JANE.
So our bones shall intermingle;
And rise together, when the angelick trump
Shall lift us to the footstool of our Judge!
What shall I give thee?—they have left me little—
What slight memorial through soft tears to gaze on?
This bridal ring—the symbol of past joy?
I cannot part with it: upon this finger
It must go down into the grave. Perchance
After long years some curious hand may find it,
Bright like our better hopes, amid the dust,
And, piously, with a low sigh, replace it.
Here—take this veil, and wear it for my sake.
And take this winding sheet to him; and this
Small handkerchief so wetted with my tears,
To wipe the death-damp from his brow. This kiss—
And this—my last—print on his lips, and bid him
Think of me to the last and wait my spirit.
Farewell, my Mother! farewell, dear, dear, Mother!
These terrible moments I must pass in prayer—
For the dying—for the dead! farewell! farewell!

[Exeunt severally.