J. Sh. A very beggar, and a wretch, indeed; One driven by strong calamity to seek For succours here; one perishing for want, Whose hunger has not tasted food these three

days;

And humbly asks, for charity's dear sake,
A draught of water and a little bread.

Alic. And dost thou come to me, to me for bread?

I know thee not-Go-hunt for it abroad,

And rid thyself of this detested being! I will not linger long behind thee here.

tered it,

me;

Thou hast undone me-Murder! Oh, my Hastings!

See his pale bloody head shoots glaring by me! Give me him back again, thou soft deluder, Thou beauteous witch!

J. Sh. Alas! I never wronged you-
Oh! then be good to me; have pity on me.;
Thou never knewest the bitterness of want,
And may'st thou never know it. Oh! bestow
Some poor remain, the voiding of thy table,
A morsel to support my famished soul.

Alic. Avaunt! and come not near me-
J. Sh. To thy hand

I trusted all; gave my whole store to thee,
Nor do I ask it back; allow me but
The smallest pittance! give me but to eat,
Lest I fall down, and perish here before thee.

Alic. Nay! tell not me! Where is thy king, thy Edward,

And all the siniling cringing train of courtiers, That bent the knee before thee?

J. Sh. Oh! for mercy!

And now 'tis out, and I am drowned in blood.
Ha! what art thou ? thou horrid headless trunk-
It is my Hastings! see, he wafts me on!
Away! I go, I fly! I follow thee!
But come not thou, with mischief-making beauty,
To interpose between us! look not on him!
Give thy fond arts and thy delusions o'er,
For thou shalt never, never part us more.

[She runs off, her servants following.

J. Sh. Alas! she raves; her brain, I fear, is turned.

In mercy look upon her, gracious Heaven,
Nor visit her for any wrong to me.
Sure I am near upon my journey's end;
My head runs round, my eyes begin to fail,
And dancing shadows swim before my sight.
I can no more. [Lies down] Receive me, thou

cold earth,

And cry, behold the harlot and her end!

able.

I'll give thee misery, for here she dwells;

This is her house, where the sun never dawns; The bird of night sits screaming o'er the roof, Grim spectres sweep along the horrid gloom, And nought is heard but wailings and lamentings. Hark! something cracks above! it shakes, it totters!

Alas! there may be danger; get thee gone!
Let me not pull a ruin on thy head.
Leave me to die alone, for I am fallen
Never to rise, and all relief is vain.

Bel. Yet raise thy drooping head; for I am.

come

To chase away despair. Behold! where yonder That honest man, that faithful, brave Dumont,

Sh. Thou murderous sorrow!

Sh. Oh, my love!

still!

Must she then die! Oh, my poor penitent! Speak peace to thy sad heart: she hears me not; Grief masters every sense-help me to hold her! Enter CATESBY, with a guard.

Cat. Seize on them both, as traitors to the state!

Bel. What means this violence?

[Guards lay hold on Shore and Belmour. Cat. Have we not found you, In scorn of the protector's strict command, Assisting this base woman, and abetting Her infamy?

Sh. Infamy on thy head! Thou tool of power, thou pandar to authority! I tell thee, knave, thou knowest of none so virtuous,

And she that bore thee was an Æthiop to her.

Cat. You'll answer this at full-Away with

them.

Sh. Is charity grown treason to your court? What honest man would live beneath such rulers! I am content that we should die together

Cat. Convey the men to prison; but for her, Leave her to hunt her fortune as she may.

J. Sh. I will not part with him for me!for me!

Oh! must he die for me! [Following him as he is carried off-She falls. Sh. Inhuman villains !

[Breaking from the guards. Stand off! The agonies of death are on her She pulls, she gripes me hard with her cold hand. J. Sh. Was this blow wanting to compleat my ruin?

Oh! let him go, ye ministers of terror,
He shall offend no more, for I will die,
And yield obedience to your cruel master.
Tarry a little, but a little longer,
And take my last breath with you.

This grief, by far surpassing all my former ?
Why dost thou fix thy dying eyes upon me,
With such an earnest, such a piteous look,
As if thy heart were full of some sad meaning,
Thou could'st not speak?-

J. Sh. Forgive me! but forgive me!
Sh. Be witness for me, ye celestial host,
Such mercy and such pardon as my soul
Accords to thee, and begs of Heaven to shew

thee,

May such befall me at my latest hour,
And make my portion blest or cursed for ever!

J. Sh. Then all is well, and I shall sleep in

visage

All that remains of thee? Are these dead eyes The light that cheered my soul? Oh, heavy hour! But I will fix my trembling lips to thine, 'Till I am cold and senseless quite, as thou art. What, must we part, then? will you[To the guards taking him away. Fare thee well[Kissing her. Now execute your tyrant's will, and lead me To bonds, or death, 'tis equally indifferent.

Bel. Let those, who view this sad example, know, What fate attends the broken marriage vow; And teach their children, in succeeding times, No common vengeance waits upon these crimes, When such severe repentance could not save From want, from shame, and an untimely grave. [Exeunt omnes.

Will at this juncture urge their utmost force.
All on the princess Mary turn their eyes,
Well hoping she shall build again their altars,
And bring their idol-worship back in triumph.

North. Good Heaven, ordain some better fate for England!

Suff. What better can we hope, if she should reign?

I know her well; a blinded zealot is she;
A gloomy nature, sullen and severe;
Nurtured by proud presuming Romish priests,
Taught to believe they only cannot err,
Because they cannot err; bred up in scorn
Of reason, and the whole lay world; instructed
To hate whoe'er dissent from what they teach;
To purge the world from heresy by blood;
To massacre a nation, and believe it
An act well pleasing to the Lord of Mercy:
These are thy gods, oh, Rome, and this thy faith!
North. And shall we tamely yield ourselves to

bondage?

To hang this ponderous globe upon a hair,
And bid it dance before a breath of wind.
She must be here, and lodged in Guilford's arms,
Ere Edward dies, or all we have done is marred.
Ha! Pembroke! that's a bar which thwarts my
way!

His fiery temper brooks not opposition,
And must be met with soft and supple arts,
With crouching courtesy, and honeyed words,
Such as assuage the fierce, and bend the strong.
Enter the Earl of PEMBROKE.

Good morrow, noble Pembroke: we have staid
The meeting of the council for your presence.

Pem. For mine, my lord! you mock your

The ablest hand, and firmest heart you bear,
Nor need a second in the glorious task;
Equal yourself to all the toils of empire.

North. No; as I honour virtue, I have tried, And know my strength too well; nor can the voice

Of friendly flattery, like yours, deceive me.
I know my temper liable to passions,
And all the frailties common to our nature;
Blind to events, too easy of persuasion,
And often, too, too often, have I erred:
Much therefore have I need of some good man,
Some wise and honest heart, whose friendly aid
Might guide my treading through our present

dangers;

goodness

To one, whom his ill-fortune has ordained
The rival of your son.

North. No more; I scorn a thought
So much below the dignity of virtue.
'Tis true, I look on Guilford like a father,
Lean to his side, and see but half his failings:
But, on a point like this, when equal merit
Stands forth to make its bold appeal to honour,
And calls to have the balance held in justice;
Away with all the fondnesses of nature!
I judge of Pembroke and my son alike.

Pem. I ask no more to bind me to your ser vice.

North. The realm is now at hazard, and bold

factions

Threaten change, tumult, and disastrous days. Yy