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And gave the yielding beauty to my arms—
Pem. What, hear it! Stand and listen to thy

Thou thinkest me tame indeed. No, hold, I
charge thee,

Lest I forget that ever we were friends!
Lest, in the rage of disappointed love,

I rush at once and tear thee for thy falsehood!
Guil. Thou warnest me well; and I were rash,
as thou art,

To trust the secret sum of all my happiness
With one not master of himself.



Pem. Ha! art thou going? Think not thus to part,

Nor leave me on the rack of this uncertainty.

Guil. What wouldst thou further?
Pem. Tell it to me all;

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Henceforward let the thoughts of our past lives
Be turned to deadly and remorseless hate!
Here I give up the empty name of friend,
Renounce all gentleness, all commerce with thee;
To death defy thee as my mortal foe;
And, when we meet again, may swift destruction

Say thou art married, say thou hast possessed Rid me of thee, or rid me of myself!


And rioted in vast excess of bliss,

That I may curse myself, and thee, and her!
Come, tell me how thou didst supplant thy friend!
How didst thou look with that betraying face,
And, smiling, plot my ruin?

Guil. Give me way.

When thou art better tempered, I may tell thee,
And vindicate at full my love and friendship.
Pem. And dost thou hope to shun me then,
thou traitor?

No, I will have it now, this moment from thee,
Or drag the secret out from thy false heart.
Guil. Away, thou madman! I would talk to

And reason with the rude tempestuous surge,
Sooner than hold discourse with rage like thine.
Pem. Tell it, or, by my injured love, I swear,
[Laying his hand upon his sword.
I'll stab the lurking treason in thy heart.
Guil. Ha! stay thee there; nor let thy frantic
[Stopping him.


[Exit Pembroke.
Guil. The fate, I ever feared, is fallen upon me;
And long ago my boding heart divined
A breach like this from his ungoverned rage.
Oh, Pembroke! thou hast done me much injus-

For I have borne thee true unfeigned affection;
'Tis past, and thou art lost to me for ever.
Love is, or ought to be, our greatest bliss;
Since every other joy, how dear soever,
Gives way to that, and we leave all for love.
At the imperious tyrant's lordly call,
In spite of reason or restraint we come,
Leave kindred, parents, and our native home.
The trembling maid, with all her fears, he

And pulls her from her weeping mother's arms :
He laughs at all her leagues, and, in proud scorn,
Commands the bands of friendship to be torn;
Disdains a partner should partake his throne,
But reigns unbounded, lawless, and alone.


SCENE I.-The Tower.



Gar. NAY, by the rood, my lord, you were to

To let a hair-brained passion be your guide,
And hurry you into such mad extremes.
Marry, you might have made much worthy pro-

By patient hearing; the unthinking lord

Had brought forth every secret of his soul;
Then when you were the master of his bosom,
That was the time to use him with contempt,
And turn his friendship back upon his hands.
Pem. Thou talkest as if a madman could be


Oh, Winchester! thy hoary frozen age
Can never guess my pain; can never know
The burning transports of untamed desire.
I tell thee, reverend lord, to that one bliss,
To the enjoyment of that lovely maid,
As to their centre, I had drawn each hope,
And every wish my furious soul could form;
Still with regard to that my brain forethought,
And fashioned every action of my life.
Then, to be robbed at once, and, unsuspecting,
Be dashed in all the height of expectation!
It was not to be borne.

Gar. Have you not heard of what has happen-
ed since?

Pem. I have not had a minute's peace of mind, A moment's pause, to rest from rage, or think,

Gar. Learn it from me then: But ere I speak,
I warn you to be master of yourself.
Though, as you know, they have confined me

Gramercy to their goodness, prisoner here;
Yet as I am allowed to walk at large
Within the Tower, and hold free speech with any,
I have not dreamt away my thoughtless hours,
Without good heed to these our righteous rulers.
To prove this true, this morn a trusty spy
Has brought me word, that yester evening late,
In spite of all the grief for Edward's death,
Your friends were married.

Pem. Married! who?-Damnation!

Pem. And wouldst thou have my fierce impa-
tience stay?

Bid me lie bound upon a rack, and wait
For distant joys, whole ages yet behind?
Can love attend on politicians' schemes,
Expect the slow events of cautious counsels,
Cold unresolving heads, and creeping time?

Gar. To-day, or I am ill informed, Northum-

With easy Suffolk, Guilford, and the rest,
Meet here in council, on some deep design,
Some traiterous contrivance, to protect
Their upstart faith from near approaching ruin.
But there are punishments-halters and axes

Gar. Lord Guilford Dudley, and the lady For traitors, and consuming flames for heretics:


Pem. Curse on my stars!

Gar. Nay, in the name of grace, Restrain this sinful passion! all's not lost In this one single woman.

Pem. I have lost

More than the female world can give me back.
I had beheld even her whole sex, unmoved,
Looked o'er them like a bed of gaudy flowers,
That lift their painted heads, and live a day,
Then shed their trifling glories unregarded:
My heart disdained their beauties, till she came,
With every grace that Nature's hand could give,
And with a mind so great, it spoke its essence
Immortal and divine.

Gar. She was a wonder;
Detraction must allow that.

Pem. The virtues came,

Sorted in gentle fellowship, to crown her,
As if they meant to mend each other's work.
Candour with goodness, fortitude with sweetness,
Strict piety, and love of truth, with learning,
More than the schools of Athens ever knew,
Or her own Plato taught. A wonder, Winches-

Thou know'st not what she was, nor can I speak

More than to say, she was that only blessing
My soul was set upon-and I have lost her.
Gar. Your state is not so bad as you would

make it;

Nor need you thus abandon every hope.
Pem. Ha! wilt thou save me, snatch me from

And bid me live again?

Gar. She may be yours. Suppose her husband die.

Pem. O vain, vain hope!

Gar. Marry, I do not hold that hope so vain.
These gospellers have had their golden days,
And lorded it at will; with proud despite
Have trodden down our holy Roman faith,

The happy bridegroom may be yet cut short,
Even in his highest hope-But go not you,
Howe'er the fawning sire, old Dudley, court you;
No, by the holy rood, I charge you, mix not
With their pernicious counsels.—Mischief waits

Sure, certain, unavoidable destruction.

Pem. Ha! join with them! the cursed Dudley's race!

Who, while they held me in their arms, betrayed

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council come—

Ha! by the mass, the bride and bridegroom too! Retire with me, my lord; we must not meet them.

Pem. 'Tis they themselves, the cursed happy

Haste, Winchester, haste! let us fly for ever,
And drive her from my very thoughts, if possible.
Oh! love, what have I lost! Oh! reverend lord!

Ransacked our shrines, and driven her saints to Pity this fond, this foolish weakness in me!


But if my divination fail me not,

Their baughty hearts shall be abased ere long,
And feel the vengeance of our Mary's reign.

Methinks, I go like our first wretched father,
When from his blissful garden he was driven:
Like me he went despairing, and like me,
Thus at the gate stopt short for one last view!

Then with the cheerless partner of his woe,
He turned him to the world that lay below:
There, for his Eden's happy plains, beheld
A barren, wild uncomfortable field;
He saw 'twas vain his ruin to deplore,
He tried to give the sad remembrance o'er;
The sad remembrance still returned again,
And his lost paradise renewed his pain.
[Exeunt Pembroke and Gardiner.

Enter Lord GUILFORD and Lady JANE. Guil. What shall I say to thee! What power divine

Will teach my tongue to tell thee what I feel?
To pour the transports of my bosom forth,
And make thee partner of the joy dwells there?
For thou art comfortless, full of affliction,
Heavy of heart as the forsaken widow,
And desolate as orphans. Oh! my fair one!
Thy Edward shines amongst the brightest stars,
And yet thy sorrows seek him in the grave.

L. J. Gray. Alas, my dearest lord! a thousand

Beset my anxious heart: and yet, as if
The burthen were too little, I have added
The weight of all thy cares; and, like the miser,
Increase of wealth has made me but more wretch-

The morning light seems not to rise as usual,
It dawns not to me, like my virgin days,
But brings new thoughts and other fears upon


I tremble, and my anxious heart is pained, Lest aught but good should happen to my Guilford.

Guil. Nothing but good can happen to thy

While thou art by his side, his better angel,
His blessing and his guard.

L. J. Gray. Why came we hither?
Why was I drawn to this unlucky place,
This Tower, so often stained with royal blood?
Here the fourth Edward's helpless sons were mur-

And pious Henry fell by ruthless Gloster :
Is this the place allotted for rejoicing?
The bower adorned to keep our nuptial feast in?
Methinks Suspicion and Distrust dwell here,
Staring, with meagre forms, through grated win-

Death lurks within, and unrelenting Punishment:
Without, grim Danger, Fear, and fiercest Power,
Sit on the rude old towers, and Gothic battle-

While Horror overlooks the dreadful wall,
And frowns on all around.

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Whose royal veins are rich in Henry's blood,
With one consent the noblest heads are bowed:
From thee they ask a sanction to their counsels,
And from thy healing hand expect a cure,
For England's loss in Edward.

L. J. Gray. How! from me!
Alas! my lord-But surethou meanst to mock me?
Guil. No; by the love my faithful heart is full of!
But see, thy mother, gracious Suffolk, comes
To intercept my story: she shall tell thee;
For in her look I read the labouring thought,
What vast event thy fate is now disclosing.

Enter the Duchess of SUFFOLK.

Duch. Suff. No more complain; indulge thy

tears no more;

Thy pious grief has given the grave its due:
Let thy heart kindle with the highest hopes;
Expand thy bosom; let thy soul, enlarged,
Make room to entertain the coming glory!
For majesty and purple greatness court thee;
Homage, and low subjection, wait; a crown,
That makes the princes of the earth like gods;
A crown, my daughter, England's crown attends,
To bind thy brows with its imperial wreath.

L. J. Gray. Amazement chills my veins !-
What says my mother?

Duch. Suff. 'Tis Heaven's decree; for our expiring Edward,

When now, just struggling to his native skies,
Even on the verge of heaven, in sight of angels,
That hovered round, to waft him to the stars,
Even then declared my Jane for his successor.
L. J. Gray. Could Edward do this? could the
dying saint

Bequeath his crown to me? Oh, fatal bounty!
To me! But 'tis impossible! We dream.
A thousand and a thousand bars oppose me,
Rise in my way, and intercept my passage.
Even you, my gracious mother, what must you be,
Ere I can be a queen?

Duch. Suff. That, and that only,
Thy mother; fonder of that tender name,
Than all the proud additions power can give.
Yes, I will give up all my share of greatness,
And live in low obscurity for ever,

To see thee raised, thou darling of my heart,
And fixed upon a throne. But see; thy father,
Northumberland, with all the council, come
To pay their vowed allegiance at thy feet,
To kneel, and call thee queen.

L. J. Gray. Support me, Guilford;
Give me thy aid; stay thou my fainting soul,
And help me to repress this growing danger.
others of the Privy Council.

North Hail, sacred princess! sprung from ancient kings,

Our England's dearest hope, undoubted offspring Of York and Lancaster's united line;

By whose bright zeal, by whose victorious faith,

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Guarded and fenced around, our pure religion,
That lamp of truth, which shines upon our altars,
Shall lift its golden head, and flourish long;
Beneath whose awful rule, and righteous sceptre,
The plenteous years shall roll in long succession;
Law shall prevail, and ancient right take place;
Fair liberty shall lift her cheerful head,
Fearless of tyranny and proud oppression;
No sad complaining in our streets shall cry,
But justice shall be exercised in mercy.
Hail, royal Jane! behold we bend our knees,
[They kneel.
The pledge of homage, and thy land's obedience;
With humblest duty thus we kneel, and own thee
Our liege, our sovereign lady, and our queen.
L. J. Gray. Oh, rise!

My father, rise!

And you, my father, too!

[To Suff. [To North.

Rise all, nor cover me with this confusion.

[They rise. What means this mock, this masquing shew of


Why do you hang these pageant glories on me,
And dress me up in honours not my own?
North. The daughters of our late great mas-
ter Henry,

Stand both by law excluded from succession.
To make all firm,

And fix a power unquestioned in your hand,
Edward, by will, bequeathed his crown to you:
And the concurring lords, in council met,
Have ratified the gift.

L. J. Gray. Are crowns and empire,
The government and safety of mankind,
Trifles of such light moment, to be left
Like some rich toy, a ring, or fancied gem,

The pledge of parting friends? Can kings do thus,
And give away a people for a legacy?

North. Forgive me, princely lady, if my


North. Oh! stay this inauspicious stream of


And cheer your people with one gracious smile.
Nor comes your fate in such a dreadful form,
To bid you shun it. Turn those sacred eyes
On the bright prospect empire spreads before


Methinks I see you seated on the throne;
Beneath your feet, the kingdom's great degrees
In bright confusion shine, mitres and coronets,
The various ermine, and the glowing purple ;
Assembled senates wait, with awful dread,
To affirm your high commands, and make them

L. J. Gray. You turn to view the painted side
of royalty,

And cover all the cares that lurk beneath.
Is it, to be a queen, to sit aloft,
In solemn, dull, uncomfortable state,
The flattered idol of a servile court?
Is it to draw a pompous train along,
A pageant, for the wondering crowd to gaze at?
Is it, in wantonness of power to reign,
And make the world subservient to my pleasure?
Is it not rather, to be greatly wretched,
To watch, to toil, to take a sacred charge,
To bend each day before high Heaven, and own,
This people hast thou trusted to my hand,
And at my hand, I know, thou shalt require

Alas, Northumberland! My father! Is it not
To live a life of care, and, when I die,
Have more to answer for before my judge,
Than any of my subjects?

Duch. Suff. Every state,

Allotted to the race of man below,

Is, in proportion, doomed to taste some sorrow, Nor is the golden wreath on a king's brow won-Exempt from care; and yet, who would not

Seizes each sense, each faculty of mind,
To see the utmost wish the great can form,
A crown, thus coldly met: A crown, which,

And left in scorn by you, shall soon be sought,
And find a joyful wearer; one, perhaps,
Of blood unkindred to your royal house,
And fix its glories in another line.

L. J. Gray. Where art thou now, thou partner
of my cares? [Turning to Guilford.
Come to iny aid, and help to bear this burthen:
Oh! save me from this sorrow, this misfortune,
Which, in the shape of gorgeous greatness, comes
To crown, and make a wretch of me for ever!
Guil. Thou weep'st my queen, and hang'st thy
drooping head,

Like nodding poppies, heavy with the rain,
That bow their weary necks and bend to earth.
See, by thy side, thy faithful Guilford stands,
Prepared to keep distress and danger from thee,
To wear thy sacred cause upon his sword,
And war against the world in thy defence.

bear it?

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Of lamentations, groans, and shrieks, shall sound,
Through all our purple ways.

Guil. Amidst that ruin,

Think thou beholdest thy Guilford's head laid low,
Bloody and pale-

L. J. Gray. Oh! spare the dreadful image!
Guil. Oh! would the misery be bounded there,
My life were little; but the rage of Rome
Demands whole hecatombs, a land of victims,
With Superstition comes that other fiend,
That bane of peace, of arts and virtue, Tyranny;
That foe of justice, scorner of all law;

That beast, which thinks mankind were born for


And made by heaven to be a monster's prey;
That heaviest curse of groaning nations, Tyranny.
Mary shall, by her kindred Spain, be taught
To bend our necks beneath a brazen yoke,
And rule o'er wretches with an iron sceptrc.
L. J. Gray. Avert that judgment, Heaven!
Whate'er thy providence allots for me,
In mercy spare my country.

Guil. Oh, my queen!

Does not thy great, thy generous heart relent,
To think this land, for liberty so famed,
Shall have her towery front at once laid low,
And robbed of all its glory? Oh! my country!
Oh! fairest Albion, empress of the deep,

How have thy noblest sons, with stubborn va-

Stood to the last, dyed many a field in blood,
In dear defence of birth-right and their laws!
And shall those hands, which fought the cause of

Be manacled in base unworthy bonds?
Be tamely yielded up, the spoil, the slaves
Of hair-brained zeal, and cruel coward priests?
L. J. Gray. Yes, my loved lord, my soul is
moved like thine,

At every danger which invades our England;
My cold heart kindles at the great occasion,
And could be more than man in her defence.
But where is my commission to redress?
Or whence my power to save? Can Edward's

Or twenty met in council, make a queen?
Can you, my lords, give me the power to canvass
A doubtful title with king Henry's daughters?
Where are the reverend sages of the law,
To guide me with their wisdoms, and point out
The paths, which right and justice bid me tread?
North. The judges all attend, and will at

Resolve you every scruple.

L. J. Gray. They expound;

But where are those, my lord, that make the law?
Where are the ancient honours of the realm,
The nobles, with the mitred fathers joined?
The wealthy commons solemnly assembled ?
Where is that voice of a consenting people,
To pledge the universal faith with mine,
And call me justly queen?


North. Nor shall that long


Be wanting to your wish. The lords and com


And with united homage own your title.
Shall, at your royal bidding, soon assemble,
Delay not then the general wish,

But be our queen, be England's better angel!
Nor let mistaken piety betray you

To join with cruel Mary in our ruin:
Her bloody faith commands her to destroy,
And yours forbids to save.

Guil. Our foes, already

The dronish monks, the scorn and shame of man-
High in their hopes, devote us all to death:

To nestle in their ancient hives again:
Rouse, and prepare once more to take possession,
Again they furbish up their holy trumpery,
Relicks and wooden wonder-working saints,
Whole loads of lumber and religious rubbish,
In high procession mean to bring them back,
And place the puppets in their shrines again :
While those of keener malice, savage Bonner,
And deep-designing Gardiner, dream of ven-

Devour the blood of innocents, in hope;

Like vultures, snuff the slaughter in the wind,
And speed their flight to havock and the prey.
Haste then, and save us, while 'tis given to save
Your country, your religion.

North. Save your friends!
Suff. Your father!
Duch. Suff. Mother!
Guil. Husband!

L. J. Gray. Take me, crown me,
Invest me with this royal wretchedness!
Let ine not know one happy minute more ;
My days be fixed with tumults and alarms;
Let all my sleepless nights be spent in care,
if my
If only I can save you,
Has marked me out to be the public victim,
1 take the lot with joy! Yes, I will die
For that eternal truth my faith is fixed on,
Guil. Wake every tuneful instrument to tell it,
And that dear native land which gave me birth!
And let the trumpet's sprightly note proclaim,
My Jane is England's queen! Let the loud can-


In peals of thunder speak it to Augusta;
Imperial Thames, catch thou the sacred sound,
And roll it to the subject ocean down:
My Jane is empress of the watery world!
Tell the old deep, and all thy brother floods,
Now with glad fires our bloodless streets shall

Thy name shall echo through the rescued isle,
With cries of joy our cheerful ways shall ring;
And reach applauding heaven!

L. J. Gray. Oh, Guilford! what do we give
up for glory!

For glory! that's a toy I would not purchase;
An idle, empty bubble. But for England!

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