or, sooth to say, I hold it noble in you

Hast. Thus it is, gracious sir, that certain officers, sing the warrant of your mighty name, With insolence unjust, and lawless power, ave seiz❜d upon the lands which late she held

y grant, from her great master Edward's bounty. Glost. Somewhat of this, but slightly, have I heard; And tho' some counsellors of forward zeal, ɔme of most ceremonious sanctity,

nd bearded wisdom, often have provok'd 'he hand of justice to fall heavy on her; ́et still, in kind compassion of her weakness, and tender memory of Edward's love, have withheld the merciless stern law

rom doing outrage on her helpless beauty.

Hast. Good Heav'n, who renders mercy back for

mercy,

With open-handed bounty shall repay you :
This gentle deed shall fairly be set foremost,
To screen the wild escapes of lawless passion,
And the long train of frailties flesh is heir to.
Glost. Thus far, the voice of pity pleaded only:
Our farther and more full extent of grace
s given to your request. Let her attend,
And to ourself deliver up her griefs.

she shall be heard with patience, and each wrong
At full redress'd. But I have other news,
Which much import us both; for still my fortunes
Go hand in hand with yours: our common foes,

C

The queen's relations, our new-fangled gentry, Have fall'n their haughty crests-That for your pr

vacy.

[Exas

SCENE II.

An Apartment in JANE SHORE's House. Enter Bi MOUR and DUMONT.

Bel. How she has liv'd you have heard

ready,

my

tale a

The rest your own attendance in her family,

Where I have found the means this day to place you And nearer observation, best will tell you.

See, with what sad and sober cheer she comes.

Enter JANE SHORE.

Sure, or I read her visage much amiss,
Or grief besets her hard. Save you, fair lady,
The blessings of the cheerful morn be on you,
And greet your beauty with its opening sweets.

J. Sh. My gentle neighbour, your good wishes
Pursue my hapless fortunes! Ah, good Belmour!
How few, like thee, inquire the wretched out,
And court the offices of soft humanity?
Like thee reserve their raiment for the naked,
Reach out their bread to feed the crying orphan,
Or mix their pitying tears with those that weep?
Thy praise deserves a better tongue than mine,
To speak and bless thy name. Is this the gentlema

'hose friendly service you commended to me? Bel. Madam, it is.

J. Sh. A venerable aspect.

ge sits with decent grace upon his visage, nd worthily becomes his silver locks;

[Aside.

e wears the marks of many years well spent, f virtue, truth well try'd, and wise experience; friend like this would suit my sorrows well. ortune, I fear me, sir, has meant you ill, [To Dum. 'ho pays your merit with that scanty pittance Which my poor hand and humble roof can give. ut to supply these golden vantages,

Which elsewhere you might find, expect to meet just regard and value for your worth,

he welcome of a friend, and the free partnership f all that little good the world allows me.

Dum. You over-rate me much; and all my answer Just be my future truth; let them speak for me, And make up my deserving.

J. Sh. Are you of England ?

Dum. No, gracious lady, Flanders claims my birth; it Antwerp has my constant biding been,

Where sometimes I have known more plenteous days Chan these which now my failing age affords..

J. Sh. Alas! at Antwerp, !-Oh, forgive my tears!

[Weeping.

They fall for my offences-and must fall
Long, long ere they shall wash my stains away.
You knew perhaps-Oh grief! oh shame!-my hus-

band.

Dum. I knew him well-but stay this flood of an

guish,

The senseless grave feels not your pious sorrows:
Three years and more are past, since I was bid,
With many of our common friends, to wait him
To his last peaceful mansion. I attended,
Sprinkled his clay-cold corse with holy drops,
According to our church's rev'rend rite,

And saw him laid in hallow'd ground, to rest.
J. Sh. Oh, that my soul had known no joy but him!
That I had liv'd within his guiltless arms,
And dying slept in innocence beside him!
But now his dust abhors the fellowship,
And scorns to mix with mine.

Enter a Servant.

Ser. The lady Alicia

Attends your leisure.

J. Sh. Say I wish to see her.

Please, gentle sir, one moment to retire,

[Exit Servant

I'll wait you on the instant, and inform you
Of each unhappy circumstance, in which

Your friendly aid and counsel much may stead me,

[Exeunt Belmour and Dumont

Enter ALICIA.

Alic. Still, my fair friend, still shall I find you

thus ?

Still shall these sighs heave after one another,

These trickling drops chase one another still,

s if the posting messengers of grief

ould overtake the hours fled far away, nd make old Time come back?

J. Sh. No, my Alicia,

eaven and his saints be witness to my thoughts,
here is no hour of all my life o'er past,
hat I could wish to take its turn again.

1

Alic. And yet some of those days my friend has known,

́ome of those years might pass for golden ones,
At least if womankind can judge of happiness.
What could we wish, we who delight in empire,
Vhose beauty is our sov'reign good, and gives us
Our reasons to rebel, and pow'r to reign,
What could we more than to behold a monarch,
Lovely, renown'd, a conqueror,
and young,
Sound in our chains, and sighing at our feet?

7. Sh. 'Tis true, the royal Edward was a wonder, The goodly pride of all our English youth;

le was the very joy of all that saw him.

'orm'd to delight, to love and to persuade. Impassive spirits and angelic natures

Might have been charm'd, like yielding human weakness,

• Stoop'd from their Heav'n, and listen'd to his talk

ing.

But what had I to do with kings and courts?
My humble lot had cast me far beneath him;
And that he was the first of all mankind,
The bravest, and most lovely, was my curse.