If any sound from me disturb thy quiet. And be a very faithful partner to thee.
What is my peace or happiness to thine ? Near thee I will complain in sighs, as number-
No; though our noble parents had decreed,

less
And urged high reasons, which import the state, As murmurs breathing in the leafy grove :
This night to give there to my faithful arms, My eyes shall mix their falling drops with thine,
My fairest bride, my only earthly bliss

Constant, as never-ceasing waters roll, L. J. Gray. How! Guilford ! on this night? That purl and gurgle o'er their sands for ever. Guil. This happy night;

The sun shall see my grief through all his course; Yet, if thou art resolved to cross my fate, And, when night comes, sad Philoinel, who 'plains If this, my utmost wish, shall give thee pain, From starry vesper to the rosy dawn, Now rather let the stroke of death fall on me, Shall cease to tune her lamentable song, And stretch me out a lifeless corpse before thee! Ere I give o'er to weep, and mourn with thee. Let me be swept away, with things forgotten, L. J. Gray. Here, then, I take thee to my Be huddled up in some obscure blind grave,

heart for ever,

(Giving her hand. Ere thou shouldst say my love has made thee The dear companion of my future days: wretched,

Whatever Providence allots for each,
Or drop one single tear for Guilford's sake. Be that the common portion of us both :
L. J. Gray. Alas! I have too much of death Sbare all the griefs of thy unhappy Jane;
already,

But if good Heaven has any joys in store,
And want not thine to furnish out new horror. Let them be all thy own.
Oh ! dreadful thought, if thou wert dead indeed! Guil. Thou wondrous goodness!
What hope were left me then? Yes, I will own, Heaven gives too much at once in giving thee;
Spite of the blush that burns my maiden cheek, And, by the common course of things below,
My heart has fondly leaned towards thce long : Where each delight is tempered with affliction,
Thy sweetness, virtue, and unblemished youth, Some evil, terrible and unforeseen,
Have won a place for thee within my bosom: Must sure ensue, and poise the scale against
And if my eyes look coldly on thee now, This vast profusion of exceeding pleasure.
And shun thy love on this disastrous day, But be it so ! let it be death and ruin !
It is because I would not deal so hardly, On any terins I take thee.
To give thee sighs for all thy faithful vows, L. J. Gray. Trust our fate
And pay thy tenderness with nought but tears. To him, whose gracious wisdom guides our ways,
As yet, 'tis all I have.

And makes what we think evil turn to good. Guil. I ask no more;

Permit me now to leave thee and retire; Let me but call thee mine, confirm that hope, I'll summon all my reason and my duty, To charm the doubts which vex my anxious soul; To soothe this storm within, and frame my

heart For all the rest, do thou allot it for me,

To yield obedience to my noble parents.. And, at thy pleasure, portion out my blessings. Guil. Good angels minister their comforts to My eyes shall learn to smile or weep from thine, thee! Nor will I think of joy while thou art sad. And, oh! if, as my fond belief would hope, Nay, couldst thou be so cruel to command it, If any word of mine be gracious to thee, I will forego a bridegroom's sacred right, I beg thee, I conjure thee, drive away And sleep far from thee, on the unwholesome Those murderous thoughts of grief, that kill thy earth,

quiet! Where damps arise, and whistling winds blow Restore thy gentle bosom's native peace, loud;

Lift

up. the light of gladness in thy eyes, Then, when the day returns, come drooping to And cheer thy heaviness with one dear smile! thee,

L.J.Gray. Yes, Guilford, I will study to forget My locks still drizzling with the dews of night, All that the royal Edward has been to me; And cheer my heart with thee, as with the morn- How we have loved, even from our very cradles ing.

My private loss no longer will I mourn, L.J. Gray. Say, wilt thou consecrate this night But every tender thought to thee shall turn : to sorrow,

With patience I'll submit to Heaven's decree, And give up every sense to solemn sadness? And what I lost in Edward find in thee. Wilt thou, in watching, waste the tedious hours, But, oh! when I revolve what ruins wait Sit silently, and careful, by my side,

Our sinking altars and the falling state; List to the tolling clocks, the cricket's cry, When I consider what my native land And every melancholy midnight noise ?

Expected from her pious sovereign's band ; Say, wilt thou banish pleasure and delight? How formed he was to save her from distress, Wilt thou forget that ever we have loved, A king to govern, and a saint to bless : And only now and then let fall a tear,

New sorrow to my labouring breast succeeds, To mourn for Edward's loss, and England's fate? And my whole heart for wretched England Guil. Unwearied still, I will attend thy woes,

[Erit Lady Jane Gray.

me

on it.

spare it.

Guil. My heart sinks in me, at her soft com- To reach a hand, and save thee from adversity. plaining;

Guil. And wilt thou be a friend to me indeed?
And every moving accent, that she breathes,

And, while I lay my bosona bare before thee,
Resolves my courage, slackens my tough nerves, Wilt thou deal tenderly, and let thy hand
And melts me down to infancy and tears. Pass gently over every painful part ?
My fancy palls, and takes distaste at pleasure : Wilt thou with patience hear, and judge with
My soul grows out of tune, it loathes the world, temper?
Sickens at all the noise and folly of it;

And if, perchance, thou meet with something
And I could sit me down in some dull shade,

harsh, Where lonely Contemplation keeps her cave, Somewhat to rouse thy rage, and grate thy soul, And dwells with hoary hermits; there forget my- Wilt thou be master of thyself and hear it? self,

Pem. Away with all this needless preparation!
There fix my stupid eyes upon the earth, Thou knowest thou art so dear, so sacred to me,
And muse away an age in deepest melancholy. That I can never think thec an offender.

If it were so, that I indeed must judge thee,
Enter PEMBROKE.

I should take part with thee against myself,
Pem. Edward is dead; so said the great Nora And call thy fault a virtue.
thumberland,

Guil. But suppose As now he shot along by me in haste.

The thought were somewhat that concerned our He pressed my hand, and, in a whisper, begged love?

Pem. No more; thou knowest we spoke of To guard the secret carefully as life,

that to-day, Till some few hours should pass; for much hung And on what terms we left it. 'Tis a subject,

Of which, if possible, I would not think; Much may indeed hang on it. See my Guil. I beg that we may mention it no more. ford !

Guil

. Can we not speak of it with temper? My friend!

[Speaking to him. Pem. No. Guil. Ha! Pembroke!

(Starting. Thou knowest I cannot. Therefore, prithee Pem. Wherefore dost thou start? Why sits that wild disorder on thy visage,

Guil. Oh! could the secret I would tell thee
Somewhat, that looks like passions strange to sleep,
thee,

And the world never know it, my fond tongue
The paleness of surprize and ghastly fear? Should cease from speaking, ere I would unfold
Since I have known thee first, and called thee it,
friend,

Or vex thy peace with an officious tale!
I never saw thee so unlike thyself,

But since, howe'er ungrateful to thy ear, So changed upon a sudden.

It must be told thee once, hear it from me. Guil. How? so changed !

Pem. Speak, then, and ease the doubts that Pem. So to my eye thou seemest.

shock my soul! Guil. The king is dead.

Guil. Suppose thy Guilford's better stars prePem. I learned it from thy father,

yail,
Just as I entered here. But say, could that, And crown his love-
which every moment we expected,

Pem. Say not, suppose : 'tis done.
Distract thy thought, or shock thy temper, thus? Seek not for vain excuse, or softening words:
Guil. Oh, Pembroke ! 'tis in vain to hide from Thou hast prevaricated with thy friend,
thee!

By under-hand contrivances undone me:
For thou hast looked into my artless bosom, And, while my open nature trusted in thee,
And seen at once the hurry of my soul. Thou hast stepped in between me and my hopes,
'Tis true, thy coming struck me with surprize. And ravished from me all my soul held dear.
I have a thought—but wherefore said I one? Thou hast betrayed me
I have a thousand thoughts all up in arms, Guil. How! betrayed thee, Pembroke ?
Like populous towns disturbed at dead of night, Pem. Yes, falsely, like a traitor.
That, mixed in darkness, bustle to and fro,

Guil. Have a care!
As if their business were to make confusion. Pern. But think not I will bear the foul play
Pem. Then sure our better angels called me from thee;
hither;

There was but this which I could ne'er forgire.
For this is friendship's hour, and friendship’s of- My soul is up in arms, my injured honour,
fice,

Impatient of the wrong, calls for revenge;
To come, when counsel and when help is want. And though I love thee-fondly
ing,

Guil. Hear me yet,
To share the pain of every gnawing care, And Pembroke shall acquit me to himself;
To speak of comfort in the time of trouble, Hear, while I tell how fortune dealt between us

And gave the yielding beauty to my arms Unsheath thy weapon. If the sword be drawn, Pem. What, hear it! Stand and listen to thy If once we meet on terms like those, farewell triumph!

To every thought of friendship; one must fall. Thou thinkest me tame indeed. No, hold, I Pem. Curse on thy friendship! I would break charge thee,

the band. Lest I forget that ever we were friends!

Guil. That as you please-Beside, this place Lest, in the rage of disappointed love,

is sacred, I rush at once and tear thee for thy falsehood! And will not be profaned with brawls and outGuil. Thou warnest me well; and I were rash, rage. as thou art,

You know I dare be found on any summons.. To trust the secret sum of all my happiness Pem. 'Tis well. My vengeance shall not loiter With one not master of himself. Farewell.

long.

[Going. Henceforward let the thoughts of our past lives Pem. Ha! art thou going? Think not thus to Be turned to deadly and remorseless hate! part,

Here I give up the empty name of friend, Nor leave me on the rack of this uncertainty. Renounce all gentleness, all commerce with thee; Guil. What wouldst thou further?

To death defy thee as my mortal foe; Pem. Tell it to me all;

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! her,

[E.rit Pembroke. And rioted in vast excess of bliss,

Guil. The fate, I ever feared, is fallen upon me; That I may curse myself, and thee, and her! And long ago my boding heart divined Come, tell me how thou didst supplant thy friend! A breach like this from his ungoverned rage. How didst thou look with that betraying face, Oh, Pembroke! thou hast done me much injusAnd, smiling, plot my ruin?

tice, Guil. Give me way.

For I have borne thee true unfeigned affection, When thou art better tempered, I may tell thee, 'Tis past, and thou art lost to me for ever. And vindicate at full my love and friendship. Love is, or ought to be, our greatest bliss; Pem. And dost thou hope to shun me then, Since every other joy, how dear soever, thou traitor?

Gives way to that, and we leave all for love. No, I will have it now, this moment from thee, At the imperious tyrant's lordly call, Or drag the secret out from thy false heart. In spite of' reason or restraint we coine, Guil. Away, thou madınan! I would talk to Leave kindred, parents, and our native home. winds,

The trembling maid, with all her fears, he And reason with the rude tempestuous surge,

charms, Sooner than hold discourse with raye like thine. And pulls her from her weeping mother's arms : Pem. Tell it, or, by my injured love, I swear, He laughs at all her leagues, and, in proud scorn,

(Luying his hand upon his sword. Commands the bands of friendship to be torn; I'll stab the lurking treason in thy heart. Disdains a partner should partake his throne, Guil. Ha! stay thee there; nor let thy frantic But reigns unbounded, lawless, and alone. hand Stopping him.

(Erit.

ACT III.

SCENE I.-The Touer.

Oh, Winchester ! thy hoary frozen age

Can never guess my pain; can never know
Enter PEMBROKE and GARDINER.

The burning transports of untamed desire. Gar. Nay, by the rood, my lord, you were to I tell thee, reverend lord, to that one bliss, blaine,

To the enjoyment of that lovely maid, To let a hair-brained passion be your guide, As to their centre, I had drawn each hope, And hurry you into such innd extremes. And every wish my furious soul could form; Marry, you might have inade much worthy pro- Still with regard to that my brain forethought, fit,

And fashioned every action of my life. By patient hearing; the unthinking lord

Then, to be robbed at once, and, unsuspecting, Had brought forth every secret of his soul; Be dashed in all the height of expectation ! Then when you were the master of his bosom, It was not to be borne. That was the time to use him with contempt, Gar. Have you not heard of what has happenAnd turn his friendship back upon his hands.

ed since? Pem. Thou talkest as if a madman could be Pem. I have not had a minute's peace of mind,

A moinent's pause, to rest from rage, or think,

Gar. Learn it from me then: But ere I speak, Pem. And wouldst thou have my fierce impaI warn you to be master of yourself.

tience stay? Though, as you know, they have confined me Bid me lie bowad upon a rack, and wait long,

For distant joys, whole ages yet behind? Gramercy to their goodness, prisoner bere; Can love attend on politicians' schemes, Yet as I am allowed to walk at large

Expect the slow events of cautious counsels, Within the Tower, and hold free speech with any, Cold unresolving heads, and creeping tiine? I have not dreamt away my thoughtless hours, Gar. Today, or I am ill informed, NorthumWithout good heed to these our righteous rulers. berland, To prove this true, this morn a trusty spy With easy Suffolk, Guilford, and the rest, Has brought me word, that yester evening late, Meet here in council, on some deep design, In spite of all the grief for Édward's death, Soine traiterous contrivance, to protect Your friends were married.

Their upstart faith from near approaching ruin. Pem. Married! who! Damnation ! But there are punishments-halters and axes Gar. Lord Guilford Dudley, and the lady For traitors, and consuming flames for heretics : Jane.

The happy bridegroom may be yet cut short, Pem. Curse on my stars!

Even in his highest hope-But go not you, Gar. Nay, in the name of grace,

Howe'er the fawning sire, old Dudley, court you; Restrain this sinful passion ! all's not lost No, by the holy rood, I charge you, mix not In this one single woman.

With their pernicious counsels.-Mischief waits Pem. I have lost

them, More than the female world can give me back. Sure, certain, unavoidable destruction. I had beheld even her whole sex, unmoved, Pem. Ha! join with them! the cursed Dudley's Looked o'er them like a bed of gaudy flowers,

race! That lift their painted heads, and live a day, Who, while they held me in their arms, betrayed Then shed their trifling glories unregarded :

me; My heart disdained their beauties, till she came, Scorned me for not suspecting they were villains, With every grace that Nature's hand could give, And inade a mockery of my easy friendship! And with a mind so great, it spoke its essence No, when I do, dishonour be my portion, Immortal and divine.

And swift perdition catch me. - Join with them! Gar. She was a wonder;

Gar. I would not have you-Hie you to the Detraction must allow that.

city, Pem. The virtues came,

And join with those that love our ancient faith. Sorted in gentle fellowship, to crown her, Gather your friends about you, and be ready As if they meant to mend each other's work. To assert our zealous Mary's royal title, Candour with goodness, fortitude with sweetness, And doubt not but her grateful' hand shall give Strict piety, and love of truth, with learning,

you More than the schools of Athens ever knew, To see your soul's desire upon your enemies. Or her own Plato taught. A wonder, Winches- The church shall pour her ample treasures forth ter!

too, Thou know'st not what she was, nor can I speak And pay you with ten thousand years of pardon. her,

Pem. No; keep your blessings back, and give More than to say, she was that only blessing

me vengeance ! My soul was set upon-and I have lost her. Give me to tell that soft deceiver, Guilford, Gar. Your state is not so bad as you would Thus, traitor, hast thou done, thus hast thou make it;

wronged me, Nor need you thus abandon every hope. And thus thy treason finds a just reward ! Pem. Ha! wilt thou save me, snatch me from Gar. But, soft! no more! the lords of the despair,

council comeAnd bid' me live again?

Ha! by the mass, the bride and bridegroom too! Gar. She may be yours.

Retire with me, iny lord; we must not meet Suppose her husband die.

them. Pem. O vain, vain hope !

Pem. 'Tis they themselves, the cursed happy Gar. Marry, I do not hold that hope so vain. pair! These gospellers have had their golden days, Haste, Winchester, haste! let us fly for erer, And lorded it at will; with proud despite And drive her from my very thoughts, if possible. Have trodden down our holy Roman faith, 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! exile.

Methinks, I go like our first wretched father, But if my divination fail me not,

When from his blissful garden he was driven : Their haughty hearts shall be abased ere long, Like me he went despairing, and like me, And feel the vengeance of our Mary's reign. Thus at the gate stopt short for one last view!

Rowe.]

Then with the cheerless partner of his woe, Whose royal veins are rich in Henry's blood,
He turned him to the world that lay below: With one consent the noblest heads are bowed :
There, for his Eden's happy plains, beheld From thee they ask a sanction to their counsels,
A barren, wild, uncomfortable field;

And from thy healing hand expect a cure,
He saw 'twas vain his ruin to deplore,

For England's loss in Edward. He tried to give the sad remembrance o'er; L. J. Gray. How! from me! The sad remembrance still returned again, Alas! my lord-But surethou meanst to mock me? And his lost paradise renewed his pain.

Guil. No; by the love my faithful heart is full of! (Ereunt Pembroke and Gardiner. But see, thy mother, gracious Suffolk, comes

To intercept my story: she shall tell thee;
SCENE II.

For in her look I read the labouring thought,

What vast evenit thy fate is now disclosing.
Enter Lord GUILFORD and Lady JANE.
Guil. What shall I say to thee! What power

Enter the Duchess of SUFFOLK.
divine

Duch. Suff. No more complain; indulge tly Will teach my tongue to tell thee what I feel?

tears no more;
To pour the transports of my bosom forth, Thy pious grief has given the grave its due :
And make thee partner of the joy dwells there? Let thy heart kindle with the highest hopes;
For thou art comfortless, full of affliction, Expand thy bosom; let thy soul, enlarged,
Heavy of heart as the forsaken widow,

Make room to entertain the coming glory!
And desolate as orphans. Oh! my fair one! For majesty and purple greatness court thee;
Thy Edward shines amongst the brightest stars, Homage, and low subjection, wait; a crown,
And yet thy sorrows seek him in the grave. That makes the princes of the earth like gods;
L. J. Gray. Alas, my dearest lord ! a thousand A crown, my daughter, England's crown attends,
griefs

To bind thy brows with its imperial wreath. Beset my anxious heart : and yet, as if

L. J. Gray. Amazement chills my veins ! The burthen were too little, I have added

What says my mother? The weight of all thy cares; and, like the miser, Duch. Suff. 'Tis Heaven's decree ; for our exIncrease of wealth has made me but more wretch

piring Edward, ed.

When now, just struggling to his native skies, The morning light secms not to rise as usual, Even on the verge of heaven, in sight of angels, It dawns not to me, like my virgin days,

That hovered round, to waft him to the stars, But brings new thoughts and other fears upon Even then declared my Jane for his successor. ine;

L. J. Gray. Could Edward do this? could the I tremble, and my anxious heart is pained,

dying saint Lest aught but good should happen to my Guil- Bequeath his crown to me? Oh, fatal bounty ! ford.

To ie! But 'tis impossible! We dreain. Guil. Nothing but good can happen to thy A thousand and a thousand bars oppose me, Guilford,

Rise in my way, and intercept my passage. While thou art by his side, his better angel, Even you, my gracious mother, what must you be, His blessing and his guard.

Ere I can be a queen? L. J. Gray. Why came we hither?

Duch. Suff. That, and that only, Why was I drawn to this unlucky place, Thy mother; fonder of that tender name, This Tower, so often stained with royal blood ? Than all the proud additions power can give. Here the fourth Edwarrl's helpless sons were mur- Yes, I will give up all my share of greatness, dered,

And live in low obscurity for ever, And pious Henry fell by ruthless Gloster : To see thee raised, thou darling of my

heart, Is this the place allotted for rejoicing?

And fixed upon a throne. But see; thy father, The bower adorned to keep our nuptial feast in? | Northumberland, with all the council, come Methinks Suspicion and Distrust dwell here, Το

pay

their vowed allegiance at thy feet, Staring, with meagre forms, through grated' win- To kneel, and call thee queen. dows :

L. J. Gray. Support ine, Guilford; Death lurks within, and unrelenting Punishment: Give me thy aid; stay thou my fainting soul, Without, grim Danger, Fear, and fiercest Power, And help me to repress this growing danger. Sit on the rude old towers, and Gothic battle

Enter SUFFOLK, NORTHUMBERLAND, Lords and ments; While Horror overlooks the dreadful wall,

others of the Privy Council. And frowns on all around.

North Hail, sacred princess ! sprung from anGuil. In safety here,

cient kings,
The lords of the council have this morn decreed Our England's dearest hope, undoubted offspring
To meet, and, with united care, support

Of York and Lancaster's united line;
The feeble tottering state. To thee, my princess, By whose bright zeal, by whose victorious faith,

VOL. I.