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Using the warrant of your mighty name, He wears the marks of many years well spent,
With insolent, unjust, and lawless power, Of virtue, truth well tried, and wise experience;
Have seized upon the lands which late she held A friend like this would suit my sorrows well.-
By grant, from her great master Edward's bounty. Fortune, I fear me, sir, has meant you ill,
Glost. Somewhat of this, but slightly, have I

(To Dum. heard;

Who pays your merit with that scanty pittance, And though some counsellors of forward zeal, Which my poor hand and humble roof can give. Some of most ceremonious sanctity,

But to supply these golden 'vantages, And bearded wisdom, often have provoked Which elsewhere you might find, expect to meet The hand of justice to fall heavy on her; A just regard and value for your worth, Yet still, in kind compassion of her weakness, The welcome of a friend, and the free partnerand tender memory of Edward's love,

ship I have withheld the merciless stern law

Of all that little good the world allows me. From doing outrage on her helpless beauty. Dum. You over-rate me much; and all my Hast. Good Heaven, who renders mercy back for mercy,

Must be my future truth; let them speak for me, With open-handed bounty shall repay you: And make up my deserving. This gentle deed shall fairly be set foremost, J, Sh. Are you of England? To screen the wild escapes of lawless passion, Dum. No, gracious lady, Flanders claims my And the long train of frailties flesh is heir to.

birth; Glost. Thus far the voice of pity pleaded only: At Antwerp has my constant biding been, Our farther and more full extent of grace Where sometimes Í have known more plenteous Is given to your request. Let her attend,

days And to ourself deliver up her griefs.

Than these which now my failing age affords. She shall be heard with patience, and each wrong J. Sh. Alas! at Antwerp !-Oh, forgive my At full redressed. But I have other news,

tears!

[Weeping Which much import us both; for still my fortunes They fall for my offences and must fall Go hand in hand with yours: our common foes, Long, long ere they shall wash my stains away. The queen's relations, our new-fangled gentry, You knew perhaps-Oh grief ! oh shame!-my Have fallen their haughty crests—That for your

husband ? privacy.

(E.c&unt. Dum. I knew him well—but stay this flood of

anguish! SCENE II.--An Apartment in JANE SHORE'S The senseless grave feels not your pious sorrows: House.

Three years and more are past, since I was bid,

With many of our common friends, to wait him Enter BELMOUR and DUMONT.

To his last peaceful mansion. I attended, Bel. How she has lived, you have heard my Sprinkled his clay-cold corse with holy drops tale already;

According to our church's rev'rend rite, The rest your own attendance in her family, And saw him laid in hallow'd ground, to rest. Where I have found the means this day to place J. Sh. Oh, that my soul had known no joy but you,

him! And nearer observation, best will tell you.

That I had lived within his guiltless arms,
See, with what sad and sober cheer she comes. And, dying, slept in innocence beside him!

But now his dust abhors the fellowship,
Enter JANE SHORE.

And scorns to mix with mine.
Sure, or I read her visage much amiss,

Enter a Servant. Or grief besets her hard. Save you, fair lady! The blessings of the cheerful morn be on you, Ser. The lady Alicia And greet your beauty with its opening sweets ! Attends your leisure. J. Sh. My gentle neighbour, your good wishes J. Sh. Say I wish to see her.-[Exit Servant. still

Please, gentle sir, one moment to retire: Pursue my hapless fortunes. Ah, good Belmour! I'll wait you on the instant, and inform you How few, like thee, inquire the wretched out, Of each unhappy circumstance, in which And court the offices of soft humanity!

Your friendly aid and counsel much i may stead me. Like thee reserve their raiment for the naked,

[Exeunt BELMOUR and Dumont, Reach out their bread to feed the crying orphan,

Enter ALICIA. Or mix their pitying tears with those that weep! Thy praise deserves a better tongue than mine, Alic. Still, my fair friend, still shall I find you To speak and bless thy name. Is this the gentle

thus : man,

Still shall these sighs heave after one another, Whose friendly service you commended tom e? These trickling drops chase one another still, Bel. Madam, it is.

As if the posting messengers of grief J. Sh. A venerable aspect.

(Aside. Could overtake the hours fled far away, Age sits with decent grace upon his visage, And make old Time come back? And worthily becomes his silver locks; ,

J. Sh. No, my Alicia,

ness

Heaven and his saints be witness to my thoughts, | And move my humble suit to angry Gloster. There is no hour of all my life o'er past,

Alic. Does Hastings undertake to plead your That I could wish to take its turn again.

cause ! Alic. And yet some of those days my friend But wherefore should he not? Hastings has eyes ; has known,

The gentle lord has a right tender heart

, Some of those years might pass for golden ones, Melting and easy, yielding to impression, At least if womankind can judge of happiness. And catching the soft flame from each new What could we wish, we, who delight in empire,

beauty; Whose beauty is onr sovereign good, and gives us But yours shall charm him long. Our reasons to rebel, and power to reign,

J. Sh. Away, you flatterer! What could we more than to behold a monarch, Nor charge his generous meaning with a weakLovely, renowned, a conqueror, and young,

ness, Bound in our chains, and sighing at our feet? Which his great soul and virtue must disdain. J. Sh. 'Tis true, the royal Edward was a won Too much of love thy hapless friend has proved, der,

Too many giddy foolish hours are gone, The goodly pride of all our English youth; And in fantastic measures danced away: He was the very joy of all that saw him; May the remaining few know only friendship! Formed to delight, to love, and to persuade. So thou, my dearest, truest, best Alicia, Impassive spirits and angelic natures

Vouchsafe to laulge me in thy gentle heart, Might have been charmed, like yielding human A partner there, I will give up mankind, weakness,

Forget the transports of increasing passion, Stooped from their heaven, and listened to his And all the pangs we feel for its decay: talking.

Alic. Live! live and reign for ever in my boBut what had I to do with kings and courts?

som!

[Embracing My humble lot had cast me far beneath him; Safe and unrivalled there, possess thy own; And that he was the first of all mankind, And you, the brightest of the stars above, The bravest, and most lovely, was my curse. Ye saints, that once were women here below, Alic. Sure, something more than fortune Be witness of the truth, the holy friendship, joined your loves :

Which here to this my other self I vow! Nor could his greatness, and his gracious form, If I not hold her nearer to my soul, Be elsewhere matched so well, as to the sweet- Than every other joy the world can give;

Let poverty, deformity, and shame, And beauty of my friend.

Distraction and despair seize me on earth! J. Sh. Name him no more!

Let not my faithless ghost have peace hereafter, He was the bane and ruin of my peace.

Nor taste the bliss of your celestial fellowship! This anguish and these tears, these are the lega J. Sh. Yes, thou art true, and only thou art cies

true; His fatal love has left me. Thou wilt see me, Therefore these jewels, once the lavish bounty Believe me, my Alicia, thou wilt see me, Of royal Edward's love, I trust to thee; E’er yet a few short days pass o'er my head,

(Giving a casket Abandoned to the very utmost wretchedness. Receive this, all that I can call my own, The hand of power has seized almost the whole And let it rest unknown, and safe with thee: Of what was left for needy life's support; That if the state's injustice should oppress me, Shortly thou wilt behold me poor, and kneeling Strip me of all, and turn me out a wanderer, Before thy charitable door for bread.

My wretchedness may find relief from thee, Alic. Joy of my life, my dearest Shore, forbear And shelter from the storm. To wound iny heart with thy foreboding sorrows ! Alic. My all is thine; Raise thy sad soul to better hopes than these; One common hazard shall attend us both, Lift up thy eyes, and let them shine once more, And both be fortunate, or both be wretched. Bright as the morning sun above the mist. But let thy fearful doubting heart be still; Exert thy charms, seek out the stern protector, The saints and angels have thee in their charge, And soothe his savage temper with thy beauty : And all things shall be well. Think not, the Spite of his deadly, unrelenting nature,

good, He shall be moved to pity, and redress thee. The gentle deeds of mercy thou hast done,

J. Sh. My form, alas ! has long forgot to please; Shall die forgotten all; the poor, the prisoner, The scene of beauty and delight is changed ; The fatherless, the friendless, and the widow, No roses bloom upon my fading cheek,

Who daily own the bounty of thy hand, Nor laughing graces wanton in my eyes ; Shall cry to Heaven, and pull a blessing ov But haggard grief, lean-looking sallow care,

thee; And pining discontent, a rueful train,

Even man, the merciless insulter man, Dwell on my brow, all bideous and forlorn. Man, who rejoices in our sex's weakness, One only shadow of a hope is left me;

Shall pity thee, and with unwonted goodness The noble-minded Hastings, of his goodness, Forget thy failings, and record thy praise. Has kindly underta'en to be my advocate, J. Sk. Why should I think that man will do

for me,

What yet he never did for wretches like me?
Mark by what partial justice we are judged :
Such is the fate unhappy women find,
And such the curse entailed upon our kind,
That man, the lawless libertine, may rove,
Free and unquestioned through the wilds of love;
While woman, sense and nature's easy fool,
If poor weak woman swerve from virtue's rule,

If, strongly charmed, she leave the thorny way,
And in the softer paths of pleasure stray,
Ruin ensues, reproach and endless shame,
And one false step entirely damns her fame:
In vain with tears the loss she may deplore,
In vain look back on what she was before;
She sets, like stars that fall, to rise no more.

(Ereunt.

ACT II.

The lord protector has received her suit,
SCENE I.-Continues.

And means to shew her grace.

Alic. My friend, my lord ! Enter ALICIA, speaking to JANE SHORE as en

Hast. Yes, lady, yours: none has a right more tering.

ample Alic. No farther, gentle friend; good angels To task my power than you. guard you,

Alic. I want the words, And spread their gracious wings about your To pay you back a compliment so courtly; slumbers !

But my heart guesses at the friendly meaning, The drowsy night grows on the world, and now And will not die your debtor. The busy craftsman and o'er-laboured hind Hast. 'Tis well, madam. Forget the travail of the day in sleep:

But I would see your friend. Care only wakes, and moping pensiveness;

Alic. Oh, thou false lord ! With meagre discontented looks they sit, I would be mistress of my heaving heart, And watch the wasting of the midnight taper. Stifle this rising rage, and learn from thee Such vigils must I keep, so wakes my soul, To dress my face in easy dull indifference: Restless and self-tormented! Oh, false Hastings ! But 'twill not be; my wrongs will tear their way, Thou hast destroyed my peace.

And rush at once upon thee.

[Knocking within. Hast. Are you wise ? What noise is that?

Have you the use of reason? Do you wake? What visitor is this, who, with bold freedom, What means this raving, this transporting passion? Breaks in upon the peaceful night and rest, Alic. Oh, thou cool traitor ! thou insulting With such a rude approach ?

tyrant !

Dost thou behold my poor distracted heart, Enter a Servant.

Thus rent with agonizing love and rage, Ser. One from the court,

And ask me what it means? Art thou not false? Lord Hastings (as I think) demands my lady. Am I not scorned, forsaken, and abandoned, Alic. Hastings ! Be still, my heart, and try to Left, like a common wretch, to shame and inmeet him

famy, With his own arts : with falsehood-But he comes. Given up to be the sport of villains' tongues,

Of laughing parasites, and lewd buffoons? Enter Lord Hastings, speaks to a Servant as

And all because my soul has doated on thee, entering.

With love, with truth, and tenderness unutterable ? Hust. Dismiss my train, and wait alone with Hust. Are these the proofs of tenderness and out.

love? Alicia here! Unfortunate encounter!

These endless quarrels, discontents, and jealousies, But be it as it may.

These never-ceasing wailings and complainings, Alic. When humbly, thus,

These furious starts, these whirlwinds of the soul, The great descend to visit the afflicted,

Which every other moment rise to madness? When thus, unmindful of their rest, they come Alic. What proof, alas ! have I not given of To soothe the sorrows of the midnight mourner,

love? Comfort comes with them; like the golden sun, What have I not abandoned to thy arms? Dispels the sullen shades with her sweet influ- Have I not set at nought my noble birth, ence,

A spotless fame, and an unblemished race, And cheers the melancholy house of care. The peace of innocence, and pride of virtue? · Hast. 'Tis true, I would not over-rate a cour My prodigality has given thee all; tesy,

And now I've nothing left me to bestow, Nor let the coldness of delay hang on it, You hate the wretched bankrupt you have made. To nip and blast its favour, like a frost;

Hast. Why am I thus pursued from place to But rather chose, at this late hour to come,

place, That your fair friend may know I have prevailed; | Kept in the view, and cross’d at every turn?

In vain I fly, and, like a bunted deer,

With royal favour guarded round and graced ; Scud o'er the lawns, and hasten to the covert ; On eagle's wings my rage shall urge her fight, E’er I can reach my safety, you o'ertake me And hurl thee headlong from thy topmost height; With the swift malice of some keen reproach, Then, like thy fate, superior will I sit, And drive the winged shaft deep in my heart. And view thee fallen, and grovelling at my feet;

Alic. Hither you fly, and here you seek repose; See thy last breath with indignation go, Spite of the poor deceit, your arts are known, And tread thee sinking to the shades below. Your pious, charitable, midnight visits !

Erit. Hast. If you are wise, and prize your peace of Hast. How fierce a fiend is passion! with what mind,

wildness, Yet take the friendly counsel of my love; What tyranny untamed it reigns in woman! Believe me true, nor listen to your jealousy. Unhappy sex! whose easy yielding temper Let not that devil, which undoes your sex, Gives way to every appetite alike: That cursed curiosity, seduce you

Each gust of inclination, uncontrouled, To hunt for needless secrets, which, neglected, Sweeps through their souls, and sets them in an Shall never hurt your quiet: but, once known,

uproar; Shall sit upon your heart, pinch it with pain, Each motion of the heart rises to fury, And banish the sweet sleep for ever from you.

And love, in their weak bosoms, is a rage Go to-be yet advised

As terrible as hate, and as destructive. Alic. Dost thou, in scorn,

So the wind roars o'er the wide fenceless ocean, Preach patience to my rage, and bid me tamely And heaves the billows of the boiling deep, Sit like a poor contented idiot down,

Alike from north, from south, from east, from Nor dare to think thou'st wronged me? Ruin west; seize thee,

With equal force the tempest blows, by turns, And swift perdition overtake thy treachery! From every corner of the seaman's compass. Have I the least remaining cause to doubt? But soft ye now-for here comes one, disclains Hast thou endeavoured once to hide thy false Strife and her wrangling train; of equal elements hood?

Without one jarring atom, was she formed, To hide it might have spoke some little tender And gentleness and joy make up her being.

ness, And shewn thee half unwilling to undo me:

Enter JANE SHORE. But thou disdain'st the weakness of humanity; Forgive me, fair one, if officious friendship Thy words, and all thy actions, have confessed it; Intrudes on your repose, and comes thus late Even now thy eyes avow it, now they speak, To greet you with the tidings of success. And insolently own the glorious villainy. The princely Gloster has vouchsafed you hear Hust. Well, then! I own my heart has broke ing;

Tomorrow he expects you at the court; Patient I bore the painful bondage long; There plead your cause, with never-failing beauty, At length my generous love disdains your ty Speak all your griefs, and find a full redress. ranny :

J. Sh. Thus humbly let your lowly servant bend, The bitterness and stings of taunting jealousy,

{Kneeling Vexatious days, and jarring, joyless nights, Thus let me bow my grateful knee to earth, Have driven him forth to seek some safer shelter, And bless your noble nature for this goodness. Where he may rest his weary wings in peace. Hast. Rise, gentle dame; you wrong my mean. Alic. You triumph? do! and, with gigantic ing much; pride,

Think me not guilty of a thought so vain, Defy impending vengeance. Heaven shall wink; To sell my courtesy for thanks like these! No more his arm shall roll the dreadful thunder, Sh. 'Tis true, your bounty is beyond my Nor send his lightnings forth: no more his jus speaking: tice

But though my mouth be dumb, my heart shall Shall visit the presuming sons of men,

thank you; But perjury, like thine, shall dwell in safety. And when it melts before the throne of mercy, Hast. Whate'er my fate decrees for me here Mourning and bleeding for my past offences, after,

My fervent soul shall breathe one prayer for you, Be present to me now, my better angel ! If prayers of such a wretch are heard on high, Preserve me from the storm that threatens now, That Heaven will pay you back, when mose you And if I have beyond atonement sinned,

need, Let any other kind of plague o'ertake me, The grace and goodness you have shewn to me. So I escape the fury of that tongue.

Hast. If there be aught of merit in my service, Alic. Thy prayer is heard—I go—but know, Impute it there, where most 'tis due, to love; proud lord,

Be kind, my gentle mistress, to my wishes, Howe'er thou scorn'st the weakness of my sex, And satisfy my panting heart with beauty! This feeble hand may find the means to reach J. Sh. Alas! my lordthee,

Hast. Why bend thy eyes to earth? Howe'er sublime in power and greatness placed, Wherefore these looks of heaviness and sorrow?

your chains.

Why breathes that sigh, my love? And wherefore | Forbear, my lord !-here let me rather die: falls

[Kneeling. This trickling shower of tears, to stain thy sweet- Let quick destruction overtake me here, ness?

And end my sorrows, and my shame for ever. J. Sh. If pity dwells within your noble breast, Hast. Away with this perverseness !—'tis too (As sure it does) Oh, speak not to me thus !

much. Hast. Can I behold thee, and not speak of Nay, if you strive—'tis monstrous affectation! love?

[Struggling Even now, thus sadly as thou stand'st before me, J. Sh. Retire ! I beg you leave me Thus desolate, dejected, and forlorn,

Hast. Thus to coy it!i Thy softness steals upon my yielding senses,

With one who knows you too.Tií

my soul faints, and sickens with desire; J. Sh. For mercy's sakeHow canst thou give this motion to my heart,

Hast. Ungrateful woman! Is it thus you pay And bid my tongue be still ?

My services ?J. Sh. Cast round your eyes

J. Sh. Abandon me to ruin-
Upon the high-born beauties of the court;

Rather than urge me
Behold, like opening roses, where they bloom, Hast. This way to your chamber;
Sweet to the sense, unsullied all and spotless ;

(Pulling her.
There chuse some worthy partner of your heart, There if you struggle-
To fill your arms, and bless your virtuous bed; J. Sh. Help, oh, gracious Heaven !
Nor turn your eyes this way, where sin and Help! Save me! Help!

misery, Like loathsome weeds, have over-run the soil,

Enter DUMONT, he interposes.
And the destroyer, Shame, has laid all waste. Dum. My lord! for honour's sake-
Hast. What means this peevish, this fantastic Hast. Ha! What art thou?-Begone!
change?

Dum. My duty calls me
Where is thy wonted pleasantness of face, To my attendance on my mistress here.
Thy wonted graces, and thy dimpled smiles ? J. Sh. For pity, let me go-
Where hast thou lost thy wit, and sportive mirth ;

Hust. Avaunt! base groomThat chearful heart, which used to dance for At distance wait, and know thy office better. ever,

Dum. Forego your hold, my lord ! 'tis most And cast a day of gladness all around thee?

unmanly J. Sh. Yes, I will own I merit the reproach; This violence And for those foolish days of wanton pride,

Hast. Avoid the room this moment, My soul is justly humbled to the dust:

Or I will tread thy soul out. All tongues, like yours, are licensed to upbraid Dum. No, my

lordme,

The common ties of manhood call me now, Still to repeat my guilt, to urge my infamy, And bid me thus stand up in the defence And treat me like that abject thing I have been. Of an oppressed, unhappy, helpless woman. Yet let the saints be witness to this truth,

Hast. And dost thou know me, slave? That

now, though late, I look with horror back, Dum. Yes, thou proud lord ! That I detest my wretched self, and curse I know thee well; know thee with each advantage My past polluted life. All-judging Heaven, Which wealth, or power, or noble birth can give Who knows my crimes, has seen my sorrow for

thee. them.

I know thee, too, for one who stains those ho Hast. No more of this dull stuff. 'Tis time

nours, enough

And blots a long illastrious line of ancestry. To whine and mortify thyself with penance, By poorly daring thus to wrong a woman. When the decaying sense is palled with pleasure, Hast. 'Tis wond'rous well! I see, my saint-like And weary nature tires in her last stage;

dame, Then weep and tell thy beads, when altering You stand provided of your braves and ruffians, rheums

To man your cause, and bluster in your brothel. Have stained the lustre of thy starry eyes,

Dum. Take back the foul reproach, unmannerAnd failing palsies shake thy' withered hand.

ed railer! The

present moment claims more generous use; Nor urge my rage too far, lest thou should'st Thy beauty, night, and solitude reproach me,

find For having talked thus long-come, let me press I have as daring spirits in my blood thee,

(Laying hold of her. As thou or any of thy race e'er boasted; Pant on thy bosom, sink into thy arms,

And though no gaudy titles graced my birth. And lose myself in the luxurious flood !

Titles, the servile courtier's lean reward, J. Sh. Never! by those chaste lights above, I Sometimes the pay of virtue, but more oft swear,

The hire which greatness gives to slaves and My soul shall never know pollution more;

sycophants,

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