For thou hast looked into my artless bosom,
And seen at once the hurry of my soul.
'Tis true, thy coming struck me with surprise.
I have a thought-but wherefore said I one?
I have a thousand thoughts all up in arms,
Like populous towns disturbed at dead of night,
That, mixed in darkness, bustle to and fro,
As if their business were to make confusion.
Pem. Then sure our better angels called me
hither;

For this is friendship's hour, and friendship's office,

To come, when counsel and when help is wanting,

To share the pain of every gnawing care,
To speak of comfort in the time of trouble,
To reach a hand, and save thee from adversity.
Guil. And wilt thou be a friend to me indeed?
And, while I lay my bosom bare before thee,
Wilt thou deal tenderly, and let thy hand
Pass gently over every painful part?

Wilt thou with patience hear, and judge with temper?

And if, perchance, thou meet with something harsh,

Somewhat to rouse thy rage, and grate thy soul, Wilt thou be master of thyself, and bear it?

Pem. Away with all this needless preparation! Thou know'st thou art so dear, so sacred to me, That I can never think thee an offender. If it were so, that I indeed must judge thee, I should take part with thee against myself, And call thy fault a virtue.

Guil. But suppose

The thought were somewhat that concerned our love?

Pem. No more; thou know'st we spoke of

that to-day,

And Pembroke shall acquit me to himself;
Hear, while I tell how fortune dealt between us,
And gave the yielding beauty to my arms-

Pem. What, hear it! Stand and listen to thy triumph!

Thou think'st 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 warn'st me well; and I were rash,
as thou art,

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

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 fran- |
tic hand
[Stopping him.
Unsheath thy weapon. If the sword be drawn,
If once we meet on terms like those, farewell
To every thought of friendship; one must fall.
Pem. Curse on thy friendship! I would break

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
Rid me of thee, or rid me of myself!

[Erit 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 injustice,

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 charms,
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.

[Exit.

SCENE I.-The Tower.

Enter PEMBROKE and GARDINER.

Gar. Nay, by the rood, my lord, you were to blame,

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

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 talk'st as if a madman could be wise.

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 long,

Gra'mercy 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 !

Gar. Lord Guilford Dudley, and the lady Jane. 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,
Look'd 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-
ter!

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

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 despair,

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, Ransacked our shrines, and driven her saints to exile;

But if my divination fail me not,

Their haughty hearts shall be abased ere long,
And feel the vengeance of our Mary's reign.
Pem. And wouldst thou have my fierce impa-
tience stay?

Bid me lie bound upon a rock, 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-
berland,

With easy Suffolk, Guilford, and the rest,
Meet here in council, on some deep design,
Some traitorous contrivance, to protect
Their upstart faith from near approaching ruin.
But there are punishments-halters and axes
For traitors, and consuming flames for heretics:
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
them,

Sure, certain, unavoidable destruction.

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

Who, while they held me in their arms, betrayed me;

Scorned me for not suspecting they were villains,
And made a mockery of my easy friendship!
No, when I do, dishonour be my portion,
And swift perdition catch me.-Join with them!
Gar. I would not have you-Hie you to the
city,

And join with those that love our ancient faith.
Gather your friends about you, and be ready
To assert our zealous Mary's royal title,
And doubt not but her grateful hand shall give

Give me to tell that soft deceiver, Guilford, Thus, traitor, hast thou done, thus hast thou wronged me,

And thus thy treason finds a just reward! Gar. But, soft! no more: the lords o' th' 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 pair!

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!
Pity this fond, this foolish weakness in me!
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 PEM. and GAR.

SCENE II.

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 griefs

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
wretched.

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

me;

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

Guil. Nothing but good can happen to thy
Guilford,

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
murdered,

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-
dows:

Death lurks within, and unrelenting Punishment:
Without, grim Danger, Fear, and fiercest Power,
Sit on the rude old towers, and gothic battles
ments;

T

For England's loss in Edward. L. J. Gray. How! from me!

Alas! my lord-But sure thou mean'st 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.
LJ. 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. Enter SUFFOLK, NORTHUMBERLAND, Lords and 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,
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;

greatness?

Why do you nang these pageant glories on me, And dress une 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 won

der

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

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 GUIL. Come to my 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.

North. Oh! stay this inauspicious stream of

tears,

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

fate.

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 iny hand, I know, thou shalt require
them?

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 Exempt from care; and yet, who would not bear it?

Think on the monarchs of our royal race:
They lived not for themselves: how many bles-
sings,

How many lifted hands shall pay thy toil,
If for thy people's good thou haply borrow
Some portion from the hours of rest, and wake,
To give the world repose!

Suff. Behold, we stand upon the brink of ruin,
And only thou canst save us. Persecution,
That fiend of Rome and hell, prepares her tor-
tures;

See where she comes in Mary's priestly train! Still wilt thou doubt, till thou behold her stalk, Red with the blood of martyrs, and wide wasting O'er England's bosom? All the mourning year Our towns shall glow with unextinguished fires; Our youth on racks shall stretch their crackling bones;

Our babes shall sprawl on consecrated spears; Matrons and husbands, with their new-born in

That foe of justice, scorner of all law;
That beast, which thinks mankind were born for
one,

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 sceptre.

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 valour,
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
freedom,

Be manacled in base unworthy bonds?
Be tamely yielded up, the spoil, the slaves
Of hare-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
will,

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 lei-

⚫ sure

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

mons

Shall, at your royal bidding, soon assemble,
And with united homage own your title.
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

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