SCENE I.-The Tower.

Enter the DUKE of GLOSTER, SIR RICHARD RATCLIFFE, and CATESBY.

Glos. Thus far success attends upon our councils, And each event has answer'd to my wish;

The queen and all her upstart race are quell'd;
Dorset is banish'd, and her brother Rivers,
Ere this, lies shorter by the head at Pomfret.
The nobles have, with joint concurrence, nam'd me
Protector of the realm; my brother's children,
Young Edward and the little York, are lodg'd
Here, safe within the Tower. How say you, sirs,
Does not this business wear a lucky face?
The sceptre and the golden wreath of royalty
Seem hung within my reach.

Sir R. Then take 'em to you,

And wear them long and worthily: you are
The last remaining male of princely York;
(For Edward's boys, the state esteems not of 'em,)
And therefore on your sov'reignty and rule
The commonweal does her dependence make,
And leans upon your highness' able hand.

Cates. And yet, to-morrow, does the council meet
To fix a day for Edward's coronation.
Who can expound this riddle?

Glos. That can I.

Those lords are each one my approv'd good friends,
Of special trust and nearness to my bosom;

And howsoever busy they may seem,
And diligent to bustle in the state,

Their zeal goes on no further than we lead,
And at our bidding stays.

Cates. Yet there is one,

And be amongst the foremost in his power,
Of whom I wish your highness were assur'd.
For me, perhaps it is my nature's fault,
I own I doubt of his inclining much.

Glos. I guess the man at whom your words would point:

Hastings.
Cates. The same.

Glos. He bears me great good will.

Cates. 'Tis true, to you, as to the lord protector, And Gloster's duke, he bows with lowly service; But were he bid to cry, God save king Richard! Then tell me in what terms he would reply. Believe me, I have prov'd the man, and found him: I know he bears a most religious reverence To his dead master Edward's royal memory, And whither that may lead him, is most plain. Yet more One of that stubborn sort he is, Who, if they once grow fond of an opinion, They call it honour, honesty, and faith; And sooner part with lite than let it go.

Glos. And yet this tough, impracticable heart, Is govern'd by a dainty-finger'd girl; Such flaws are found in the most worthy natures; A laughing, toying, wheedling, whimpering she, Shall make him amble on a gossip's message, And take the distaff with a hand as patient

As e'er did Hercules.

Sir R. The fair Alicia,

Of noble birth and exquisite of feature,
Has held him long a vassal to her beauty.

Cates. I fear he fails in his allegiance there; Or my intelligence is false, or else

The dame has been too lavish of her feast,
And fed him till he loathes..

Glos. No more: he comes.

Enter LORD HASTINGS.

Has. Health, and the happiness of many days, Attend upon your grace.

Glos. My good ford chamberlain,

We're much beholden to your gentle friendship. Has. My lord, I come an humble suitor to you.

Bound in our chains, and sighing at our feet?
Jane S. 'Tis true, the royal Edward was a wonder,
The goodly pride of all our English youth;
He was the very joy of all that saw him.
Form'd to delight, to love, and to persuade.
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 carse.
Alic. Sure something more than fortune join'd
your loves:

Nor could his greatness, and his gracious form,
Be elsewhere match'd so well, as to the sweetness
And beauty of my friend.

Jane S. Name him no more:

He was the bane and ruin of my peace.

This anguish, and these tears, these are the legacies
His fatal love has left me. Thou wilt see me,-
Believe me, my Alicia, thou wilt see me,-
Ere yet a few short days pass o'er my head,
Abandon'd to the very utmost wretchedness.
The hand of pow'r has seiz'd almost the whole
Of what was left for needy life's support;
Shortly thou wilt behold me poor, and kneeling
Before thy charitable door for bread.

Alic. Joy of my life, my dearest Shore, forbear
To wound my heart with thy foreboding sorrows:
Raise thy sad soul to better hopes than these,
Lift up thy eyes, and let them shine once more,
Bright as the morning sun above the mist.
Exert thy charms, seek out the stern protector,
And sooth his savage temper with thy beauty;
Spite of his deadly, unrelenting nature,
He shall be mov'd to pity, and redress thee.
Jane S. My form, alas! has long forgot to please!
The scene of beauty and delight is chang'd;
No roses bloom upon my fading cheek,
Nor laughing graces wanton in my eyes;
But haggard grief, lean-looking, sallow care,
And pining discontent, a rueful train,
Dwell on my brow, all hideous and forlorn;
One only shadow of a hope is left me;
The noble-minded Hastings, of his goodness,
Has kindly underta'en to be my advocate,
And move my humble suit to angry Gloster.

Alic. Does Hastings undertake to plead your

cause?

But wherefore should he not? Hastings has eyes:
The gentle lord has a right tender heart,
Melting and easy, yielding to impression,

And catching the soft flame from each new beauty;
But your's shall charm him long.

Jane S. Away, you flatterer!

Nor charge his gen'rous meaning with a weakness,
Which his great soul and virtue must disdain.
Too much of love thy hapless friend has prov'd,
Too many giddy, foolish hours are gone,
And in fantastic measures danc'd away:
May the remaining few know only friendship,
So thou, my dearest, truest, best Alicia,
Vouchsafe to lodge me in thy gentle heart,
A partner there; I will give up mankind,
Forget the transports of increasing passion,
And all the pangs we feel for its decay.
Alic. Live! live and reign for ever in my bosom
(Embracing.)
Safe and unrivall'd there possess thy own;
And you, the brightest of the stars above,
Ye saints that once were women here below,
Be witness of the truth, the holy friendship,
Which here to this my other self I vow.
If I not hold her nearer to my soul,
Than every other joy the world can give,
Let poverty, deformity, and shame,
Distraction and despair seize me on earth;
Let not my faithless ghost have peace hereafter,
Nor taste the bliss of your celestial fellowship.
Jane S. Yes, thou art true, and only thou art true:
Therefore these jewels, once the lavish bounty

Of royal Edward's love, I trust to thee;
(Giving a casket.)
Receive this, all that I can call my own,
And let it rest unknown, and safe with thee:
That if the state's injustice should oppress me,
Strip me of all, and turn me out a wanderer,
My wretchedness may find relief from thee,
And shelter from the storm.

Alic. My all is thine;

One common hazard shall attend us both,
And both be fortunate, or both be wretched.
But let thy fearful doubting heart be still;
The saints and angels have thee in their charge,
And all things shall be well. Think not, the good,
The gentle deeds of mercy thou hast done,
Shall die forgotten all; the poor, the pris'ner,
The fatherless, the friendless, and the widow,
Who daily own the bounty of thy hand,
Shall cry to heav'n, and pull a blessing on thee.
Ev'n man, the merciless insulter, man;
Man, who rejoices in our sex's weakness,
Shall pity thee, and with unwonted goodness,
Forget thy failings, and record thy praise.

[me,

Jane S. Why should I think that man will do for What yet he never did for wretches like me? Mark by what partial justice we are judg'd; Such is the fate unhappy women find, And such the curse entail'd upon our kind, That man, the lawless libertine, may rove, Free and unquestion'd through the wilds of love; While woman, sense and nature's easy fool, If poor, weak woman swerve from virtue's rule; If, strongly charm'd, 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. [Exeunt.

Has. Yes, lady, your's; none has a right more To task my pow'r than you.

Alic. I want the words,

To pay you back a compliment so courtly;
But my heart guesses at the friendly meaning,
And wouldn't die your debtor.

Has. 'Tis well, madam:
But I would see your friend.
Alic. O thou false lord!

I would be mistress of my heaving heart,
Stifle this rising rage, and learn from thee
To dress my face in easy, dull indiff'rence;
But 'twouldn't be; my wrongs will tear their way,
And rush at once upon thee.

Has. Are you wise?

Have you the use of reason? Do you wake?
What means this raving, this transporting passion?
Alic. O, thou cool traitor! thou insulting tyrant!
Dost thou behold my poor, distracted heart,
Thus rent with agonizing love and rage,
And ask me what it means? Art thou not false?
Am I not scorn'd, forsaken, and abandon'd;
Left, like a common wretch, to shame and infamy;
Giv'n up to be the sport of villains' tongues,
Of laughing parasites, and lewd buffoons?
And all because my soul has doated on thee
With love, with truth, and tenderness unutterable!
Has. Are these the proofs of tenderness and love?
These endless quarrels, discontents, and jealousies,
These never-ceasing wailings and complainings,
These furious starts, these whirlwinds of the soul,
Which every other moment rise to madness?
Alic. What proof, alas! have I not giv'n of love?
What have I not abandon'd to thy arms?
Have I not set at nought my noble birth,
A spotless fame, and an unblemish'd race,
The peace of innocence, and pride of virtue?
My prodigality has giv'n thee all;

And now, I've nothing left me to bestow,
You hate the wretched bankrupt you have made.
Has. Why am I thus pursu'd from place to place,
Kept in the view, and cross'd at ev'ry turn?
In vain I fly, and, like a hunted deer,

Scud o'er the lawns, and hasten to the covert;
Ere I can reach my safety, you o'ertake me
With the swift malice of some keen reproach,
And drive the winged shaft deep in my heart.

Alic. Hither you fly, and here you seek repose. Spite of the poor deceit, your arts are known, Your pious, charitable, midnight visits.

[mind,
Has. If you are wise, and prize your peace of
Yet take the friendly counsel of my love;
Believe me true, nor listen to your jealousy.
Let not that devil, which undoes your sex,
That cursed curiosity, seduce you,

To hunt for needless secrets, which, neglected,
Shall never hurt your quiet; but once known,
Shall sit upon your heart, pinch it with pain,
And banish the sweet sleep for ever from you.
Go to-be yet advis'd-

Alic. Dost thou in scorn

Preach patience to my rage, and bid me tamely
Sit, like a poor, contented idiot, down,
Nor dare to think thou'st wrong'd me? Ruin seize
thee,

And swift perdition overtake thy treachery.
Have I the least remaining cause to doubt?
Hast thou endeavour'd once to hide thy falsehood?
To hide it might have spoke some little tenderness,
And shown thee half unwilling to undo me:
But thou disdain'st the weakness of humanity.
Thy words, and all thy actions, have confess'd it;

Ev'n now thy eyes avow it, now they speak,
And insolently own the glorious villainy.
Has. Well then, I own my heart has broke your
chains.

Patient I bore the painful bondage long,

At length my gen'rous love disdains your tyranny;
The bitterness and stings of taunting jealousy,
Vexatious days, and jarring, joyless nights,
Have driv'n him forth to seek some safer shelter,
Where he may rest his weary wings in peace.

Alic. You triumph! do; and with gigantic pride
Defy impending vengeance. Heav'n shall wink;
No more his arm shall roll the dreadful thunder,
Nor send his lightnings forth: no more his justice
Shall visit the presuming sons of men,
But perjury, like thine, shall dwell in safety.

Has. Whate'er my fate decrees for me hereafter, Be present to me now, my better angel! Preserve me from the storm that threatens now, And if I have beyond atonement sinn'd, Let any other kind of plague o'ertake me, So I escape the fury of that tongue.

Alic. Thy prayer is heard-I go; but know, proud lord,

Howe'er thou scorn'st the weakness of my sex,
This feeble hand may find the means to reach thee,
Howe'er sublime in pow'r and greatness plac'd,
With royal favour guarded round and grac'd;
On eagle's wings my rage shall urge her flight,
And hurl thee headlong from thy topmost height;
Then, like thy fate, superior will I sit,

And view thee fall'n, and grov'ling at my feet;
See thy last breath with indignation go,
And tread thee sinking to the shades below. [Exit.
Has. How fierce a fiend is passion! With what

wildness,

What tyranny nntam'd it reigns in woman!
Unhappy sex! whose easy, yielding temper
Gives way to ev'ry appetite alike:
And love in their weak bosoms is a rage
As terrible as hate, and as destructive.
But soft ye now-for here comes one, disclaims
Strife and her wrangling train: of equal elements,
Without one jarring atom, was she form'd;
And gentleness and joy make up her being.

Enter JANE SHORE.

Forgive me, fair one, if officious friendship
Intrudes on your repose, and comes thus late
To greet you with the tidings of success.
The princely Gloster has vouchsaf'd your hearing:
To-morrow he expects you at the court;
There plead your cause, with never-failing beauty,
Speak all your griefs, and find a full redress.

Jane S. Thus humbly let your lowly servant bend (kneeling);

[much,

Thus let me bow my grateful knee to earth,
And bless your noble nature for this goodness.
Has. Rise, gentle dame, you wrong my meaning
Think me not guilty of a thought so vain,
To sell my courtesy for thanks like these.
Jane S. 'Tis true your bounty is beyond my
speaking:
[you;
But though my mouth be dumb, my heart shall thank
And when it melts before the throne of mercy,
Mourning and bleeding for my past offences,
My fervent soul shall breathe one pray'r for you,
That heav'n will pay you back, when most you need,
The grace and goodness you have shown to me,

Has. If there be aught of merit in my service,
Impute it there, where most 'tis due to love;
Be kind, my gentle mistress, to my wishes,
And satisfy my panting heart with beauty.
Jane S. Alas! my lord-

Has. Why bend thy eyes to earth? Wherefore these looks of heaviness and sorrow? Why breathes that sigh, my love? and wherefore falls This trickling show'r of tears, to stain thy sweet

ness?

Jane S. If pity dwells within your noble breast (As sure it does), ob, speak not to me thus. Has. Can I behold thee, and not speak of love? Ev'n now, thus sadly as thou stand'st before me, Thus desolate, dejected, and forlorn, Thy softness steals upon my yielding senses, Till my soul faints, and sickens with desire. How canst thou give this motion to my heart, And bid my tongue be still?

Jane S. Cast round your eyes

Upon the high-born beauties of the court;
Behold, like opening roses where they bloom,
Sweet to the sense, unsullied all, and spotless;
There choose some worthy partner of your heart,
To fill your arms, and bless your virtuous bed;
Nor turn your eyes
this way.
[change?
Has. What means this peevish, this fantastic
Where is thy wonted pleasantness of face,
Thy wonted graces, and thy dimpled smiles?
Where hast thou lost thy wit and sportive mirth?
That cheerful heart, which us'd to dance for ever,
And cast a day of gladness all around thee?

Jane S. Yes, I will own I merit the reproach;
And for those foolish days of wanton pride,
My soul is justly humbled to the dust:
All tongues, like your's, are licens'd to upbraid me,
Still to repeat my guilt, to urge my infamy,
And treat me like that abject thing I have been.
Has. No more of this dull stuff. "Tis time enough
To whine and mortify thyself with penance;
The present moment claims more gen'rous use:
Thy beauty, night and solitude reproach me,
For having talk'd thus long:-come, let me press
thee. (Laying hold on her.)
[die,
Jane S. Forbear, my lord!--here let me rather
And end my sorrows and my shame for ever.
Has. Away with this perverseness; 'tis too much.
Nay, if you strive,-'tis monstrous affectation!
(Striving.)

Jane S. Retire! I beg you leave me-
Has. Thus to coy it!-

With one who knows you too.

Jane S. For mercy's sake

Has. Ungrateful woman! Is it thus you pay My services?

Jane S. Abandon me to ruin,

Rather than urge me—

Has. This way to your chamber; (pulling her.) There, if you struggle

Jane S. Help, O gracious heaven! Help! Save me! Help!

[Rushes out.

Enter DUMONT; he interposes.

Dum. My lord! for honour's sake-
Has. Ha! What art thou?-Begone!
Dum. My duty calls me

To my attendance on my mistress here.
Has. Avaunt! base groom :-

At distance wait, and know thy office better.
Dum. No, my lord-

The common ties of manhood call me now,
And bid me thus stand up in the defence
Of an oppress'd, unhappy, helpless woman.
Has. And dost thou know me, slave?
Dum. Yes, thou proud lord!

I know thee well; know thee with each advantage Which wealth, or pow'r, or noble birth can give thee.

I know thee too for one who stains those honours,
And blots a long illustrious line of ancestry,
By poorly daring thus to wrong a woman. [dame,
Has. 'Tis wondrous well; I see, my saint-like
You stand provided of your braves and ruffians,
To man your cause, and bluster in your brothel.
Dum. Take back the foul reproach, unmanner'd
railer!

Nor urge my rage too far, lest thou shouldst find
I have as daring spirits in my blood,
As thou or any of thy race e'er boasted;

And though no gaudy titles grac'd my birth,
Yet heav'n, that made me honest, made me more
Than ever king did, when he made a lord.

Has. Insolent villain! henceforth let this teach thee (draws, and strikes him)

The distance 'twixt a peasant and a prince. Dum. Nay then, my lord, (drawing) learn you by this, how well

An arm resolv'd can guard its master's life. (They fight; Dumont disarms Hastings.)

Has. Confusion! baffled by a base-born hind! Dum. Now, haughty sir, where is our difference now?

Your life is in my hand, and did not honour,
The gentleness of blood, and inborn virtue
(Howe'er unworthy I may seem to you,)
Plead in my bosom, I should take the forfeit.
But wear your sword again; and know, a lord
Oppos'd against a man, is but a man.

[tune

Has. Curse on my failing hand! your better forHas giv'n you vantage o'er me; but perhaps Your triumph may be bought with dear repentance.

Re-enter JANE Shore.

[Exit.

Jane S. Alas! what have you done? Know ye the pow'r,

The mightiness that waits upon this lord?

Dum. Fear not, my worthiest mistress; 'tis a cause
In which heaven's guards shall wait you. O pursue,
Pursue the sacred counsels of your soul,
Which urge you on to virtue;

Assisting angels shall conduct your steps,
Bring you to bliss, and crown your days with peace.
Jane S. O that my head were laid, my sad eyes

clos'd,

And my cold corse wound in my shroud to rest!
My painful heart will never cease to beat,
Will never know a moment's peace till then.

Dum. Would you be happy, leave this fatal place;
Fly from the court's pernicious neighbourhood;
Where innocence is sham'd, and blushing modesty
Is made the scorner's jest; where hate, deceit,
And deadly ruin, wear the masks of beauty,
And draw deluded fools with shows of pleasure.
Jane S. Where should I fly, thus helpless and
forlorn,

Of friends, and all the means of life bereft?
Dum. Belmour, whose friendly care still wakes
to serve you,

Has found you out a little peaceful refuge,
Far from the court and the tumultuous city.
Within an ancient forest's ample verge,
There stands a lonely but a healthful dwelling,
Built for convenience and the use of life:
Around, it fallows, meads, and pastures fair,
A little garden, and a limpid brook,

By nature's own contrivance seem dispos'd;
No neighbours, but a few poor simple clowns,
Honest and true, with a well meaning priest:
No faction, or domestic fury's rage,
Did e'er disturb the quiet of that place,
When the contending nobles shook the land
With York and Lancaster's disputed sway.
Your virtue there may find a safe retreat
From the insulting pow'rs of wicked greatness,
Jane S. Can there be so much happiness in store?
A cell like that is all my hopes aspire to.
Haste then, and thither let us take our flight,
Ere the clouds gather, and the wintry sky
Descends in storms to intercept our passage.

Dum. Will you then go? You glad my very soul.
Banish your fears, cast all your cares on me;
Plenty and ease, and peace of mind shall wait you,
And make your latter days of life most happy.
O lady! but I must not, cannot tell you,
How anxious I have been for all your dangers,
And how my heart rejoices at your safety.
So when the spring renews the flow 'ry field,
And warns the pregnant nightingale to build,