BY

SEVERE each poet's lot; but sure most hard Is the condition of the play-house bard: Doom'd to hear all that would-be critics talk, And in the go-cart of dull rules to walk!

Yet authors multiply,' you say. 'Tis true, But what a numerous crop of critics too! Scholars alone of old durst judge and write: But now each journalist turns Stagyrite; Quintilians in each coffee-house you meet, And many a Longinus walks the street.

In Shakspeare's days, when his advent❜rous

muse,

A muse of fire! durst each bold licence use,
Her noble ardour met no critic's phlegm,
To check wild fancy, or her flights condemn:
Ariels and Calibans, unblam'd, she drew,
Or goblins, ghosts, and witches brought to view.
If to historic truth she shap'd her verse,
A nation's annals freely she'd rehearse;
Bring Rome's or England's story on the stage,
And run, in three short hours, thro' half an age.
Our bard, all terror-struck, and fill'd with dread,

In Shakspeare's awful footsteps does not tread;
Thro' the wild field of hist'ry fears to stray,
And builds upon one narrow spot his play;
Steps not from realm to realm, whole seas be-

tween,

But barely changes twice or thrice his scene:
While Shakspeare vaults on the poetic wire,
And pleas'd spectators fearfully admire,
Our bard, a critic pole between his hands,
On the tight rope, scarce balanc'd, trembling
stands;

Slowly and cautiously his way he makes,
And fears to fall at every step he takes.
While then fierce Warwick he before you brings,
That setter-up and puller-down of kings,
With British candour dissipate his fear!
An English story fits an English ear.
Tho' hoarse and crude you deem his first essay,
A second may your favours well repay:
Applause may nerve his verse and cheer his heart,
And teach the practice of this dangerous art.

SCENE I.-A Palace.

Enter MARGARET of ANJOU, and Lady CLIF

FORD.

I shall provide her with a fitter husband,
A nobler far, and worthier of her charms-
Young Edward-

Clif. Ha! the king! impossible!

mistress smiles,

Unusual gladness sparkles in her eye,

And bids me welcome in the stranger, Joy,
To his new mansion.

Marg. Yes, my faithful Clifford,
Fortune is weary of oppressing me:
Through my dark cloud of grief a cheerful ray
Of light breaks forth, and gilds the whole horizon.
Clif. Henry in chains, and Edward on the
throne

Of Lancaster; thyself a prisoner here;

Thy captive son torn from his mother's arms,
And in the tyrant's power; a kingdom lost:
Amidst so many sorrows, what new hope
Hath wrought this wondrous change?
Marg. That, which alone,

In sorrow's bitterest hour, can minister
Sweet comfort to the daughters of affliction,
And bid misfortune smile the hope of vengeance:
Vengeance! benignant patron of distress,
Thee I have oft invoked, propitious now
Thou smil❜st upon me; if I do not grasp
The glorious opportunity, henceforth
Indignant frown, and leave me to my fate!
Clif. Unhappy princess! that deceiver, Hope,
Hath often flattered, and as oft betrayed thee;
What hast thou gained by all its promises?
What's the reward of all thy toils?

Marg. Experience

Yes, Clifford, I have read the instructive volume
Of human nature, there long since have learned,
The way to conquer men is by their passions;
Catch but the ruling foible of their hearts,
And all their boasted virtues shrink before you.
Edward and Warwick, those detested names,
Too well thou know'st, united to destroy me.
Clif. That was, indeed, a fatal league.
Marg. But mark me;

If we could break this adamantine chain,
We might again be free: this mighty warrior,
This dread of kings, the unconquerable Warwick,
Is plighted to the fair Elizabeth.

Clif. The lady Gray, you mean, the beauteous widow,

Whose husband fell in arms for Lancaster? Marg. The same, my Clifford-Warwick long has loved

Clif. And means to wed her
Murg. But if I have art,

Or she ambition, that shall never be.

Clif. Canst thou prevent it?

Marg. Yes, my Clifford; Warwick

Were a mean choice for such transcendent beauty;

To treat with Lewis, offers England's throne To France's daughter; and, ere this, perhaps, Hath signed the solemn contract.

Marg. Solemn trifles!

Mere cobweb ties-Love's a despotic tyrant,
And laughs, like other kings, at public faith,
When it opposes private happiness :
Edward is youthful, gay, and amorous;
His soul is ever open to the lure
Of beauty; and Elizabeth hath charms
Might shake a hermit's virtue.
Clif. Hath he seen

This peerless fair one?

Marg. Yes-by my contrivance,
When last he hunted in the forest, some,
Whom I had planted there, as if by chance
Alone directed, led him cross the lawn

To Grafton. There, even as my soul had wished,
The dazzling lustre of her charms surprised
His unsuspecting heart-

Clif. What followed? Marg. Oh!

He gazed and wondered; for awhile his pride
Indignant rose, and struggled with his passion,
But love was soon victorious: and last night,
The earl of Suffolk-so my trusty spies
Inform me was dispatched, on wings of love,
To plead his master's cause, and offer her
The throne of England.

Clif. What if she refuse
The golden bribe?

Marg. No matter; all I wish

Is but to make them foes: the generous Warwick

Is fiery, and impatient of reproof;

He will not brook a rival in his love,
Though seated on a throne; besides, thou know'st,
The haughty earl looks down with scorn on Ed-
ward,

As the mere work of his all-powerful hand,
The baby monarch of his own creation.

Clif. Believe me, madam, Edward still reveres
And loves him; still, as conscious of the debt,
Pays him with trust and confidence; their souls
Are linked together in the strictest bonds
Of sacred friendship.

Marg. That but serves my cause: Where ties are close, and interests united, The slightest injuries are severely felt; Offended friendship never can forgive.

Clif. Now the full prospect opens to my view;

I see thy distant aim, and trace the paths
Of vengeance: England soon will be a scene

With all the warmth of friendship; dwelt with pleasure

On every princely virtue, that adorns

Your noble heart; she listened with attention, And echoed back your praises.

Edw. Was not that

A kind propitious omen?
Suf. Such indeed

Hoping to find it, I called in the powers

Of flattery to my aid, and gazed upon her,

As if confounded by her dazzling beauties

Her wounds scarce closed, shall Edward open them,

And bid them bleed afresh? believe me, Suffolk, I would not be the cause of new divisions Amongst my people, for a thousand kingdoms. Suf. 'Tis nobly said, and may thy grateful subjects

Revere thy virtues, and reward thy love! Edw. O! Suffolk, did they know but half the cares,

That wait on royalty, they would not grudge

spake

Of England's monarch sighing at her feet,
The crimson glow of modesty o'erspread
Her cheek, and gave new lustre to her charms :
She turned aside, and, as she silent bowed
Her doubtful thanks, I marked the pearly tear
Steal down its secret track, and from her breast
Heard a deep sigh, she struggled to conceal.
If I have any judgment, or can trace
The hidden feelings of a woman's heart,
Her's is already fixed: I fear, my liege,
With all that England, all that thou could'st give,
The crown would sit but heavy on her brow.

Edw. Not heavier, Suffolk, than it sits on mine:
My throne is irksome to me; who would wish
To be a sovereign, when Elizabeth
Prefers a subject? Then the impetuous Warwick,
His awful virtue will chastise my weakness.
I dread his censure, dread his keen reproaches;
And dread them more, because they will be just.
I've promised Lewis to espouse his daughter,
To strengthen our alliance: would to Heaven
I had not! If I seek this coy refuser,

And break with France, Warwick will take the alarm;

If once offended, he's inexorable.

Suf. I know him well-Believe me, sir, the
high

And haughty spirit, when it meets rebuke,
Is easiest checked, and sinks into submission.
Let him, my liege, who ventures to arraigu
His master's conduct, look into his own :
There ever is a corner in the heart
Open to folly; Warwick is not free
From human frailties.

Edw. No; Ambition fires

His noble breast, love triumphs over mine:
But well thou know'st, our eyes are ever open
To others' faults, and shut against our own.
We seldom pity woes we ne'er experienced,
Or pardon weakness which we do not feel:
He is a hero.

Suf. Heroes are but men ;

I have some cause to think so-but of that
We'll talk another time: meanwhile, my liege,
I think lord Warwick is a useful friend.
Edw. Aye, and a dangerous foe; the people
love,

To adoration love him; if he falls
From his allegiance, crowds will follow him.
England has long been rent by civil broils,
And fain would rest her in the arms of peace;

Of social happiness. If France consents,
I am undone; and Warwick hath, ere this,
Enslaved me: curse on this state policy,
That binds us thus to love at second hand!
Who knows but he may link me to a wretch,
Wed me to folly, ignorance, and pride,
Ill-nature, sickness, or deformity;
And, when I'm chained to misery, coldly tell me,
To sooth my grief, 'twas for the public good!
Suf. How far you have commissioned him, I
know not;

But were I worthy to advise, my liege,
I would not be the dupe of his ambition,
But follow nature's dictates, and be happy.
England has charms beside Elizabeth's,
And beauties that-

Edw. No more; my heart is fixed
On her alone; find out this powerful rival,
I charge thee, Suffolk: yet why wish to find,
What, found, will make me wretched? were he
bound

In cords of tenderest friendship round my heart,
Dearer than Warwick, dearer than thyself,
Forgive me, but I fear I should abhor him.
O think on something that may yet be done,
To win her to my heart ere Warwick comes!
Suf. I hear he is expected every hour.
Edw. Grant, Heaven, some friendly storm may
yet retard him!

I dread his presence here.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My liege, the earl

Of Warwick is arrived.

Edw. Ha! when? how? where? Would he were buried in the rapid waves That brought him hither! comes he here to-night! Mess. My liege, ere now he might have reach

ed the palace,

But that the shouting multitudes press hard On every side, and seem to worship him. [Exit. Suf. Such adoration

But ill befits the idol, that receives it.

Edw. What's to be done? I cannot, must not see him,

Till all is fixed; once more, my best-loved Suffolk,

Try the soft arts of thy persuasive tongue: What method canst thou think on, to evade This promised marriage with ambitious France? Suf. Summon your council, lay your thoughts before them,

C

Meet Warwick there, and urge a sovereign's right,

To please himself in that, which should concern
Himself alone-firm Buckingham and I
Will plead your cause against the haughty War-
wick,

Whom I would treat with cold civility,
And distant state, which ever angers more
Resentful spirits than the warmth of passion.
Edw. 'Tis well advised!-mean time, if pos-
sible,

I will compose my troubled thoughts to rest:
Suffolk, adieu; if Warwick asks for me,
I am not well-I'm hunting in the forest-

SCENE I.

Enter WARWICK, speaking to an Officer. Warw. 'Tis well: I shall attend his highness' pleasure. [Comes forward. Meet me i' th' council! Warwick might have claimed

A private audience-After all my toils,
My perils in his service, 'tis a cold,
Unkind reception: some base whisperer,
Some needy sycophant, perhaps, hath poisoned
My royal master's ear-or, do I judge
Too rashly? As my embassy concerns
The public welfare, he would honour me
With public thanks-Elizabeth will chide me
For this unkind delay-but honour calls,
And duty to my king: that task performed,
I haste, my love, to happiness and thee. [Exit.

SCENE IL-The Council-Chamber.

Enter King EDWARD, Dukes of CLARENCE and BUCKINGHAM, Earls of SUFFOLK, PEMBROKE, &c.

Edw. Good Buckingham, I thank thee for thy counsel,

Nor blame thy honest warmth; I love this freedom;

It is the birthright of an Englishman,
And doth become thee: what says noble Suffolk?
Suf. I would not cross my royal master's will;
But, on my soul, I think this nuptial league
With France preposterous and impolitic!
It cannot last; we are by nature foes,
And nought but mutual poverty and weakness
Can ever make us friends-she wants our aid
Against the powerful Burgundy, and therefore
Throws out this lure of beauty to ensnare you.
That purpose gained, she turns her arms against

Or my good fearful lord of Suffolk here,
Who knows so well, or would be thought to
know,

What France will do hereafter: yet I think,
The faith of nations is a thing so sacred,
It ought not to be trifled with--I hate,
As much as you, the unnatural forced alliance;
And yet, my lords, if Warwick is empowered,"
For so I hear he is, to treat with Lewis,

I know not how in honour you can swerve
From his conditions.

Hark! the hero comes;

[Shouting.

These shouts proclaim him near: the joyful

people

Will usher in their great deliverer,

As he deserves.

Enter WARWICK.

Edw. Thrice welcome, noble Warwick!
Welcome to all!
[To CLAR. PEM. &c.
Suf. You've had, my lord, I fear,
An arduous task, which few could execute.
But Warwick, in the council and the field,
Alike distinguished, and alike successful.

Edw. What says our cousin France?
Warw. By me, my liege,

He greets you well, and hopes, in closer ties
United, soon to wear a dearer name.

At length, thank Heaven! the iron gates of war
Are closed, and Peace displays her silken ban-

Is ever welcome; 'tis the gift of Heaven,
The nurse of science, art's fair patroness,
And merit's best protector; but if France
Would chain us down to ignominious terms,
Cramp our free commerce, and infringe the rights
Of our liege subjects, England may repent
Too late her rash credulity, and peace,
With all her blessings, may be bought too dear.
Warw. The shame would then be his, who
made the purchase.

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