KING EDWARD, DUKES OF CLARENCE and BUCKINGHAM, EARLS OF SUFFOLK, PEMBROKE, &C.
King E. 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 ?
Suff. I would not cross my royal master's will;
But, on my soul, I think, this nuptial league
With France, prepost'rous, and impolitic;
It cannot last; we are by nature foes,
And naught but mutual poverty and weakness,
Can ever make us friends: she wants our aid
Against the pow'rful Burgundy, and therefore
Throws out this lure of beauty to ensnare you;
That purpose gain'd, she turns her arms against us.
Pemb. Why, let her: if she comes with hostile
England, thank Heaven, is ready to receive her.
I love my country, and revere my king,
As much, perhaps, as honest Buckingham,
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, th' unnatural, forc'd alliance;
And yet, my lords, if Warwick is empower'd,.
(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:
Those shouts proclaim him near: the joyful people Will usher in their great deliverer,
King E. Thrice welcome, noble Warwick, Welcome to all! [To CLARENCE, PEMBROKE, &C. Suff. You've had, my lord, I fear,
An arduous task, which few could execute,
But Warwick; in the council and the field,
Alike distinguish'd, and alike successful.
King E. 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 clos'd, and peace displays her silken banners,
O'er the contending nations; ev'ry doubt
Is now remov'd, and confidence establish'd,
I hope, to last for ages.
King E. Peace, my lord,
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.
If any doubt my faith, my honest zeal
For thee, and for my country, let him speak,
And I will answer; punish me, just Heaven,
If, in the task, I have consulted aught
But England's honour, and my sovereign's glory! King E. Mistake me not, good Warwick, well I know
Thy spotless truth, thy honour, and thy love;
But glory has no farther charms for me:
Rais'd by thy pow'rful aid to England's throne,
I ask no more: already I am great,
As fame and fortune, with their smiles, can make me,
And all I wish for now, is to be happy.
Warw. That too, my liege, hath been thy War
Happy thou shalt be, if the fairest form
That ever caught a gazing lover's eye,
Join'd to the sweetest, most engaging virtues
Can make thee so. Bona accepts with joy,
Thy proffer'd hand: she is, indeed, a gem,
Fit to adorn the brightest crown: to see,
Is to admire her-trust me, England's self,
The seat of beauty, and the throne of love,
Boasts not a fairer.
King E. Beauty, good my lord,
Is all ideal; 'tis the wayward child
Of fancy, shifting with the changeful wind
Of fond opinion; what to you appears
The model of perfection, may disgust
My strange capricious taste.
Warw. Such charms would fix
Inconstancy itself: her winning virtues,
Ev'n if her beauty fail'd, would soon subdue
The rebel heart, and you would learn to love her.
King E. Is the passion to be learn'd then? wouldst
A science of affection? guide the heart,
And teach it where to fix? Impossible!
[Rises and comes forward.
Your zeal in England's, and in Edward's cause
Merits our thanks; but for the intended marriage
With France's daughter-it may never be.
Warw. Not be? it must! your sacred word is is pass'd,
And cannot be recall'd: but three days since
I sign'd the contract, and my honour's pledg'd
For the performance: Heavens! whilst fickle France
Is branded 'midst the nations of the earth,
For breach of public faith: shall we, my liege,
Practise ourselves, the vices we condemn?
Pass o'er a rival nation's ev'ry virtue,
And imitate their perfidy alone?
King E. You'll pardon me, my lord, I thought it part
Of a king's power, to have a will, to see
With his own eyes, and in life's little feast,
To cater for himself; but 'tis, it seems,
A privilege his subjects can refuse him.
Warw. And so they ought; the king who cannot conquer
His private int'rest, for the public welfare,
Knows not his duty.
King E. Kings, my lord, are born
With passions, feelings, hearts, like other men ;
Nor see I yet, why Edward's happiness
Must fall a sacrifice to Warwick's honour.
Warw. My honour, sir, is yours-my cause, your own!
Who sent me, and whose image did I bear!
The image of a great, and glorious king,
Or, of a weak, and wav'ring boy?—henceforth,
Chuse from the herd of foaming sycophants,
Some needy slave for your mock embassy,
To do your work, and stain the name of England
With foul reproach :-Edward, I blush for thee,
And for my country; for, from this hour, expect
From injur❜d France, contempt, with deep resent
For broken faith, and enmity eternal.
King E. Eternal be it then; for, as I prize
My inward peace, beyond the pomp of state,
And all the tinsel glare of fond ambition,
I will not wed her.Gracious Heaven! what am I?
The meanest peasant in my realm may chuse
His rustic bride, and share with her, the sweets
Of mutual friendship, and domestic bliss?
Why should my happier subjects then deny me,
The common rights, the privilege of nature,
And, in a land of freedom, thus conspire
To make their king the only slave among them? Warw. The worst of slaves is he, whom passion rules,
Uncheck'd by reason, and the pow'rful voice
Of friendship, which, I fear, is heard no more
By thoughtless Edward. 'Tis the curse of kings
To be surrounded by a venal herd
Of flatt'rers, that sooth his darling vices,
And rob their master of his subjects' love.
Nay, frown not, sirs, supported as ye are,
I fear you not. Which of this noble train,
These well-beloved counsellors and friends,
Assembled here to witness my disgrace,
Have urg'd you to this base, unmanly falsehood!
Shame on you all! to stain the spotless mind
Of uncorrupted youth! undo the work
Of Warwick's friendly hand, and give him back
A sov'reign, so unlike the noble Edward.
Suf. My lord, we thank you for the kind suggestion,
Howe'er ill founded; and when next we meet,
To give our voice in aught that may concern
The public weal, no doubt shall ask your leave,
Ere we proceed.
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