Give your advice, and teach the lords o' the | council

What fits the order of the commonweal. Jane S. Oh, that the busy world, at least in this,

Would take example from a wretch like me? None then would waste their hours in foreign thoughts,

Forget themselves, and what concerns their peace,

To search, with prying eyes, for faults abroad, If all, like me, consider'd their own hearts, And wept their sorrows which they found at home.

Glos. Go to; I know your power; and though I trust not

To every breath of fame, I'm not to learn
That Hastings is profess'd your loving vassal.
But fair befall your beauty: use it wisely,
And it may stand your fortunes much in stead,
Give back your forfeit land with large increase,
And place you high in safety and in honour.
Nay, I could point a way, the which pursuing,
You shall not only bring yourself advantage,
But give the realm much worthy cause to
thank you.

Jane S. Oh! where or how-can my unworthy hand

Become an instrument of good to any?
Instruct your lowly slave, and let me fly
To yield obedience to your dread command.
Glos. Why, that's well said-Thus then-
Observe me well.

The state, for many high and potent reasons,
Deeming my brother Edward's sons unfit
For the imperial weight of England's crown-
Jane S. Alas! for pity.

Glos. Therefore have resolv'd

To set aside their unavailing infancy
And vest the sov'reign rule in abler hands.
This, though of great importance to the public,
Hastings, for very peevishness, and spleen,
Does stubbornly oppose.

Jane S. Does he? Does Hastings?
Glos. Ay, Hastings.

Jane S. Reward him for the noble deed,

just heavens ! [him For this one action, guard him and distinguish With signal mercies, and with great deliver

ance;

Save him from wrong, adversity, and shame, Let never-fading honours flourish round him, And consecrate his name, even to time's end. Glos. How now!

Jane S. The poor, forsaken, royal little ones! Shall they be left a prey to savage power? Can they lift up their harmless hands in vain, Or cry to heaven for help, and not be heard? Impossible! O gallant, generous, Hastings, Go on; pursue, assert, the sacred cause: Stand forth, thou proxy of all-ruling Providence, [sion. And save the friendless infants from oppresSaints shall assist thee with prevailing prayers, And warring angels combat on thy side.

Glos. You're passing rich in this same heavenly speech,

And spend it at your pleasure. Nay, but

mark me!

My favour is not bought with words like these. Go to-you'll teach your tongue another tale. Jane S. No, though the royal Edward has

undone me,

He was my king, my gracious master, still; He lov'd me too, though 'twas a guilty flame; And can I-O my heart abhors the thought! Stand by, and see his children robb'd of right?

Glos. Dare not, even for thy soul, to thwart me further! [foolery; None of your arts, your feigning, and your Your dainty squeamish coying it to me; Go-to your lord, your paramour, be gone! Lisp in his ear, hang wanton on his neck, And play your monkey gambols o'er to him. You know my purpose, look that you pursue And make him yield obedience to my will. [it, Do it-or woe upon the harlot's head.

Jane S. Oh that my tongue had every grace of speech,

Great and commanding, as the breath of kings;
That I had art and eloquence divine,
To pay my duty to my master's ashes,
And plead, till death, the cause of injur❜d in-

nocence.

Glos. Ha! Dost thou brave me, minion! Dost thou know

How vile, how very a wretch, my power can make thee?

That I can place thee in such abject state,
As help shall never find thee; where, repining,
Thou shalt sit down, and gnaw the earth for
anguish ;

Groan to the pitiless winds without return; Howl, like the midnight wolf amidst the desert,

scorn,

And curse thy life, in bitterness and misery!
Jane S. Let me be branded for the public
[bond,
Turn'd forth and driven to wander like a vaga-
Be friendless and forsaken, seek my bread
Upon the barren wild and desolate waste,
Feed on my sighs, and drink my falling tears,
Ere I consent to teach my lips injustice,
Or wrong the orphan, who has none to save
him.

Glos. "Tis well-we'll try the temper of your heart.

What, hoa! Who waits without?

Enter RATCLIFFE, CATESBY, and Attendants.
Go, some of you, and turn this strumpet
Spurn her into the street; there let her perish,
forth!
And rot upon a dunghill. Through the city
See it proclaim'd, that none, on pain of death.
Presume to give her comfort, food, or harbour.
Who ministers the smallest comfort, dies.
Her house, her costly furniture and wealth,
We seize on, for the profit of the state.
Away! Be gone!

Humbly behold, I bow myself to thee,
Jane S. Oh, thou most righteous Judge-
And own thy justice in this hard decree:
No longer, then, my ripe offences spare,
But what I merit, let me learn to bear.
Yet, since 'tis all my wretchedness can give,
For my past crimes my forfeit life receive;
No pity for my sufferings here I crave,
And only hope forgiveness in the grave.

[Exit JANE SHORE, guarded by CATESBY and others. Glos. So much for this.

Your project's at [To SIR RICHARD. scorns my power, See that a guard

Upon your highness' leisure.

Glos. I'll attend them.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The Council Chamber. The DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, EARL OF DERBY, BISHOP OF ELY, LORD HASTINGS, and others,

Sir R. You heard the duke's commands to me were absolute.

discovered in council. The DUKE OF GLOSTER | enters, and takes his place at the upper end. Der. In happy times we are assembled here, To point the day, and fix the solemn pomp, For placing England's crown, with all due

rites,

Upon our sovereign Edward's youthful brow. Lord H. Some busy, meddling knaves, 'tis said, there are,

As such will still be prating, who presume
To carp and cavil at his royal right;
Therefore, I hold it fitting, with the soonest,
Tappoint the order of the coronation;
So to approve our duty to the king,
And stay the babbling of such vain gainsayers.
Der. We all attend to know your highness'
pleasure.
[To GLOSTER.
Gles. My lords, a set of worthy men you are,
Prudent, and just, and careful for the state;
Therefore, to your most grave determination
I yield myself in all things; and demand
What punishment your wisdom shall think

meet

Tinflict upon those damnable contrivers, Who shall, with potions, charms, and witching drugs,

Practise against our person and our life!

Lord H. So much I hold the king your highness' debtor,

So precious are you to the commonweal,
That I presume, not only for myself, *
But in behalf of these my noble brothers,
To say, whoe'er they be, they merit death.
Glos. Then judge yourselves, convince your
eyes of truth:
Behold my arm, thus blasted, dry, and with-
er'd,
[Pulling up his sleeves.
Shrunk like a foul abortion, and decay'd,
Like some untimely product of the seasons,
Robb'd of its properties of strength and office.
This is the sorcery of Edward's wife,
Who, in conjunction with that harlot Shore,
And other like confed'rate, midnight hags,
By force of potent spells, of bloody characters,
And conjurations horrible to hear,
Call fiends and spectres from the yawning
And set the ministers of hell at work, [deep,
To torture and despoil me of my life."

Lord H. If they have done this deed-
Glos. If they have done it!
Talk'st thou to me of ifs, audacious traitor!
Thou art that strumpet witch's chief abettor,
The patron and complotter of her mischiefs,
And join'd in this contrivance for my death.
Nay start not, lords-What, ho! a guard there,
Sirs !

Enter Guards.

Lord Hastings, I arrest thee of high treason.
Seize him, and bear him instantly away.
He shall not live an hour. By holy Paul,
I will not dine before his head be brought me.
Ratcliffe, stay thou, and see that it be done :
The rest, that love me, rise and follow me.
[Exeunt GLOSTER and LORDS.

LORD HASTINGS, SIR RICHARD RATCLIFFE, and
Guards, remain.

Lord H. What! and no more but this-How! to the scaffold!

Oh, gentle Ratcliffe! tell me, do I hold thee?
Or, if I dream, what shall I do to wake,
To break, to struggle, through this dread con-
fusion?

For surely death itself is not so painful
As is this sudden horror and surprise.

With all good speed you may. Summon your Therefore, my lord, address you to your shrift,

courage,

And be yourself; for you must die this instant.
Lord H. Yes, Ratcliffe, I will take thy
And die as a man should; 'tis somewhat hard,
friendly counsel,
To call my scatter'd spirits home at once:
But since what must be, must be-let necessity
Supply the place of time and preparation,
And arm me for the blow. "Tis but to die,
"Tis but to venture on the common hazard,
"Tis but to close my eyes and shut out day-
Which many a time in battle I have run;
light,

To view no more the wicked ways of men,
No longer to behold the tyrant Gloster,
And be a weeping witness of the woes,
The desolation, slaughter, and calamities,
Which he shall bring on this unhappy land.

Why should I curse thee with my dying
Be gone! and let me die in peace. [breath?
Alic. Canst thou-O, cruel Hastings, leave
me thus ?

Hear me, I beg thee-I conjure thee, hear me!
While, with an agonizing heart, I swear,
By all the pangs I feel, by all the sorrows,
The terrors and despair, thy loss shall give me,
My hate was on my rival bent alone.
Oh! had I once divin'd, false as thou art,
A danger to thy life, I would have died,
I would have met it for thee.

Lord H. Now mark! and tremble at heaven's just award:

While thy insatiate wrath and fell revenge Pursu'd the innocence which never wrong'd thee,

Behold, the mischief falls on thee and me:
Remorse and heaviness of heart shall wait thee,
And everlasting anguish be thy portion. [me,
For me, the snares of death are wound about
And now, in one poor moment, I am gone.
Oh! if thou hast one tender thought remaining,
Fly to thy closet, fall upon thy knees,
And recommend my parting soul to mercy.
Alic. Oh! yet, before I go for ever from
thee,

Turn thee in gentleness and pity to me,

[Kneeling. And, in compassion of my strong affliction, Say, is it possible you can forgive The fatal rashness of ungovern'd love? For, oh! 'tis certain, if I had not lov'd thee Beyond my peace, my reason, fame, and life, This day of horror never would have known

us.

Lord H. Oh, rise, and let me hush thy
stormy sorrows.
[Raising her.
Assuage thy tears, for I will chide no more,
No more upbraid thee, thou unhappy fair one.
I see the hand of heaven is arm'd against me;
And, in mysterious providence, decrees
To punish me by thy mistaken hand. [thee,
Most righteous doom! for, oh, while I behold
Thy wrongs rise up in terrible array,
And charge thy ruin on me; thy fair fame,
Thy spotless beauty, innocence, and youth,
Dishonour'd, blasted, and betray'd, by me.
Alic. And does thy heart relent for my un-
doing?

Oh, that inhuman Gloster could be mov'd,
But half so easily as I can pardon!

Lord H. Here, then, exchange we mutual forgiveness:

So may the guilt of all my broken vows,
My perjuries to thee, be all forgotten,
As here my soul acquits thee of my death,
As here I part without one angry thought,
As here I leave thee with the softest tender-

Retire, I beg thee;

To see thee thus, thou know'st not how it wounds me;

Thy agonies are added to my own,
And make the burden more than I can bear,
Farewell-Good angels visit thy afflictions,
And bring thee peace and comfort from above.

[Exit. Alic. Oh! stab me to the heart, some pitying Now strike me dead[hand,

Re-enter LORD HASTINGS.

Lord H. One thing I had forgot

I charge thee, by our present common miseries;
By our past loves, if they have yet a name;
By all the hopes of peace here and hereafter;
Let not the rancour of thy hate pursue
The innocence of thy unhappy friend;
Thou know'st who 'tis I mean; Oh! should'st
thou wrong her,
[thee,
Just heaven shall double all thy woes upon
And make 'em know no end-Remember this,
As the last warning of a dying man.
Farewell, for ever!

[The Guards carry HASTINGS off.
Alic. For ever! Oh, for ever!
Oh, who can bear to be a wretch for ever!
My rival, too! his last thoughts hung on her,
And, as he parted, left a blessing for her:
Shall she be blest, and I be curst, for ever?
No; since her fatal beauty was the cause
Of all my suff'rings, let her share my pains;
Let her, like me, of every joy forlorn,
Devote the hour when such a wretch was born;
Cast every good, and every hope, behind;
Detest the works of nature, loathe mankind;
Like me, with cries distracted fill the air,
Tear her poor bosom, rend her frantic hair,
And prove the torments of the last despair.

ACT V.

SCENE I-A Street.

Enter BELMOUR and DUMONT,

Dum. You saw her, then?

Bel. I met her, as returning

[Exit.

In solemn penance from the public cross.
Before her, certain rascal officers,

Slaves in authority, the knaves of justice,
Proclaim'd the tyrant Gloster's cruel orders.
Around her, numberless, the rabble flow'd,
Should'ring each other, crowding, for a view,
Gaping and gazing, taunting and reviling;
Some pitying-but those, alas! how few!
The most, such iron hearts we are, and such
The base barbarity of humankind,

With insolence and lewd reproach pursu'd her,
Hooting and railing, and with villanous hands
Gath'ring the filth from out the common ways,
To hurl upon her head.

Dum. Inhuman dogs! How did she bear it?

Bel. With the gentlest patience; Submissive, sad, and lowly, was her look; A burning taper in her hand she bore, And on her shoulders carelessly confus'd, With loose neglect, her lovely tresses hung; Upon her cheek a faintish blush was spread; Feeble she seem'd, and sorely smit with pain While, barefoot as she trod the flinty pave. [blood

ment,

Her footsteps all along were mark'd with Yet, silent still she pass'd, and unrepining: Her streaming eyes bent ever on the earth, Except when, in some bitter pang of sorrow,

To heaven, she seem'd in fervent zeal to raise,
And beg that mercy man denied her here.
Dum. When was this piteous sight?
Bel. These last two days.

You know my care was wholly bent on you,
To find the happy means of your deliverance,
Which but for Hastings' death I had not gain'd.
During that time, although I have not seen
her,

Yet divers trusty messengers I've sent,
To wait about, and watch a fit convenience
To give her some relief, but all in vain ;
A churlish guard attends upon her steps,
Who menace those with death, that bring her
And drive all succour from her. [comfort,
Dun. Let 'em threaten;

Let proud oppression prove its fiercest malice;
So heaven befriend my soul, as here I vow
To give her help, and share one fortune with

her.

Bel. Mean you to see her thus in your own form?

Dum. I do.

Bel. And have you thought upon the consequence?

Dum. What is there I should fear?
Bel. Have you examin'd

Into your inmost heart, and try'd at leisure The sev'ral secret springs that move the passions?

Has mercy fix'd her empire there so sure, That wrath and vengeance never may return? Can you resume a husband's name, and bid That wakeful dragon, fierce resentment, sleep?

Dum. O, thou hast set my busy brain at work,

And now she musters up a train of images, Which, to preserve my peace, I had cast aside,

And sunk in deep oblivion-Oh, that form!
That angel face on which my dotage hung!
How I have gaz'd upon her, till my soul
With very eagerness went forth towards her,
And issu'd at my eyes.-Was there a gem
Which the sun ripens in the Indian mine,
Or the rich bosom of the ocean yields?
What was there art could make, or wealth
could buy,
[beauty?
Which I have left unsought to deck her
What could her king do more?-And yet she
fled.

Bel. Away with that sad fancy-
Dum. Oh, that day!

The thought of it must live for ever with me.
I met her, Belmour, when the royal spoiler
Bore her in triumph from my widow'd home!
Within his chariot, by his side, she sat,
And listen'd to his talk with downward looks,
Till, sudden as she chanc'd aside to glance,
Her eyes encounter'd mine-Oh! then, my
friend!
[ment!
Oh! who can paint my grief and her amaze-
As at the stroke of death, twice turn'd she
pale;
[her;

And twice a burning crimson blush'd all o'er
Then, with a shriek heart-wounding, loud she
cried,
[ran
While down her cheeks two gushing torrents
Fast falling on her hands, which thus she
wrung-

Mov'd at her grief, the tyrant ravisher,
With courteous action, woo'd her oft to turn;
Earnest he seem'd to plead, but all in vain ;
Even to the last she bent her sight towards
me,

And follow'd me-till I had lost myself.

Bel. Alas, for pity! Oh! those speaking tears! [you? Could they be false? did she not suffer with For, though the king by force possess'd her person,

Her unconsenting heart dwelt still with you?
If all her former woes were not enough,
Look on her now; behold her where she wan-
ders,

Hunted to death, distress'd on every side,
With no one hand to help; and tell me then,
If ever misery were known like hers?

Dum. And can she bear it? Can that delicate frame

Endure the beating of a storm so rude?
Can she, for whom the various seasons chang'd
To court her appetite and crown her board,
For whom the foreign vintages were press'd,
For whom the merchant spread his silken
Can she-
[stores,
Entreat for bread, and want the needful rai-

ment

[ther? To wrap her shiv'ring bosom from the weaWhen she was mine, no care came ever nigh her; [spring I thought the gentlest breeze that wakes the Too rough to breathe upon her; cheerfulness Danc'd all the day before her, and at night Soft slumbers waited on her downy pillow.Now, sad and shelterless, perhaps she lies, Where piercing winds blow sharp, and the chill rain [head, Drops from some pent-house on her wretched Drenches her locks, and kills her with the cold. [fences, It is too much.-Hence with her past of They are aton'd at full.Why stay we then? Oh let us haste, my friend, and find her out. Bel. Somewhere about this quarter of the town,

I hear the poor abandon'd creature lingers : Her guard, though set with strictest watch to keep [her All food and friendship from her, yet permit To wander in the streets, there choose her bed, And rest her head on what cold stone she pleases.

Dum. Here then let us divide; each in his round

To search her sorrows out; whose hap it is
First to behold her, this way let him lead
Her fainting steps, and meet we here together.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II-A Street.

Shall bring the time of thy appointed rest,
And lay thee down in death.
And hark! methinks the roar, that late pur-
su'd me,

Sinks like the murmurs of a falling wind,
And softens into silence. Does revenge
And malice then grow weary, and forsake me?
My guard, too, that observ'd me still so close,
Tire in the task of their inhuman office,
And loiter far behind. Alas! I faint,
My spirits fail at once-this is the door
of my Alicia-Blessed opportunity!

Thou hast undone me-Murder' O, my Hastings!

I'll steal a little succour from her goodness, Now while no eye observes me.

[She knocks at the door. Enter SERVANT.

Is your lady, [her. My gentle friend, at home? Oh! bring me to Serv. Hold, mistress, whither would you? [Pulling her back.

Jane S. Do you not know me?

Serv. I know you well, and know my orders [too:

You must not enter here

Jane S. Tell my Alicia,

"Tis I would see her.

Serv. She is ill at ease, And will admit no visitor.

Jane S. But tell her

"Tis I, her friend, the partner of her heart, Wait at the door and beg,

Serv. 'Tis all in vain,

you.

ges,

Go hence, and howl to those that will regard [Shuts the door, and exit. Jane S. It was not always thus; the time has been, [passage, When this unfriendly door, that bars my Flew wide, and almost leap'd from off its hin[house To give me entrance here; when this good Has pour'd forth all its dwellers to receive me; When my approaches made a little holiday, And every face was dress'd in smiles to meet [me But now 'tis otherwise; and those who bless'd Now curse me to my face. Why should I wander,

me:

Stray further on, for I can die even here?
[She sits down at the door.

Enter ALICIA in disorder, two SERVANTS
following.

Alic. What wretch art thou, whose misery and baseness

Hangs on my door; whose hateful whine of woe
Breaks in upon my sorrows, and distracts
My jarring senses with thy beggar's cry?

Jane S. A very beggar, and a wretch, inOne driven by strong calamity to seek [deed; For succours here; one perishing for want, Whose hunger has not tasted food these three days;

And humbly asks, for charity's dear sake,
A draught of water and a little bread.

Alic. And dost thou come to me, to me, for bread;

I know thee not-Go-hunt for it abroad, Where wanton hands upon the earth have scatter'd it,

Or cast it on the waters-Mark the eagle, And hungry vulture, where they wind the prey;

Watch where the ravens of the valley feed, And seek thy food with them-I know thee

not.

Jane S. And yet there was a time, when my Alicia [ing, Has thought unhappy Shore her dearest blessAnd mourn'd the live-long day she pass'd without me;

Inclining fondly to me, she has sworn She lov'd me more than all the world besides. Alic. Ha! say'st thou? Let me look upon thee well[thee! "Tis true I know thee now-A mischief on Thou art that fatal fair, that cursed she, That set my brain a madding. Thou hast robb'd me;

See his pale bloody head shouts glaring by me! Avaunt; and come not near me

Jane S. To thy hand

I trusted all; gave my whole store to thee,
The smallest pittance, give me but to eat,
Nor do I ask it back; allow me but
Lest I fall down and perish here before thee.
Alic. Nay! tell not me! Where is thy king,
And all thy cringing train of courtiers,
thy Edward,

That bent the knee before thee?
Jane S. Oh! for mercy!

Alic. Mercy! I know it not-for I am miser-
able.

I'll give thee misery, for here she dwells,
This is her house, where the sun never dawns;
The bird of night sits screaming o'er the roof,
Grim spectres weep along the horrid gloom,
And nought is heard but wailings and lament-
ings.
Hark! something cracks above! it shakes! it
"Tis fallen, 'tis here! I felt it on my brain!—
And see the nodding ruin falls to crush me!
Let her take my counsel:

totters!

Why should'st thou be a wretch? Stab, tear
And rid thyself of this detested being:
thy heart,
A waving flood of bluish fire swells o'er me;
I wo' not linger long behind thee here.
And now 'tis out, and I am drown'd in blood.
Ha! what art thou? thou horrid headless
trunk!

It is my Hastings! see he wafts me on!
Away! I go! I fly! I follow thee. [Runs off.
Jane S. Alas! she raves; her brain, I fear,
is turn'd;

In mercy look upon her, gracious heaven,
Nor visit her for any wrong to me.
Sure I am near upon my journey's end;
My head runs round, my eyes begin to fail,
And dancing shadows swim before my sight.
I can no more, [Lies down.] receive me, thou
cold earth,

Thou common parent, take me to thy bosom,
And let me rest with thee.

Enter BELMOur.

Bel. Upon the ground!

Thy miseries can never lay thee lower.
Look up, thou poor afflicted one! thou mourner,
Whom none has comforted! Where are thy
friends,

The dear companions of thy joyful days,
Whose hearts thy warm prosperity made glad,
Whose arms were taught to grow like ivy
round thee,

And bind thee to their bosoms? Thus, with thee,

Thus let us live, and let us die, they said.
Now where are they?

Jane S. Ah, Belmour! where, indeed? They stand aloof,

And view my desolation from afar!
And yet thy goodness turns aside to pity me.
Alas! there may be danger; get thee gone.
Let me not pull a ruin on thy head.
Leave me to die alone, for I am fallen
Never to rise, and all relief is vain.

Bel. Yet raise thy drooping head; for I am

come

To chase away despair. Behold! where yonder That honest man, that faithful, brave, Dumont, Is hasting to thy aid