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one without, enquiring for you; go to him, and lose no time.

Char. O misery! misery!

[Exit. Mrs. B. Follow hor, Jarvis; if it be true that Lewson's dead, her grief may kill her.

Bates. Jarvis must stay here, madam; I have some questions for him.

Stuk. Rather let him fly; his evidence may crush his master.

Bev. Why, ay, this looks like management. Bates. He found you, quarrelling with Lewson in the street last night. (To Beverley.)

Mrs. B. You feel convulsed, too. What is it disturbs you?

Mrs. B. No; I am sure, he did not.

Bev. A furnace rages in this heart. (Laying his hand upon his heart.) Down, restless flames: down to your nat hell, there you shall rack me! Oh,

Jar. Or, if I did,

Mrs. B. "Tis false, old man; they had no quarrel, for a pause from pain. Where is my wife? Can there was no cause for quarrel.

Bev. Let him proceed, I say. O! I am sick! sick! Reach a chair.

(Jarvis brings it, he sits down.) Mrs. B. You droop and tremble, love. Yet you are innocent. If Lewson's dead, you killed him


Stuk. What witness?

Bates. A right one. Look at him.


(Mrs. B. on perceiving Lewson, goes into an hysteric laugh and sinks on Jarvis.) Stuk. Lewson! O villains! villains! (To Bates and Dawson.)

Mrs. B. Risen from the dead! Why this is unexpected happiness!

Char. Or is it his ghost? (To Stukely.) That sight would please you, sir.

Jar. What riddle is this?

Bev. Be quick, and tell it, my minutes are but few.

Enter DAWSON. Stuk. Who sent for Dawson?

Bates. 'Twas I. We have a witness too, you poison. little think of. Without, there!

Mrs. B. Alas! why so? You shall live long and happily.


Bev. (Wildly.) They told me he was murdered!
Mrs. B. Ay; but he lives to save us.

Bev. Lend me your hand; the room turns round Lew. This villain here disturbs him. Remove him from his sight; and, on your lives, see that you guard him. (Stukely is taken off by Dawson and Bates.) How is it, sir?

Bev. 'Tis here, and here. (Pointing to his head and heart.) And now it tears me.

you forgive me, love?

Mrs. B. Alas, for what?
Bev. For meanly dying.
Mr. B. No; do not say it.

Jarvis staid this morning, all had been well; but, Bev. As truly as my soul must answer it. Had pressed by shame, pent in a prison, tormented with my pangs for you, driven to despair and madness, I took the advantage of his absence, corrupted the poor wretch he left to guard me, and swallowed

Lew. O, fatal deed!

Bev. Ay, most accursed. And now I go to my account. Bend me, and let me kneel. (They lift him from his chair, and support him on his knees.) I'll pray for you, too. Thou Power that madest me, hear me. If, for a life of frailty, and this too hasty deed of death, thy justice doom me, here I acquit the sentence; but if, enthroned in mercy where thou sitt'st, thy pity has beheld me, send me a gleam of hope, that in these last and bitter moments my soul may taste of comfort! And for these mourners here, Oh, let their lives be peaceful, and their deaths happy.

Mrs. B. Restore him, heaven. O, save him, save him, or let me die too!

Bev. No; live, I charge you. We have a little one; though I have left him, you will not leave him. To Lewson's kindness I bequeath him. Is not this Charlotte? We have lived in love, though I have wronged you. Can you forgive me, Charlotte? Char. Forgive you! O, my poor brother!

Lew. While shame and punishment shall rack that viper. (Points to Stukely.) The tale is short; I was too busy in his secrets, and therefore doomed to die. Bates, to prevent the murder, undertook it; I kept aloof to give it credit.

Char. And give me pangs unutterable. Lew. I felt them all, and would have told you; but vengeance wanted ripening. The villain's scheme was but half executed; the arrest by Dawson followed the supposed murder, and now depending on his once wicked associates, he comes to fix the guilt on Beverley.

Bates. Dawson and I are witnesses of this.

Lew. And of a thousand frauds; his fortune ruined by sharpers and false dice; and Stukely sole contriver and possessor of all.

Daw. Had he but stopped on this side murder, we had been villains still.

Lew. (To Beverley.) How does my friend?
Bev. Why, well. Who's he that asks me?
Mrs B. 'Tis Lewson, love. Why do you look so
at him?

Bev. Lend me your hand, love. So; raise meno; it will not be, my life is finished. O, for a few short moments, to tell you how my heart bleeds for you, that even now, thus dying as I am, dubious and fearful of an hereafter, my bosom pang is for your miseries. Support her, heaven! And now I go. O, mercy! mercy! (Dies.)

Lew. How is it, madam? My poor Charlotte,


Char. Her grief is speechless.

Lew. Jarvis, remove her from this sight. (Jarvis and Charlotte lead Mrs. Beverley aside.) Some ministering angel bring her peace. And thou, poor breathless corpse, may thy departed soul have found the rest it prayed for. Save but one error, and this last fatal deed, thy life was lovely. Let frailer minds take warning; and, from example, learn that want of prudence is want of virtue.




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The last remaining male of princely York;
SCENE I.The Tower.

(For Edward's boys, the state esteems not of 'em),

And therefore on your sov'reignty and rule Enter the DUKE of GLOSTER, SIR RICHARD The commonweal does her dependence make, RATCLIFFE, and CATESBY.

And leans upon your highness' able hand.

Cates. And yet, to-morrow, does the council mect
Glos Thus far success attends upon our councils, To fix a day for Edward's coronation.
And each event has answer d to my wish ;

Who can expound this riddle ?
The queen and all ber upstart race are quellid; Glos. That can I.
Dorset is banish'd, and her brother Rivers,

Those lords are each one my approv'd good friends,
Ere this, lies shorter by the head at Pomfret. Of special trust and nearness to my bosom;
The nobles have, with joint concurrence, nam'd me And howsoever busy they may seem,
Protector of the realm ; my brother's children, And diligent to bustle in the state,
Young Edward and the little York, are lodg'd Their zeal goes on no further than we lead,
Here, safe within the Tower. How say you, sirs, And at our bidding stays.
Does not this business wear a lucky face?

Cates. Yet there is one,
The sceptre and the golden wreath of royalty And he amongst the foremost in his power,
Seem hung within my reach.

Of whom I wish your highness were assur'd
Sir R. Then take 'em to you,

For me, perhaps it is my nature's fault, And wear them long and worthily: you are I own I doubt of his inclining much.

Go hand in hand or it has been a four still my fortunes


Glos. I guess the man at whom your wordsSome of most ceremonious sanctity,

(would point: And bearded wisdom, often have provok'd Cates. The same.

The hand of justice to fall heavy on her ; Glos. He bears me great good will.

Yet still,

in kind compassion of her weakness, Cates. 'Tis true, to you, as to the lord protector, And tender memory of Edward's love, And Gloster's duke, he bows with lowly service; I have withheld the merciless stern law But were he bid to cry, God save king Richard ! From doing outrage on her helpless beauty. Then tell me in what terms he would reply.

Has. Good heav'n, who renders mercy back for Believe me, I have prov'd the man, and found him:

mercy, I know he bears a most religious reverence With open-handed bounty shall repay you: To his dead master Edward's royal memory, This gentle deed shall fairly be set foremost, And whither that may lead him, is most plain To screen the wild escapes of lawless passion, Yet more--One of that stubborn sort he is,

And the long train of frailties flesh is heir to. Who, if they once grow fond of an opinion,

Glos. Thus far, the voice of pity pleaded only: They call it honour, honesty, and faith;

Our further and more full extent of grace And sooner part with life than let it go:

te given to your request, Let her atttend, Glos. And yet this tough, impracticable heart And to ourself deliver up her griefs. Is govern'd by a dainty-inger'd girl;

She shall be heard with patience, and each wrong Such flaws are found in the most worthy naturés ; At full redress'd. But I haye other news, A laughing, toying, wheedling, whimpering she,

much import us Shall make him amble on a gossip's message,

common And take the distaff with a hand as patient The queen's relations, our new-langled gentiy, As e'er did Hercules.

Have fall'n their haughty crests that for your Sir R. The fair Alicia,


[E.reunt. Of noble birth and exquisite of fedture,

SOENE II.-An Apartment in Jane Shore's House. Has held him loug a vassal to her beauty

Enter BELMOUR and DUMONT. Cates. I fear he fails in his allegiance there, Det. How she has lived you have heard my tale Or my ihtelligence is false, or else The dame has been too lavish of her feast, The rest, your own attendance in her family, And fed him til he loathes.

Where I have found the means this day to place Glos, No more: he comes.

And nearer observation, best will tell you:

(you, Enter LORD HASTINGS.

See with what sad

and sober cheer she comes Has. Health, and the happiness of many days,

Enter JANE SHORE. Attend upon your grace.

Sure, or I read her visage mich amiss, Glos. My good lord chamberlain,

Or grief begets her hard. Save you, fair lady We're much beholden to your gentle friendship. The blessings of the cheerful morn be on you Has. My lord, I come an humble suitor to you. And greet your beauty with its opening sweets, Glos. In right good time. Speak out your plea- Jane S. My gentie reighbour! your good wishes sure freely.

stili Has. I am to move your highness in behalf Pursue my hapless fortuties, shi! good Belmour of Shore's unhappy wife.

How few, like thee, inquire the wretched out, Glos. Say you of Shore ?

And court the offices of soft humanity! Has. Once a bright star, that held her place on Like thee, reserve their raiment for the naked, The first and fairest of our English dames, high: Reach out their bread to feed the crying orphan, While Royal Edward held the sov'reign rule. Or mix their pitying tears with those that weep! Now sunk in grief, and pining with despair, Thy praise deserves a better tongue than mine, Her waning form no longer shall incite

To speak and bless thy name. Is this the gentle Envy in woman, or desire in man.

man, She never sees the sun but through her tears, Whose friendly service you commended to me? And wakes to sigh the live-long night away. (her, Bel. Madam, it is. Glos. Marry! the times are badly chang'd with Jane $. A venerable aspect!

(Aside.) From Edward's days to these. Then all was Age sits with decent grace upon his visage, jollity,

[ter, And worthily becomes his silver locks; Feasting and mirth, light wantonness and laugh- He wears the marks of many years well spent, Piping and playing, minstrelsy and masking; Of virtue, truth well try'd, and wise experience; Till life fied from us like an idle dream,

A friend like this would suit my sorrows well. A show of mummery without a meaning.

Fortune, I fear me, sir, has meant you ill, (To Dum.) My brother, (rest and pardon to his soul,)

Who pays your merit with that scanty pittance, Is gone to his account; for this his minion,

Which my poor hand and humble roof can give. The revel-rout is done. But you were speaking But to supply those golden 'vantages, Concerning her; I have been told, that you Which elsewhere you might find, expect to meet Are frequent in your visitation to her.

A just regard and value for your worth, Has. No further, my good lord, than friendly The welcome of a friend, and the free partnership And tender-hearted charity allow.

[pity Of all that little good the world allows me. (swer Glos. Go to: I did not mean to chide you for it. Dum. You over-rate me much; and all my anFor, sooth to say, I hold it noble in you

Must be my future truth ; let that speak for me, To cherish the distress'd.-On with your tale. And make up my deserving. Has. Thus it is, gracious sir: that certain officers, Jane S. Are you of England ?

[birth: Using the warrant of your mighty name,

Dum. No, gracious lady; Flanders claims my With insolence unjust, and lawless power,

At Antwerp has my constant biding been. [days Have seiz'd upon the lands, which late she held Where sometimes I have known more plenteous By grant, from her great master Edward's bounty. Than these which now my failing age affords.

Glos. Somewhat of this but slightly have I heard ; Jane S. Alas! at Antwerp! O forgive my tears! And though some counsellors of forward zeal,


They fall for my affences, and must fall

To wound my heart with thy forboding sorrows: Long, long ere they shall wash my stains away. Raise thy sad soul to better hopes than these, You knew, perhaps-0 grief! O shame! my bus: Lift up thy eyes, and let them shine once more, band!

(anguish, Bright as the morning sun above the mist. Dum. I know him well; but stay this flood of Exert thy charms, seek out the stern protector, The senseless grave feels not your pious sorrows: And sooth his savage temper with thy beauty ; Three years and more áre past, since I was bidh, Spite of his deadly unrelenting nature, With many of our common friends, to wait him He shall be mov'd to pity, and redress thee. To his last peaceful mansion. I attended,

Jane S. My form, alas! has long forgot to please! Sprinkled his clay-cold corse with holy drops, The scene of beauty and delight is chang'd; According to our church's rev'rend rite,

No roses bloom upon my fading cheek,
And saw him laid, in hallow'd ground, to rest. Nor laughing graces wanton in my eyes ;
Jane S. Oh, that my soul had known no joy but But haggard grief, lean-looking, sallow care,

And pining discontent, a rueful train,
That I had liv'd within his guiltless arms,

Dwell on my brow, all hideous and forlorn ;
And dying slept in innocence beside him!

One only shadow of a hope is left me;
But now his honest dust abhors the fellowship, The noble-minded Hastings, of his goodness,
And scorns to mix with mine.

Has kinkly underta'en to be my advocate,
Enter a Servant.

And move my humble suit to angry Gloster. Ser. The lady Alicia

Alic. Does Hastings undertake to plead your Attends your leisure.

cause ? Jane S. Say I wish to see her. [Exit Servant. But wherefore should he not? Hastings has eyes ; Please, gentle sir, one moment to retire ;

The gentle lord has a right tender heart, I'll wait you on the instant, and inform you

Melting and easy, yielding to impression, Of each unhappy circumstance, in which

And catching the soft flame from each new beauty: Your friendly aid and counsel much may stead me, But yours shall charm him long.

[Exeunt Bel. and Dum. Jane S. Away, you flatterer ! Enter ALICIA.

Nor charge his gen'rous meaning with a weakness, Alic. Still, my fáir friend, still shall I find you Which his great soul and virtue must disdain. thus ?

Too much of love thy hapless friend has prov'd, Still shall these sighs heave after one another, Too many giddy foolish hours are gone, These trickling drops chase one another still,

And in fantastic measures danc'd away: As if the posting messengors of grief

May the remaining few know only friendship, Could overtake the hours fled far away,

So thou, my dearest, truest, best Alicia, And make old time come back?

Vouchsafe to lodge me in thy gentle heart, Jane S. No, my Alicia ;

A partner there; I will give up mankind, Heaven and his saints be witness to my thoughts, Forget the transport of increasing passion, There is no hour of all my life o'erpast,

And all the pangs we feel for its decay. That I could wish should take its turn again.

Alic. Live! live and reign for ever in my bosom; Alic. And yet some of those days my friend has

(Embracing.) known,

Safe and unrivall'd there possess thy own;
Some of those years, might pass for golden ones, And, you, the brightest of the stars above,
At least if womankind can judge of happiness. Ye saints that once were women here below,
What could we wish, wo who delight in empire, Be witness of the truth, the holy friendship,
Whose beauty is our sov'reign good, and gives us Which here to this my other self I vow.
Our reasons to rebel, and pow'r to reign,

If I not hold her nearer to my soul,
What could we more than to behold a monarch, Than every other joy the world can give,
Lovely, renown'd a conqueror, and young,

Let poverty, deformity, and shame,
Bound in our chains, and sighing at our feet? Distraction and despair seize me on earth;

Jane 8. 'Tis true, the royal Edward was a wonder, Let not my faithless ghost have peace hereafter,
The goodly pride of all our English youth;

Nor taste the bliss of your celestial fellowship. He was the very joy of all that saw him,

Jane s. Yes, thou art true, and only thou art Form'd to delight, to love, and to persuade.

true : But what had I to do with kings and courts ? Therefore these jewels, once the lavish bounty My humble lot had cast me far beneath him 3

Of royal Edward's love, I trust to thée ; And that he was the first of all mankind,

(Giving a casket.) The bravest and most lovely, was my curse,

Receive this, all that I can call my own, Alic. Sare something more than fortune join'd And let it rest unknown, and safe with thee; your loves:

That if the state's injustice should oppress me, Nor could his greatness, and his gracious form, Strip me of all, and turn me out a wanderer, Bo elsewhere match'd so well, as to the sweetness My wretchedness may find relief from thee, And beauty of my friend.

And shelter from the storm. Jane S. Name him no more:

Alic. My all is thine; He was the bane and ruin of my peace.

One common hazard shall attend us both, This anguish, and these tears, these are the legacies and both be fortunate, or both be wretched. His fatal love has left me. Thou wilt seo me, But let thy fearful doubting heart be still; Believe me, my Alicia, thou wilt see me,

The saints and angels have thee in their charge, Ere yet a few short days pass o'er my head, And all things shall be well. Think not, the good, Abandon'd to the very utmost wretchedness. The gentle deeds of mercy thou hast done, The hand of pow'r has seiz'd almost the whole Shall die forgotten all; the poor, the pris'ner, of what was left for needy life's support;

The fatherless, the friendless, and the widow, Shortly thou wilt behold me poor, and kneeling Who daily own the bounty of thy hand, Before thy charitable door for bread.

Shall cry to heav'n, and pull a blessing on thee. Alic. Joy of my life, my dearest Shore, forbear Ey'n man, the merciless insulter, man;

Man, who rejoices in our sex's weakness,

Stifle this rising rage, and learn from theo
Shall pity thee, and with unwonted goodness, To dress my face in easy, dull indiff'rence;
Forget thy failings, and record thy praise. (me But 'twouldn't be; my wrongs will tear their way,

Jane 8. Why should I think that man will do for And rush at once upon thee.
What yet he never did for wretches like me?

Has. Are you wise ?
Mark, by what partial justice we are judg'd; Have you the use of reason? Do you wake?
Such is the fate unhappy women find,

What means this raving, this transporting passion? And such the curse entail'd upon our kind,

Alic. O, thou cool traitor! thou insulting tyrant! That man, the lawless libertine, may rove,

Dost thou behold my poor, distracted heart, Free and unquestion'd through the wilds of love; Thus rent with agonizing love and rage, While woman, sense and nature's easy fool,

And ask me what it means? Art thou not false? If poor, weak woman swerve from virtue's rule, Am I not scorn'd, forsaken, and abandon'd; If, strongly charm'd, she leave the thorny way, Left, like a common wretch, to shame and infamy; And in the softer paths of pleasure stray,

Giv'n up to be the sport of villain's tongues, Ruin ensues, reproa and endless shame,

Of laughing parasites, and lewd buffoons? And one false step entirely damns her fame: And all because my soul has doated on thee In vain with tears the loss she may deplore,

With love, with truth and tenderness unutterable! In vain look back on what she was before;

Has. Are these the proofs of tenderness and love? She sets, like stars that fall, to rise no more. These endless quarrels, discontents, and jealousies,

[Exeunt. These never-ceasing wailings and complainings, AOT II.

These furious starts, these whirlwinds of the soul, SCENE I.--An Apartment in Jane Shore's house. Which every other moment rise to madness? Enter ALICIA.

Alic. What proof, alas! have I not giv'n of love? Alic. The drowsy night grows on the world, and What have I not abandon'd to thy arms? now

Have I not set at nought my noble birth,
The busy craftsman and the o'er-labour'd hind A spotless fame, and an unblemish'd race,
Forget the travail of the day in sleep:

The peace of innocence, and pride of virtue?
Care only wakes, and moping Pensiveness; My prodigality has giv'n thee all;
With meagre discontented looks they sit,

And now, I've nothing left me to bestow,
And watch the wasting of the midnight taper. You hate the wretched bankrupt you have made.
Such vigils must I keep, so wakes my soul,

Has. Why am I thus pursu'd from place to place, Restless and self-tormented! 0 false Hastings! Kept in the view, and cross'd at ev'ry turn? Thou hast destroy'd my peace. (Knocking without.) In vain I fly, and, like a hunted deer, What noise is that?

Scud o'er the lawns, and hasten to the covert; What visitor is this, who, with bold freedom, Ere I can reach my safety, you o'ertake me Breaks in upon the peaceful night and rest,

With the swift malice of some keen reproach, With such a rude approach ?

And drive the winged shaft deep in my heart. Enter a Servant.

Alic. Hither you fly, and here you seek repose. Serv. One from the court,

Spite of the poor deceit, your arts are known, Lord Hastings, (as I think) demands my lady. Your pious, charitable, midnight visits.

(Exit. Has. If you are wise, and prize your peace of Alic. Hastings! Be still, my heart, and try to

mind, meet him,

Yet take the friendly counsel of my love; With his own arts! with falsehood-But he comes. Believe me true, nor listen to your jealousy. Enter LORD HASTINGS, speaking to a Servant as Let not that devil, which undoes your sex, entering.

That cursed curiosity, seduce you, Has. Dismiss my train, and wait alone without. To hunt for needless secrets, which, neglected, Alicia here! Unfortunate encounter!

Shall never hurt your quiet; but once known, But be it as it may.

Shall sit upon your heart, pinch it with pain, Alic. When humbly, thus,

And banish the sweet sleep for ever from you. The great descend to visit the afflicted;

Go to-be yet advis'dWhen thus, unmindful of their rest, they como

Alic. Dost thou in scorn To soothe the sorrows of the midnight mourner, Preach patience to my rage, and bid me tamely Comfort comes with them; like the golden sun, Sit, like

a poor, contented idiot, down, Dispels the sullen shades with her sweet influence, Nor dare to think thou'st wrong'd me? Ruin And cheers the melancholy house of care.

seize thee, Has. 'Tis true I would not over-rate a courtesy, And swift perdition overtake thy treachery. Nor let the coldness of delay hang on it,

Have I the least remaining cause to doubt ? To nip and blast its favour, like a frost;

Hast thou endeavour'd once to hide thy falsehood! But rather chose, at this late hour, to come,

To hide it might have spoke some little tenderness, That your fair friend may know I have prevail'd; And shown thee half unwilling to undo me: The lord protector has receiv'd her suit,

But thou disdain'st the weakness of humanity, And means to shew her grace.

Thy words, and all thy actions, have confess'd it; Alic. My friend, my lord.

[ample Ev'n now thy eyes avow, it, now they speak, Has. Yes, lady, yours; none has a right more and insolently own the glorious villany. [chains. To task my pow'r than you.

Has. Well then, I own my heart has broke your Alic. I want the words,

Patient I bore the painful bondage long, To pay you back a compliment so courtly; At length my gen'rous love disdains your tyranny; But my heart guesses at the friendly meaning, The bitterness and stings of taunting jealousy, And wouldn't die your debtor.

Vexatious days, and jarring, joyless nights, Has. "Tis well, madam:

Have drivin him fourth to seek some safer shelter, But I would see your friend.

Where he may rest his weary wings in peace, Alic. O thon false lord !

Alic. You triumph! do; and with gigantic prido I would be mistress of my heaying heart,

Defy impending vengeance. Heav'n shall wink;

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