Enter STUKELY, BATES, and DAWSON. Bates. Poor Lewson! but I told you enough last night. The thought of him is dreadful to me.

Stuk. In the street, did you say? And no one near him.

Bates. By his own door: he was leading me to his house; I pretended business with him, and stabbed him to the heart, while he was reaching at the bell

Stuk. And did he fall so suddenly?

Bates. The reputation pleases you, I see. I told you, he fell without a groan

Stuk. What heard you of him this morning? Bates. That the watch found him, and alarmed the servants. I mingled with the crowd just now, and saw him dead in his own house: the sight terrified me.

Stuk. Away with terrors, till his ghost rise and accuse us. We have no living enemy to fear, unless 'tis Beverley; and him we have safe lodged in prison.

Bates. Must he be murdered, too? Stuk. No; I have a scheme to make the law his murderer. At what hour did Lewson fall?

Bates. The clock struck twelve, as I turned to leave him. "Twas a melancholy bell, I thought tolling for his death.

Stuk. The time was lucky for us. Beverley was arrested at one, you say.

Daw, Exactly.

Stuk. Good: We'll talk of this presently. The women were with him, I think?

Daw. And old Jarvis. I would have told you of them last night, but your thoughts were too busy. "Tis well you have a heart of stone, the tale would melt it else.

I ordered the officers to take away their prisoner. The women shrieked, and would have followed him, but we forbade them. 'Twas then they fell upon their knees, with all the eloquence of misery, endeavouring to soften us. I never felt compas sion till that moment; and, had the officers been like me, we had left the business undone, and fled with curses on ourselves; but their hearts were steeled by custom, they tore him from their arms, and lodged him in prison, with only Jarvis to comfort him.

Stuk. There let him lie, till we have further business wih him. You saw him quarrelling with Lowson in the street last night?

Bates. I did; his steward, Jarvis, saw him too. Stuk. And shall attest it. Here's matter to work upon; an unwilling evidence carries weight with him. Something of my design I have hinted to you before. Beverley must be the author of this murder; and we the parties to convict him. But how to proceed, will require time and thought Come along with me. But no compassion, sir. (To Dawson.) We want leisure for it. This way.

SCENE II.-Beverley's Lodgings.

chairs.

[Exeunt.

Table and two

MRS. BEVERLEY and CHARLOTTE discovered
Mrs. B. No news of Lewson yet?
Char. None; he went out early, and knows not
what has happened. (Clock strikes eight.)

Mrs. B. The clock strikes eight; I'll wait no longer. O, what a night was last night! I would not pass another such, to purchase worlds by it My poor Beverley, too; what must he have felt! the very thought distracts me. To have him torn at midnight from me; a loathsome prison his habitation!-a cold damp room his lodging!--the bleak winds, perhaps, blowing upon his pillow!-no fond wife to lull him to his rest-and no reflections but to wound and tear him!-'Tis too horrible, I wanted love for him, or they had not forced him from me; they should have parted soul and body first. I was too tame.

Cha, You must not talk so. All that we could, we did; and Jarvis did the rest: the faithful crea ture will give him comfort. See where he comes; his looks are cheerful, too.

Enter JARVIS.

Mrs. B. Are tears then cheerful? Alas, he weeps! Speak to him, Charlotte : I have, no tongue to ask him questions.

Char. How does your master, Jarvis?

Jar, I am old and foolish, madam; and tears will come before my words; but don't you weep; (To Mrs. B.) I have a tale of joy for you.

Mrs. B. Say but he's well, and I have joy enough.

Jar. His mind too shall be well; all shall be well: I have news for him that shall make his poor heart bound again. Fie upon old age! how childish it makes me! I have a tale of joy for you, and my tears drown it.

Mrs. B. What is it, Jarvis?

Jar. Yet why should I rejoice, when a good man Idies? Your unele, madam, died yesterday. Mrs. B. My uncle! O heavens!

Char. How heard you of his death?

Jar. His steward came express, madam: I met him in the street, enquiring for your lodgings. I should not rejoice, perhaps, but he was old, and my poor master a prisoner. Now he shall live again. O, 'tis a brave fortune! and it was death to me, to see him a prisoner.

Char. How did he pass the night, Jarvis ?

Jar. Why now, madam, I can tell you. Like a man dreaming of death and horrors. When they led him to his cell,-for it was a poor apartment for my master, he flung himself upon a wretched bed, and lay speechless till day-break; then he started from the bed, and, looking wildly at me, asked who I was. I told him, and bade him be of comfort. "Begone, old wretch," says he, “I have sworn, never to know comfort-My wife! my child! my sister! I have undone them all, and will know no comfort" Then falling upon his knees, he imprecated curses upon himself.

Mrs. B. This is too horrible! But we have staid too long. Let us haste to comfort him, or die with him. [Exeunt. Chair, table, lamp, and

SCENE III-A prison.

book on it. BEVERLEY discovered seated. After a short pause, he starts up.

Bev. Why, there's an end, then. I have judged deliberately, and the result is death. How the self-murderer's account may stand, I know not: but this I know, the load of hateful life oppresses me too much. The horrors of my soul are more than I can bear. (Offers to kneel.) Father of Mercy! I cannot pray; despair has laid his iron hand upon me, and sealed me for perdition. Conscience! conscience! thy clamours are too loud: here's that shall silence thee. (Takes a phial of poison out of his pocket.) Thou art most friendly to the miserable. Come, then, thou cordial for sick minds, come to my heart. (Drinks it.) Oh, that the grave would bury memory as well as body; for, if the soul sees and feels the sufferings of those dear ones it leaves behind, the Everlasting has no vengeance to torment it deeper. I'll think no more on it;-reflection comes too late; once there was a time for it, but now 'tis past. Who's there?

Enter JARVIS.

Mrs. B. Indeed, I meant to bring you comfort.

Bev. Do I? The news was unexpected. But has he left me all?

Jar. All, all, sir; he could not leave it from you. Bev. I am sorry for it.

Mrs. B. Why are you disturbed so?

Bev. Has death no terrors in it?

Mrs. B. Not an old man's death; yet, if it trouble you, I wish him living.

Bev. And I, with all my heart; for I have a tale to tell, shall turn you into stone; or if the power of speech remain, you shall kneel down and curse me. Why are we to curse you? I'll

Mrs. B. Alas! bless you ever.

Bev. No, I have deserved no blessings. All this large fortune, this second bounty of heaven, that might have healed our sorrows, and satisfied our utmost hopes, in a cursed hour I sold last night. Mrs. B. Impossible!

Bev. That devil Stukely, with all hell to aid him, tempted me to the deed. To pay false debts of honour, and to redeem past errors, I sold the reversion, sold it for a scanty sum, and lost it among villains.

Char. Why, farewell all, then.

Bev. Liberty and life. Come, kneel and curse

me.

Mrs. B. Then hear me, heaven. (Kneels.) Look down with mercy on his sorrows! Give softness to his looks, and quiet to his heart! On me, on me, if misery must be the lot of either, multiply misfortunes! I'll bear them patiently, so he be happy! These hands shall toil for his support; these eyes be lifted up for hourly blessings on him; and every duty of a fond and faithful wife be doubly done, to cheer and comfort him. So hear me! so reward me! (Rises.)

Bev. I would kneel too, but that offended heaven would turn my prayers into curses; for I have done a deed, to make life horrible to you. Mrs. B. What deed?

misfortune has hurt his brain. A little time will Jar. Ask him no questions, madam; this last give him patience.

Enter STUKELY. Bev. Why is this villain here?

Stuk. To give you liberty and safety. There, madam, is his discharge. (Gives a paper to Char

lotte.) The arrest last night was meant in friendship, but came too late.

Char. What mean you, sir?

Stuk. The arrest was too late, I say; I would have kept his hands from blood; but was too late. Mrs. B. His hands from blood! Whose blood? Stuk. From Lewson's blood.

Char. No, villain! Yet what of Lewson? Speak quickly.

the murderer at confession. Stuk. You are ignorant, then; I thought I heard

Char. What murderer? And who is murdered?

Not Lewson? Say, he lives, and I will kneel and worship you.

Stuk. And so I would; but that the tongues of

Mrs. B. And if I did, I have no power to raise

the dead. He died yesterday.

Bev. And I am heir to him?

Jar. To his whole estate, sir. But bear it patiently, pray bear it patiently.

Bev. Well, well. (Pausing.) Why fame says, am rich, then?

I

Mrs. B. And truly so. Why do you look so wildly?

save the brother, not kill the sister. Your Lewson's dead.

Char. O horrible!

Bev. Silence, I charge you. Proceed, sir.

Stuk. No; justice may stop the tale; and here's an evidence.

Enter BATES.

Bates. The news, I see, has reached you. But take comfort, madam. (To Charlotte.) There's

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. No; I am sure, he did not.
Jar. Or, if I did,-

Mrs. B. "Tis false, old man; they had no quarrel, there was no cause for quarrel.

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

O! I am sick!

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

not.

Enter DAWSON.

Stuk. Who sent for Dawson?

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.

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

Bev. A furnace rages in this heart. (Laying his hand upon his heart.) Down, restless flames! down to your native hell, there you shall rack me! Oh, for a pause from pain. Where is my wife? Can 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

Stuk. What witness?

Bates. A right one. Look at him.

Enter CHARLOTTE and LEWSON.

(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.

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

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?

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! 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,

too!

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

LORDS OF THE COUNCIL.
JANE SHORE.
ALICIA.

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?

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 life than let it go. Glos. And yet this tough, impracticable 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, Bas held him long & 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 lord chamberlain, We're much beholden to your gentle friendship. Has. My lord, I come an humble suitor to you. Glos. In right good time. Speak out your plea sure freely.

Has. I am to move your highness in behalf Of Shore's unhappy wife.

Glos. Say you of Shore?

Has. Once a bright star, that held her place on The first and fairest of our English dames, [high: While Royal Edward held the sov'reign rule. Now sunk in grief, and pining with despair, Her waning form no longer shall incite Envy in woman, or desire in man. She never sees the sun but through her tears, And wakes to sigh the live-long night away. [her, Glos. Marry! the times are badly chang'd with From Edward's days to these. Then all was jollity, [ter, Feasting and mirth, light wantonness and laughPiping and playing, minstrelsy and masking; Till life fled from us like an idle dream, A show of mummery without a meaning. My brother, (rest and pardon to his soul,) Is gone to his account; for this his minion, The revel-rout is done.-But you were speaking Concerning her; I have been told, that you Are frequent in your visitation to her.

Has. No further, my good lord, than friendly And tender-hearted charity allow. [pity

Glos. Go to: I did not mean to chide you for it. For, sooth to say, I hold it noble in you To cherish the distress'd.-On with your tale.

Has. Thus it is, gracious sir: that certain officers, Using the warrant of your mighty name, With insolence unjust, and lawless power, Have seiz'd upon the lands, which late she held By grant, from her great master Edward's bounty. Glos. Somewhat of this but slightly have I heard; And though some counsellors of forward zeal,

And bearded wisdom, often have provok'd
The hand of justice to fall heavy on her;
Yet still, in kind compassion of her weakness,
And tender memory of Edward's love,
I have withheld the merciless stern law
From doing outrage on her helpless beauty.
Has. Good heav'n, who renders mercy back for
mercy,

With open-handed bounty shall repay you:
This gentle deed shall fairly be set foremost,
To screen the wild escapes of lawless passion,
And the long train of frailties flesh is heir to.

Glos. Thus far, the voice of pity pleaded only:
Our further and more full extent of grace
Is given to your request. Let her atttend,
And to ourself deliver up her griefs.

She shall be heard with patience, and each wrong
At full redress'd. But I have other news,
Which much import us both; for still my fortunes
Go hand in hand with your's: our common foes,
The queen's relations, our new-fangled gentry,
Have fall'n their haughty crests that for your
privacy.
[Exeunt.
SOENE 11.-An Apartment in Jane Shore's House.
Enter BELMOUR and DUMONT.
Bet. How she has lived you have heard my tale

The rest, your own attendance in her family,
Where I have found the means this day to place
And nearer observation, best will tell you: [you,
See with what sad and sober cheer she comes!
Enter JANE SHORE

Sure, or I read her visage much amiss,
Or grief besets her hard. Save you, fair lady,
The blessings of the cheerful morn be on you.
And greet your beauty with its opening sweets,

Jane S. My gentle neighbour! your good wishes still

Pursue my hapless fortunes; ah! good Belmour!
How few, like thee, inquire the wretched out,
And court the offices of soft humanity!
Like thee, reserve their raiment for the naked,
Reach out their bread to feed the crying orphan,
Or mix their pitying tears with those that weep!
Thy praise deserves a better tongue than mine,
To speak and bless thy name. Is this the gentle

(Aside.)

Jane S. A venerable aspect! Age sits with decent grace upon his visage, And worthily becomes his silver locks; He wears the marks of many years well spent, Of virtue, truth well try'd, and wise experience; A friend like this would suit my sorrows well. Fortune, I fear me, sir, has meant you ill, (To Dum.) Who pays your merit with that scanty pittance, Which my poor hand and humble roof can give. But to supply those golden 'vantages, Which elsewhere you might find, expect to meet A just regard and value for your worth, The welcome of a friend, and the free partnership Of all that little good the world allows me. [swer Dum. You over-rate me much; and all my anMust be my future truth; let that speak for me, And make up my deserving.

[birth:

Jane S. Are you of England? Dum. No, gracious lady; Flanders claims my At Antwerp has my constant biding been. [days Where sometimes I have known more plenteous Than these which now my failing age affords.

Jane S. Alas! at Antwerp! O forgive my tears! (Weeping.)