Guarded and fenced around, our pure religion,
That lamp of truth, which shines upon our altars,
Shall lift its golden head, and flourish long;
Beneath whose awful rule, and righteous sceptre,
The plenteous years shall roll in long succession;
Law shall prevail, and ancient right take place;
Fair liberty shall lift her cheerful head,
Fearless of tyranny and proud oppression;
No sad complaining in our streets shall cry,
But justice shall be exercised in mercy.
Hail, royal Jane! behold we bend our knees,
[They kneel.
The pledge of homage, and thy land's obedience;
With humblest duty thus we kneel, and own thee
Our liege, our sovereign lady, and our queen.
L. J. Gray. Oh, rise!

My father, rise!

And you, my father, too!

[To Suff. [To North.

Rise all, nor cover me with this confusion.

[They rise. What means this mock, this masquing shew of greatness?

Why do you hang these pageant glories on me,
And dress me up in honours not my own?
North. The daughters of our late great mas-
ter Henry,

Stand both by law excluded from succession.
To make all firm,

And fix a power unquestioned in your hand,
Edward, by will, bequeathed his crown to you:
And the concurring lords, in council met,
Have ratified the gift.

L. J. Gray. Are crowns and empire,
The government and safety of mankind,
Trifles of such light moment, to be left
Like some rich toy, a ring, or fancied gem,

The pledge of parting friends? Can kings do thus, And give away a people for a legacy?

North. Forgive me, princely lady, if my der

North. Oh! stay this inauspicious stream of

tears,

And cheer your people with one gracious smile.
Nor comes your fate in such a dreadful form,
To bid you shun it. Turn those sacred eyes
On the bright prospect empire spreads before

you.

Methinks I see you seated on the throne;
Beneath your feet, the kingdom's great degrees
In bright confusion shine, mitres and coronets,
The various ermine, and the glowing purple ;
Assembled senates wait, with awful dread,
To affirm your high commands, and make them
fate.

L.J. Gray. You turn to view the painted side
of royalty,
And cover all the cares that lurk beneath.
Is it, to be a queen, to sit aloft,
In solemn, dull, uncomfortable state,
The flattered idol of a servile court?
Is it to draw a pompous train along,
A pageant, for the wondering crowd to gaze at?
Is it, in wantonness of power to reign,
And make the world subservient to my pleasure?
Is it not rather, to be greatly wretched,
To watch, to toil, to take a sacred charge,
To bend each day before high Heaven, and own,
This people hast thou trusted to my hand,
And at my hand, I know, thou shalt require
them?

Alas, Northumberland! My father! Is it not
To live a life of care, and, when I die,
Have more to answer for before my judge,
my subjects?

Seizes each sense, each faculty of mind,
To see the utmost wish the great can form,
A crown, thus coldly met: A crown, which,
slighted,

And left in scorn by you, shall soon be sought,
And find a joyful wearer; one, perhaps,
Of blood unkindred to your royal house,
And fix its glories in another line.

L. J. Gray. Where art thou now, thou partner of my cares? [Turning to Guilford. Come to my aid, and help to bear this burthen: Oh! save me from this sorrow, this misfortune, Which, in the shape of gorgeous greatness, comes To crown, and make a wretch of me for ever! Guil. Thou weep'st my queen, and hang'st thy drooping head,

Like nodding poppies, heavy with the rain,
That bow their weary necks and bend to earth.
See, by thy side, thy faithful Guilford stands,
Prepared to keep distress and danger from thee,
To wear thy sacred cause upon his sword,
And war against the world in thy defence.

Think on the monarchs of your royal race:
They lived not for themselves: how many bles-
sings,

How many lifted hands shall pay thy toil,
If for thy people's good thou happily borrow
Some portion from the hours of rest, and wake,
To give the world repose!

Suff. Behold, we stand upon the brink of ruin,
And only thou canst save us. Persecution,
That fiend of Rome and hell, prepares her tor-

Guil. Oh, my queen!

Does not thy great, thy generous heart relent,
To think this land, for liberty so famed,
Shall have her towery front at once laid low,
And robbed of all its glory? Oh! my country!
Oh! fairest Albion, empress of the deep,

How have thy noblest sons, with stubborn valour,

Stood to the last, dyed many a field in blood,
In dear defence of birth-right and their laws!
And shall those hands, which fought the cause of
freedom,

Be manacled in base unworthy bonds?
Be tamely yielded up, the spoil, the slaves
Of hair-brained zeal, and cruel coward priests ?
L. J. Gray. Yes, my loved lord, my soul is
moved like thine,

At every danger which invades our England;
My cold heart kindles at the great occasion,

And could be more than man in her defence.
But where is my commission to redress?

Or whence my power to save? Can Edward's will,

Or twenty met in council, make a queen?
Can you, my lords, give me the power to canvass
A doubtful title with king Henry's daughters?
Where are the reverend sages of the law,
To guide me with their wisdoms, and point out
The paths, which right and justice bid me tread?
North. The judges all attend, and will at
leisure

Resolve you every scruple.

L. J. Gray. They expound;

But where are those, my lord, that make the law?
Where are the ancient honours of the realm,
The nobles, with the mitred fathers joined?
The wealthy commons solemnly assembled ?
Where is that voice of a consenting people,
To pledge the universal faith with mine,
And call me justly queen?

Shall, at your royal bidding, soon assemble, And with united homage own your title. Delay not then the general wish,

But be our queen, be England's better angel!
Nor let mistaken piety betray you

To join with cruel Mary in our ruin:
Her bloody faith commands her to destroy,
And yours forbids to save.

Guil. Our foes, already

High in their hopes, devote us all to death :
The dronish monks, the scorn and shame of man-
hood,

Rouse, and prepare once more to take possession,
To nestle in their ancient hives again:
Again they furbish up their holy trumpery,
Relicks and wooden wonder-working saints,
Whole loads of lumber and religious rubbish,
In high procession mean to bring them back,
And place the puppets in their shrines again :
While those of keener malice, savage Bonner,
And deep-designing Gardiner, dream of ven-

L. J. Gray. Take me, crown me, Invest me with this royal wretchedness! Let me not know one happy minute mɔre; Let all my sleepless nights be spent in care, My days be fixed with tumults and alarms; If only I can save you, if my fate Has marked me out to be the public victim, I take the lot with joy! Yes, I will die For that eternal truth my faith is fixed on, And that dear native land which gave me birth!

Guil. Wake every tuneful instrument to tell it, And let the trumpet's sprightly note proclaim, My Jane is England's queen! Let the loud can

non

In peals of thunder speak it to Augusta;
Imperial Thames, catch thou the sacred sound,
And roll it to the subject ocean down:
Tell the old deep, and all thy brother floods,
My Jane is empress of the watery world!
Now with glad fires our bloodless streets shall
shine,

With cries of joy our cheerful ways shall ring;
Thy name shall echo through the rescued isle,
And reach applauding heaven!

L. J. Gray. Oh, Guilford! what do we give up for glory!

For glory! that's a toy I would not purchase;
An idle, empty bubble. But for England!

SCENE I-Continues.

All that I ask, is, though my fortune frown,
And bury me beneath this fatal crown;
Let that one good be added to my doom,
To save this land from tyranny and Rome.

Enter PEMBROKE and GARDINER,
Gar. In an unlucky and accursed hour
Set forth that traitor duke, that proud Northum-
berland,

To draw his sword upon the side of heresy,
And war against our Mary's holy right :
Ill fortune fly before, and pave his way
With disappointments, mischief, and defeat!
Do thou, O holy Becket, the protector,
The champion, and the martyr of our church,
Appear, and once more own the cause of Rome:
Beat down his lance, break thou his sword in
battle,

And cover foul rebellion with confusion!

Pem. I saw him marching at his army's head; I marked him issuing through the city-gate, In harness all appointed, as he passed; And (for he wore his beaver up) could read Upon his visage, horror and dismay.

No voice of cheerful salutation cheered him, None wished his arms might thrive, or bade God

speed him,

But, through a staring ghastly-looking crowd,
Unhailed, unblessed, with heavy heart he went;
As if his traitor father's haggard ghost,
And Somerset, fresh bleeding from the axe,
On either hand had ushered him to ruin.

Gar. Nor shall the holy vengeance loiter long.
At Farmingham, in Suffolk, lies the queen,
Mary, our pious mistress: where each day
The nobles of the land, and swarming populace,
Gather, and list beneath her royal ensigns.
The fleet, commanded by Sir Thomas Jerning-
ham,

Set out in warlike manner to oppose her,
With one consent have joined to own her cause:
The valiant Sussex, and Sir Edward Hastings,
With many more of note, are up in arms,
And all declare for her.

[Exeunt.

To win the wary council to our side.
Say thou, whose head is grown thus silver-white,
In arts of government, and turns of state,
How we may blast our enemies with ruin,
And sink the cursed Northumberland to hell!
Gar. In happy time be your whole wish ac-
complished.

Since the proud duke set out, I have had conference,

As fit occasion served, with divers of them,
The earl of Arundel, Mason, and Cheyney,
And find them all disposed as we could ask.
By holy Mary, if I count aright,
To-day the better part shall leave this place,
And meet at Baynard's castle in the city;
There own our sovereign's title, and defy
Jane and her gospel crew. But, hie you hence!
This place is still within our foe's command;
Their
puppet-queen reigns here.

Enter an Officer with a Guard.

Offi. Seize on them both.

[Guards seize Pembroke and Gardiner. My lord, you are a prisoner to the state. Pem. Ha! by whose order?

Offi. By the queen's command,

Signed and delivered by lord Guilford Dudley.
Pem. Curse on his traitor's heart!

Gar. Rest you contented:

You have loitered here too long; but use your patience;

These bonds shall not be lasting.

Offi. As for you, sir, [To Gardiner. 'Tis the queen's pleasure you be close confined: You have used that fair permission was allowed you,

To walk at large within the Tower, unworthily.
You are noted for an over-busy meddler,
A secret practiser against the state;
For which, henceforth, your limits shall be straiter.
Hence, to your chamber!

Gar. Farewell, gentle Pembroke;

I trust that we shall meet on blither terms:
Till then, amongst my beads I will remember you,
And give you to the keeping of the saints.

[Exeunt part of the guards with Gardiner. Pem. Now, whither must I go? Offi. This way, my lord.

Enter GUILFord.

[Going off.

And masters all the noble nature in thee,
As sure as thou hast wronged me, I am come,
In tenderness of friendship, to preserve thee;
To plant even all the power I have before thee,
And fence thee from destruction with my life.
Pem. Friendship from thee! But my just soul
disdains thec.

Hence! take the prostituted bauble back!
Hang it to grace some slavering idiot's neck,
For none but fools will praise the tinsel toy.
But thou art come, perhaps, to vaunt thy great-

ness,

And set thy purple pomp to view before me;
To let me know that Guilford is a king,

That he can speak the word, and give me freedom.

Oh, short-lived pageant! Hadst thou all the power

Which thy vain soul would grasp at, I would die,

Rot in a dungeon, ere receive a grace,
The least, the meanest courtesy from thee.

Guil. Oh, Pembroke! but I have not time to talk,

For danger presses; danger unforeseen,
And secret as the shaft that flies by night,
Is aiming at thy life. Captain, a word!

[To the Officer.

I take your prisoner to my proper charge;
Draw off your guard, and leave his sword with

me.

[The Officer delivers the sword to Lord
Guilford, and goes out with his guard.
[Lord Guilford offering the sword to
Pembroke.

Receive this gift, even from a rival's hand;
And, if thy rage will suffer thee to hear
The counsel of a man, once called thy friend,
Fly from this fatal place, and seek thy safety!
Pem. How now what shew! what mockery
is this?

Is it in sport you use me thus? What means
This swift fantastic changing of the scene?

Guil. Oh, take thy sword, and let thy valiant hand

Be ready armed to guard thy noble life.
The time, the danger, and thy wild impatience,
Forbid me all to enter into speech with thee,
Or I could tell thee-

Pem. No, it needs not, traitor!
For all thy poor, thy little arts are known.
Thou fearest my vengeance, and art come to
fawn,

To make a merit of that proffered freedom,
Which, in despite of thee, a day shall give me.
Nor can my fate depend on thee, false Guilford;
For know, to thy confusion, ere the sun
Twice gild the east, our royal Mary comes
To end thy pageant reign, and set ine free.
Guil. Ungrateful and unjust! Hast thou then
known me

So little, to accuse my heart of fear?
Hast thou forgotten Musselborough's field?
Did I then fear, when by thy side I fought,
And dyed my maiden sword in Scottish blood?
But this is madness all.

Pem. Give me my sword. [Taking his sword.
Perhaps, indeed, I wrong thee. Thou hast thought;
And, conscious of the injury thou hast done me,
Art come to proffer me a soldier's justice,
And meet my arm in single opposition.
Lead, then, and let me follow to the field.

Guil. Yes, Pembroke, thou shalt satisfy thy
vengeance,

And write thy bloody purpose on my bosom.
But let death wait to-day. By our past friend-

ship,

In honour's name, by every sacred tie,

I beg thee ask no more, but haste from hence. Pem. What mystic meaning lurks beneath thy words?

What fear is this, which thou wouldst awe my

soul with?

Is there a danger Pembroke dares not meet?

Guil. Oh, spare my tongue a tale of guilt and horror!

Trust me this once: believe me when I tell thee,
Thy safety and thy life is all I seek.
Away.

Pem. By Heaven, I will not stir a step!
Curse on this shuffling, dark, ambiguous phrase!
If thou wouldst have me think thou mean'st me
fairly,

Speak with that plainness honesty delights in,
And let thy double tongue for once be true.

Guil. Forgive me, filial piety and nature,
If, thus compelled, I break your sacred laws,
Reveal my father's crime, and blot with infamy
The hoary head of him who gave me being,
To save the man, whom my soul loves, from death!
[Giving a paper,

Read there the fatal purpose of thy foc, A thought which wounds my soul with shame and horror!

Somewhat that darkness should have hid for ever,

But that thy life-Say, hast thou seen that character?

Pem. I know it well; the hand of proud
Northumberland,

Directed to his minions, Gates and Palmer.
What's this?

-[Reads. Remember, with your closest care, to observe those whom I named to you at parting; especially keep your eye upon the carl of Pembroke; as his power and interest are most considerable, so his opposition will be most fatal to us. Iemember the resolution was taken, if you should find him inclined to our enemies. The forms of 'justice are tedious, and delays are dangerous. If he falters, lose not the sight of him till your 'daggers have reached his heart.' My heart! Oh, murderous villain! Guil. Since we parted,

Thy ways have all been watched, thy steps been marked;

Thy secret treaties with the malecontents,
That harbour in the city, thy conferring
With Gardiner here in the Tower; all is known:
And, in pursuance of that bloody mandate,
A set of chosen ruffians wait to end thee:
There was but one way left me to preserve thee;
I took it; and this morning sent my warrant
To seize thy person-But begone!

Pem. 'Tis so 'tis truth-I see his honest heart

Guil. I have a friend of well-tried faith and courage,

Who, with a fit disguise, and arms concealed,
Attends without, to guide thee hence with safety.
Pem. What is Northumberland? And what art
thou?

Guil. Waste not the time. Away!
Pem. Here let ne fix,

And gaze with everlasting wonder on thee.
What is there good or excellent in man,
That is not found in thee? Thy virtues flash,
They break at once on my astonished soul;
As if the curtains of the dark were drawn,
To let in day at midnight.

Guil. Think me true;

And though ill fortune crossed upon our friendship

Pem. Curse on our fortune!-Think I know thee honest.

Guil. For ever I could hear thee-but thy life, Oh, Pembroke! linger not

Pem. And can I leave thee,

Ere I have clasped thee in my eager arms, And given thee back my sad repenting heart? Believe me, Guilford, like the patriarch's dove, [Embracing. It wandered forth, but found no resting place, 'Till it came home again to lodge with thee. Guil. What is there that my soul can more desire,

Than these dear marks of thy returning friendship?

Pem. Let me stay and die; For if I go, I go to work thy ruin. Thou know'st not what a foe thou send'st me forth;

That I have sworn destruction to the queen, And pledged my faith to Mary and her cause: My honour is at stake.

Guil. I know 'tis given.

But go-the stronger thy engagements there,
The more's thy danger here. There is a power
Who sits above the stars; in him I trust:
All that I have, his bounteous hand bestowed;
And he, that gave it, can preserve it to me.
If his o'er-ruling will ordains my ruin,
What is there more, but to fall down before lum,
And humbly yield obedience?--Fly! begone!

Pem. Yes, I will go-for, see! Behold who comes! Oh, Guilford! hide me, shield me from her sight; Every mad passion kindles up again,

Love, rage, despair--and yet I will be master-
I will remember thee Oh, my torn heart!
I have a thousand things to say,
But cannot, dare not, stay to look on her.
Thus gloomy ghosts, where'er the breaking morn
Gives notice of the cheerful sun's return,
Fade at the light, with horror stand oppressed,
And shrink before the purple dawning east;
Swift with the fleeting shades they wing their way,
And dread the brightness of the rising day.

[Exeunt Guilford and Pembroke.