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These fears drive out the gentler thoughts of joy, Guil. Heaven forbid !
Of courtship, and of love. Grant, Heaven, the But tell me, Pembroke, is it not in virtue

To arm against this proud imperious passion? To fix in peace and safety once again;

Does holy friendship dwell so near to envy, Then speak your passion to the princely maid, She could not bear to see another happy? And fair success attend


For myself, If blind mistaken chance, and partial beauty, My voice shall go as far for you, my lord, Should join to favour GuilfordAs for my son; and beauty be the umpire. Pem. Name it not! But now a heavier matter calls upon us; My fiery spirits kindle at the thought, The king, with life just labouring; and I fear, And hurry me to rage. The council grow impatient at our stay.

Guil. And yet I think Pem. One moment's pause, and I attend your I should not murmur, were thy lot to prosper, grace.

[Exit North. And mine to be refused. Though sure, the loss Old Winchester cries to me oft, Beware

Would wound me to the heart. Of proud Northumberland. The testy prelate, Pem. Ha ! Couldst thou bear it? Froward with age, with disappointed hopes, And yet perhaps thou mightst; thy gentle temAnd zealous for old Rome, rails on the duke,

per Suspecting him to favour the new teachers : Is formed with passions mixed with due proporYet even in that, if I judge right, he errs.

tion, But were it so, what are these monkish quarrels, Where no one overbears, nor plays the tyrant, These wordy wars of proud ill-mannered school But join in nature's business, and thy happiñess : men,

While mine, disdaining reason and her laws, To us and our lay interest ? Let them rail Like all thou canst imagine wild and furious, And worry one another at their pleasure. Now drive me headlong on, now whirl ine back, This dukė, of late, by many worthy offices, And hurl my unstable flitting soul Has sought my friendship. And yet more, his To every mad extreme. Then pity me, son,

And let my weakness standThe noblest youth our England has to boast of,

Enter Sir John GATES. Has made me long the partner of his breast. Nay, when he found, in spite of the resistance Gates. The lords of council My struggling heart had made, to do him justice, Wait with impatience. That I was grown his rival, he strove hard, Pem. I attend their pleasure. And would not turn me forth from out his bosom, This only, and no more, then. Whatsoever But called me still his friend. And see! He Fortune decrees, still let us call to mind

Our friendship and our honour. And since love

Condemns us to be rivals for one prize,
Enter Lord GUILFORD.

Let us contend, as friends and brave men oughty
Oh, Guilford ! just as thou wert entering here, With openness and justice to each other;
My thought was running all thy virtues over, That he, who wins the fair one to his arms,
And wondering how thy soul could choose a May take her as the crown of great desert;

And if the wretched loser does repine, So much unlike itself.

His own heart and the world may all condemn Guil. How could my tongue


[Erit Pem. Take pleasure and be lavish in thy praise ! Guil. How cross the ways of life lie! While How could I speak thy nobleness of nature,

we think Thy open manly heart, thy courage, constancy,

We travel on direct in one high road, And in-born truth, unknowing to dissemble ! And have our journey's end opposed in view, Thou art the man in whom my soul delights; A thousand thwarting paths break in upon us, In whom, next heaven, I trust.

To puzzle and perplex our wandering steps ; Pem. Oh, generous youth !

Love, friendship, hatred, in their turns, mislead us, What can a heart, stubborn and fierce, like mine, And every passion has its separate interest : Return to all thy sweetness ?-Yet I would, Where is that piercing foresight can unfold I would be grateful.—Oh, my cruel fortune! Where all this mazy error will have end, Would I had never seen her, never cas

And tell the doom reserved for ine and PemMine eyes on Sutfolk's daughter !

broke? Guil. So would I !

There is but one end certain, that is—Death: Since 'twas my fate to see and love her first. Yet even that certainty is still uncertain. Pen. Oh! Why should she, that universal For of these several tracks, which lie before us, goodness,

We know that one leads certainly to death, Like light, a common blessing to the world, But know not which that one is. ''Tis in vain, Rise, like a comet, fatal to our friendship, This blind divining; let me think no more on it: And threaten it with ruin?

And sce the mistress of our fate appear!


Enter Lady Jane Gray. Attendants.

Thus gaze, and wonder, how excelling nature

Can give each day new patterns of her skill, Hail, princely maid! who, with auspicious beauty, And yet at once surpass them. Chearest every drooping heart in this sad place; L. J. Gray. Oh, vain pattery! Who, like the silver regent of the night,

Harsh and ill-sounding ever to my ear; Lift'st up thy sacred beams upon the land, But on a day like this, the raven's note To bid the gloom look gay, dispel our horrors, Strikes on my sense more sweetly. But, no And make us less lament the setting sun.

more; L. J. Gruy. Yes, Guilford; well dost thou I charge thee touch the ungrateful theme no more; compare my presence

Lead me to pay my duty to the king, To the faint comfort of the waning moon: To wet his pale cold hand with these last tears, Like her cold orb, a cheerless gleam I bring : And share the blessings of his parting breath. Silence and heaviness of heart, with dews

Guil, Were I like dying Edward, sure a touclı To dress the face of nature all in tears.

Of this dear hand would kindie life anew. But say, how fares the king ?

But I obey, I dread that gathering frown; Guil. He lives as yet,

And, oh! whene'er my bosom swells with pasBut every moment cuts away a hope,

sion, Adds to our fears, and gives the infant saint And my full heart is pained with ardent love, Great prospect of his opening Ileaven.

Allow me but to look on you, and sigh; L. I. Gray. Descend, ye choirs of angels, to 'Tis all the humble joy that Guilford asks. receive him!

L. J. Gray. Still wilt thou frame thy speech to Tune your melodious harps to some high strain,

this vain purpose, And watt him upwards with a song of triumph; When the wan king of terrors stalks before us,

purer soul, and one more like yourselves, When universal ruin gathers round, Ne'er entered at the golden gates of bliss. And no escape is left us? Are we not Oh, Guilford! What remains for wretched Eng- Like wretches in a storm, whom every moment land,

The greedy deep is gaping to devour? When he, our guardian angel, shall forsake us ? Around us see the pale despairing crew For whose dear sake Ileaven spared a guilty Wring their sad hands, and give their labour land,

o'er; And scattered not its plagues while Edward The hope of life has every heart forsook, reigned !

And horror sits on each distracted look; Guil. I own my heart bleeds inward at the One solemn thought of death does all employ, thought,

And cancels, like a dream, delight and joy; And rising horrors crowd the opening scene. One sorrow streams from all their weeping eyes, And yet, forgive me, thou, my native country, And one consenting voice for mercy cries; Thou land of liberty, thou nurse of heroes, Trembling, they dread just leaven's avenging Forgive me, if, in spite of all thv dangers,

power, New springs of pleasure flow within my bosom, Mourn their past lives, and wait the fatal hour, When thus 'tis given me to behold those eyes,



SCENE I.-Continues.

But you, my noble brother, would prevail,

And I have yielded to you. Enter the Duke of NortilUMBERLAND, and the North. Doubt not any thing; Duke of SurTOLK.

Nor hold the hour unlucky, that good Heaven, Nor. Yet then be cheered, my heart, amidst Who softens the corrections of his hand, thy mourning.

And mixes still a comfort with afflictions, Though fate hang heavy o'er us, though pale fear Has given to-day a blessing in our children, And wild distraction sit on every face;

To wipe away our tears for dying Edward. Though vever day of grief was known like this, Suff. In that I trust. Good angels be ou Let me rejoice, and bless the hallowed light,

guard, Whose beams auspicious shine upon our union,

And make my fears prove vain! But see! My And bid mé call the noble Suffolk brother.

wife! Suff. I know not what my secret soul presages, With her, your son, the generous Guilford, comes; But something seems to whisper me within,

She has informed him of our present purpose. That we have been too hasty. For myselt, I wish this matter had becn yet delayed;

Enter the Duchess of SUFFOLK, and Lord That we had waited some more blessed time,

GUILFORD. Some better day, with happier omens hallowed, Guil. How shall I speak the fulness of my For love to kindle up his holy flame.





What shall I say to bless you for this goodness? To bid farewell to thee, my gentle cousin; Oh, gracious princess! But my life is yours, To speak a few short words to thee, and die. And all the business of my years to come,

With that he prest my hand, and, oh!-he said, Is, to attend with humblest duty on you, When I am gone, do thou be good to England, And pay my vowed obedience at your feet. Keep to that faith in which we both were bred, Duch. Suff

. Yes, noble youth, I share in all And to the end be constant. More I would, thy joys,

But cannot -There his faltering spirits failed, In all the joys which this sad day can give. And turning every thought from earth at once, The dear delight I have to call thee son, To that blest place where all his hopes were Comes like a cordial to my drooping spirits ;

fixed, It broods with gentle warmth upon my bosom, Earnest he prayed ;- Merciful, great defender! And melts that frost of death which hung about Preserve thy holy altars undefiled,

Protect this land from bloody men and idols, But haste! Inform my daughter of our pleasure: Save my poor people from the yoke of Rome, Let thy tongue put on all its pleasing eloquence, And take thy painful servant to thy mercy! Instiuct thy love to speak of comfort to her, Then, sinking on bis pillow, with a sigh, To soothe her griefs, and cheer the mourning He breathed his innocent and faithful soul maid.

Into his hands who gave it. North. All desolate and drowned in flowing Guil. Crowns of glory, tears,

Such as the brightest angels wear, be on him! By Edward's bed the pious princess sits;

Peace guard his ashes liere, and paradise, Fast from her lified eyes the pearly drops With all its endless bliss, be open to him! Fall trickling o'er her cheek, while holy ardour North. Our grief be on his grave. Our preAnd fervent zeal pour forth her labouring soul;

sent duty And every sigh is winged with prayers so potent, Enjoins to see his last commands obeyed. As strive with fearen to save her dving lord. I hold it fit his death be not made known Duch. Suf: From the first early days of infant To any but our friends. To-morrow, early, life,

The council shall assemble at the Tower. A gentle band of friendship grew betwixt them; Mean while, I beg your grace would strait in And while our roval uncle lienry reigned,

form [To the Duchess of Suffolk. As brother and as sister bred together,

Your princely daughter of our resolution; Beneath one common parent's care they lived, Our common interest in that happy tie Norih. A wondrous sympathy of souls con- Demands our swiftest care to see it finished. spired

Duch. Suff. My lord, you have determined well. To form the sacred union. Lady Jane

Lord Guildford, Of all his royal blood was still the dearest; Be it your task to speak at large our purpose. In every innoceni delight they sharcd;

Daughter, receive this lord as one whom I, They sing, and danced, and sat, and walked to Your father, and his own, ordain your husband: gether;

What more concerns our will and your obedience, Nay, in the graver business of his youth,

We lcave you to receive from hun at leisure. When books and learning called him from his

(Ereunt Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, Sports,

and Duke of Northumberland. Even there the princely maid was his companion. Guil. Wilt thou not spare a moinent from thy She left the shining court to share bis toil, To turn with him the grave historian's page, And bid these bubbling streams forbear to flow? And taste the rapture of the poet's song; Wilt thou not give one interval to joy, To search the Latin and the Grecian stores, One little pause, while humbly I unfold And wonder at the miglity winds of old. The happiest tale my tongue was ever blest with?

L. J. Gray. My heart is dead within me; eveEnter Lady Jane Gray, weeping. L. J. Gray. Wilt thou not hrcak, my hoart! Is dead to joy: but I will hear thee, Guilford; Suff: Alas! What meanest thou?

Nay, I must hear thec, such is her command, Guil. Oh! speak !

Whom early duty taught me still to obey. Duch. Suff. How fares the king ?

Yet, oh! forgive me, if to all the story, North. Say, is he dead?

Though eloquence divine attend thy speaking, L. J. Gray. The saints and angels have him. Though every muse, and crery grace, do crown

Duch. Suff. When I left him, lle seeined a little cheered, just as you entered. Forgive ine, if I cannot better answer, L. J. Gray. As I approached to kneel and pay Than weeping- -thus, and thusmy duty,

Guil. If I oflend thee, He raised his feeble cres, and faintly smiling, Let me be dumb for ever: Let not life Are you then come? he cried : I only lived, Inforin these breathing organs of my voice,


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If any sound from me disturb thy quiet. And be a very faithful partner to thee.
What is my peace or happiness to thine? Near thee I will complain in sighs, as number-
No; though our noble parents had decreed,

And urged high reasons, which import the state, As 'murmurs breathing in the leafy grove :
This night to give thee to my faithful arms, My eyes shall mix their falling drops with thine,
My fairest bride, my only earthly bliss

Constant, as never-ceasing waters roll, L. J. Gray. How! Guilford ! on this night? That purl and gurgle o'er their sands for ever. Guil. This happy night;

The sun shall see my grief through all his course; Yet, it thou art resolved to cross my fate, And, when night comes, sad Philoinel, who 'plains If this, my utmost wish, shall give thee pain, From starry vesper to the rosy dawn, Now rather let the stroke of death fall on me, Shall cease to tune her lamentable

song, And stretch me out a lifeless corpse before thee! Ere I give o'er to weep and mourn with thee. Let me be swept away, with things forgotten, L. J. Gray. Here, then, I take thee to my Be huddled up in some obscure blind grave,

heart for ever,

[Giving her hand. Ere thou shouldst say my love has made thee The dear companion of my future days: wretched,

Whatever Providence allots for each,
Or drop one single tear for Guilford's sake. Be that the common portion of us both :
L. J. Gray. Alas! I have too much of death Share all the griefs of' thy unhappy Jane;

But if good Heaven has any joys in store,
And want not thine to furnish out new horror. Let them be all thy own.
Oh! dreadful thought, if thou wert dead indeed! Guil. Thou wondrous goodness !
What hope were left me then? Yes, I will own, Heaven gives too much at once in giving thee;
Spite of the blush that burns my maiden cheek, And, by the cominon course of things below,
My heart has fondly leaned towards thee long : Where cach delight is tempered with affliction,
Thy sweetness, virtue, and unblemished youth, Some evil, terrible and unforeseen,
Have won a place for thee within my bosom: Must sure ensue, and poise the scale against
And if my eyes look coldly on thee now, This vast profusion of exceeding pleasure.
And shun thy love on this disastrous day, But be it so! let it be death and ruin!
It is because I would not deal so hardly,

On any terms I take thee. To give thee sighs for all thy faithful vows, L. J. Gray. Trust our fate And pay thy tenderness with nought but tears. To him, whose gracious wisdom guides our ways, As vet, 'uis all I have.

And makes what we think evil turn to good. Guil. I ask no more;

Permit me now to leave thee and retire; Let ine but call thee mine, confirm that hope, I'll summon all my reason and my duty, To charm the doubts which vex my anxious soul; To soothe this storm within, and frame my heart For all the rest, do thou allot it for me,

To yield obedience to my noble parents. And, at thy pleasure, portion out my blessings. Guil. Good angels minister their comforts to My eyes shall learn to smile or weep from thine, thee! Nor will I think of joy while thou art sad. And, oh! if, as my fond belief would hope; Nay, couldst thou be so cruel to command it, If any word of mine be gracious to thee, I will forego a bridegroom's sacred right, I beg thee, I conjure thee, drive away And sleep far from thee, on the unwholesome Those murderous thoughts of grief,

hat kill thy earth,

quiet! Where damps arise, and whistling winds blow Restore thy gentle boson's native peace, loud;

Lift up the light of gladness in thy eyes, Then, when the day returns, come drooping to And cheer thy heaviness with one dear smile! thee,

L.J.Gray. Yes, Guilford, I will study to forget My locks still drizzling with the dews of night, All that the royal Edward has been to me; And cheer my heart with thee, as with the morn- How we have loved, even from our very cradles. ing.

My private loss no longer will I mourn, L.J.Gray. Say, wilt thou consecrate this night But every tender thought to thee shall turn : to sorrow,

With patience I'll submit to Heaven's decrce, And give up every sense to solemn sadness ? And what I lost in Edward find in thee. Wilt thou, in watching, waste the tedious hours, But, oh! when I revolve what ruins wait Sit silently, and careful, by my side,

Our sinking altars and the falling state; List to the tolling clocks, the cricket's cry, When I consider what my native land And every melancholy midnight noise?

Expected from her pious sovereign's hand; Say, wilt thou hanish pleasure and delight? How formed he was to save her from distress, Wilt thou forget that ever we have loved, A king to govern, and a saint to bless : And only now and then let fall a tear,

New sorrow to my labouring breast succeeds, To mourn for Edward's loss, and England's fate? And my whole heart for wretched England Guil. Unwearied still, I will attend thy woes,


[Exit Lady Jane Gray.


on it.

spare it.

Guil. My heart sinks in me, at her soft com- To reach a hand, and save thee from adversity. plaining;

Guil. And wilt thou'be a friend to me indeed? And every moving accent, that she breathes, And, while I lay my bosom bare before thee, Resolves my courage, slackens my tough nerves, Wilt thou deal tenderly, and let thy hand And melts me down to infancy and tears. Pass gently over every painful part? My fancy palls, and takes distaste at pleasure: Wilt thou with patience hear, and judge with My soul grows out of tune, it loathes the world, temper? Sickens at all the noise and folly of it;

And if, perchance, thou meet with something And I could sit me down in some dull shade,

harsh, Where lonely Contemplation keeps her cave, Somewhat to rouse thy rage, and grate thy soul, And dwells with hoary hermits; there forget iny- Wilt thou be master Jf thyself and bear it? self,

Pem. Away with all this needless preparation! There fix my stupid eyes upon the earth, Thou knowest thou art so dear, so sacred to me, And muse away an age in deepest melancholy. That I can never think thee an offender.

If it were so, that I indeed must judge thee, Enter PEMBROKE.

I should take part with thee against myself, Pem. Edward is dead; so said the great Nor- And call thy fault a virtue. thumberland,

Guil. But suppose As now he shot along by me in haste.

The thought were somewhat that concerned our He pressed my hand, and, in a whisper, begged love?

Pem. No more; thou knowest we spoke of To guard the secret carefully as lise,

that to-day, Till some few hours should pass; for much hung And on what terms we left it. 'Tis a subject,

Of which, if possible, I would not think; Much may indeed hang on it. See my Guil- | I beg that we may mention it no more. ford !


. Can we not speak of it with temper? My friend!

[Speaking to him. Pem. No. Guil. Ha! Pembroke!

(Sturting. Thou knowęst I cannot. Therefore, prithee Pem. Wherefore dost thou start? Why sits that wild disorder on thy visage,

Guil. "Oh! could the secret I would tell thee Somewhat, that looks like passions strange to

sleep, thee,

And the world never know it, my fond tongue The paleness of surprize and ghastly fear? Should cease from speaking, ere I would unfold Since I have known thee first, and called thee it, friend,

Or yex thy peace with an officious tale ! I never saw thee so unlike thyself,

But since, howe'er ungrateful to thy ear, So changed upon a sudden,

It must be told thee once, hear it from me. Guil. How! so changed !

Pem. Speak, then, and ease the doubts that Pem. So to my eve thou seemest.

shock my soul! Guil. The king is dead.

Guil. Suppose thy Guilford's better stars prePem. I learned it from thy father,

val, Just as I entered bere. But say, could that, And crown his love A fate which every moment we expected,

Pem. Say not, suppose : 'tis done. Distract thy thought, or shock thy temper, thus? Seek not for vain excuse, or softening words : Guil. Oh, Pembroke ! 'tis in vain to hide from Thou hast prevaricated with thy friend, thee!

By under-liand contrivances undone me: For thou hast looked into my artless bosom, And, while my open nature trusted in thee, And seen at once the hurry of my soul. Thou hast stepped in between me and my hopes, 'Tis true, thy coming struck me with surprize. And ravished from me all my soul held dear. I have a thought—but wherefore said I one? Thou hast betrayed meI have a thousand thoughts all up in arms, Guil. How ! betrayed thee, Pembroke? Like populous towns disturbed at dead of night, Pem. Yes, falsely, like a traitor. That, mixed in darkness, bustle to and fro,

Guil. Have a care ! As if their business were to make confusion. Pem. But think not I will bear the foul play Pem. Then sure our better angels called me

from thee; hither;

There was but this which I could ne'er forgire. For this is friendship's hour, and friendship's of- | My soul is up in arms, my injured honour, fice,

Impatient of the wrong, calls for revenge; To come, when counsel and when help is want. And though I love thee-fondly ing,

Guil. Hear me vet, To share the pain of every gnawing care, And Pembroke shall acquit me to himself; To speak of comfort in the time of trouble, Ilear, while I tell how fortune dealt between us,


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