our life is in my hand, and did not honour,
he gentleness of blood, and inborn virtue
owe'er unworthy I may seem to you)
ead in my bosom, I should take the forfeit.

it wear your sword again; and know, a lord
>pos'd against a man, is but a man.

Hast. Curse on my failing arm! Your better for

tune

is given you vantage o'er me; but perhaps our triumph may be bought with dear repentance. [Exit Hastings.

Enter JANE SHORE.

J. Sh. Alas! what have ye done? Know ye the pow'r,

he mightiness, that waits upon this lord?

Dum. Fear not, my worthiest mistress; 'tis a cause which Heaven's guards shall wait you. O pursue, ursue the sacred counsels of your soul,

'hich urge you on to virtue; let not danger, or the incumb'ring world, make faint your purpose. ssisting angels shall conduct your steps,

ring you to bliss, and crown your days with peace. J. Sh. Oh, that my head were laid, my sad eyes clos'd,

nd my

cold corse wound in my shroud to rest!

ly painful heart will never cease to beat,

Will never know a moment's peace till then.

Dum. Would you be happy, leave this fatal place; ly from the court's pernicious neighbourhood;

Where innocence is sham'd, and blushing modesty
Is made the scorner's jest; where hate, deceit,
And deadly ruin, wear the masques of beauty,
And draw deluded fools with shews of pleasure.
J. Sh. Where should I fly, thus helpless and for
lorn,

Of friends, and all the means of life bereft ?

Dum. Belmour, whose friendly care still wakes to serve you,

Has found you out a little peaceful refuge,
Far from the court and the tumultuous city.
Within an ancient forest's ample verge,
There stands a lonely but a healthful dwelling,
Built for convenience and the use of life:
Around it fallows, meads, and pastures fair,
A little garden, and a limpid brook,

By nature's own contrivance seem'd dispos'd;
No neighbours, but a few poor simple clowns,
Honest and true, with a well meaning priest:
No faction, or domestic fury's rage,
Did e'er disturb the quiet of that place,
When the contending nobles shook the land
With York and Lancaster's disputed sway.
Your virtue there may find a safe retreat
From the insulting pow'rs of wicked greatness.

J. Sh. Can there be so much happiness in store!
A cell like that is all my hopes aspire to.
Haste, then, and thither let us take our flight,
E'er the clouds gather, and the wint'ry sky
Descends in storms to intercept our passage.

Dum. Will you then go! You glad my very soul. inish your fears, cast all your cares on me ; enty and ease, and peace of mind shall wait you, nd make your latter days of life most happy. , lady! but I must not, cannot tell you, ow anxious I have been for all your dangers, nd how my heart rejoices at your safety. when the spring renews the flow'ry field, nd warns the pregnant nightingale to build, e seeks the safest shelter of the wood, here she may trust her little tuneful brood; here no rude swains her shady cell may know, › serpents climb, nor blasting winds may blow; nd of the chosen place, she views it o'er,

is there, and wanders thro' the grove no more; arbling she charms it each returning night, nd loves it with a mother's dear delight. [Exeunt:

ACT III. SCENE 1.

The Court. Enter ALICIA, with a paper.

Alicia.

HIS paper to the great protector's hand, ith care and secrecy, must be convey'd ; s bold ambition now avows its aim,

> pluck the crown from Edward's infant brow,

And fix it on his own. I know he holds
My faithless Hastings adverse to his hopes,
And much devoted to the orphan king;
On that I build this paper meets his doubts,
And marks my hated rival as the cause
Of Hasting's zeal for his dead master's sons.
Oh, jealousy thou bane of pleasing friendship,
"Thou worst invader of our tender bosoms,"
How does thy rancour poison all our softness,
And turn our gentle natures into bitterness?
See where she comes! once my heart's dearest bless
ing,

Now my chang'd eyes are blasted with her beauty,
Loath that known face, and sicken to behold her.

Enter JANE SHORE.

"J. Sh. Now whither shall I fly to find relief? "What charitable hand will aid me now i

"Will stay my falling steps, support my ruins, "And heal my wounded mind with balmy comfort Oh, my Alicia!

Alic. What new grief is this?

What unforeseen misfortune has surpriz'd thee, That racks thy tender heart thus ?

J. Sh. Oh, Dumont!

Alic. Say what of him?

7. Sh. That friendly, honest man,

Whom Belmour brought of late to my assistance, On whose kind care, whose diligence and faith,

My surest trust was built, this very morn
Was seiz'd on by the cruel hand of power,

Forc'd from my house, and born away to prison.
Alic. To prison, said you! Can you guess the cause?
J. Sh. Too well, I fear. His bold defence of me
Has drawn the vengeance of Lord Hastings on him.
Alic. Lord Hastings! Ha!

7. Sh. Some fitter time must tell thee
The tale of my hard hap. Upon the present
Hang all my poor, my last remaining hopes.
Within this paper is my suit contain'd;
Here as the princely Gloster passes forth,
I wait to give it on my humble knees,
And move him for redress.

[She gives the paper to Alicia, who opens and
seems to read it.

Alic. [Aside.] Now for a wile,

To sting my thoughtless rival to the heart; To blast her fatal beauties, and divide her For ever from my perjur'd Hastings' eyes: "The wanderer may then look back to me, "And turn to his forsaken home again;" Their fashions are the same, it cannot fail.

[Pulling out the other paper. J. Sh. But see the great protector comes this way, "Attended by a train of waiting courtiers."

Give me the paper, friend.

Alic. [Aside.] For love and vengeance!

[She gives her the other paper.

E