Glos. I guess the man at whom your words would point;

Hastings-
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 heart, 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,
Has held him long a 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.

Lord H. 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 1
heard;

And though some counsellors of forward zeal,
Some of most ceremonious sanctity

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.
Lord H. Good heaven, 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 attend,
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 yours: our common foes,
The queen's relations, our new-fangled gentry,
Have fall'n their haughty crests-that for your
privacy.
[Exeunt.

days,

Attend upon your grace.

Glos. My good lord chamberlain, We're much beholden to your gentle friendship. Lord H. My lord, I come an humble suitor to you. Glos. In right good time. Speak out your pleasure freely.

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

Glos. Say you, of Shore?

Lord H. Once a bright star, that held her place on high:

The first and fairest of our English dames,
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.
Glos. Marry! the times are badly chang'd with
her,

From Edward's days to these. Then all was jollity,
Feasting and mirth,light wantonness and laughter,
Piping 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.

Lord H. No further, my good lord, than friendly pity

And tender-hearted charity allow.

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 distressed.-On with your tale.

House.

Than every other joy the world can give,
Let poverty, deformity, and shame,

Distraction and despair, seize me on earth,
Let not my faithless ghost have peace hereafter,
Nor taste the bliss of your celestial fellowship!
Jane S. Yes, thou art true, and only thou art
true;

Therefore, these jewels, once the lavish bounty
Of royal Edward's love, I trust to thee;

[Giving a Casket. Receive this, all that I can call my own, And let it rest unknown, and safe with thee: That, if the state's injustice should oppress me, Strip me of all, and turn me out a wanderer, My wretchedness may find relief from thee, And shelter from the storm.

Alic. My all is thine;

One common hazard shall attend us both,
And both be fortunate, or both be wretched.
But let thy fearful, doubting, heart be still;
The saints and angels have thee in their charge,
And all things shall be well. Think not, the good,
The gentle, deeds of mercy thou hast done,
Shall die forgotten all; the poor, the pris'ner,
The fatherless, the friendless, and the widow,
Who daily own the bounty of thy hand,
Shall cry to heaven, and pull a blessing on thee.
Even man, the merciless insulter, man,
Man, who rejoices in our sex's weakness,
Shall pity thee, and with unwonted goodness
Forget thy failings, and record thy praise.
Jane S Why should I think that man will do

for me,

What yet he never did for wretches like me?
Mark by what partial justice we are judg'd;
Such is the fate unhappy women find,
And such the curse entail'd upon our kind,
That man, the lawless libertine, may rove,
Free and unquestion'd through the wilds of love;
While woman,-sense and nature's easy fool,
If poor weak woman swerve from virtue's rule;
If, strongly charm'd, she leave the thorny way,
And in the softer paths of pleasure stray;
Ruin ensues, reproach and endless shame,
And one false step entirely damns her fame;
In vain, with tears the loss she may deplore,
In vain, look back on what she was before;
She sets, like stars that fall, to rise no more.

ACT II.

[Exeunt.

What visitor is this, who, with bold freedom, Breaks in upon the peaceful night and rest, With such a rude approach?

Enter a SERVANT.

Serv. One from the court,

Lord Hastings (as I think) demands my lady. Alic. Hastings! Be still, my heart, and try to meet him

With his own arts! with falsehood.-But he comes Enter LORD HASTINGS, speaking to a Serzant as entering.

Lord H. Dismiss my train, and wait alone without.

Alicia here! Unfortunate encounter!
But be it as it may.

Alic. When humbly, thus,

The great descend to visit the afflicted,
When thus, unmindful of their rest, they come
To sooth the sorrows of the midnight mourner,
Comfort comes with them; like the golden sur.,
Dispels the sullen shades with her sweet influence.
And cheers the melancholy house of care.

Lord H. 'Tis true, I would not over-rate a courtesy,

Nor let the coldness of delay hang on it,
To nip and blast its favour, like a frost;
But rather chose, at this late hour, to come,
That your fair friend may know I have prevail'd;
And means to show her grace.
The lord protector has receiv'd her suit,

Alic. My friend! my lord.

Lord H. Yes, lady, yours; none has a righ: more ample

To tax my power than you.

Alic. I want the words

But my heart guesses at the friendly meaning, To pay you back a compliment so courtly; And wo' not die your debtor.

Lord H. 'Tis well, Madam: But I would see your friend.

Alic. Oh, thou false lord!

I would be mistress of my heaving heart,
Stifle this rising rage, and learn from thee
To dress my face in easy, dull, indiff'rence;

But 'two' not be; my wrongs will tear their way,
And rush at once upon thee.

Lord H. Are you wise?

House.

Enter ALICIA, speaking to JANE SHORE as entering.

Alic. No further, gentle friend; good angels guard you,

And spread their gracious wings about your slumbers.

The drowsy night grows on the world, and now
The busy craftsman, and the o'er-labour'd hind
Forget the travail of the day in sleep:
Care only wakes, and moping pensiveness;
With meagre discontented looks they sit,
And watch the wasting of the midnight taper.
Such vigils must I keep, so wakes my soul,
Restless and self-tormented! O, false Hastings!
Thou hast destroyed my peace.
What noise is that?

[Knocking without.

Thus rent with agonizing love and rage,
And ask me what it means? Art thou not false?
Am I not scorn'd, forsaken, and abandon'd;
Left, like a common wretch, to shame and infamy,
Given up to be the sport of villain's tongues,
Of laughing parasites, and lewd buffoons?
And all because my soul has doated on thee
With love, with truth, and tenderness unutterable!
Lord H. Are these the proofs of tenderness and

love?

These endless quarrels, discontents,and jealousies, These never-ceasing wailings and complainings, These furious starts, these whirlwinds of the soul, Which every other moment rise to madness?

Alic. What proof, alas! have I not given of love? What have I not abandon'd to thy arms? Have I not set at nought my noble birth, A spotless fame, and an unblemish'd race, The peace of innocence, and pride of virtue ?

My prodigality has given thee all;

And now, I've nothing left me to bestow,
You hate the wretched bankrupt you have made.
Lord H. Why am I thus pursued from place
to place,

Kept in the view, and cross'd at every turn?
In vain I fly, and, like a hunted deer,
Scud o'er the lawns, and hasten to the covert;
Ere I can reach my safety, you o'ertake me
With the swift malice of some keen reproach,
And drive the winged shaft deep in my heart.
Alic. Hither you fly, and here you seek repose;
Spite of the poor deceit, your arts are known,
Your pious, charitable, midnight visits.

Lord H. If you are wise, and prize your peace of mind,

Yet take the friendly counsel of my love;
Believe me true, nor listen to your jealousy.
Let not that devil, which undoes your sex,
That cursed curiosity, seduce you

To hunt for needless secrets, which, neglected,
Shall never hurt your quiet; but, once known,
Shall sit upon your heart, pinch it with pain,
And banish the sweet sleep for ever from you.
Go to-be yet advis'd.—

Alic. Dost thou in scorn

Preach patience to my rage, and bid me tamely
Sit, like a poor contented idiot, down,
Nor dare to think thou'st wrong'd me? Ruin seize
thee,

And swift perdition overtake thy treachery!
Have I the least remaining cause to doubt?
Hast thou endeavour'd once to hide thy falsehood?
To hide it might have spoke some little tenderness,
And shown thee half unwilling to undo me:
But thou, disdain'st the weakness of humanity;
Thy words, and all thy actions, have confessed it;
Even now thy eyes avow it, now they speak,
And insolently own the glorious villany.

Lord H. Well then, I own my heart has broke
your chains.

Patient, I bore the painful bondage long,

At length my gen'rous love disdains your tyranny;
The bitterness and stings of taunting jealousy,
Vexatious days, and jarring, joyless nights,
Have driven him forth to seek some safer shelter,
Where he may rest his weary wings in peace.
Alic. You triumph!-do! and with gigantic
pride

Defy impending vengeance. Heaven shall wink;
No more his arm shall roll the dreadful thunder,
Nor send his lightnings forth: no more his justice
Shall visit the presuming sons of men,
But perjury, like thine, shall dwell in safety.

Lord H. Whate'er my fate decrees for me here-
after,

Be present to me now, my better angel!
Preserve me from the storm that threatens now,
And, if I have beyond atonement sinn'd,
Let any other kind of plague o'ertake me,
So I escape the fury of that tongue.

Alic. Thy prayer is heard-1 go-but know,
proud lord,

Howe'er thou scorn'st the weakness of my sex, This feeble hand may find the means to reach thee,

Howe'er sublime in power and greatness plac'd,
With royal favour guarded round and grac'd;
On eagle's wings my rage shall urge her flight,
And hurl thee headlong from thy topmost height;
Then, like thy fate, superior will I sit,
And view thee fallen, and grov'ling at my feet;
VOL. !....L

Forgive me, fair one, if officious friendship
Intrudes on your repose, and comes thus late
To greet you with the tidings of success.
The princely Gloster has vouchsaf'd your hearing,
To-morrow he expects you at the court;
There plead your cause, with never-failing beauty,
Speak all your griefs, and find a full redress.

Jane S. Thus humbly let your lowly servant bend; [Kneeling. Thus let me bow my grateful knee to earth, And bless your noble nature for this goodness. Lord H. Rise, gentle dame, you wrong my meaning much,

Think me not guilty of a thought so vain,
To sell my courtesy for thanks like these."
Jane S. "Tis true, your bounty is beyond my
speaking:

But, though my mouth be dumb, my heart shall thank you;

And when it melts before the throne of mercy,
Mourning and bleeding for my past offences,
My fervent soul shall breathe one prayer for you,
That heaven will pay you back, when most you
need,

The grace and goodness you have shown to me.
Lord H. If there be aught of merit in my ser-

vice,

Impute it there, where most 'tis due, to love;
Be kind, my gentle mistress, to my wishes,
And satisfy my panting heart with beauty.

Jane S. Alas! my lord

Lord H. Why bend thy eyes to earth? Wherefore these looks of heaviness and sorrow? Why breathes that sigh, my love? And wherefore falls

This trickling shower of tears, to stain thy sweetness?

Jane S. If pity dwells within your noble breast, (As sure it does,, oh, speak not to me thus.

Lord H. Can I behold thee, and not speak of

love?

Even now, thus sadly as thou stand'st before me,
Thus desolate, dejected, and forlorn,

Thy softness steals upon my yielding senses,
Till my soul faints, and sickens with desire;
How canst thou give this motion to my heart,
And bid my tongue be still ?

Jane S. Cast round your eyes
Upon the high-born beauties of the court;
Behold, like opening roses, where they bloom,
Sweet to the sense, unsully'd ali; and spotless;
There choose some worthy partner of your heart,
To fill your arms and bless your virtuous bed;
Nor turn your eyes this way.

Lord H. What means this peevish, this fantastic change?

Where is thy wonted pleasantness of face,
Thy wonted graces and thy dimpled smiles?
Where hast thou lost thy wit and sportive mirth?
That cheerful heart, which us'd to dance for ever,
And cast a ray of gladness all around thee?

Jane S. Yes, I will own I merit the reproach;
And for those foolish days of wanton pride,
My soul is justly humbled to the dust:
All tongues, like yours, are licens'd to upbraid me,
Still to repeat my guilt, and urge my infamy,
And treat me like that abject thing I have been.
Lord H. No more of this dull stuff. 'Tis time

Than ever king did, when he made a lord. Lord H. Insolent villain! henceforth let this teach thee, [Draws and strikes him. The distance 'twixt a peasant and a prince. Dum. Nay then, my lord, [Drawing.] learn you by this, how well

An arm resolv'd can guard its master's life

[They fight; DUMONT disarms LORD HASTINGS.

Lord H. Confusion! baffled by a base-born hind! Dum. Now, haughty Sir, where is our difference now?

Your life is in my hand, and did not honour,
The gentleness of blood, and inborn virtue,
(Howe'er unworthy I may seem to you,)
Plead in my bosom, I should take the forfeit.
But wear your sword again; and know, a lord,
Oppos'd against a man, is but a man.

Lord H. Curse on my failing hand! your bet

ter fortune

Lord H. Thus to coy it!

With one who knows you too.

Jane S. For mercy's sake

My services ?

Pursue, the sacred counsels of your soul,
Which urge you on to virtue;

Assisting angels shall conduct your steps,
Bring you to bliss, and crown your days with peace.
Jane S. O that my head were laid, my sad

eyes clos'd,

Dum. My lord! for honour's sake-
Lord H. Hah! What art thou ?-Be gone!
Dum. My duty calls me

To my attendance on my mistress here.
Lord H. Avaunt! base groom-

At distance wait, and know thy office better.
Dum. No, my lord-

The common ties of manhood call me now,
And bid me thus stand up in the defence
Of an oppress'd, unhappy, helpless, woman.
Lord H. And dost thou know me, slave?
Dum. Yes, thou proud lord!

I know thee well; know thee with each advantage, Which wealth, or power, or noble birth, can give thee.

I know thee too for one who stains those honours,
And blots a long illustrious line of ancestry,
By poorly daring thus to wrong a woman.
Lord H. 'Tis wondrous well! I see, my saint-
like dame,

You stand provided of your braves and ruffians,
To man your cause, and bluster in your brothel.
Dum. Take back the foul reproach, unman-
ner'd railer!

Nor urge my rage too far, lest thou should'st find
I have as daring spirits in my blood
As thou or any of thy race e'er boasted;
And though no gaudy titles grac'd my birth,
Yet heaven, that made me honest, made me more

place;

Fly 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 masks of beauty,
And draw deluded fools with shows of pleasure.
Jane S. Where should I fly, thus helpless and
forlorn,

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 powers of wicked greatness.
Jane S. Can there be so much happiness in
store?

A cell like that is all my hopes aspire to.