| 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 |
| 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? |
| |
| Glos. That can I. |
| Those lords are each one my approv'd good friends, |
| Of special trust and nearness to my bosom; |
| And, howsoever busy they may seem, |
| And diligent to bustle in the state, |
| Their zeal goes on no further than we lead, |
| And at our bidding stays. |
| |
| Cates. Yet there is one, |
| And he amongst the foremost in his power, |
| Of whom I wish your highness were assur'd. |
| For me, perhaps it is my nature's fault, |
| I own I doubt of his inclining much. |
| |
| 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. Health, and the happiness of many 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 year pleasure freely. |
| |
| Lord H. I am to move your highness in behalf |
| Of Shore's unhappy wile. |
| |
| 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 distress'd.—On with your tale. |
| |
| 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 I 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 heav'n, who renders mercy back for mercy, |
| With open-handed bounty shall repay you: |
| This gentle deed shall fairly he 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. |
| Bel. How she has liv'd you have heard my tale already; |
| The rest your own attendance in her family, |
| Where I have found the means this day to place you, |
| And nearer observation, best will tell 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 gentleman, |
| Whose friendly service you commended to me? |
| |
| Bel. Madam, it is. |
| |
| Jane S. A venerable aspect![aside. |
| 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 tried, and wise experience; |
| A friend like this would suit my sorrows well. |
| Fortune, I fear me, sir, has meant you ill,[to Dumont. |
| 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. |
| |
| Dum. You over-rate me much; and all my answer |
| Must be my future truth; let that speak for me, |
| And make up my deserving. |
| |
| Jane S. Are you of England? |
| |
| Dum. No, gracious lady, Flanders claims my birth; |
| At Antwerp has my constant biding been, |
| Where sometimes I have known more plenteous days |
| Than these which now my failing-age affords. |
| |
| Jane S. Alas! at Antwerp! O, forgive my tears![weeping. |
| They fall for my offences——and must fall |
| Long, long, ere they shall wash my stains away. |
| You knew perhaps—O, grief! O, shame!—my husband. |
| |
| Dum. I knew him well; but stay this flood of anguish. |
| The senseless grave feels not your pious sorrows: |
| Three years and more are past, since I was bid, |
| With many of our common friends, to wait him |
| To his last peaceful mansion. I attended, |
| Sprinkled his clay-cold corse with holy drops, |
| According to our church's rev'rend rite, |
| And saw him laid, in hallow'd ground, to rest. |
| |
| Jane S. Oh,that my soul had known no joy but him! |
| That I had liv'd within his guiltless arms, |
| And dying slept in innocence beside him! |
| But now his honest dust abhors the fellowship, |
| Enter a Servant. |
| And scorns to mix with mine. |
| |
| Serv. The lady Alicia |
| Attends your leisure. |
| |
| Jane S. Say, I wish to see her.[exit Servant. |
| Please, gentle sir, one moment to retire, |
| I'll wait you on the instant, and inform you |
| Of each unhappy circumstance, in which |
| Your friendly aid and counsel much may stead me. |
| [exeunt Belmour and Dumont. |
| |
| Enter Alicia. |
| |
| Alic. Still, my fair friend, still shall I find you thus? |
| Still shall these sighs heave after one another, |
| These trickling drops chase one another still, |
| As if the posting messengers of grief |
| Could overtake the hours fled far away, |
| And make old time come back? |
| |
| Jane S. No, my Alicia, |
| Heaven and his saints be witness to my thoughts, |
| There is no hour of all my life o'er past, |
| That I could wish should take its turn again. |
| |
| Alic. And yet some of those days my friend has known, |
| Some of those years, might pass for golden ones, |
| At least if womankind can judge of happiness. |
| What could we wish, we who delight in empire, |
| Whose beauty is our sov'reign good, and gives us |
| Our reasons to rebel, and pow'r to reign; |
| What could we more than to behold a monarch, |
| Lovely, renown'd, a conqueror, and young, |
| Bound in our chains, and sighing at our feet? |
| |
| Jane S. 'Tis true, the royal Edward was a wonder, |
| The goodly pride of all our English youth; |
| He was the very joy of all that saw him. |
| Form'd to delight, to love, and to persuade. |
| But what had I to do with kings and courts? |
| My humble lot had cast me far beneath him; |
| And that he was the first of all mankind, |
| The bravest, and most lovely, was my curse. |
| |
| Alic. Sure something more than fortune join'd your loves: |
| Nor could his greatness, and his gracious form, |
| Be elsewhere match'd so well, as to the sweetness |
| And beauty of my friend. |
| |
| Jane S. Name him no more: |
| He was the bane and ruin of my peace. |
| This anguish, and these tears, these are the legacies |
| His fatal love has left me. Thou wilt see me, |
| Believe me, my Alicia, thou wilt see me, |
| Ere yet a few short days pass o'er my head, |
| Abandon'd to the very utmost wretchedness. |
| The hand of pow'r has seiz'd almost the whole |
| Of what was left for needy life's support; |
| Shortly thou will behold me poor, and kneeling |
| Before thy charitable door for bread. |
| |
| Alic. Joy of my life, my dearest Shore, forbear |
| To wound my heart with thy foreboding sorrows; |
| Raise thy sad soul to better hopes than these, |
| Lift up thy eyes, and let them shine once more, |
| Bright as the morning sun above the mist. |
| Exert thy charms, seek out the stern protector, |
| And sooth his savage temper with thy beauty; |
| Spite of his deadly, unrelenting, nature, |
| He shall be mov'd to pity, and redress thee. |
| |
| Jane S. My form, alas! has long forgot to please; |
| The scene of beauty and delight is chang'd; |
| No roses bloom upon my fading cheek, |
| Nor laughing graces wanton in my eyes; |
| But haggard grief, lean-looking, sallow, care, |
| And pining discontent, a rueful train, |
| Dwell on my brow, all hideous and forlorn. |
| One only shadow of a hope is left me; |
| The noble-minded Hastings, of his goodness, |
| Has kindly underta'en to be my advocate, |
| And move my humble suit to angry Gloster. |
| |
| Alic. Does Hastings undertake to plead your cause? |
| But wherefore should he not? Hastings has eyes: |
| The gentle lord has a right tender heart, |
| Melting and easy, yielding to impression, |
| And catching the soft flame from each new beauty; |
| But yours shall charm him long. |
| |
| Jane S. Away, you flatterer! |
| Nor charge his gen'rous meaning with a weakness, |
| Which his great soul and virtue must disdain. |
| Too much of love thy hapless friend has prov'd, |
| Too many giddy, foolish, hours are gone, |
| And in fantastic measures danc'd away: |
| May the remaining few know only friendship. |
| So thou, my dearest, truest, best, Alicia, |
| Vouchsafe to lodge me in thy gentle heart, |
| A partner there, I will give up mankind, |
| Forget the transports of increasing passion, |
| And all the pangs we feel for its decay. |
| |
| Alic. Live! live and reign for ever in my bosom;[embracing. |
| Safe and unrivall'd there, possess thy own; |
| And you, the brightest of the stars above, |
| Ye saints that once were women here below, |
| Be witness of the truth, the holy friendship, |
| Which here to this my other self I vow. |
| If I not hold her nearer to my soul, |
| 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 heav'n, and pull a blessing on thee. |
| Ev'n man, the merciless insulter, man, |
| Man, who rejoices in our sex's weakness, |
| Shall pity thee, and with unwonted goodness |
| Forget thy tailings, and record thy praise. |
| |