Jane Shore

by Nicholas Rowe

SCENE I. A STREET.

Enter Belmour and Dumont.

Dum. You saw her, then?

Bel. I met her, as returning

In solemn penance from the public cross.

Before her, certain rascal officers,

Slaves in authority, the knaves of justice,

Proclaim'd the tyrant Gloster's cruel orders.

Around her, numberless, the rabble flow'd,

Should'ring each other, crowding for a view,

Gaping and gazing, taunting and reviling;

Some pitying—but those, alas! how few!

The most, such iron hearts we are, and such

The base barbarity of human-kind,

With insolence and lewd reproach pursu'd her,

Hooting and railing, and with villanous hands

Gath'ring the filth from out the common ways,

To hurl upon her head.

Dum. Inhuman dogs!

How did she bear it?

Bel. With the gentlest patience;

Submissive, sad, and lowly, was her look;

A burning taper in her hand she bore,

And on her shoulders carelessly confus'd,

With loose neglect, her lovely tresses hung;

Upon her cheek a faintish blush was spread;

Feeble she seem'd, and sorely smit with pain.

While, barefoot as she trod the flinty pavement,

Her footsteps all along were mark'd with blood;

Yet, silent still she pass'd, and unrepining:

Her streaming eyes bent ever on the earth,

Except when, in some bitter pang of sorrow,

To heav'n she seem'd in fervent zeal to raise,

And beg that mercy man deny'd her here.

Dum. When was this piteous sight?

Bel. These last two days.

You know my care was wholly bent on you,

To find the happy means of your deliverance,

Which but for Hastings' death I had not gain'd.

During that time, although I have not seen her,

Yet divers trusty messengers I've sent,

To wait about, and watch a fit convenience

To give her some relief, but all in vain;

A churlish guard attends upon her steps,

Who menace those with death, that bring her comfort,

And drive all succour from her.

Dum. Let 'em threaten;

Let proud oppression prove its fiercest malice;

So heav'n befriend my soul, as here I vow

To give her help, and share one fortune with her.

Bel. Mean you to see her thus in your own form?

Dum. I do.

Bel. And have you thought upon the consequence?

Dum. What is there I should fear?

Bel. Have you examin'd

Into your inmost heart, and try'd at leisure

The sev'ral secret springs that move the passions?

Has mercy fix'd her empire there so sure,

That wrath and vengeance never may return?

Can you resume a husband's name, and bid

That wakeful dragon, fierce resentment, sleep?

Dum. O thou hast set my busy brain at work,

And now she musters up a train of images,

Which, to preserve my peace, I had cast aside,

And sunk in deep oblivion—Oh, that form!

That angel face on which my dotage hung!

How I have gaz'd upon her, till my soul

With very eagerness went forth towards her,

And issu'd at my eyes.—Was there a gem

Which the sun ripens in the Indian mine,

Or the rich bosom of the ocean yields?

What was there art could make, or wealth could buy,

Which I have left unsought to deck her beauty?

What could her king do more?—And yet she fled.

Bel. Away with that sad fancy——

Dum. Oh, that day!

The thought of it must live for ever with me.

I met her, Belmour, when the royal spoiler

Bore her in triumph from my widow'd home!

Within his chariot, by his side, she sat,

And listen'd to his talk with downward looks,

'Till, sudden as she chanc'd aside to glance,

Her eyes encounter'd mine—Oh! then, my friend!

Oh! who can paint my grief and her amazement!

As at the stroke of death, twice turn'd she pale;

And twice a burning crimson blush'd all o'er her;

Then, with a shriek heart-wounding, loud she cry'd,

While down her cheeks two gushing torrents ran

Fast falling on her hands, which thus she wrung——

Mov'd at her grief, the tyrant ravisher,

With courteous action, woo'd her oft to turn;

Earnest he seem'd to plead, but all in vain;

Ev'n to the last she bent her sight towards me,

And follow'd me——till I had lost myself.

Bel. Alas, for pity! Oh! those speaking tears!

Could they be false? did she not suffer with you.

For, though the king by force possess'd her person,

Her unconsenting heart dwelt still with you?

If all her former woes were not enough,

Look on her now; behold her where she wanders,

Hunted to death, distress'd on every side,

With no one hand to help; and tell me then,

If ever misery were known like hers?

Dum. And can she bear it? Can that delicate frame

Endure the beating of a storm so rude?

Can she, for whom the various seasons chang'd

To court her appetite and crown her board,

For whom the foreign vintages were press'd,

For whom the merchant spread his silken stores,

Can she——

Entreat for bread, and want the needful raiment

To wrap her shiv'ring bosom from the weather?

When she was mine, no care came ever nigh her;

I thought the gentlest breeze that wakes the spring

Too rough to breathe upon her; cheerfulness

Danc'd all the day before her, and at night

Soft slumbers waited on her downy pillow—

Now, sad and shelterless, perhaps she lies,

Where piercing winds blow sharp, and the chill rain

Drops from some pent-house on her wretched head,

Drenches her locks, and kills her with the cold.

It is too much.——Hence with her past offences,

They are aton'd at full.——Why stay we then?

Oh! let us haste, my friend, and find her out.

Bel. Somewhere about this quarter of the town,

I hear the poor abandon'd creature lingers:

Her guard, though set with strictest watch to keep

All food and friendship from her, yet permit her

To wander in the streets, there choose her bed,

And rest her head on what cold stone she pleases.

Dum. Here then let us divide; each in his round

To search her sorrows out; whose hap it is

First to behold her, this way let him lead

Her fainting steps, and meet we here together.[exeunt.