| 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 craftsmen 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 destroy'd my peace.[knocking without. |
| What noise is that? |
| 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 Servant 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 sun, |
| 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; |
| The lord protector has receiv'd her suit, |
| And means to show her grace. |
| |
| Alic. My friend! my lord. |
| |
| Lord H. Yes, lady, yours; none has a right more ample |
| To task my pow'r than you. |
| |
| Alic. I want the words, |
| To pay you back a compliment so courtly; |
| But my heart guesses at the friendly meaning, |
| And wo' not die your debtor. |
| |
| Lord H. 'Tis well, madam. |
| But I would see your friend. |
| |
| Alic. O, 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? |
| Have you the use of reason? Do you wake? |
| What means this raving, this transporting passion? |
| |
| Alic. O, thou cool traitor! thou insulting tyrant! |
| Dost thou behold my poor, distracted, heart, |
| 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; |
| Giv'n up to be the sport of villains' 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 waitings and complainings, |
| These furious starts, these whirlwinds of the soul, |
| Which every other moment rise to madness? |
| |
| Alic. What proof, alas! have I not giv'n 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 giv'n 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 pursu'd from place to place, |
| Kept in the view, and cross'd at ev'ry turn? |
| In vain I fly, and, like a hunted deer, |
| Scud o'er the lawns, and hasten to the covert; |
| E'er 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 confess'd it; |
| Ev'n 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, |
| Vexations days, and jarring, joyless, nights, |
| Have driv'n 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. Heav'n 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 hereafter, |
| 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—I 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 pow'r and greatness plac'd, |
| With royal favour guarded round and graced; |
| On eagle's wings my rage shall urge her flight, |
| And hurl thee headlong from thy topmast height; |
| Then, like thy fate, superior will I sit, |
| And view thee fall'n, and grov'ling at my feet; |
| See thy last breath with indignation go, |
| And tread thee sinking to the shades below.[exit. |
| |
| Lord H. How fierce a fiend is passion! With what wildness, |
| What tyranny, untam'd it reigns in woman! |
| Unhappy sex! whose easy, yielding, temper |
| Gives way to ev'ry appetite alike: |
| And love in their weak bosoms is a rage |
| As terrible as hate, and as destructive. |
| But soft ye now—for here comes one, disclaims |
| Strife and her wrangling train; of equal elements, |
| Without one jarring atom, was she form'd, |
| And gentleness and joy make up her being. |
| |
| Enter Jane Shore. |
| |
| 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 pray'r for you, |
| That heav'n 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 service, |
| 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 show'r 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? |
| Ev'n 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 all, 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 enough |
| To whine and mortify thyself with penance, |
| The present moment claims more gen'rous use; |
| Thy beauty, night, and solitude, reproach me, |
| For having talk'd thus long—come, let me press thee, |
| [laying hold of her. |
| Pant on thy bosom, sink into thy arms, |
| And lose myself in the luxurious flood. |
| |
| Jane S. Forbear, my lord!—here let me rather die,[kneeling. |
| And end my sorrows and my shame for ever. |
| |
| Lord H. Away with this perverseness——'tis too much. |
| Nay, if you strive—'tis monstrous affectation![striving. |
| |
| Jane S. Retire! I beg you, leave me—— |
| |
| Lord H. Thus to coy it!—— |
| With one who knows you too.—— |
| |
| Jane S. For mercy's sake—— |
| |
| Lord H. Ungrateful woman! Is it thus you pay |
| My services?—— |
| |
| Jane S. Abandon me to ruin—— |
| Rather than urge me—— |
| |
| Lord H. This way to your chamber;[pulling her. |
| There if you struggle—— |
| |
| Jane S. Help, O gracious heaven! |
| Help! Save me! Help![exit. |
| |
| Enter Dumont; he interposes. |
| |
| 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 pow'r, 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, unmanner'd railer! |
| Nor urge my rage too far, lest thou shouldst 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 heav'n that made me honest, made me more |
| 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 better fortune |
| Has giv'n you 'vantage o'er me; but perhaps |
| Your triumph may be bought with dear repentance.[exit. |
| |
| Re-enter Jane Shore. |
| |
| Jane S. Alas! what have you done? Know ye the pow'r, |
| The mightiness, that waits upon this lord? |
| |
| Dum. Fear not, my worthiest mistress; 'tis a cause |
| In which heaven's guards shall wait you. O pursue, |
| 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, |
| And my cold corse wound in my shroud to rest! |
| My painful heart will never cease to beat, |
| Will never know a moment's peace, till then. |
| |
| Dum. Would you he happy, leave this fatal 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 pow'rs of wicked greatness. |
| |
| Jane S. 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 wintry sky |
| Descends in storms to intercept our passage. |
| |
| Dum. Will you then go? You glad my very soul. |
| Banish your fears, cast all your cares on me; |
| Plenty and ease, and peace of mind, shall wait you, |
| And make your latter days of life most happy. |
| O lady! but I must not, cannot, tell you, |
| How anxious I have been for all your dangers, |
| And how my heart rejoices at your safety. |
| So when the spring renews the flow'ry field, |
| And warns the pregnant nightingale to build, |
| She seeks the safest shelter of the wood, |
| Where she may trust her little tuneful brood; |
| Where no rude swains her shady cell may know, |
| No serpents climb, nor blasting winds may blow; |
| Fond of the chosen place, she views it o'er, |
| Sits there, and wanders through the grove no more; |
| Warbling, she charms it each returning night, |
| And loves it with a mother's dear delight.[exeunt. |
| Jane S. [kneeling] O noble Gloster, turn thy gracious eye, |
| Incline thy pitying ear to my complaint; |
| A poor, undone, forsaken, helpless, woman, |
| Entreats a little bread for charity, |
| To feed her wants, and save her life from perishing. |
| |
| Glos. Arise, fair dame, and dry your wat'ry eyes. |
| [receiving the paper, and raising her. |
| Beshrew me, but 'twere pity of his heart |
| That could refuse a boon to such a suitress. |
| You've got a noble friend to be your advocate; |
| A worthy and right gentle lord he is, |
| And to his trust most true. This present now |
| Some matters of the state detain our leisure; |
| Those once dispatch'd, we'll call for you anon, |
| And give your griefs redress. Go to! be comforted. |
| |
| Jane S. Good heav'ns repay your highness for this pity, |
| And show'r down blessings on your princely head. |
| Come, my Alicia, reach thy friendly arm, |
| And help me to support this feeble frame, |
| That, nodding, totters with oppressive woe, |
| And sinks beneath its load. |
| [exeunt Jane S. and Alic. |
| |
| Glos. Now by my holidame! |
| Heavy of heart she seems, and sore afflicted. |
| But thus it is when rude calamity |
| Lays its strong gripe upon these mincing minions; |
| The dainty gew-gaw forms dissolve at once, |
| And shiver at the shock. What says her paper?[seeming to read. |
| Ha! What is this? Come nearer, Ratcliffe! Catesby! |
| Mark the contents, and then divine the meaning.[he reads. |
| 'Wonder not, princely Gloster, at the notice |
| This paper brings you from a friend unknown; |
| Lord Hastings is inclin'd to call you master, |
| And kneel to Richard as to England's king; |
| But Shore's bewitching wife misleads his heart, |
| And draws his service to king Edward's sons: |
| Drive her away, you break the charm that holds him, |
| And he, and all his powers, attend on you.' |
| |
| Sir R. 'Tis wonderful! |
| |
| Cates. The means by which it came |
| Yet stranger too! |
| |
| Glos. You saw it giv'n, but now. |
| |
| Sir R. She could not know the purport. |
| |
| Glos. No, 'tis plain—— |
| She knows it not, it levels at her life; |
| Should she presume to prate of such high matters, |
| The meddling harlot, dear she should abide it. |
| |
| Cates. What hand soe'er it comes from, be assur'd, |
| It means your highness well—— |
| |
| Glos. Upon the instant, |
| Lord Hastings will be here; this morn I mean |
| To prove him to the quick; then if he flinch, |
| No more but this—away with him at once, |
| He must be mine or nothing——But he comes! |
| Draw nearer this way, and observe me well.[they whisper. |
| |
| Enter Lord Hastings. |
| |
| Lord H. This foolish woman hangs about my heart, |
| Lingers and wanders in my fancy still; |
| This coyness is put on, 'tis art and cunning, |
| And worn to urge desire——I must possess her. |
| The groom, who lift his saucy hand against me, |
| E'er this, is humbled, and repents his daring. |
| Perhaps, ev'n she may profit by th' example, |
| And teach her beauty not to scorn my pow'r. |
| |
| Glos. This do, and wait me e'er the council sits. |
| [exeunt Ratcliffe and Catesby. |
| My lord, you're well encounter'd; here has been |
| A fair petitioner this morning with us; |
| Believe me, she has won me much to pity her: |
| Alas! her gentle nature was not made |
| To buffet with adversity. I told her |
| How worthily her cause you had befriended; |
| How much for your good sake we meant to do, |
| That you had spoke, and all things should be well. |
| |
| Lord H. Your highness binds me ever to your service. |
| |
| Glos. You know your friendship is most potent with us, |
| And shares our power. But of this enough, |
| For we have other matters for your ear. |
| The state is out of tune: distracting fears, |
| And jealous doubts, jar in our public councils; |
| Amidst the wealthy city, murmurs rise, |
| Lewd railings, and reproach on those that rule, |
| With open scorn of government; hence credit, |
| And public trust 'twixt man and man, are broke. |
| The golden streams of commerce are withheld, |
| Which fed the wants of needy hinds and artizans, |
| Who therefore curse the great, and threat rebellion. |
| |
| Lord H. The resty knaves are over-run with ease, |
| As plenty ever is the nurse of faction; |
| If in good days, like these, the headstrong herd |
| Grow madly wanton and repine, it is |
| Because the reins of power are held too slack, |
| And reverend authority of late |
| Has worn a face of mercy more than justice. |
| |
| Glos. Beshrew my heart! but you have well divin'd |
| The source of these disorders. Who can wonder |
| If riot and misrule o'erturn the realm, |
| When the crown sits upon a baby brow? |
| Plainly to speak, hence comes the gen'ral cry, |
| And sum of all complaint: 'twill ne'er be well |
| With England (thus they talk) while children govern. |
| |
| Lord H. 'Tis true, the king is young: but what of that? |
| We feel no want of Edward's riper years, |
| While Gloster's valour and most princely wisdom |
| So well support our infant sov'reign's place, |
| His youth's support, and guardian to his throne. |
| |
| Glos. The council (much I'm bound to thank 'em for't) |
| Have plac'd a pageant sceptre in my hand, |
| Barren of pow'r, and subject to controul; |
| Scorn'd by my foes, and useless to my friends. |
| Oh, worthy lord! were mine the rule indeed, |
| I think I should not suffer rank offence |
| At large to lord it in the commonweal; |
| Nor would the realm be rent by discord thus, |
| Thus fear and doubt, betwixt disputed titles. |
| |
| Lord H. Of this I am to learn; as not supposing |
| A doubt like this—— |
| |
| Glos. Ay, marry, but there is—— |
| And that of much concern. Have you not heard |
| How, on a late occasion, doctor Shaw |
| Has mov'd the people much about the lawfulness |
| Of Edward's issue? By right grave authority |
| Of learning and religion, plainly proving, |
| A bastard scion never should be grafted |
| Upon a royal stock; from thence at full |
| Discoursing on my brother's former contract |
| To lady Elizabeth Lucy, long before |
| His jolly match with that same buxom widow, |
| The queen he left behind him—— |
| |
| Lord H. Ill befall |
| Such meddling priests, who kindle up confusion, |
| And vex the quiet world with their vain scruples! |
| By heav'n, 'tis done in perfect spite to peace. |
| Did not the king |
| Our royal master, Edward, in concurrence |
| With his estates assembled, well determine |
| What course the sov'reign rule should take henceforward? |
| When shall the deadly hate of faction cease, |
| When shall our long-divided land have rest, |
| If every peevish, moody, malecontent, |
| Shall set the senseless rabble in an uproar, |
| Fright them with dangers, and perplex their brains |
| Each day with some fantastic giddy change? |
| |
| Glos. What if some patriot, for the public good, |
| Should vary from your scheme, new-mould the state? |
| |
| Lord H. Curse on the innovating hand attempts it! |
| Remember him, the villain, righteous heaven, |
| In thy great day of vengeance! Blast the traitor |
| And his pernicious counsels; who, for wealth, |
| For pow'r, the pride of greatness, or revenge, |
| Would plunge his native land in civil wars! |
| |
| Glos. You go too far, my lord. |
| |
| Lord H. Your highness' pardon—— |
| Have we so soon forgot those days of ruin, |
| When York and Lancaster drew forth their battles; |
| When, like a matron butcher'd by her sons, |
| Our groaning country bled at every vein; |
| When murders, rapes, and massacres, prevail'd; |
| When churches, palaces, and cities, blaz'd; |
| When insolence and barbarism triumph'd, |
| And swept away distinction: peasants trod |
| Upon the necks of nobles: low were laid |
| The reverend crosier and the holy mitre, |
| And desolation cover'd all the land? |
| Who can remember this, and not, like me, |
| Here vow to sheath a dagger in his heart, |
| Whose damn'd ambition would renew those horrors, |
| And set once more that scene of blood before us? |
| |
| Glos. How now! so hot! |
| |
| Lord H. So brave, and so resolv'd. |
| |
| Glos. Is then our friendship of so little moment, |
| That you could arm your hand against my life? |
| |
| Lord H. I hope your highness does not think I mean it; |
| No, heav'n forfend that e'er your princely person |
| Should come within the scope of my resentment. |
| |
| Glos. O noble Hastings! nay, I must embrace you; |
| By holy Paul, you're a right honest man![embraces him. |
| The time is full of danger and distrust, |
| And warns us to be wary. Hold me not |
| Too apt for jealousy and light surmise, |
| If, when I meant to lodge you next my heart, |
| I put your truth to trial. Keep your loyalty, |
| And live your king and country's best support: |
| For me, I ask no more than honour gives, |
| To think me yours, and rank me with your friends.[exit. |
| |
| Lord H. I am not read, |
| Nor skill'd and practis'd, in the arts of greatness, |
| To kindle thus, and give a scope to passion. |
| The duke is surely noble; but he touch'd me |
| Ev'n on the tend'rest point; the master-string |
| That makes most harmony or discord to me. |
| I own the glorious subject fires my breast, |
| And my soul's darling passion stands confess'd; |
| Beyond or love's or friendship's sacred band, |
| Beyond myself, I prize my native land: |
| On this foundation would I build my fame, |
| And emulate the Greek and Roman name; |
| Think England's peace bought cheaply with my blood, |
| And die with pleasure for my country's good.[exit. |