I will forego a bridegroom's sacred right, And sleep far from thee, on the unwholesome earth,

Where damps arise, and whistling winds blow loud;

Then, when the day returns, come drooping to thee,

My locks still drizzling with the dews of night, And cheer my heart with thee, as with the morning.

L.J. Gray. Say, wilt thou consecrate this night

to sorrow,

And give up every sense to solemn sadness?
Wilt thou, in watching, waste the tedious hours,
Sit silently, and careful, by my side,
List to the tolling clocks, the cricket's cry,
And every melancholy midnight noise?
Say, wilt thou banish pleasure and delight?
Wilt thou forget that ever we had loved,
And only now and then let fall a tear,
To mourn for Edward's loss, and England's fate?
Guil. Unwearied still, I will attend thy woes,
And be a very faithful partner to thee.
Near thee I will complain in sighs, as number-
less

As murmurs breathing in the leafy grove:
My eyes shall mix their falling drops with thine,
Constant, as never-ceasing waters roll,
That purl and gurgle o'er their sands for ever.
The sun shall see my grief through all his course;
And, when night comes, sad Philomel, who'plains,
From starry vesper to the rosy dawn,
Shall cease to tune her lamentable song,
Ere I give o'er to weep and mourn with thee.
L. J. Gray. Here, then, I take thee to my
heart for ever, [Giving her hand.
The dear companion of my future days:
Whatever Providence allots for each,
Be that the common portion of us both:
Share all the griefs of thy unhappy Jane;
But if good Heaven has any joys in store,
Let them be all thy own.

Guil. Thou wondrous goodness!
Heaven gives too much at once in giving thee;
And, by the common course of things below,
Where each delight is tempered with affliction,
Some evil, terrible and unforeseen,

Must sure ensue, and poise the scale against
This vast profusion of exceeding pleasure.
But be it so! let it be death and ruin!
On any terms I take thee.

L. J. Gray. Trust our fate

To him, whose gracious wisdom guides our ways,
And makes what we think evil turn to good.
Permit me now to leave thee and retire;
I'll summon all my reason and my duty,
To soothe this storm within, and frame my heart
To yield obedience to my noble parents.

Guil. Good angels minister their comforts to
thee!

And, oh! if, as my fond belief would hope,
If any word of mine be gracious to thee,
I beg thee, I conjure thee, drive away
Those murderous thoughts of grief, that kill thy
quiet!

VOL. I.

Restore thy gentle bosom's native peace
Lift up the light of gladness in thy eyes
And cheer thy heaviness with one dear smile!
L. J. Gray. Yes, Guilford, I will study to forget
All that the royal Edward has been to me;
How we have loved, even from our very cradles.
My private loss no longer will I mourn,
But every tender thought to thee shall turn:
With patience I'll submit to Heaven's decree,
And what I lost in Edward find in thee.
But, oh! when I revolve what ruins wait
Our sinking altars and the falling state;
When I consider what my native land
Expected from her pious sovereign's hand;
How formed he was to save her from distress,
A king to govern, and a saint to bless :
New sorrow to my labouring breast succeeds,
And my whole heart for wretched England
bleeds. [Exit Lady JANE GRAY.
Guil. My heart sinks in me, at her soft com-

plaining;

And every moving accent, that she breathes,
Resolves my courage, slackens my tough nerves,
And melts me down to infancy and tears.
My fancy palls, and takes distaste at pleasure:
My soul grows out of tune, it loathes the world,
Sickens at all the noise and folly of it;
And I could sit me down in some dull shade,
Where lonely Contemplation keeps her cave,
And dwells with hoary hermits; there forget my-
self,

There fix my stupid eyes upon the earth,
And muse away an age in deepest melancholy.

The paleness of surprise and ghastly fear?
Since I have known thee first, and called thee
friend,

I never saw thee so unlike thyself,
So changed upon a sudden.

Guil. How! so changed!
Pem. So to my eye thou seem'st.
Guil. The king is dead.

Pem. I learned it from thy father,
Just as I entered here. But say, could that,
A fate which every moment we expected,
Distract thy thought, or shock thy temper, thus?
Guil. Oh, Pembroke! 'tis in vain to hide from
thee!

2Q

For thou hast looked into my artless bosom,
And seen at once the hurry of my soul.
'Tis true, thy coming struck me with surprise.
I have a thought—but wherefore said I one?
I have a thousand thoughts all up in arms,
Like populous towns disturbed at dead of night,
That, mixed in darkness, bustle to and fro,
As if their business were to make confusion.
Pem. Then sure our better angels called me
hither;

For this is friendship's hour, and friendship's office,

To come, when counsel and when help is wanting,

To share the pain of every gnawing care,
To speak of comfort in the time of trouble,
To reach a hand, and save thee from adversity.
Guii. And wilt thou be a friend to me indeed?
And, while I lay my bosom bare before thee,
Wilt thou deal tenderly, and let thy hand
Pass gently over every painful part?

Wilt thou with patience hear, and judge with

And reason with the rude tempestuous surge, Sooner than hold discourse with rage like thine. Pem. Tell it, or, by my injured love, I sweat. [Laying his hand upon his swert I'll stab the lurking treason in thy heart. Guil. Ha! stay thee there; nor let thy from tic hand [Stopping Unsheath thy weapon. If the sword be draws, If once we meet on terms like those, farewell To every thought of friendship; one must fa Pem. Curse on thy friendship! I would break the band.

Guil. That as you please-Beside, this place is sacred,

And will not be profaned with brawls and out

rage.

You know I dare be found on any summons. Pem 'Tis well. My vengeance shall not wit

long.

Henceforward let the thoughts of our past lives
Be turned to deadly and remorseless hate!
Here I give up the empty name of friend,
Renounce all gentleness, all commerce with thee;
To death defy thee as my mortal foe;
And, when we meet again, may swift destruction
Rid me of thee, or rid me of myself!

[Erit PEMBROKE. Guil. The fate, I ever feared, is fallen upon me; And long ago my boding heart divined A breach like this from his ungoverned rage. Oh, Pembroke! thou hast done me much injustice,

For I have borne thee true unfeigned affection;

'Tis past, and thou art lost to me for ever.
Love is, or ought to be, our greatest bliss;
Since every other joy, how dear soever,
Gives way to that, and we leave all for love.
At the imperious tyrant's lordly call,
In spite of reason or restraint we come,
Leave kindred, parents, and our native home.
The trembling maid, with all her fears, he charms,
And pulls her from her weeping mother's arms:
He laughs at all her leagues, and, in proud scorn,
Commands the bands of friendship to be torn ;
Disdains a partner should partake his throne,
But reigns unbounded, lawless, and alone.

Exit.

SCENE I.-The Tower.

Enter PEMBROKE and GARDINER.

Gar. Nay, by the rood, my lord, you were to
blame,

To let a hare-brained passion be your guide,
And hurry you into such mad extremes.
Marry, you might have made much worthy pro-
fit,

By patient hearing; the unthinking lord
Had brought forth every secret of his soul;
Then when you were the master of his bosom,
That was the time to use him with contempt,
And turn his friendship back upon his hands.

Pem. Thou talk'st as if a madman could be
wise.

Oh, Winchester! thy hoary frozen age
Can never guess my pain; can never know
The burning transports of untamed desire.
I tell thee, reverend lord, to that one bliss,
To the enjoyment of that lovely maid,
As to their centre, I had drawn each hope,
And every wish my furious soul could form;
Still with regard to that my brain forethought,
And fashioned every action of my life.
Then, to be robbed at once, and, unsuspecting,
Be dashed in all the height of expectation!
It was not to be borne.

Gar. Have you not heard of what has happen-
ed since?

Pem. I have not had a minute's peace of mind,
A moment's pause, to rest from rage, or think.
Gar. Learn it from me then: But, ere I speak,
I warn you to be master of yourself.
Though, as you know, they have confined me
long,

Gra'mercy to their goodness, prisoner here;
Yet as I am allowed to walk at large
Within the Tower, and hold free speech with any,
I have not dreamt away my thoughtless hours,
Without good heed to these our righteous rulers.
To prove this true, this morn a trusty spy
Has brought me word, that yester evening late,
In spite of all the grief for Edward's death,
Your friends were married.

Pem. Married! who?-Damnation !

Gar. Lord Guilford Dudley, and the lady Jane. Pem. Curse on my stars!

Gar. Nay, in the name of grace, Restrain this sinful passion! all's not lost In this one single woman.

Pem. I have lost

More than the female world can give me back.
I had beheld even her whole sex, unmoved,
Look'd o'er them like a bed of gaudy flowers,
That lift their painted heads, and live a day,
Then shed their trifling glories unregarded:
My heart disdained their beauties, till she came,
With every grace that Nature's hand could give,
And with a mind so great, it spoke its essence
Immortal and divine.

Gar. She was a wonder;
Detraction must allow that.

Pem. The virtues came,

Sorted in gentle fellowship, to crown her,
As if they meant to mend each other's work.
Candour with goodness, fortitude with sweetness,
Strict piety, and love of truth, with learning,
More than the schools of Athens ever knew,
Or her own Plato taught. A wonder, Winches-
ter!

Thou know'st not what she was, nor can I speak her,

More than to say, she was that only blessing
My soul was set upon-and I have lost her.
Gar. Your state is not so bad as you would

make it ;

Nor need you thus abandon every hope. Pem. Ha! wilt thou save me, snatch me from despair,

And bid me live again?

Gar. She may be yours. Suppose her husband die?

Pem. O vain, vain hope!

Gar. Marry, I do not hold that hope so vain. These gospellers have had their golden days, And lorded it at will; with proud despite Have trodden down our holy Roman faith, Ransacked our shrines, and driven her saints to exile;

But if my divination fail me not,

Their haughty hearts shall be abased ere long,
And feel the vengeance of our Mary's reign.
Pem. And wouldst thou have my fierce impa-
tience stay?

Bid me lie bound upon a rock, and wait
For distant joys, whole ages yet behind?
Can love attend on politicians' schemes,
Expect the slow events of cautious counsels,
Cold unresolving heads, and creeping time?
Gar. To-day, or I am ill informed, Northum-
berland,

With easy Suffolk, Guilford, and the rest,
Meet here in council, on some deep design,
Some traitorous contrivance, to protect
Their upstart faith from near approaching ruin.
But there are punishments-halters and axes
For traitors, and consuming flames for heretics:
The happy bridegroom may be yet cut short,
Even in his highest hope-But go not you,
Howe'er the fawning sire, old Dudley, court you;
No, by the holy rood, I charge you, mix not
With their pernicious counsels.-Mischief waits
them,

Sure, certain, unavoidable destruction.

Pem. Ha! join with them! the cursed Dudley's race!

Who, while they held me in their arms, betrayed me;

Scorned me for not suspecting they were villains,
And made a mockery of my easy friendship!
No, when I do, dishonour be my portion,
And swift perdition catch me.-Join with them!
Gar. I would not have you-Hie you to the
city,

And join with those that love our ancient faith.
Gather your friends about you, and be ready
To assert our zealous Mary's royal title,
And doubt not but her grateful hand shall give

Ha! by the mass, the bride and bridegroom too! Retire with me, my lord; we must not meet them.

Pem. 'Tis they themselves, the cursed happy pair!

Haste, Winchester, haste! let us fly for ever,
And drive her from my very thoughts, if possible.
Oh! love, what have I lost? Oh! reverend lord!
Pity this fond, this foolish weakness in me!
Methinks, I go like our first wretched father,
When from his blissful garden he was driven :
Like me he went despairing, and like me,
Thus at the gate stopt short for one last view!
Then with the cheerless partner of his woe,

He turned him to the world that lay below:
There, for his Eden's happy plains, beheld
A barren, wild, uncomfortable field;
He saw 'twas vain his ruin to deplore,
He tried to give the sad remembrance o'er;
The sad remembrance still returned again,
And his lost paradise renewed his pain.
[Exeunt PEM. and GAR.

SCENE II.

Enter Lord GUILFORD and Lady JANE Guil. What shall I say to thee! What power divine

Will teach my tongue to tell thee what I feel?
To pour the transports of my bosom forth,
And make thee partner of the joy dwells there!
For thou art comfortless, full of affliction,
Heavy of heart as the forsaken widow,
And desolate as orphans. Oh, my fair one!
Thy Edward shines amongst the brightest stars,
And yet thy sorrows scek him in the grave.

L. J. Gray. Alas, my dearest lord! a thousand

griefs

Beset my anxious heart: and yet, as if
The burthen were too little, I have added
The weight of all thy cares; and, like the miser,
Increase of wealth has made me but more
wretched.

The morning light seems not to rise as usual,
It dawns not to me like my virgin days,
But brings new thoughts and other fears upon

me;

I tremble, and my anxious heart is pained, Lest aught but good should happen to my Gu

ford.

Guil. Nothing but good can happen to thy
Guilford,

While thou art by his side, his better angel,
His blessing, and his guard.

L. J. Gray. Why came we hither?
Why was I drawn to this unlucky, place,
This tower, so often stained with royal blood?
Here the fourth Edward's helpless sons were
murdered,

And pious Henry fell by ruthless Gloster:
Is this the place allotted for rejoicing?
The bower adorned to keep our nuptial feast in?
Methinks Suspicion and Distrust dwell here,
Staring, with meagre forms, through grated wit-

dows:

For England's loss in Edward.
L. J. Gray. How! from me!
Alas! my lord-But sure thou mean'st to mock
me?

Guil. No; by the love my faithful heart is full of!

But see, thy mother, gracious Suffolk, comes
To intercept my story: she shall tell thee;
For in her look I read the labouring thought,
What vast event thy fate is now disclosing.

Enter the Duchess of SUFFOLK.
Duch. Suff. No more complain; indulge thy

tears no more;

Thy pious grief has given the grave its due :
Let thy heart kindle with the highest hopes;
Expand thy bosom; let thy soul, enlarged,
Make room to entertain the coming glory!
For majesty and purple greatness court thee;
Homage, and low subjection, wait; a crown,
That makes the princes of the earth like gods;
A crown, my daughter, England's crown attends,
To bind thy brows with its imperial wreath.

L. J. Gray. Amazement chills my veius!
What says my mother?

Duch. Suff. 'Tis Heaven's decree; for our ex-
piring Edward,

When now just struggling to his native skies,
Even on the verge of Heaven, in sight of angels,
That hovered round to waft him to the stars,
Even then declared my Jane for his successor.
L. J. Gray. Could Edward do this? could the
dying saint

Bequeath his crown to me? Oh, fatal bounty!
To me! But 'tis impossible! We dream.
A thousand and a thousand bars oppose me,
Rise in my way, and intercept my passage.
Even you, my gracious mother, what must you be,
Ere I can be a queen?

Duch. Suff. That, and that only,
Thy mother; fonder of that tender name,
Than all the proud additions power can give.
Yes, I will give up all my share of greatness,
And live in low obscurity for ever,

To see thee raised, thou darling of my heart,
And fixed upon a throne. But see; thy father,
Northumberland, with all the council, come
To pay their vowed allegiance at thy feet,
To kneel, and call thee queen.

L. J. Gray. Support me, Guilford; Give me thy aid; stay thou my fainting soul, And help me to repress this growing danger. Enter SUFFOLK, NORTHUMBERLAND, Lords and others of the Privy Council. North. Hail, sacred princess! sprung from ancient kings,

Our England's dearest hope, undoubted offspring
Of York and Lancaster's united line;
By whose bright zeal, by whose victorious faith,
Guarded and fenced around, our pure religion,
That lamp of truth, which shines upon our altars,
Shall lift its golden head, and flourish long;
Beneath whose awful rule, and righteous sceptre,
The plenteous years shall roll in long succession;

Law shall prevail, and ancient right take place;
Fair liberty shall lift her cheerful head,
Fearless of tyranny and proud oppression;
No sad complaining in our streets shall cry,
But justice shall be exercised in mercy.
Hail, royal Jane! behold we bend our knees,
[They kneel.
The pledge of homage, and thy land's obedience;
With humblest duty thus we kneel, and own thee
Our liege, our sovereign lady, and our queen.

L. J. Gray. Oh, rise!
My father, rise!

And you, my father, too!

[To SUFF. [To NORTH.

Rise all, nor cover me with this confusion.

[They rise. What means this mock, this masquing shew of

greatness?

Why do you hang these pageant glories on me, And dress me up in honours not my own?

North. The daughters of our late gr at mas-
ter Henry,

Stand both by law excluded from succession.
To make all firm,

And fix a power unquestioned in your hand,
Edward, by will, bequeathed his crown to you:
And the concurring lords, in council met,
Have ratified the gift.

L. J. Gray. Are crowns and empire,
The government and safety of mankind,
Trifles of such light moment, to be left
Like some rich toy, a ring, or fancied gem,
The pledge of parting friends? Can kings do thus,
And give away a people for a legacy?

North. Forgive me, princely lady, if my won-
der

Seizes each sense, each faculty of mind,
To see the utmost wish the great can form,
A crown, thus coldly met: A crown, which,
slighted,

And left in scorn by you, shall soon be sought,
And find a joyful wearer; one, perhaps,
Of blood unkindred to your royal house,
And fix its glories in another line.

L. J. Gray. Where art thou now, thon partner of my cares? [Turning to GUIL, Come to my aid, and help to bear this burthen: Oh! save me from this sorrow, this misfortune, Which, in the shape of gorgeous greatness, comes To crown, and make a wretch of me for ever!

Guil. Thou weep'st, my queen, and hangʼst
thy drooping head,

Like nodding poppies, heavy with the rain,
That bow their weary necks, and bend to earth.
See, by thy side, thy faithful Guilford stands,
Prepared to keep distress and danger from thee,
To wear thy sacred cause upon his sword,
And war against the world in thy defence.

North. Oh! stay this inauspicious stream of
tears,

And cheer your people with one gracious smile!
Nor comes your fate in such a dreadful form,
To bid you shun it. Turn those sacred eyes
On the bright prospect empire spreads before

you.

Methinks I see you seated on the throne;