The extreme youth of Lady Jane at the time of her death, her sober propensities, her erudition and philosophic mind, render her one of the most curious women in all history, though not the most interesting. In the similar catastrophe of Mary Queen of Scots, her failings, abating her supposed crimes, endear her to erroneous creatures like herself, and they weep for the misfortunes attending indiscretion, because they are ills which may probably fall upon themselves. But whilst it is scarcely possible to be heroical like Lady Jane, her calm contempt for either living or dying, places her above sympathy; and though she must ever be honoured, she will never be tenderly bewailed.

Rowe, who melted every heart at the sufferings of the low-born and guilty Shore, has not here even touched the strings of commiseration, notwithstanding he has softened the real character of Lady Jane, in hopes of producing that effect.

The approvers, for there can be few admirers, of this Tragedy, prefer the scenes between Guilford and Pembroke, Gardiner's description of the illustrious prisoner on her trial, and her execution scene, to the rest. They also prefer the part of Pembroke to that of Guilford.

In comparing one scene and one character with another in this Tragedy, some will, of course, have superiority; but the whole drama, when opposed to any one of the author's present acting plays-sinks into a decided inferiority.

LADY JANE GREY.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

The Court.

Enter the DUKE of NORTHUMBERLAND, DUKE of SUFFOLK, and SIR JOHN GATES.

North. "Tis all in vain; Heaven has requir'd its pledge,

And he must die.

Suff. Is there an honest heart,

That loves our England, does not mourn for Edward? The genius of our isle is shook with sorrow,

He bows his venerable head with pain,

And labours with the sickness of his lord.
Religion melts in every holy eye;

All comfortless, afflicted, and forlorn,
She sits on earth, and weeps upon her cross,
Weary of man, and his detested ways:
Ev'n now she seems to meditate her flight,
And waft her angels to the thrones above.

North. Ay, there, my lord, you touch our heaviest

loss.

With him our holy faith is doom'd to suffer;
With him our church shall veil her sacred front,
The toil of saints, and price of martyrs' blood,
Shall sail with Edward, and again old Rome
Shall spread her banners; and her monkish host,
Pride, ignorance, and rapine, shall return;
Blind bloody zeal, and cruel priestly power,
Shall scourge the land for ten dark ages more.
Sir J. G. Is there no help in all the healing art,
No potent juice or drug to save a life

So precious, and prevent a nation's fate?

North. What has been left untry'd that art could do?

The hoary wrinkled Leech has watch'd and toil'd,
Try'd ev'ry health-restoring herb and gum,
And weary'd out his painful skill in vain.
Some secret venom preys upon his heart.

Sir J. G. Doubt not, your graces, but the popish faction

Will at this juncture urge their utmost force.
All on the princess Mary turn their eyes,

Well hoping she shall build again their altars,
And bring their idol-worship back in triumph.

North. Good Heav'n, ordain some better fate for
England!

Suff. What better can we hope, if she should reign?
I know her well, a blinded zealot is she,
A gloomy nature, sullen and severe.

Nurtur'd by proud presuming Romish priests,
Taught to believe they only cannot err,
Because they cannot err; bred up in scorn
Of reason, and the whole lay world instructed
To hate whoe'er dissent from what they teach;
To
purge the world from heresy by blood,
To massacre a nation, and believe it

An act, well pleasing to the Lord of Mercy:
These are thy gods, O Rome, and this thy faith!

North. And shall we tamely yield ourselves to bond

age?

Bow down before these holy purple tyrants,
And bid them tread upon our slavish necks?
No; let this faithful free-born English hand
First dig my grave in liberty and honour;
And though I found but one more thus resolv'd,
That honest man and I would die together.

Suff. Doubt not, there are ten thousand and ten thousand,

To own a cause so just.

Sir J. G. The list, I gave

Into your grace's hand last night, declares

My power and friends at full.

North. Be it your care,

[TO NORTHUMBERLAND.

Good Sir John Gates, to see your friends appointed

And ready for the occasion.
Lose not a moment's time.
Sir J. G. I go, my lord.

Haste this instant,

[Exit SIR JOHN GATES.

North. Your grace's princely daughter, Lady Jane,

Is she yet come to court?

Suff. Not yet arriv'd,

But with the soonest I expect her here.

I know her duty to the dying king,

Join'd with my strict commands to hasten hither,

Will bring her on the wing.

North. 'Beseech your grace,

To speed another messenger to press her;

For on her happy presence all our counsels
Depend, and take their fate.

Suff. Upon the instant

Your grace shall be obey'd. I go to summon her.

[Exit SUFFOLK. North. What trivial influences hold dominion O'er wise men's counsels, and the fate of empire! The greatest schemes that human wit can forge, Or bold ambition dares to put in practice,