Enter Sir John Gates.
Sir J. G. The lords of council
Wait with impatience.
Pem. I attend their pleasure.
This only, and no more then.
Fortune decrees, still let us call to mind
Our friendship and our honour.
And fince love
Condemns us to be rivals for one prize,
Let us contend, as friends and brave men ought,.
With openness and juftice to each other;
That he who wins the fair-one to his arins,
May take her as the crown of great defert,
And if the wretched lofer does repine,
His own heart and the world may all condemn him.
[Exit Pem. Guil. How crofs the ways of life lie! While we think We travel on direct in one high road,
And have our journey's end oppos'd in view,
A thousand thwarting paths break in upon us,
To puzzle and perplex our wand'ring fteps.
Love, friendship, hatred, in their turns miflead us,
And ev'ry paffion has its feparate interest :
Where is that piercing forefight can unfold
Where all this mazy error will have end,
And tell the doom referv'd for me and Pembroke ?
• There is but one end certain, that is-Death:
'Yet ev❜n that certainty is still uncertain.
• For of these several tracks which lie before us, • We know that one leads certainly to death,
But know not which that one is.' 'Tis in vain,
This blind divining; let me think no more on't:
And fee the mistress of our fate appear!
Enter Lady Jane Gray. Attendants.
Hail, princely maid! who with aufpicious beauty
Chear'it ev'ry drooping heart in this fad place;
Who, like the filver regent of the night,
Lift'it up thy facred beams upon the land,
To bid the gloom look gay, difpel our horrors,
And make us lefs lament the fetting fun.
L. J. Gray. Yes, Guilford; well doft thou compare
To the faint comfort of the waining moon:
Like her cold orb, a chearless gleam I bring:
Silence and heavinefs of heart, with dews
To drefs the face of nature all in tears.'
But fay, how fares the king?
Guil. He lives as yet,
But ev'ry moment cuts away a hope,
Adds to our fears, and gives the infant faint
Great profpect of his op'ning heaven.
L. J. Gray. Defcend ye choirs of angels to receive him,
Tune your melodious harps to fome high strain,
And waft him upwards with a fong of triumph;
• A purer foul, and one more like yourselves,
• Ne'er entered at the golden gates of blifs.'
Oh, Guilford! What remains for wretched England,
When he, our guardian angel, shall forfake us?
For whofe dear fake Heav'n fpar'd a guilty land,
And scattered not its plagues while Edward reigned.'
Guil. I own my heart bleeds inward at the thought,
And rifing horrors croud the op'ning scene.'
And yet, forgive me, thou, my native country,
Thou land of liberty, thou nurfe of heroes,
Forgive me, if in fpite of all thy dangers,
New fprings of pleasure flow within my bofom,
When thus 'tis giv'n me to behold thofe eyes,
Thus gaze and wonder, how excelling nature
• Can give each day new patterns of her skill,
And yet at once furpafs 'em.'
L. J. Gray. Oh, vain flattery!
• Harth and ill-founding ever to my ear; • But on a day like this, the raven's
• Strikes on my fenfe more sweetly.' But, no more,
I charge thee touch the ungrateful theme no more;'
Lead me, to pay my duty to the king,
To wet his pale cold hand with these last tears,
And share the bleffings of his parting breath.
Guil. Were I like dying Edward, fure a touch
Of this dear hand would kindle life anew.
But I obey, I dread that gath'ring frown;
And, Oh, whene'er my bofom fwells with paffion,
And my full heart is pain'd with ardent love,
Allow me but to look on you, and figh;
'Tis all the humble joy that Guilford afks.
L. J. Gray. Still wilt thou frame thy fpeech to this vain purpose,
When the wan king of terrors stalks before us,'
When univerfal ruin gathers round,
And no efcape is left us? Are we not
Like wretches in a storm, whom ev'ry moment
The greedy deep is gaping to devour?
Around us fee the pale defpairing crew,
• Wring their fad hands, and give their labour o'er ;'
The hope of life has ev'ry heart forfook,
And horror fits on each distracted look;
• One folemn thought of death does all employ,
And cancels, like a dream, delight and joy;
"One forrow streams from all their weeping eyes,
And one confenting voice for mercy cries:
Trembling, they dread juft Heav'n's avenging power,
Mourn their past lives, and wait the fatal hour.
Enter the Duke of Northumberland, and the Duke
ET then be chear'd my heart, amidit thy mourning.
YThough fate hang heavy o'er us, tho' pale fear
And wild distraction fit on ev'ry face;'
Though never day of grief was known like this,
Let me rejoice, and bless the hallow'd light,
Whose beams aufpicious fhine upon our union,
And bid me call the noble Suffolk brother.
Suff. I know not what my secret foul prefages,
But fomething seems to whisper me within,
That we have been too hafty. For myself,
I wish this matter had been yet delay'd;
That we had waited fome more bleffed time,
• Some better day with happier omens hallow'd,
• For love to kindle up his holy flame,
But you, my noble brother, wou'd prevail,
And I have yielded to you.'
North. Doubt not any thing;
Nor hold the hour unlucky, that good heav'n,
"Who foftens the corrections of his hand,
And mixes till a comfort with afflictions,'
Has giv'n to-day a bleffing in our children,
To wipe away our tears for dying Edward.
Suff. In that I trust. Good angels be our guard, And make my fears prove vain. But fee! My wife! With her, your fon, the generous Guilford comes; She has inform'd him of our prefent purpose.
Enter the Duchefs of Suffolk, and Lord Guilford. L. Guil. How fhall I speak the fullness of my heart ? What fhall I fay, to blefs you for this goodness? Oh, gracious princefs! But my life is yours, And all the business of my years to come, Is, to attend with humbleft duty on you,
pay my vow'd obedience at your feet.
Duch. Suff. Yes, noble youth, I fhare in all thy joys, In all the joys which this fad day can give. The dear delight I have to call thee fon, Comes like a cordial to my drooping fpirits; It broods with gentle warmth upon my bofom, • And melts that frost of death which hung about me.* But hafte Inform my daughter of our pleasure : Let thy tongue put on all its pleafing eloquence. Inftruct thy love to speak of comfort to her, To footh her griefs, and chear the mourning maid.' North. All defolate and drown'd in flowing tears, By Edward's bed the pious princess fits;
Faft from her lifted eyes the pearly drops
• Fall trickling o'er her cheek, while holy ardour,
And fervent zeal pour forth her lab'ring foul;'
And ev'ry figh is wing'd with pray'rs fo potent,
As ftrive with heav'n to fave her dying lord.
Duch. Suff. From the first early days of infant life,
A gentle band of friendship grew betwixt 'em ;
And while our royal uncle Henry reign'd,
As brother and as fifter bred together,
Beneath one common parent's care they liv'd.
North. A wondrous fympathy of fouls confpir'd
To form the facred union. Lady Jane,
Of all his royal blood was still the dearest ;
In ev'ry innocent delight they fhar'd,
They fung, and danc'd, and fat, and walk'd together;
Nay, in the graver business of his youth,
When books and learning call'd him from his fports,
Ev'n there the princely maid was his companion.
She left the fhining court to fhare his toil,
To turn with him the grave hiftorian's
page,
And taste the rapture of the poet's fong;
To fearch the Latin and the Grecian ftores,
And wonder at the mighty minds of old.'
Enter Lady Jane Gray, weeping.
L. J. Gray. Wo't thou not break, my heart!
Suff Alas! What mean'it thou ?
Guil. Oh, fpeak!
Duch. Suff. How fares the king?
North. Say, Is he dead?
L. J. Gray. The faints and angels have him.
Duch Suff. When I left him,
He feem'd a little chear'd, just as you enter'd
L. J. Gray. As I approach'd to kneel and pay my duty,
He rais'd his feeble eyes, and faintly fmiling,
Are you then come? he cry'd: I only liv'd,
To bid farewel to thee, my gentle coufin;
To speak a few fhort words to thee, and die.'
With that he preft my hand, and, Oh!--he said
When I am gone, do thou be good to England,
Keep to that faith in which we both were bred,
And to the end be conftant. More I wou'd,
But cannot- -There his fault'ring spirits fail'd,
And turning ev'ry thought from earth at once,
To that beft place where all his hopes were fix'd,
• Earnest he pray'd ;- -Merciful, great defender!
Preferve thy holy altars undefil'd,
• Protect this land from bloody men and idols,
Save my poor people from the yoke of Rome,
And take thy painful fervant to thy mercy."
Then finking on his pillow, with a fight,
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