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The Council fhall affemble at the Tower.
Mean while, I beg your Grace would ftrait inform

[To Dutchefs of Suffolk

Your Princely Daughter of our Refolution.
Our common Interest in that happy Tie,
Demands our fwifteft Care to fee it finish'd.

D.S. My Lord, you have determin'd well. Lord Guilford;
Be it your Task to speak at large our Purpose.
Daughter, receive this Lord as one, whom I,
Your Father, and his own, ordain your Husband,
What more concerns our Will and your Obedience,
We leave you to receive from him at leifure.

[Exeunt Duke and Dutchefs of Suffolk-and Duke of Northumberland.

Guil. Wo't thou not fpare a Moment from thy Sorrows,

And bid thefe bubbling Streams forbear to flow?

Wo't thou not give one Interval to Joy,

One little Paufe, while humbly I unfold

The happiest Tale my Tongue was ever bleft with?
L.J. Gray. My Heart is cold within me, ev'ry Senfe
Is dead to Joy ; but I will hear thee, Guilford,
Nay, I muft hear thee, fuch is her Command,
Whom early Duty taught ine ftill t' obey.
But, Oh! Forgive me, if to all thy Story,
Tho' Eloquence Divine attend thy speaking,

Tho' ev'ry Mufe, and ev'ry Grace do crown thee,
Forgive me, if I cannot better answer,

Than weeping - thus and thus

Guil, If I offend thee,

Let me be dumb for ever; let not Life,

Inform thefe breathing Organs of my Voice,

If

If any Sound from me disturb thy Quiet.
What is my Peace or Happiness to thine?
No, tho' our Noble Parents had decreed,
And urg'd high Reasons which import the State,
This Night to give thee to my Faithful Arms,
My faireft Bride, my only earthly Blifs-

L. J. Gray. How! Guilford! On this Night?
Guil This happy Night.

Yet if thou art refolv'd to cross my Fate,
If this my utmost Wish shall give thee Pain,
Now rather let the Stroke of Death fall on me,
And stretch me out a lifeless Courfe before thee,
Let me, fwept away with Things forgotten,

Be huddl'd up in fome obfcure blind Grave,

E're thou fhould'st fay my Love has made Thee wretched,
Or drop one fingle Tear for Guilford's Sake.

I. J. Gray. Alas! I have too much of Death already,
And want not thine to furnish out new Horror.
Oh! Dreadful Thought! If thou wert dead indeed,
What Hope were left me then? Yes, I will own,
Spite of the Blush that burns my Maiden Cheek,
My Heart has fondly lean'd toward thee long:
Thy Sweetness, Virtue, and unblemish'd Youth
Have won a Place for thee within my Bofom:
And if my Eyes look coldly on thee now,
And fhun thy Love on this difaftrous Day,

It is, because I would not deal fo hardly,

To give thee Sighs for all thy faithful Vows,

And pay thy Tenderness with nought but Tears.
And yet 'tis all I have.

Guil

Guil. I ask no more;

Let me but call thee mine, confirm that Hope,

To charm the Doubts which vex my anxious Soul,
For all the reft, do thou allot it for me,

And at thy Pleasure portion out my Bleffings.
My Eyes fhall learn to fmile or weep from thine,
Nor will I think of Joy while thou art fad.
Nay, could'st thou be fo cruel to command it,
I will forgoe a Bridegroom's facred Right,
And fleep far from thee, on the unwholefom Earth,
Where Damps arife, and whistling Winds blow loud.
Then when the Day returns, come drooping to thee,
My Locks still drizzling with the Dews of Night,
And chear my Heart with thee as with the Morning.

L. J. G. Say, Wo't thou confecrate the Night to Sorrow,

And give up ev'ry Senfe to folemn Sádnefs.?

Wo't thou, in watching, waft the tedious Hours,

Sit filently and careful by my Side,

Lift to the tolling Clocks, the Cricket's Cry,

And ev'ry melancholy Midnight Noife?
Say, Wo't thou banish Pleasure and Delight?
Wo't thou forget that ever we have lov'd,
And only now and then let fall a Tear

To mourn for Edward's Lofs, and England's Fate?
Guil. Unweary'd ftill I will attend thy Woes,
And be a very faithful Partner to thee.

Near thee I will complain in Sighs as Numberlefs,
As Murmurs breathing in the leafy Grove:
My Eyes fhall mix their falling Drops with thine,
Conftant, as never-ceafing Waters roll,
That purl and gurgle o'er their Sands for ever.

The

The Sun fhall fee my Grief, thro' all his Courfe;
And when Night comes, fad Philomel, who plains
From ftarry Vefper to the rofie Dawn,

Shall ceafe to tune her lamentable Song,

E're 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 JA NE;
But if good Heav'n have any Joy in Store,
Let that be all thy own.

Guil. Thou wondrous Goodnefs!

Heav'n gives too much at once in giving thee.
And by the common Courfe of things below,
Where each Delight is temper'd with Affliction,
Some Evil terrible and unforeseen

Muft fure enfue, to poife the Scale against
This vaft Profufion of exceeding Pleasure.

But be it fo, let it be Death and Ruin,
On any Terms I take thee.

L. J. Gray. Truft our Fate

To him whofe gracious Wifdom guides our Ways,
And makes what we think Evil, turn to Good.
Permit me now to leave thee and retire ;

I'll fummon all my Reafon and my Duty,

To footh this Storm within, and frame my Heart
To yield Obedience to my noble Parents.

Guil, Good Angels minifter their Comforts to thee.
And, Oh! If as my fond Belief would hope,

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If any Word of mine be gracious to thee,

I beg thee, I conjure thee, drive away

Thofe murd'rous Thoughts of Grief that kill thy Quiet.
Reftore thy gentle Bofom's Native Peace,
Lift up the Light of Gladness in thy Eyes,
And chear my Heavinefs 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 lov'd, ev'n from our very Cradles.
My private Lofs no longer will I mourn,
But ev'ry tender Thought to thee shall turn.
With Patience I'll fubmit to Heav'ns Decree,
And what I loft in Edward, find in thee.
But Oh! when I revolve, what Ruins wait
Our finking Altars, and the falling State:
When I confider what my Native Land
Expected from her Pious Sov'raign's Hand,
How form'd he was to fave her from Diftrefs,
A King to govern, and a Saint to blefs;
New Sorrow to my lab'ring Breast fucceeds,

And any whole Heart for wretched England bleeds.

[Exit I.ady JANE GRAY.

Guil. My Heart finks in me, at her foft complaining,
And ev'ry moving Accent that she breaths,
Refolves my Courage, flackens my tough Nerves,
And melts me down to Infancy and Tears.
My Fancy palls, and takes Diftaste at Pleasure;
My Soul grows out of Tune, it loaths the World,
Sickens at all the Noife and Folly of it;

And I could fit me down in fome dull Shade,
Where lonely Contemplation keeps her Cave,

And

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