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To make all firin,
And fix a Pow'r unquestion'd in your Hand,
Edward, by Will, bequeath'd his Crown to you:
And the concurring Lords in Council met,
Have ratify'd the Gift.

L.F.Gray. Are Crowns and Empire,
The Government and Safety of Mankind,
Trifles of fuch light Moment, to be left
Like fome rich Toy, a Ring, or fancy'd 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 Wonder
Seizes each Senfe, 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 fought,
And find a joyful Wearer: One, perhaps
Of Blood unkindred to your Royal House,
And fix its Glories in another Line.
I.. 7. Gray. Where art thou now, thou Partner of my Cares?

[Turning to Guilford. Come to my Aid, and help to bear this Burthen : Oh! save me froin 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 hang'st thy drooping Like nodding Poppies, heavy with the Rain, (Head, That bow their weary Necks, and bend to Earth, See, by thy Side, thy faithful Guilford stands, Prepar'd to keep Distress and Danger from thee, To wear thy sacred Cause upon his Sword,


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And War against the World in thy Defence.

North. O! stay this inaufpicious Stream of Tears,
And chear your People with one gracious Smile.
Nor comes your Fate in such a dreadful Form,
To bid you shun it. Turn those sacred Eyes
Da the brightest Prospect Empire (preads before you.
Methinks I see you seared on the Throne;
Beneath your Feet, the Kingdom's great Degrees
In bright Confusion shine, Mitres and Coronets,
The various Ermin, and the glowing Purple;
Allombled Senates wait with awful Dread
To firm your high Commands, and make 'em Fare.

L. J. Gray. You turn to view the painted lide of Royalty,
And cover all the Cares that lurk beneath.
Is it, to be a Queen, to fit aloft,
In folemn, dull, uncomfortable State,
The latter'd ldol of a servile Court?
Is it, to draw a pompous Train along,
A Pageant, for the wondring Croud to gaze at?
Is it, in Wantonnets of Pow'r to Reign,
And make the World fubfervient to my Pleafure ?
Is it not rather, to be greatly wretched,
To watch, to toil, to take a sacred Charge,
To bend each Day before high Heaven, and own,
This People hast thou trusted to my Hand,
And at my Hand, I know, thou shalt require 'ein?
Alas! Northumberland! My Father!

Is it not
To live a Life of Care ; and when I die,
Have incie to answer for before my Judge,
Thai any



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Dutc. Suf.

Dutc. Suff. Ev'ry State
Allotted to the Race of Man below,
Is, in Proportion, doom'd to taste fome Sorrow.
Nor is the golden Wreath on a King's Brow
Exempt from Care ; and yet, Who wou'd not bear it?
Think on the Monarchs of our Royal Race;.
They liv'd not for themselves: How many Blessings,

many lifted Hands, shall pay thy Toil,
If for thy Peoples Good thou happ’ly borrow
Some portion from the Hours of Rest, and wake
To give the World Repofe !

Suff. Behold, we stand upon the Brink of Ruini,
And only thou canst save us. Perfecution, -
That Fiend of Rome and Hell, prepares her Tortures :
See where she comes in Mary's Priestly Train.
Still wo't thou doubt ? 'till thou behold her stalk
Red with the Blood of Martyrs, and wide-wasting,
O'er England's Bofome? All the Mourning Year
Our Towns shall glow with unextinguish'd Fires ;
Our Youth on Racks shall stretch their Crackling Bones
Our Babes shall sprawl on Consecrated Spears ;
Matrons and Husbands, with their New-born Infants,
Shall burn promiscuous; a continu'd Peal
Of Lamentations, Groans and shrieks shall sound.
Through all our purple Ways.

Guil. Amidst that Ruin,
Think thou behold'At thy Guilford's Head laid low,
Bloody and Pale.

L.F. Gray. Oh! spare the Dreadful Image !

Guil. Oh! wou'd the Misery be bounded there, -My Life were little ; but the Rage of Rome.


Demands whole Hecatombs, a Land of Victims.
With Superfition comes that other Fiend,
That Bane of Peace, of Arts and Virtue, Tyranny ;
That Foe to Justice, Scorner of all Law;
That Beast, which thinks Mankind were born for One,
And made by Heav'n to be a Monster's Prey ;
That heaviest Curse of groaning Nations, Tyranny.
Mary shall, by her kindred Spain, be taught
'To bend our Necks beneath a Brazen Yoke,
And Rule o'er Wretches with an Iron Sceptre.

L.J. Gray. Avert that Judgment, Heaven !
Whate'er thy Providence allots for me,
In Mercy spare my Country.

Guil. Oh, my Queen!
Does not thy Great, thy Generous Heart Relent,
To think this Land, for Liberty fo fain'd,
Shall have her Tow'ry Front at once laid low,
And robb'd of all its Glory? Oh! my Country!
Oh! Fairest Albion, Emprefs of the Deep,
How have thy Noblest Sons with stubborn Valour
Stood to the laft, dy'd many a Field in Blood,
In dear Defence of Birth-right and their Laws!
And Ahall those Hands, which fought the Cause of Freedom.
Be manacld in base unworthy Bonds?
Be camely yielded up, the Spoil, the Slaves
Of Hair-brain'd Zeal, and Cruel Coward Priests?

L. 7. Gray. Yes, my lov'd Lord, my Soul is mov'd, like At ev'ry Danger which Invades our England,

(Thine, My cold Heart kindles at the great Occasion, And could be more than Man, in her Defence. But where is my Commillion to Redress?


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Or whence my Pow'r to Save? Can Edward's Will,
Or Twenty met in Council, make a Queen?
Can you, my Lords, give me the Pow'r to canvas
A doubtful Title with King Henry's Daughters?
Where are the Rev'rend Sages of the Law,
To guid me with their Wisdoms, and point out
The Paths which Right and Justice bid me tread ?

North. The Judges all attend, and will at leisure :
Resolve your ey’ry Scruple.

L. 7. Gray. They expound;
But where are those, my Lord, who make the Law?
Where are the Ancient Honours of the Realm,
The Nobles, with the Mitre'd Fathers join'd?
The Wealthy Comnions solemnly Allembled?
Where is that Voice of a Consenting People,
To pledge the Universal Faith with mine,
And call me justly Queen?

Narth. Nor shall that long
Be wanting to your Wih: The Lords and Commons
Shall, at your Royal Bidding, foon Assemble,
And with united Homage own your Title.
Delay not then to ineet the General With,
But be our Queen; be England's better Angelo
Nor let mistaken Piety betray you
To join with cruel Mary in our Ruin:
Her bloody Faith commands her to destroy ;
And yours forbids, to Save.

Guil, Qur Foes, already
High in their Hopes, devote us all to Death:
The Dronish Monks, the Scorn and Shame of Manhood,
Rouze and prepare once more to take Poflellion,

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