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Where are the rev’rend sages of the law,
To guide me with their wisdoms, and point ouť
The paths which right and justice bid me tread?

North. The judges all attend, and will at leisure
Resolve you ev'ry scruple.

L. J. 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 mitred fathers join'd?
The wealthy commons solemnly assembled ?
Where is that voice of a consenting people,
To pledge the universal faith with mine,
And call me justly Queen?

North. Nor shall that long • Be wanting to your wish. The lords and commons

Shall, at your royal bidding, soon assemble, • And, with united homage, own your title. • Delay not, then, to meet the general wish, • But be our Queen, be England's true support. • Nor let mistaken piety betray you • To join with cruel Mary in our ruin; 6 Her bloody faith commands her to destroy, . And yours forbids to save.'

Guil. Our foes, already High in their hopes, devote us all to death: • The dronisk monks, the scorn and shame of manhood, s Rouze and prepare once more to take possession,

To nestle in their ancient hives again; • Again they furbish up their holy trumpery,

Relics, and wooden wonder-working saints, 6 Wholé loads of lumber and religious rubbish, ' In high procession mean to bring them back,

And place the puppets in their shrines again : ( While those of keener malice, savage Bonner, 6 And deep-designing Gard'ner, dream of vengeance;

Devour the blood of innocents, in hope;
Like vultures, snuff the slaughter in the wind,

And speed their flight to havoc and the prey.'
Haste, then, and save us, while 'tis giv'n to save
Your country, your religion.

North. Save your friends!

Suff. Your father!
Duch. Suft: Mother!
Guil. Husband!

L. J. Gray. Take me, crown me,
Invest me with this royal wretchedness;
Let me not know one happy minute more;
Let all my sleepless nights be spent in care,
My days be vex'd with tumults and alarms;
If only I can save you, if my fate
Has mark'd me out to be the public victim,
I take the lot with joy. Yes, I will die
For that eternal truth my faith is fix'd on,
And that dear native land which gave me birth.

Guil. Wake ev'ry tuneful instrument to tell it,
And let the trumpet's sprightly note proclaim
My Jane is England's Queen! Let the loud cannon
• In peals of thunder speak it to Augusta ;

Imperial Thames, catch thou the solemn sound, ( And roll it to the subject ocean down:

Tell the cld deep, and all thy brother floods,
My Jane is empress of the wat'ry world!

Now with glad fires our bloodless streets shall shine :
( With cries of joy our cheerful ways shall ring;'
Thy name shall echo thro’ the rescu'd isle,
And reach approving Hear'n!

L. J. Gray. Oh, Guilford! what do we give up for For glory! that's a toy I would not purchase, [glory! An idle, empty bubble. But for England ! What must we lose for that! Since then 'tis fix'd, This hard exchange thus forc'd upon my will, Let gracious Heav'n allow me one request: For that blest peace in which I once did dwell,

For books, retirement, and my studious cell, . For all those joys my happier days did prove,

For Plato, and his Academic Grove;' All that I ask, is, tho' this fatal crown Must bury me, and weigh my spirits down, Let that one good from these my trials come, To save this land from tyranny and Rome. [Exeunt.*

* The Reader will see from The Editor's Preface, p. 330, ibat this scene passed at Durhamn Louse.

ACT IV.

The SCENE continues.

Enter PEMBROKE and GARDINER.

Gard. That traitor Duke, that proud Northumberland " To draw his sword upon the side of heresy, (presumes And war against our Mary's royal right.'

Pemb. I saw him marching at his army's head;
I mark'd him issuing through the city-gate
In harness all-appointed, as he pass'd;
And (for he wore his beaver up) could read
Upon his visage horror and dismay.
No voice of friendly salutation cheer'd him,
None wish'd his arms might thrive, or bade God speed
But thro' a staring ghastly looking crowd, [him;
Unhail'd, unbless'd, with heavy heart he went:
As if his traitor-father's haggard ghost,
And Somerset, fresh bleeding from the axe,
On either hand had usher'd him to ruin.

Gard. Nor shall the holy vengeance loiter long.
At Framlingham in Suffolk lies the Queen,
Mary, our pious mistress; where each day
The nobles of the land, and swarming populace,
Gather, and list beneath her royal ensigns.
The fleet, commanded by Sir Thomas Jerningham,
Set out in warlike manner to oppose her,
With one consent have join’d to own her cause:
The valiant Sussex, and Sir Edward Hastings,
With many more of note are up in arms,
And all declare for her.

Pemb. The citizens,
" Who held the noble Somerset right dear,
“ Hate this aspiring Dudley and his race,

And would, upon the instant, join t' oppose him; © Could we but draw some of the lords o' the council

T' appear among them, own the same design,

And bring the rev'rend sanction of authority * To lead them into action. For that purpose,

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"To thee, as to an oracle, I come,
« To learn what fit expedient may be found,
" To win the wary council to our side.

Say, thou, whose head is grown thus silver-white

In arts of government and turns of state,
• How may we strike our enemies with ruin,

And sink Northumberland beneath our feet?
Gard. " In happy time be your whole wish accome

plish'd. Since the proud Duke set out, I have had conference,

As fit occasion serv’d, with divers of them; « The Earl of Arundel, Mason, and Cheyney; " And find them all dispos’d as we could ask.

My Lord, believe me, if I count aright,
( To day the better part shall leave this place,

And meet at Baynard's-Castle * in the city;
There own our sovereign's title, and defy

Jane and her traitor-crew. But hie you hence! « This place is still within our foes command, Their puppet-queen reigns here.'

Enter an Officer with a guard. Offi. Seize on them both.

[Guards seize Pembroke and Gardiner, My Lord, you are a pris’ner to the state.

Pemb. Ha! by whose order?

Offi. By the Queen's command,
Sign'd and deliver'd by Lord Guilford Dudley.
Pemb. Guilford's? the traitor's heart!

Gard. Rest you contented:
You have loiter d here too long; but, use your patience,
These bonds shall not be lasting.
Of. As for you, Sir,

[To Gardiner. 'Tis the Queen's pleasure you be close confin'd: You've us'd that fair permission was allow'd you, , To walk at large within the Tower, unworthily.

* A Castle in Thames-street. The VIIth scene of tbe IIId. A. of Richard Ill. is in The Court of Baynard's Castle, on which Mr. Malone observes, that it had belonged to Richard Duke of York, “ and at this time was the property of his grandson King Edwand V.” Io helonged at the period of this play to the Earl of Pembroke. There is a print of it in Harding's Shakespeare Illustrated

You're noted for an over-busy meddler,
A secret practiser against the state;
For which, henceforth, your limits shall be straiter,
Hence, to your chamber!

Gard. Farewell, gentle Pembroke;
I trust that we shall meet on blither terms.

[Exeunt part of the Guurd with Gardiner. Pemb. Now, whither must I go? Offi. This way, my Lord.

[Going off
Enter GUILFORD.
Guil. Hold, captain! ere you go I have a word or two
For this your noble pris'ner.

Offi. At your pleasure:
I know my duty, and attend your Lordship.

[The Oficer and Guards retire to the farthest

part of the stage.
Guil. Is all the gentleness that was betwixt us
So lost, so swept away from thy remembrance,
Thou can’st not look upon me?

Pemb. Ha! not look!
What terrors are there in the Dudley's race,
That Pembroke dares not look

upon
and

scorn?
And yet, 'tis true, I would not look upon thee::
Our eyes avoid to look on what we hate,
As well as what we fear.
Guil. You hate me,

then!
Pemb. I do; and wish confusion may o'ertake
Thy father, thy false self, and thy whole name.

Guil. And yet, as sure as rage disturbs thy reasong: And masters all the noble nature in thee, As sure as thou hast wrong'd me, I am come In tenderness of friendship to preserve thee; To plant ev'n all the power I have before thee, And fence thee from destruction with my

life. Pemb. Friendship from thee! but my just soul disdains llence! take the prostituted bauble back,

Ilang it to grace some slavering ideot's ' For none but fools will prize the tinsel toy.' But thou art come, perhaps, to vaunt thy greatness,

[thee!

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