Guil. Oh, teach me! sure, an energy divine L. J. Gray. Yes, I trust and truth and innocence; A conscious knowledge rooted in my heart, That to have sav'd my country was my duty. Reserves the glory of thy great deliverance. Guil. See, we must-must part. L. J. Gray. Yet surely we shall meet again. L. J. Gray. If not on earth, above yon golden stars, Where other suns arise on other earths, And happier beings rest on happier seats: Pour forth new songs in the Redeemer's praise, Guil. Fain would I cheer my heart with hopes like L. J. Gray. 'Tis true, by those dark paths our journey And through the vale of death we pass to life.+ [leads, But what is there in death to blast our hopes? Behold the universal works of nature, To us the sun Dies ev'ry night, and ev'ry morn revives : * See p. 282, Note *. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of "death, I will fear no evil." Psalm XXIII, 4. There hid, as in a grave, a-while it lies, Till nature's genial pow'rs command a birth; [Exeunt severally with the Guards. ACT V. SCENE I. The Scene continues. Enter GARDINER, as Lord Chancellor,+ and the LIEUTENANT of the TowER, SERVANTS with lights before them. Lieut. Good morning to your Lordship; you rise early. Gard. Nay, in good truth, there are too many sleepers: Inform your pris'ners, Lady Jane and Guilford, Lieut. My Lord, I did. Gard. 'Tis well. But say, How did your message like them? Lieut. My Lord, they met the summons with a temper, In short, they heard me with the self-same patience Gard. That dispose "Thou visitest the earth and blessest it: thou makest it very "plenteous."-" Thou crownest the year with thy goodness: and thy clouds drop fatness." Psalm LXV. 9, 12. + See the Editor's Preface, p. 348, and p. 380, Note. See p. 137, Note*. Lieut. The Lord Guilford only Implor'd another boon, and urg'd it warmly: Gard. That's not much, That grace may be allow'd him: See you to it. How goes the morning? Lieut. Not yet four,* my Lord. Gard. By ten* they meet their fate. Yet one thing You know 'twas order'd that the Lady Jane Should suffer here within the Tower. Take care [more. No crowds may be let in, no maudlin gazers How now! What light comes here! If I mistake not, 'tis the Earl of Pembroke. Gard. Pembroke! 'Tis he! what calls him forth 'thus early: Somewhat he seems to bring of high import; Some flame uncommon kindles up his soul, Enter PEMBROKE, a PAGE with a light before him. * From the mention of these different hours it appears that this act is supposed to occupy the space of more than six hours. + See a remark on this line, p. 101. The Earl of Pembroke was now about the age of 52, see p. 346. Pemb. Oh, rev'rend Winchester! my beating heart Exults and labours with the joy it bears: The news I bring shall bless the breaking morn. This coming day the sun shall rise most glorious, As when his maiden-beams first gilded o'er The rich immortal greens, the flow'ry plains, And fragant bow'rs of paradise new-born.' Gard. What happiness is this? Pemb. 'Tis mercy! mercy, The mark of Heav'n impress'd on human kind; Gard. Ha! what said you? Pardon ! But, sure, you cannot mean it; could not urge What! save the lives of those who wore her crown! My lord, 'tis most unweigh'd pernicious counsel, And must not be complied with. Pemb. Not complied with! And who shall dare to bar her sacred pleasure, Gard. That will I: Who wo'not see her gracious disposition Pemb. Thy narrow soul Knows not the god-like glory of forgiving: "He hath sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim "liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that 66 are bound." Isaiah LX1. 1. See also Luke iv. 18. Gard. These are romantic, light, vain-glorious dreams. Have you consider'd well upon the danger? How dear to the fond many, and how popular These are whom you would spare? Have you forgot, When at the bar, before the seat of judgment, This Lady Jane, this beauteous trait'ress, stood, With what command she charm'd the whole assembly? With silent grief the mournful audience sat, Fix'd on her face, and list'ning to her pleading. Her very judges wrung their hands for pity; Their old hearts melted in them as she spoke, And tears ran down upon their silver beards. Ev'n I myself was mov'd, and for a moment Felt wrath suspended in my doubtful breast, And question'd if the voice I heard was mortal. But, when her tale was done, what loud applause, Like bursts of thunder, shook the spacious hall! At last, when sore constrain'd, th' unwilling lords Pronounc'd the fatal sentence on her life, A peal of groans ran thro' the crowded court, As ev'ry heart were broken, and the doom, Like that which waits the world, were universal. Pemb. And can that winning form, that voice of sweetWhich mov'd the hearts of a rude ruthless crowd, [ness, Nay, mov'd ev'n thine, now sue in vain for pity? Gard. Alas! you look on her with lover's eyes: I hear and see through reasonable organs, Where passion has no part. Come, come, my lord, Pemb. And you, my lord, too little of the churchman. Is not the sacred purpose of our faith Peace and good-will to man?* The hallow'd hand, Sacred above the rest, her royal word. * See Luke 11. 14. + See Burnet, Vol. II. p. 246. |