A crown, my daughter, England's crown attends,
To bind thy brows with its imperial wreath.

L. J. Gray. Amazement chills my veins! What says my mother?

Duch. Suff. 'Tis Heav'n's decree; for our expiring
Edward,

When now, just struggling to his native skies,
Ev'n then declar'd my Jane for his successor.

L. J. Gray. Could Edward do this? Could the dying
Bequeath his crown to me? Oh, fatal bounty!
To me! but 'tis impossible!

6 we dream.

6 A thousand and a thousand bars oppose me, Rise in my way and intercept my passage.

[saint

Ev'n you, my gracious mother, what must you be, Ere I can be a Queen?"

Duch. Suff. That, and that only,

€ Thy mother; fonder of that tender name,
Than all the proud additions pow'r can give.
Yes, I will give up all my share of greatness,
And live in low obscurity for ever,

To see thee rais'd, thou darling of my heart,
And fix'd upon a throne.' But see! thy father,
Northumberland, with all the Council come
To pay their vow'd allegiance at thy feet,
To kneel, and call thee Queen.

L. J. Gray. Support me, Guilford;
Give me thy aid; stay thou my fainting soul,
And help me to repress this growing danger.

Enter SUFFOLK, NORTHUMBERLAND, Lords, and others of the Privy-Council.*

North. Hail, our liege Princess! sprung from ancient

kings,

Our England's dearest hope, undoubted offspring
Of York and Lancaster's united line;

* Consisting of the Arch-Bishop of Canterbury (Cranmer) The Lord Chancellor (Goodrick Bp. of Ely;) the Marquisses of Winchester and Northampton; the Earls of Arundel, Shrewsbury, Huntingdon, Bedford and Pembroke; The Lords Cobham and Darey; Sir Thomas Cheyney; Sir Robert Cotton; Sir William Petre, Sir William Cecil, Sir John Cheek, Sir John Mason, Sir Edward North, and Sir Robert Bowes, See Burnet, Vol. 11. p. 235,

By whose bright zeal, by whose victorious faith, Guarded and fenc'd around, our pure religion, That lamp of truth which shines upon our altars, Shall lift its golden head, and flourish long; < Beneath whose awful rule and righteous sceptre, The plenteous years shall roll in long succession; Law shall prevail, and ancient right take place, Fair Liberty shall lift her cheerful head, Fearless of tyranny and proud oppression; No sad complaining in our streets shall cry, * But justice shall be exercis'd in mercy." Hail, royal Jane! behold, we bend our knees, [They kneel. The pledge of homage, and thy land's obedience; With humblest duty, thus, we kneel, and own thee Our liege, our sov'reign-lady, and our Queen.

L. J. Gray. Oh, rise!

My father, rise!

And you, my father, too!

Rise, all! nor cover me with this confusion. [They rise. What means this mock, this masquing-shew of greatness? Why do you hang these pageant-glories on me,

And dress me up in honours not my own?

North. The daughters of our late great master Henry, Stand both by law excluded from succession.

To make all firm,

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 ratified the gift.

L. J. Gray. Are crowns and empire,

• The government and safety of mankind,'
Trifles of such light moment, to be left
Like some rich toy, a ring, or fancied 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 sense, each faculty of mind,

"That there be no decay, no leading into captivity, and no "complaining in our streets." Psalm CXLIV. 14.

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 sought,
And find a joyful wearer; one, perhaps,

Of blood unkindred to your royal house,
And fix its glories in another line.

L. J. 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 from 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 head,

'Like nodding poppies, heavy with the rain,

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,
And war against the world in thy defence.

North. Oh! stay this inauspicious stream of tears,
And cheer your people with one gracious smile.
Nor comes your lot in such a dreadful form,
That you should, fearful, shun it. Turn those eyes
On the bright prospect empire spreads before you.'
Methinks I see you seated on the throne;

Beneath your feet, the kingdom's great degrees
In bright confusion shine, mitres and coronets,
The various ermine, and the glowing purple;'
Assembled senates wait with awful dread,
To firm your high commands, and make them law.

L. J. Gray. You turn to view the painted side of And cover all the cares that lurk beneath.

Is it, to be a Queen, to sit aloft,
In solemn, dull, uncomfortable state,
The flatter'd idol of a servile court?
Is it, to draw a pompous train along,

A pageant, for the wond'ring crowd to gaze at?
Is it, in wantonness of power to reign,

[royalty,

And make the world subservient to my pleasure?

Is it not rather, to be greatly wretched,
To watch, to toil, to take a sacred charge,
To bend each day before high Heav'n, and own,
This people hast thou trusted to my hand,

And at my hand, I know, thou shalt require them?'* Alas, Northumberland!-My father! Is it not

To live a life of care; and, when I die,

Have more to answer for before my judge,
Than any of my subjects?

Duch. Suff.

Ev'ry state

Allotted to the race of man below,

Is, in proportion, doom'd to taste some sorrow;
Nor is the golden wreath on a King's brow

Exempt from care: and yet, who would not bear it?
Think on the monarchs of our royal race;

They liv'd not for themselves. How many blessings,
How many lifted hands shall pay thy toil,
If for thy people's good thou haply borrow
Some portion from the hours of rest, and wake
To give the world repose!'

Suff. Behold, we stand upon the brink of ruin,
And only thou canst save us. Persecution,

That fiend of Rome and hell, prepares her tortures;
See where she comes, in Mary's papal train!
Still wo't thou doubt? till thou behold her stalk,
Red with the blood of martyrs,† and wide wasting
O'er England's bosom? All the mourning year
Our towns shall glow with unextinguish'd fires;
Our youth on racks shall stretch their crackling bones;
Our babes shall writhe 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 C Through all our purple ways.'

*

Guil. Amidst that ruin,

"I have made thee a watchman" &c. "his blood will I require "at thine hand." Ezek. 111. 17, 18.

+"And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints. "and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus." Revel, XVII. 6.

Think thou behold'st thy Guilford's head laid low,
Bloody and pale

L. J. Gray. Oh! spare the dreadful image!

Guil. Oh! would the misery be bounded there, My life were little; but the rage of Rome Demands whole hecatombs, a land of victims. • With Superstition comes that other fiend, That bane of peace, of arts, and virtue, Tyranny; That foe of 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, Heav'n! Whate'er thy providence allots for me, In mercy spare my country.

Guil. Oh! my Queen!

Does not thy great, thy gen'rous heart relent,
To think this land, for liberty so fam'd,
Shall have her tow'ry front at once laid low,
And robb'd of all its glory? Oh! my country,
Oh! fairest Albion, empress of the deep,

How have thy noblest sons, with stubborn valour,
Stood to the last, dy'd many a field in blood,
"In dear defence of birth-right and their laws!
And shall those hands which fought the cause of freedom
Be manacled in base unworthy bonds:

Be tamely yielded up, the spoil, the slaves

Of hair-brain'd zeal, and cruel coward Papists?'
L. J. Gray. Yes, my lov'd lord, my soul is mov'd

like thine,

At ev'ry danger which invades our England;
My cold heart kindles at the great occasion,
And could be more than man in her defence.
But where is my commission to redress?

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 power to canvass
A doubtful title with King Henry's daughters?