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 A TRAGEDY ; 
 
 WITH PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 THE ONLY EDITION EXISTING WHICH IS FAITHFULLY 
 
 MARKED WITH THE STAGE BUSINESS, 
 
 AND STAGE DIRECTIONS, 
 
 AS IT IS PERFORMED AT THE 
 By W. OXBERRY, Comedian. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY WELLS AND LILLY — COURT-STREET : 
 
 A. T. GOODRICH & CO. — NEW-YOiy^i. 
 
 E. LITTELL, PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 1822. 
 
 :9c 
 
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 llemarfefii* 
 
 JANE SHORE. 
 
 It is a rare felicity in any author to produce two trage- 
 dies which shall last their century. Rowe, the author of 
 the Fair Penitent, and of Jane Shore, has attained this 
 posthumous honour. It is curious to reflect in this respect 
 on the disproportion between human wishes and their 
 accomplishment. The aspiration of the mind is after the 
 highest excellence, its longings are after immortality : its 
 performance is generally as nothing ; its triumph but for a 
 moment I — How many matchless works have perished in 
 embryo, even with the thought that gave them birth? — 
 how many have fallen still-born from the press? — how 
 many have been damned on their first appearance, " a 
 sacrifice to grinning scorn and infamy ?" — how many have 
 lingered on a few nights, and then dropped into deathless 
 oblivion, mocking their authors' feverish hopes ? — how many 
 have been popular for a time, and then given place to others ? 
 — how few have remained, what all were designed to be ? — 
 heirs of universal praise, and the lasting ornament and de- 
 light of the public mind I — There are, it should seem, but two 
 ways in which an author can hope to acquire this perma- 
 nent reputation and influence, over the thoughts and feel- 
 ings of others; either by the force and originality of his 
 own conceptions, or by the warmth and vigour witli which 
 
suffered law gradually to give way to poetry. At twenty 
 five he produced the " Ambitious Step-mother ;" which was 
 received with so much favour, that he devoted himself from 
 that time wholly to elegant literature. He was willing 
 enough to improve his fortune by other arts than poetry. 
 He was Under-Secretary for three years when the duke of 
 Queensberry was Secretary of State : and afterwards ap- 
 plied to the Earl of Oxford for some public employment. 
 Oxford enjoined him to study Spanish; and when, some 
 time afterwards he came again, and said that he had mas- 
 tered it, dismissed him with this congratulation, " Then, 
 sir, I envy you the pleasure of reading Don Quixote in the 
 original.''' At the accession of King George he was made 
 Poet-laureat. In person he was graceful and well made, 
 his face regular and of manl}-^ beauty. — He was master of 
 most parts of polite learning, especially the classical au- 
 thors, both Greek and Latin ; understood the French, 
 Italian and Spanish Languages, and spoke the first fluent- 
 ly, and the others tolerably well. He was twiced mar- 
 ried ; — first to the daughter of a Mr. Parsons, one of the 
 Auditors of the Revenue ; and afterwards to a daughter of 
 a Mr. Devenish, of a good family in Dorsetshire, By the 
 first he had a son, and by the second a daughter. He died 
 the sixth of December, 1718, in the forty-fifth year of his 
 age, and was buried in Westminster Abbey : — His Dra- 
 matic Works are; — The Ambitious Sttp Mother^ T. — 
 Tamerlane^ T.~Fair Penitent, T.—Tht Biter, C— Ulys- 
 ses, T. — Royal Convert, T, — Jane Shore, T. — and Lady 
 Jane Grey, T. 
 
jproloffiur* 
 
 To-night, if you liave brought your good old taste, 
 
 We'll treat you with a downright English feast : 
 
 A tale, which, told long since in homely wise, 
 
 Hath never fail'd of melting gentle eyes. 
 
 Let no nice sir despise our hapless dame, 
 
 Because recording baUads chaunt her name ; 
 
 Those venerable ancient song-enditers 
 
 Soar'd many a pitch above our modern writers : 
 
 They caterwaul'd in no romantic ditty, 
 
 Sighing for Phillis', or Chloe's pity. 
 
 Justly they drew the fair, and spoke her plain, 
 
 And sung her by her christian name — 'twas Jane. 
 
 Our numbers may be more refin'd than those, 
 
 But what we've gain'd in verse, we've lost in prose. 
 
 Their words no shuffling, double-meaning knew, 
 
 Their speech was homely, but their hearts were true. 
 
 In such an age, immortal Shakspeare wrote, 
 
 By no quaint rules, nor hampering critics taught ; 
 
 With rough majestic force he mov'd the heart, 
 
 And strength and nature made amends for art. 
 
 Our humble author does his st^ps pursue. 
 
 He owns he had the mighty bard in view ; 
 
 And in these scenes has made it more his care, 
 
 To rout.e the passions, than to charm the ear. 
 
 Yet for those gentle beaux who love the chime, 
 
 The end of acts still glngle into rhyme. 
 
PR®L0ei7E. 
 
 The ladies, too, he hopes will not complaiB, i 
 
 Here are some subjects for a softe;: strain, V 
 
 A nymph foisaken, and a perjured swain. \ 
 
 What most he fears, is, lest the dames should frown, ) 
 
 The dames ol wit and pleasure about town \ 
 
 To see our picture drawn, unlike their own. V 
 
 But lest thai erroi should provoke to fury 
 
 The hospitable hundreris of Old Drury, 
 
 He bid me say, in our Jane Shore's defence. 
 
 She dol'd about the chaiitable pence, 
 
 Built hospitals, tuin\l saint, and dy'd long since. 
 
 For her example, whatsoe'er we make it, 
 
 They have their choice to let alone or take it. 
 
 Though few, as I conceive, will think it meet. 
 
 To weep so sorely for a sin so sweet : 
 
 Or mourn and mortify the pleasant sense. 
 
 To rise in tragedy two aj;es hence. 
 
 STnnc of Mtpvtmntntion. 
 
 The time this piece takes in representation, is tw» 
 liouvs aufi thiity minutes. The first act occupies the 
 space of thirty minutes;— the second, thirty-five; — the 
 third, twenty ; — the fourth, thirty-five ; — the fifth, thirty. 
 The half-price commpnccs, generally, at about a quarter 
 hf fore wine. 
 
iEoBtrxmt* 
 
 LORD HASTINGS. 
 
 Blue doublet, trunks, and cloak, trimmed with gold, black velvet hat, 
 and white feathers. 
 
 DUKE OF GLOSTER. 
 
 A pui-ple velvet doublet and trunks, crimson velvet robe, richly em- 
 broidered, 
 
 BELMOUR. 
 Grey dress trimmed with black. 
 
 RATCLIFFE. 
 Buif doublet and trunks, scarlet cloak, embroidered with silver. 
 
 CATESBY. 
 Light blue doublet and trunks, and cloak trimmed with silver. 
 
 SHORE. 
 First di'ess.— Slate coloured kerseymere.— Second dress. — Black velvet* 
 
 JANE SHORE. 
 
 First dress.— Grey satin Old English dress trimmed with point lace, 
 and lined with black.— Second dress-— White muslin, 
 
 ALICIA. 
 
 First dress.- White satin, trimmed with beads and poiot lace.— Second 
 dress.— Black velvet, and black crape veil. 
 
 a * 
 
JlrrsoniS iXcprcsentcti. 
 
 M it xooi originally 'eiied, 171S. 
 
 Ltrd Hastings --«---- Mr. Booth. 
 
 Duke ofGloster .•----- Mr Cibber. 
 
 ielmeur -•.-•••-. Mr. Mills. 
 
 Sir Ri hard Ratrliffe Mr. Bowman. 
 
 Sir JVilUnm Cateshy . - - . - Mr. Hnsbarai. 
 
 Shore Mr. \Vllke«. 
 
 Jane Shore -..-..•-- Mrs. Oldfield. 
 
 Alicia -------..- Mrs. Poner. 
 
 Lord Hastings - - 
 JDuke of Gloster - - 
 Be'mour • - - - 
 Sir Ri'ha d RatcUffe 
 Sir IVilliam Catetby 
 Shore - - - - - 
 
 Jane Shore 
 Alicia - ■ 
 
 Drury.lane, 
 Mr. Rae. 
 Mr. Bfiigough. 
 Mr Hamblin. 
 Mr Marshall. 
 Mr. Ley. 
 Mr. Holland 
 
 - - Mrs. W.We*t. 
 
 - • Mrs. Glover. 
 
 Covent'gardeti, 
 Mr. Young, 
 Mr. Egerton. 
 Ml. Claremont. 
 Mr Treby. 
 Mr Connor. 
 Mr. Macready. 
 
 Miss O'Neill. 
 Mrs. Buon. 
 
 Lords o/the Council, &e. 
 
 Stage Directions. 
 
 Uy R.H. - 
 
 L.H. - 
 
 S.E. - 
 
 tr.E. - 
 
 M.D. - 
 D.F. - 
 K.H.D. 
 
 is meant ----- Right Hand. 
 ------_--_ Left Hand. 
 
 Second Entrance. 
 Upper Entrance. 
 Middle Door. 
 Door in Flat. 
 Right Hand Door, 
 Left Hand Door. 
 
JANE SHORE. 
 
 ACT I. 
 SCENE V—The Tower. 
 
 "Enter the Duke of Gloster, Sir Richard 
 Katcliffe, and Catesby, r.h. 
 
 Glos. Thus far success attends upon our coun- 
 cils, 
 And each event has answered to my wish ; 
 The queen and all her upstart race are quell'dj 
 Dorset is banish''d, and her brother Rivers, 
 Ere this, lies .shorter by the head at Pomfret. 
 The nobles have with joint concurrence, nam'd 
 
 me 
 Protector of the realm ; my brother's children, 
 Young Edward and the little York are lodg'd 
 Here, safe within the Tower. How say yoUp 
 
 sirs, 
 Does not this business wear a lucky face? 
 The sceptre and the golden wreath of royalty 
 Seem hung within my reach. 
 Sir R. 1 hen take 'em to you, 
 
12 JANE SHORE. 
 
 And w^r them long- and worthily ; you are 
 The last remaining male of princely York; 
 (For Edward's boys, the state esteems not of 
 
 'em,) 
 And therefore on your sov'reignty and rule 
 The commonweal does her dependence make, 
 And Jeans upon your highness' able hand. 
 
 Gates. And yet to-morrow does the council 
 meet 
 To fix a day for Edward's coronation. 
 Who can expound this riddle ? 
 
 Glos. That can I. [friends, 
 
 Those lords are each one my approv'd good 
 Of special trust and nearness to my bosom; 
 And howsoever busy they may seem, 
 And diligent to bustle in the state, 
 Their zeal goes on no further than we lead, 
 And at our bidding stays. 
 
 Gates. Yet there is one. 
 And he amongst the foremost in his power 
 Of whom I wish your highness were assur'd. 
 For me, perhaps it is my nature's fault, 
 I own I doubt of his inclining much. 
 
 Gios. I guess the man at whom your words 
 Hastings — [would point : 
 
 Gates. The same. 
 
 Glos. He bears me great good will. [tor, 
 
 Gates. 'Tis true, to you, as to the lord protec- 
 And Gloster's duke, he bows with lowly service : 
 But were he bid to cry, God save king Richard, 
 Then tell me in what terms he would reply. 
 Believe me, 1 have prov'd the man, and found 
 him : 
 
JANE SHORE. 13. 
 
 I know he bears a most religious reverence 
 To his dead master Edward's royal memory. 
 And whither that may lead him, is most plain. 
 Yet more — One of that stubborn sort he is, 
 Who, if they once grow fond of an opinion. 
 They call it honour, honesty, and faith, 
 And sooner part with life than let it go. 
 
 Glos. And yet this tough, impracticable heart. 
 Is govern'd by a dainty-hngerd girl ; 
 Such flaws are found in the most worthy na- 
 tures ; 
 A laughing, toying wheedling, whimpering she 
 Shall make him amble on a gossip's message, 
 And take the distaff with a hand as patient 
 As e'er did Hercules. 
 
 Sir R. The fliir Alicia, 
 Of noble birth and exquisite of feature, 
 Has held him long a vassal to her beauty. 
 
 Caies. I fear he fails in his allegiance there ; 
 Or my intelligence is false, or else 
 The dame has been too lavish of her feast, 
 And fed him till he loathes. 
 
 Glos. No more, he comes. 
 
 Enter Lord Hastings, l.h. 
 
 Hav. Flealth, and the happiness of many days, 
 Attend upon your grace. 
 
 Glos. My good lord Chamberlain, 
 We're much beholden to your gentle friendship. 
 
 Has. My lord, I come an humble suitor to you. 
 
 Glos. In right good time. Speak out your 
 pleasure freely. 
 
14 JANE SHORE. 
 
 Has. I am to move your highness in behalf 
 Of Shore's unhappy wife. 
 
 Glos. Say you, of Shore ? 
 
 Has. Once a bright star, that held her place 
 on high : * 
 The first and fairest of our English dames, 
 While Royal Edward held the sov'reign rule. 
 Now sunk in grief, and pining with despair, 
 Her waning form no longer shall incite 
 Envy in woman, or desire in man. 
 She never sees the sun, but through her tears, 
 And wakes to sigh the live-long night away. 
 
 Glos. Marry! the times are badly chang'd 
 with her, [jollity, 
 
 From Edward's days to these. Then all was 
 Feasting and mirth, light wantonness and laugh- 
 ter. 
 Piping and playing, minstrelsy and masking ; 
 'Till life fled from us like an idle dream, 
 A show of mummery without a meaning. 
 My brother rest and pardon to his soul, 
 Is gone to his account; for this his minion. 
 The revel-rout is done — But you were speaking 
 Concerning her — I have been told, that you 
 Are frequent in your visitation to her. 
 
 Has. No further, my good lord, than friendly 
 pity, 
 
 And tender-hearted charity allow. [it. 
 
 Glos. Go to : 1 did not mean to chide you for 
 For, sooth to say, I hold it noble in you 
 To cherish the distressed — On with your tale. 
 
 Has. Thus it is gracious sir, that certain 
 officers, 
 
JANE SHORE. 15 
 
 Using the warrant of your mighty name, 
 With insolence unjust, and lawless power, 
 Have ■=ieiz d upon the lands, which late she held 
 By grant, from her great master Edward's 
 
 bounty. [heard ; 
 
 Glos. Somewhat of this, but slightly have I 
 And though some counsellors of forward zeal, 
 Some of most ceremonious sanctitj', 
 And bearded wisdom, often have provok'd 
 The hand of justice to fall heavy on her,- 
 Yet still, in kind compassion of her weakness, 
 And tender memory of Edward's love, 
 I have withheld the merciless stern law 
 From doing outrage on her helpless beauty. 
 ■ Has. Good heav''n, who renders mercy back 
 for mercy. 
 With open-handed bounty shall repay you: , 
 This gentle deed shall fairly be set foremost, 
 To screen the wild escapes of lawless passion 
 And the long train of frailties flesh is heir to. 
 Glos. Thus far, the voice of pity pleaded^ 
 only : 
 Our further and more full extent of grace 
 Is given to your request. Let her attend, 
 And to ourself deliver up her griefs. 
 She shall be heard with patience, and each 
 
 wrong 
 At full redress'd. But I have other news, 
 Which must import us both ; for still my for- 
 tunes 
 Go hand in hand with yours ; our common foes, 
 The queen's relations, our new-fangled gen- 
 try, 
 
16 JANE SHORE. 
 
 Have fall'n their haughty crests — that for your 
 privacy. [Exeunt, r.h. 
 
 SCENE II. — ./9n apari/nent in Jane Shore's House. 
 
 Enter BeLiMour, and Dumont, l.h. 
 
 Bel. How she has lived you have heard my 
 tale already ; 
 The rest your own attendance in her family, 
 Where I have found the means this day to place 
 
 And nearer observation, best will tell you. 
 See with what sad and sober cheer she comes. 
 
 Enter Jane Shore, r.h. 
 
 Sure, or I read her visage much amiss, 
 Or grief besets her hard. Save you, fair lady, 
 The blessings of the cheerful morn he on you, 
 And greet your beauty with its opening sweets. 
 
 JaneS. My gentle neighbour! your good 
 wishes still [mour 1 
 
 Pursue my hapless fortunes ; ah ! good Bel- 
 How few, hke thee, inquire the wretched out, 
 And court the offices of soft humanity. 
 Like thee reserve their raiment for the naked, 
 Reach out their bread to feed the crying orphan, 
 Or mix their pitying tears with those that weep. 
 Til}' praise deserves a better tongue than mine, 
 To speak and bless thy name, is this the gen- 
 tleman, 
 Whose friendly service you commended to me ? 
 
JANE SHORE. 17 
 
 Bel. Madam, it is ! 
 
 Jane S. A venerable aspect ! (Jlside.) 
 
 Age sits with decent grace upon his visage, 
 And worthily becomes his silver locks; 
 He wears the marks of many years well spent, 
 Of virtue, truth well try'd, and wise experience ; 
 A friend like this vvould suit my sorrows well. 
 
 {Crosses to Centre ) 
 Fortune, I fear me, sir, has meant you ill, 
 
 {To Dum.) 
 Who pays your merit with that scanty pittance, 
 Which my poor hand and humble roof can give. 
 But to supply those golden vantages, 
 Which elsewhere you might tind, expect to meet 
 A just regard and value for your worth, [ship 
 The welcome of a friend, and the free partner- 
 Of all that little good the world allows me. 
 Dum You over rate me much ; and ail my 
 answer 
 Must be my future truth ; let that speak for me, 
 And make up my deserving 
 
 Jane S. Are you of England? [birth: 
 
 Dum. No, gracious lady, Flanders claims my 
 At Antwerp has my constant biding been. 
 Where sometimes I have known more plente- 
 ous days 
 Than these which now my faihng age affords. 
 Jane S. Alas ! at Antwerp ! O forgive my tears! 
 
 ( Weeping ) 
 They fall for my offences — and must fall 
 Long, long, ere they shall wash my stains away. 
 You knew perhaps — O grief ! O shame ! — my 
 husband. 
 3 
 
1& JANE SHORE. 
 
 Dum. I knew him well — but stay this flood of 
 anguish. 
 The senselessgTaYe feels not your pious sorrows : 
 Three years and more are past, since I was bid, 
 "With many ot our common friends, to wait him 
 To his last peaceful mansion. I attended, 
 Sprinkled his clay-cold corse with holy drops, 
 According to our church's revTend rite. 
 And saw him laid, in hallow'd ground, to rest 
 
 Ja/ie S. Oh that my soul had known no joy 
 but him I 
 That I had liv'd within his guiltless arms. 
 And dying slept in innocence beside him ! 
 But now his honest dust abhors the fellowship. 
 And scorns to mix with mine. 
 
 Enter a Servant, l.h. 
 
 Ser. The lady Alicia 
 Attends your leisure. 
 
 Jane S, Say I wish to see her. [Exit Serjant^L.u. 
 Please, gentle sir, one moment to retire, 
 ril wait you on the instant, and inform you 
 Of each unhappy circumstance, in which 
 Your friendly aid and counsel much may stead me. 
 [Bel. and Dum. cjoss and exeunt^ r.h, 
 
 Enter Alicu, l.h. 
 
 Alio. Still my fair friend, still shall I find you 
 thus? 
 Still shall these sighs heave after one another, 
 These trickling drops chase one another still. 
 As if the posting messengers of grief 
 
JANE SHORE. ID 
 
 Could overtake the hours fled far away, 
 And make old time come back ? 
 
 Jane S. No, ray Alicia, 
 Hoaven and his saints be witness to my thoughts, 
 There is no hour of all my life o'er past. 
 That 1 could wish should take its turn again. 
 
 Alic. And yet some of those days my friend 
 ha* known, 
 Some of those years might pass lor golden ones, 
 At least if womankmd can judge of happiness. 
 What could we wish, we who delight in empire, 
 Who<e beaut}- is our sovTeign good, and gives us, 
 Our reasons to rebel, and pow'r to reign. 
 What could we more than to behold a monarch, 
 Lovely, renown'd, a conquerer, and young, 
 Bound m our chains, and sigh ng at our feet ? 
 
 Jane S Tis true, the royal Edward was a 
 wonder. 
 The eoodly pride of all our English youth ; 
 He was the very joy of all that saw him. 
 Form'd to delight, to love, and to persuade. 
 But what had 1 to do with kings and courts? 
 My humble lot had cast me tar beneath him ; 
 And that he was the tirst of all mankind, 
 The bravest, and most lovely was mv curse. 
 
 Alio. Sure something more than fortune join'd 
 your loves : 
 Nor could his greatness, and his gracious form, 
 Be elsewhere match'd so well, as to the sweetness 
 And beauty of my triend 
 
 Jane S Nime bun no more : 
 He WHS the bane and rum of my peace. 
 Thi6 anguish, and these tears, these are the 
 legacies 
 
20 JANE SHORE. 
 
 His fatal love has left me. Thou wilt see me. 
 Believe me, my Alicia, thou wilt see me, 
 Ere yet a few short days pass o'er my head, 
 Abandon'd to the very utmost wretchedness. 
 The hand of pow'r has seiz'd almost the whole 
 Of what was left for needy life's support; 
 Shortly thou wilt behold me poor, and kneeling^ 
 Before thy charitable door for bread. 
 
 Alio. Joy of my life, my dearest Shore, forbear 
 To wound my heart with thy foreboding sorrows: 
 Raise thy sad soul to better hopes than these, 
 Lift up thy eyes, and let them shine once more, 
 Bright as the morning sun above the mist. 
 Exert thy charms, seek out the stern protector. 
 And sooth his savage temper with thy beauty ; 
 Spite of his deadly, unrelenting nature, 
 He shall be mov'd to pity, and redress thee. 
 
 Jane S. My form, alas ! has long forgot t© 
 please ! 
 The scene of beauty and delight is chang'd ; 
 No roses bloom upon my fading cheek. 
 Nor laughing graces wanton in my e3'es ; 
 But haggard grief, lean looking, sallow care, 
 And pining discontent, a rueful train. 
 Dwell on my brow, all hideous and forlorn ; 
 One only shadow of a hope is left me ; 
 The nol3le-minded Hastings, of his goodness, 
 Has kindly undertaken to be my advocate, 
 And move my humble suit to angry Gloster. 
 
 Alic. Does Hastings undertake to plead your 
 cause ? 
 But wherefore should he not ? Hasting has eyes ' 
 The gentle lord has a right tender heart, 
 Melting and easy, yielding to impression. 
 
JANE SHORE. 21 
 
 And catching the soft flame from each new 
 
 beauty ; 
 But yours shall charm him lon^. 
 
 Jane S. Away, you flatterer ! [Crosses to r.h.) 
 Nor charge his gen'rous meaning with a weak- 
 ness, 
 Which his great soul and virtue must disdain. 
 Too much of love thy hapiess friend has provM, 
 Too many giddy, foolish hours are gone, 
 And ]n fantastic measures danc'd away : 
 May the remaining few know only friendship, 
 So thou, my dearest, truest, best Alicia, 
 Vouchsafe to lodge me in thy gentle heart, 
 A partner there ; ( will give up mankind. 
 Forget the transports of increasing passion, 
 And all the pangs we feel for its decay. 
 
 Mic. Live ! live and reign for ever in mv 
 bosom ; (Embracing.') 
 
 Safe and unrivalPd there possess thy own ; 
 And you, the brightest of the stars above, 
 Ye saints that once were women here below, 
 Be witness of the truth, the holy friendship, 
 Which here to this my other self I vow. 
 Jf I not hold her nearer to my soul. 
 Than every other joy the world can give, 
 Let poverty, detormity, and shame, 
 Distraction and despair seize me on earth, 
 Let not my faithless ghost have peace hereafter, 
 Nor taste the bliss of your celestial fellowship. 
 
 Jane S Yes, thou art true, and only thou art 
 true ; 
 Therefore these jewels, once the lavish bounty 
 Of royal Edward's love, I trust to thee ! 
 
 3 * {Giving a Casket) 
 
22 JANE SHORE. 
 
 Receive this, all (hat I can call mj own, 
 And let it rest unknown, and safe with thee : 
 That if the state's injustice should oppress me. 
 Strip rae of all, and turn me out a wanderer, 
 My wretchedness mnv find relief from thee, 
 And shelter from the storm. 
 
 J lie. My all is thine ; 
 One common hazard shall attend us both, 
 And both be fortunate, or both be wretched. 
 But let thy fearful doubting heart be still ; 
 The saints and angels have thee m their chnrge, 
 And all things shall be well. Think not, the good, 
 The gentle deeds of mercy ihou hast done, 
 Shall die forgotten all ; the poor, the prisoner^ 
 The fatherless, the friendie?*, and the widow, 
 Who daily owm the bounty of thy hand. 
 Shall cry to heav'n, and pull a blessing on thee. 
 Ev'n man, the mercile>s insulter man, 
 Man, who rejoices in our sex's weakness. 
 Shall pity thee, and with unwonted goodness, 
 Forget thy failings, and record thy praise. 
 
 Jane S Why should I thiuk that man will do 
 for me. 
 What yet he never did for wretches like me? 
 Mark by what partial jusiice ue are judg'd; 
 Such is the fate unhappy women find. 
 An ' such the curse entaiiVI upon our kind. 
 That man. the lawless libertine, may rove, 
 Free and unquestion'd through the wilds of love ; 
 While woman, sense and nature's easy fool, 
 If poor, weak woman swerve from virtue's rule; 
 If, strongly charm'd she leave the thorny way. 
 And in the softer paths of pleasure stray. 
 
JANE SHORE. -23 
 
 I\uin ensues, reproach and endless shame, 
 And one false step entirely damns her fame ; 
 
 {Crosses to r.h.) 
 In vain with tears the loss she may deplore, 
 In vain look back on what she was before 
 She sets, like stars that fall, to rise no more. 
 
 [Exeunt^ r.h. 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
 R.H.J 
 
 -e. ) 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Apartment in Jane Shore's House. 
 
 Enter Alicia, r.h. 
 
 The drowsy night grows on the world, and now 
 The busy craftsmen and the o'er-iabour'd hind 
 Forget the traviiil of the day in sleep : 
 Care only wakes, and moping pensiveness ; 
 With meagie discontented looks they sit. 
 And watch the wasting of the midnight taper. 
 Such vigils must I keep, so wakes my soul. 
 Restless and self tormented ! O false Hastings I 
 Thou hast destroyed my peace. 
 
 {Knocking without^ l.h.) 
 What noise is that ? 
 
 What visitor is this, who with bold freedom, 
 Breaks in upon the peaceful night and rest. 
 With such a rude approach ? 
 
24 JANE SHORE. 
 
 Enter a Serv^ant, l.h.. 
 
 .Sen;. One from the court. 
 Lord Hastings (as I think), demands my lady. 
 
 [Crosses behind, and Exit^R.u. 
 Alic. Hastings ! Be still, my heart, and try to 
 meet him, [comes. 
 
 With his own arts ! with falsehood — But he 
 
 Enter Lord Hastings, speaking to a Servant a9 
 entering, l.h. 
 
 Has. Dismiss my train, and wait alone without. 
 Alicia here ! Unfortunate encounter 
 But be it as it may. 
 
 Alic. When humbly, thus. 
 The great descend to visit the afflicted, 
 When thus, unmindful of their rest, they come 
 To sooth the sorrows of the midnight mourner, 
 Comfort comes with them ; like the golden sun, 
 Dispels the sullen shades with her sweet influ- 
 ence. 
 And cheers the melancholy house of care. 
 
 Has. 'Tis true I would not over-rate a courte- 
 sy, 
 Nor let the coldness of delay hani'' on it, 
 To nip and blast its favour, like a frost ; 
 But rather chose, at this late hour, to come. 
 That your fair friend may know 1 have prevail'd ; 
 The lord protector has receiv'd her suit, 
 And means to show her grace. 
 
 AHc. My friend ! my lord. 
 
JANE SHORE. 25^ 
 
 Has Yes, lady, yours ; none has a right more 
 ample 
 To task my pow'r than you. 
 
 Alio. 1 want the words, 
 To pay you back a compliment so courtly ; 
 But my heart guesses at the friendly meaning. 
 And wou\ln't die your debtor. 
 
 Has. 'i'is well, madam. 
 But 1 would see your iViend. 
 
 Mic. O thou false lord ! 
 I would be mistress of my heaving heart, 
 Stifle this rising rage, and learn from thee 
 To dress my face in easy, dull indifl'rence ; 
 But 'twou'dn't be ; my wrongs will tear their 
 
 way. 
 And rush at once upon thee. (^Crosses to l.h.) 
 
 Has. Are you wise ? 
 Have you the use of reason ? Do you wake ? 
 What means this raving, this transporting pas- 
 sion ? [tyrant ! 
 
 Alic. O thou cool traitor ! thou insulting 
 Dost thou behold my poor, distracted heart, 
 Thus rent with agonizing love and rage. 
 And ask me what it means? Art thou not false ? 
 Am I not scorn'd, forsiaken, and abandon d ; 
 Left, like a common wretch, to shame and in- 
 famy ; 
 Giv'n up to be the sport of villains' tongues, 
 Of laughing parasites, and lewd buffoons ? 
 And all because my soul has doated on thee 
 With love, with truth, and tenderness unuttera- 
 ble ! [love ? 
 
 Has. Are these the proofs of tenderness and 
 
26 JANE SHORE. 
 
 These endless quarrels, discontents, and jeal- 
 ousies. 
 These never-ceasing wailings and complainings, 
 These furious starts, these whirlwinds of the 
 
 soul, 
 Which every other moment rise to madness ? 
 Alic. What proof, alas ! have 1 not giv'n of 
 love? 
 What have I not abandoned to thy arms ? 
 Have 1 not set at nought my noble birth, 
 A spotless fame, and an unblemish'd race. 
 The peace of innocence, and pnde of virtue 1 
 My prodigality has giv'n thee all; 
 And now, I've nothing left me to bestow. 
 You hate the wretched bankrupt you have made. 
 
 [Crosses to r.h.) 
 Has. Why am I thus pursu'd from place to 
 place, 
 Kept in the view, and crossed at evVy turn ? 
 In vain 1 fly, and, like a hunted deer. 
 Scud o'er the lawns, and hasten to the covert^ 
 E'er I can reach my safety, you o'ertak? me 
 With the swift maiice of some keen rtproach, 
 And drive the winged shaft deep m m}' heart. 
 Alic. Hither you fly, and here you seek re- 
 pose ; 
 Spite of the poor deceit, your arts are known, 
 Your pious, charitable, midnight visits. 
 
 Has. If you are wise, and pnze your peace 
 of mind, 
 Yet take the friendly counsel of my love ; 
 Believe me true, nor listen to 3'our iealousy. 
 Let not that devil, which undoes your sex, 
 
JANE SHORE. 27 
 
 That cursed curiosity seduce you, 
 To hunt for needless secrets, which, neglected, 
 Shall never hurt your quiet ; but once known, 
 Shall sit upon your heart, pinch it with pain, 
 And banish the sweet sleep for ever from you. 
 Go to — be yet advis'd — 
 
 Alic. Dost thou in scorn [tamely 
 
 Preach patience to my rage, and bid me 
 Sit like a poor, contented idiot down. 
 Nor dare to think thou'st wrongM me ? Ruin 
 
 seize thee. 
 And swift perdition overtake thy treachery. 
 Have I the least remaining cause to doubt ? 
 Hast thou endeavour'd once to hide thy false- 
 hood ? [ness, 
 To hide it might have spoke some little tender- 
 And shown thee half unwilling to undo me : 
 But thou disdain'st the weakness of humanity. 
 Thy words, and all thy actions, have confess d it ; 
 Ev'n now thy eyes avow it, novv they speak, 
 And insolently own the glorious villany. 
 Has. Well then, 1 own my heart has broke 
 your chains. 
 Patient I bore the painful bondage long. 
 At length my gen'rous love disdains your tyran- 
 ny; 
 The bitterness and stings of taunting jealousy, 
 Vexatious days, and jarring, joyless nights. 
 Have driven him forth to seek some safer shel- 
 ter, \ 
 Where he may rest his weary wings in peace. 
 Mic. You triumph I do ! and with gigantic 
 pride 
 
gg JANE SHORE. 
 
 Defy impending vengeance. Heav'n shall wink ; 
 No more his arm shall roll the dreadful thunder, 
 Nor send his lightnings forth: no more his jus- 
 tice 
 Shall visit the presuming sons of men, 
 But perjury, like thine, shall dwell in safety. 
 Has. Whatever ray fate decrees for me here- 
 after. 
 Be present to me now, my better angel! 
 Preserve me from the storm that threatens now. 
 And if 1 have beyond atonement sinn'd. 
 Let any other kind of plague overtake me, 
 So I escape the fury of that tongue. 
 
 Alio. Thy prayer is heard — I go (^Crosses 
 to L.H.) — but know, proud lord, 
 Howe'er thou scorn''st the weakness of my sex. 
 This feeble h md may tind the means to reach 
 
 thee, 
 Howe'er sublime in pow'r and greatness plac'd, 
 With royal favour guarded round and grac'd ; 
 On eagle's wings my rage shall urge her flight, 
 And hurl thee headlong from thy topmast 
 
 height ; 
 Then, like thy fate, superior will I sit. 
 And view thee falTn, and grov'ling at my feet; 
 See thy last breath with indignation go. 
 And tread thee sinking to the shades below. 
 
 [Exii^ L.H. 
 Has. How fierce a fiend is passion ! With 
 what wildness. 
 What tyranny untam'd it reigns in woman ! 
 Unhappy sex ! whose easy, yielding temper 
 Gives way to ev''ry appetite alike : 
 
JANE SHORE. 29 
 
 And love in their weak bosoms is a rage 
 As terrible as hate, and as destructive. 
 But soft "ye now — for here comes one, disclaims 
 Strife and her wrangUng train ; of equal ele- 
 ments, 
 Without one jarring atom was she form'd, 
 And gentleness and joy make up her being. 
 
 Enter Jane Shore, r.h. 
 
 Forgive me, fair one, if officious friendship 
 Intrudes on your repose, and comes thus late 
 To greet you with the tidings of sucress. 
 The princely Gloster has vouchsafed your hear- 
 ing, 
 To-morrow he expects you at the court; 
 There plead your cause, with never-failing 
 
 beauty. 
 Speak all your griefs, and find a full redress. 
 Jane S. Thus humbly let your lowly servant 
 bend. {Kneeling.) 
 
 Thus let me bow my grateful knee to earth, 
 And bless your noble nature for this goodness. 
 Has. Rise, gentle dame, you wrong my mean- 
 ing much, 
 Think me not guilty of a thought so vain, 
 To sell my courtesy for thanks like these. 
 Jane S. 'Pis true, your bounty is beyond my 
 speaking : 
 But though my mouth be dumb, my heart shall 
 
 thank you ; 
 And when it melts before the throne of mercy, 
 Mourning and bleeding for my past offencee, 
 4 
 
30 
 
 JANE SHORE. 
 
 My fervent soul shall breathe one pray'r for you, 
 That heav'n will pay you back, when most you 
 
 need, 
 The grace and goodness you have shown to me. 
 Has. If there be aught of merit in my service, 
 Impute it there, where most 'tis due, —to love ; 
 j'BeTriTidvfiiy^^otle raistressTto my wis'Bes7 
 (And s atisfy m y panting heart with 
 ^rnie ^T'lttas I ray lord — " 
 Has. Why bend thy eyes to earth ? 
 Wherefore these looks of heaviness and sorrow ? 
 Why breathes that sigh, my love ? And where- 
 fore falls 
 This trickling show'r of tears, to stain thy sweet- 
 ness ? 
 Jane S. If pity dwells within your noble breast 
 (As sure it does), oh, speak not to me thus. 
 Has. Can I behold thee, and not speak of 
 love ? 
 Ev'n now, thus sadly as thou stand'st before me, 
 Thus desolate, dejected, and forlorn, 
 Thy softnesssteajsjj^onmyyielding senses, 
 'my'soul famts, and sTckenT 
 
 "witl 
 
 rsire 
 
 [ow canst thou give this motion to my heart 
 /And bid my tongue be stiUl 
 mrSr^XJasTvUmYdryour eyes 
 
 Upon the high-born beauties of the court ; 
 Behold, like opening roses, where they bloom, 
 Sweet to the sense, unsully'd all, and spotless ; 
 There choose some worthy partner of your 
 
 heart. 
 To fill your arms and bless your virtuous bed : 
 Nor turn your eyes this way. 
 
JANE SHORE. 31 
 
 Ha*. What means this peevish, this fantastic 
 change ? 
 Where is thy wonted pleasantness of face, 
 Thy wonted graces, and thy dimpled smiles? 
 Where hast thou lost thy wit and sportive mirth? 
 That cheerful heart, which usM to dance for 
 
 ever, 
 And cast a day of gladness all around thee ? 
 
 Jane S. Yes, I will own I merit the reproach ; 
 And for those foolish days of wanton pride, 
 My soul is justly humbled to the dust : [me, 
 All tongues, like yours, are licens'd to upbraid 
 Still to repeat my guilt, to urge my infamy. 
 And treat me like that abject thing I have been. 
 Has. No more of this dull stuflf. 'Tis time 
 enough 
 To whine and mortify thyself with penance, 
 The present moment claims more genVous use ; 
 Thy beauty, night and solitude reproach me, 
 For having talk'd thus long : — come let me 
 
 press thee, {Laying hold on her.) 
 
 Jane S. Forbear, my lord ! — here let me 
 
 rather die, {Kneeling.) 
 
 And end my sorrows and my shame for ever. 
 Has. Away with this perversenefes ; — 'tis too 
 much. 
 Nay, if you strive, — 'tis monstrous affectation ! 
 
 (Striving.) 
 Jane S. Retire ! I beg you leave me — 
 Has. 'i'hus to coy it I — 
 With one who knows you too. — 
 Jane S. For mercy's sake — 
 Has. Ungrateful woman ! Is it thus to pay 
 My services ? — ■ 
 
Sg JANE SHORE. 
 
 Jane S. Abandon me to ruin, — 
 Rather than urge me — 
 
 Has. This way to your chamber; 
 
 (^Pullin^ her.) 
 There if you struggle — 
 
 Ja7ie S. Help, O gracious heaven ! 
 Help ! Save me ! Help I [Rushes owt, R.H. 
 
 i^„ Enter Dumont, r.h. ; he interposes, 
 
 Dum. My lord ! for honours sake — 
 
 Has. Hah ! What art thou ? — Be gone ! 
 
 Dum. My duty calls me 
 To my attendance on my mistress here. 
 
 Has. Avaunt ! base groom : — 
 At distance wait and know thy office better. 
 
 Dum. No, my lord — 
 The common ties of manhood call me now, 
 And bid me thus stand up in the defence 
 Of an oppress'd, unhappy, helpless woman. 
 
 HaSt. And dost thou know me, slave? 
 
 Dum, Yes, thou proud lord ! 
 I know thee well ; know thee with each advan- 
 tage [give thee. 
 Which wealth, or pow'r, or noble birth can 
 I know thee too tor one who stains those ho- 
 nours. 
 And blots a long illustrious line of ancestry, 
 iiy poorly daring thus to wrong a woman. 
 
 Has. Tis wondrous well; I see, my saint-like 
 dame, 
 \o\\ stand provided of your braves and ruffians, 
 To man your cause, and bluster in your bi^othel. 
 
JANE SHORE. 33 
 
 Dum. Take back the foul reproach, unman- 
 ner'd railer ! 
 Nor urge my rage too far, lest thou shouldst 
 
 find 
 I have as daring spirits in my blood 
 As thou or any of thy race e'er boasted ; 
 And though no gaudy titles grac'd my birth, 
 Yet heav'n that made me honest, made me more 
 Than ever king did, when he made a lord. 
 Has. Insolent villain ! henceforth let this 
 
 teach thee [Draws and strikes him.^ 
 
 The distance 'twixt a peasant and a prince. 
 Dum. Nay then, my lord, (^Drawing.) learn 
 you by this, how well 
 An arm resolv'd can guard its master's life. 
 
 {I'hey fight ; Dumont disarms Hastings.) 
 Has. Confusion ! baffled by a base-born hind ! 
 Dum. Now, haughty sir, where is our differ- 
 ence now ? 
 Your life is in my hand, and did not honour, 
 The gentleness of blood, and inborn virtue 
 (Howe'er unworthy I may seem to you,) 
 Plead in my bosom, I should take the forfeit. 
 But wear your sword again ; and know, a lord 
 Oppos'd against a man, is but a man. 
 
 Has. Curse on my failing hand ! your better 
 fortune 
 Has giv'n you vantage o'er me ; but perhaps 
 Your triumph may be bought with dear repen- 
 tance. [Exit^ L.II, 
 4 ^ 
 
34 JANE SHORE. 
 
 Re-enter Jane Shore, r.h. 
 
 Jane S. Alas ! Tvhat have you done ? Know 
 
 3'e the powT, 
 The mightiness that waits upon this lord? 
 Dum. Fear not, my worthiest mistress ; 'tis a 
 
 cause [sue, 
 
 In which heaven's guards shall wait you, O pur- 
 Pur?uc the sacred counsels of your soul, 
 Which urge you on to virtue; 
 Assisting angels shall conduct your steps, 
 Bring you to bliss, and crown your days with 
 
 peace. 
 Jane S. O that my head were laid, my sad 
 
 eyes cios'd, 
 And my cold corse wound in my shroud to reet I 
 My p linful heart will never cease to beat, 
 IVili nBver know a moment s peace till then. 
 Dum. Would you be happy, leave this fatal 
 
 place ; 
 Fly from the court^s pernicious neighbourhood ; 
 Where innocence is sham'd, and blushing mo- 
 desty 
 Is made the scorner's jest ; where hate, deceit, 
 And deadly ruin, wear the masks of beauty. 
 And draw deluded fools with shows of pleasure. 
 Jane S. Where should i fly, thus helpless and 
 
 forlorn. 
 Of friends, and all the means of life bereft ? 
 Dum Belmour, whose friendly care still wakes 
 
 to serve you. 
 Has found you out a little peaceful refuse. 
 
JANE SHORE. 36 
 
 Far from the court and the tumultuous cit}'. 
 Within an ancient forest's ample verge, 
 There stands a lonely but a healthful dweUing", 
 Built for convenience and the use of life : 
 Around it fallows, meads, and pastures fair, 
 A little srarden, and a limpid hrook, 
 By nature's own contrivance seem d dispos'd ; 
 f~No neighbours, but a few poor simple clowns, 
 Honest and true, with a well meaning priest: 
 No faction, or domestic furl's rage, 
 Did e'er disturb the quiet of that place, 
 When the contending nobles shook the land 
 With York and Lancaster's disputed sway. 
 Your virtue there may find a safe retreat 
 From the insulting pow'rs of wicked greatness. 
 
 Jane S Can there be so much happiness in 
 store ? 
 A cell like that is all my hopes aspire to. 
 Haste then, and thither let us take our flight, 
 E'er the clouds gather, and the wintry sky 
 Descends in storms to intercept our passage. 
 
 Dum. Will you then go ? You glad my very 
 soul. 
 Banish your fears, cast all your cares on me ; 
 Plenty and ease, and peace of mind shall wait 
 
 jou. 
 And make your latter days of life most happy. 
 O lady ! but I must not, cannot tell you, 
 How anxious I have been for all your dangers, 
 And how my heart rejoices at your safety. 
 So when the spring renews the flow'ry tield, 
 And warns the pregnant nightingale to build, 
 She seeks the safest shelter of the wood 
 
3G JANE SHORE. 
 
 Where she may trust her little tuneful brood ; 
 "Wnere no rude swains her shady cell may know, 
 No serpents climb, nor blasting winds may blow ; 
 Fond of the chosen place, she views it o'er. 
 Sits there, and wanders through the grove no 
 
 more ; 
 Warbling she charms it each returning night, 
 And loves it with a mother's dear delight. 
 
 [Exeunt J R.H 
 
 END OF ACT 11, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.-— T/ic Court. 
 Enter Alicia, -with a paper., R.ii. 
 
 Alic. This paper to the great protector's hand 
 With care and secresy must be convey'd : 
 His bold ambition now avows its aim, 
 To pluck the crown from Edward's infant brow, 
 And fix it on his own. I know he holds 
 My faithless Hastings adverse to his hopes, 
 And, much devoted to the orphan king: 
 On that i build ; this paper meets his doubts, 
 And marks my hated rival as the cause 
 Of Hastings' zeal for his dead master's sons. 
 Oh, jealousy! thou bane of pleasing friendship 
 
JANE SHORE. 37 
 
 How does thy rancour poison all our softness, 
 And turn our g-entle nature's into bitterness ! 
 See, where she comes ! once my heart's dearest 
 blessing, [ty 
 
 Now my chang'd eyes are blasted with her beau- 
 Loath that known face, and sicken to behold her. 
 
 Enter Jane Shore, l.h. 
 
 Jane S. O my Alicia ! 
 
 Alio. What new grief is this? 
 What unforeseen misfortune has surprised thee, 
 That racks thy tender heart thus? 
 
 Jane S. O Dumont 1 
 
 Alio. Say, wliatofhim? 
 
 Jane S. That friendly, honest man, 
 AVhom Belmour brought of late to my assistance, 
 On whose kind care, whose diligence and faith, 
 IMy surest trust was built, this very morn 
 Was seiz'd on by the cruel hand of power, 
 Forc'd from my house, and borne away to prison, 
 
 Alic. To prison, said you ? Can you guess the 
 cause ? 
 
 Jane S. Too well, I fear. His bold defence of 
 me [him. 
 
 Has drawn the vens^eance of Lord Haslinsrs on 
 
 Alic. Lord Hastings! ha! 
 
 Jane S Some titter time must tell thee 
 The tale of my hard hap. Upon the present 
 Hang all my poor, my last remaining hopes. 
 Within this paper is my suit contain'd ; 
 Here as the princely Gloster passes forth. 
 I wait to jive it on my humble knees. 
 
33 JANE SHORE 
 
 And move him for redress. 
 
 (^She gives the paper to Alicia^ who opens and seems 
 to read it ; Jane Shore retires up the Stage.^ 
 Alio. Now for a wile, 
 To stin^ my thoughtless rival to the heart ; 
 To blast her fatal beauties, and divide her 
 For ever from my perjur'd Hastings' ejes : 
 Their fashions are the same ^ it cannot fa il 
 44/UK^'^^^ {Aside. — Pulling out the other Paper.) 
 / Jane S. {Advancing.) But see the great pro- 
 ^ tector comes this way. 
 
 Give me the paper, friend, 
 Alic. For love and vt^ngeance ! 
 
 {Aside. — »S/je gives her the other Paper.) 
 
 Enter the Duke of Gloster, S/r Richard 
 
 Ratciiff, Catesby, Courtiers^ and other 
 
 Attendants^ k.h. u.e. 
 
 Jane S. {Kneeling.) r.h.) O noble Gloster, turn 
 thy gracious eye, 
 Incline thy pitying ear to my complaint ; 
 A poor, undone, forsaken, helpless vvomim, 
 Entreats a little bread for charity, [ishing. 
 
 To feed her wants, and save her life from per- 
 Gios. Arise fair dame, and dry your wat'ry 
 eyes. 
 
 {Receiving the Paper^ and raising her.) 
 Beshrew me, but 'twere pity of his hearf 
 Ti.at eo'i'd refuse a boon to sucb a^.suitress. 
 You've gc^t a noble fru^nfi to be your advocate : 
 A worthy and right gentle lord he is, 
 And to his trust most true. 1 his present now 
 
JANE SHORE. 39 
 
 Some matters of the state detain our leisure ; 
 Those once dispatchM, we'll call for you anon, 
 And give your griefs redress. Go to ! — be com- 
 forted, [this pity* 
 
 Jane S. Good heavens repay your highness for 
 And show'r down blessings on your princely 
 
 head I 
 Come, my Alicia, reach thy friendly arm, 
 And help me to support this feeble frame, 
 That nodding totters with oppressive woe, 
 And sinks beneath its load. 
 
 [Exeunt Jane S. and Alio. r.h. 
 
 Glos. Now by my holidame ! 
 Heavy of heart she seems, and sore afflicted. 
 But thus it is when rude calamity 
 Lays its strong gripe upon these mincing minions ; 
 The dainty gevv-gaw forms dissolve at once, 
 And shiver at the shock. What says this paper? 
 
 [Seeming to read.) 
 Ha ! What is this ? Come nearer, Ratcliffe ! 
 
 Catesby ! [ing. 
 
 Mark the contents, and then divine the mean- 
 
 {He reads.) 
 Wonder not., Princely Gloster.^ at the notice 
 This paper brings you from a friend unknown ; 
 Lord Hastings is inclined to call you master., 
 And kneel to Richard as to England's king ; 
 But Shore's bewitching wife misleads his heart. 
 And draws his service to king Edvvard"'s sons : 
 Drive her away., you break the charm that holds him, 
 And he., and all his powers., attend on you. 
 
 Sir R. (l.ii.) 'Tis wonderful I 
 
40 JANE SHORE. 
 
 Caies. (l.h.) The means by which it came 
 Yet stranj^er too ! 
 
 Glos. You saw it giv^n, but now. 
 
 Sir R. She couk! not know the purport. 
 
 Glos. No, 'tis plain 
 She knows it not, it levels at her life ; [ters, 
 Should she presume to prate of such high mat- 
 The meddling harlot, dear she should abide it. 
 
 Gates. What hand soe'er it comes from, be 
 assurM, 
 It means your highness well — 
 
 Glos. Upon the instant, 
 Lord Hastings will be here ; this morn I mean 
 To prove him to the quick ; then if he flinch, 
 No more but this, — away with him at once. 
 He must be mine or nothing. — But he comes ! 
 Draw nearer this way, and observe me well. 
 
 {They whisper.) 
 
 Enter Lord Hastings, l.h. 
 
 Has. This foolish woman hangs about my 
 heart. 
 Lingers and wanders in my fancy still ; 
 This coyness is put on, 'tis art and cunning, 
 And worn to urge desire ; — I must possess her. 
 The groom, who lift his saucy hand against me. 
 Ere this, is humbled, and repents his daring. 
 Perhaps, ev'n she may profit by th' example, 
 And teach her beauty not to scorn my pow'r. 
 
 Glos. This do, and wait me e'er the council sits. 
 
 [Exeunt Ratcliffe and Catesby, r.h. u.e. 
 
 My lord, you're well encounter'd ; here has been 
 
JANE SHORE. 41 
 
 A fair petitioner this morning with us ; 
 
 Believe me, she has won me much to pity her: 
 
 Alas ! her gentle nature vvas not made 
 
 To buftet vvith adversity. I told her 
 
 How worthily her cause you had befriended; 
 
 How much for your good sake we meant to do, 
 
 That you had spoke, and all things should be well. 
 
 Has. Your highness binds me ever to your 
 service. 
 
 Glos. You know your friendship is most po- 
 tent with us, 
 And shares our power. But of this enough, 
 For we have other matters for your ear; 
 The state is out of tune : distracting fears, 
 And jealous doubts, jar in our public councils ; 
 Amidst the wealthy city, murmurs rise, 
 Lewd railings, and reproach on those that rule, 
 With open scorn of government ; hence credit, 
 And public trust 'twixt man and man, are broke. 
 The golden streams of commerce are withheld, 
 Which fed the wants of needy hinds and artizans, 
 Who therefore curse the great, and threat re- 
 bellion 
 
 Has. The resty knaves are over-run with ease, 
 As plenty ever is the nurse of faction ; 
 If in good days, like these, the headstrong herd 
 Grow madly wanton and repine, it is 
 Because the reins of power are held too slack, 
 And reverend authority of late 
 Has worn a face of mercy more than justice. 
 
 Glos. Beshrew my heart ; but you have welj/ 
 divin'd 
 The source of these disorders. Who can wonder 
 
 a 
 
42 JANE SHORE. 
 
 If riot and misrule o'erturn the realm, 
 When the crown sits upon a baby brow ? 
 Plainly to speak, hence comes the gen'ral cry, 
 And sum of all complaint: 'twill ne"'er be well 
 With England (^thus they talk,) while children 
 
 govern. 
 Has. 'Tis true, the king is voung: but what 
 
 of that? 
 We feel no want of Edward's riper years, 
 While G tester's valour and most princely wisdom 
 So well support our infant sovereign's place. 
 His 3'outh's support, and guardian to his throne. 
 Glos. i he council (much I'm bound to thank 
 
 'em for t,) 
 Have plac'd a pageant sceptre in my hand, 
 Barren of povv'r, and subject to controul ; 
 Scorn'd by my foes, and useless to my friends. 
 Oh, worthy lord I were mine the rule indeed, 
 I think I should not suifer rank offence 
 At large to lord it in the commonweal ; 
 Nor would the realm be rent by discord thus. 
 Thus fear and doubt, betwixt disputed titles. 
 
 Has. Of this I am to learn ; as not supposing 
 A doubt like this ; — 
 
 Glos. Ay, marry, but there is — 
 And that of much concern. Have you not heard 
 How, on a late occasion, doctor Shaw 
 Has mov'd the people much about the lawfulness 
 Of Edward's issue ? By right grave authority 
 Of learning and religion, plainly proving, 
 A bastard scion never should be grafted 
 Vpon a royal stock; from thence at full 
 Piscoursing on my brother's former contracts 
 
JANE SHORE. 4'3 
 
 To lady Elizabeth Lucy, long before 
 
 His jolly match with that same buxom widow. 
 
 The queen he lei't behind him — 
 
 Has. Ill befall 
 Such meddUng priests, who kindle up confu«;ion, 
 And vex the quiet world with their vain scruples ! 
 By heav'n 'tis done in perlect spite to peace. 
 Did not the king 
 
 Our royal master, Edward, in concurrence 
 With his estates assembled, well determine 
 What course the sovereign rule should take 
 
 henceforward ? 
 When shall the deadly hate of faction cease ? 
 When shall our long divided land have rest, 
 If every peevish, moody malcontent, 
 Shall set the senseless rabble in an uproar, 
 Fright them with dangers, and perplex their 
 
 brains. 
 Each day with some fantastic giddy change ? 
 
 Glos. What if some patriot, for the public good, 
 Should vary from your scheme, new-mould the 
 state ? 
 
 Has. Curse on the innovating hand attempts it ! 
 Remember him, the villain, righteous heaven, 
 In thy great day of vengeance ! blast the traitor 
 And his pernicious counsels : who, for wealth, 
 For pow'r, the pride of greatness, or revenge, 
 Would plunge his native land in civil wars ! 
 
 Glos. You go too far, my lord. 
 
 Has. Your highness' pardon. — 
 Have we so soon forgot those days of ruin, 
 When York and Lancaster drew forth their bat- 
 
4 1 JANE SHORE. 
 
 When, like a matron butcher-d by her sons, 
 Our groaning country bled at every vein : 
 When murders, rapes, and massacres prevailed ; 
 When churches, palaces, and cities blaz'd ; 
 When insolence and barbarism triumph'd, 
 And swept away distinction : peasants trod 
 Upon the necks of nobles : low were laid 
 The reverend crosier and the holy mitre, 
 And desolation covered all the land ; 
 Who can remember this, and not, like me. 
 Here vow to sheath a dagger in his heart, 
 Whose damn'd ambition would renew those 
 
 horrors, 
 And set once more that scene of blood before us ? 
 
 GIos. How now I so hot ! 
 
 Has. So brave, and so resoly'd. 
 
 Gbs. Is then our friendship of so little moment, 
 That you could arm your hand against my life ? 
 
 Has. 1 hope your highness does not think I 
 mean it; 
 No, heav'n foriend that e'er your princely person 
 Should come within the scope of my resentment. 
 
 Glcs. O noble Hastings ! nay, I must embrace 
 you ; (^Embraces him,) 
 
 By holy Paul, you're a right honest man ! 
 The time is full of danger and distrust, 
 And warns us to be wary. Hold me not 
 Too apt for jealousy and light surmise, 
 If when I meant to lodge you next my heart, 
 I put your truth to trial. Keep your loyalty, 
 And live your king and country's best support : 
 For me, 1 ask no more than honour gives, 
 To think me yours, and rank me with your 
 friends. ' ]Exif, Rvh: 
 
JANE SHORE. 45 
 
 Has. I am not read, 
 Nor skill'd and practised in the arts of greatness, 
 To kindle thus, and give a scope to passion. 
 The duke is surely noble ; but he touch'd me 
 Ev'n on the tend'rest point; the master string 
 That makes most harmony or discord to me. 
 1 own the glorious subject tires my breast, 
 And my souTs darling passion stands confess'd; 
 Beyond or love's or friendship's sacred band, 
 Beyond myself, I prize my native land : 
 On this foundation would I build my fame, 
 And emulate the Greek and Roman name ; 
 Think England's peace bought cheaply with my 
 
 blood. 
 And die with pleasure for my country's good. 
 
 [ Exit., R.H. 
 
 END OF ACT III. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE \.—The sa7ne. 
 
 Enter Duke of Gloster, (In Centre.) Ratcliffe, 
 R.H. and Catesby, i.h. 
 
 Glos. This was the sum of all : that he would 
 brook 
 No alteration in the present state. 
 
46 JANE SHORE. 
 
 Marry, at last, the testy gentleman 
 Was almost mov'd to bid ns bold defiance i 
 But there I droppM the argument, and changhig 
 The first design and purport of my speech, 
 I prais'd his good affection to young Edward, 
 And left him to believe my thoughts hke his. 
 Proceed we then in this fore-mentioned matter, 
 As nothing bound or trusting to his friendship. 
 }Sir R. Ill does it thus befall. I could have 
 wish'd 
 This lord had stood with us. 
 His name had been of 'vantage to your highness, 
 And stood our present purpose much in stead. 
 Glos. This wayward and perverse declining 
 from us. 
 Has warranted at full the friendly notice, 
 V7hich we this morn receiv'd. I hold it certain, 
 This puling, whining harlot rules his reason, 
 And prompts his zeal for Edward's bastard brood. 
 Cates. If she have such dominion o'er his heart, 
 ^nd turn it at her will, you rule her fate ; 
 And should, by inference and apt deduction, 
 Be arbiter of his. Is not her bread, 
 The very means immediate to her being. 
 The bounty of your hand-? 'Why does she lite, 
 Jf not to yield obedience to your pleasure. 
 To speak, to act, to think as you command ! 
 ^S'lV R. Let her instruct her tongue to bear 
 your niessage ! 
 Teach every grace to smile in your behalf, 
 And her deluded eyes 4o gloat for you ; 
 His ductile reason will be wonnd oboutj 
 
JANE SHORE. 47 
 
 Be led and turnM again, say and unsay, 
 Receive the yoke, and yield exact obedience. 
 Glos, Your counsel likes me well, it shall be 
 
 follow'd, 
 She waits without attending, on her suit, 
 Go, call her in, and leave us here alone. 
 
 [Exeunt Ratcliffe and Catesby^ l.h. 
 How poor a thing is he, how worthy scorn, 
 Who leaves the guidance of imperial manhood 
 To such a paltry piece of stuff as this is! 
 A moppet made of prettiness and pride ; 
 That oftener does her giddy fancies change, 
 Than glittering dew-drops in the sun do colours.— 
 Now, shame upon it ! was our reason given 
 For such a use ? To be thus puff'd about. 
 Sure there is something more than witchcraft in 
 
 them, 
 That masters ev'n the wisest of us all. 
 
 Enter Jane Shore, l.h. 
 
 Oh ! you are come most fitly. We have ponder'd 
 On this your grievance : and though some there 
 are, [force 
 
 Nay, and those great ones too, who would en« 
 The rigour of our power to afflict you. 
 And bear a heavy hand ; yet fear not you : 
 We've ta'en you to our favour ; our protection 
 Shall stand between, and shield you from mishap. 
 Jane S. The blessings of a heart with anguish 
 broken 
 And rescu'd from despair, attend your highness, 
 Alas ! my gracious lord, what have I done 
 
4§ JANE SHORE. 
 
 To kindle such relentless wrath against me 2 
 
 Glos. IMarry, there are, though I believe them 
 Who say you middle in affairs of state : [not 
 That you presume to prattle like a busy-body, 
 Give your advice, and teach the lords o'the 
 What fits the order of the commonweal, [council 
 
 Ja7ie S. Oh, that the busy world, at least in 
 this. 
 Would take example from a wretch like me ! 
 None then would waste their hours in foreign 
 thoughts, * [peace, 
 
 Forget themselves, and what concerns their 
 To search, with prying eyes, for faults abroad, 
 If all, like me, considered their own hearts, 
 And wept their sorrows which they found at 
 
 home. [I trust not 
 
 Glos. Go to ; I know your pow'r ; and though 
 To ev'ry breath of fame, I'm not to learn 
 That Hastings is profess'd your loving vassal. 
 But fair befall your beauty : use it wisely. 
 And it may stand your fortunes much in stead, 
 Give back your forfeit land with large increase. 
 And place you high in safety and m honour. 
 Nay, I could point a way, the which pursuing, 
 You shall not only bring yourself advantage. 
 But give the realm much worthy cause to thank 
 you. [hand 
 
 Ja7ie S. Oh ! where or how — can my unworthy 
 Become an instrument of good to any ? 
 Instruct your lowly slave, and let me fly 
 To yield obedience to your dread command. 
 
 Glos. Why, that's well said; — Thus then, — 
 observe me well. 
 
JANE SHORE. 49 
 
 The state, for many high and potent reasons, 
 
 Deeming my brother Edward's sons unfit 
 
 For the imperial weight of England's crown — 
 
 Jane S. Alas ! for pity. 
 
 Glos. Therefore have resolv'd 
 To set aside their unavailing infanc3% 
 And vest the sovereign rule in abler hands. 
 This, though of great importance to the public, 
 Hastings, for very peevishness and spleen. 
 Does stubbornly oppose. 
 
 Jane S Does he ? Does Hastings ? 
 
 Glos. Ay, Hastings. [heav'ns : 
 
 Jane. S. Reward him for the noble deed, just 
 For this one action guard him and distinguish him 
 With signal mercies, and with great deliverance. 
 Save him from wrong, adversity, and shame, 
 Let never fading honours flourish round him. 
 And consecrate his name, ev'n to time's end. 
 
 Glos. How now ! 
 
 Jane S. The poor, forsaken, royal little one^ ! 
 Shall they be left a prey to savage power ? 
 Can they lift up their harmless hands in vain. 
 Or cry to heaven for help, and not be heard ? 
 Impossible ! O gallant, generous Hastings, 
 Go on, pursue, assert the sacred cause : 
 Stand forth thou proxy of all-ruling Providence, 
 And save the friendless infants from oppression. 
 Saints shall assist thee with prevailing prayers. 
 And warring angels combat on thy side. 
 
 (Crosses to r.h.) 
 
 Grlos. You're passing rich in this same heavnly 
 
 speech, [me ! 
 
 And spend it at your pleasure. Nay, but mark 
 
50 JANE SHORE. 
 
 My favour is not bought with words like thes€. 
 Go to : — you"*!! teach your tongue another tale. 
 
 Jane S. No, though the royal Edward has un- 
 done me, 
 He was my king, my gracious master still ; 
 He lov'd me too, though Hwas a guilty flame ; 
 And can I ? — O my heart abhors the thought ! 
 Stand by and see his children robb''d of right? 
 
 Glos. Dare not, ev'n for thy soul, to thwart 
 me further ! [foolery ; 
 
 None of your arts, your feigning, and your 
 Your dainty squeamish coying it to me ; 
 Go -to your lord, your paramour, be gone ! 
 Lisp in his ear, hang wanton on his neck, 
 And play your monkey gambols o'er to him. 
 You know my purpose, look that you pursue it, 
 And make him yield obedience to my will, 
 Do it, — or woe upon the harlot's head. 
 
 Jane S Oh that my tongue had every grace 
 of speech. 
 Great and commanding, as the breath of kings •; 
 That I had art and eloquence divine. 
 To pay my duty to my masters ashes, [rence. 
 And plead, till death, the cause of injurd inno- 
 
 Glos. Ha! Dost thou brave me, minion ! Dost 
 thou know [make thee ? 
 
 How vile, how very a wretch, my pow'r can 
 That I can place thee in such abject state, 
 As help shall never find thee ; where, repining. 
 Thou shalt sit down, and gnaw the earth for 
 
 anguish ; 
 Groan to the pitiless winds without return : 
 Howl, like the m'dnight wolf amidst the desert, 
 And curse thy life, in bitterness and misery ' 
 
JANE SHORE. 51 
 
 Jane S. Let me be branded for the public 
 
 scorn, [bond, 
 
 Turn'd forth and driv'n to wander like a vaga- 
 Be friendless and for^ »ken, «eek my bread 
 Upon the barren wild and desolate waste, 
 Feed on my sjg-hs, and driuk my falling" tears, 
 E'er I consent to teach my lips injustice. 
 Or wrong the orphan, who has none to save him. 
 
 Glos. 'Tis well : — we'll try the temper of your 
 What, boa ! Who waits without ? [heart. 
 
 Enter Ratcliffe, Catesby, and Attendants^ l.h. 
 
 Glos. Go, some of you, and turn this strumpet 
 forth ! 
 Spurn her into the street ; there let her perish, 
 And rot upon a dunghill. Through the city 
 See it proclaim'd, that none, on pain of death, 
 Presume to give her comfort, food, or harbour j 
 Who ministers the smallest comfort, dies. 
 Her house, her costly furniture and wealth, 
 We seize on, for the profit of the state. 
 Away ! Be gone ! 
 
 Jane S. Oh thou most righteous Judge — 
 Humbly behold, 1 bow myself to thee, {Kneels.^ 
 And own thy justice in this hard decree : 
 No longer, then, my ripe offences spare, 
 But what I merit, let me learn to bear. 
 Yet, since 'tis all my wretchedness can give, 
 For my past crimes my forfeit life receive ; 
 
 {They raise her.^ 
 No pity for my sufferings here 1 crave* 
 And only hope forgiveness in the grave. 
 
 l^ExU Jane Shore, guarded by Catesby^ l.h. 
 
52 JANE SHORE. 
 
 Glos. So much for this. Your projects at an 
 end. (To Sir Richard.) 
 
 This idle toy, this hilding scorns my power, 
 And sets us all at nought. See that a guard 
 Be ready at my call — 
 
 *S/V R. The council waits 
 Upon your highness's leisure. 
 
 Glos. I'll attend them. {Exeunt, l.h. 
 
 SCENE II— The Council Chamber. 
 
 The Duke of Buckingham, Earl of Derby, 
 Bishop of Ely, Lord Hastings, and others., 
 discovered in Cou7iciL The Duke of Glos- 
 TER enters, l.h. and takes his Place at the 
 ■upper End. 
 Der. (r.h.) In happy times we are assembled 
 here, — 
 T' point the day, and fix the solemn pomp 
 For placing "England's crown, with all due rites, 
 Upon our sovereign Edward's youthful brow. 
 Lord H. (l.h.) Some busy, meddling knaves, 
 'tis said there are. 
 As such will still be prating, who presume 
 To carp and cavil at his royal right; 
 Therefore, I hold it fitting, with the soonest, 
 T' appoint the order of the coronation : 
 So to approve our duty to the-kiT[ig, 
 And stay the babbling of such vain gainsayers. 
 Dcr. We all attend to know your highness' 
 pleasure. {To Gloster.) 
 
 Glos, {In Centre.) My lords, a set of worthy 
 men you are, 
 
JANE SHORE. 53 
 
 Prudent and just, and careful for the state ; 
 Therefore, to your most grave determination 
 1 yield myself in all things ; and demand 
 What punishment your wisdom shall think meet 
 T' inflict upon those damnable contrivers, 
 Who shall with potions, charms, and witching 
 Practise against our person and our life ! [drugs, 
 
 Has. So much i hold the king your highness' 
 debtor. 
 So precious are you to the commonweal, 
 That i presume, not only for myself, 
 But in behalf of these my noble brothers, 
 To say, whoe'er they be, they merit death. 
 
 Glos. Then judge yourselves, convince your 
 eyes of truth : 
 Behold my arm, thus blasted, dry and wither'd, 
 
 (^Pulling up his Sleeve.) 
 Shrunk like a foul abortion, and decay'd, 
 Like some untimely product of the seasons, 
 Robb'd of its properties of strength and office. 
 This is the sorcery of Edward's wife. 
 Who, in conjunction with that harlot Shore, 
 And other like confederate midnight hags, 
 By force of potent spells, of bloody characters, 
 And conjurations horrible to hear. 
 Call fiends and spectres from the yawning deep, 
 And set the ministers of hell at work. 
 To torture and despoil me of my life. 
 
 Has. If they have done this deed — 
 
 Glos, If they have done it ! 
 Talk'st thou to me of ifs, audacious traitor ! 
 Thou art that strumpet witch's chief abettor, 
 The patron and complotter of her mischiefs, 
 
 6 
 
54 JANE SHORE. 
 
 And join'd in this contrivance for my death. 
 Nay start not, lords. — What ho ! a guard there, 
 sirs ! 
 
 Enter Guards^ l.h. 
 
 Lord Hasting-s, I arrest thee of hig-h treason. 
 Seize him, and bear him instantly away. 
 He sha' not live an hour. By holy Paul, 
 I will not dine before his head be brought me. 
 Ratcliffe, stay you, and see that it be done : 
 The rest that love me, rise and follow me. 
 
 [ExeuHi^ Gloster^ r.fi. the Lords following. 
 
 Alanet Lord Hastings, Sir Richard Ratcliffe, 
 
 and Guards. 
 
 Has. What ! and no more but this ! — How .' 
 to the scaffold ! 
 O gentle Ratcliffe ! tell me, do I hold thee ? 
 Or if 1 dream, what shall I do to wake, [fusion? 
 To break, to struggle through this dread con- 
 For surely death itself is not so painful 
 As is this sudden horror and surprise. 
 
 Sir R. (l H.) You heard the duke's commands 
 to me were absolute. 
 Therefore, my lord, address you to your shrift, 
 With all good speed you may. Summon your 
 
 courage, 
 And be yourself; for you must die this instant. 
 Has. Yes, Ratcliffe, I will take thy friendly 
 counsel, 
 And die as a man should ; 'tis somewhat hard. 
 
JANE SHORE. 55 
 
 To call my scatter'd spirits home at once : 
 But since what must be, must be ; — let necessity 
 Supply the place of time and preparation, 
 And arm me for the blow 'Tis but to die, 
 'Tis but to venture on the common hazard, 
 Which many a time in battle 1 have run; 
 'Tis but to close my eyes and shut out day-light. 
 To view no more the wicked ways of men, 
 No longer to behold the tyrant Gloster, 
 And be a weeping witness of the woes. 
 The desolation, slaughter, and calamities, 
 Which he shall bring on this unhappy land. 
 
 Enter Alicia, l.h. 
 
 Alio. Stand off, and let me pass : — I will, 1 must 
 Catch him once more in these despairing arms, 
 And hold him to my heart — O Hastings ! Hast- 
 ings ! 
 
 Has. Alas ! why com'st thou at this dreadful 
 moment 
 To fill me with new terrors, new distractions ; 
 To turn me wild with thy distempered rage. 
 And shock the peace of my departing soul ? 
 Away ; I pr'ythee, leave me ! 
 
 Alio Stop a minute — 
 Till my full grieis tiud passage ; — O the tyrant 1 
 Perdition fall onGloster's bead and mine. 
 
 Has. What means thy frantic grief? 
 
 Alic. I cannot speak — 
 Butlhavemurder'd thee*; — Oh, I could tell thee! 
 
 Has. Speak, and give ease to thy contiicting; 
 passion ! 
 
36 JANE SHORE. 
 
 Be quick, nor keep me longer in suspense, 
 Time presses, and a thousand crowding thoughts 
 Break in at once ! this way and that they snatch ; 
 They tear my hurry'd soul : all claim attention. 
 And yet not one is heard. Oh ! speak, and 
 
 leave me, 
 For I have business would employ an age, 
 And but a minute's time to get it done in. 
 
 Alic, That, that's my grief; — 'tis I that urge 
 thee on, [earth. 
 
 Thus hunt thee to the toil, sweep thee from 
 And drive thee down this precipice of fate. 
 Has. Thy reason is grown wild. Could thy 
 weak hand 
 Bring on this mighty ruin? If it could, 
 What have I done so grievous to thy soul, 
 So deadly, so beyond the reach of pardon. 
 That nothing but my life can make atonement? 
 Alic. Thy cruel scorn hath stung me to the 
 heart. 
 And set my burning bosom all in flames ; 
 Raving and mad 1 flew to my revenge. 
 And writ I know not what ; — told the protector, 
 That Shore's detested wife, by wiles, had won 
 
 thee 
 To plot against his greatness. — He believ'd it, 
 (Oh, dire event of my pernicious counsel !) 
 And, while I meant destruction on her head, 
 He has turn''d it all on thine. 
 
 Has. O thou inhuman ! Turn thy eyes away, 
 And blast me not with their destructive beams: 
 Why should I curse thee with my dying breath? 
 Be gone ! and let me die in peace. 
 
 {Crosses to l.u.'S 
 
JANE SHORP:. &7 
 
 Alic. Canst thou — O cruel Hastings, leave me 
 thus ? 
 Hear me, 1 beg thee, — I conjure thee, hear me 1 
 While with an agonizing heart, 1 swear, 
 By all the pangs I teel, by ali the sorrows, 
 The terrors and despair thy loss shall give me, 
 My hate was on my rival bent alone. 
 Oh ! had 1 once divin'd, talse as thou art, 
 A danger to thy life, 1 would have died, 
 I would have met it for thee. 
 
 Has. Now mark ! and tremble at heaven^s 
 just award : 
 While thy insatiate wrath and fell revenge, 
 Pursu'd the innocence which never wrong'd 
 
 thee. 
 Behold, the mischief falls on thee and me : 
 Remorse and heaviness of heart shall wait thee. 
 And everlasting anguish be thy portion : 
 For me, the snares of death are wound about me. 
 And now, in one poor moment, 1 am gone. 
 Oh ! if thou hast one tender thought remaining, 
 Fly to thy closet, fall upon thy knees. 
 And recommend my parting soul to mercy. 
 
 Alic. Oh ! yet, before I go for ever from thee, 
 Turn thee in gentleness and pity to me, 
 
 [Kneeling.) 
 And, in compassion of my strong affliction, 
 Say, is it possible you can forgive 
 The fatal rashness of ungovern'd love ? 
 For, oh ! 'tis certain, if I had not lov'd thee 
 Beyond my peace, my reason, fame, and life, 
 This day of horror never would have known us. 
 6* 
 
3g JANE SHORE. 
 
 Has. Oh, rise, and let me hush thy stormy 
 sorrows. (Raising her.) 
 
 Assuage thy tears, for I will chide no more, 
 No more upbraid thee, thou unhappy fair one. 
 I see the hand of heav'n is arm'd against me ; 
 And, in mysterious providence, decrees 
 To punish me by thy mistaken hand. [thee, 
 
 Most righteous doom ! for, oh, while I behold 
 Thy wrongs rise up in terrible array. 
 And charge thy ruin on me ; thy fair fame, 
 Thy spotless beauty, innocence, and youth, 
 Dishonoured, blasted, and betray'd by me. 
 
 Jilic. And does thy heart relent for my un- 
 doing ? 
 Oh ! that inhuman Gloster could be mov'd, 
 But half so easily as I can pardon ! 
 
 (Catesby enters^ r.h. — Whispers Ratcliffe.) 
 
 Has. Here, then, exchange we mutual foi'^ 
 giveness : 
 So may the guilt of all my broken vows, 
 My perjuries to thee, be all forgotten, 
 As here my soul acquits thee of my death, 
 As here I part without one angry thought, 
 As here I leave thee with the softest tenderness, 
 Mourning the chance of our disastrous loves. 
 And begging heav'n to bless and to support thee. 
 
 Sir R. (l.h.) My lord, dispatch ; the duke 
 has sent to chide me, 
 For loitering in my duty — 
 
 Has. I obey. 
 
 Alio. Insatiate, savage monster ! Is a moment 
 So tedious to thy malice ? Oh, repay him, 
 Thou great avenger ! Give him blood for blood : 
 
JANE SHORE. 5^ 
 
 Guilt haunt him ! fiends pursue him ! hghtnings 
 
 blast him ! 
 That he may know how terrible it is 
 To want that moment he denies thee now. 
 Has. This rage is all in vain, that tears thy 
 
 bosom : 
 Retire, I beg thee ; [wounds me ; 
 
 To see thee thus, thou know'st not how it 
 Thy agonies are added to my own. 
 And make the burden more than 1 can bear. 
 Farewell : — good angels visit thy afflictions, 
 And bring thee peace and comfort from above. 
 
 [Exit^ L.H. 
 
 Alic. Oh ! stab fhe to the heart, some pitying 
 hand, 
 Now strike me dead — 
 
 Re-enter Lord Hastings, l.h. 
 
 Has. One thing I had forgot ; — 
 I charge thee, by our present common miseries ; 
 By our past loves, if they have yet a name ; 
 By all thy hopes of peace here and hereafter, 
 Let not the rancour of thy hate pursue 
 The innocence of thy unhappy friend ; 
 Thou know'st who 'tis 1 mean ; Oh I shouldst 
 
 thou wrong her, 
 Justheav'n shall double all thy woes upon thee, 
 And make 'em know no end ; — remember this, 
 As the last warning of a dying man. 
 Farewell, for ever ! 
 
 (T/ie Guards carry Hastings off^ l.h.) 
 
 Alio. For ever! Oh, for ever! 
 Oh, who can bear to be a wretch for ever ! 
 
60 JANE SHORE. 
 
 My rival, too ! His last thou2;hts hung on her, 
 And, as he parted, left a blessing- for her: 
 Shall she be blest, and I be curst, for ever ; 
 No; since her fatal beaut}' was the cause 
 or all my suffVug-^, let her share my pains; 
 Let her, like me, of ev'ry joy forlorn, 
 Devote the hour when such a wretch was born ; 
 Cast evVygood, and ev'ry hope behind ; 
 Detest the works of nature, loathe mankind: 
 Like me, with cries distracted, fill the air, 
 Tear her poor bosom, rend her frantic h; 
 And prove the torments of the lastdespaii 
 
 [Exit^ R.H. 
 
 EXD OF ACT IV. 
 
 nna : 
 
 »air, S 
 lir. y 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE l.—A Street. 
 
 Enter Belmovk and Dumont, l.it. 
 
 Dum. You saw her, then ? 
 
 Bel. I met her, as returning. 
 In solemn penance from the public cros!?. 
 Before her, certain rascal officers, 
 Slaves in authority, the knaves of justice, 
 Proclaim'd the tyrant Gloster's cruel orders. 
 Around her, numberless, the rabble flow'd, 
 
JANE SHORE. ^1 
 
 Should-ring each other, crowding for a view, 
 Gaping and gazing, taunting and reviling ; 
 Some pitying, — but those, alas ! how few ! 
 The most, such iron hearts we are, and such 
 The base barbarity of human kind, 
 With insolence and lewd reproach pursu'd her, 
 Hooting and railing, and with villanous hands 
 Gath'ring the filth from out the common ways. 
 To hurl upon her head. 
 
 Dum. Inhuman dogs ! 
 How did she bear it ? 
 
 Bel. With the gentlest patience ; 
 Siubmissive, sad, and, lowly was her look; 
 A burning taper in her hand she bore, 
 And on her shoulders carlessly confus'd, 
 With loose neglect, her lovely tresses hung 5 
 Upon her cheek a faintish blush was spread ; 
 Feeble she seem'd, and sorely smit with pain. 
 While barefoot as she trod the flint}' pavement, 
 Her footsteps all along were mark'd with blood. 
 Yet, silent still she pass'd and unrepining ; 
 Her streaming eyes bent ever on the earth, 
 Except when in some bitter pang of sorrow. 
 To heav'n she seem'd in fervent zeal to raise, 
 And beg that mercy man deny'd her here. 
 
 Dum. When was this pitious sight? 
 
 Bel. These last two days. 
 You know my care was wholly bent on you, 
 To find the happy means of your deliverance, 
 Which but for Hastings' death 1 had not gain'd. 
 During that time, although 1 have not seen her. 
 Yet divers trusty messengers I've sent. 
 To wait about, and watrh a fit convenience 
 
62 JANE SHORE. 
 
 To give her some relief, but all in vain ; 
 A churlish guard attends upon her steps, 
 Who menace those with death, that bring com- 
 fort, 
 And drive all succour from her. 
 
 Dum. Let 'em threaten ; 
 Let proud oppression prove its fiercest malice; 
 So heav'n befriend my soul, as here 1 vow 
 To give her help, and share one fortune with 
 her. 
 
 Bel. Mean you to see her thus, in your own 
 form ? 
 
 Dum. I do. [quence? 
 
 Bel. And have you thought upon the conse- 
 
 Dutn. What is there I should fear ? 
 
 Bel. Have you examined 
 Into your inmost heart, and try'd at leisure 
 The sev'ral secret springs that move the pas- 
 sions ? 
 Has mercy fix'd her empire there so sure, 
 That wrath and vengeance never may return? 
 Can you resume a husband's name, and bid 
 That wakeful dragon, fierce resentment, sleep ? 
 
 Dum. O thou hast set my busy brain at work, 
 And now she musters up a train of images. 
 Which, to preserve my peace, I had cast aside, 
 And sunk in deep oblivion. — Oh, that form ! 
 That angel face on which my dotage hung I 
 How 1 have gaz'd upon her, till my soul 
 With very eagerness went forth towards her. 
 And issu'd at my eyes. — Was there a gem 
 Which the sun ripens in the Indian mine, 
 Or the rich bosom of the ocean yields ?^ 
 
JANE SHORE. 63 
 
 What was there art could make, or wealth 
 
 could buy, 
 Which I have left unsought to deck her beauty ? 
 What could her king do more ? — And yet she fled. 
 Bel. Away with that sad fancy — 
 Dum. Oh, that day ! 
 The thought of it must live for ever with me. 
 I met her, Belmour, when the royal spoiler 
 Bore her in triumph from my widow'd home I 
 Within his chariot, by his side she sat. 
 And listen'd to his talk with downward looks, 
 'Till sudden as she chanc d aside to glance. 
 Her eyes encountered mine ; — Oh ! then, my 
 
 friend ! 
 Oh ! who can paint my grief and her amazement ! 
 As at the stroke of death, twice turn'd she pale ; 
 And twice a burning crimson blush'd all o'er her ; 
 Then, with a shriek heart-wounding, loud she 
 
 cry'd, 
 While down her cheeks two gushing torrents ran 
 Fast falling on her hands, which thus she 
 
 wrung : — 
 MovM at her grief, the tyrant ravisher, 
 With courteous action vvoo'd her oft to turn ; 
 Earnest he seem'd to plead, but all in vain ; 
 Ev'n to the last she bent her sight towards me, 
 And followM me, — till I had lost myself. 
 
 (^Crosses to l.h.) 
 
 Bel. Alas, for pity ! Oh ! those speaking tears ! 
 
 Could they be false ? Did she not suffer with you. 
 
 For though the king by force possess'd her 
 
 person. 
 Her unconsenting heart dwelt still with you ? 
 
o4 JANE SHORE. 
 
 If all her I'ormer woes were not enough, 
 Look on her now ; behold her where she wan- 
 ders, 
 Hunted to death, distress'd on every side, 
 With no one hand to help ; and tell me then, 
 If ever misery were known like hers? 
 
 Dum. And can she bear it ? Can that delicate 
 frame 
 Endure the beating of a storm so rude '? 
 Can she, for whom the various seasons chang'd 
 To court h€r appetite and crown her board, 
 For whom the foreign vintages were press'd, 
 For whom the merchant spread his silken stores, 
 Can she — 
 
 Entreat for bread, and want the needful raiment 
 To wrap her shiv'ring bosom from the weather? 
 When she was mine, no care came ever nigh 
 her ; [spring, 
 
 I thought the gentlest breeze that wakes the 
 Too rough to breathe upon her ; cheerfulness 
 Danc'd all the day before her, and at night 
 Soft slumbers waited on her downy pillow : — 
 Now, sad and shelterless, perhaps she lies, 
 Where piercing winds blow sharp, and the chill 
 rain [head. 
 
 Drops from some pent-house on her wretched 
 Drenches her locks, and kills her with the cold- 
 It is too much : — hence with her past offences, 
 They are aton'd at full. — Why stay we then ? 
 Oh ! let us haste, my friend, and find her out. 
 Bel. Somewhere about this quarter of the 
 town, 
 1 hear the poor abandon'd creature lingers : 
 
JANE SHORE. 6b 
 
 Her guarcl,though set with strictest watch to keep 
 All food and friendship from her, yet permit her 
 To wander in the streets, there choose her bed. 
 And rest her head on what cold stone she pleases. 
 Durn. Here then let us divide ; each in his 
 round 
 To search her sorrows out ; whose hap it is 
 First to behold her, this way let him lead 
 Her fainting steps, and meet we here together. 
 
 [Exeunt r.h. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Street. 
 
 Enter Jane Shore, l.h.u.e. her Hair hanging loose 
 on her Shoulders^ and bare-footed. 
 
 Jane S. Yet, j'et endure, nor murmur, O my 
 soul ! [berless ? 
 
 For are not thy transgressions great and num- 
 Do they not cover thee like rising floods, 
 And press thee like a weight of waters down ? 
 Wait then with patience, till the circling hours 
 Shall bring the time of thy appointed rest. 
 And lay thee down in death. [me, 
 
 And, hark ! methinks the roar that late pursu'd 
 Sinks like the murmurs of a falling wind, 
 And softens into silence. Does revenge 
 And malice then grow weary, and forsake me ? 
 My guard, too, that observed me still so close, 
 Tire in the task of their inhuman office. 
 And loiter far behind. Alas ! I faint, 
 My spirits fail at once. — This is the door 
 Of nay Alicia ;— -blessed opportunity ! 
 7 
 
6ij JANE SHORE. 
 
 ril steal a little succour from her goodness^ 
 Now while no e\'e observes me. 
 
 (She knocks at r.h.d.) 
 
 Enter Servant, r.h.d. 
 
 Is your lady, 
 
 My gentle friend, at home ! Oh I bring me to her. 
 
 {Goi7ig in.) 
 
 Serv. Hold, mistress, whither would you ? 
 
 (^Throwing her back.) 
 
 Jane S, Do you not know me ! [too : 
 
 Serv. I know you well, and know ray orders 
 You must not enter here ; — 
 
 Jane S. Tell my Alicia, 
 *Tis 1 would see her. 
 
 Serv. She is ill at ease, 
 And will admit no visitor. 
 
 Jane S. But tell her 
 'Tis I, her friend, the partner of her heart, 
 Wait at the door and beg — 
 
 Serv. 'Tis all in vain : — 
 Go hence and howl to those that will regard you 
 
 [Shuts the Door. 
 
 Jane S. It was not always thus : the time has 
 been, 
 When this unfriendly door, that bars my passage, 
 Flew wide, and almost leap'd from off its hinges, 
 To give me entrance here : when this good house 
 Has pour'd forth all its dwellers to receive me ; 
 W^hen my approaches made a little holiday, 
 And every face was dress'd in smiles to meet rac : 
 
JANE SHORE. 67 
 
 liut now 'tis otherwise ; and those who bless'd 
 me, [wander, 
 
 Now curse me to my face. V7hy should I 
 Stray further, on, for 1 can die ev'n here ? 
 
 (SVie sits down in the centre of the Stage.^ 
 
 Enter Alicia, in disorder^ r.h.d. 
 
 Alic. What wretch art thou, whose misery and 
 baseness 
 Hangs on my door; whose hateful whine of woe 
 Breaks in upon my sorrows, and distracts 
 My jarring senses with thy beggar's cry ? 
 
 Jane S. A very beggar, and a wretch, indeed; 
 One driv'n h}' strong calamity to seek 
 For succours here : one perishing for want, 
 Whose hunger has not tasted food these three 
 
 days ; 
 And humhiy asks, for charity's dear sake 
 A draught of water and a little bread. 
 
 Alio. And dost thou come to me, to me for 
 bread ? 
 I know thee not. — Go ; — hunt for it abroad. 
 Where wanton hands upon the earth have scat- 
 
 ter'd it. 
 Or cast it on the waters. — Mark the eagle, 
 And hungry vulture, where they wind the prey ; 
 Watch where the ravens of the valley feed, 
 And seek thy food with them : — I know thee net. 
 
 [Ci^osses to L.H.) 
 Jane S. (^Rises.) And yet there was a time, 
 when my Alicia 
 Has thought unhappy Shore her dearest blessing. 
 
68 JANE SHORE. 
 
 And mournM the live-long day she passM with- 
 out me; 
 Inclining- fondly to me she has sworn, 
 She lov'd me more than all the world besides. 
 
 Alio. Ha ! say'st thou ! — Let me look upon 
 thee well ; — [thee I 
 
 'Tis true ; — I know thee now ; — a mischief on 
 Thou art that fatal fair, that cursed she, 
 That set my brain a madd'ning. Thou hast 
 robb'd me ; [ings ! 
 
 Thou hast undone me. — Murder ! O, my Hast- 
 See his pale bloody head shoots glaring by me ! 
 Avaunt ; and come not near me. — • 
 
 Jane S. To thy hand 
 I trusted all ; gave my whole store to thee. 
 Nor do 1 ask it back ; allow me but 
 The smallest pittance, give me but to eat, 
 Lest I fall down and perish here before thee. 
 
 Alic, Nay ! tell not me ! Where is thy king, 
 thy Edward, 
 And all the cringing train of courtiers, 
 That bent the knee before thee ? 
 
 Jane S. Oh ! for mercy ! [rable. 
 
 Alic. Mercy ! I know it not! — for I am mise- 
 I'll give thee misery, for here she dwells, 
 This is her house, where the sun never dawns, 
 The bird of night sits screaming o'er the roof. 
 Grim spectres sweep along the horr:d gloom, 
 And nought is heard but wailings and lamentings. 
 Hark 1 something cracks above ! it shakes ! it 
 
 totters ! 
 And see the nodding ruin falls to crush me ! 
 'Tis fall'n. 'tis here ! I felt it on mv brain I 
 
JANE SHORE. 69 
 
 Let her take my counsel: [heart, 
 
 Why shouWst thou be a wretch ? Stab, tear thy 
 And rid thyself of this detested being- ; 
 I wo' not linger long behind thee here. 
 A waving flood of bluish fire swells o'er me; 
 And now 'tis out, and i am drown'd in blood. 
 Ha ! what art thou ! thou horrid headless trunk? 
 It is my Hastings ! see he wafts me on ! 
 Away I I go ! i fly ! I follow thee. 
 
 (^Rushes off^ R.H.) 
 Jane S. Alas! she raves; her brain 1 fear is 
 
 turn'd, 
 In mercy look upon her, gracious heav'n, 
 Nor visit her for any wrong to me ! 
 Sure I am near upon my journey's end : 
 My head runs round, my eyes begin to fail. 
 And dancing shadows swim before my sight, 
 I can no more ; (Lies down.) receive me, thou 
 
 cold earth. 
 Thou common parent, take me to thy bosom, 
 And let me rest with thee. 
 
 Ente?' Belmour, r.h.u.e. 
 
 Bel. Upon the ground ! 
 Thy miseries can never lay thee lower. 
 Look up, thou poor afflicted one ! thou mourner. 
 Whom none has comforted ! Where are thy 
 
 friends. 
 The dear companions of thy joyful days. 
 Whose hearts thy warm prosperity made glad, 
 Whose arms were taught to grow like ivy round 
 thee, 
 
70 JANE SHORE. 
 
 And bind thee to their bosoms ? — Thus with thee. 
 Thus let us Uve, and let us die, they said. 
 Now where are they? [stand aloof, 
 
 Jane S. Ah, Belmour ! where indeed ! they 
 And view my desolation from afar ! 
 And yet thy goodness turns aside to pity me. 
 Alas ! there may be danger ; get thee gone, 
 Let me not pull a ruin on thy head. 
 Leave me to die alone, for I am fall'n 
 Never to rise, and all relief is vain. [come 
 
 Bel. Yet raise thy drooping head ; for 1 am 
 To chase away despair. Behold ! where yonder 
 That honest man, that faithful, brave Pumont, 
 Is hasting to thy aid — 
 
 Jane S. Dumont ! Ha ! where ! 
 
 [Raising herself., and looking about J^ 
 Then heav'n has heard my pray'r ; his very name 
 Renews the springs of life, and cheers my soul. 
 Has he then ''scap'd the snare ? 
 
 Bel. He has ; but see — 
 He comes unlike the Dumont you knew, 
 For now he wears your better angel's form, 
 And comes to visit you with peace and pardon. 
 
 Enter ShoPwE, l.h. 
 
 Jane S. Speak, tell me ! Which is he ! and 
 ho ! what would 
 This dreadful vision ! See it comes upon me — 
 It is my husband — Ah ! (She swoons.) 
 
 Shore. She faints, support her ! [surprise, 
 
 Bel. Her weakness could not bear the strong" 
 But see, she stirs I and the returning blood 
 
JANE 3H0RE. 7] 
 
 Faintly begins to blush again, and kindle 
 Upon her ashy cheek : — 
 
 Shore, So, — gently raise her — 
 
 {Raising her up.) 
 
 Jane S. Ha ! what art thou ? Belmour. 
 
 Bel. How fare you, lad;. ? 
 
 Jane S. My heart is thriU'd with horror, — 
 
 Bel. Be of courage ; — 
 Your husband lives ! 'tis he, my worthiest friend;— 
 
 Jane S. Still art thou there ! still dost thou 
 hover round me ! 
 Oh, save me, Belmour, from his angry shade ! 
 
 Bel. 'Tis he himself! he lives ! look up : — 
 
 Jane S. 1 dare not ! 
 Oh ! that my eyes could shut him out for ever — 
 
 Shore. Am I so hateful then, so deadly to thee, 
 To blast thy eyes with horror ? Since I'm grown 
 A burden to the world, myself, and thee. 
 Would I had ne'er survived to see thee more. 
 
 Jane S. Oh ! thou mostinjurd — dost thou live, 
 indeed ? 
 Fall then, ye mountains, on my guilty head : 
 Hide me, ye rocks, within your secret caverns ; 
 Cast thy black veil upon my shame, O night ! 
 And shield me with thy sable wmg for ever. 
 
 Shore. Why dost thou turn away ? — Why 
 tremble thus ? 
 Why thus indulge thy fears, and in despair. 
 Abandon thy distracted soul to horror ? 
 Cast every black and guilty thought behind theCj 
 And let 'em never \ex thy quiet more. 
 My arms, my heart, are open to receive thee, 
 To bring thee back to thy forsaken home. 
 
72J 
 
 JANE SHORE. 
 
 With tender joy, with fond forgiving love. — 
 •Let us haste. — 
 
 Now while occasion seems to smile upon us, 
 (_Forsake this place of shame, and hnd a shelter. 
 
 Jane S. What shall 1 say to you ? But 1 
 obey ;— 
 
 Shore. Lean on my arm ; 
 
 Jane S. Alas! I'm wondrous faint: [days. 
 But that's not strange, 1 have not eat these three 
 
 Shore. Oh, merciless! 
 
 Jane S. Oh ! I am sick at heart ! 
 
 Shore. Thou murd'rous sorrow ! 
 Wo't thou still drink her blood, pursue her still? 
 Must she then die ? O ray poor penitent ! 
 Speak peace to thy sad heart : she hears me not : 
 Grief masters ev'ry sense — 
 
 Enter Catesby, l.h.u.e. with a Guard. 
 
 Cates. Seize on 'em both, as traitors to the 
 
 state ! — 
 Bel, What means this violence ? 
 
 (Guards lay hold on Shore and Belmour.) 
 i^ates. Have we not found you. 
 In scorn of the protector's strict command, 
 Assisting this base woman, and abetting 
 fW^. Her mfamy ? 
 
 Shore. Infamy on thy head ! 
 Thou tool of power, thou pander to authority! 
 I lell thee knave, thou know'st of none so virtu- 
 ous, " 
 And she that bore thee was an Ethiop to her. 
 Cates. You'll answer this at full : away with 
 'em. 
 
JANE SHORE. 73 
 
 Shore. Is charity grown treason to your court ? 
 What honest man would live beneath such rulers ? 
 I am content that we should die together, — 
 
 Cates. Convey the men to prison ; but for 
 her, — 
 Leave her to hunt her fortune as she may. 
 
 Jane S. 1 will not part with him : — for me ! 
 Oh ! must he die for me ? [for me ! 
 
 ^Following him as he is carried off. — She falls.) 
 
 Shore. Inhuman villains ! 
 
 (^Breaks from the Guards.) 
 Stand oifl the agonies of death are on her ! — 
 She pulls, she gripes me hard with her cold 
 
 hand. [my ruin ? 
 
 Jane S. Was this blow wanting 4o complete 
 Oh ! let me go, ye ministers of terror. 
 He shall offend no more, for I will die, 
 And yield obedience to your cruel master. 
 Tarry a little but a little longer. 
 And take my last breath with you. 
 
 Shore. Oh, my love ! 
 Why dost thou fix thy dying eyes upon me. 
 With such an earnest, such a piteous look, 
 As if thy heart were full of some sad meaning 
 Thou couldst not speak ? — 
 
 Jane S. Forgive me ! — but forgive me I 
 
 Shore. Be witness for me ye celestial host. 
 Such mercy and such pardon as my soul 
 Accords to thee, and begs of heav'n to show .•■ 
 
 thee ; 
 May such befall me at my latest hour. 
 And make my portion blest or curst for ever. 
 
 Jane S. Then all is well, and I shall sleep ia 
 peace ; — 
 
74 JANE SHORE. 
 
 'Tis very dark, and I have lost you now > — 
 Was there not somelhhig I would havebequeath'd 
 
 you? 
 But I have nothing left me to bestow, 
 Nothing but one sad sigh. Oh ! mercy, heav'n ! 
 
 {Dies.) 
 
 Disposition of the Characters when the Curtain falls. 
 
 K.H. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 L.H. 
 
Ye medest mairoBS all, ye virtuous wives, 
 
 Who lead with horrid husbands decent lives ; 
 
 You, who, for all you are in such a taking, 
 
 To see your spouses drinking, gaming, raking. 
 
 Yet make a conscience still of cuckold-making ; 
 
 What can we say youv pardon to obtain? 
 
 This matter here was provVl against poor Jane : 
 
 She never once deny'd it ; but, in short, 
 
 WhimperM, — and cry'd, — " Sweet sir, Tm sorry for't." 
 
 *Twas well he met a kind, good natur'd soul ; 
 
 We are not all so easy to control : 
 
 I fancy one might find in this good town, 
 
 Some would ha' told the gentleman his own ; 
 
 Have answered smart, — " To what do you pretend, 
 
 Blockhead ? — As if I must not see a friend : 
 
 Tell me of hackney-coaches, — Jaunts to th' city, — 
 
 Where should I buy my china I — Faith, I'll fit ye." — 
 
 Our wife was of a milder, meeker spirit ; 
 
 You ! — lords and masters I was not that some merit? 
 
 Don't you allow it to be a virtuous bearing, 
 
 When we submit thus to your domineering ? 
 
 Well, peace be with her, she did wrong most surely ; 
 
 But so do many more who look demurely. 
 
 Nor should our mourning madam weep alone, 
 
 There are more ways of wickedness than one. 
 
<b EPILOGUE. 
 
 If the reforming stage should fall to shaming 
 III nature, pride, hypocrisy, and gaming ; 
 The poets frequently might move compassion. 
 And with she-tragedies o'er-run the nation. 
 Then judge the fair offender with good nature. 
 And let your fellow feeling curb your satire. 
 What, if our neighbours have some little failing, 
 Must we needs fall to damning and to railing? 
 For her excuse too, be it understood. 
 That if the woman was not quite so good, 
 Her lover was a king, she flesh and blood. 
 And since sh' has dearly paid the sinful score, 
 Be kind at last, and pity poor Jane Shove. 
 
 3477-251 
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