Chapter 4

_Enter Alicia, with a paper._

_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, How does thy rancour poison all our softness, And turn our gentle natures into bitterness! See, where she comes! once my heart's dearest blessing, Now my chang'd eyes are blasted with her beauty, Loath that known face, and sicken to behold her.

_Enter Jane Shore._

_Jane S._ O my Alicia!

_Alic._ What new grief is this? What unforeseen misfortune has surpris'd thee, That racks thy tender heart thus?

_Jane S._ O Dumont!

_Alic._ Say, what of him?

_Jane S._ That friendly, honest, man, Whom Belmour brought of late to my assistance, On whose kind care, whose diligence and faith, My 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 Has drawn the vengeance of lord Hastings on him.

_Alic._ Lord Hastings! ha!

_Jane S._ Some fitter 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 give it on my humble knees, And move him for redress. [_she gives the paper to Alicia, who opens and seems to read it._

_Alic._ Now for a wile, To sting my thoughtless rival to the heart; To blast her fatal beauties, and divide her For ever from my perjur'd Hastings' eyes: Their fashions are the same, it cannot fail. [_aside: pulling out the other paper._

_Jane S._ But see, the great protector comes this way. Give me the paper, friend.

_Alic._ For love and vengeance! [_aside: she gives her the other paper._

_Enter the Duke of Gloster, Sir Richard Ratcliffe, Catesby, courtiers, and other attendants._

_Jane S._ [_kneeling_] O noble Gloster, turn thy gracious eye, Incline thy pitying ear to my complaint; A poor, undone, forsaken, helpless, woman, Entreats a little bread for charity, To feed her wants, and save her life from perishing.

_Glos._ Arise, fair dame, and dry your wat'ry eyes. [_receiving the paper, and raising her._

Beshrew me, but 'twere pity of his heart That could refuse a boon to such a suitress. You've got a noble friend to be your advocate; A worthy and right gentle lord he is, And to his trust most true. This present now Some matters of the state detain our leisure; Those once dispatch'd, we'll call for you anon, And give your griefs redress. Go to! be comforted.

_Jane S._ Good heav'ns repay your highness for this pity, And show'r down blessings on your princely head. 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 Alic._

_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 gew-gaw forms dissolve at once, And shiver at the shock. What says her paper? [_seeming to read._ Ha! What is this? Come nearer, Ratcliffe! Catesby! Mark the contents, and then divine the meaning. [_he reads._ 'Wonder not, princely Gloster, at the notice This paper brings you from a friend unknown; Lord Hastings is inclin'd 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 Edward's sons: Drive her away, you break the charm that holds him, And he, and all his powers, attend on you.'

_Sir R._ 'Tis wonderful!

_Cates._ The means by which it came Yet stranger too!

_Glos._ You saw it giv'n, but now.

_Sir R._ She could not know the purport.

_Glos._ No, 'tis plain---- She knows it not, it levels at her life; Should she presume to prate of such high matters, The meddling harlot, dear she should abide it.

_Cates._ What hand soe'er it comes from, be assur'd, 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._

_Lord H._ 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, E'er 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._ My lord, you're well encounter'd; here has been A fair petitioner this morning with us; Believe me, she has won me much to pity her: Alas! her gentle nature was not made To buffet with 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.

_Lord H._ Your highness binds me ever to your service.

_Glos._ You know your friendship is most potent 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 rebellion.

_Lord H._ 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 well divin'd The source of these disorders. Who can wonder 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.

_Lord H._ 'Tis true, the king is young: but what of that? We feel no want of Edward's riper years, While Gloster's valour and most princely wisdom So well support our infant sov'reign's place, His youth's support, and guardian to his throne.

_Glos._ The council (much I'm bound to thank 'em for't) Have plac'd a pageant sceptre in my hand, Barren of pow'r, and subject to controul; Scorn'd by my foes, and useless to my friends. Oh, worthy lord! were mine the rule indeed, I think I should not suffer 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.

_Lord H._ 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 Upon a royal stock; from thence at full Discoursing on my brother's former contract To lady Elizabeth Lucy, long before His jolly match with that same buxom widow, The queen he left behind him----

_Lord H._ Ill befall Such meddling priests, who kindle up confusion, And vex the quiet world with their vain scruples! By heav'n, 'tis done in perfect spite to peace. Did not the king Our royal master, Edward, in concurrence With his estates assembled, well determine What course the sov'reign rule should take henceforward? When shall the deadly hate of faction cease, When shall our long-divided land have rest, If every peevish, moody, malecontent, 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?

_Lord H._ 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.

_Lord H._ Your highness' pardon---- Have we so soon forgot those days of ruin, When York and Lancaster drew forth their battles; When, like a matron butcher'd by her sons, Our groaning country bled at every vein; When murders, rapes, and massacres, prevail'd; 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 cover'd 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?

_Glos._ How now! so hot!

_Lord H._ So brave, and so resolv'd.

_Glos._ Is then our friendship of so little moment, That you could arm your hand against my life?

_Lord H._ I hope your highness does not think I mean it; No, heav'n forfend that e'er your princely person Should come within the scope of my resentment.

_Glos._ O noble Hastings! nay, I must embrace you; By holy Paul, you're a right honest man! [_embraces him._ 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, I ask no more than honour gives, To think me yours, and rank me with your friends. [_exit._

_Lord H._ I am not read, Nor skill'd and practis'd, 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. I own the glorious subject fires my breast, And my soul's 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._

ACT THE FOURTH.