Ratc. The fair Alicia,

Of noble birth and exquisite of feature,
Has held him long a vassal to her beauty.
Cate. I fear, he fails in his allegiance there,
Or my intelligence is false; or else,
Fickle, he now deserts his forward dame,
And whom he lov'd he loaths.

Glos. No more, he comes.

Enter Lord HASTINGS.*

Hast. Health and the happiness of many days Attend upon your Grace.

Glos. My good Lord Chamberlain!

We're much beholden to your gentle friendship.

Hast. My Lord, I come an humble suitor to you. Glos. In right good time; speak out your pleasure Hast. I am to move your highness in behalf [freely. Of Shore's unhappy wife

Glos. Say you, of Shore?

Hast. 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 thro' her tears,
And wakes to sigh the live-long night away.

Glos. The times in sooth+ are badly chang'd with her
From Edward's days to these. Then all was jollity,
Feasting and mirth, light wantonness and laughter,
Piping and playing, minstrelsy and masking;
Till life fled from us like an idle dream,
A shew of mummery without a meaning.
My brother, rest and pardon to his soul,
Is gone to his account: For this his minion,'

* For some account of Lord Hastings see Preface, p. 97. + The original reads

Marry! the times are badly chang'd with her. This exclamation is frequently used by Shakspeare, but I do not find any Note upon it by the Commentators. I have no doubt that its original meaning is to swear by Mary, that is the Virgin Mary. I have, therefore, judged it best to alter it.

The revel-rout is done- -But you were speaking
Concerning her I have been told that you
Are frequent in your visitation to her.

Hast. No farther, my good Lord, than friendly pity And tender-hearted charity allow.

Glos. Go to: I did not mean to chide you for it, For, sooth to say, I hold it noble in you

To cherish the distress'd-On with your tale.

Hast. Thus it is, gracious Sir, that certain officers
Using the warrant of your mighty name,
With insolence unjust, and lawless power,
Have seiz'd upon the lands, which late she held
By grant from her great master Edward's bounty.
Glos. Somewhat of this, but slightly, have I heard,
And tho' some counsellors of forward zeal,
Some of most ceremonious sanctity,

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.

Hast. Good Heav'n who renders mercy back for
With open-handed bounty shall repay you:
And may this gentle deed be foremost set,
When judgment would on human frailties pass.
Glos. Thus far, the voice of pity pleaded only;
Our farther and more full extent of grace
Is giv'n 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

mercy,

Which much import us both, for still my fortunes
Go hand-in-hand with yours: Our common foes,
The Queen's relations, our new-fangled gentry,
Have fall'n their haughty crests—that for your privacy.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. An Apartment in Jane Shore's House.
Enter BELMOUR and DUMONT.

Bel. How she has liv'd you've heard my tale already;

The rest your own attendance in her family,
Where I have found the means this day to place you,
And nearer observation best will tell you.

See, with what sad and sober cheer she comes.
Enter JANE SHORE.

Sure, or I read her visage much amiss,

Or grief besets her hard. Save you, fair Lady,
The blessings of the cheerful morn be on you,
And greet your beauty with its opening sweets.

J. Sho. My gentle neighbour! your good wishes still
Pursue my hapless fortunes: ah! good Belmour!
How few, like thee, enquire 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?*
Thy praise deserves a better tongue than mine
To speak and bless thy name. Is this the gentleman,
Whose friendly service you commended to me?
Bel. Madam! It is.

J. Sho. A venerable aspect!

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-tryed, and wise experience;

[Aside.

* This and several other passages in this play shew the author's mind to have been very strongly imbued with scripture. Such as occur to the editor shall be noticed:

Job says of himself, (xxix. 16.) "I was a father to the poor, and "the cause that I knew not I searched out."

Eliphaz says to Job, (XXII.) Thou hast"-" stripped the naked "of their clothing. Thou hast not given water to the weary to “drink, and thou hast with-holden bread from the hungry.”—“ Thou "hast sent widows away empty, and the arms of the fatherless have "been broken. Therefore. abundance of waters cover thee." —(v. 6, 7, 9, 10, 11.)' Again, (Isaiah LVIII.) "Is not this the fast "that I have chosen?"-" is it not to deal thy bread to the hungry, "and that thou bring the poor that are cast out to thy house? when "thou seest the naked, that thou cover him"?. (v. 6, 7. see also Matt. xxv, 35-45. James 11. 15, 16.) And again, (Rom. x11. 15.) "Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep,' Reference will be again made to these passages of scripture in the subsequent pages.

A friend like this, would suit my sorrows well.
The world I fear me, Sir, has meant you ill,

[To Dumont.

Paying 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 find, expect to meet
A just regard and value for your worth,

The welcome of a friend and the free partnership
Of all that little good the world allows me.

Dum. Praise not the worth untried, for all my answer

Must be my future truth; let that speak for me,
And make up my deserving.

J. Sho. Are you of England?

Dum. To Flanders, gracious lady, I belong;
At Antwerp city has my biding been,

Where sometimes I have known more plenteous days,
Than those which now my failing age affords.

J. Sho. Alas! at Antwerp!-Oh forgive my tears!

[Weeping.

They fall for my offences- -and must fall
Long, long, nor can they wash my stains away.

You knew perhaps-oh grief! oh shame!-my husband.
Dum. I knew him well-but he's no longer there.

J. Sho. Yet tell me if he live: oh! tell me all.
Dum. Whither he went he told not to his friends;
But that he lives I have no cause to doubt.
But, my good lady stay this flood of anguish,
Repentant, you have turn'd from former courses,
Gather up now your strength and live to virtue.

J. Sho. Oh! that my soul had known no joy but him, That I had liv'd within his guiltless arms,

The original is

Fortune, I fear me, Sir, has meant you ill.

For my sentiments on this use of Fortune I refer the reader to my Discourses on the Stage, p. 27. and to the Notes, p. 136. I am surprised, however, at Rowe's having used it in this manner, as his own translation of The Golden verses of Pythagoras might have taught him better.

Of all those sorrows that attend mankind
With patience bear the lot to thee assign'd;
Nor think it Chance, nor murmur at the load;
For know what man calls Fortune is from God.

Dying we'd slept in innocence together!
Now will his honest dust abhor the fellowship,
And scorn to mix with mine.

Enter a SERVANT.

Serv. The lady Alicia

Attends your leisure.

J. Sho. Say I wish to see her.

[Exit Servant.

Please, gentle Sir, one moment to retire,
I'll wait you on the instant, and inform you
Of each unhappy circumstance, in which

Your friendly aid and counsel much may stead* me.
[Exeunt Belmour and Dumont.

Enter ALICIA.

Alic. 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

Could overtake the hours fled far away,
And make old Time‡ come back?

J. Sho. No, my Alicia,

All-righteous Heav'n be witness to my thoughts,
There is no hour of all my life o'er past,

That I could wish should take its turn again.

Alic. And yet some of those days my friend has known, Some of those years might pass for golden ones, At least, if womankind can judge of happiness. What could we wish, we who delight in empire, Whose beauty is our sov'reign good, and gives Our reasons to rebel, and pow'r to reign,

* Support, assist me. So in Measure for Measure, A. 1. S. v. Can you so stead me- ?

And, again, in The Taming of the Shrew. A. 1. S. 11.

Must stead us all.

You are the man

+ The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans,
That their discharge did stretch his leatheru coat
Almost to bursting; and the big round tears
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase.

As You Like It. A. II. S. I.

And when Old Time shall lead him to his end.

Henry the VIIIth. A. 11. S. I.