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• How form'd he was to save her from distress, • A king to govern, and a saint to bless :' New sorrow to my lab'ring breast succeeds, And my whole heart for wretched England bleeds. [Exit.
Guil. My heart sinks in me at her soft complaining, And ev'ry moving accent that she breathes Resolves my courage, slackens my tough nerves, And melts me down to infancy and tears. "My fancy palls, and takes distaste at pleasure; “My soul grows out of tune, it loaths the world, 6 Sickens at all the noise and folly of it; « And I could sit me down in some dull shade,
Where lonely contemplation keeps her cave,
[land, Ile press’d my hand, and in a whisper begg'd me To guard the secret carefully as life, Till some few hours should pass; for much hung on it. Much
may indeed hang on it. See, my Guilford ! My friend!
[Speaking to him, Guil. Ha ! Pembroke!
Guil. How! so chang'd!
Pemb. I learn'd it from thy father,
Guil. Oh! Pembroke! 'tis in vain to hide from thee; For thou hast look'd into my artless bosom, And seen at once the hurry of my soul. 'Tis true, thy coming struck me with surprize, I have a thought-But wherefore said I one? I have a thousand thoughts all up in arms, · Like pop'lous towns disturb’d at dead of night, " That mix'd in darkness, bustle to and fro, 6 As if their business were to make confusion.'
Pemb. Then, sure, most opportunely am I come;
Guil. And wo't thou be a friend to me indeed ?
Pemb. Away with all this needless preparation !
And call thy fault a virtue.'
Guil. But, suppose
Pemb. No more; thou know'st we spoke of that to-
Guil. Can we not speak of it with temper?
Pemb. No. Thou know'st I cannot. Therefore, pr'ythee spare it.
Guil. Oh! could the secret, I would tell thee; sleep, And the world never know it, my fond tongue
Should cease from speaking, ere I would unfold it,
soul. Guil. Friend of my heart, suppose thy Guilford's love Crown'd with success
Pemb. Say not suppose: 'tis done.
Guil. How! betray'd thee, Pembroke?
Pemb. But think not I will bear the foul play from theez
Guil. Hear me yet,
Pemb. What! hear it! stand and listen to thy triumph!
Guil. Thou warn’st me well; and I were rash, as thou To trust the secret sum of all my happiness, [art, With one not master of himself. Farewel. [Going
Pemb. Ha! art thou going? think not thus to part, Nor leave me on the rack of this uncertainty.
Guil. What would'st thou further ?
Pemb. Tell it to me all;
That I may curse myself, and thee, and her.
Guil. Give me way.
Pemb. And dost thou hope to shun me then, thou No, I will have it now, this moment from thee, [traitor ? Or drag the secret out from thy false heart.
• Guil. Away, thou madman! I would talk to winds, * And reason with the rude tempestuous surge, 6 Sooner than hold discourse with rage
like thine. • Pemb. Tell it, or I will stab the treason in thy
heart.' [Laying his hand upon his sword. Guil. Ha! Stay thee there; nor let thy frantic hand
[Stopping him. Unsheath thy weapon. 'Twill be death to friendship, Whatever else ensue.
Pemb. Friendship! I'd break the band.
Guil. That as you please. This place is sacred, And wo'not be profan'd with brawls and outrage.
Pemb. My vengeance shall not loiter long; hencefore
Guil. If vengeance thou attempt, defence is mine;
Pemb. Next when we meet, may swift destruction
[Exit. Guil. The fate I ever fear'd, is fall’n upon me: And long ago my boding heart divin'd A breach, like this, from his ungovern'd rage. Oh Pembroke! thou hast done me much injustice, For I have born thee true unfeign'd affection; 'Tis past, and thou art lost to me for ever.
Love, in its best estate, how dear, how sweet!
SCENE, the Tower. Enter PEMBROKE and GARDINEP.* Gard Nay, but, my Lord, I say you were to blame, To let a hair-brain'd passion be your guide, And hurry you into such mad extremes. Methinks, you might have made much worthy profit By patient hearing: the unthinking Lord Had brought forth ev'ry secret of his soul; Then, when you were the master of his bosom, That were the time to use him with contempt, And turn his friendship back upon his hands.
Pemb. Thou talk'st as if a madman could be wise. Oh, Winchester! thy hoary frozen age
an never guess my pain, can never know The burning transports of untam'd desire.
* STEPHEN GARDINER, bishop of Winchester, was born at Bury St. Edmund's, in Suffolk, in the year 1483. He was natural son to Richard Woodville, brother to Queen Elizabeth, wife to Edward the fourth. He was learned in the canon and civil laws and in divinity; was made hishop of Winchester Dec. 5, 1531; he signed the divorce of Henry the VIIIb from Katharine of Arragon: abjured the Pope's supremacy; and wrote De vera et falsa obedientia, in behalf of the king; yet in Edward the VIth's reign he opposed the Reformation, and was punished with imprisonment; but Queen Mary coming to the throne, she enlarged him and made him Chancellor, Aug. 23, 1553. On his death-bed he was dissatisfied with his life, and often repeated these words, Erravi cum Petro, sed non flevi cum Petro: I have erred with Peter, but I have not wept with Peter. He died Nov. 128 1555.