• Comes like a cordial to my drooping spirits: It broods with gentle warmth upon my bosom, And melts that frost of death which hung about me." But haste! inform my daughter of our pleasure; 'Let thy tongue put on all its pleasing eloquence, Instruct thy love to speak of comfort to her,

To soothe her griefs, and cheer the mourning maid." North. All-desolate and drown'd in flowing tears, By Edward's bed the pious princess sits; Fast from her lifted eyes the pearly drops Fall trickling o'er her cheek, while holy ardor And fervent zeal pour forth her lab'ring soul;' And ev'ry' sigh is wing'd with pray'rs so potent, As strive with Heav'n to save her dying Lord.

Duch. Suff. From the first early days of infant life, A gentle band of friendship grew betwixt them; And while our royal uncle Henry reign'd, As brother and as sister bred together, Beneath one common parent's care they liv'd.

North. A wond'rous sympathy of souls conspir'd

To form the sacred union. Lady Jane,
Of all his royal blood, was still the dearest :
In ev'ry innocent delight they shar'd,

They sung, and danc'd, and sat, and walk'd together,
Nay, in the graver business of his youth,

When books and learning call'd him from his sports,
F'en there the princely maid was his companion.
She left the shining court to share his toil,
To turn with him the grave historian's page,
And taste the rapture of the poet's song;
To search the Latin and the Grecian stores,
And wonder at the mighty minds of old.'

Enter Lady JANE GRAY, weeping.
L. J. Gray. Wo't thou not break, my heart
Suff. Alas! what mean'st thou ?

Guil. Oh, speak!

Duch. Suff. How fares the King?

North. Say, is he dead?

L. J. Gray. His spirit's wafted hence.

Duch. Suff. When I left him,

He seem'd a little cheer'd, just as you enter'd

[duty,

L. J. Gray. As I approach'd to kneel and pay my He rais'd his feeble eyes, and faintly smiling, Are you then come? he cry'd: I only liv'd, To bid farewell to thee, my gentle cousin,

To speak a few short words to thee, and die.'
With that he press'd my hand, and oh!--he said,
When I am gone, do thou be good to England;
Keep to that faith in which we both were bred,
And to the end be constant. More I would,
But cannot. There his falt'ring spirits fail'd,
And turning ev'ry thought from earth at once,
To that bless'd place where all his hopes were fix'd,
Earnest he pray'd;-Merciful, great defender!
Preserve thy holy altars undefil'd.

Protect this land from bloody men and idols,
Save my poor people from the yoke of Rome,
And take thy painful servant to thy mercy."
Then, sinking on his pillow, with a sigh,
He breath'd his innocent and faithful soul
Into His hands who gave it.*

Guil. To be crown'd,

I trust, with glory of the brightest angels.'Heav'n guard his ashes, and his realm in peace!' North. Our grief be on his grave. Our present duty Enjoins to see his last commands obey'd.

I hold it fit his death be not made known

To any but our friends. To-morrow early
The council shall assemble at the Tower.

Meanwhile, I beg your grace would strait inform

[To the Duchess of Suffolk.

Your princely daughter of our resolution;

Our common interest in that happy tie,
Demands our swiftest care to see it finish'd.

Duch. Suff. My lord, you have determin'd well.
Lord Guilford,

Be it your task to speak at large our purpose.

46

"Then shall the dust return unto the earth as it was, and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it." Eccles. XII. 7.

Daughter, receive this lord as one whom F,
Your father, and his own, ordain your husband:
What more concerns our will, and your obedience,
We leave you to receive from him at leisure.

[Exeunt the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, and Duke of Northumberland.

Guil. Wo't thou not spare a moment from thy sorrows,
And bid these bubbling streams forbear to flow?
'Wo't thou not give one interval to joy,'
One little pause, while humbly I unfold

The happiest tale my tongue was ever blest with?
L. J. Gray. My heart is cold within me, ev'ry sense
Is dead to joy; but I will hear thee, Guilford,
Nay, I must hear thee, such is her command,
Whom early duty taught me still t' obey.'
But oh! forgive me, if to all thy story,
Tho' richest eloquence attend thy speaking,
Forgive me, if I cannot better answer,
Than weeping-thus, and thus-

Guil. If I offend thee,

If any sound from me disturb thy quiet,
Let me no more have power to address thine ears.
What is my peace or happiness to thine?'
No; tho' our noble parents had decreed,
And urg'd high reasons which import the state,
This day to give thee to my faithful arms,
My fairest bride, my only earthly bliss.-

L. J. Gray. How! Guilford! on this day!
Guil. This happy day,

Yet if thou art resolv'd to cross my wish,
If this my utmost hope should give thee pain,
I'd sooner pray (but that such pray'r were impious)
To fall beneath the stroke of death before thee.
I would be swept away with things forgotten,
Be huddled up in some obscure blind grave,

Ere thou should'st say my love has made thee wretched." L. J. Gray. Alas! I have too much of death already, And want not thine to furnish out new horror.

O! dreadful thought! If thou wert dead indeed,
What hope were left me then? Yes, I will own,

Spite of the blush that burns my maiden cheek,
My heart has fondly lean'd toward thee long:
Thy sweetness, virtue, and unblemish'd youth,
Have won a place for thee within my bosom:
And, if my eyes look coldly on thee now,
And shun thy love on this disastrous day,
It is because I would not deal so hardly,
To give thee sighs for all thy faithful vows,
And pay thy tenderness with nought but tears.
And yet 'tis all I have.

'Guil. I ask no more;'

Let me but call thee mine, confirm that hope,
To charm the doubts which vex my anxious soul;
For all the rest, do thou allot it for me,

And at thy pleasure portion out my blessings.
'My eyes shall learn to smile or weep from thine,
" Nor will I think of joy while thou art sad.

L. J. Gray. Say, wo't thou give up all to solemn
'sadness?

Wo't thou, in watching, waste the tedious hours?
Say, wo't thou, 'midst these days of desolation,
'Banish the thought that ever we have lov'd,
And only now and then let fall a tear,

To mourn for Edward's loss, and England's fate?
Guil. Unwearied still I will attend thy woes,
And be a very faithful partner to thee,

My eyes shall mix their falling drops with thine,
Constant, as never-ceasing waters roll,

That purl and gurgle o'er their sands for ever.

The sun shall see my grief, thro' all his course;
And, when night comes, sad Philomel,* who plains
From starry vesper to the rosy dawn,

Shall cease to tune her lamentable song,

'Ere I give o'er to weep and mourn with thee.'

L. J. Gray. Here, then, I take thee to my heart for

ever,

[Giving her hand

The dear companion of my future days;

Rowe, like almost all his brother poets, makes the Nightingale that sings to be the female, whereas Naturalists inform us it is the male bird.

Whatever Providence allots for each,

Be that the common portion of us both:
Share all the griefs of thy unhappy Jane;
But if good Heav'n have any joys in store,
Let that be all thy own.'

Guil. Thou wond'rous goodness!

"Heav'n gives my utmost wish in giving thee.
6 And, by the common course of things below,
Where each delight is temper'd with affliction,
'Some evil, terrible and unforeseen,

'Must sure ensue, to poise the scale against
This vast profusion of exceeding pleasure,
But, be it so, let it be death and ruin,
On any terms I take thee.'

L. J. Gray. Trust our fate

To Him whose gracious wisdom guides our ways, And makes what we think evil turn to good.' Permit me now to leave thee and retire;

I'll summon all my reason and my duty,

To sooth this storm within, and frame my heart
To yield obedience to my noble parents.

Guil. May Heav'n administer all comfort to thee.
And, oh! If, as my fond belief would hope,
If any word of mine be gracious to thee,'

I beg thee, I conjure thee, drive away

Those murd'rous thoughts of grief that kill thy quiet; Restore thy gentle bosom's native peace,

Lift up the light of gladness in thy eyes,

And cheer my heaviness with one dear smile.

L. J. Gray. Yes, Guilford, I will study to forget All that the royal Edward has been to me,

'How we have lov'd ev'n from our very cradles."
My private loss no longer will I mourn,
But ev'ry tender thought to thee shall turn:
With patience I'll submit to Heav'n's decree,
And what I lost in Edward, find in thee.
But, oh! when I revolve what ruins wait
Our sinking altars, and the falling state:
When I consider what my native land
Expected from her pious sovereign's hand: