How form'd he was to save her from distress, And my whole heart for wretched England bleeds. [Exit. Resolves my courage, slackens my tough nerves, My fancy palls, and takes distaste at pleasure; And I could sit me down in some dull shade, And muse away an age in deepest melancholy.' Enter PEMBROKE. Pemb. Edward is dead; so said the great Northumber As now he shot along by me in haste; He press'd my hand, and in a whisper begg'd me To guard the secret carefully as life, [land, Till some few hours should pass; for much hung on it. Much may indeed hang on it. See, my Guilford! My friend! Guil. Ha! Pembroke! Pemb. Wherefore dost thou start? [Speaking to him. [Starting Why sits that wild disorder on thy visage, Somewhat that looks like passions strange to thee, Since I have known thee first, and call'd thee friend, So chang'd upon the sudden. Guil. How! so chang'd! Pemb. So to my eye thou seem'st. Pemb. I learn'd it from thy father, Just as I enter'd here. But, say, could that, Guil. Oh! Pembroke! 'tis in vain to hide from thee; 'Tis true, thy coming struck me with surprize, As if their business were to make confusion.' Wo't thou with patience hear, and judge with temper ? Pemb. Away with all this needless preparation! If it were so, that I indeed must judge thee, Guil. But, suppose The thought were somewhat that concern'd our love. Pemb. No more; thou know'st we spoke of that to And on what terms we left it. 'Tis a subject, Of which, if possible, I would not think : I beg that we may mention it no more. Guil. Can we not speak of it with temper? Pemb. No. [day, 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, But since, howe'er ungrateful to thy ear, It must be told thee once, hear it from me. Pemb. Speak then, and ease the doubts that shock my soul. Guil. Friend of my heart, suppose thy Guilford's love Crown'd with success Pemb. Say not suppose: 'tis done. Seek not for vain excuse, nor soft'ning words; Guil. How! betray'd thee, Pembroke? Guil. Have a care. Pemb. But think not I will bear the foul play from thee There was but this which I could ne'er forgive. My soul is up in arms, my injur'd honour, Impatient of the wrong, And tho' I love thee Guil. Hear me yet, calls for revenge; -fondly And Pembroke shall acquit me to himself. Hear, while I tell how Pemb. What! hear it! stand and listen to thy triumph! Thou think'st me tame indeed. No, hold, I charge thee, Lest I forget that ever we were friends, Lest, in the rage of disappointed love, I rush at once and tear thee for thy falsehood. 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; Say, thou art married, say at once she's thine; That I may curse myself, and thee, and her. Guil. Give me way. When thou art better temper'd, I may tell thee, Pemb. And dost thou hope to shun me then, thou No, I will have it now, this moment from thee, Or drag the secret out from thy false heart. [traitor ? Guil. Away, thou madman! I would talk to winds, And reason with the rude tempestuous surge, • 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, Be deadly and remorseless hate between us. Renounce all gentleness, all commerce with thee, [ward Guil. If vengeance thou attempt, defence is mine; In vain thou urgest me, 'gainst law of God Pemb. Next when we meet, may swift destruction Rid me of thee, or rid me of myself. [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. Love, in its best estate, how dear, how sweet! [Exit. ACT III. SCENE, the Tower. Enter PEMBROKE and GARDINER.* 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. Pemb. Thou talk'st as if a madman could be wise. * 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 bishop of Winchester Dec. 5, 1531; he signed the divorce of Henry the VIIIth 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. 12, 1555. |