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,
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,
And dwells with hoary hermits; there forget my self,
There fix my stupid eyes upon the earth,

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,
The paleness of surprize and ghastly fear?

Since I have known thee first, and call'd thee friend,
I never saw thee so unlike thyself,

So chang'd upon the sudden.

Guil. How! so chang'd!

Pemb. So to my eye thou seem'st.
Guil. The king is dead.

Pemb. I learn'd it from thy father,

Just as I enter'd here. But, say, could that,
A fate which ev'ry moment we expected,
Distract thy thought, or shock thy temper thus?

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,

As if their business were to make confusion.'
Pemb. Then, sure, most opportunely am I come;
For this is friendship's hour, and friendship's office,
To come when counsel and when help is wanting,
To share the pain of ev'ry gnawing care,
To speak of comfort in the time of trouble,
To reach a hand, and save thee from adversity.
Guil. And wo't thou be a friend to me indeed?
And while I lay my bosom bare before thee,
'Wo't thou deal tenderly, and let thy hand
Pass gently over ev'ry painful part?'

Wo't thou with patience hear, and judge with temper ?
And if perchance thou meet with something harsh,
Somewhat to rouse thy rage, and grate thy soul,
Wo't thou be master of thyself, and bear it?

Pemb. Away with all this needless preparation!
Thou know'st thou art so dear, so sacred to me,
That I can never think thee an offender.

If it were so, that I indeed must judge thee,
I should take part with thee against myself,
And call thy fault a virtue.'

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,
Or vex thy peace with an officious tale.

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;
Thou hast prevaricated with thy friend,
By under-hand contrivances undone me;
And, while my open nature trusted in thee,
Thou hast stepped in between me and my hopes,
And ravish'd from me all my soul held dear.
Thou hast betray'd me-

Guil. How! betray'd thee, Pembroke?
Pemb. Yes, falsely, like a traitor.

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.
Come, tell me how thou did'st supplant thy friend?
How didst thou look with that betraying face,
And smiling, plot my ruin?

Guil. Give me way.

When thou art better temper'd, I may tell thee,
And vindicate at full my love and friendship.

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,
And wo'not be profan'd with brawls and outrage.
Pemb. My vengeance shall not loiter long; hencefor-

Be deadly and remorseless hate between us.
Here I give up the empty name of friend,

Renounce all gentleness, all commerce with thee,
To death defy thee as my mortal foe.

[ward

Guil. If vengeance thou attempt, defence is mine;
Instinct and duty will alike then rouse me.
Premeditated combat to appoint

In vain thou urgest me, 'gainst law of God
And man.

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.
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!
How virtuous, and for ev'ry man how meet!
But, if it trample friendship under foot,
If in the heart it take such spreading root,
That ev'ry sacred plant be chok'd around,
Or, like a weed, be banish'd from the ground,
Then e'en sweet love I will no more defend,
But bid it humbly with our duties blend.

[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.
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
Can 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 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.