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THE Earl of Warwick, A TRAGEDY, As it is perform'd at the THEATRE ROYAL IN DRURY-LANE.

LONDON: Printed for T. DAVIES, Ruſſel-Street, Covent-Garden; R. BALDWIN, Pater-Noſter-Row; and W. GRIFFIN, Catharine-Street, in the Strand. M.DCC.LXVI. [Price ONE SHILLING and SIXPENCE.]

Advertiſement. To the PUBLIC,

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THE author takes this opportunity to acknowledge his obli⯑gation to the public, for their favourable reception of THE EARL OF WARWICK. He flatters himſelf, that the li⯑cenſe ſo neceſſary to his plan, which he has taken in common with other writers, in deviating from hiſtorical truth, eſpe⯑cially in a period ſo diſtant and obſcure, will meet with in⯑dulgence.

For the many faults [...] of this piece, he can only plead that title to [...] is generally extended in favour of a firſt eſſay, and [...] that the ſame candour which approv'd on the ſtage, will accompany it to the cloſet.

He cannot, without the moſt manifeſt injuſtice, forbear to add, that the more than ordinary exertion of dramatic powers, diſplay'd by the principal actors concerned in it, contributed in a great meaſure to the ſucceſs of the performance.

ERRATA.

For the bluſh of virgin modeſty read the crimſon glow of modeſty.

PROLOGUE,

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Written by GEORGE COLMAN, Eſq Spoken by Mr. BENSLEY.

SEVERE each poet's lot; but ſure moſt hard
Is the condition of the playhouſe bard:
Doom'd to hear all that wou'd-be critics talk,
And in the go-cart of dull rules to walk!
"Yet authors multiply," you ſay. 'Tis true.
But what a numerous crop of critics too!
Scholars alone of old durſt judge and write;
But now each journaliſt turns Stagyrite.
Quintilians in each coffee-houſe you meet,
And many a Longinus walks the ſtreet.

In Shakeſpear's days, when his advent'rous muſe,
A muſe of fire! durſt each bold licence uſe,
Her noble ardour met no critic's phlegm,
To check wild fancy, or her flights condemn:
Ariels and Calibans unblam'd ſhe drew,
Or goblins, ghoſts, and witches, brought to view.
If to hiſtoric truth ſhe ſhap'd her verſe,
A nation's annals freely ſhe'd rehearſe;
Bring Rome's or England's ſtory on the ſtage,
And run, in three ſhort hours, thro' half an age.
Our bard, all terror-ſtruck, and fill'd with dread,
In Shakeſpear's awful footſteps dares not tread;
Thro' the wide field of hiſt'ry fears to ſtray,
And builds upon one narrow ſpot his play;
Steps not from realm to realm, whole feas between,
But barely changes twice or thrice his ſcene:
While Shakeſpear vaults on the poetic wire,
And pleas'd ſpectators fearfully admire,
Our bard, a critic pole between his hands,
On the tight-rope, ſcarce balanc'd, trembling ſtands;
Slowly and cautiouſly his way he makes,
And fears to fall at ev'ry ſtep he takes:
While then fierce Warwick he before you brings,
That ſetter-up and puller-down of kings,
With Britiſh candour diſſipate his ſear!
An Engliſh ſtory fits an Engliſh ear.
Tho' harſh and crude you deem his firſt eſſay,
A ſecond may your favours well repay;
Applauſe may nerve his verſe, and chear his heart,
And teach the practice of this dangerous art.

Dramatis Perſonae.

[]

KING EDWARD,: Mr. POWELL.
EARL of WARWICK,: Mr. HOLLAND.
EARL of PEMBROKE,: Mr. BENSLEY.
EARL of SUFFOLK,: Mr. PACKER.

MARGARET of ANJOU,: Mrs. YATES.
LADY ELIZ. GRAY,: Mrs. PALMER.
LADY CLIFFORD,: Miſs PLYM.

OFFICERS GUARDS, &c.

SCENE, The PALACE.

[1] THE EARL of WARWICK.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

MARGARET of ANJOU, Lady CLIFFORD.

CLIFFORD.

THANKS! gracious heav'n, my royal miſtreſs ſmiles,

Unuſual gladneſs ſparkles in her eye,

And bids me welcome in the ſtranger joy

To his new manſion.

MARGARET.

Yes, My faithful Clifford,

Fortune is weary of oppreſſing me:

Through my dark cloud of grief, a chearful ray

Of light breaks forth, and gilds the whole horiſon.

CLIFFORD.

Henry in chains, and Edward on the throne

Of Lancaſter, thyſelf a pris'ner here,

Thy captive ſon torn from his mother's arms,

And in the tyrant's pow'r, a kingdom loſt:

[2] Amidſt ſo many ſorrows, what new hope

Hath wrought this wond'rous change?

MARGARET.

That which alone

In ſorrow's bitt'reſt hour, can miniſter

Sweet comfort to the daughters of affliction,

And bid misfortune ſmile, the hope of vengeance:

Vengeance, benignant patron of diſtreſs,

Thee I have oft invoked, propitious now

Thou ſmil'ſt upon me, if I do not graſp

The glorious opportunity, henceforth

Indignant frown, and leave me to my fate!

CLIFFORD.

Unhappy Princeſs! that deceiver hope

Hath often flatter'd, and as oft betray'd thee:

What haſt thou gain'd by all its promiſes?

What's the reward of all thy toils?

MARGARET.

Experience—
Yes, Clifford, I have read th' inſtructive volume
Of human nature, there long ſince have learn'd
The way to conquer men is by their paſſions;
Catch but the ruling foible of their hearts,
And all their boaſted virtues ſhrink before you.

Edward and Warwick, thoſe deteſted names,

Too well thou know'ſt, united to deſtroy me.

CLIFFORD.

That was indeed a fatal league.

MARGARET.

But mark me;

If we cou'd break this adamantine chain,

We might again be free: this mighty warrior,

[3] This dread of kings, th' unconquerable Warwick,

Is plighted to the fair Elizabeth.

CLIFFORD.

The lady Gray, you mean, the beauteous widow,

Whoſe huſband fell in arms for Lancaſter.

MARGARET.

The ſame, my Clifford—Warwick long has lov'd—

CLIFFORD.

And means to wed her.

MARGARET.

But if I have art,

Or ſhe ambition, that ſhall never be.

CLIFFORD.

Can'ſt thou prevent it?

MARGARET.

Yes, my Clifford, Warwick

Were a mean choice for ſuch tranſcendent beauty;

I ſhall provide her with a fitter huſband,

A nobler far, and worthier of her charms,

Young Edward.—

CLIFFORD.

Ha! the king! impoſſible!

Warwick, ev'n now, commiſſion'd by the ſtate,

To treat with Lewis, offers England's throne

To France's daughter, and e'er this, perhaps,

Hath ſign'd the ſolemn contract.

MARGARET.

Solemn trifles!

Mere cobweb ties—Love's a deſpotic tyrant,

And laughs, like other kings, at public faith,

When it oppoſes private happineſs:

Edward is youthful, gay, and amorous;

His ſoul is ever open to the lure

[4] Of beauty, and Elizabeth hath charms

Might ſhake a hermit's virtue.

CLIFFORD.

Hath he ſeen

This peerleſs fair one?

MARGARET.

Yes,—by my contrivance,

When laſt he hunted in the foreſt, ſome,

Whom I had planted there, as if by chance

Alone directed, led him croſs the lawn

To Grafton, there—ev'n as my ſoul had wiſh'd,

The dazzling luſtre of her charms ſurpris'd

His unſuſpecting heart—

CLIFFORD.

What follow'd?

MARGARET.

He gaz'd and wonder'd; for a while his pride

Indignant roſe, and ſtruggled with his paſſion,

But love was ſoon victorious: and laſt night,

The earl of Suffolk, ſo my truſty ſpies

Inform me, was diſpatch'd on wings of love,

To plead his maſter's cauſe, and offer her

The throne of England.

CLIFFORD.

What if ſhe refuſe

The golden bribe?

MARGARET.

No matter; all I wiſh

Is but to make them foes: the gen'rous Warwick

Is fiery, and impatient of reproof,

He will not brook a rival in his love

Though ſeated on a throne; beſides, thou know'ſt,

[5] The haughty earl looks down with ſcorn on Edward,

As the mere work of his all-pow'rful hand,

The baby monarch of his own creation.

CLIFFORD.

Believe me, madam, Edward ſtill reveres

And loves him, ſtill as conſcious of the debt,

Pays him with truſt and confidence; their ſouls

Are link'd together in the ſtricteſt bonds

Of ſacred friendſhip.

MARGARET.

That but ſerves my cauſe:

Where ties are cloſe, and intereſts united,

The ſlighteſt inj'ries are ſeverely felt;

Offended friendſhip never can forgive.

CLIFFORD.

Now the full proſpect opens to my view,

I ſee thy diſtant aim, and trace the paths

Of vengeance: England ſoon will be a ſcene

Of blood and horror, diſcord's fatal torch

Once lit up it in this devoted land,

What pow'r ſhall e'er extinguiſh it? alas!

I tremble at the conſequence.

MARGARET.

And I

Enjoy it:—O! 'twill be a noble conteſt

Of pride 'gainſt pride, oppreſſion 'gainſt oppreſſion;

Riſe but the ſtorm, and let the waves beat high,

The wreck may be our own: in the warm ſtruggle,

Who knows but one or both of them may fall,

And Marg'ret riſe triumphant on their ruin!

It muſt be ſo; and ſee the king approaches:

This way he paſſes from the council—mark

His down-caſt eye, he is a ſtricken deer,

[6] The arrow's in his ſide—he cannot 'ſcape:

We'll meet and ſpeak to him.

CLIFFORD.

What mean you, madam?

MARGARET.

To aſk him—what, I know, he will refuſe;

That gives me fair pretext to break with him,

And join the man I hate, vindictive Warwick;

But ſoft, he comes—

SCENE II.

KING EDWARD, MARGARET, CLIFFORD, OFFICER.

EDWARD.

Is Suffolk yet return'd?

(to an Officer.)

OFFICER.

No, my good liege.

EDWARD.

Go, wait and bring him to me,

[Ex. Of.

I'll to my cloſet.

Pardon me, fair lady,

I ſaw you not.

MARGARET.

Perhaps it is beneath

A conqu'ror to look down upon his ſlave;

But I've a boon to aſk.

EDWARD.

Whate'er it is,

Within the limits of fair courteſy,

Which honour can beſtow, I'll not refuſe thee.

MARGARET.

There was a time when Margaret of Anjou

Wou'd not have deign'd to aſk of Edward ought;

Nor was there ought which Edward dar'd refuſe her;

[7] But that is paſt, great Warwick's arm prevail'd,

And I am now your pris'ner.

EDWARD.

Since the hour,

When fortune ſmil'd propitious on the cauſe

Of juſtice, and gave vict'ry to our arms;

You have been treated with all due reſpect,

All your condition, or your ſex cou'd claim;

Serv'd like a queen, and lodg'd within our palace:

Is there ought more you can with reaſon aſk,

Or I in prudence grant you.

MARGARET.

Give me back

The liberty I loſt, reſtore my ſon,

And I may then, perhaps, be reconcil'd

To un uſurper, may with-hold my vengeance,

And let thee fit unpuniſh'd on—my throne.

EDWARD.

You talk too proudly, madam; but to ſhew you

I cannot fear, you have your liberty.

Letters this morning I receiv'd from France,

Have offer'd noble ranſom for your perſon;

Without that ranſom—for the ſoul of Edward

Is far above the ſordid luſt of gold,

I grant it—from this moment you are free;

But for your ſon—I cannot part with him.

MARGARET.

I ſcorn your bounties, ſcorn your proffer'd freedom,

What's liberty to me without my child?

But fate will place us ſoon above thy reach,

Thy ſhort-liv'd tyranny is almoſt paſt,

The ſtorm is gath'ring round thee, and will burſt

With ten-fold vengeance on thy guilty head.

EDWARD.

[8]

I am not to be talk'd into ſubmiſſion,

Nor dread the menace of a clam'rous woman.

MARGARET.

Thou may'ſt have cauſe to dread a woman's pow'r:

The time may come—mark my prophetic word—

When wayward beauty ſhall repay with ſcorn

Thy fruitleſs vows, and vindicate my wrongs:

The friend thou lean'ſt on, like a broken reed,

Shall pierce thy ſide, and fill thy ſoul with anguiſh,

Keen as the pangs I feel: York's perjur'd houſe

Shall ſink to riſe no more, and Lancaſter

With added luſtre re-aſſume the throne.

Hear this and tremble—give me back my ſon—

Or dread the vengeance of a deſp'rate mother.

SCENE III.

EDWARD.

Imperious woman! but the voice of woe
Is ever clam'rous: 'tis the privilege,
The charter of affliction to complain.—

This tardy Suffolk! how I long to know
Yet dread to hear my fate! Elizabeth,
On thee the colour of my future life
Depends, for thou alone can'ſt make me bleſt,
Or curs'd for ever:—O! this cruel doubt
Is worſe than all my tortures: but he comes,
Th' ambaſſador of love.

SCENE IV.

EDWARD, EARL of SUFFOLK.

EDWARD.

What news, my Suffolk?

Shall I be happy? O! I'm on the rack

[9] Of expectation, didſt thou tell my tale

As if it were thy own, and may I hope—

SUFFOLK.

My royal liege.

EDWARD.

Good Suffolk, lay aſide

The forms of dull reſpect, be brief, and tell me,

Speak, haſt thou ſeen her, will ſhe be my queen?

Quick, tell me ev'ry circumſtance, each word,

Each look, each geſture; didſt thou mark them, Suffolk?

SUFFOLK.

I did, and will recount it all;—laſt night

By your command, in ſecret I repair'd

To Grafton's tufted bow'r, the happy ſeat

Of innocence and beauty, there I found

Thy ſoul's beſt hope, the fair Elizabeth,

Ne'er did theſe eyes behold ſuch ſweet perfection:

I found her buſy'd in the pious office

Of filial duty, tending her ſick father.

EDWARD.

That was a lucky moment, to prefer

My humble ſuit: touch but the tender ſtring

Of ſoft compaſſion in the heart, and love

Will quickly vibrate to its kindred paſſion;

You urg'd our royal purpoſe, then?

SUFFOLK.

I did,

With all the warmth of friendſhip, dwelt with pleaſure

On ev'ry princely virtue that adorns

Your noble heart; ſhe liſten'd with attention,

And echo'd back your praiſes.

EDWARD.

Was not that

[10] A kind propitious omen?

SUFFOLK.

Such indeed

Hoping to find it, I call'd in the pow'rs

Of flattery to my aid, and gaz'd upon her,

As if confounded by her dazling beauties—

Conſcious ſhe ſmil'd; but when, at length, I ſpake

Of England's monarch ſighing at her feet—

The bluſh of virgin modeſty o'erſpread

Her cheek, and gave new luſtre to her charms;

She turned aſide, and as ſhe ſilent bow'd

Her doubtful thanks, I mark'd the pearly tear

Steal down its ſecret track, and from her breaſt

Heard a deep ſigh, ſhe ſtruggled to conceal;

If I have any judgment, or can trace

The hidden feelings of a woman's heart,

Her's is already fix'd: I fear, my liege,

With all that England, all that thou coud'ſt give,

The crown wou'd fit but heavy on her brow.

EDWARD.

Not heavier, Suffolk, than it ſits on mine:
My throne is irkſome to me; who wou'd wiſh
To be a ſov'reign, when Elizabeth
Preſers a ſubject?—Then th' impetuous Warwick,
His awful virtue will chaſtiſe my weakneſs.
I dread his cenſure, dread his keen reproaches,
And dread them more becauſe they will be juſt.

I've promis'd Lewis to eſpouſe his daughter,
To ſtrengthen our alliance: wou'd to heav'n
I had not! If I ſeek this coy refuſer,
And break with France, Warwick will take th' alarm;
If once offended, he's inexorable.

SUFFOLK.

[11]

I know him well—Believe me, Sir, the high

And haughty ſpirit, when it meets rebuke,

Is eaſieſt check'd, and ſinks into ſubmiſſion.

Let him, my liege, who ventures to arraign

His maſter's conduct, look into his own:

There ever is a corner in the heart

Open to folly; Warwick is not free

From human frailties.

EDWARD.

No: ambition fires

His noble breaſt, love triumphs over mine:

But well thou know'ſt, our eyes are ever open

To other's faults, and ſhut againſt our own.

We ſeldom pity woes we ne'er experienc'd,

Or pardon weakneſs which we do not feel:

He is a hero.

SUFFOLK.

Hero's are but men;

I have ſome cauſe to think ſo—but of that

We'll talk another time: mean while my liege,

I think lord Warwick is a uſeful friend.

EDWARD.

Aye, and a dangerous foe; the people love,

To adoration love him; if he falls

From his allegiance, crouds will follow him.

England has long been rent by civil broils,

And fain wou'd reſt her in the arms of peace:

Her wounds ſcarce clos'd, ſhall Edward open them,

And bid them bleed a-freſh? believe me, Suffolk,

I wou'd not be the cauſe of new diviſions

Amongſt my people, for a thouſand kingdoms.

SUFFOLK.

[12]

'Tis nobly ſaid, and may thy grateful ſubjects,

Revere thy virtues, and reward thy love!

EDWARD.

O! Suffolk, did they know but half the cares

That wait on royalty, they wou'd not grudge

Their wretched maſter a few private hours

Of ſocial happineſs.—If France conſents,

I am undone: and Warwick hath e'er this

Enſlav'd me: curſe on this ſtate policy,

That binds us thus to love at ſecond hand!

Who knows but he may link me to a wretch;

Wed me to folly, ignorance, and pride,

Ill-nature, ſickneſs, or deformity;

And when I'm chain'd to mis'ry, coldly tell me,

To ſooth my griefs, 'twas for the public good.

SUFFOLK.

How far you have commiſſion'd him, I know not,

But were I worthy to adviſe, my liege,

I wou'd not be the dupe of his ambition,

But follow natures dictates, and be happy.

England has charms beſides Elizabeth's,

And beauties that—

EDWARD.

No more; my heart is fix'd
On her alone; find out this pow'rful rival,
I charge thee, Suffolk: yet why wiſh to find,
What found will make me wretched? were he bound
In cords of tend'reſt friendſhip round my heart,
Dearer than Warwick, dearer than thyſelf,
Forgive me, but I fear I ſhou'd abhor him.

O think on ſomething that may yet be done,

To win her to my heart e'er Warwick comes.

SUFFOLK.

[13]

I hear he is expected every hour.

EDWARD.

Grant heav'n ſome friendly ſtorm may yet retard him!

I dread his preſence here.

SCENE IV.

MESSENGER, EDWARD, SUFFOLK.

MESSENGER.

My liege, the earl

Of Warwick, is arriv'd.

EDWARD.

Ha! when? how? where?

Wou'd he were bury'd in the rapid waves

That brought him hither! comes he here to night?

MESSENGER.

My liege, e'er now he might have reaoh'd the palace,

But that the ſhouting multitudes preſs hard

On ev'ry ſide, and ſeem to worſhip him.

SCENE V.

SUFFOLK, EDWARD.

SUFFOLK.

Such adoration

But ill befits the idol, that receives it.

EDWARD.

What's to be done? I cannot, muſt not ſee him,

Till all is fix'd: once more, my beſt-lov'd Suffolk;

Try the ſoft arts of thy perſuaſive tongue:

What method can'ſt thou think on, to evade

This promis'd marriage with ambitious France?

SUFFOLK.

[14]

Summon your council, lay your thoughts before them,

Meet Warwick there, and urge a ſov'reigns right,

To pleaſe himſelf in that which ſhou'd concern

Himſelf alone—firm Buckingham and I

Will plead your cauſe againſt the haughty Warwick,

Whom I wou'd treat with cold civility,

And diſtant ſtate which ever angers more

Reſentful ſpirits, than the warmth of paſſion.

EDWARD.

'Tis well advis'd:—mean-time if poſſible,

I will compoſe my troubled thoughts to reſt:

Suffolk, adieu: if Warwick aſks for me,

I am not well, I'm hunting in the foreſt—

I'm buſy—ſtay—remember what I told you,

Touching the earldom which I mean to give

Her father; that may bring her to the court;

You underſtand me, Suffolk—fare thee well.

SCENE VI.

EDWARD.

Why ſhou'd I dread to ſee the man I love—

The man I rev'rence—Warwick is not chang'd,

But Edward is—Suffolk, I know, abhors him—

A fav'rite muſt be hated—if he urges

This dreadful contract, I ſhall hate him too:

I cannot live without Elizabeth:

I'll think no more—if I muſt ſacrifice

My friendſhip or my love—the choice is made.

END of the FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

[15]

SCENE I.

WARWICK (Speaking to an officer.)

WARWICK.

'TIS well: I ſhall attend his highneſs' pleaſure.

[Comes forward.]

Meet me i'th' council! Warwick might have claim'd

A private audience—After all my toils,

My perils in his ſervice, 'tis a cold

Unkind reception: ſome baſe whiſperer,

Some needy ſycophant, perhaps, hath poiſon'd

My royal maſter's ear—or, do I judge

Too raſhly? As my embaſſy concerns

The public welfare, he wou'd honour me

With public thanks.—Elizabeth will chide me

For this unkind delay—but honour calls,

And duty to my king: that taſk perform'd,

I haſte, my love, to happineſs and thee.

SCENE II. the COUNCIL CHAMBER.King EDWARD, Dukes of CLARENCE, and BUCKINGHAM, Earls of SUFFOLK, PEMBROKE, &c.
EDWARD.
Good Buckingham, I thank thee for thy counſel,
Nor blame thy honeſt warmth; I love this freedom,
[16]  [...] is the birth-right of an Engliſhman,
And doth become thee: what ſays noble Suffolk?
SUFFOLK.
I wou'd not croſs my royal maſter's will;
But, on my ſoul, I think, this nuptial league
With France prepoſt'rous and impolitic!
It cannot laſt; we are by nature foes,
And nought but mutual poverty and weakneſs,
Can ever make us friends—ſhe wants our aid
Againſt the pow'rful Burgundy, and therefore,
Throws out this lure of beauty to enſnare you,
That purpoſe gain'd, ſhe turns her arms againſt us.
PEMBROKE.
Why, let her: if ſhe comes with hoſtile arm,
England thank heav'n, is ready to receive her:
I love my country, and revere my king,
As much perhaps as honeſt Buckingham,
Or my good fearful lord of Suffolk here,
Who knows ſo well, or wou'd be thought to know,
What France will do hereafter: yet I think,
The faith of nations is a thing ſo ſacred,
It ought not to be trifled with.—I hate
As much as you th' unnatural forc'd alliance,
And yet, my lords, if Warwick is empow'r'd,
For ſo I hear he is, to treat with Lewis;
I know not how in honour you can ſwerve
From his conditions.
(ſhouting.)
Hark! the hero comes:
Thoſe ſhouts proclaim him near: the joyful people
Will uſher in their great deliverer
As he deſerves.

SCENE III.

[17]

KING EDWARD, CLARENCE, SUFFOLK, BUCKINGHAM, PEMBROKE, WARWICK.

EDWARD.

Thrice welcome, noble Warwick,

Welcome to all!

[to Clarence, Pembroke, &c.

SUFFOLK.

You've had, my lord, I fear,

An arduous taſk, which few cou'd execute.

But Warwick, in the council and the field,

A like diſtinguiſh'd, and a like ſucceſsful.

EDWARD.

What ſays our couſin France?

WARWICK.

By me, my liege,
He greets you well, and hopes in cloſer ties
United ſoon to wear a dearer name.

At length, thank heav'n! the iron gates of war
Are clos'd, and peace diſplays her ſilken banners
O'er the contending nations, ev'ry doubt
Is now remov'd, and confidence eſtabliſh'd,
I hope, to laſt for ages.

EDWARD.

Peace, my lord,

Is ever welcome; 'tis the gift of heav'n,

The nurſe of ſcience, art's fair patroneſs,

And merit's beſt protector; but if France

Wou'd chain us down to ignominious terms,

Cramp our free commerce, and infringe the rights

Of our liege ſubjects, England may repent

[18] Too late her raſh credulity, and peace

With all her bleſſings may be bought too dear.

WARWICK.

The ſhame wou'd then be his, who made the purchaſe.

If any doubt my faith, my honeſt zeal

For thee and for my country, let him ſpeak,

And I will anſwer: puniſh me, juſt heav'n,

If in the taſk I have conſulted ought

But England's honour, and my ſov'reign's glory!

EDWARD.

Miſtake me not, good Warwick, well I know

Thy ſpotleſs truth, thy honour, and thy love;

But glory has no further charms for me:

Rais'd by thy pow'rful aid to England's throne,

I aſk no more:—already I am great

As fame and fortune with their ſmiles can make me,

And all I wiſh for now is—to be happy.

WARWICK.

That too my liege, hath been thy Warwick's care;

Happy thou ſhalt be if the faireſt form

That ever caught a gazing lover's eye,

Join'd to the ſweeteſt moſt engaging virtues

Can make thee ſo:—Bona accepts with joy

Thy proffer'd hand: ſhe is indeed a gem

Fit to adorn the brighteſt crown: to ſee

Is to admire her; truſt me, England's ſelf

The ſeat of beauty, and the throne of love,

Boaſts not a fairer.

EDWARD.

Beauty, good my lord,

Is all ideal, 'tis the wayward child

Of fancy, ſhifting with the changeful wind

Of fond opinion; what to you appears

[19] The model of perfection, may diſguſt

My ſtrange capricious taſte.

WARWICK.

Such charms would fix

Inconſtancy itſelf:—her winning virtues,

Ev'n if her beauty fail'd, would ſoon ſubdue

The rebel heart, and you wou'd learn to love her.

EDWARD.

Is paſſion to be learn'd then? woud'ſt thou make

A ſcience of affection, guide the heart,

And teach it where to fix? impoſſible!

'Tis ſtrange philoſophy.

(Riſes and comes forward.)

My lord, of Warwick,

Your zeal in England's, and in Edward's cauſe

Merits our thanks; but for th' intended marriage

With France's daughter—it may never be.

WARWICK.

Not be! it muſt: your ſacred word is paſs'd,

And cannot be recall'd: but three days ſince

I ſign'd the contract, and my honour's pledg'd

For the performance: heav'n's! whilſt fickle France

Is branded 'midſt the nations of the earth,

For breach of public faith, ſhall we, my liege,

Practiſe ourſelves the vices we condemn,

Paſs o'er a rival nation's ev'ry virtue,

And imitate their perſidy alone?

EDWARD.

You'll pardon me, my lord, I thought it part

Of a king's pow'r to have a will, to ſee

With his own eyes, and in life's little feaſt,

To cater for himſelf; but 'tis, it ſeems,

A privilege his ſervants can refuſe him.

WARWICK.

[20]

And ſo they ought—the king, who cannot conquer

His private int'reſt for the public welfare,

Knows not his duty.

EDWARD.

Kings, my lord, are born

With paſſions, feelings, hearts—like other men;

Nor ſee I yet, why Edward's happineſs

Muſt fall a ſacrifice to Warwick's honour.

WARWICK.

My honour, Sir, is your's; my cauſe your own:

Who ſent me, and whoſe image did I bear,

The image of a great and glorious king,

Or of a weak and wav'ring boy?—henceforth,

Chooſe from the herd of fawning ſycophants,

Some needy ſlave for your mock ambaſſys,

To do your work, and ſtain the name of England

With foul reproach—Edward, I bluſh for thee,

And for my country; from this hour, expect

From injur'd France contempt, with deep reſentment

For broken faith, and enmity eternal.

EDWARD.

Eternal be it then; for, as I prize
My inward peace, beyond the pomp of ſtate,
And all the tinſel glare of fond ambition,
I will not wed her. Gracious heav'n! what am I?

The meaneſt peaſant in my realm may chuſe
His ruſtic bride, and ſhare with her the ſweets
Of mutual friendſhip and domeſtic bliſs;
Why ſhou'd my happier ſubjects then deny me
The common rights, the privilege of nature,
And in a land of freedom thus conſpire
To make their king the only ſlave amongſt 'em?

WARWICK.

[21]

The worſt of ſlaves is he whom paſſion rules,
Uncheck'd by reaſon and the pow'rful voice
Of friendſhip, which, I fear, is heard no more
By thoughtleſs Edward—'tis the curſe of kings
To be ſurrounded by a venal herd
Of flatterers, that ſooth his darling vices,
And rob their maſter of his ſubjects love.

Nay, frown not, Sirs, ſupported as ye are,
I fear you not—which of this noble train,
Theſe well-beloved counſellors and friends,
Aſſembled here to witneſs my diſgrace,
Have urg'd to this baſe unmanly falſehood?
Shame on you all! to ſtain the ſpotleſs mind
Of uncorrupted youth, undo the work
Of Warwick's friendly hand, and give him back
A ſov'reign ſo unlike the noble Edward.

SUFFOLK.

My lord, we thank you for the kind ſuggeſtion

Howe'er ill-founded, and when next we meet,

To give our voice in ought that may concern

The public weal, no doubt ſhall aſk your leave

E'er we proceed.

PEMBROKE.

My lord of Suffolk, ſpeak

But for yourſelf; Warwick hath too much cauſe

To be offended: in my poor opinion,

Whate'er you courtiers think, the beſt ſupport

Of England's throne are equity and truth;

Nor will I hold that man my ſov'reign's friend,

Who ſhall exhort him to forſake his word,

And play the hypocrite: what tye ſhall bind

The ſubject to obedience, when his king,

[22] Bankrupt in honour gives the royal ſanction

To perfidy and falſhood?

BUCKINGHAM.

It becomes

But ill the earl of Pembroke—

EDWARD.

Good my lords—

Let us have no diſſentions here; we met

For other purpoſes—ſome few days hence

We ſhall expect your counſel in affairs

Of moment—for the preſent urge no further

This matter—fare ye well.

[The council break up and diſperſe.

EDWARD comes up to Warwick.

Lord Warwick, keep

In narrower bounds, that proud impetuous temper;

It may be fatal: there are private reaſons—

When time befits we ſhall impart them to you,

Mean-while—if you have friendſhip, love, or duty,

No more of Bona—I'm determin'd.

SCENE IV.

WARWICK.

So:

'Tis well: 'tis very well: I have deſerv'd it;

I've borne this callow eagle on my wing,

And now he ſpurns me from him: 'tis a change

I little look'd for, and ſits heavy on me:

Alas! how doubly painful is the wound,

When 'tis inflicted by the hand we love!

Cruel, ungrateful Edward!—

Ha! who's here?

The captive queen! if ſhe has ought to aſk

Of me, ſhe comes in luckleſs hour, for I

Am pow'rleſs now.

SCENE V.

[23]

MARGARET of ANJOU, WARWICK.

WARWICK.

Will Margaret of Anjou

Thus deign to viſit her acknowledg'd foe?

MARGARET.

Alas! my lord, inured to wretchedneſs

As I am, and familiar with misfortune,

I harbour no reſentment; have long ſince

Forgot that ever Warwick was my foe,

And only wiſh to prove myſelf his friend.

WARWICK.

Talk not of friendſhip, 'tis an empty name,

And lives but in idea; once indeed

I thought I had a friend.—

MARGARET.

Whoſe name was—Edward;

Read I aright, my lord, and am I not

A ſhrew'd diviner? yes; that down-caſt eye

And gloomy aſpect ſay I am: you look

As if the idol, made by your own hands,

Had fallen upon and cruſhed you, is't not ſo?

WARWICK.

Amazement! nought eſcapes thy piercing eye,

And penetrating judgment: 'tis too true,

I am a poor diſhonour'd ſlave,

Not worth thy ſeeking; leave me, for the tide

Of court preferment flows another way.

MARGARET.

The feaſt, perhaps, you have provided, ſuits not

With Edward's nicer palate; he diſdains,

[24] How ſweet ſoe'er, to taſte a foreign banquet,

And reliſhes no dainties but his own:

Am I again miſtaken?

WARWICK.

Sure thou deal'ſt

With ſome all-knowing ſpirit, who imparts

Each ſecret purpoſe to thee, elſe how knew'ſt thou

That Edward refus'd to wed the princeſs?

MARGARET.

O! it requires no ſupernatural aid

To trace his actions, nor has Marg'ret trod

The paths of life with unobſerving eye;

I could have told you this long ſince—for know,

The choice is made, the nuptial rites prepar'd,

Which, but for your return, as unexpected

As undeſired, had been, e'er this, complete;

And as in duty bound, you then had paid

Your due obedience to our—Engliſh queen.

WARWICK.

Determin'd, ſay'ſt thou? gracious heaven! 'tis well

I am return'd.

MARGARET.

Indeed, my lord, you came

A little out of ſeaſon, 'twas unkind

To interrupt your maſter's happineſs,

To blaſt ſo fair a paſſion in its bloom,

And check the riſing harveſt of his love.

WARWICK.

Marg'ret, I thank thee—yes, it muſt be ſo:

His bluſhes, his confuſion, all confirm it,

And yet I am amaz'd, aſtoniſh'd.

MARGARET.

Wherefore?—

[25] Is it ſo ſtrange a youthful prince ſhou'd love?

Is it ſo ſtrange, a mind, unfraught with wiſdom,

And lifted high with proud proſperity,

Shou'd follow pleaſure thro' the crooked paths

Of falſhood, ſhou'd forſake a uſeleſs friend,

For the warm joys of animating beauty?

WARWICK.

No: but 'tis ſtrange, that he who knows how much

He ow'd to Warwick, he, who ev'ry hour

Taſtes the rich ſtream of bounty, ſhould forget

The fountain whence it flow'd.

MARGARET.

Alas! my lord,

Had you been chaſten'd in affliction's ſchool

As I have been, and taught by ſad experience

To know mankind, you had not fall'n a prey

To ſuch deluſion.

WARWICK.

Was it like a friend,

Was it like Edward to conceal his love?

Some baſe inſinuating, artful woman,

With borrow'd charms, perhaps.—

MARGARET.

Hold, hold, my lord,

Be not too raſh: who fights in darkneſs oft

May wound a boſom friend: perhaps you wrong

The beſt, and moſt accompliſh'd of her ſex.

WARWICK.

Know you the lady?

MARGARET.

But as fame reports,

Of peerleſs beauty and tranſcendent charms,

But for her virtues—I muſt aſk of—you—

WARWICK.

[26]

Of me? what virtues? whoſe?

MARGARET.

Elizabeth's.

WARWICK.

Amazement! no: it muſt not, it cannot be:

Elizabeth! he cou'd not, dare not do it!

Confuſion! I ſhall ſoon diſcover all.

(aſide.)

But what have I to do with Edward's choice,

Whoe'er ſhe be, if he refuſes mine?

MARGARET.

Diſſimulation ſits but ill, my lord,

On minds like yours: I am a poor weak woman,

And ſo, it ſeems, you think me; but ſuppoſe

That ſame all-knowing ſpirit which you rais'd,

Who condeſcends ſo kindly to inſtruct me,

Shou'd whiſper—Warwick knows the pow'r of love

As well as Edward, that Elizabeth

Was his firſt wiſh, the idol of his ſoul;

What ſay you?—might I venture to believe it?

WARWICK.

Marg'ret, you might; for 'tis in vain to hide

A thought from thee; it might have told you too,

If it be ſo, there is not ſuch a wretch

On earth as Warwick: give me but the proof—

MARGARET.

Lord Suffolk was laſt night diſpatch'd to Grafton,

To offer her a ſhare in Edward's throne.

WARWICK.

Which ſhe refus'd: did ſhe not, Marg'ret? ſay

She did.

MARGARET.

I know not that, my lord, but crowns

[27] Are dazzling meteors in a woman's eye;

Such ſtrong temptations, few of us, I fear,

Have virtue to reſiſt.

WARWICK.

Elizabeth

Has every virtue, I'll not doubt her faith.

MARGARET.

Edward is young and handſome.

WARWICK.

Curſes on him!

Think'ſt thou he knew my fond attachment there?

MARGARET.

O paſſing well, my lord, and when 'twas urg'd,

How deeply 'twou'd affect you, ſwore by heav'n,

Imperious Warwick ne'er ſhou'd be the maſter

Of charms like hers; 'twas happineſs, he ſaid,

Beyond a ſubject's merit to deſerve,

Beyond his hope to wiſh for or aſpire to.

WARWICK.

But for that Warwick, Edward's ſelf had been

A ſubject ſtill—and—may be ſo—hereafter.

Thou ſmil'ſt at my misfortunes.

MARGARET.

I muſt ſmile

When I behold a ſubtle ſtateſman thus

Duped and deluded by a ſhallow boy,

Sent on a fruitleſs errand to expoſe

His country and himſelf—it was indeed

A maſter ſtroke of policy, beyond

One ſhou'd have thought, the reach of years ſo green

As Edward's, to diſpatch the weeping lover,

And ſeize the glorious opportunity

Of tamp'ring with his miſtreſs here at home.

WARWICK.

[28]

Did Nevil, Rutland, Clifford, bleed for this?

MARGARET.

For this doth Henry languiſh in a dungeon,

And wretched Marg'ret live a life of woe:

For this you gave the crown to pious Edward,

And thus he thanks you for his kingdom.

WARWICK.

Crowns
Are baubles, fit for children like himſelf
To play with, I have ſcatter'd many of them:
But thus to croſs me in my deareſt hope,
The ſweet reward of all my toils for him
And for his country; if I ſuffer it,
If I forgive him, may I live the ſcorn
Of men, a branded coward, and old age
Without or love or rev'rence be my portion!

Henceforth, good Marg'ret, know me for thy friend,
We will have noble vengeance;—are there not
Still left among'ſt the lazy ſons of peace,
Some buſy ſpirits who wiſh well to thee
And to thy cauſe?

MARGARET.

There are: reſentment ſleeps,

But is not dead; beneath the hollow cover

Of loyalty, the ſlumb'ring aſhes lye

Unheeded, Warwick's animating breath

Will quickly light them into flames again.

WARWICK.

Then, Edward, from this moment I abjure thee:

O I will make thee ample recompence

For all the wrongs that I have done the houſe

Of Lancaſter:—go, ſummon all thy friends;

[29] Be quick, good Marg'ret, haſte e'er I repent,

And yield my ſoul to perjur'd York again.

The king, I think gives you free liberty,

To range abroad.

MARGARET.

He doth, and I will uſe it,

As I wou'd ever uſe the gift of foes,

To his deſtruction.

WARWICK.

That arch-pandar, Suffolk,

That miniſter of vice—but time is precious;

To-morrow, Marg'ret, we will meet in private,

And have ſome further conference; mean-time

Deviſe, conſult, uſe ev'ry means againſt

Our common foe: remember, from this hour,

Warwick's thy friend—be ſecret and be happy.

SCENE VI.

MARGARET.

What eaſy fools theſe cunning ſtateſmen are,
With all their policy, when once they fall
Into a woman's pow'r! This gallant leader,
This bluſt'ring Warwick, how the hero ſhrunk
And leſſen'd to my ſight!—Elizabeth,
I thank thee for thy wonder-working charms;
The time perhaps may come, when I ſhall ſtand
Indebted to them for—the throne of England.

Proud York beware, for Lancaſter's great name
Shall riſe ſuperior in the liſts of fame:
Fortune that long had frown'd, ſhall ſmile at laſt,
And make amends for all my ſorrows paſt.

END of the SECOND ACT.

ACT III.

[30]

SCENE I.

MARGARET, CLIFFORD, Attendants.

MARGARET.

[to a gentleman.

DISPATCH theſe letters ſtrait; to Scotland—this

To the French envoy—theſe to th' earl of Pembroke.

[turning to lady Clifford.

Thus far, my friend, hath fortune favour'd us

Beyond our hopes: the ſoul of haughty Warwick

Is all on fire, and puling Edward loves

With moſt romantic ardour—O my Clifford,

You wou'd have ſmil'd to ſee how artfully

I play'd upon him: flatter'd, ſooth'd, provok'd,

And wrought him to my purpoſe: we are link'd

In firmeſt bonds of amity and love.

CLIFFORD.

Hath Warwick then ſo ſoon forgot his Edward?

Think'ſt thou the frantic earl will e'er exert

His ill-directed powers to pull down

The royal ſtructure, which himſelf had rais'd?

Never.

MARGARET.

What is there diſappointed love

And unreſtrain'd ambition will not do?

I tell thee, we are ſworn and cordial friends.

CLIFFORD.

Thou know'ſt he hates the houſe of Lancaſter.

MARGARET.

No matter—he has marvellous good ſkill

In making kings, and I—have buſineſs for him.

CLIFFORD.

[31]

And can'ſt thou then forget the cruel wrongs,

The deep-felt inj'ries of oppreſſive Warwick,

To join the hand that forg'd thy huſband's chains

And rob'd thee of a crown?

MARGARET.

But what—my Clifford,

If the ſame hand that raviſh'd ſhou'd reſtore it!

'Tis a court friendſhip and may laſt as long

As int'reſt ſhall direct: I've not forgot,

No, nor forgiv'n; I hate, abhor, deteſt him,

But I will uſe him as my inſtrument;

My neceſſary tool, I'll make him draw

His trait'rous ſword, to ſheath it in the breaſt

Of him he loves, then point it to his own:

Yes, Clifford, I have twin'd me round his heart;

Like the fell ſerpent crept into his boſom,

That I might ſting more ſurely: he ſhall periſh;

I keep him for the laſt dear precious morſel,

To crown the glorious banquet of revenge.

CLIFFORD.

'Tis what he merits from us, yet th' attempt

Were dang'rous, he is ſtill the people's idol,

MARGARET.

And ſo perhaps ſhall Marg'ret be; applauſe

Waits on ſucceſs; the fickle multitude,

Like the light ſtraw that floats along the ſtream,

Glide with the current ſtill and follow fortune.

Our proſpect brightens every hour:—the people

Are ripe for a revolt: by civil wars,

Long time inur'd to ſavage ſcenes of plunder

And deſolation, they delight in war:

Theſe Engliſh heroes, when once fleſh'd with ſlaughter,

[32] Like the keen maſtiff, loſe not ſoon the track

Of vengeance, nor forget the taſte of blood.

CLIFFORD.

What further ſuccours have we to depend on,

Beſide earl Warwick's?

MARGARET.

O his name alone

Will be an army to us.

CLIFFORD.

If we have it:

Reſentment is a ſhort-liv'd paſſion—what

If Warwick ſhould relent, and turn again

To Edward?

MARGARET.

Then I have a boſom friend

That ſhall be ready to reward him for it;—

But I have better hopes: without his aid;

We are not friendleſs: Scotland's hardy ſons

Who ſmile at danger, and defy the ſtorm,

Will leave their barren mountains to defend

That liberty they love: add too the aid

Of gallant Pembroke, and the pow'rs which France

Will ſend to vindicate her injur'd honour:

E'er Edward can collect his force and take

The field, we ſhall be thirty thouſand ſtrong.

CLIFFORD.

But what becomes of the young prince?

MARGARET.

Aye; there

I am indeed unhappy, O my child,

How ſhall I ſet him free?—hear nature, hear

A mother's pray'r! O guide me with thy counſel,

And teach me how to ſave my darling boy.

[33] —Aye, now I have it: monitreſs divine,

I thank thee:—yes; I wait but for the means

Of his eſcape, then fly this hated palace,

Nor will return till I can call it mine.

SCENE II.

EDWARD, SUFFOLK.

EDWARD.

I fear we've gone too far: th' indignant Warwick

Ill brook'd our ſteady purpoſe; mark'd you, Suffolk,

With what an eye of ſcorn he turn'd him from us,

And lowr'd defiance—that prophetic woman!

Half of her curſe already is fulfill'd,

And I have loſt my friend.

SUFFOLK.

Some friends, perhaps,

Are better loſt: you'll pardon me, my liege,

But, were it fitting, I could tell a tale

Wou'd ſoon convince you—Warwick is as weak—

EDWARD.

As Edward thou woud'ſt ſay.

SUFFOLK.

But 'twill diſtreſs

Thy noble heart too much, I dare not, Sir,

Yet one day you muſt know it.

EDWARD.

Then by thee

Let it be told me, Suffolk, thy kind hand

Will beſt adminiſter the bitter draught:

Go on, my Suffolk, ſpeak, I charge thee, ſpeak.

SUFFOLK.

That rival whom you wiſh'd me to diſcover—

EDWARD.

[34]

Aye, what of him? quick, tell me, haſt thou found

The happy traitor? give me but to know

That I may wreak my ſpeedy vengeance on him.

SUFFOLK.

Suppoſe that rival were the man whom moſt

You lov'd, the man, perhaps, whom moſt you fear'd;

Suppoſe 'twere—Warwick.

EDWARD.

Ha! it cannot be:

I would not think it for a thouſand worlds—

Warwick in love with her, impoſſible!

Now, Suffolk, do I fear thou ſpeak'ſt from envy

And jealous hatred at the noble Warwick,

Not from the love of juſtice or of Edward;

Where didſt thou learn this falſhood?

SUFFOLK.

From the lips

Of truth, from one whoſe honour and whoſe word

You will not queſtion; from—Elizabeth.

EDWARD.

From her! nay, then I fear—it muſt be ſo.

SUFFOLK.

When laſt I ſaw her, for again I went

By your command, tho' hopeleſs of ſucceſs,

With all the little eloquence that I

Was maſter of, I urg'd your ardent paſſion.

Told her how much, how tenderly you lov'd her,

And preſs'd with eagerneſs to know the cauſe

Of her unkind refuſal, till at length

Reluctantly, with bluſhes ſhe confeſs'd

There was a cauſe;—ſhe thank'd you for your goodneſs,

'Twas more ſhe ſaid, much more than ſhe deſerv'd,

[35] She ever ſhou'd revere her king: and if

She had a heart to give it ſhou'd be—Edward's.

EDWARD.

So kind, and yet ſo cruel: well, go on.

SUFFOLK.

Then told me all the ſtory of her love,

That Warwick long had woo'd her—that her hand

Was promis'd; ſoon as he return'd from France,

Though once her father cruelly oppoſed it,

They were by his conſent to be united.

EDWARD.

O never, Suffolk, may I live to ſee
That dreadful hour! deſigning hypocrite.
Are theſe his arts, is this the friend I lov'd?
By heav'n! ſhe ſhall be mine; I will aſſert
A ſov'reign's right, and tear her from him—what
If he rebel—another civil war!
'Tis terrible—O that I cou'd ſhake off
This cumbrous garb of majeſty that clings
So cloſe around me, meet him man to man,
And try who beſt deſerves her! but when kings
Grow mad, their guiltleſs ſubjects pay the forfeit.

Horrible thought—good Suffolk, for a while
I wou'd be private—therefore wait without,
Let me have no intruders; above all,
Keep Warwick from my ſight—

SCENE III.

WARWICK, EDWARD.

WARWICK.

Behold him here;

No welcome gueſt it ſeems, unleſs I aſk

[36] My lord of Suffolk's leave—there was a time

When Warwick wanted not his aid to gain

Admiſſion here.

EDWARD.

There was a time perhaps,

When Warwick more deſired and more—deſerv'd it.

WARWICK.

Never; I've been a fooliſh faithful ſlave;

All my beſt years, the morning of my life,

Hath been devoted to your ſervice: what

Are now the fruits? diſgrace and infamy;

My ſpotleſs name which never yet the breath

Of calumny had tainted, made the mock

For foreign fools to carp at: but 'tis fit

Who truſt in princes, ſhou'd be thus rewarded.

EDWARD.

I thought, my lord, I had full well repay'd

Your ſervices with honours, wealth, and pow'r

Unlimited: thy all-directing hand

Guided in ſecret ev'ry latent wheel

Of government, and mov'd the whole machine:

Warwick was all in all, and pow'rleſs Edward

Stood like a cypher in the great account.

WARWICK.

Who gave that cypher worth, and ſeated thee
On England's throne? thy undiſtinguiſh'd name
Had rotted in the duſt from whence it ſprang,
And moulder'd in oblivion, had not Warwick
Dug from its ſordid mine the uſeleſs ore,
And ſtamp'd it with a diadem. Thou know'ſt,
This wretched country, doom'd, perhaps, like Rome,
To fall by its own ſelf-deſtroying hand,
Toſt for ſo many years in the rough ſea
[37] Of civil diſcord, but for me had periſh'd.
In that diſtreſsful hour I ſeiz'd the helm,
Bade the rough waves ſubſide in peace, and ſteer'd
Your ſhatter'd veſſel ſafe into the harbour.

You may deſpiſe, perhaps, that uſeleſs aid
Which you no longer want; but know, proud youth,
He who forgets a friend, deſerves a foe.

EDWARD.

Know too, reproach for benefits receiv'd

Pays ev'ry debt, and cancels obligation.

WARWICK.

Why, that indeed is frugal honeſty,

A thrifty ſaving knowledge, when the debt

Grows burthenſome, and cannot be diſcharg'd.

A ſpunge will wipe out all, and coſt you nothing.

EDWARD.

When you have counted o'er the numerous train

Of mighty gifts your bounty laviſh'd on me,

You may remember next the inj'ries

Which I have done you; let me know 'em all,

And I will make you ample ſatisfaction.

WARWICK.

Thou can'ſt not; thou haſt robb'd me of a jewel
It is not in thy pow'r to reſtore:
I was the firſt, ſhall future annals ſay,
That broke the ſacred bond of public truſt
And mutual confidence; ambaſſadors,
In after times, mere inſtruments, perhaps,
Of venal ſtateſmen, ſhall recal my name
To witneſs, that they want not an example,
And plead my guilt, to ſanctify their own.

Amidſt the herd of mercenary ſlaves
[38] That haunt your court, cou'd none be found but Warwick,
To be the ſhameleſs herald of a lye?

EDWARD.

And woud'ſt thou turn the vile repoach on me?

If I have broke my faith, and ſtain'd the name

Of England, thank thy own pernicious counſels

That urg'd me to it, and extorted from me

A cold conſent to what my heart abhor'd.

WARWICK.

I've been abus'd, inſulted, and betray'd;

My injur'd honour cries aloud for vengeance,

Her wounds will never cloſe!

EDWARD.

Theſe guſts of paſſion,

Will but inflame them; if I have been right

Inform'd, my lord, beſides theſe dang'rous ſcars

Of bleeding honour, you have other wounds

As deep, tho' not ſo fatal: ſuch perhaps

As none but fair Elizabeth can cure.

WARWICK.

Elizabeth!

EDWARD.

Nay, ſtart not, I have cauſe

To wonder moſt: I little thought indeed

When Warwick told me I might learn to love,

He was himſelf ſo able to inſtruct me:

But I've diſcovered all.—

WARWICK.

And ſo have I;

Too well I know thy breach of friendſhip there,

Thy fruitleſs baſe endeavours to ſupplant me,

EDWARD.

[39]

I ſcorn it, ſir,—Elizabeth hath charms,

And I have equal right with you t'admire them:

Nor ſee I ought ſo godlike in the form,

So all-commanding in the name of Warwick,

That he alone ſhou'd revel in the charms

Of beauty, and monopolize perfection.

I knew not of your love.

WARWICK.

By heav'n, 'tis falſe!

You knew it all, and meanly took occaſion,

Whilſt I was buſy'd in the noble office,

Your grace thought fit to honour me withal.

To tamper with a weak unguarded woman,

To bribe her paſſions high, and baſely ſteal

A treaſure which your kingdom cou'd not purchaſe.

EDWARD.

How know you that? but be it as it may,

I had a right, nor will I tamely yield

My claim to happineſs, the privilege,

To chooſe the partner of my throne and bed:

It is a branch of my prerogative.

WARWICK.

Prerogative!—what's that? the boaſt of tyrants:

A borrow'd jewel, glitt'ring in the crown

With ſpecious luſtre, lent but to betray,

You had it, ſir, and hold it—from the people.

EDWARD.

And therefore do I prize it; I wou'd guard

Their liberties, and they ſhall ſtrengthen mine:

But when proud faction and her rebel crew

Inſult their ſov'reign, trample on his laws,

And bid defiance to his pow'r, the people

[40] In juſtice to themſelves, will then defend

His cauſe, and vindicate the rights they gave.

WARWICK.

Go to your darling people then; for ſoon,

If I miſtake not, 'twill be needful; try

Their boaſted zeal, and ſee if one of them

Will dare to lift his arm up in your cauſe,

If I forbid them.

EDWARD.

Is it ſo, my lord,

Then mark my words: I've been your ſlave too long,

And you have rul'd me with a rod of iron,

But henceforth know, proud peer, I am thy maſter,

And will be ſo: the king, who delegates

His pow'r to other's hands, but ill deſerves

The crown he wears.

WARWICK.

Look well then to your own;

It ſits but looſely on your head, for know,

The man who injur'd Warwick never paſs'd

Unpuniſh'd yet.

EDWARD.

Nor he who threaten'd Edward—

You may repent it, Sir,—my guards there—ſeize

This traitor, and convey him to the tow'r,

There let him learn obedience.

(Guards enter, ſeize Warwick, and endeavour to diſarm him.

WARWICK.

Slaves, ſtand off:
If I muſt yield my ſword, I'll give it him
Whom it ſo long has ſerv'd; there's not a part
In this old faithful ſteel, that is not ſtain'd
[41] With Engliſh blood in grateful Edward's cauſe.

Give me my chains, they are the bands of friendſhip,
Of a king's friendſhip, for his ſake a while
I'll wear them.

EDWARD.

Hence: away with him—

WARWICK.

'Tis well:

Exert your pow'r, it may not laſt you long;

For know, tho' Edward may forget his friend,

That England will not.—now, ſir, I attend you.

[Exit Warwick.

EDWARD.

Preſumptuous rebel—ha! who's here?

SCENE IV.

MESSENGER, EDWARD,

MESSENGER.

My liege;

Queen Marg'ret with the prince her ſon are fled;

In a few hours ſhe hopes, for ſo we learn,

From thoſe who have purſued her, to be join'd

By th' earl of Warwick, in his name it ſeems

She has already rais'd three thouſand men.

EDWARD.

Warwick in league with her! O heav'n! 'tis well

We've cruſh'd the ſerpent e'er his poiſon ſpread

Throughout our kingdom—guard the palace gates,

Keep double watch; ſummon my troops together,

Where is my brother Clarence, Buckingham

And Pembroke? we muſt check this foul rebellion—

SCENE V.

[42]

EDWARD SUFFOLK,.

SUFFOLK.

My liege, the duke of Clarence—

EDWARD.

What of him?

SUFFOLK.

Hath left the court; this moment I beheld him

In conf'rence deep with Pembroke, who, it ſeems,

Is Marg'ret's firmeſt friend: 'tis whiſper'd, both

Will join the queen.

EDWARD.

Well:—'tis no matter: I

Have deeper cauſe for grief, he cannot feel

A brother's falſhood, who has loſt a friend,

A friend like Warwick,—Suffolk, thou behold'ſt me

Betray'd, deſerted by the man I lov'd;

Treated with cold indifference by her

Whom I ador'd, forſaken by my brother,

And threaten'd by the ſubjects I protect,

Oppreſs'd on every ſide: but, thou ſhalt ſee,

I have a ſoul ſuperior to misfortunes.

Tho' rebel Clarence wrings my tortur'd heart,

And faithleſs Warwick braves me, we will yet

Maintain our right—come on, my friend, thou know'ſt,

Without his boaſted aid, I cou'd have gain'd

The crown, without him now I will preſerve it.

END of the THIRD ACT.

ACT IV.

[43]

SCENE, THE TOWER.

WARWICK.

MISTAKEN mortals plan deluſive ſchemes
Of bliſs, and call futurity their own,
Yet are not maſters of a moment—this
Was the appointed time, the very day
Which ſhou'd have join'd me to Elizabeth
In nuptial bonds:—O cruel memory,
Do not torment me—if there be a crime
Of deeper dye than all the guilty train
Of human vices, 'tis—ingratitude.

'Tis now two years ſince Henry loſt the crown,
And here he is, ev'n in this very priſon
A fellow captive now: diſgraceful thought!
How will he ſmile to meet his conqu'ror here!

O for that ſtoic apathy which lulls
The drowſy ſoul to ſweet forgetfulneſs!
But 'twill not be:—Elizabeth, where art thou?
Perhaps with Edward—O that thought diſtracts me:
It is, I fear, as Marg'ret ſaid; ſhe's falſe.
But when I look on theſe, can I expect
To find one virtue left in human kind?

My Pembroke too! am I ſo ſoon forgotten?

O no; he comes—

SCENE II.

[44]

PEMBROKE, WARWICK.

PEMBROKE.

My friend!

WARWICK.

My Pembroke, welcome:

Thee I have ever found moſt juſt and kind;

But, in the darkneſs of adverſity

The jewel friendſhip ſhines with double luſtre.

PEMBROKE.

I am not of the infect train that baſk

In fortune's ſunſhine, and when ev'ning damps

Ariſe, are ſeen no more: no, Warwick, what

I ſpeak, I mean: you have been hardly treated.

WARWICK.

O! Pembroke, didſt thou know but half the wrongs

That I have ſuffer'd, thou wou'dſt pity me.

PEMBROKE.

I wou'd do more, much more, my Warwick: he

Who only pities but inſults the wretched;

I come with nobler views, I come to tell thee,

That I have felt thy inj'ries as my own,

And will revenge them too.

WARWICK.

How kind thou art

To feel for Warwick!

PEMBROKE.

Ev'ry honeſt breaſt

Muſt feel the inj'ries that a good man ſuffers:

Thine is the common cauſe of all: adieu

To Engliſh freedom, when our liberty

[45] Shall be dependent on a ſov'reign's nod,

When years of honeſt ſervice ſhall be paid

With infamy and chains.

WARWICK.

I've not deſerv'd them.

PEMBROKE.

Nor ſhalt thou wear them long: for thou haſt great

And pow'rful friends—the noble duke of Clarence.

Behold his ſignet—this, my Warwick, gain'd me

Admiſſion here—we muſt be ſecret.

WARWICK.

Then I am not forſaken: Clarence!—Ha!

PEMBROKE.

Yes:

The gallant youth, with honeſt zeal, declar'd

He lov'd his brother much, but juſtice more.

WARWICK.

Then, Edward, I defy thee: gen'rous Clarence!

Thou know'ſt, the man who thus cou'd treat a friend,

Wou'd ſoon forget a brother—but ſay, Pembroke,

How ſtands the duke of Buckingham?

PEMBROKE.

Faſt bound

To Edward; he and that ſmooth courtier Suffolk

Are the two rotten pillars that ſupport

His tott'ring throne: but Marg'ret—

WARWICK.

Aye: how fares

My new ally? has ſhe eſcaped the tyrant?

PEMBROKE.

She has: and by ſome wond'rous means contriv'd

To free her captive ſon.

WARWICK.

[46]

Tho' I abhor,

I muſt admire that enterpriſing woman:

Her active mind is ever on the wing

In ſearch of freſh expedients, to recover

The crown ſhe loſt.

PEMBROKE.

Already ſhe has rais'd

A pow'rful army; all the ſecret foes

Of York's ambitious line ruſh forth in crowds,

And join her ſtandard: e'er to-morrow's ſun

Shall dawn upon us, ſhe will ſet thee free.

WARWICK.

O! Pembroke, nothing wounds the gen'rous mind

So deep as obligations to a foe.

Is there no way to liberty, my friend,

But through the bloody paths of civil war?

PEMBROKE.

I fear there is not.

WARWICK.

Then it muſt be ſo:

I cou'd have wiſh'd—but freedom and revenge

On any terms are welcome.

PEMBROKE.

Here then join we

Our hands—

WARWICK.

Our hearts.

PEMBROKE.

Now, Warwick, be thou firm

In thy reſolves; let no unmanly fears,

No fooliſh fond remembrance of paſt friendſhip

Unnerve thy arm, or ſhake thy ſteady purpoſe.

WARWICK.

[47]

No: by my wrongs it ſhall not: once, thou know'ſt,

I lov'd him but too well, and theſe vile chains

Are my reward,—O give me but the uſe

Of this once pow'rful arm, and thou ſhalt ſee

How it ſhall puniſh falſhood.—are thy forces

Prepar'd?

PEMBROKE.

They are, and wait but for my orders;

Clarence will join us ſoon: our firſt great end

Is to ſecure thy liberty; that done,

We haſte to ſeize the palace and redeem

The fair Elizabeth.

WARWICK.

Redeem her, ha!

Is ſhe a captive too?

PEMBROKE.

A willing ſlave;

A gay ſtate pris'ner, left to roam at large

O'er the young monarch's palace.

WARWICK.

Aye, my Pembroke,

That's more inviting than a priſon:—O

She's falſe, ſhe's falſe—who ſent her there?

PEMBROKE.

She came

It ſeems, to thank him for his royal bounties

To her good father, the new earl of Rivers,

Who will no doubt perſuade her to accept—

WARWICK.

Of Edward's hand—diſtraction! fly, my friend,

Haſte thee to Marg'ret, tell her if ſhe hopes

[48] For Warwick's aid, ſhe muſt releaſe him now,

E'er Edward's ill-tim'd mercy ſhall prevent her.

PEMBROKE.

I go; my friend, adieu! when next we meet,

I hope to bring thee liberty.

WARWICK.

Farewel.

She's loſt: ſhe's gone: that baſe ſeducer Edward,

Hath wrought on her weak mind, it muſt be ſo.

SCENE III.

MESSENGER, WARWICK.

MESSENGER.

My lord,

The lady Elizabeth.

WARWICK.

Amazement! ſure

It cannot be! admit her ſir—why, what

[Exit Meſſ.

Cou'd bring her here? Edward has ſent her hither,

To ſee if I will crouch to him for pardon;

Be ſtill, my jealous heart.—

SCENE IV.

ELIZABETH, WARWICK.

ELIZABETH.

My Warwick!

WARWICK.

'Tis a grace I look'd not for,

That a fair fav'rite, who ſo late had taſted

[49] The pleaſures of a court, ſhou'd condeſcend

To viſit thus a poor abandon'd captive.

ELIZABETH.

I come to take my portion of misfortune,

To pour the balm of comfort in, and heal

If poſſible, the wounds which I had made.

Too well I know, I was the fatal cauſe

Of all thy ſorrows,—but the noble Edward,

For ſo indeed he is—

WARWICK.

And art thou come,

To plead the cauſe of him who ſent me hither?

ELIZABETH.

I came to be the meſſenger of peace,

To calm thy troubled ſoul, and give thee reſt,

To teach my Warwick to forget his wrongs.

WARWICK.

Forget my wrongs! was that thy errand here,

To teach me low ſubmiſſion to a tyrant;

To aſk forgiveneſs, kneel and deprecate,

The wrath of bluſt'ring Edward? If thou com'ſt

On terms like theſe to bring me freedom, know

It will not be accepted: now I ſee

Thro' all your arts, by heav'n, I'd rather loſe

A thouſand lives, than owe one to his bounty.

ELIZABETH.

Either my Warwick is much chang'd, and ſo

I fear he is, or he wou'd never talk

Thus coldly to me, never wou'd deſpiſe

A life ſo precious, if he knew how much

Elizabeth had ſuffer'd to preſerve it.

The gallant Edward won by my entreaties—

WARWICK.

[50]

Entreaties! didſt thou then deſcend ſo low,

As to entreat him for me?

ELIZABETH.

Hadſt thou ſeen,

When I implor'd him to forgive my Warwick,

How kind he look'd, how his repenting heart

Heav'd with the pangs of agonizing friendſhip,

Thou wou'd'ſt have pity'd him.

WARWICK.

Deceitful woman,
I ſee thy falſhood now, I am betray'd,
And thou art leagu'd with Edward to deſtroy me.

Go to your royal lover and unite
Thoſe only fit companions for each other,
A broken friendſhip, and a perjur'd love:
Give up diſcarded Warwick, and to make
The compact firm, cement it with my blood.

ELIZABETH.

I thought the ſoul of Warwick far above

Such mean ſuſpicions—ſhall the man, whoſe truth,

Whoſe conſtancy, and love have been ſo long

My bright example, ſhall he ſtoop ſo low,

As thus to liſten to an idle tale

Told by ſome prating courtier? if indeed

Thou cou'd'ſt believe it, I ſhould pity thee.

WARWICK.

Where is your father, the new earl of Rivers?

Why ſends he not his forces to our aid?

ELIZABETH.

He cannot: honour, gratitude, forbid,

That he ſhou'd lift up his rebellious arm

Againſt his benefactor! well thou know'ſt,

[51] Of late, when civil diſcord reign'd among'ſt us,

He fought with Henry, and with Henry fell:

When injur'd Edward gen'rouſly forgave,

Reſtor'd his forfeit lands, and late advanc'd him

To rank and title.

WARWICK.

Infamy and ſhame;

The common nets which fearful knav'ry ſpreads

To catch ambition's fools: mean ſordid bribes!

We know the treaſure they were mean't to purchaſe.

ELIZABETH.

Unkind ſuggeſtion! how have I deſerv'd it?
Have I for this refus'd a youthful monarch,
And ſpurn'd his offer'd ſceptre at my feet,
To be reproach'd at laſt by cruel Warwick?

Had I once liſten'd to him! had theſe eyes
Been dazzled with the ſplendor of a court,
I need not thus have chang'd it for a dungeon.

But ſince I am ſuſpected, witneſs heav'n,
And witneſs Warwick to my vows! henceforth,
Dear as thou art, I caſt thee from my love;
Elizabeth will never wed—a traitor.

WARWICK.

Am I awake, and did Elizabeth

Say ſhe wou'd never wed her faithful Warwick?

Then bear me witneſs too, all judging heav'n!

Here yield I up all viſionary dreams

Of future bliſs, of liberty, or life,

Ev'n the ſweet hope of vengeance that alone

Suſtain'd my ſpirit, loſes all its charms;

I wiſh'd for freedom but to purchaſe thine:

For life, but to enjoy it with my love,

And ſhe diſclaims me.

WARWICK.

[52]

Heav'n forbid! O Warwick,

Let not the tide of paſſion thus overwhelm

Thy reaſon.

WARWICK.

Can'ſt thou pardon me? thou know'ſt

Th' unguarded warmth, the weakneſs of my nature.

I wou'd not wrong thee, but I've been ſo oft

So cruelly deceiv'd

ELIZABETH.

I know thou haſt;

But never by Elizabeth.

WARWICK.

O no!

It is impoſſible that perfidy

Shou'd wear a form like thine.

(Looking at her.)

I wonder not

That Edward lov'd, no; when I look on thee,

All beauteous, all enchanting as thou art:

By heav'n! I think I cou'd almoſt forgive him.

ELIZABETH.

Then wherefore not be reconcil'd?

WARWICK.

To whom?

The author of my wrongs? It cannot be:

Know, I have promis'd Marg'ret to deſtroy him.

ELIZABETH.

Deſtroy thy friend! ungen'rous cruel Warwick,

Is't not enough that thou haſt triumph'd here?

Already we have pierc'd his noble heart

With the keen pangs of diſappointed love:

And woud'ſt thou wound his breaſt with added ſorrows;

Woud'ſt thou involve a nation in his ruin?

WARWICK.

[53]

Elizabeth, no more: alas! too well

Thou know'ſt, there is a pow'rful advocate

In Warwick's breaſt, that pleads for perjur'd Edward.

ELIZABETH.

Cheriſh the ſoft emotion: O my Warwick!—

WARWICK.

That angel form can never plead in vain;

But then, my friends—where is my ſolemn vow

To Marg'ret, and to Pembroke? there's the tie;

My honour's dearer to me—

ELIZABETH.

Than thy love;

Dearer, much dearer, than Elizabeth?

But I have done: farewel, my lord, I ſee

Thy deep reſentment is not to be mov'd

By my weak influence o'er thee.

(Going.)

WARWICK.

Stay, I charge thee.

ELIZABETH.

What is this phantom, honour, this proud idol

That tramples thus on ev'ry humble virtue?

This cruel bloody Molock, that delights

In human ſacrifice? O! wou'd to heav'n

I were its only victim! but with me,

You offer up your country and your king.

WARWICK.

Think on my vow, think on my promiſe giv'n.

ELIZABETH.

Thy league with Marg'ret muſt be fatal: grant

We ſhould ſucceed, and Lancaſter once more

Aſſume the throne; how dear the victory,

That's purchas'd with our fellow-ſubjects blood!

[54] Alas! ſuch triumphs make the conqu'ror weep.

But if we fail—

WARWICK.

Impoſſible!

ELIZABETH.

O! think

Betimes! what dreadful puniſhments await

The vanquiſh'd rebel: thou, perhaps, my love,

Shalt then be doom'd on th' ignominious block

To fall inglorious; and, when thou art gone,

Who ſhall defend thy poor Elizabeth?

WARWICK.

Alarming thought! It ſtaggers my firm purpoſe,

And makes me half a villain.

SCENE V.

WARWICK, ELIZABETH, an OFFICER.

OFFICER.

Madam, the king demands your preſence, I

Have orders to convey you to the palace.

WARWICK.

And wilt thou leave me?

ELIZABETH.

This, my Warwick, this

Is the deciſive moment, now determine,

Accept of mercy, e'er it be too late;

E'er haſty Edward—Shall, I ſay, thou wilt

Return to thy obedience, and receive

Thy pardon? ſhall I? ſpeak my love.

WARWICK.

Perhaps

I may accept it, if 'tis brought by thee.

ELIZABETH.

[55]

Then we ſhall meet in happineſs—

WARWICK.

Farewel!

SCENE VI.

WARWICK.

Now to thoſe worſt companions in affliction,

My own ſad thoughts again, they're gloomy all,

And like my habitation full of horror.

I like not Edward's meſſage—if he hears

My league with Margaret, he ſtill has pow'r

To make me feel his rage: I have deſerv'd it—

[a trampling heard without.

Methought I heard a noiſe—this way they come,

Perhaps it is the meſſenger of death—

SCENE VII.

PEMBROKE, WARWICK.

PEMBROKE.

The meſſenger of vengeance—ſee her ſword;

Accept it and be free.

(offers the ſword)

WARWICK.

Firſt let me know

To whom I am indebted for't.

PEMBROKE.

To me.

Soon as the rumour of thy foul diſgrace

Had reach'd the public ear, th' impatient people

Uncertain of thy fate, tumultuous throng'd

Around the palace, and demanded thee;

Give us our Warwick, give us back, they cry'd

Our hero, our deliv'rer—I ſtep'd forth

And bade them, inſtant, if they wiſh'd to ſave

[56] The beſt of men, from infamy, and death,

To follow me: tranſported they obey'd:

I led them hither: forced the priſon gates,

And brought thee this—direct it as thou wilt.

(Gives the ſword.)

WARWICK.

Welcome once more, thou deareſt gift of heav'n

Immortal liberty! my friend, I thank thee.

O Pembroke, woud'ſt thou had'ſt been here! my love,

My dear Elizabeth is true.

PEMBROKE.

At leaſt

You think ſo.

WARWICK.

She has told me ſuch ſweet truths;

Edward repents him ſorely, he is griev'd

At his ingratitude.

PEMBROKE.

And well he may;
I fear thou art betray'd: alas! my Warwick,
Thy open gen'rous unſuſpecting virtue
Thinks ev'ry heart as honeſt as thy own.
Thou know'ſt not Edward—nor Elizabeth.
The kingdom is in arms, and ev'ry hour,
It is expected France will join the queen:
England will want its great protector's aid.

Edward and Rivers have conſpired to cheat
Thy credulous ear, and who ſo fit to ſpread
The flimſy web as thy Elizabeth,
Their fair ambaſſadreſs? I ſee thou'rt caught.

WARWICK.

By heav'n! it may be ſo: I am the ſport

Of fortune and of fraud.

PEMBROKE.

[57]

Away, my friend:

It is not now a time to think of her:

Marg'ret, ſupported by thy pow'rful name,

And join'd by Clarence, waits us at the head

Of fifteen thouſand men, who, eager all

To cruſh a tyrant, and pull down oppreſſion,

Attend thy wiſh'd-for preſence; not a ſoldier

Will act or move till Warwick ſhall direct them.

Edward and England's fate depend on thee.

WARWICK.

Away my friend, I'll follow thee.

[Exit Pembroke.

Yet ſtop

A moment—let not paſſion hurry me

To baſe diſhonour—if my country calls

For Warwick's aid, ſhall I not hear her voice,

And ſave her? Pembroke may have private views,

And ſubtle Marg'ret too—Elizabeth!

I muſt not loſe thee—O! direct me heav'n!

END of the FOURTH ACT.

ACT V.

[58]

SCENE I.

ELIZABETH.

THE royal pardon came too late, and Pembroke
Already has releas'd him; he is gone—
Elizabeth may never ſee him more.
A thouſand terrors haunt me, a fond father,
A guiltleſs ſov'reign, a diſtracted lover,
Fame, fortune, friends, and country, all depend
On one eventful moment—hark! the ſound
Of diſtant groans! perhaps the king—perhaps
My Warwick bleeds. O! agonizing thought!

Great God of armies, whoſe all-guiding hand
Directs the fate of nations, O! look down
On thy own image, let not cruel diſcord
Divide their kindred ſouls! in pity hear,
Pour thy benignant ſpirit o'er their hearts,
And once more knit them in the bonds of peace!

SCENE II.

ELIZABETH, SUFFOLK.

SUFFOLK.

The pray'r of innocence is always heard.

ELIZABETH.

Ha! Suffolk, whither haſt'ſt thou? art thou come—

SUFFOLK.

I come to heal thy ſorrows, lovely fair one,

To tell thee, Edward, and thy much-lov'd Warwick,

Once more are friends.

ELIZABETH.

[59]

Indeed! O welcome news!

My joy's too great for utt'rance: tell me, Suffolk,

How was it? ſpeak, is Warwick ſafe? O heav'n!

SUFFOLK.

A moment's patience, and I'll tell thee all.
Marg'ret, thou know'ſt, had rais'd a pow'rful force,
That doubled Edward's troops: elate with pride,
And almoſt ſure of victory, ſhe urg'd
The tardy ſpearmen; on they ruſh'd, as if
Secure of conqueſt: the unhappy king
Stood nobly firm, and ſeem'd to brave his fate,
When Warwick like a guardian god appear'd:
His noble mien and all-commanding look
Struck deep attention; ev'ry eye was bent
Upon him, and an awful ſilence reign'd
O'er either hoſt, he rais'd his voice on high,
And ſtop, he cry'd, your ſacrilegious hands,
Nor touch my friend: who pierces Edward's breaſt,
Muſt paſs through mine: I rais'd him to the throne,
And will ſupport him there: to you I gave,
From you my fellow-ſoldiers I expect him:
Howe'er his cruel wrongs have wounded me,
He never injur'd you, and, I—forgive him.

He ſpake, and inſtant thro' the gazing croud
A murmur ran; down dropp'd their nerveleſs arms,
As if enchanted by ſome magic pow'r,
And with one voice they cry'd, long live king Edward!

ELIZABETH.

How pow'rful is the tongue of eloquence,

When in the cauſe of virtue!—well, what ſollow'd?

SUFFOLK.

Encourag'd by the ſhouting ſoldiers, Edward

[60] On like a modeſt virgin wiſhing came,

Yet fearful, Warwick with a bridegroom's ſpeed

To meet him flew; into each other's arms

They ran with ſpeechleſs joy: the tender ſcene

Affected ev'ry heart, and the rough ſoldier,

Unuſed to melting ſympathy, forgot

His ruthleſs nature, and diſſolv'd in tears.

ELIZABETH.

Sweet reconcilement! then, Elizabeth,

Thou didſt not plead in vain; but, ſay, how brook'd

The haughty queen this unexpected change?

SUFFOLK.

Abaſh'd, confounded, for a while ſhe ſtrove

To ſtem the torrent, but in vain; then fled

Precipitate.

ELIZABETH.

But where, O where's my Warwick?

SUFFOLK.

With a few choſen ſquadrons he purſues

The diſappointed Marg'ret.

ELIZABETH.

O my fears!

I know not why, but at that hateful name

I tremble ever, my foreboding heart

Preſages ſomething dreadful.

SUFFOLK.

Do not vex

Thy tender mind with viſionary dangers.

ELIZABETH.

O! wou'd to heav'n that he were ſhelter'd here,

And ſafe within theſe arms!

SUFFOLK.

Be not alarm'd:

[61] He is the care of heav'n: all good men love,

All bad ones fear him.

ELIZABETH.

Such ſuperior merit

Muſt have a thouſand foes, the conſtant mark

Of envy's poiſon'd darts.

SUFFOLK.

There Suffolk feels

The keen reproach; with bluſhes I confeſs

There was a time, when, urg'd by fond ambition,

I look'd on Warwick with a jealous eye:

But this laſt noble deed hath won my heart,

And I am now a convert to his virtues;

But ſee, the king approaches.

SCENE III.

EDWARD, ELIZABETH.

EDWARD.

Health and peace,

And happineſs to fair Elizabeth!

Thou art no ſtranger to the joyful news;

The luſtre of thoſe ſpeaking eyes declares it.

ELIZABETH.

Suffolk, ev'n now, hath bleſs'd me with the tidings.

EDWARD.

O! 'tis amazement all: Elizabeth,

When laſt we met, thou wert the ſuppliant, now

'Tis I muſt aſk forgiveneſs, I who injur'd

The deareſt, beſt of men; O! thou haſt ſay'd

Edward from ſhame, and England from deſtruction.

ELIZABETH.

Did I not ſay my Warwick wou'd be juſt?

EDWARD.

[62]

Thou did'ſt, and on thoſe beauteous lips fair truth

And ſoft perſuaſion dwell; long time he ſtood

Inflexible, and deaf to friendſhip's voice,

Liſten'd to nought but all ſubduing love.

In after-times, thy name ſhall be enroll'd

Amongſt the great deliv'rer's of their country.

ELIZABETH.

I have no title to the laviſh praiſe

Thy gen'rous heart beſtows; I only ſaid

What duty prompted, and what love inſpir'd;

Indulgent heav'n has crown'd it with ſucceſs.

EDWARD.

Thou haſt done all: I am indebted to thee

For more, much more than I can e'er repay.

Long time, with ſhame, I own, hath Warwick ſoar'd

Above me, but I will not be outdone

For ever by this proud aſpiring rival:

Poor as I am, there yet is one way left

To pay the debt of gratitude I owe him,

One great reward for ſuch exalted virtues,

Thyſelf, Elizabeth.

ELIZABETH.

What means my lord,

My royal maſter?

EDWARD.

Yes; when next we meet

I will beſtow it on him, will reſign

All my fond claim to happineſs and thee;

Tho' thy dear image ne'er can be effac'd

From Edward's breaſt, tho' ſtill I doat upon thee,

Tho' I could hang for ever on thy beauties;

Yet will I yield them to their rightful lord;

Warwick has earn'd, Warwick alone deſerves them.

ELIZABETH.

[63]

Wou'd he were here to thank thee for thy goodneſs!

Know, gen'rous prince, Elizabeth has long

Admir'd thy virtues, and cou'd love admit

Of a divided heart, the noble Edward

Wou'd ſhare it with his friend.

SCENE IV.

MESSENGER, EDWARD.

MESSENGER.

My royal liege,

The rebels are diſpers'd, queen Marg'ret's ſon

Was ſlain in the purſuit—and ſhe—

EDWARD.

I hope

Secur'd—

MESSENGER.

Is taken pris'ner, and will ſoon

Be here—

EDWARD.

But where's lord Warwick?

MESSENGER.

Sir—the queen—

SCENE V.

MARGARET Priſoner.

MARGARET.

Once more I am your pris'ner.

EDWARD.

'Twill be prudent

Henceforth to keep you ſo.

MARGARET.

[64]

You dare not!

Thou think'ſt, perhaps, that I ſhall ſue to thee

For mercy: no; in Marg'ret of Anjou,

Thou fee'ſt the wife, and daughter of a king.

A ſpirit not to be ſubdu'd; tho fall'n

Triumphant ſtill, and tho' a pris'ner free.

For know, I bear a mind above the reach

Of fortune or of Edward—I have loſt

All I cou'd wiſh to live for in my child;

And gain'd what moſt I wiſh'd to gain, revenge!

Or life or death are now indiff'rent to me.

EDWARD.

For thy unbounded goodneſs, pow'r ſupreme

Accept our praiſe!

ELIZABETH.

(kneeling)

Accept our humble pray'r!

MARGARET.

Inſulting piety! the common trick

Of hypocrites and ſlaves: when ye ſhall know

What Marg'ret knows, ye may not be ſo thankful.

Methinks 'tis pity Warwick is not here

To join in your devotion.

ELIZABETH.

Wou'd to heav'n

He were!

MARGARET.

That monſter, that perfidious ſlave

Who broke his faith to Marg'ret, and to thee;

Thy coward ſoul, unable to defend

The treaſure thou hadſt ſtol'n, cou'd meanly ſtoop

To court the traitor whom thou dar'ſt not puniſh.

Not ſo the injur'd Marg'ret—ſhe repell'd

The wrongs ſhe felt, and the deceiver met

The fate he merited.

EDWARD.

[65]

What fate?—ev'n now

Crown'd with immortal wreaths, the hero comes

To bleſs his friends, and puniſh guilt like thine.

MARGARET.

Proud and deluded wretches! I look down

With pity on you: Captive as I am,

'Tis mine to judge and puniſh; be it yours

To hear and tremble.

EDWARD.

Ha!

ELIZABETH.

What can this mean?

MARGARET.

If I miſtake not, Warwick is your friend,

Your lover too, I think.

ELIZABETH.

My lord, my huſband.

MARGARET.

Know then, that friend, that lover, perjur'd Warwick,

Hath not an hour to live.

EDWARD.

What murth'rous hand—

MARGARET.

Mine, tyrant mine: think not I mean to hide

The noble deed; it is my happineſs,

It is my glory: thou wilt call me baſe,

Blood-thirſty, cruel, ſavage, and revengeful.

But here I ſtand acquitted to myſelf,

And ev'ry feeling heart that knows my wrongs.—

To late poſterity dethroned queens,

And weeping mothers ſhall applaud my juſtice.

EDWARD.

Juſtice, on whom?

MARGARET.

[66]

Can Edward aſk me? who
Impriſon'd Henry, rob'd me of a crown,
And plac'd it on a proud uſurper's head?
Who gave his ſacred promiſe to a queen,
And broke it? who, for which indignant heav'n
Chaſtis'd him, baſely murther'd my ſweet boy?

Bereft of honour, fortune, huſband, child,
Depriv'd of ev'ry comfort, what remain'd
For me but vengeance, what for him but death?

EDWARD.

What haſt thou done? when? where? ſpeak, murthreſs, ſpeak.

MARGARET.

Preſs'd by ſurrounding multitudes, and made

A ſlave, they dragg'd me to the conqu'ror's tent,

There the firſt horrid object I beheld,

Was the pale corſe of my poor bleeding child:

There—as th' inſulting Warwick ſtood, and ſeem'd

To triumph o'er him—from my breaſt I drew

A ponyard forth, and plung'd it in his heart.

Th' aſtoniſh'd ſoldiers throng'd around him, ſeiz'd

And brought me here—now to your pray'rs again.

EDWARD.

[Elizabeth faints.

She faints, good Suffolk, help there, help, ſupport

Aſſiſt her.—lead her in.

[Exit Elizabeth.

If it be true,

As much I fear it is, a thouſand deaths

Were puniſhment too little for thy guilt;

Thou ſhalt be tortur'd.

MARGARET.

Tyrant, I defy thee;

Thy threats appall not me: prepare your tortures,

Let them be ſharp and cruel as thyſelf,

[67] All that ingenious malice can ſuggeſt,

Or pow'r inflict, 'twill be my comfort ſtill,

They cannot be ſo great as thoſe you feel.

EDWARD.

Guards, take the monſter hence, let her be chain'd

In ſome deep dungeon, dark as her own thoughts,

There let her periſh—hence, away with her.

MARGARET.

Deſpair, and horror viſit thee—farewell—

He comes, my triumph is complete—look there!

SCENE VI.

WARWICK, leaning on two ſoldiers.

WARWICK.

Where is he? lead me, lead me to my king.

EDWARD.

My Warwick! my preſerver!—ſhe ſhall bleed

For this in ev'ry vein.

WARWICK.

Think not of her,

She has no pow'r to hurt thee; and with guilt

Like hers, 'tis puniſhment enough to live:

This is no time for vengeance; death comes on

With haſty ſtrides, 'tis but a little while,

A few ſhort moments, and we part for ever.

My friend—

EDWARD.

I am not worthy of the name,

For I diſgrac'd, diſhonour'd, murther'd thee;

Edward's unkindneſs was the cauſe of all:

Can'ſt thou forgive me?

WARWICK.

O! may Warwick's crimes

[68] Ne'er meet forgiveneſs from offended heav'n,

If from my ſoul, I do not pardon, love,

And honour thee!

EDWARD.

Away, let me ſupport him;

'Tis the laſt office I ſhall e'er perform

For thee, my Warwick—wilt thou lean upon me

And ſeal my pardon with one kind embrace?

WARWICK.

We never hated.

EDWARD.

But my love was blind.

WARWICK.

And blinder my reſentment.

EDWARD.

I forgot

Thy ſervices.

WARWICK.

And I remember'd not

Thou wert my king—my ſweet Elizabeth,

Where is ſhe? Edward, do not keep her from me,

We are no rivals now.

EDWARD.

Shock'd at the news

Of thy untimely fate, ſhe ſunk beneath it,

And fainted in theſe arms; I ſeiz'd th' occaſion,

And bade her weeping maidens bear her hence:

This would have been a dreadful ſight indeed.

ELIZABETH without.

I can, I will, ſupport it.

WARWICK.

Ha! that voice—

Sure 'tis Elizabeth's!

SCENE the laſt.

[69]

ELIZABETH, WARWICK, EDWARD.

ELIZABETH.

O! give me way,

For I muſt ſee him—O! my Warwick!

WARWICK.

This is too much, the bitterneſs of death

Is to be ſever'd thus from thoſe we love.

EDWARD.

Why wou'd you bring her here!

(to the attendants.)

WARWICK.

Elizabeth,

Be comforted.

ELIZABETH.

O no, it is my doom

Never to taſte of joy or comfort more:

No; from this hateful world will I retire,

And mourn my Warwick's fate, imploring heav'n

That I may ſoon wear out my little ſtore

Of hopeleſs days, and join thee in the tomb.

WARWICK.

That muſt not be: I've done my friend a wrong,

And only thou can'ſt make atonement for it.

Thy hand, Elizabeth, if e'er thou lov'ſt,

Obſerve me now—thine, Edward—for my ſake

Cheriſh this beauteous mourner, take her from me,

As the laſt preſent of a dying friend.

EDWARD.

If ought cou'd make the precious gift more dear,

It wou'd be Warwick, that it came from thee.

[70] O! I will guard her with a parent's care,

From every ill, watch over and protect her;

And when the memory of thee ſhall awake,

As oft it will, her poignant griefs, repel

The riſing ſigh, wipe off the flowing tear,

And ſtrive to charm her to forgetfulneſs.

WARWICK.

Wilt thou indeed? then I ſhall die in peace.

ELIZABETH.

Yet thou may'ſt live.

WARWICK.

Impoſſible:—I feel

The hand of death preſs cold upon my heart,

And all will ſoon be o'er:—I've liv'd to ſave

My falling country, to repent my crimes,

Redeem my honour, and reſtore my king.

EDWARD.

Alas! my friend, the memory of thee

Will poiſon every bliſs.

WARWICK.

All-healing time
That cloſes ev'ry wound, ſhall pour it's balm
O'er thine.—mean-while, remember Warwick's fate.—
I gave my word to Margaret, and broke it;
Heav'n is not to be mock'd, it ſoon o'ertakes us,
And in our crime we meet our puniſhment.

O Edward, if thou hop'ſt that length of days,
And fair proſperity ſhall crown thy wiſhes,
Beware of paſſion, and reſentment—make
Thy people's good and happineſs thy own,
Diſcourage faction, baniſh flatt'rers, keep
Thy faith inviolate, and reign in peace.
I can no more—my love! have mercy heav'n!
(dies.)

EDWARD.

[71]

He's gone!—

ELIZABETH.

And with him all my hopes of bliſs.

EDWARD.

Let ev'ry honour to a ſoldier due,

Attend the hero to his tomb—mean-while,

Deep in the living tablet of my heart,

Will I engrave thy words—illuſtrious ſhade!

Living thou wert my counſellor and friend,

And dead I will remember, and obey thee.

ELIZABETH.

Warwick farewel, I ſhall not long ſurvive thee.

EDWARD.

I hope thou wilt—Elizabeth, remember
His dying charge, think on thy promiſe giv'n.
Thou ſhall remain with me, with me lament
Our common benefactor; we will ſit
And talk together of my Warwick's virtues,
For I will try to emulate them all,
And learn, by copying him, to merit thee.

His great example ſhall inſpire my breaſt
With patriot zeal, ſhall teach me to ſubdue
The pow'r of faction, vanquiſh party rage,
And make me, what alone I wiſh to be,
The happy king of an united people.

FINIS.

Appendix A EPILOGUE,[]Written by DAVID GARRICK, Eſq Spoken by Mrs. YATES.
EXHAUSTED quite with priſons, racks, and death,
Permit me here to take a little breath!
You who have ſeen my actions, known their ſprings,
Say, are we women ſuch inſipid things?
Say, lords of the creation, mighty men!
 [...] have you ſurpaſs'd us, where? and when?
I come to know to whom the palm is due,
To us weak veſſels, or to ſtronger you?
Againſt your conqu'ring ſwords, I draw—my fan,
Come on!—now parry Marg'ret, if you can.
(Sets herſelf in a poſture of defence.
Stand up, ye boaſters! (to the pit)
 don't there ſneaking ſit;
Are you for Pleaſure, Politics, or Wit?
The boxes ſmile to ſee me ſcold the pit.
Their turn is next—and tho' I will not wrong 'em,
A woeful havock there will be among 'em.—
You our beſt friends, (to the pit)
 love, cheriſh, and reſpect us;
Not take our fortunes, marry, and neglect us.
You think indeed, that as you pleaſe, you rule us,
And with a ſtrange importance often ſchool us!
Yet, let each citizen deſcribe a brother,
I'll tell you what you ſay of one another.
My neighbour leads, poor foul, a woeful life,
A worthy man—but govern'd by his wife!
How, ſay you? what, all ſilent?—then, 'tis true:
We rule the city—Now, great Sirs; to you. (to the boxes.)
What is your boaſt?—Wou'd you, like me, have done,
To free a captive wife, or fare a ſon?
Rather than run ſuch dangers of your lives,
You'd leave your children, and lock up your wives.
When with your nobleſt deeds, a nation rings!
You are but puppets, and we play the ſtrings.
We  [...]an no battles—true—but out of fight,
 [...] the fun,—and armies halt or fight!
You have th' advantage, Ladies—wiſely reap it,
And let me  [...]nt the only way to keep it.
 [...] men of vain ideas, have their ſill,
 [...] bounce, ſtride, ſtrut,—while you, with happy ſkill,
 [...], uſe the fineſt ſilken thread;
 [...] enough—nor check the tugging head:
The  [...]  [...]ounder—you with gentle hand,
And  [...], muſt bring the trout to land;
 [...] cannot be—
 [...] falls with Me.

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Citation Suggestion for this Object: TextGrid Repository (2016). TEI. 4423 The Earl of Warwick a tragedy as it is perform d at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. University of Oxford Text Archive. University of Oxford, License: Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/]. https://hdl.handle.net/11378/0000-0005-D656-9