If any doubt my faith, my honest zeal For thee, and for my country, let him speak, And I will answer: punish me, just Heaven, If in the task I haye consulted aught But England's honour, and my sovereign's glory! Edw. Mistake me not, good Warwick; well I know
Thy spotless truth, thy honour, and thy love; But glory has no farther charms for me: Raised, by thy powerful aid, to England's throne, I ask no more: already I am great
As fame and fortune with their smiles can make
Edw. 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. Warw. My honour, sir, is yours; my cause
Who sent me, and whose image did I bear? The image of a great and glorious king, Or of a weak and wavering boy?-henceforth, Choose from the herd of fawning sycophants, Some needy slave for your mock embassies, 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
Warw. That too, my liege, hath been thy War- From injured France contempt, with deep re
Happy thou shalt be, if the fairest form, That ever caught a gazing lover's eye, Joined to the sweetest, most engaging virtues, Can make thee so :-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.
Edw. 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 The model of perfection, may disgust My strange capricious taste.
Warw. Such charms would fix Inconstancy itself:—her winning virtues, Even if her beauty failed, would soon subdue The rebel heart, and you would learn to love her. Edw. Is passion to be learned then? wouldst 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 the intended marriage With France's daughter-it may never be. Warw. Not be! it must: your sacred word is passed,
And cannot be recalled; but three days since I signed the contract, and my honour's pledged For the performance: Heavens! whilst fickle
Is branded 'midst the nations of the earth For breach of public faith, shall we, my licge, Practise ourselves the vices we condemn, Pass o'er a rival nation's every virtue, And imitate their perfidy alone?
Edu. You'll pardon me, my lord; I thought it part
Of a king's power 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. Warw. And so they ought-the king, who can-
not conquer His private interest for the public welfare, Knows not his duty.
For broken faith, and enmity eternal. Edw. 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 Heaven! what am I?
The meanest peasant in my realm may choose His rustic bride, and share with her the sweets Of mutual friendship and domestic bliss! Why should 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 them? Warw. The worst of slaves is he, whom pas sion rules,
Unchecked by reason, and the powerful 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 ye not. Which of this noble train, These well-beloved counsellors and friends, Assembled here to witness my disgrace, Have urged you 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 sovereign so unlike the noble Edward!
Suff. My lord, we thank you for the kind sog.
gestion, Howe'er ill-founded; and when next we meet, To give our voice in aught, that may concern The public weal, no doubt shall ask your leave, Ere we proceed.
Pemb. 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 tie shall bind The subject to obedience, when his king, Bankrupt in honour, gives the royal sanction To perfidy and falsehood?
Buck. It becomes
But ill the earl of Pembroke
Let us have no dissentions here; we meet 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 well.
[The council break up and disperse. Edw. [Comes to WARW.] 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; Meanwhile, if you have friendship, love, or duty, No more of Bona-I'm determined. [Exit EDW. Warw. So:
'Tis well, 'tis very well: I have deserved it; I've borne this callow eagle on my wing, And now he spurns me from him; 'tis a change I little looked for, and sits heavy on me : Alas, how doubly painful is the wound, When 'tis inflicted by the hand we love! Cruel, ungrateful Edward!-
The captive queen! if she has aught to ask Of me, she comes in luckless hour, for I Am powerless now.
Enter MARGARET of ANJOU. Warw. Will Margaret of Anjou Thus deign to visit her acknowledged foe? Marg. Alas! my lord, inured to wretchedness As I ain, 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. Warw. Talk not of friendship, 'tis an empty
And lives but in idea; once, indeed, I thought I had a friend.-
Marg. Whose name was-Edward; Read I aright, my lord, and am I not
A shrewd diviner? Yes, that downcast 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 it not so? Warw. Amazement! nought escapes thy pier- cing eye,
And penetrating judgment: 'tis too true, I am a poor, disgraced, dishonoured slave, Not worth thy seeking; leave me, for the tide Of court preferment flows another way.
Marg. The feast, perhaps, you have provided, suits not
With Edward's nicer palate; he disdains, How sweet so'er, to taste a foreign banquet, And relishes no dainties but his own: Am I again mistaken?
Warw. Sure thou deal'st
With some all-knowing spirit, who imparts] Each secret purpose to thee: else how know'st thou,
That Edward had refused to wed the princess? Marg. Oh! it requires no supernatural aid To trace his actions, nor has Margaret trod The paths of life with unobserving eye.
Had you been chastened in affliction's school, As I have been, and taught by sad experience To know mankind, you had not fallen a prey To such delusion.
Warw. Was it like a friend, Was it like Edward, to conceal his love! Some base, insinuating, artful woman, With borrowed charms, perhaps-
Marg. 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 accomplished of her sex. Warw. Know you the lady? Of peerless beauty and transcendent charms, - Marg. But as fame reports; But for her virtue-I must ask of-you. Warw. Of me! What virtues? Whose? Marg. Elizabeth's.
Warw. Amazement! no: it must not, cannot be:
Elizabeth! he could 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?
Marg, 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 raised, Who condescends so kindly to instruct me, Should whisper-Warwick knows the power of
As well as Edward; that Elizabeth Was his first wish, the idol of his soul; What say you? Might I venture to believe it?
To play with; I have scattered 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 reverence, be my portion! Henceforth, good Margaret, know me for thy friend:
We will have noble vengeance: are there not Still left among the lazy sons of peace Some busy spirits, who wish well to thee, And to thy cause?
Marg. There are; resentment sleeps, But is not dead. Beneath the hollow cover Of loyalty, the slumbering ashes lie Unheeded; Warwick's animating breath Will quickly light them into flames again. Warw. Then, Edward, from this moment I abjure thee;
Oh! I will make thee ample recompense For all the wrongs that I have done the house Of Lancaster: go, summon all thy friends; Be quick, good Margaret, haste, ere I repent, And yield my soul to perjured York again. The king, I think, gives you free liberty To range abroad?
Marg. He doth, and I will use it, As I would ever use the gift of foes, To his destruction.
Warw. That arch-pander, Suffolk, That minister of vice-but time is precious; To-morrow, Margaret, we will meet in private, And have some further conference; mean time Devise, consult, use every means against Our common foe: remember, from this hour, Warwick's thy friend-be secret and be happy, (Er
Marg. What easy fools these cunning states
With all their policy, when once they fall Into a woman's power! This gallant leader, This blustering Warwick, how the hero shrunk And lessened 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 frowned, shall smile at last,
And make amends for all my sorrows past. [Exit.
Enter MARGARET, CLIFFORD, and Attendants. Marg. Dispatch these letters straight to Scotland-this,
To the French envoy-these, to the earl of Pen [To a gentlema Thus far, my friend, hath fortune favoured us [Turning to Lady CLIFFORD Beyond our hopes: the soul of haughty Warwick
Is all on fire, and puling Edward loves With most romantic ardour-O my Clifford, You would have smiled to see how artfully I played upon him: flattered, soothed, provoked, And wrought him to my purpose: we are linked In firmest bonds of amity and love.
Clif. 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 raised? Never.
Marg. What is there, disappointed love And unrestrained ambition will not do? I tell thee, we are sworn and cordial friends. Clif. Thou know'st he hates the house of Lancaster.
Marg. No matter he has marvellous good skill
In making kings, and I have business for him. Clif. And canst thou, then, forget the cruel
The deep-felt injuries of oppressive Warwick, To join the hand, that forged thy husband's chains,
And robbed thee of a crown?
Marg. But what-my Clifford,
If the same hand, that ravished, should restore it!
'Tis a court friendship, and may last as long As interest shall direct: I've not forgot, No, nor forgiven; I hate, abhor, detest him; But I will use him as my instrument, My necessary tool; I will make him draw His traitorous sword, to sheathe it in the breast Of him he loves, then point it to his own. Yes, Clifford, I have twined 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. Clif. 'Tis what he merits from us; yet the at- tempt
Were dangerous; he is still the people's idol. Marg. And so, perhaps, shall Margaret 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 inured to savage scenes of plunder And desolation, they delight in war: These English heroes, when once fleshed with slaughter,
Like the keen mastiff, lose not soon the track Of vengeance, nor forget the taste of blood. Clif. What further succours have we to depend
Marg. 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 powers, which France
Will send to vindicate her injured honour: Ere Edward can collect his force and take The field, we shall be thirty thousand strong. Clif. But what becomes of the young prince? Murg. Aye; there
I am, indeed, unhappy! O my child! How shall I set him free? hear, Nature, hear A mother's prayer! O guide me with thy counsel, And teach me how to save my darling boy! 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. [Ercunt.
Where didst thou learn this falsehood? Suf. From the lips
Of truth; from one, whose honour and whose word
You will not question; from Elizabeth.
Edw. From her! nay, then, I fear it must be so. Suf. When last I saw her, for again I went By your command, though hopeless of success, With all the eloquence that I
Was master of, I urged your ardent passion; Told her how much, how tenderly you loved her, And pressed with eagerness to know the cause Of her unkind refusal; till at length, Reluctantly, with blushes, she confessed There was a cause; she thanked you for your goodness,
Twas more, she said, much more than she deserved:
She ever should revere her king: and if She had a heart to give, it should be Edward's. Edw. So kind, and yet so cruel! well, go on. Suf. Then told me all the story of her love, That Warwick long had wooed her- -that her hand
Was promised, soon as he returned from France, Though once her father cruelly opposed it, They were, by his consent, to be united.
Edw. O never, Suffolk, may I live to see That dreadful hour! designing hypocrite! Are these his arts? is this the friend I loved? By Heaven! she shall be mine; I will assert A sovereign's right, and tear her from him; what If he rebel? another civil war!
'Tis terrible! O that I could 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 for- feit.
Horrible thought! good Suffolk, for a while I would be private; therefore wait without; Let me have no intruders; above all, Keep Warwick from my sight.
Enter WARWICK.
Warw. Behold him here!
No welcome guest, it seems, unless I ask My lord of Suffolk's leave; there was a time, When Warwick wanted not his aid to gain Admission here.
Edw. There was a time, perhaps, When Warwick more desired, and more deserved it.
Warw. Never. I have been a foolish faithful slave;
All my best years, the morning of my life, Have 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, should be thus rewarded. Edw. I thought, my lord, I had full well repaid Your services with honours, wealth, and power Unlimited; thy all-directing hand
Guided in secret every latent wheel Of government, and moved the whole machine; Warwick was all in all, and powerless Edward Stood, like a cypher, in a great account.
Warw. Who gave that cypher worth, and seated thee
On England's throne? thy undistinguished name Had rotted in the dust from whence it sprang, And mouldered in oblivion, had not Warwick Dug from its sordid mine the useless ore, And stamped it with a diadem. Thou know'st This wretched country, doomed, perhaps, like Rome,
To fall by its own self-destroying hand, Tost for so many years in the rough sea Of civil discord, but for me had perished. In that distressful hour I seized the helm, Bade the rough waves subside in peace, and steered
Your shattered vessel safe unto 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.
Edw. Know, too, reproach, for benefits recei ved,
Pays every debt, and cancels obligation.
Warw. Why, that indeed is frugal honesty, A thrifty saving knowledge, when the debt Grows burthensome, and cannot be discharged, A spunge will wipe out all, and cost you nothing.
Edw. When you have counted o'er the nume
Of mighty gifts your bounty lavished on me, You may remember next the injuries, Which I have done you: let me know them all, And I will make you ample satisfaction.
Warw. Thou canst not; thou hast robbed me of a jewel
It is not in thy power 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 recall my name To witness, that they want not an example, And plead my guilt, to sanctify their own. Amidst the herd of mercenary slaves, That haunt your court, could none be found but Warwick,
To be the shameless herald of a lye?
Edw. And wouldst thou turn the vile reproach on me?
If I have broke my faith, and stained the name Of England, thank thy own pernicious counsels, That urged me to it, and extorted from me A cold consent to what my heart abhorred.
Warw. I've been abused, insulted, and be trayed;
My injured honour cries aloud for vengeance; Her wounds will never close!
Edw. These gusts of passion Will but inflame them; if I have been right Informed, my lord, besides these dangerous scars Of bleeding honour, you have other wounds
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