Your life is in my hand, and did not honour, Hast. Curse on my failing arm! Your better for tune Has given you vantage o'er me; but perhaps Your triumph may be bought with dear repentance. [Exit Hastings. Enter JANE SHORE. J. Sh. Alas! what have ye done? Know ye the pow'r, The mightiness, that waits upon this lord? O pursue, Dum. Fear not, my worthiest mistress; 'tis a cause In which Heaven's guards shall wait you. Pursue the sacred counsels of your soul, Which urge you on to virtue; let not danger, Nor the incumb'ring world, make faint your purpose. Assisting angels shall conduct your steps, Bring you to bliss, and crown your days with peace. J. Sh. Oh, that my head were laid, my sad eyes clos'd, And my cold corse wound in my shroud to rest! Will never know a moment's peace till then. Dum. Would you be happy, leave this fatal place; Fly from the court's pernicious neighbourhood; Where innocence is sham'd, and blushing modesty j J. Sh. Where should I fly, thus helpless and for. lorn, Of friends, and all the means of life bereft ? Dum. Belmour, whose friendly care still wakes to serve you, Has found you out a little peaceful refuge, By nature's own contrivance seem'd dispos'd; Did e'er disturb the quiet of that place, J. Sh. Can there be so much happiness in store ! Dum. Will you then go! You glad my very soul. Banish your fears, cast all your cares on me; Plenty and ease, and peace of mind shall wait you, And make your latter days of life most happy. Oh, lady! but I must not, cannot tell you, How anxious I have been for all your dangers, And how my heart rejoices at your safety. So when the spring renews the flow'ry field, And warns the pregnant nightingale to build, She seeks the safest shelter of the wood, Where she may trust her little tuneful brood; Where no rude swains her shady cell may know, No serpents climb, nor blasting winds may blow; Fond of the chosen place, she views it o'er, Sits there, and wanders thro' the grove no more; Warbling she charms it each returning night, And loves it with a mother's dear delight. [Exeunt: ACT III. Scene 1. The Court. Enter ALICIA, with a paper. Alicia. THIS paper to the great protector's hand, To pluck the crown from Edward's infant brow, And fix it on his own. I know he holds On that I build: this paper meets his doubts, Now my chang'd eyes are blasted with her beauty, Enter JANE SHORE. "J. Sh. Now whither shall I fly to find relief? "What charitable hand will aid me now? "Will stay my falling steps, support my ruins, "And heal my wounded mind with balmy comfort?” Oh, my Alicia! Alic. What new grief is this? What unforeseen misfortune has surpriz'd thee, That racks thy tender heart thus ? J. Sh. Oh, Dumont! Alic. Say what of him? 7. Sh. That friendly, honest man, Whom Belmour brought of late to my assistance, My surest trust was built, this very morn Forc'd from my house, and born away to prison.) J. Sh. Some fitter time must tell thee The tale of my hard hap. Upon the present [She gives the paper to Alicia, who opens and seems to read it. Alic. [Aside.] Now for a wile, To sting my thoughtless rival to the heart; To blast her fatal beauties, and divide her For ever from my perjur'd Hastings' eyes: "The wanderer may then look back to me, "And turn to his forsaken home again;" Their fashions are the same, it cannot fail. [Pulling out the other paper. 7. Sh. But see the great protector comes this way, "Attended by a train of waiting courtiers." Give me the paper, friend. Alic. [Aside.] For love and vengeance! [She gives her the other paper. E |