Hast. Ungrateful woman! My services?

J. Sh. Abandon me to ruinRather than urge me――

Is it thus you pay

Hast. This way to your chamber;

There if you struggle

J. Sh. Help, oh, gracious Heaven!

Help! Save me! Help!

Enter DUMONT, he interposes.

Dum. My lord! for honour's sake-
Hast. Hah! What art thou?-Begone!
Dum. My duty calls me

To my attendance on my mistress here.
"J. Sh. For pity, let me go"-

Hast. Avaunti base groom

[Pulling her.

At distance wait, and know thy office better.
Dum. "

[Exit.

Forgo your hold, my lord!" 'tis most unmanly

This violence

Hast. Avoid the room this moment,

"Or I will tread thy soul out."

Dum. No, my lord

The common ties of manhood call me now,
And bid me thus stand up in the defence
Of an oppress'd, unhappy, helpless woman.
Hast. And dost thou know me, slave ?
Dum. Yes, thou proud lord!

I know thee well; know thee with each advantage
Which wealth, or power, or noble birth can give thee.

I know thee, too, for one who stains those honours,
And blots a long illustrious line of ancestry,
By poorly daring thus to wrong a woman.

Hast. 'Tis wond'rous well! I see, my saint-like dame,
You stand provided of your braves and ruffians,
To man your cause, and bluster in your brothel.
Dum. Take back the foul reproach, unmanner'd
railer!

Nor urge my rage too far, 'est thou should'st find
I have as daring spirits in my blood

As thou or any of thy race e'er boasted ;
And tho' no gaudy titles grac'd my birth,
"Titles, the servile courtier's lean reward,
"Sometimes the pay of virtue, but more oft

"The hire which greatness gives to slaves and sycophants,"

Yet Heav'n that made me honest, made me more

Than ever king did, when he made a lord.

Hast. Insolent villain! henceforth let this teach

thee

[Draws and strikes him.

The distance 'twixt a peasant and a prince.

Dum. Nay, then, my lord, [drawing] learn you by

this, how well

An arm resolv'd can guard its master's life.

[They fight. "J. Sh. Oh my distracting fears! hold, for sweet Heav'n."

[They fight, Dumont disarms Lord Hastings.

Hast. Confusion! baffled by a base-born hind! Dam. Now, haughty sir, where is our difference now?

2

Your life is in my hand, and did not honour,
The gentleness of blood, and inborn virtue
(Howe'er unworthy I may seem to you)
Plead in my bosom, I should take the forfeit.
But wear your sword again; and know, a lord
Oppos'd against a man, is but a man.

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 SHOKE.

J. Sh. Alas! what have ye done? Know ye the pow'r,

The mightiness, that waits upon this lord?

Dum. Fear not, my worthiest mistress; 'tis a cause In which Heaven's guards shall wait you. O pursue, 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!
My painful heart will never cease to beat,

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
Is made the scorner's jest; where hate, deceit,
And deadly ruin, wear the masques of beauty,
And draw deluded fools with shews of pleasure.
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,
Far from the court and the tumultuous city.
Within an ancient forest's ample verge,
There stands a lonely but a healthful dwelling,
Built for convenience and the use of life:
Around it fallows, meads, and pastures fair,
A little garden, and a limpid brook,
By nature's own contrivance seem'd dispos'd;
No neighbours, but a few poor simple clowns,
Honest and true, with a well meaning priest:
No faction, or domestic fury's rage,

Did e'er disturb the quiet of that place,
When the contending nobles shook the land
With York and Lancaster's disputed sway.
Your virtue there may find a safe retreat
From the insulting pow'rs of wicked greatness.

J. Sh. Can there be so much happiness in store!
A cell like that is all my hopes aspire to.
Haste, then, and thither let us take our flight,
E'er the clouds gather, and the wint'ry sky
Descends in storms to intercept our passage.

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,
With care and secrecy, must be convey'd ;
His bold ambition now avows its aim,

To pluck the crown from Edward's infant brow,