Jane Shore Part 7

_Lord H._ What! and no more but this--How! to the scaffold!

O, gentle Ratcliffe! tell me, do I hold thee?

Or, if I dream, what shall I do to wake, To break, to struggle, through this dread confusion?

For surely death itself is not so painful As is this sudden horror and surprise.

_Sir R._ You heard the duke's commands to me were absolute.

Therefore, my lord, address you to your shrift, With all good speed you may. Summon your courage, And be yourself; for you must die this instant.

_Lord H._ Yes, Ratcliffe, I will take thy friendly counsel, And die as a man should; 'tis somewhat hard, To call my scatter'd spirits home at once: But since what must be, must be--let necessity Supply the place of time and preparation, And arm me for the blow. 'Tis but to die, 'Tis but to venture on the common hazard, Which many a time in battle I have run; 'Tis but to close my eyes and shut out day-light, To view no more the wicked ways of men, No longer to behold the tyrant Gloster, And be a weeping witness of the woes, The desolation, slaughter, and calamities, Which he shall bring on this unhappy land.

_Enter Alicia._

_Alic._ Stand off, and let me pa.s.s--I will, I must, Catch him once more in these despairing arms, And hold him to my heart.--O, Hastings! Hastings!

_Lord H._ Alas! why com'st thou at this dreadful moment, To fill me with new terrors, new distractions; To turn me wild with thy distemper'd rage, And shock the peace of my departing soul?

Away; I pr'ythee, leave me!

_Alic._ Stop a minute---- Till my full griefs find pa.s.sage. O, the tyrant!

Perdition fall on Gloster's head and mine.

_Lord H._ What means thy frantic grief?

_Alic._ I cannot speak---- But I have murder'd thee.--Oh, I could tell thee!

_Lord H._ Speak, and give ease to thy conflicting pa.s.sion!

Be quick, nor keep me longer in suspense, Time presses, and a thousand crowding thoughts Break in at once! this way and that they s.n.a.t.c.h, They tear, my hurry'd soul.--All claim attention, And yet not one is heard. Oh! speak, and leave me, For I have business would employ an age, And but a minute's time to get it done in.

_Alic._ That, that's my grief--'tis I that urge thee on, Thus hunt thee to the toil, sweep thee from earth, And drive thee down this precipice of fate.

_Lord H._ Thy reason is grown wild. Could thy weak hand Bring on this mighty ruin? If it could, What have I done so grievous to thy soul, So deadly, so beyond the reach of pardon, That nothing but my life can make atonement?

_Alic._ Thy cruel scorn hath stung me to the heart, And set my burning bosom all in flames: Raving and mad I flew to my revenge, And writ I know not what--told the protector, That Sh.o.r.e's detested wife, by wiles, had won thee To plot against his greatness.--He believ'd it, (Oh, dire event of my pernicious counsel!) And, while I meant destruction on her head, H' has turn'd it all on thine.

_Lord H._ O, thou inhuman! Turn thy eyes away, And blast me not with their destructive beams: Why should I curse thee with my dying breath?

Be gone! and let me die in peace.

_Alic._ Canst thou--O, cruel Hastings, leave me thus?

Hear me, I beg thee--I conjure thee, hear me!

While, with an agonizing heart, I swear, By all the pangs I feel, by all the sorrows, The terrors and despair, thy loss shall give me, My hate was on my rival bent alone.

Oh! had I once divin'd, false as thou art, A danger to thy life, I would have died, I would have met it for thee.

_Lord H._ Now mark! and tremble at heaven's just award: While thy insatiate wrath and fell revenge Pursu'd the innocence which never wrong'd thee, Behold, the mischief falls on thee and me: Remorse and heaviness of heart shall wait thee, And everlasting anguish be thy portion.

For me, the snares of death are wound about me, And now, in one poor moment, I am gone.

Oh! if thou hast one tender thought remaining, Fly to thy closet, fall upon thy knees, And recommend my parting soul to mercy.

_Alic._ Oh! yet, before I go for ever from thee, Turn thee in gentleness and pity to me, [_kneeling._ And, in compa.s.sion of my strong affliction, Say, is it possible you can forgive The fatal rashness of ungovern'd love?

For, oh! 'tis certain, if I had not lov'd thee Beyond my peace, my reason, fame, and life, This day of horror never would have known us.

_Lord H._ Oh, rise, and let me hush thy stormy sorrows, [_raising her._ a.s.suage thy tears, for I will chide no more, No more upbraid thee, thou unhappy fair one.

I see the hand of heav'n is arm'd against me; And, in mysterious providence, decrees To punish me by thy mistaken hand.

Most righteous doom! for, oh, while I behold thee, Thy wrongs rise up in terrible array, And charge thy ruin on me; thy fair fame, Thy spotless beauty, innocence, and youth, Dishonour'd, blasted, and betray'd, by me.

_Alic._ And does thy heart relent for my undoing?

Oh, that inhuman Gloster could be mov'd, But half so easily as I can pardon!

_Lord H._ Here, then, exchange we mutual forgiveness: So may the guilt of all my broken vows, My perjuries to thee, be all forgotten, As here my soul acquits thee of my death, As here I part without one angry thought, As here I leave thee with the softest tenderness, Mourning the chance of our disastrous loves, And begging heav'n to bless and to support thee.

_Sir R._ My lord, despatch; the duke has sent to chide me, For loitering in my duty----

_Lord H._ I obey.

_Alic._ Insatiate, savage, monster! Is a moment So tedious to thy malice? Oh, repay him, Thou great avenger! Give him blood for blood: Guilt, haunt him! fiends, pursue him! lightnings, blast him!

That he may know how terrible it is, To want that moment he denies thee now.

_Lord H._ This rage is all in vain, that tears thy bosom: Retire, I beg thee; To see thee thus, thou know'st not how it wounds me; Thy agonies are added to my own, And make the burden more than I can bear.

Farewell--Good angels visit thy afflictions, And bring thee peace and comfort from above. [_exit._

_Alic._ Oh! stab me to the heart, some pitying hand, Now strike me dead----

_Re-enter Lord Hastings._

_Lord H._ One thing I had forgot---- I charge thee, by our present common miseries; By our past loves, if they have yet a name; By all thy hopes of peace here and hereafter; Let not the rancour of thy hate pursue The innocence of thy unhappy friend; Thou know'st who 'tis I mean; Oh! shouldst thou wrong her, Just heav'n shall double all thy woes upon thee, And make 'em know no end--Remember this, As the last warning of a dying man.

Farewell, for ever! [_the Guards carry Hastings off._

_Alic._ For ever! Oh, for ever!

Oh, who can bear to be a wretch for ever!

My rival, too! his last thoughts hung on her, And, as he parted, left a blessing for her: Shall she be blest, and I be curst, for ever?

No; since her fatal beauty was the cause Of all my sufferings, let her share my pains; Let her, like me, of every joy forlorn, Devote the hour when such a wretch was born; Cast ev'ry good, and ev'ry hope, behind; Detest the works of nature, loathe mankind; Like me, with cries distracted fill the air, } Tear her poor bosom, rend her frantic hair, } And prove the torments of the last despair. [_exit._ }

ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I. A STREET.

_Enter Belmour and Dumont._

_Dum._ You saw her, then?

_Bel._ I met her, as returning In solemn penance from the public cross.

Before her, certain rascal officers, Slaves in authority, the knaves of justice, Proclaim'd the tyrant Gloster's cruel orders.

Around her, numberless, the rabble flow'd, Should'ring each other, crowding for a view, Gaping and gazing, taunting and reviling; Some pitying--but those, alas! how few!

The most, such iron hearts we are, and such The base barbarity of human-kind, With insolence and lewd reproach pursu'd her, Hooting and railing, and with villanous hands Gath'ring the filth from out the common ways, To hurl upon her head.

_Dum._ Inhuman dogs!

How did she bear it?

_Bel._ With the gentlest patience; Submissive, sad, and lowly, was her look; A burning taper in her hand she bore, And on her shoulders carelessly confus'd, With loose neglect, her lovely tresses hung; Upon her cheek a faintish blush was spread; Feeble she seem'd, and sorely smit with pain.