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Edw. Nor he who threatened Edward-
You may repent it, sır—my guards there-seize
This traitor, and convey him to the tower;
There let him learn obedience.

SOUTHERN.

GLOSTER AND HASTINGS.-JANE SHORE.

Glos. My lord, you 're well encounter'd: here has been A fair petitioner this morning with us:

Believe me, she has won me much to pity her:
Alas! her gentle nature was not made

To buffet with adversity. I told her
How worthily her cause you had befriended;
How much for your good sake we meant to do,

That you had spoke, and all things should be well.

Hast. Your highness binds me ever to your service.
Glos. You know your friendship is most potent with us,
And shares our power. But of this enough,

For we have other matter for your ear.
The state is out of tune; distracting fears,
And jealous doubts, jar in our public counsels;
Amidst the wealthy city murmurs rise,

Loud railings, and reproach on those that rule,
With open scorn of government: hence credit,
And public trust 'twixt man and man, are broke.
The golden streams of commerce are withheld,
Which fed the wants of needy hinds and artisans,
Who therefore curse the great, and threat rebellion.
Hast. The testy knaves are over-run with ease,
As plenty ever is the nurse of faction.

If, in good days like these, the headstrong herd
Grow madly wanton, and repine, it is

Because the reins of power are held too slack;
And reverend authority of late

Has worn a face of mercy more than justice.

Glos. Beshrew my heart; but you

have well divined

The source of these disorders. Who can wonder
If riot and misrule o'erturn the realm,

When the crown sits upon a baby brow?

Plainly to speak; hence comes the general cry,

And sum of all complaint: "Twill ne'er be well

With England (thus they talk) while children govern.
Hast. 'Tis true the King is young; but what of that?
We feel no want of Edward's riper years,

While Gloster's valour and most princely wisdom

So well supply our infant sovereign's place,
His youth's support, and guardian to his throne.

Glos. The council (much I'm bound to thank 'em for it)
Have placed a pageant sceptre in my hand,
Barren of power, and subject to control;
Scorned by my foes, and useless to my friends.
O worthy lord! were mine the rule indeed,
I think I should not suffer rank offence
At large to lord it in the commonweal;
Nor would the realm be rent by discord thus,
Thus fear and doubt, betwixt disputed titles.

Hast. Of this I am to learn; as not supposing
A doubt like this-

Glos. Ay, marry, but there is

And that of much concern.

Have you not heard

How, on a late occasion, Dr. Shaw

Has moved the people much about the lawfulness
Of Edward's issue?

Hast. Ill befall

Such meddling priests, who kindle up confusion,
And vex the quiet world with their vain scruples.
When shall our long-divided land have rest,

If every peevish, moody malcontent

Shall set the senseless rabble in an uproar,

Fright them with dangers, and perplex their brains,
Each day, with some fantastic giddy change?

Glos. What if some patriot, for the public good,
Should vary from your scheme, new mould the state?
Hast. Curse on the innovating hand attempts it!
Remember him, the villain, righteous heaven,
In the great day of vengeance.
Blast the traitor,

And his pernicious counsels, who, for wealth,
For power, the pride of greatness, or revenge,
Would plunge his native land in civil wars!
my lord.

Glos. You go too far,

Hast. Your highness' pardon

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Have we so soon forgot those days of ruin,

When York and Lancaster drew forth their battles;
And desolation covered all the land:

Who can remember this, and not, like me,

Here vow to sheath a dagger in his heart,

Whose cursed ambition would renew those horrors,
And set once more that scene of blood before us?
Glos. How now! so hot!

Hast. So brave, and so resolved.

Glos. Is then, our friendship of so little moment, That you could arm your hand against my life?

Hast. I hope your highness does not think I mean it; No, heaven forefend that e'er your princely person Should come within the scope of my resentment.

Glos. O noble Hastings! Nay, I must embrace you :
By holy Paul, you 're a right honest man!
For me, I ask no more than honour gives,

To think me yours, and rank me with your friends.
Hast. Accept what thanks a grateful heart should pay.
O princely Gloster, judge me not ungentle,

Of manners rude and insolent of speech,

If, when the public safety is in question,

My zeal flows warm and eager from my tongue.

Glos. Enough of this: to deal in wordy compliment Is much against the plainness of my nature:

I judge you by myself, a clear true spirit,

And, as such, once more join you to my bosom.
Farewell, and be my friend.

GUSTAVUS AND CRISTIERN.

Crist. Tell me, Gustavus, tell me why is this
That, as a stream diverted from the banks

Of smooth obedience, thou hast drawn those men
Upon a dry unchannelled enterprise,

To turn their inundation? Are the lives

Of my misguided people held so light,

That thus thou'dst push them on the keen rebuke
Of guarded majesty; where justice waits,

ROWE.

All awful and resistless, to assert

Th' impervious rights, the sanctitude of kings,
And blast rebellion!

Gus. Justice, sanctitude,

And rights! O patience! Rights! what rights, thou tyrant!

Yes, if perdition be the rule of power

If wrongs give right, O then, supreme in mischief,
Thou wert the lord, the monarch of the world!
Too narrow for thy claim. But if thou think'st
That crowns are vilely propertied, like coin,
To be the means, the specialty of lust,
And sensual attribution; if thou think'st
That empire is of titled birth or blood;
That nature, in the proud behalf of one,
Shall disenfranchise all her lordly race,
And bow her general issue to the yoke
Of private domination; then, thou proud one,
Here know me for thy king. Howe'er, be told,
Not claim hereditary, not the trust

Of frank election;

Not even the high anointing hand of heaven,
Can authorise oppression, give a law

For lawless power, wed faith to violation,
On reason build misrule, or justly bind

Allegiance to injustice. Tyranny

Absolves all faith; and who invades our rights
Howe'er his own commence, can never be

But a usurper.

But for thee, for thee

There is no name. Thou hast abjured mankind,
Dashed safety from thy bleak, unsocial side,
And wag'd wild war with universal nature.

Cris. Licentious traitor! thou canst talk it largely.
Who made thee umpire of the rights of kings,
And power, prime attribute- -as on thy tongue
The poise of battle lay, and arms of force,
To throw defiance in the front of duty?
Look round, unruly boy! Thy battle comes
Like raw disjointed mustering, feeble wrath,
A war of waters, borne against the rock

Of our firm continent, to fume, and chafe,

And shiver in the toil.

Gus. Mistaken man!

I come empower'd and strengthen'd in thy weakness;
For though the structure of a tyrant's throne
Rise on the necks of half the suffering world,
Fear trembles in the cement; prayers, and tears,
And secret curses, sap its mouldering base,
And steal the pillars of allegiance from it;
Then let a single arm but dare the sway,
Headlong it turns and drives upon destruction.

Crist. Profane, and alien to the love of heaven!
Art thou still hardened to the wrath divine,
That hangs o'er thy rebellion? Know'st thou not
Thou art at enmity with grace, cast out,
Made an anathema, a curse enrolled

Among the faithful, thou and thy adherents
Shorn from our holy church, and offered up
As sacred to perdition?

Gus. Yes, I know,

When such as thou, with sacrilegious hand,
Seize on the apostolic key of heaven,
It then becomes a tool for crafty knaves
To shut out virtue, and unfold those gates
That heaven itself had barred against the lusts
Of avarice and ambition. Soft and sweet,
As looks of charity, or voice of lambs
That bleat upon the mountains, are the words
Of Christian meekness! mission all divine!
The law of love sole mandate.

Crist. No more of this,

Gustavus, wouldst thou yet return to grace,
And hold thy motions in the sphere of duty,
Acceptance might be found.

Gus. Imperial spoiler !

Give me my father, give me back my kindred,
Give me the fathers of ten thousand orphans,
Give me the sons in whom thy ruthless sword
Has left our widows childless. Mine they were,
Both mine, and every Swede's, whose patriot breast
Bleeds in his country's woundings. O thou canst not,

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