Dum. Here let us then divide; each in his round

To search her sorrows out; whose hap it is First to behold her, this way let him lead Her fainting steps, and meet we here together. [Exeunt. Enter JANE SHORE, her hair hanging loose on her shoulders, and bare-footed.

J. Sh. Yet, yet endure, nor murmur, oh, my soul!

For are not thy transgressions great and numberless?

Do they not cover thee like rising floods,
And press thee like a weight of waters down?
Does not the hand of righteousness afflict thee?
And who shall plead against it? Who shall say
To Power Almighty, thou hast done enough;
Or bid his dreadful rod of vengeance stay?
Wait then with patience, till the circling hours
Shall bring the time of thy appointed rest,
And lay thee down in death. The hireling, thus,
With labour drudges out the painful day,
And often looks with long expecting eyes
To see the shadows rise, and be dismissed.
And hark, methinks the roar, that late pursued

me,

Sinks like the murmurs of a falling wind,
And softens into silence. Does revenge
And malice then grow weary, and forsake me?
My guard, too, that observed me still so close,
Tire in the task of their inhuman office,
And loiter far behind. Alas! I faint,
My spirits fail at once-This is the door
Of my Alicia-Blessed opportunity!
I'll steal a little succour from her goodness,
Now while no eye observes me.
[She knocks at the door.

When my approaches made a little holiday,
And every face was dressed in smiles to meet me:
But now 'tis otherwise; and those who blessed
me,

Now curse me to my face. Why should I wander,
Stray further on, for I can die even here!
[She sits down at the door.
Enter ALICIA in disorder, two Servants follow-
ing.

Alic. What wretch art thou, whose misery
and baseness

Hang on my door; whose hateful whine of woe
Breaks in upon my sorrows, and distracts
My jarring senses with thy beggar's cry?

J. Sh. A very beggar, and a wretch, indeed;
One driven by strong calamity to seek
For succours here; one perishing for want,
Whose hunger has not tasted food those three
days;

And humbly asks, for charity's dear sake,
A draught of water and a little bread.

Alic. And dost thou come to me, to me for
bread?

I know thee not-Go-hunt for it abroad, Where wanton hands upon the earth have scat

tered it,

Or cast it on the waters-Mark the eagle
And hungry vulture, when they wind the prey;
Watch where the ravens of the valley feed,
And seek thy food with them-I know thee not.
J. Sh. And yet there was a time, when my

Alicia

Hastings!

-Murder! Oh, my

See his pale bloody head shoots glaring by me! Give me him back again, thou soft deluder, Thou beauteous witch!

J. Sh. Alas! I never wronged you-
Oh! then be good to me; have pity on me;
Thou never knew'st the bitterness of want,
And may'st thou never know it. Oh! bestow
Some poor remain, the voiding of thy table,
A morsel to support my famished soul!

Alic. Avaunt! and come not near me―
J. Sh. To thy hand

I trusted all; gave my whole store to thee,
Nor do I ask it back; allow me but
The smallest pittance! give me but to eat,
Lest I fall down, and perish here before thee

Alic. Nay! tell not me! Where is thy king, thy Edward,

And all the smiling cringing train of courtiers, That bent the knee before thee?

J. Sh. Oh! for mercy!

Alic. Mercy! I know it not-for I am miserable.

I'll give thee misery, for here she dwells;
This is her house, where the sun never dawns;
The bird of night sits screaming o'er the roof,
Grim spectres sweep along the horrid gloom,
And nought is heard but wailings and lament-
ings.

Hark! something cracks above it shakes, it totters!

And see, the nodding ruin falls to crush me! 'Tis fallen, 'tis here! I felt it on my brain!

1 Ser. This sight disorders her

2 Ser. Retire, dear lady

And leave this woman

Alic. Let her take my counsel:

J. Sh. Ah, Belmour! where indeed? They stand aloof,

And view my desolation from afar!
When they pass by, they shake their heads in

scorn,

And cry, behold the harlot and her end!
And yet thy goodness turns aside to pity me.
Alas! there may be danger; get thee gone!
Let me not pull a ruin on thy head.
Leave me to die alone, for I am fallen
Never to rise, and all relief is vain.

Bel. Yet raise thy drooping head; for I am

come

To chase away despair. Behold! where yonder That honest man, that faithful, brave Dumont, Is hasting to thy aid

J. Sh. Dumont! ha! where !

[Raising herself, and looking aghast. Then Heaven has heard my prayer; his very

name

heart,

And rid thyself of this detested being!
I will not linger long behind thee here.

A waving flood of bluish fire swells o'er me→
And now 'tis out, and I am drown'd in blood.
Ha! what art thou? thou horrid headless
trunk-

It is my Hastings! see, he wafts me on!
Away! I go, I йy! I follow thee!

But come not thou, with mischief-making beauty,
To interpose between us! look not on him!
Give thy fond arts and thy delusions o'er,
For thou shalt never, never part us more.

[She runs off, her servants following. J. Sh. Alas! she raves; her brain, I fear, is turned.

In mercy look upon her, gracious Heaven,
Nor visit her for any wrong to me.
Sure I am near upon my journey's end;
My head runs round, my eyes begin to fail,
And dancing shadows swim before my sight.
I can no more. [Lies down.] Receive me, thou
cold earth,

Thou common parent, take me to thy bosom,
And let me rest with thee.

Bel. He has; but see

He comes unlike to that Dumont you knew; For now he wears your better angel's form, And comes to visit you with peace and pardon

Enter SHORE.

J. Sh. Speak, tell me! Which is he? And in! what would

This dreadful vision! see it comes upon me→ It is my husband-Ah! [She swoons

Sh. She faints! support her! Sustain her head, while I infuse this cordial Into her dying lips-from spicy drugs, Rich herbs and flowers, the potent juice is drawn ;

With wondrous force it strikes the lazy spirits, Drives them around, and wakens life anew.

Bel. Her weakness could not bear the strong surprise.

But see, she stirs! And the returning blood
Faintly begins to blush again, and kindle
Upon her ashy cheek-

Sh. So-gently raise her- [Raising her 17.
J. Sh. Ha! What art thou? Belmour!
Bel. How fare you, lady?

J. Sh. My heart is thrilled with horror-
Bel. Be of courage

Your husband lives! 'tis he, my werthiest friend

J. Sh. Still art thou there! Still dost thou be

ver round me!

Oh, save me, Belmour, from his angry shade! Bel. 'Tis he himself! he lives! look upJ. Sh. I dare not!

Oh! that my eyes could shut him out for ever!

Sh. Am I so hateful, then, so deadly to ther. To blast thy eyes with horror? Since I'm grown A burthen to the world, myself, and thee, Would I had ne'er survived to see thee more! J. Sh. Oh! thou most injured-dost thou live,

indeed!

Fall then, ye mountains, on my guilty head;

Hide me, ye rocks, within your secret caverns;
Cast thy black veil upon my shame, O night!
And shield me with thy sable wings for ever.
Sh. Why dost thou turn away? Why tremble
thus?

Why thus indulge thy fears, and in despair,
Abandon thy distracted soul to horror?
Cast every black and guilty thought behind thee,
And let them never vex thy quiet more.
My arms, my heart, are open to receive thee,
To bring thee back to thy forsaken home,
With tender joy, with fond forgiving love,
And all the longings of my first desires.

J. Sh. No, arm thy brow with vengeance, and appear

The minister of Heaven's inquiring justice.
Array thyself all terrible for judgment,
Wrath in thy eyes, and thunder in thy voice;
Pronounce my sentence, and if yet there be
A woe I have not felt, inflict it on me.

Sh. The measure of thy sorrows is complete! And I am come to snatch thee from injustice. The hand of power no more shall crush thy

weakness,

Nor proud oppression grind thy humble soul.
J. Sh. Art thou not risen by miracle from
death?

Thy shroud is fallen from off thee, and the grave
Was bid to give thee up, that thou mightst come
The messenger of grace and goodness to me,
To seal my peace, and bless me e'er I go.
Oh! let me then fall down beneath thy feet,
And weep my gratitude for ever there;
Give me your drops, ye soft descending rains,
Give me your streams, ye never ceasing springs,
That my sad eyes may still supply my duty,
And feed an everlasting flood of sorrow.

Sh. Waste not thy feeble spirits-I have long
Beheld, unknown, thy mourning and repentance;
Therefore my heart has set aside the past,
And holds thee white, as unoffending innocence:
Therefore, in spite of cruel Gloster's rage,
Soon as my friend had broke my prison doors,
I flew to thy assistance. Let us haste,
Now while occasion seems to smile upon us,
Forsake this place of shame, and find a shelter,
J. Sh. What shall I say to you? But I obey-
Sh. Lean on my arm→

J. Sh. Alas! I'm wondrous faint: But that's not strange; I have not eat these three days.

Sh. Oh, merciless! Look here, my love, I've brought thee

Some rich conserves

J. Sh. How can you be so good? But you were ever thus. I well remember With what fond care, what diligence of love, You lavished out your wealth to buy me plea

sures,

Preventing every wish; have you forgot
The costly string of pearl you brought me home,
And tied about my neck?-How could I leave
you?

Sh. Taste some of this, or this

J. Sh. You are strangely altered-

Say, gentle Belmour, is he not? How pale Your visage is become! Your eyes are hollow; Nay, you are wrinkled too—Ålas, the day! My wretchedness has cost you many a tear, And

many a bitter pang, since last we parted. Sh. No more of that--Thou talk'st, but dost not eat.

J. Sh. My feeble jaws forget their common office,

My tasteless tongue cleaves to the clammy roof,
And now a general loathing grows upon me,
Oh! I am sick at heart!-

Sh. Thou murderous sorrow!

Wilt thou still drink her blood, pursue her still! Must she then die! Oh, my poor penitent! Speak peace to my sad heart: she hears me not; Grief masters every sense-help me to hold her! Enter CATESBY, with a guard.

Cat. Seize on them both, as traitors to the state!

Bel. What means this violence?

[Guards lay hold on SHORE and BELMOUR. Cat. Have we not found you,

In scorn of the protector's strict command,
Assisting this base woman, and abetting
Her infamy?

Sh. Infamy on thy head!

Thou tool of power, thou pandar to authority!
I tell thee, knave, thou know'st of none so vir-

Sh. Is charity grown treason to your court? What honest man would live beneath such rulers!

I am content that we should die together

Cat. Convey the men to prison; but for her, Leave her to hunt her fortune as she may. J. Sh. I will not part with him--for me!--for me!

Oh! must he die for me!

[Following him as he is carried of-She falls. Sh. Inhuman villains!

[Breaking from the guards. Stand off! The agonies of death are on her-She pulls, she gripes me hard with her cold hand. J. Sh. Was this blow wanting to complete my ruin?

Oh! let him go, ye ministers of terror!
He shall offend no more, for I will die,
And yield obedience to your cruel master.—
Tarry a little, but a little longer,
And take my last breath with you.

Sh. Oh, my love!

Why have I lived to see this bitter moment,
This grief, by far surpassing all my former?
Why dost thou fix thy dying eyes upon me,
With such an earnest, such a piteous look,
As if thy heart were full of some sad meaning,
Thou could'st not speak!

J. Sh. Forgive me!-but forgive me!
Sh. Be witness for me, ye celestial host,
Such mercy and such pardon as my soud

queathed you?

The light that cheered my soul? Oh, heavy hour!

But I will fix my trembling lips to thine, 'Till I am cold and senseless quite, as thou art. What, must we part, then?——will you— [To the guards taking him away. Fare thee well[Kissing her.

Bel. There fled the soul,

And left her load of misery behind.

[Dies.

Sh. Oh, my heart's treasure! Is this pale sad visage

All that remains of thee? Are these dead eyes

What fate attends the broken marriage vow; And teach their children, in succeeding times, No common vengeance waits upon these crimes, When such severe repentance could not save From want, from shame, and an untimely grave. [Exeunt omnes

YE modest matrons all, ye virtuous wives,
Who lead, with horrid husbands, decent lives;
You, who, for all you are in such a taking,
To see your spouses drinking, gaming, raking,
Yet make a conscience still of cuckold-making;
What can we say your pardon to obtain?
This matter here was prov'd against poor Jane:
She never once denied it; but, in short,
Whimper'd and cry'd-" Sweet sir, I'm sorry
for't."

'Twas well he met a kind, good-natur'd soul,
We are not all so easy to controul:

I fancy one might find in this good town,
Some would ha' told the gentleman his own;
Have answer'd swart To what do you pre-
tend,

66

"Blockhead! as if I must not see a friend: "Tell me of hackney-coaches-jaunts to th' city

"Where should I buy my china? Faith, I'll fit ye."

Our wife was of a milder, meeker spirit;

You! lords and masters!-Was not that some merit?

Don't you allow it to be virtuous bearing,
When we submit thus to your domineering?
Well, peace be with her, she did wrong most
surely;

But so do many more who look demurely.
Nor should our mourning madam weep alone,
There are more ways of wickedness than one.
If the reforming stage should fall to shaming
Ill-nature, pride, hypocrisy, and gaming;
The poets frequently might move compassion,
And with she-tragedies o'er-run the nation.
Then judge the fair offender with good-nature,
And let your fellow-feeling curb your satire.
What, if our neighbours have some little failing,
Must we needs fall to damning and to railing?
For her excuse too, be it understood,
That if the woman was not quite so good,
Her lover was a king, she flesh and blood.
And since sh'has dearly paid the sinful score,
Be kind at last, and pity poor Jane Shore.

BY

TO-NIGHT the noblest subject swells our scene, A heroine, a martyr, and a queen ;

And though the poet dares not boast his art,
The very theme shall something great impart,
To warm the generous soul, and touch the
tender heart.

To you, fair judges, we the cause submit ;
Your eyes shall tell us how the tale is writ.
If your soft pity waits upon our woe,
If silent tears for suff'ring virtue flow;
Your grief the muses labour shall confess,
The lively passions, and the just distress.
Oh, could our author's pencil justly paint,
Such as she was in life, the beauteous saint!
Boldly your strict attention we might claim,
And bid you mark and copy out the dame.
No wand'ring glance one wanton thought con-
fess'd,

No guilty wish inflam'd her spotless breast:
The only love that warm'd her blooming youth,
Was husband, England, liberty and truth.

For these she fell, while, with too weak a hand,
She strove to save a blind, ungrateful land.
But thus the secret laws of fate ordain;
William's great hand was doom'd to break the
chain,

And end the hopes of Rome's tyrannic reign.
For ever, as the circling years return,
Ye grateful Britons, crown the hero's urn;
To his just care you ev'ry blessing owe,
Which, or his own, or following reigns bestow.
Though his hard fate a father's name decry'd;
To you a father, he that loss supplied.
Then while you view the royal line's increase,
And count the pledges of your future peace;
From this great stock while still new glories

WHEN waking terrors rouse the guilty breast,
And fatal visions break the murderer's rest;
When vengeance does ambition's fate decree,
And tyrants bleed, to set whole nations free;
Though the muse saddens each distressed scene,
Unmov'd is ev'ry breast, and ev'ry face serene:
The mournful lines no tender heart subdue;
Compassion is to suff'ring goodness due.
The poet your attention begs once more,
T'atone for characters here drawn before;
No royal mistress sighs through ev'ry page,
And breathes her dying sorrows on the stage:
No lovely fair, by soft persuasion won,
Lays down the load of life, when honour's gone.
Nobly to bear the changes of our state,
To stand unmov'd against the storms of fate,

A brave contempt of life, and grandeur lost :
Such glorious toils a female name can boast.
Our author draws not beauty's heavenly smile,
T'invite our wishes, and our hearts beguile;
No soft enchantments languish in her eye,
No blossoms fade, nor sick'ning roses die.
A nobler passion ev'ry breast must move,
Than youthful raptures, or the joys of love,
A mind unchang'd, superior to a crown,
Bravely defies the angry tyrant's frown;
The same, if fortune sinks, or mounts on high,
Or if the world's extended ruins lie:
With gen'rous scorn she lays the sceptre down;
Great souls shine brightest by misfortunes shewn.
With patient courage she sustains the blow,
And triumphs o'er variety of woe.