The Earl of Warwick, a tragedy: as it is perform'd at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

MARGARET of ANJOU, Lady CLIFFORD.

CLIFFORD.

THANKS! gracious heav'n, my royal mistress smiles, Unusual gladness sparkles in her eye, And bids me welcome in the stranger joy To his new mansion.

MARGARET.

Yes, My faithful Clifford, Fortune is weary of oppressing me: Through my dark cloud of grief, a chearful ray Of light breaks forth, and gilds the whole horison.

CLIFFORD.

Henry in chains, and Edward on the throne Of Lancaster, thyself a pris'ner here, Thy captive son torn from his mother's arms, And in the tyrant's pow'r, a kingdom lost:

Amidst so many sorrows, what new hope Hath wrought this wond'rous change?

MARGARET.

That which alone In sorrow's bitt'rest hour, can minister Sweet comfort to the daughters of affliction, And bid misfortune smile, the hope of vengeance: Vengeance, benignant patron of distress, Thee I have oft invoked, propitious now Thou smil'st upon me, if I do not grasp The glorious opportunity, henceforth Indignant frown, and leave me to my fate!

CLIFFORD.

Unhappy Princess! that deceiver hope Hath often flatter'd, and as oft betray'd thee: What hast thou gain'd by all its promises? What's the reward of all thy toils?

MARGARET.

Experience— Yes, Clifford, I have read th' instructive volume Of human nature, there long since have learn'd The way to conquer men is by their passions; Catch but the ruling foible of their hearts, And all their boasted virtues shrink before you.

Edward and Warwick, those detested names, Too well thou know'st, united to destroy me.

CLIFFORD.

That was indeed a fatal league.

MARGARET.

But mark me; If we cou'd break this adamantine chain, We might again be free: this mighty warrior,

This dread of kings, th' unconquerable Warwick, Is plighted to the fair Elizabeth.

CLIFFORD.

The lady Gray, you mean, the beauteous widow, Whose husband fell in arms for Lancaster.

MARGARET.

The same, my Clifford—Warwick long has lov'd—

CLIFFORD.

And means to wed her.

MARGARET.

But if I have art, Or she ambition, that shall never be.

CLIFFORD.

Can'st thou prevent it?

MARGARET.

Yes, my Clifford, Warwick Were a mean choice for such transcendent beauty; I shall provide her with a fitter husband, A nobler far, and worthier of her charms, Young Edward.—

CLIFFORD.

Ha! the king! impossible! Warwick, ev'n now, commission'd by the state, To treat with Lewis, offers England's throne To France's daughter, and e'er this, perhaps, Hath sign'd the solemn contract.

MARGARET.

Solemn trifles! Mere cobweb ties—Love's a despotic tyrant, And laughs, like other kings, at public faith, When it opposes private happiness: Edward is youthful, gay, and amorous; His soul is ever open to the lure

Of beauty, and Elizabeth hath charms Might shake a hermit's virtue.

CLIFFORD.

Hath he seen This peerless fair one?

MARGARET.

Yes,—by my contrivance, When last he hunted in the forest, some, Whom I had planted there, as if by chance Alone directed, led him cross the lawn To Grafton, there—ev'n as my soul had wish'd, The dazzling lustre of her charms surpris'd His unsuspecting heart—

CLIFFORD.

What follow'd?

MARGARET.

O! He gaz'd and wonder'd; for a while his pride Indignant rose, and struggled with his passion, But love was soon victorious: and last night, The earl of Suffolk, so my trusty spies Inform me, was dispatch'd on wings of love, To plead his master's cause, and offer her The throne of England.

CLIFFORD.

What if she refuse The golden bribe?

MARGARET.

No matter; all I wish Is but to make them foes: the gen'rous Warwick Is fiery, and impatient of reproof, He will not brook a rival in his love Though seated on a throne; besides, thou know'st,

The haughty earl looks down with scorn on Edward, As the mere work of his all-pow'rful hand, The baby monarch of his own creation.

CLIFFORD.

Believe me, madam, Edward still reveres And loves him, still as conscious of the debt, Pays him with trust and confidence; their souls Are link'd together in the strictest bonds Of sacred friendship.

MARGARET.

That but serves my cause: Where ties are close, and interests united, The slightest inj'ries are severely felt; Offended friendship never can forgive.

CLIFFORD.

Now the full prospect opens to my view, I see thy distant aim, and trace the paths Of vengeance: England soon will be a scene Of blood and horror, discord's fatal torch Once lit up it in this devoted land, What pow'r shall e'er extinguish it? alas! I tremble at the consequence.

MARGARET.

And I Enjoy it:—O! 'twill be a noble contest Of pride 'gainst pride, oppression 'gainst oppression; Rise but the storm, and let the waves beat high, The wreck may be our own: in the warm struggle, Who knows but one or both of them may fall, And Marg'ret rise triumphant on their ruin! It must be so; and see the king approaches: This way he passes from the council—mark His down-cast eye, he is a stricken deer,

The arrow's in his side—he cannot 'scape: We'll meet and speak to him.

CLIFFORD.

What mean you, madam?

MARGARET.

To ask him—what, I know, he will refuse; That gives me fair pretext to break with him, And join the man I hate, vindictive Warwick; But soft, he comes—

SCENE II.

KING EDWARD, MARGARET, CLIFFORD, OFFICER.

EDWARD.

Is Suffolk yet return'd?

(to an Officer.)

OFFICER.

No, my good liege.

EDWARD.

Go, wait and bring him to me,

[Ex. Of.

I'll to my closet. Pardon me, fair lady, I saw you not.

MARGARET.

Perhaps it is beneath A conqu'ror to look down upon his slave; But I've a boon to ask.

EDWARD.

Whate'er it is, Within the limits of fair courtesy, Which honour can bestow, I'll not refuse thee.

MARGARET.

There was a time when Margaret of Anjou Wou'd not have deign'd to ask of Edward ought; Nor was there ought which Edward dar'd refuse her;

But that is past, great Warwick's arm prevail'd, And I am now your pris'ner.

EDWARD.

Since the hour, When fortune smil'd propitious on the cause Of justice, and gave vict'ry to our arms; You have been treated with all due respect, All your condition, or your sex cou'd claim; Serv'd like a queen, and lodg'd within our palace: Is there ought more you can with reason ask, Or I in prudence grant you.

MARGARET.

Give me back The liberty I lost, restore my son, And I may then, perhaps, be reconcil'd To un usurper, may with-hold my vengeance, And let thee fit unpunish'd on—my throne.

EDWARD.

You talk too proudly, madam; but to shew you I cannot fear, you have your liberty. Letters this morning I receiv'd from France, Have offer'd noble ransom for your person; Without that ransom—for the soul of Edward Is far above the sordid lust of gold, I grant it—from this moment you are free; But for your son—I cannot part with him.

MARGARET.

I scorn your bounties, scorn your proffer'd freedom, What's liberty to me without my child? But fate will place us soon above thy reach, Thy short-liv'd tyranny is almost past, The storm is gath'ring round thee, and will burst With ten-fold vengeance on thy guilty head.

EDWARD.

I am not to be talk'd into submission, Nor dread the menace of a clam'rous woman.

MARGARET.

Thou may'st have cause to dread a woman's pow'r: The time may come—mark my prophetic word— When wayward beauty shall repay with scorn Thy fruitless vows, and vindicate my wrongs: The friend thou lean'st on, like a broken reed, Shall pierce thy side, and fill thy soul with anguish, Keen as the pangs I feel: York's perjur'd house Shall sink to rise no more, and Lancaster With added lustre re-assume the throne. Hear this and tremble—give me back my son— Or dread the vengeance of a desp'rate mother.

SCENE III.

EDWARD.

Imperious woman! but the voice of woe Is ever clam'rous: 'tis the privilege, The charter of affliction to complain.—

This tardy Suffolk! how I long to know Yet dread to hear my fate! Elizabeth, On thee the colour of my future life Depends, for thou alone can'st make me blest, Or curs'd for ever:—O! this cruel doubt Is worse than all my tortures: but he comes, Th' ambassador of love.

SCENE IV.

EDWARD, EARL of SUFFOLK.

EDWARD.

What news, my Suffolk? Shall I be happy? O! I'm on the rack

Of expectation, didst thou tell my tale As if it were thy own, and may I hope—

SUFFOLK.

My royal liege.

EDWARD.

Good Suffolk, lay aside The forms of dull respect, be brief, and tell me, Speak, hast thou seen her, will she be my queen? Quick, tell me ev'ry circumstance, each word, Each look, each gesture; didst thou mark them, Suffolk?

SUFFOLK.

I did, and will recount it all;—last night By your command, in secret I repair'd To Grafton's tufted bow'r, the happy seat Of innocence and beauty, there I found Thy soul's best hope, the fair Elizabeth, Ne'er did these eyes behold such sweet perfection: I found her busy'd in the pious office Of filial duty, tending her sick father.

EDWARD.

That was a lucky moment, to prefer My humble suit: touch but the tender string Of soft compassion in the heart, and love Will quickly vibrate to its kindred passion; You urg'd our royal purpose, then?

SUFFOLK.

I did, With all the warmth of friendship, dwelt with pleasure On ev'ry princely virtue that adorns Your noble heart; she listen'd with attention, And echo'd back your praises.

EDWARD.

Was not that

A kind propitious omen?

SUFFOLK.

Such indeed Hoping to find it, I call'd in the pow'rs Of flattery to my aid, and gaz'd upon her, As if confounded by her dazling beauties— Conscious she smil'd; but when, at length, I spake Of England's monarch sighing at her feet— The blush of virgin modesty o'erspread Her cheek, and gave new lustre to her charms; She turned aside, and as she silent bow'd Her doubtful thanks, I mark'd the pearly tear Steal down its secret track, and from her breast Heard a deep sigh, she struggled to conceal; If I have any judgment, or can trace The hidden feelings of a woman's heart, Her's is already fix'd: I fear, my liege, With all that England, all that thou coud'st give, The crown wou'd fit but heavy on her brow.

EDWARD.

Not heavier, Suffolk, than it sits on mine: My throne is irksome to me; who wou'd wish To be a sov'reign, when Elizabeth Presers a subject?—Then th' impetuous Warwick, His awful virtue will chastise my weakness. I dread his censure, dread his keen reproaches, And dread them more because they will be just.

I've promis'd Lewis to espouse his daughter, To strengthen our alliance: wou'd to heav'n I had not! If I seek this coy refuser, And break with France, Warwick will take th' alarm; If once offended, he's inexorable.

SUFFOLK.

I know him well—Believe me, Sir, the high And haughty spirit, when it meets rebuke, Is easiest check'd, and sinks into submission. Let him, my liege, who ventures to arraign His master's conduct, look into his own: There ever is a corner in the heart Open to folly; Warwick is not free From human frailties.

EDWARD.

No: ambition fires His noble breast, love triumphs over mine: But well thou know'st, our eyes are ever open To other's faults, and shut against our own. We seldom pity woes we ne'er experienc'd, Or pardon weakness which we do not feel: He is a hero.

SUFFOLK.

Hero's are but men; I have some cause to think so—but of that We'll talk another time: mean while my liege, I think lord Warwick is a useful friend.

EDWARD.

Aye, and a dangerous foe; the people love, To adoration love him; if he falls From his allegiance, crouds will follow him. England has long been rent by civil broils, And fain wou'd rest her in the arms of peace: Her wounds scarce clos'd, shall Edward open them, And bid them bleed a-fresh? believe me, Suffolk, I wou'd not be the cause of new divisions Amongst my people, for a thousand kingdoms.

SUFFOLK.

'Tis nobly said, and may thy grateful subjects, Revere thy virtues, and reward thy love!

EDWARD.

O! Suffolk, did they know but half the cares That wait on royalty, they wou'd not grudge Their wretched master a few private hours Of social happiness.—If France consents, I am undone: and Warwick hath e'er this Enslav'd me: curse on this state policy, That binds us thus to love at second hand! Who knows but he may link me to a wretch; Wed me to folly, ignorance, and pride, Ill-nature, sickness, or deformity; And when I'm chain'd to mis'ry, coldly tell me, To sooth my griefs, 'twas for the public good.

SUFFOLK.

How far you have commission'd him, I know not, But were I worthy to advise, my liege, I wou'd not be the dupe of his ambition, But follow natures dictates, and be happy. England has charms besides Elizabeth's, And beauties that—

EDWARD.

No more; my heart is fix'd On her alone; find out this pow'rful rival, I charge thee, Suffolk: yet why wish to find, What found will make me wretched? were he bound In cords of tend'rest friendship round my heart, Dearer than Warwick, dearer than thyself, Forgive me, but I fear I shou'd abhor him.

O think on something that may yet be done, To win her to my heart e'er Warwick comes.

SUFFOLK.

I hear he is expected every hour.

EDWARD.

Grant heav'n some friendly storm may yet retard him! I dread his presence here.

SCENE IV.

MESSENGER, EDWARD, SUFFOLK.

MESSENGER.

My liege, the earl Of Warwick, is arriv'd.

EDWARD.

Ha! when? how? where? Wou'd he were bury'd in the rapid waves That brought him hither! comes he here to night?

MESSENGER.

My liege, e'er now he might have reaoh'd the palace, But that the shouting multitudes press hard On ev'ry side, and seem to worship him.

SCENE V.

SUFFOLK, EDWARD.

SUFFOLK.

Such adoration But ill befits the idol, that receives it.

EDWARD.

What's to be done? I cannot, must not see him, Till all is fix'd: once more, my best-lov'd Suffolk; Try the soft arts of thy persuasive tongue: What method can'st thou think on, to evade This promis'd marriage with ambitious France?

SUFFOLK.

Summon your council, lay your thoughts before them, Meet Warwick there, and urge a sov'reigns right, To please himself in that which shou'd concern Himself alone—firm Buckingham and I Will plead your cause against the haughty Warwick, Whom I wou'd treat with cold civility, And distant state which ever angers more Resentful spirits, than the warmth of passion.

EDWARD.

'Tis well advis'd:—mean-time if possible, I will compose my troubled thoughts to rest: Suffolk, adieu: if Warwick asks for me, I am not well, I'm hunting in the forest— I'm busy—stay—remember what I told you, Touching the earldom which I mean to give Her father; that may bring her to the court; You understand me, Suffolk—fare thee well.

SCENE VI.

EDWARD.

Why shou'd I dread to see the man I love— The man I rev'rence—Warwick is not chang'd, But Edward is—Suffolk, I know, abhors him— A fav'rite must be hated—if he urges This dreadful contract, I shall hate him too: I cannot live without Elizabeth: I'll think no more—if I must sacrifice My friendship or my love—the choice is made.

END of the FIRST ACT.