Shall make him amble on a gossip's message, Rat. The fair Alicia, Of noble birth and exquisite of feature, The dame has been too lavish of her feast, Glo. No more, he comes. Enter LORD HASTINGS. Hast. Health, and the happiness of many days, Attend upon your grace. Glo. My good lord chamberlain, We're much beholden to your gentle friendship. Hast. My lord, I come an humble suitor to you. Glo. In right good time. Speak out your pleasure freely. Hast. I am to move your highness in behalf Of Shore's unhappy wife. Glo. Say you, of Shore? Hast. Once a bright star, that held her place on high; The first and fairest of our English dames, While royal Edward held the sov’reign rule. She never sees the sun, but through her tears, Glo. Marry! the times are badly changed with her, From Edward's days to these. Then all was jollity A show of mummery without a meaning. Hast. No farther, my good lord, than friendly pity, And tender-hearted charity, allow. Glo. Go to; I did not mean to chide you for it. For, sooth to say, I hold it noble in you To cherish the distress'd -On with your tale. Hast. Thus it is, gracious sir, that certain officers And bearded wisdom, often have provoked I have withheld the merciless stern law Hast. Good Heaven, who renders mercy back for mercy, With open-handed bounty shall repay you: She shall be heard with patience, and each wrong Which much import us both; for still my fortunes SCENE II. An Apartment in JANE SHORE's House. Enter BELMOUR and DUMont. Bel. How she has lived you have heard my tale already; The rest your own attendance in her family, Enter JANE SHORE. Sure, or I read her visage much amiss, Pursue my hapless fortunes! Ah, good Belmour! [Aside. Bel. Madam, it is. J. Shore. A venerable aspect! Age sits with decent grace upon his visage, He wears the marks of many years well-spent, [To DUMONT. Which elsewhere you might find, expect to meet The welcome of a friend, and the free partnership Dum. You over-rate me much; and all my answer Must be my future truth; let them speak for me, And make up my deserving. J. Shore. Are you of England? Dum. No, gracious lady, Flanders claims my birth; At Antwerp has my constant biding been, Where sometimes I have known more plenteous days Than these which now my failing age affords. J. Shore. Alas! at Antwerp!-Oh, forgive my [Weeping. tears! They fall for my offences-and must fall You knew, perhaps-Oh grief! Oh shame!-my husband? Dum. I knew him well-but stay this flood of anguish, The senseless grave feels not your pious sorrows: According to our church's rev'rend rite, And saw him laid in hallow'd ground to rest. J. Shore. Oh, that my soul had known no joy but him! That I had lived within his guiltless arms, Enter a SERVANT. Serv. The lady Alicia Attends your leisure. J. Shore. Say I wish to see her.-[Exit SERVANT. Please, gentle sir, one moment to retire ; I'll wait you on the instant, and inform you Of each unhappy circumstance, in which Your friendly aid and counsel much may stead me. [Exeunt BELMOUR and DUMONT. Enter ALICIA. Alicia. Still, my fair friend, still shall I find you thus? Still shall these sighs heave after one another, J. Shore. No, my Alicia, Heaven and his saints be witness to my thoughts, That I could wish should take its turn again. Alicia. And yet some of those days my friend has known, Some of those years might pass for golden ones B |