Jane Shore Part 3

Forgive me, fair one, if officious friends.h.i.+p Intrudes on your repose, and comes thus late To greet you with the tidings of success.

The princely Gloster has vouchsaf'd your hearing, To-morrow he expects you at the court; There plead your cause, with never-failing beauty, Speak all your griefs, and find a full redress.

_Jane S._ Thus humbly let your lowly servant bend. [_kneeling._ Thus let me bow my grateful knee to earth, And bless your n.o.ble nature for this goodness.

_Lord H._ Rise, gentle dame, you wrong my meaning much, Think me not guilty of a thought so vain, To sell my courtesy for thanks like these.

_Jane S._ 'Tis true, your bounty is beyond my speaking: But, though my mouth be dumb, my heart shall thank you; And when it melts before the throne of mercy, Mourning and bleeding for my past offences, My fervent soul shall breathe one pray'r for you, That heav'n will pay you back, when most you need, The grace and goodness you have shown to me.

_Lord H._ If there be aught of merit in my service, Impute it there, where most 'tis due, to love; Be kind, my gentle mistress, to my wishes, And satisfy my panting heart with beauty.

_Jane S._ Alas! my lord----

_Lord H._ Why bend thy eyes to earth?

Wherefore these looks of heaviness and sorrow?

Why breathes that sigh, my love? And wherefore falls This trickling show'r of tears, to stain thy sweetness?

_Jane S._ If pity dwells within your n.o.ble breast, (As sure it does), oh, speak not to me thus.

_Lord H._ Can I behold thee, and not speak of love?

Ev'n now, thus sadly as thou stand'st before me, Thus desolate, dejected, and forlorn, Thy softness steals upon my yielding senses, Till my soul faints, and sickens with desire; How canst thou give this motion to my heart, And bid my tongue be still?

_Jane S._ Cast round your eyes Upon the high-born beauties of the court; Behold, like opening roses, where they bloom, Sweet to the sense, unsully'd all, and spotless; There choose some worthy partner of your heart, To fill your arms and bless your virtuous bed; Nor turn your eyes this way.

_Lord H._ What means this peevish, this fantastic, change?

Where is thy wonted pleasantness of face, Thy wonted graces, and thy dimpled smiles?

Where hast thou lost thy wit and sportive mirth?

That cheerful heart, which us'd to dance for ever, And cast a ray of gladness all around thee?

_Jane S._ Yes, I will own I merit the reproach; And for those foolish days of wanton pride, My soul is justly humbled to the dust: All tongues, like yours, are licens'd to upbraid me, Still to repeat my guilt; and urge my infamy, And treat me like that abject thing I have been.

_Lord H._ No more of this dull stuff. 'Tis time enough To whine and mortify thyself with penance, The present moment claims more gen'rous use; Thy beauty, night, and solitude, reproach me, For having talk'd thus long--come, let me press thee, [_laying hold of her._ Pant on thy bosom, sink into thy arms, And lose myself in the luxurious flood.

_Jane S._ Forbear, my lord!--here let me rather die, [_kneeling._ And end my sorrows and my shame for ever.

_Lord H._ Away with this perverseness----'tis too much.

Nay, if you strive--'tis monstrous affectation! [_striving._

_Jane S._ Retire! I beg you, leave me----

_Lord H._ Thus to coy it!---- With one who knows you too.----

_Jane S._ For mercy's sake----

_Lord H._ Ungrateful woman! Is it thus you pay My services?----

_Jane S._ Abandon me to ruin---- Rather than urge me----

_Lord H._ This way to your chamber; [_pulling her._ There if you struggle----

_Jane S._ Help, O gracious heaven!

Help! Save me! Help! [_exit._

_Enter Dumont; he interposes._

_Dum._ My lord! for honour's sake----

_Lord H._ Hah! What art thou?--Be gone!

_Dum._ My duty calls me To my attendance on my mistress here.

_Lord H._ Avaunt! base groom---- At distance wait, and know thy office better.

_Dum._ No, my lord---- The common ties of manhood call me now, And bid me thus stand up in the defence Of an oppress'd, unhappy, helpless, woman.

_Lord H._ And dost thou know me, slave?

_Dum._ Yes, thou proud lord!

I know thee well; know thee with each advantage Which wealth, or pow'r, or n.o.ble birth, can give thee.

I know thee too for one who stains those honours, And blots a long ill.u.s.trious line of ancestry, By poorly daring thus to wrong a woman.

_Lord H._ 'Tis wondrous well! I see, my saint-like dame, You stand provided of your braves and ruffians, To man your cause, and bl.u.s.ter in your brothel.

_Dum._ Take back the foul reproach, unmanner'd railer!

Nor urge my rage too far, lest thou shouldst find I have as daring spirits in my blood As thou or any of thy race e'er boasted; And though no gaudy t.i.tles grac'd my birth, Yet heav'n that made me honest, made me more Than ever king did, when he made a lord.

_Lord H._ Insolent villain! henceforth let this teach thee [_draws, and strikes him._ The distance 'twixt a peasant and a prince.

_Dum._ Nay then, my lord, [_drawing_] learn you by this, how well An arm resolv'd can guard its master's life.

[_they fight; Dumont disarms Lord Hastings._

_Lord H._ Confusion! baffled by a base-born hind!

_Dum._ Now, haughty sir, where is our difference now?

Your life is in my hand, and did not honour, The gentleness of blood, and inborn virtue, (Howe'er unworthy I may seem to you,) Plead in my bosom, I should take the forfeit.

But wear your sword again; and know, a lord, Oppos'd against a man, is but a man.

_Lord H._ Curse on my failing hand! your better fortune Has giv'n you 'vantage o'er me; but perhaps Your triumph may be bought with dear repentance. [_exit._

_Re-enter Jane Sh.o.r.e._

_Jane S._ Alas! what have you done? Know ye the pow'r, The mightiness, that waits upon this lord?

_Dum._ Fear not, my worthiest mistress; 'tis a cause In which heaven's guards shall wait you. O pursue, Pursue, the sacred counsels of your soul, Which urge you on to virtue; a.s.sisting angels shall conduct your steps, Bring you to bliss, and crown your days with peace.

_Jane S._ O that my head were laid, my sad eyes clos'd, And my cold corse wound in my shroud to rest!

My painful heart will never cease to beat, Will never know a moment's peace, till then.

_Dum._ Would you he happy, leave this fatal place; Fly from the court's pernicious neighbourhood; Where innocence is sham'd, and blus.h.i.+ng modesty Is made the scorner's jest; where hate, deceit, And deadly ruin, wear the masks of beauty, And draw deluded fools with shows of pleasure.