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If any doubt my faith, my honest zeal
For thee, and for my country, let him speak,
And I will answer: punish me, just Heaven,
If in the task I haye consulted aught
But England's honour, and my sovereign's glory!
Edw. Mistake me not, good Warwick; well I
know

Thy spotless truth, thy honour, and thy love;
But glory has no farther charms for me:
Raised, by thy powerful aid, to England's throne,
I ask no more: already I am great

As fame and fortune with their smiles can make

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Edw. Kings, my lord, are born With passions, feelings, hearts-like other men; Nor see I yet, why Edward's happiness Must fall a sacrifice to Warwick's honour. Warw. My honour, sir, is yours; my cause

your own:

Who sent me, and whose image did I bear?
The image of a great and glorious king,
Or of a weak and wavering boy?-henceforth,
Choose from the herd of fawning sycophants,
Some needy slave for your mock embassies,
To do your work, and stain the name of England
With foul reproach-Edward, I blush for thee,
And for my country; from this hour, expect

Warw. That too, my liege, hath been thy War- From injured France contempt, with deep re

wick's care:

Happy thou shalt be, if the fairest form,
That ever caught a gazing lover's eye,
Joined to the sweetest, most engaging virtues,
Can make thee so :-she is indeed a gem,
Fit to adorn the brightest crown: to see,
Is to admire her; trust me, England's self,
The seat of beauty, and the throne of love,
Boasts not a fairer.

Edw. Beauty, good my lord,

Is all ideal; 'tis the wayward child
Of fancy, shifting with the changeful wind
Of fond opinion; what to you appears
The model of perfection, may disgust
My strange capricious taste.

Warw. Such charms would fix
Inconstancy itself:—her winning virtues,
Even if her beauty failed, would soon subdue
The rebel heart, and you would learn to love her.
Edw. Is passion to be learned then? wouldst
thou make

A science of affection, guide the heart, And teach it where to fix? impossible! 'Tis strange philosophy.

[Rises and comes forward.

My lord of Warwick,
Your zeal in England's, and in Edward's cause
Merits our thanks; but for the intended marriage
With France's daughter-it may never be.
Warw. Not be! it must: your sacred word is
passed,

And cannot be recalled; but three days since
I signed the contract, and my honour's pledged
For the performance: Heavens! whilst fickle

France

Is branded 'midst the nations of the earth
For breach of public faith, shall we, my licge,
Practise ourselves the vices we condemn,
Pass o'er a rival nation's every virtue,
And imitate their perfidy alone?

Edu. You'll pardon me, my lord; I thought it part

Of a king's power to have a will, to see
With his own eyes, and in life's little feast,
To cater for himself; but 'tis, it seems,
A privilege his servants can refuse him.
Warw. And so they ought-the king, who can-

not conquer
His private interest for the public welfare,
Knows not his duty.

sentment

For broken faith, and enmity eternal.
Edw. Eternal be it then! for, as I prize
My inward peace beyond the pomp of state,
And all the tinsel glare of fond ambition,

I will not wed her.-Gracious Heaven! what am I?

The meanest peasant in my realm may choose
His rustic bride, and share with her the sweets
Of mutual friendship and domestic bliss!
Why should my happier subjects, then, deny me
The common rights, the privilege of nature,
And, in a land of freedom, thus conspire
To make their king the only slave amongst them?
Warw. The worst of slaves is he, whom pas
sion rules,

Unchecked by reason, and the powerful voice
Of friendship, which, I fear, is heard no more
By thoughtless Edward.-'Tis the curse of kings
To be surrounded by a venal herd

Of flatterers, that sooth his darling vices,
And rob their master of his subjects' love.
Nay, frown not, sirs! supported as ye are,
I fear ye not. Which of this noble train,
These well-beloved counsellors and friends,
Assembled here to witness my disgrace,
Have urged you to this base, unmanly falsehood!
Shame on you all! to stain the spotless mind
Of uncorrupted youth, undo the work
Of Warwick's friendly hand, and give him back
A sovereign so unlike the noble Edward!

Suff. My lord, we thank you for the kind sog.

gestion, Howe'er ill-founded; and when next we meet, To give our voice in aught, that may concern The public weal, no doubt shall ask your leave, Ere we proceed.

Pemb. My lord of Suffolk, speak But for yourself; Warwick hath too much cause To be offended: in my poor opinion, Whate'er you courtiers think, the best support Of England's throne are equity and truth; Nor will I hold that man my sov'reign's friend, Who shall exhort him to forsake his word, And play the hypocrite: what tie shall bind The subject to obedience, when his king, Bankrupt in honour, gives the royal sanction To perfidy and falsehood?

Buck. It becomes

But ill the earl of Pembroke

Edw. Good my lords,

Let us have no dissentions here; we meet
For other purposes-some few days hence
We shall expect your counsel in affairs
Of moment-for the present, urge no further
This matter-fare well.

ye

[The council break up and disperse. Edw. [Comes to WARW.] Lord Warwick, keep In narrower bounds that proud impetuous temper;

It may be fatal: there are private reasons-
When time befits we shall impart them to you;
Meanwhile, if you have friendship, love, or duty,
No more of Bona-I'm determined. [Exit EDW.
Warw. So:

'Tis well, 'tis very well: I have deserved it;
I've borne this callow eagle on my wing,
And now he spurns me from him; 'tis a change
I little looked for, and sits heavy on me :
Alas, how doubly painful is the wound,
When 'tis inflicted by the hand we love!
Cruel, ungrateful Edward!-

Ha! who's here?

The captive queen! if she has aught to ask
Of me, she comes in luckless hour, for I
Am powerless now.

Enter MARGARET of ANJOU.
Warw. Will Margaret of Anjou
Thus deign to visit her acknowledged foe?
Marg. Alas! my lord, inured to wretchedness
As I ain, and familiar with misfortune,
I harbour no resentment; have long since
Forgot, that ever Warwick was my foe,
And only wish to prove myself his friend.
Warw. Talk not of friendship, 'tis an empty

name,

And lives but in idea; once, indeed,
I thought I had a friend.-

Marg. Whose name was-Edward;
Read I aright, my lord, and am I not

A shrewd diviner? Yes, that downcast eye
And gloomy aspect say I am: you look
As if the idol, made by your own hands,
Had fallen upon, and crushed you; is it not so?
Warw. Amazement! nought escapes thy pier-
cing eye,

And penetrating judgment: 'tis too true,
I am a poor, disgraced, dishonoured slave,
Not worth thy seeking; leave me, for the tide
Of court preferment flows another way.

Marg. The feast, perhaps, you have provided,
suits not

With Edward's nicer palate; he disdains,
How sweet so'er, to taste a foreign banquet,
And relishes no dainties but his own:
Am I again mistaken?

Warw. Sure thou deal'st

With some all-knowing spirit, who imparts] Each secret purpose to thee: else how know'st thou,

That Edward had refused to wed the princess?
Marg. Oh! it requires no supernatural aid
To trace his actions, nor has Margaret trod
The paths of life with unobserving eye.

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Marg. Alas! my lord,

Had you been chastened in affliction's school,
As I have been, and taught by sad experience
To know mankind, you had not fallen a prey
To such delusion.

Warw. Was it like a friend,
Was it like Edward, to conceal his love!
Some base, insinuating, artful woman,
With borrowed charms, perhaps-

Marg. Hold, hold, my lord,

Be not too rash: who fights in darkness oft
May wound a bosom friend : perhaps you wrong
The best, and most accomplished of her sex.
Warw. Know you the lady?
Of peerless beauty and transcendent charms, -
Marg. But as fame reports;
But for her virtue-I must ask of-you.
Warw. Of me! What virtues? Whose?
Marg. Elizabeth's.

Warw. Amazement! no: it must not, cannot
be:

Elizabeth! he could not, dare not do it! Confusion! I shall soon discover all. [Aside. But what have I to do with Edward's choice, Whoe'er she be, if he refuses mine?

Marg, Dissimulation sits but ill, my lord, On minds like yours: I am a poor weak woman, And so, it seems, you think me; but suppose That same all-knowing spirit, which you raised, Who condescends so kindly to instruct me, Should whisper-Warwick knows the power of

love

As well as Edward; that Elizabeth
Was his first wish, the idol of his soul;
What say you? Might I venture to believe it?

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To play with; I have scattered many of them:
But thus to cross me in my dearest hope,
The sweet reward of all my toils for him
And for his country; if I suffer it,
If I forgive him, may I live the scorn
Of men, a branded coward, and old age,
Without or love or reverence, be my portion!
Henceforth, good Margaret, know me for thy
friend:

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We will have noble vengeance: are there not Still left among the lazy sons of peace Some busy spirits, who wish well to thee, And to thy cause?

Marg. There are; resentment sleeps,
But is not dead. Beneath the hollow cover
Of loyalty, the slumbering ashes lie
Unheeded; Warwick's animating breath
Will quickly light them into flames again.
Warw. Then, Edward, from this moment I
abjure thee;

Oh! I will make thee ample recompense
For all the wrongs that I have done the house
Of Lancaster: go, summon all thy friends;
Be quick, good Margaret, haste, ere I repent,
And yield my soul to perjured York again.
The king, I think, gives you free liberty
To range abroad?

Marg. He doth, and I will use it,
As I would ever use the gift of foes,
To his destruction.

Warw. That arch-pander, Suffolk, That minister of vice-but time is precious; To-morrow, Margaret, we will meet in private, And have some further conference; mean time Devise, consult, use every means against Our common foe: remember, from this hour, Warwick's thy friend-be secret and be happy, (Er

Marg. What easy fools these cunning states

men are,

With all their policy, when once they fall Into a woman's power! This gallant leader, This blustering Warwick, how the hero shrunk And lessened to my sight! Elizabeth,

I thank thee for thy wonder-working charms; The time perhaps may come, when I shall stand Indebted to them for-the throne of England. Proud York, beware; for Lancaster's great name Shall rise superior in the lists of fame: Fortune, that long had frowned, shall smile at last,

And make amends for all my sorrows past. [Exit.

SCENE I.

ACT III.

Enter MARGARET, CLIFFORD, and Attendants. Marg. Dispatch these letters straight to Scotland-this,

broke.

To the French envoy-these, to the earl of Pen [To a gentlema Thus far, my friend, hath fortune favoured us [Turning to Lady CLIFFORD Beyond our hopes: the soul of haughty Warwick

Is all on fire, and puling Edward loves
With most romantic ardour-O my Clifford,
You would have smiled to see how artfully
I played upon him: flattered, soothed, provoked,
And wrought him to my purpose: we are linked
In firmest bonds of amity and love.

Clif. Hath Warwick, then, so soon forgot his
Edward?

Think'st thou the frantic earl will e'er exert
His ill-directed powers to pull down
The royal structure, which himself had raised?
Never.

Marg. What is there, disappointed love
And unrestrained ambition will not do?
I tell thee, we are sworn and cordial friends.
Clif. Thou know'st he hates the house of
Lancaster.

Marg. No matter he has marvellous good skill

In making kings, and I have business for him. Clif. And canst thou, then, forget the cruel

wrongs,

The deep-felt injuries of oppressive Warwick, To join the hand, that forged thy husband's chains,

And robbed thee of a crown?

Marg. But what-my Clifford,

If the same hand, that ravished, should restore it!

'Tis a court friendship, and may last as long
As interest shall direct: I've not forgot,
No, nor forgiven; I hate, abhor, detest him;
But I will use him as my instrument,
My necessary tool; I will make him draw
His traitorous sword, to sheathe it in the breast
Of him he loves, then point it to his own.
Yes, Clifford, I have twined me round his heart;
Like the fell serpent crept into his bosom,
That I might sting more surely: he shall perish;
I keep him for the last dear precious morsel,
To crown the glorious banquet of revenge.
Clif. 'Tis what he merits from us; yet the at-
tempt

Were dangerous; he is still the people's idol. Marg. And so, perhaps, shall Margaret be; applause

Waits on success; the fickle multitude,
Like the light straw, that floats along the stream,
Glide with the current still, and follow fortune.
Our prospect brightens every hour: the people
Are ripe for a revolt: by civil wars,
Long time inured to savage scenes of plunder
And desolation, they delight in war:
These English heroes, when once fleshed with
slaughter,

Like the keen mastiff, lose not soon the track
Of vengeance, nor forget the taste of blood.
Clif. What further succours have we to depend

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To Edward?

Marg. Then I have a bosom friend,
That shall be ready to reward him for it.
But I have better hopes: without his aid,
We are not friendless: Scotland's hardy sons,
Who smile at danger, and defy the storm,
Will leave their barren mountains to defend
That liberty they love; add too the aid
Of gallant Pembroke, and the powers, which
France

Will send to vindicate her injured honour:
Ere Edward can collect his force and take
The field, we shall be thirty thousand strong.
Clif. But what becomes of the young prince?
Murg. Aye; there

I am, indeed, unhappy! O my child!
How shall I set him free? hear, Nature, hear
A mother's prayer! O guide me with thy counsel,
And teach me how to save my darling boy!
Aye, now I have it: monitress divine,

I thank thee: yes; I wait but for the means
Of his escape, then fly this hated palace,
Nor will return till I can call it mine. [Ercunt.

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Where didst thou learn this falsehood?
Suf. From the lips

Of truth; from one, whose honour and whose word

You will not question; from Elizabeth.

Edw. From her! nay, then, I fear it must be so. Suf. When last I saw her, for again I went By your command, though hopeless of success, With all the eloquence that I

Was master of, I urged your ardent passion;
Told her how much, how tenderly you loved her,
And pressed with eagerness to know the cause
Of her unkind refusal; till at length,
Reluctantly, with blushes, she confessed
There was a cause; she thanked you for your
goodness,

Twas more, she said, much more than she deserved:

She ever should revere her king: and if
She had a heart to give, it should be Edward's.
Edw. So kind, and yet so cruel! well, go on.
Suf. Then told me all the story of her love,
That Warwick long had wooed her- -that her
hand

Was promised, soon as he returned from France,
Though once her father cruelly opposed it,
They were, by his consent, to be united.

Edw. O never, Suffolk, may I live to see
That dreadful hour! designing hypocrite!
Are these his arts? is this the friend I loved?
By Heaven! she shall be mine; I will assert
A sovereign's right, and tear her from him; what
If he rebel? another civil war!

'Tis terrible! O that I could shake off
This cumbrous garb of majesty, that clings
So close around me, meet him man to man,
And try who best deserves her! but, when kings
Grow mad, their guiltless subjects pay the for-
feit.

Horrible thought! good Suffolk, for a while
I would be private; therefore wait without;
Let me have no intruders; above all,
Keep Warwick from my sight.

Enter WARWICK.

Warw. Behold him here!

[Exit SUF.

No welcome guest, it seems, unless I ask
My lord of Suffolk's leave; there was a time,
When Warwick wanted not his aid to gain
Admission here.

Edw. There was a time, perhaps, When Warwick more desired, and more deserved it.

Warw. Never. I have been a foolish faithful
slave;

All
my best years, the morning of my life,
Have been devoted to your service: what
Are now the fruits? disgrace and infamy;
My spotless name, which never yet the breath
Of calumny had tainted, made the mock
For foreign fools to carp at: but 'tis fit
Who trust in princes, should be thus rewarded.
Edw. I thought, my lord, I had full well repaid
Your services with honours, wealth, and power
Unlimited; thy all-directing hand

Guided in secret every latent wheel
Of government, and moved the whole machine;
Warwick was all in all, and powerless Edward
Stood, like a cypher, in a great account.

Warw. Who gave that cypher worth, and
seated thee

On England's throne? thy undistinguished name
Had rotted in the dust from whence it sprang,
And mouldered in oblivion, had not Warwick
Dug from its sordid mine the useless ore,
And stamped it with a diadem. Thou know'st
This wretched country, doomed, perhaps, like
Rome,

To fall by its own self-destroying hand,
Tost for so many years in the rough sea
Of civil discord, but for me had perished.
In that distressful hour I seized the helm,
Bade the rough waves subside in peace, and
steered

Your shattered vessel safe unto the harbour.
You may despise, perhaps, that useless aid,
Which you no longer want; but know, proud
youth,

He, who forgets a friend, deserves a foe.

Edw. Know, too, reproach, for benefits recei ved,

Pays every debt, and cancels obligation.

Warw. Why, that indeed is frugal honesty, A thrifty saving knowledge, when the debt Grows burthensome, and cannot be discharged, A spunge will wipe out all, and cost you nothing.

Edw. When you have counted o'er the nume

rous train

Of mighty gifts your bounty lavished on me,
You may remember next the injuries,
Which I have done you: let me know them all,
And I will make you ample satisfaction.

Warw. Thou canst not; thou hast robbed me
of a jewel

It is not in thy power to restore:

I was the first, shall future annals say,
That broke the sacred bond of public trust
And mutual confidence; ambassadors,
In after times, mere instruments, perhaps,
Of venal statesmen, shall recall my name
To witness, that they want not an example,
And plead my guilt, to sanctify their own.
Amidst the herd of mercenary slaves,
That haunt your court, could none be found but
Warwick,

To be the shameless herald of a lye?

Edw. And wouldst thou turn the vile reproach
on me?

If I have broke my faith, and stained the name
Of England, thank thy own pernicious counsels,
That urged me to it, and extorted from me
A cold consent to what my heart abhorred.

Warw. I've been abused, insulted, and be
trayed;

My injured honour cries aloud for vengeance; Her wounds will never close!

Edw. These gusts of passion Will but inflame them; if I have been right Informed, my lord, besides these dangerous scars Of bleeding honour, you have other wounds

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