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Weaves artful snares to trap my enemies.
I will raise such a tempest in the court,
Shall blow my rivals' souls to heav'n or hell.
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage,
Until the golden sceptre in my hand

Shall bid contending passions be at peace.
Clarence, beware, thou keep'st me from the light-
But I will buz abroad such prophecies,

That Edward shall be fearful of his life,

And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death;
Thus each in turn shall clear the way for me-
I'll throw this body in another room,

And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom!

[Exit.

SCENE VI. The Palace.

Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, CLARENCE, HASTINGS, and Attendants.

Edward. Once more we sit on England's royal

throne,

So dearly purchas'd by a civil war!

What valiant foes, like the autumnal corn,

Have we mow'd down i' th' height of all their pride!
Thus have we watch'd in arms the winter's night,
And brav'd on foot the summer's scalding heat,
That of our labors we might reap the gain.-

Then open, Heav'n, thy everlasting gates !
Receive my solemn vows of thanks and praise!
My friends, you've prov'd your valor in the field,
And shown your love to me, and to your country.
O cherish still affection to my person;
And Edward, whether fortune smile or frown,
Shall never be unmindful of your love.

Hastings. We are rewarded in the privilege
Of crying: Long live Edward, King of England,
To bless his people, and deserve their love!

Clarence. Allied to thee by nature and by choise, I cheerfully devote my future days

To serve my country, and to love my King.

Edward. Now Heav'n has show'r'd its blessings on my soul,

Blest in my friends', blest in my brother's loves!
O let our efforts be from hence united

To heal the wounds these civil broils have made-
Now that the idle spear shall rust on high,

O let us gather the rich golden drops,

That trickle from the dewy wings of peace!

Thus will we drown the mem'ry of these feuds

In genʼral union, and prosperity.

York fought with Henry: but the King of England Shall have no object but the people's good.

FINIS.

EPILOGUE;

WRITTEN BY HENRY JAMES PYE, Esq.

SPOKEN BY MR. GLEED.

O'ER the deep gloom by night barbaric spread,

When first her beams rekindling Science shed,
Partial and faint, with glimm'ring flame they shone
On cloister'd Learning's favor'd sons alone;
Till, (as th' aerial zone on mortal sight
Diffuses wide the Sun's refracted light)

The PRINTER's art o'er Error's devious maze
Pour'd far and wide Truth's intellectual blaze.
No longer, then to silent cells confin'd,
Droop'd the free efforts of th' enlighten'd mind;
But home to ev'ry docile breast was brought
All the Divine and all the Sage had taught.

Yet, such of things on earth th' imperfect state, Attendant ills on ev'ry good await.

Still will the worm the fairest fruit devour,

Still lurks the canker in the sweetest flow'r.

That sacred source, from which alone should flow
Salubrious streams, that health and life bestow,

Sees its polluted waves, a pois'nous tide,

Waft dire contagion, where their water's glide.

That Heav'n-taught art, which o'er the world should show'r

Virtue's pure laws, and meek Religion's pow'r,

Alas! perverted by a demon's hand,

Spreads malice, crimes, and faction thro' the land.

To check by Wisdom Vice's headlong force,
To turn misjudging Error from its course,
To make foul Falshood's dim and lurid gleam
Fade at the dawn of Reason's glowing beam :
Such is our aim O may your patriot zeal
Assist to realize the hopes we feel.

Tho' Folly's visions cheat awhile the sight
With fairy forms, or spectres of affright,
In its own form each phantom shall appear,
At the first touch of Truth's celestial spear.

And you, ingenuous Youths, who here have found
The germs of science on our classic ground;
Know, all the palms that Learning can bestow,
All the fresh wreaths that bind the Poet's brow,
Are like the hues that paint the May-born flow'r,
The idle glory of a transient hour,

Unless by active Virtue's care consign'd

To guard our country, and to bless mankind'!

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