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Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
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SCENE II. Enter Buckingham from his Arraignment, (Tipstaves before him, the Axe with the edge towards him. Halberds on each side) accompanied with Sir Thomas Lovell, Sir Nicholas Vaux, Sir William Sands, and common People, &c.

1 Gen.
Stay there, Sir,
And see the noble ruin'd Man you speak of.

2 Gen.
Let's stand close and behold him.

Buck.
All good People,
You that thus far have come to pity me,
Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me:
I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment,
And by that name must die; yet, heav'n bear witness,
And if I have a conscience, let it sink me
Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful.
To th' law I bear no malice for my death,
'Thas done, upon the Premises, but Justice:
But those that sought it, I could wish more Christians;
Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em;
Yet let 'em look, they glory not in mischief;
Nor build their evils on the graves of great men;
For then, my guiltless blood must cry against 'em.
For further life in this world I ne'er hope,
Nor will I sue, although the King have mercies

-- 372 --


More than I dare make faults. You few that lov'd me,
And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,
His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave
Is only bitter to him, only dying;
Go with me, like good Angels, to my end:
And as the long divorce of steel falls on me,
Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,
And lift my soul to heav'n. Lead on, o' God's name.

Lov.
I do beseech your Grace for charity,
If ever any malice in your heart
Were hid against me, now forgive me frankly.

Buck.
Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you,
As I would be forgiven: I forgive all.
There cannot be those numberless offences
'Gainst me, I can't take peace with: 1 note



no black envy
Shall mark my grave.—Commend me to his Grace:
And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray tell him,
You met him half in heaven: my vows and pray'rs
Yet are the King's; and, 'till my soul forsake me,
Shall cry for blessings on him. May he live
Longer than I have time to tell his years!
Ever belov'd and loving may his rule be!
And when old time shall lead him to his end,
Goodness, and he fill up one monument!

Lov.
To th' water-side I must conduct your Grace,
Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux,

-- 373 --


Who undertakes you to your end.

Vaux.
Prepare there,
The Duke is coming: see, the barge be ready:
And fit it with such furniture as suits
The greatness of his Person.

Buck.
Nay, Sir Nicholas,
Let it alone; my state now will but mock me.
When I came hither, I was Lord high Constable,
And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun:
Yet I am richer than my base accusers,
That never knew what truth meant. I now seal it;
And with that blood, will make 'em one day groan for't.
My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,
Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard,
Flying for succour to his servant Banister,
Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd,
And without tryal fell; God's peace be with him!
Henry the Sev'nth succeeding, truly pitying
My father's loss, like a most royal Prince
Restor'd to me my honours; and, from ruins,
Made my name once more noble. Now his son,
Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all
That made me happy, at one stroak has taken
For ever from the world. I had my tryal,
And must needs say, a noble one; which makes me
A little happier than my wretched father:
Yet thus far we are one in fortune, both
Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most.
A most unnatural and faithless service!
Heav'n has an end in all: yet, you that hear me,
This from a dying man receive as certain:
2 noteWhere you are lib'ral of your loves and counsels,

-- 374 --


Be sure, you be not loose; those you make friends,
And give your hearts too note, when they once perceive
The least rub in your fortunes, fall away
Like water from ye, never found again,
But where they mean to sink ye. All good people,
Pray for me! I must leave ye; the last hour
Of my long weary life is come upon me:
Farewel; and when you would say something sad,
Speak, how I fell—I've done; and God forgive me! [Exeunt Buckingham and Train.

1 Gen.
O, this is full of pity; Sir, it calls,
I fear, too many curses on their heads,
That were the authors.

2 Gen.
If the Duke be guiltless,
'Tis full of woe; yet I can give you inkling
Of an ensuing evil, if it fall,
Greater than this.

1 Gen.
Good angels keep it from us!
What may it be? you do not doubt my faith, Sir?

2 Gen.
This secret is so weighty, 'twill require
A strong faith to conceal it.

1 Gen.
Let me have it;
I do not talk much.

2 Gen.
I am confident;
You shall, Sir; did you not of late days hear
A buzzing of a separation
Between the King and Cath'rine?

1 Gen.
Yes, but it held not;
For when the King once heard it, out of anger
He sent command to the Lord Mayor strait
To stop the rumour; and allay those tongues,
That durst disperse it.

2 Gen.
But that slander, Sir,
Is found a truth now; for it grows again

-- 375 --


Fresher than e'er it was: and held for certain,
The King will venture at it. Either the Cardinal,
Or some about him near, have (out of malice
To the good Queen) possess'd him with a scruple
That will undo her: to confirm this too,
Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately,
As all think, for this business.

1 Gen.
'Tis the Cardinal;
And meerly to revenge him on the Emperor,
For not bestowing on him, at his asking,
The Arch-bishoprick of Toledo, this is purpos'd.

2 Gen.
I think, you've hit the mark; but is't not cruel,
That she should feel the smart of this? the Cardinal
Will have his will, and she must fall.

1 Gen.
'Tis woful.
We are too open here to argue this:
Let's think in private more.
[Exeunt.
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Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
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