_Lord H._ No further, my good lord, than friendly pity And tender-hearted charity allow. _Glos._ 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. _Lord H._ Thus it is, gracious sir, that certain officers, Using the warrant of your mighty name, With insolence unjust, and lawless power, Have seiz'd upon the lands, which late she held By grant, from her great master Edward's bounty. _Glos._ Somewhat of this, but slightly, have I heard; And though some counsellors of forward zeal, Some of most ceremonious sanctity And bearded wisdom, often have provok'd The hand of justice to fall heavy on her; Yet still, in kind compassion of her weakness, And tender memory of Edward's love, I have withheld the merciless stern law From doing outrage on her helpless beauty. _Lord H._ Good heav'n, who renders mercy back for mercy, With open-handed bounty shall repay you: This gentle deed shall fairly he set foremost, To screen the wild escapes of lawless passion, And the long train of frailties flesh is heir to. _Glos._ Thus far, the voice of pity pleaded only: Our further and more full extent of grace Is given to your request. Let her attend, And to ourself deliver up her griefs. She shall be heard with patience, and each wrong At full redress'd. But I have other news, Which much import us both; for still my fortunes Go hand in hand with yours: our common foes, The queen's relations, our new-fangled gentry, Have fall'n their haughty crests--that for your privacy. [_exeunt._ SCENE II. AN APARTMENT IN JANE SHORE'S HOUSE. _Enter Belmour and Dumont._ _Bel._ How she has liv'd you have heard my tale already; The rest your own attendance in her family, Where I have found the means this day to place you, And nearer observation, best will tell you. See with what sad and sober cheer she comes. _Enter Jane Shore._ Sure, or I read her visage much amiss, Or grief besets her hard. Save you, fair lady, The blessings of the cheerful morn be on you, And greet your beauty with its opening sweets. _Jane S._ My gentle neighbour! your good wishes still Pursue my hapless fortunes; ah! good Belmour! How few, like thee, inquire the wretched out, And court the offices of soft humanity. Like thee, reserve their raiment for the naked, Reach out their bread to feed the crying orphan, Or mix their pitying tears with those that weep. Thy praise deserves a better tongue than mine, To speak and bless thy name. Is this the gentleman, Whose friendly service you commended to me? _Bel._ Madam, it is. _Jane S._ A venerable aspect! [_aside._