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ROSAMOND. AN OPERA.

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ROSAMOND. AN OPERA. Humbly Inſcrib'd to Her GRACE the DUTCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH.

Hic quos durus Amor crudeli tabe peredit
Secreti celant Calles, & Myrtea circùm
Sylva tegit.
Virg. Aen. 6.

LONDON: Printed for Jacob Tonſon, within Grays-Inn Gate next Grays-Inn Lane. 1707.

[] [1] ROSAMOND.

ACT I. SCENE I.

A Proſpect of Woodſtock-Park, termina⯑ting in the Bower.
Enter Queen and Page.
Queen.
WHAT Place is here!
What Scenes appear!
Where-e'er I turn my Eyes,
All around
Enchanted Ground
And ſoft Elyſiums riſe:
Flow'ry Mountains,
Moſſie Fountains,
Shady Woods,
Chryſtal Floods
With wild Variety ſurprize.
[2]
As o'er the hollow Vaults we walk,
A hundred Eccho's round us talk:
From Hill to Hill our Words are toſt,
Rocks rebounding,
Caves reſounding,
Alluding to the famous Eccho.
Not a ſingle Voice is loſt.
Page.
There gentle Roſamond immur'd
Lives from the World and you ſecur'd.
Queen.
Curſe on the Name! I faint, I die,
With ſecret Pangs of Jealouſie.—
[Aſide.
Page.
There does the penſive Beauty mourn,
And languiſh for her Lord's Return.
Queen.
Death and Confuſion! I'm too ſlow—
[Aſide.
Show me the happy Manſion, ſhow.—
Page.
Great Henry there—
Queen.
Trifler, no more!—
Page.
—Great Henry there
Will ſoon forget the Toils of War.
Queen.
No more! the happy Manſion ſhow
That holds this lovely, guilty Foe.
My Wrath, like that of Heav'n, ſhall riſe,
And blaſt her in her Paradiſe.
Page.
Behold on yonder riſing Ground
The Bow'r that wanders
In Meanders,
Ever bending,
Never ending,
[3] Glades on Glades,
Shades in Shades,
Running an Eternal Round.
Queen.
In ſuch an endleſs Maze I rove,
Loſt in Labyrinths of Love,
My Breaſt with hoarded Vengeance burns,
While Fear and Rage
With Hope engage,
And rule my wav'ring Soul by turns.
Page.
The Path you verdant Field divides
Which to the ſoft Confinement guides.
Queen.
Eleonora, think betimes,
What are thy hated Rival's Crimes!
Whither, ah whither doſt thou go!
What has ſhe done to move thee ſo!
—Does ſhe not warm with guilty Fires
The faithleſs Lord of my Deſires?
Have not her fatal Arts remov'd
My Henry from my Arms?
'Tis her Crime to be lov'd,
'Tis her Crime to have Charms.
Let us fly, let us fly,
She ſhall die, ſhe ſhall die.
I feel, I feel my Heart relent,
How could the Fair be innocent!
To a Monarch like mine,
Who would not reſign!
[4] One ſo great and ſo brave
All Hearts muſt enſlave.
Page.
Hark, hark! what Sound invades my Ear?
The Conqueror's Approach I hear.
He comes, Victorious Henry comes!
Hautboys, Trumpets, Fifes and Drums,
In dreadful Conſort join'd,
Send from afar
A Sound of War,
And fill with Horror ev'ry Wind.
Queen.
Henry returns, from Danger free,
Henry returns!—But not to me.
He comes his Roſamond to greet,
And lay his Laurels at her Feet,
His Vows impatient to renew;
His Vows to Eleonora due.
Here ſhall the happy Nymph detain,
(While of his Abſence I complain)
Hid in her mazy wanton Bow'r,
My Lord, my Life, my Conqueror.
No, no, 'tis decreed
The Traitreſs ſhall bleed;
No Fear ſhall alarm,
No Pity diſarm;
In my Rage ſhall be ſeen
The Revenge of a Queen.

SCENE II.

[5]
The Entry of the Bower.
Sir Truſty, Knight of the Bower, ſolus.
How unhappy is he,
That is ty'd to a ſhe,
And fam'd for his Wit and his Beauty!
For of us pretty Fellows
Our Wives are ſo Jealous,
They ne'er have enough of our Duty.
But hah! my Limbs begin to quiver,
I glow, I burn, I freeze, I ſhiver;
Whence riſes this convulſive Strife?
I ſmell a Shrew!
My Fears are true,
I ſee my Wife.
Enter Grideline, Wife to Sir Truſty.
Grid.
Faithleſs Varlet, art thou there?
Sir Tr.
My Love, my Dove, my Charming Fair!
Grid.
Monſter, thy wheedling Tricks I know.
Sir Tr.
Why wilt thou call thy Turtle ſo?
Grid.
Cheat not me with falſe Careſſes.
Sir Tr.
Let me ſtop thy Mouth with Kiſſes.
Grid.
[6]
Thoſe to Fair Roſamond are due.
Sir Tr.
She is not half ſo Fair as you.
Grid.
She views thee with a Lover's Eye.
Sir Tr.
I'll ſtill be thine, and let her die.
Grid.
No, no, 'tis plain. Thy Frauds I ſee,
Traitor to thy King and me!
Sir Tr.
O Grideline! conſult thy Glaſs,
Behold that ſweet bewitching Face,
Thoſe blooming Cheeks, that lovely Hue!
Ev'ry Feature
(Charming Creature)
Will convince you I am true.
Grid.
O how bleſt were Grideline,
Could I call Sir Truſty mine!
Did he not cover amorous Wiles
With ſoft, but ah! deceiving Smiles:
How ſhould I Revel in Delight,
The Spouſe of ſuch a Peerleſs Knight!
Sir Tr.
At length the Storm begins to ceaſe,
I've ſooth'd and flatter'd her to Peace.
'Tis now my Turn to Tyranize,
[Aſide.
I feel, I feel my Fury riſe!
Tigreſs, be gone.
Grid.
—I love thee ſo
I cannot go.
Sir Tr.
Fly from my Paſſion, Beldame, fly!
Grid.
Why ſo unkind, Sir Truſty, why?
Sir Tr.
[7]
Thou'rt the Plague of my Life.
Grid.
I'm a fooliſh, fond Wife.
Sir Tr.
Let us part,
Let us part.
Grid.
Will you break my poor Heart?
Will you break my poor Heart?
Sir Tr.
I will if I can.
Grid.
O barbarous Man!
From whence doth all this Paſſion flow?
Sir Tr.
Thou art ugly and old,
And a villainous Scold.
Grid.
Thou art a Ruſtick to call me ſo.
I'm not ugly nor old,
Nor a villainous Scold,
But thou art a Ruſtick to call me ſo.
Thou, Traitor, adieu!
Sir Tr.
Farewel, thou Shrew!
Grid.
Thou Traitor,
Sir Tr.
Thou Shrew,
Both.
Adieu! adieu!
[Exit Grid.
Sir Truſty ſolus.
How hard is our Fate
Who ſerve in the State,
And ſhould lay out our Cares
On Publick Affairs;
[8] When conjugal Toils
And Family Broils
Make all our great Labours miſcarry!
Yet this is the Lot
Of him that has got
Fair Roſamond's Bow'r,
With the Clew in his Pow'r,
And is Courted by all,
Both the great and the ſmall,
As principal Pimp to the mighty King Harry.
But ſee, the penſive Fair draws near!
I'll at a Diſtance ſtand and hear.
Enter Roſamond.
From Walk to Walk, from Shade to Shade,
From Stream to purling Stream convey'd,
Through all the Mazes of the Grove,
Through all the mingling Tracks I rove,
Turning,
Burning,
Changing,
Ranging,
Full of Grief and full of Love.
Impatient for my Lord's Return
I ſigh, I pine, I rave, I mourn.
[9]
Was ever Paſſion croſs'd like mine?
To rend my Breaſt,
And break my Reſt,
A thouſand thouſand Ills combine.
Abſence wounds me,
Fear ſurrounds me,
Guilt confounds me,
Was ever Paſſion croſs'd like mine?
Sir Tr.
What Heart of Stone
Can hear her moan,
And not in Dumps ſo doleful join!
[Apart.
Roſ.
How does my conſtant Grief deface
The Pleaſures of this happy Place!
In vain the Spring my Senſes greets
In all her Colours, all her Sweets;
To me the Roſe
No longer glows,
Every Plant
Has loſt its Scent:
The vernal Blooms of various Hue,
The Bloſſoms freſh with Morning Dew,
The Breeze, that ſweeps theſe fragrant Bow'rs,
Fill'd with the Breath of Op'ning Flow'rs,
Purple Scenes,
Winding Greens,
Glooms inviting,
Birds delighting,
(Nature's ſofteſt, ſweeteſt Store)
Charm my tortur'd Soul no more.
[10]
Ye Pow'rs I rave, I faint, I die;
Why ſo ſlow! great Henry, why!
From Death and Alarms
Fly, fly to my Arms,
Fly to my Arms, my Monarch, fly!
Sir Tr.
How much more bleſs'd wou'd Lovers be,
Did all the whining Fools agree
To live like Grideline and me!
Roſ.
O Roſamond, behold too late
And tremble at thy future Fate!
Curſe this unhappy, guilty Face,
Every Charm, and every Grace,
That to thy Ruin made their way,
And led thine Innocence aſtray:
At home thou ſeeſt thy Queen enrag'd,
Abroad thy abſent Lord engag'd
In Wars, that may our Loves disjoin,
And end at once his Life and mine.
Sir Tr.
Such cold Complaints befit a Nun:
If ſhe turns honeſt I'm undone!
Roſ.
Beneath ſome hoary Mountain
I'll lay me down and weep,
Or near ſome warbling Fountain
Bewail my ſelf aſleep,
Where feather'd Quires combining
With gentle murm'ring Streams,
And Winds in Conſort joining,
Raiſe ſadly-pleaſing Dreams.
[Exit Roſ.
[11] Sir Truſty ſolus.
What ſavage Tiger would not pity
A Damſel ſo diſtreſs'd and pretty!
But hah! a Sound my Bow'r invades,
Trumpets flouriſh.
And eccho's through the winding Shades;
'Tis Henry's March! the Tune I know:
A Meſſenger! It muſt be ſo.
Enter a Meſſenger.
Meſſ.
Great Henry comes! with Love oppreſt;
Prepare to lodge the Royal Gueſt.
From purple Fields with Slaughter ſpread,
From Rivers choak'd with Heaps of Dead,
From glorious and immortal Toils,
Loaden with Honour, rich with Spoils,
Great Henry comes! Prepare thy Bow'r
To lodge the mighty Conquerour.
Sir Tr.
The Bow'r and Lady both are dreſt,
And ready to receive their Gueſt.
Meſſ.
Hither the Victor flies (his Queen
And Royal Progeny unſeen)
Soon as the Britiſh Shores he reach'd,
Hither his foaming Courſer ſtrech'd:
And ſee! his eager Steps prevent
The Meſſage that himſelf hath ſent!
Sir Tr.
[12]
Here will I ſtand
With Hat in Hand
Obſequiouſly to meet him,
And muſt endeavour
At Behaviour
That's ſuitable to greet him.
Enter King Henry after a Flouriſh of Trumpets.
King.
Where is my Love! my Roſamond!
Sir Tr.
Firſt, as in ſtricteſt Duty bound,
I kiſs your Royal Hand,
King.
Where is my Life! my Roſamond!
Sir Tr.
Next with Submiſſion moſt profound,
I welcome you to Land.
King.
Where is the Tender, Charming Fair!
Sir Tr.
Let me appear, Great Sir, I pray
Methodical in what I ſay.
King.
Where is my Love! O tell me where!
Sir Tr.
For when we have a Prince's Ear,
We ſhould have Wit
To know what's fit
For us to ſpeak, and him to hear.
King.
Theſe dull Delays I cannot bear,
Where is my Love, O tell me where!
Sir Tr.
I ſpeak, Great Sir, with weeping Eyes,
She raves, alas! ſhe faints, ſhe dies.
King.
What doſt thou ſay? my Heart's alarm'd!
Sir Tr.
Be not, my Liege, too quickly warm'd:
[13] She raves, and faints, and dies, 'tis true;
But raves, and faints, and dies for you.
King.
Was ever Nymph like Roſamond,
So fair, ſo faithful, and ſo fond,
Adorn'd with ev'ry Charm and Grace!
My Heart's on Fire
With ſtrong Deſire,
And leaps and ſprings to her Embrace.
Sir Tr.
At the Sight of her Lover
She'll quickly recover.
What Place will you chuſe
For firſt Interviews?
King.
Full in the Center of the Grove
In you Pavilion made for Love,
Where Woodbines, Roſes, Jeſſamines,
Amaranths, and Eglantines,
With intermingling Sweets have wove
The particolour'd gay Alcove.
Sir Tr.
Your Highneſs, Sir, as I preſume,
Has choſe the moſt convenient Gloom;
There's not a Place in all the Park
Has Trees ſo thick, and Shades ſo dark.
King.
Mean while with due Attention wait
To guard the Bow'r, and watch the Gate;
Let neither Envy, Grief, nor Fear,
Nor Love-ſick Jealouſie appear,
Nor ſenſeleſs Pomp nor Noiſe intrude
On this Delicious Solitude,
But Pleaſure reign through all the Grove,
And all be Peace, and all be Love.
[14]
O the pleaſing, pleaſing Anguiſh
When we Love, and when we Languiſh!
Wiſhes riſing!
Thought ſurprizing!
Pleaſure courting!
Charms tranſporting!
Fancy viewing
Joys enſuing!
O the pleaſing, pleaſing Anguiſh!
[Exeunt.
End of the Firſt ACT.

ACT II. SCENE I.

A Pavilion in the Middle of the Bower.
King and Roſamond.
King.
THus let my weary Soul forget
Reſtleſs Glory, Martial Strife,
Anxious Pleaſures of the Great,
And gilded Cares of Life.
Roſ.
Thus let me loſe, in riſing Joys,
Fierce Impatience, fond Deſires,
Painful Abſence that deſtroys,
And Life-conſuming Fires.
King.
[15]
Not the loud Britiſh Shout that warms
The Warrior's Heart, nor claſhing Arms,
Nor Fields with hoſtile Banners ſtrow'd,
Nor Life on proſtrate Gauls beſtow'd,
Give half the Joys that fill my Breaſt,
While with my Roſamond I'm bleſt.
Roſ.
My Henry is my Soul's Delight,
My Wiſh by Day, my Dream by Night.
'Tis not in Language to impart
The ſecret Meltings of my Heart,
While I my Conqueror ſurvey,
And look my very Soul away.
King.
O may the preſent Bliſs endure
From Fortune, Time, and Death ſecure!
Both.
O may the preſent Bliſs endure!
King.
My Eye cou'd ever gaze, my Ear
Thoſe gentle Sounds cou'd ever hear.
But oh! with Noon-day Heats oppreſs'd,
My aking Temples call for Reſt!
In yon cool Grotto's artful Night
Refreſhing Slumbers I'll invite,
Then ſeek again my abſent Fair,
With all the Love a Heart can bear.
[Exit King.
Roſamond ſola.
From whence this ſad preſaging Fear,
This ſudden Sigh, this falling Tear?
[16] Oft in my ſilent Dreams by Night
With ſuch a Look I've ſeen him fly,
Wafted by Angels to the Sky,
And loſt in endleſs Tracks of Light;
While I abandon'd and forlorn,
To dark and diſmal Deſarts born,
Through lonely Wilds have ſeem'd to ſtray,
A long, uncomfortable Way.
They're Fantoms all, I'll think no more;
My Life has endleſs Joys in ſtore.
Farewel Sorrow, farewel Fear,
They're Fantoms all! my Henry's here.
SCENE A Poſtern Gate of the Bower.
Grideline and Page.
Grid.
My Stomach ſwells with ſecret Spight,
To ſee my fickle, faithleſs Knight,
With upright Geſture, goodly Mein,
Face of Olive, Coat of Green,
That charm'd the Ladies long ago,
So little his own Worth to know,
On a meer Girl his Thoughts to place,
With dimpl'd Cheeks and baby Face,
A Child! a Chit! that was not born,
When I did Town and Court adorn.
Page.
[17]
Can any Man prefer Fifteen
To Venerable Grideline?
Grid.
He does, my Child; or tell me why
With weeping Eyes ſo oft I ſpy
His Whiskers curl'd, and Shoo-ſtrings ty'd,
A new Toledo by his Side,
In Shoulder-belt ſo trimly plac'd,
With Band ſo nicely ſmooth'd and lac'd.
Page.
If Roſamond his Garb has view'd
The Knight is falſe, the Nymph ſubdu'd.
Grid.
My anxious boding Heart divines
His Falſhood by a thouſand Signs:
Oft o'er the lonely Rocks he walks,
And to the fooliſh Eccho talks;
Oft in the Glaſs he rolls his Eye,
But turns and frowns if I am by;
Then my fond eaſie Heart beguiles,
And thinks of Roſamond, and ſmiles.
Page.
Well may you feel theſe ſoft Alarms.
She has a Heart—
Grid.
—And He has Charms.
Page.
Your fears are too juſt—
Grid.
—Too plainly I've prov'd
Both.
He loves and is lov'd.
Grid.
O Mercileſs Fate!
Page.
Deplorable State!
Grid.
To die—
Page.
—To be ſlain
Grid.
[18]
By a Barbarous Swain,
Both.
That Laughs at your Pain.
Grid.
How ſhou'd I act? Can'ſt thou adviſe?
Page.
Open the Gate, if you are wiſe;
I, in an unſuſpected Hour,
May catch 'em dallying in the Bow'r,
Perhaps their looſe Amours prevent,
And keep Sir Truſty Innocent.
Grid.
Thou art in Truth
A forward Youth,
Of Wit and Parts above thy Age;
Thou know'ſt our Sex. Thou art a Page.
Page.
I'll do what I can
To ſurpriſe the falſe Man.
Grid.
An opening Scene diſcovers ano⯑ther View of the Bower.
Of ſuch a faithful Spy I've need:
Go in, and if thy Plots ſucceed
Fair Youth thou may'ſt depend on this,
I'll pay thy Service with a Kiſs.
[Exit Page.
Grideline ſola.
Prithee Cupid no more
Hurl thy Darts at Threeſcore,
To thy Girls and thy Boys
Give thy Pains and thy Joys,
Let Sir Truſty and me
From thy Frolicks be free.
[Exit Grid.
[19] Re-enter Page, ſolus.
O the ſoft delicious View,
Ever Charming, ever New!
Greens of various Shades ariſe,
Deck'd with Flow'rs of various Dies:
Paths by meeting Paths are croſt,
Alleys in winding Alleys loſt;
Fountains playing through the Trees,
Give Coolneſs to the paſſing Breeze.
A thouſand fairy Scenes appear,
Here a Grove, a Grotto here,
Here a Rock, and here a Stream,
Sweet Deluſion,
Gay Confuſion,
All a Viſion, all a Dream!
Enter Queen.
Queen.
At length the bow'ry Vaults appear!
My Boſom heaves, and pants with Fear:
A thouſand Checks my Heart controul,
A thouſand Terrors ſhake my Soul.
Page.
Behold the brazen Gate unbarr'd!
—She's fixt in Thought, I am not heard—
[Apart.
Queen.
I ſee, I ſee my Hands embru'd
In purple Streams of reeking Blood:
[20] I ſee the Victim gaſp for Breath,
And ſtart in Agonies of Death:
I ſee my raging dying Lord,
And O, I ſee my ſelf abhorr'd!
Page.
My Eyes o'erflow, my Heart is rent
To hear Britannia's Queen lament.
[Aſide.
Queen.
What ſhall my trembling Soul purſue?
Page.
Behold, Great Queen, the Place in View!
Queen.
Ye Pow'rs inſtruct me what to do!
Page. That Bow'r will ſhow
The guilty Foe.
Queen.
—It is decreed—It ſhall be ſo;
[After a Pauſe.
I cannot ſee my Lord repine
(Oh that I cou'd call him mine!)
Why have not they moſt Charms to move,
Whoſe Boſoms burn with pureſt Love!
Page.
Her Heart with Rage and Fondneſs glows.
O Jealouſie! thou Hell of Woes!
[Aſide.
That conſcious Scene of Love contains
The fatal Cauſe of all your Pains:
In yonder flow'ry Vale ſhe lies,
Where thoſe fair-bloſſom'd Arbours riſe.
Queen.
Let us haſte to deſtroy
Her Guilt and her Joy.
Wild and frantick is my Grief!
Fury driving,
Mercy ſtriving,
Heav'n in pity ſend Relief?
[21] The Pangs of Love
Ye Pow'rs remove,
Or dart your Thunder at my Head:
Love and Deſpair
What Heart can bear?
Eaſe my Soul, or ſtrike me Dead!
[Exeunt.
SCENE changes to the Pavilion as before.
Roſamond ſola.
Tranſporting Pleaſure! who can tell it!
When our longing Eyes diſcover
The kind, the dear approaching Lover,
Who can hide, or who reveal it!
A ſudden Motion ſhakes the Grove:
I hear the Steps of him I Love;
Prepare, my Soul, to meet thy Bliſs!
—Death to my Eyes! what Sight is this!
The Queen, th' offended Queen I ſee!
—Open, O Earth! and ſwallow me!
Enter the Queen with a Bowl in one Hand, and a Dag⯑ger in the other.
Queen.
Thus arm'd with double Death I come:
Behold, vain Wretch, behold thy Doom!
Thy Crimes to their full Period tend,
And ſoon by This or This ſhall end.
Roſ.
[22]
What ſhall I ſay, or how reply
To Threats of injur'd Majeſty?
Queen.
'Tis Guilt that does thy Tongue controul.
Or quickly drain the fatal Bowl,
Or this right Hand performs its part,
And plants a Dagger in thy Heart.
Roſ.
Can Britain's Queen give ſuch Commands,
Or dip in Blood thoſe ſacred Hands?
In Her ſhall ſuch Revenge be ſeen?
Far be that from Britain's Queen!
Queen.
How black does my Deſign appear?
Was ever Mercy ſo ſevere!
[Aſide.
Roſ.
When Tides of youthful Blood run high,
And Scenes of promis'd Joys are nigh,
Health preſuming,
Beauty blooming,
Oh how dreadful 'tis to die!
Queen.
To thoſe whom foul Diſhonours ſtain,
Life it ſelf ſhould be a Pain.
Roſ.
Who could reſiſt great Henry's Charms,
And drive the Heroe from her Arms?
Think on the ſoft, the tender Fires,
Melting Thoughts and gay Deſires,
That in your own warm Boſom riſe,
When languiſhing with Love-ſick Eyes
That great, that charming Man you ſee:
Think on your ſelf, and pity me!
Queen.
[23]
And doſt thou thus thy Guilt deplore!
[Offering the Dagger to her Breaſt.
Preſumptuous Woman! plead no more!
Roſ.
O Queen your lifted Arm reſtrain!
Behold theſe Tears!—
Queen.
—They flow in vain.
Roſ.
Look with Compaſſion on my Fate!
O hear my Sighs!—
Queen.
—They riſe too late:
Hope not a Day's, an Hour's Repreive.
Roſ.
Tho' I live wretched, let me live.
In ſome deep Dungeon let me lye,
Cover'd from ev'ry human Eye,
Baniſh'd the Day, debarr'd the Light;
Where Shades of everlaſting Night
May this unhappy Face diſarm,
And caſt a Veil o'er ev'ry Charm:
Offended Heav'n I'll there adore,
Nor ſee the Sun, nor Henry more.
Queen.
Moving Language, ſhining Tears,
Glowing Guilt, and graceful Fears,
Kindling Pity, kindling Rage,
At once provoke me, and aſſwage.
[Aſide
Roſ.
What ſhall I do to pacifie
Your kindled Vengeance?
Queen.
—Thou ſhalt die.
[Offering the Dagger.
Roſ.
Give me but one ſhort Moment's ſtay.
—O Henry why ſo far away?
[Aſide.
Queen.
[24]
Prepare to welter in a Flood
Of ſtreaming Gore.
[Offering the Dagger.
Roſ.
—O ſpare my Blood,
And let me graſp the deadly Bowl.
[Takes the Bowl in her Hand.
Queen.
Ye Pow'rs how Pity rends my Soul!
[Aſide.
Roſ.
Thus proſtrate at your Feet I fall.
O let me ſtill for Mercy call.
[Falling on her Knees.
Accept, Great Queen, like injur'd Heav'n,
The Soul that Begs to be Forgiv'n:
If in the lateſt Gaſp of Breath,
If in the dreadful Pains of Death,
When the cold Damp bedews your Brow,
You hope for Mercy, ſhow it now.
Queen.
Mercy to lighter Crimes is due,
Horrors and Death ſhall thine purſue.
[Offering the Dagger.
Roſ.
Thus I prevent the fatal Blow.
[Drinks.
—Whither, ah! whither ſhall I go!
Queen.
Where thy paſt Life thou ſhalt lament,
And wiſh thou had'ſt been Innocent.
Roſ.
Tyrant! to aggravate the Stroke,
And wound a Heart already broke.
My dying Soul with Fury burns,
And ſlighted Grief to Madneſs turns,
Think not, thou Author of my Woe,
That Roſamond will leave thee ſo:
At dead of Night
Aglaring Spright
[25] With hideous Screams
I'll haunt thy Dreams,
And when the painful Night withdraws,
My Henry ſhall Revenge my Cauſe.
O whither does my Frenzy drive!
Forgive my Rage, your Wrongs forgive.
My Veins are froze, my Blood grows chill,
The weary Springs of Life ſtand ſtill,
The Sleep of Death benums all o'er
My fainting Limbs, and I'm no more.
[Falls on the Couch.
Queen.
[To her At⯑tendants.
Hear, you who wait on my Commands!
Beneath thoſe Hills a Convent ſtands,
Where the fam'd Streams of Iſis ſtray;
Thither the breathleſs Coarſe convey,
And bid the Cloiſter'd Maids with care
The due Solemnities prepare.
[Exeunt with the Body.
When vanquiſh'd Foes beneath us lye
How great it is to bid them die!
But how much greater to forgive,
And bid a vanquiſh'd Foe to love!
Enter Sir Truſty in a Fright.
A breathleſs Corps! what have I ſeen!
And follow'd by the Jealous Queen!
It muſt be ſhe! my Fears are true:
The Bowl of pois'nous Juice I view.
How can the fam'd Sir Truſty live
To hear his Maſter chide and grieve?
[26] No! tho' I hate ſuch bitter Beer,
Fair Roſamond I'll pledge thee here.
[Drinks.
The King this doleful News ſhall read
In Lines of my Inditing:
Great Sir,
[Writes.
Your Roſamond is dead
As I am at this preſent writing.
The Bow'r turns round, my Brain's abus'd,
The Labyrinth grows more confus'd,
The Thickets Dance—I ſtretch, I yawn,
Death has tripp'd up my Heels—I'm gone.
[Staggers and falls.
Re-enter Queen, ſola.
The Conflict of my Mind is o'er,
And Roſamond ſhall Charm no more.
Hence ye ſecret Damps of Care,
Fierce Diſdain, and cold Deſpair,
Hence ye Fears and Doubts remove;
Hence Grief and Hate!
Ye Pains that wait
On Jealouſie, the Rage of Love.
My Henry ſhall be mine Alone,
The Heroe ſhall be All my own;
Nobler Joys poſſeſs my Heart
Than Crowns and Scepters can impart.

ACT III. SCENE I.

[27]
Scene a Grotto, Henry aſleep, a Cloud deſcends, in it two Angels ſuppos'd to be the Guardian Spirits of the Britiſh Kings in War and in Peace.
1 Ang.
BEhold th' unhappy Monarch there,
That claims our Tutelary Care!
2 Ang.
In Fields of Death around his Head
A Shield of Adamant I ſpread.
1 Ang.
In Hours of Peace unſeen, unknown,
I hover o'er the Britiſh Throne.
2 Ang.
When Hoſts of Foes with Foes engage
And round th' anointed Heroe rage,
The cleaving Fauchion I miſguide
And turn the feather'd Shaft aſide.
1 Ang.
When dark fermenting Factions ſwell,
And prompt th' Ambitious to rebel,
A thouſand Terrors I impart,
And damp the furious Traitor's Heart.
Both.
But O what Influence can remove
The Pangs of Grief, and Rage of Love!
2. Ang.
I'll fire his Soul with mighty Themes
'Till Love before Ambition fly.
1 Ang.
I'll ſooth his Cares in pleaſing Dreams
'Till Grief in joyful Raptures die.
2 Ang.
Whatever glorious and renown'd
In Britiſh Annals can be found;
Whatever Actions ſhall adorn
Britannia's Heroes yet unborn
[28] In dreadful Viſions ſhall ſucceed;
On fancy'd Fields the Gaul ſhall bleed,
Creſſy ſhall ſtand before his Eyes,
And Agincourt and Blenheim riſe.
1 Ang.
See, ſee, he ſmiles amidſt his Trance,
And ſhakes a viſionary Lance,
His Brain is fill'd with loud Alarms,
Shouting Armies, claſhing Arms,
The ſofter Prints of Love deface;
And Trumpets ſound in ev'ry Trace.
Both.
Glory ſtrives,
The Field is won,
Fame revives
And Love is gone.
1 Ang.
To calm thy Grief and lull thy Cares,
Look up and ſee
What, after long revolving Years,
Thy Bow'r ſhall be!
When Time its Beauties ſhall deface,
And only with its Ruins grace
The future Proſpect of the Place.
Scene changes to the Plan of Blen⯑heim Caſtle.
Behold the glorious Pile aſcending!
Columns ſwelling, Arches bending,
Domes in awful Pomp ariſing,
Art in curious Strokes ſurprizing,
Foes in figur'd Fights contending,
Behold the glorious Pile aſcending!
2 Ang.
He ſees, he ſees the great Reward
For Anna's mighty Chief prepar'd:
His growing Joys no Meaſure keep,
Too vehement and fierce for Sleep.
1 Ang.
[29]
Let Grief and Love at once engage,
His Heart is Proof to all their Pain;
Love may plead—
2 Ang.
—And Grief may rage—
Both.
But both ſhall plead and rage in vain.
[The Angels aſcend, and the Viſion diſ⯑appears.
Henry ſtarting from the Couch.
Where have my raviſh'd Senſes been!
What Joys, what Wonders have I ſeen!
The Scene yet ſtands before my Eye:
A thouſand glorious Deeds that lye
In deep Futurity obſcure,
Fights and Triumphs Immature,
Heroes immers'd in Time's dark Womb,
Ripening for mighty Years to come,
Break forth, and to the Day diſplay'd,
My ſoft inglorious Hours upbraid.
Tranſported with ſo bright a Scheme
My Waking Life appears a Dream.
Adieu, ye wanton Shades and Bow'rs,
Wreaths of Myrtle, Beds of Flow'rs,
Roſie Brakes,
Silver Lakes,
To Love and you
A long Adieu!
O Roſamond! O riſing Woe!
Why do my weeping Eyes o'erflow?
O Roſamond! O fair diſtreſs'd!
How ſhall my Heart, with Grief oppreſs'd,
[30] Its unrelenting Purpoſe tell;
And take the long, the laſt Farewel!
Riſe, Glory, riſe in all thy Charms,
Thy waving Creſt, and burniſh'd Arms,
Spread thy gilded Banners round,
Make thy thund'ring Courſer Bound,
Bid the Drum and Trumpet join,
Warm my Soul with Rage Divine;
All thy Pomps around thee call:
To Conquer Love will ask 'em all.
[Exit.
SCENE changes to that Part of the Bow'r where Sir Truſty lies upon the Ground, with the Bowl and Dagger on the Table.
Enter Queen
Ev'ry Star, and ev'ry Pow'r,
Look down on this important Hour:
Lend your Protection and Defence
Ev'ry Guard of Innocence!
Help me my Henry to aſſwage,
To gain his Love, or bear his Rage.
Miſterious Love, uncertain Treaſure,
Haſt thou more of Pain or Pleaſure!
Chill'd with Tears,
Kill'd with Fears,
Endleſs Torments dwell about thee:
Yet who would live, and live without thee!
But oh the Sight my Soul alarms:
My Lord appears, I'm all on Fire!
Why am I baniſh'd from his Arms?
My Heart's too full, I muſt retire.
[Retires to the End of the Stage.
[31] Enter King.
Some dreadful Birth of Fate is near:
Or why, my Soul, unus'd to fear
With ſecret Horror doſt thou ſhake?
Can Dreams ſuch dire Impreſſions make!
What means this ſolemn ſilent Show?
This Pomp of Death, this Scene of Woe!
Support me, Heav'n! What's this I read?
O Horror! Roſamond is dead.
What ſhall I ſay, or whither turn?
With Grief, and Rage, and Love, I burn:
From Thought to Thought my Soul is toſs'd,
And in the Whirle of Paſſion loſt.
Why did I not in Battle fall,
Cruſh'd with the Thunder of the Gaul?
Why did the Spear my Boſom miſs?
Ye Pow'rs, was I reſerv'd for this!
Dictracted with Woe
I'll ruſh on the Foe
To ſeek my Relief:
The Sword or the Dart
Shall pierce my ſad Heart,
And finiſh my Grief!
Queen.
Fain wou'd my Tongue his Heart appeaſe,
And give his raging Tortures Eaſe.
[Aſide.
King.
But ſee! the Cauſe of all my Fears,
The Source of all my Grief appears!
No unexpected Gueſt is here;
The fatal Bowl
Inform'd my Soul
Eleonora was too near.
Queen.
[32]
Why do I here my Lord receive?
King.
Is this the Welcome that you give?
Queen.
Thus ſhou'd divided Lovers meet?
Both.
And is it thus, ah! thus we greet!
Queen.
What in theſe guilty Shades cou'd you,
Inglorious Conqueror, purſue?
King.
Cruel Woman, what cou'd you?
Queen.
Degen'rate Thoughts have fir'd your Breaſt.
King.
The Thirſt of Blood has yours poſſeſs'd,
Queen.
A Heart ſo unrepenting,
King.
A Rage ſo unrelenting,
Both.
Will for ever
Love diſſever,
Will for ever break our Reſt.
King.
Floods of Sorrow will I ſhed
To mourn the Lovely Shade!
My Roſamond, alas, is dead,
And where, O where convey'd!
So bright a Bloom, ſo ſoft an Air,
Did ever Nymph diſcloſe!
The Lilly was not half ſo fair,
Nor half ſo ſweet the Roſe.
Queen.
How is his Heart with Anguiſh torn!
[Aſide
My Lord, I cannot ſee you Mourn,
The Living you lament: While I
To be lamented ſo cou'd Die.
King.
The Living! ſpeak, oh ſpeak again!
Why will you dally with my Pain?
Queen.
Were your lov'd Roſamond alive
Wou'd not my former Wrongs revive?
King.
[33]
Oh no, by Viſions from above,
Prepar'd for Grief, and freed from Love,
I came to take my laſt Adieu,
Queen.
How am I bleſs'd if this be true!—
[Aſide.
King.
And leave th' unhappy Nymph for you.
But O!—
Queen.
—Forbear, my Lord, to grieye,
And know your Roſamond does Live.
If 'tis Joy to wound a Lover,
How much more to give him Eaſe?
When his Paſſion we diſcover,
Oh how pleaſing 'tis to pleaſe!
The Bliſs returns, and we receive
Tranſports greater than we give.
King.
O quickly relate
This Riddle of Fate!
My Impatience forgive,
Does Roſamond live?
Queen.
The Bowl, with drowſie Juices fill'd,
From cold Egyptian Drugs diſtill'd,
In borrow'd Death has clos'd her Eyes:
But ſoon the waking Nymph ſhall riſe,
And, in a Convent plac'd, admire
The Cloiſter'd Walls, and Virgin Quire,
With them in Songs and Hymns divine
The beauteous Penitent ſhall join,
And bid the guilty World Adieu,
King.
How am I bleſt if this be true!—
[Aſide.
Queen.
Atoning for her ſelf and you.
King.
[34]
I ask no more! Secure the Fair
In Life and Bliſs: I ask not where:
For ever from my Fancy fled
May the whole World believe her dead,
That no foul Miniſter of Vice
Again my ſinking Soul intice
Its broken Paſſion to renew,
But let me live and die with you.
Queen.
How does my Heart for ſuch a Prize
The vain cenſorious World deſpiſe!
Tho' diſtant Ages, yet unborn,
For Roſamond ſhall falſly mourn;
And with the preſent Times agree,
To brand my Name with Cruelty;
How does my Heart for ſuch a Prize
The vain cenſorious World deſpiſe!
But ſee your Slave, while yet I ſpeak,
From his dull Trance unfetter'd break!
As he the Potion ſhall ſurvive
Believe your Roſamond alive.
King.
O happy Day! O pleaſing View!
My Queen forgives—
Queen.
—My Lord is true.
King.
No more I'll change,
Queen.
No more I'll grieve,
Both.
But ever thus united live.
Sir Truſty awaking.
In which World am I! all I ſee,
Ev'ry Thicket, Buſh and Tree,
[35] So like the Place from whence I came,
That one wou'd ſwear it were the ſame.
My former Legs too, by their Pace!
And by the Whiskers, 'tis my Face!
The ſelf-ſame Habit, Garb and Mien!
They ne'er wou'd bury me in Green.
Enter Grideline.
Grid.
Have I then liv'd to ſee this Hour,
And took thee in the very Bow'r?
Sir Tr.
Widow Truſty, why ſo fine?
Why doſt thou thus in Colours ſhine?
Thou ſhou'dſt thy Husband's Death bewail
In ſable Veſture, Peak and Veil.
Grid.
Forbear theſe fooliſh Freaks, and ſee
How our good King and Queen agree.
Why ſhou'd not we their Steps purſue
And do as our Superiors do?
Sir Tr.
Am I bewitch'd, or do I dream?
I know not who, or where I am,
Or what I hear, or what I ſee,
But this I'm ſure, howe'er it be,
It ſuits a Perſon in my Station
T' obſerve the Mode, and be in Faſhion.
Then let not Grideline the Chaſt
Offended be for what is paſt,
And hence anew my Vows I plight
To be a faithful courteous Knight.
Grid.
I'll too my plighted Vows renew,
Since 'tis ſo courtly to be true.
[36]
Since conjugal Paſſion
Is come into Faſhion,
And Marriage ſo bleſt on the Throne is,
Like a Venus I'll ſhine,
Be fond and be fine,
And Sir Truſty ſhall be my Adonis.
Sir Tr.
And Sir Truſty ſhall be thy Adonis.
The King and Queen advancing.
King.
Who to forbidden Joys wou'd rove,
That knows the Sweets of virtuous Love?
Hymen, thou Source of chaſt Delights,
Chearful Days, and bliſsful Nights,
Thou doſt untainted Joys diſpence,
And Pleaſure join with Innocence,
Thy Raptures laſt, and are ſincere
From future Grief and preſent Fear.
Both.
Who to forbidden Joys wou'd rove,
That knows the Sweets of virtuous Love.
FINIS.
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