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QUEEN.

They flow in vain.

ROSAMOND.

Look with compassion on my fate!
O hear my sighs!

QUEEN.

They rise too late, Hope not a day's, an hour's reprieve.

ROSAMOND.

Though I live wretched, let me live.
In some deep dungeon let me lie,
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 ey’ry charm :
Offended heaven 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 assuage.".. [Aside.

ROSAMOND.

What shall I do to pacify
Your kindled vengeance ?

QUEEN.

Thou shalt die.

[Offering the dagger.

ROSAMOND.

Give me but one short moment's stay.
-O Henry! why so far away? [Aside.

QUEEN.
Prepare to welter in a flood
Of streaming gore. [Offering the dagger,

ROSÄMOND.

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

ROSAMOND.
Thus prostrate at your feet I fall.
O let me still för mercy call !

[Falling on her knece. “ Accept, great queen, like injur'd heaven, The soul that begs to be forgiven : 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.

ROSAMOND.
Thus I prevent the fatal blow. [Drinks
-Whither, ah! whither shall I go!

QUEEN.
Where thy past life thou shalt lament,
And wish thou hadst been innocent.

ROSAMOND

Tyrant ! to aggravate the stroke,
And wound a heart already broke !
My dying soul with fury burns,
And slighted grief to madness turns.
$6 Think not, thou author of ny wo,
That Rosamond will leave thee so :

At dead of night,
A glaring sprite,

chill;

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
The weary springs of life stand still ;
The sleep of death benumbs all o'er
My fainting limbs, and I'm no more.

[Falls on the couch.

QUEEN
Hear and observe your queen's commands.

[To her attendants.
Beneath those hills a convent stands,
Where the fam’d streams of Isis stray ;
Thither the breathless corse convey,
And bid the cloister'd maids with care
The due solemnities prepare.

[Exeunt with the body. “ When vanquish'd foes beneath us lie How great it is to bid them die ! But how much greater to forgive, And bid a vanquish'd foe to live !" [Exit.

SCENE VII.

SIR TRUSTY in a fright.
A breathless corpse! 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?

No! though 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 bower 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.

1

SCENE VIII.

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 jealousy, the rage of love.

“ My Henry shall be mine alone,
The hero shall be all my own;
Nobler joys possess my heart
Than crowns and sceptres can impart."

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Scene a Grotto. Henry asleep, a cloud descends, in it

two Angels, supposed to be the guardian Spirits of the British Kings in War and in Peace.

FIRST ANGEL.

BEHOLD th' unhappy monarch theres
That claims our tutelary care !

SECOND ANGEL.
In fields of death around his head
A shield of adamant I spread.

FIRST ANGEL.
In hours of peace, unseen, unknown,
I hover o'er the British throne.

SECOND ANGEL.
When hosts of foes with foes engage,
And round th' anointed hero rage,
The cleaving falchion I misguide,
And turn the feather'd shaft aside.

FIRST ANGEL.
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 oh! what influence can remove
The
pangs of grief and rage of love!

SECOND ANGEL.
I'll fire his soul with mighty themes,

Till love before ambition fly.

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