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HENRY the SECOND; OR, THE FALL OF ROSAMOND.
[Price One Shilling and Six-Pence.]
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HENRY the SECOND; OR, THE FALL of ROSAMOND: A TRAGEDY; AS IT IS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN.
Written by THOMAS HULL.
Poor artleſs Maid, to ſtain thy ſpotleſs Name,
Expence, and Art, and Toil united ſtrove,
To lure a Breaſt that felt the pureſt Flame,
Suſtain'd by Virtue, but betray'd by Love.
SHENSTONE's ELEGIES.
LONDON: Printed for JOHN BELL, near Exeter-Exchange, Strand.
M.DCC.LXXIV.
PREFACE.
[i]I Hold it an indiſpenſible Duty to mention ſome Circumſtances, which gave Birth to the follow⯑ing Scenes, wherein I ſhall not only indulge my Pride, but, perhaps, in ſome Degree, palliate the Boldneſs, and (as it may be thought by many) Preſumption of my Underſtanding.
The Fable and Conduct of this Tragedy were projected as long ago as the Year 1761, by the late Mr. Shenſtone, at his ſweet Retirement, the Leaſowes, in Warwickſhire. Herein conſiſts my Pride, that I enjoyed a happy (but too ſhort) Intimacy with that amiable and accompliſhed Man.
In the Summer of that ſame Year, * Mr. Shen⯑ſtone had been preſent at the Performance of a haſty Alteration of Mr. Hawkins's Tragedy of Henry and Roſamond, which I produced at the Theatre at Birmingham, for the temporary Uſe of a particular Friend. Undigeſted and imperfect as it was, that excellent Judge ſaid, there was a Pathos in the Story, which, notwithſtanding the Defects of the Drama, [ii] made the Repreſentation very pleaſing; and he ſignified his Wonder that ſuch an affecting and popular Tale ſhould not have found its Way to the Stage. Hence aroſe many Converſations on the Subject, all which terminated in his adviſing me to make the Story my own. The known Kind⯑neſs of his Heart, perhaps, gave me Credit for greater Abilities, than I really poſſeſſed. He con⯑tinued to encourage me with a Warmth which flatters me in the Pecollection; and, after I had left Warwickſhire, obliged me with ſeveral Let⯑ters to the ſame Purpoſe, which I ſtill preſerve as valuable Relicts.
In one of thoſe Letters he ſuggeſted the Cha⯑racter of the Abbot; in Order, as he ſaid, to add a little more Buſineſs to a Story, which otherwiſe might be too barren to furniſh Matter for five Acts. It may eaſily be ſuppoſed I forthwith adopted his Idea, and carefully treaſured in my Mind every Sentiment he let fall on this, as well as other Subjects; and I can ſay, with great Truth, that among the many Converſations I en⯑joyed with that excellent Man, I never knew one from which I did not derive conſiderable In⯑ſtruction, as well as Delight.
The unexpected Loſs of this moſt eſtimable Friend * (which will ever be lamented by all who knew him) diſpirited me from the Undertaking, [iii] and I laid aſide my Plan, together with all his Letters, till the Beginning of laſt Year. The Scheme itſelf, it is true, had often, in the Inter⯑val, occurred to my Remembrance, but a Doubt of my Ability to execute it, even in a paſſable Manner, deterred me from the Attempt.
Mrs. Hartley's Arrival at Covent-Garden Thea⯑tre, and the warm Solicitations of a Friend, in⯑duced me once more to reſume the Deſign. The happy Suitability (if I may be allowed the Phraſe) of her Figure, to the Deſcription of Ro⯑ſamond (as may be found in Dr. Percy's amuſing and inſtructive Collection of old Ballads, Vol. ii. Page 137) viz.
Her criſped Lockes, like Threads of Golde,
Appear'd to each Man's Sight;
Her ſparkling Eyes, &c. &c.
aſſiſted by the Softneſs and Gentleneſs of her Demeanour, encouraged me, at length, to make the Attempt; and the unniverfal Aprobation given by the Public to her Appearance, Manner and Performance, on the firſt Repreſentation of this Play, happily convinced me I was not ſingular in my Opinion.
In the general Execution of the Piece I have paid a particular Attention to the old Ballad, and endeavoured at a Simplicity of Style, both which Mr. Shenſtone earneſtly recommended. I am not conſcious of any further Helps, except having [iv] adopted the Idea (not the Matter) of an Interview between the King and Clifford in the Monaſtery, from Mr. Hawkins.
I had originally made Clifford die of a broken Heart, under the S [...]ction of the Death of King Lear, as originally drawn by that great Maſter of human Nature. Shakeſpeare; but the general Opi⯑nion of the Public, and the Perſuaſions of my Friends, induced me to vary my Deſign in the Repreſentation.
I have little further to add, but my Intreaties that the Reader will be pleaſed to judge with Le⯑nity, what was undertaken with Diffidence.
Adviſed, aſſiſted, and encouraged as I was ori⯑ginally, to this Undertaking, by the Poſſeſſor of ſuch eminent Abilities, and ſuch Benignity of Diſpoſition, I ſeek no living Patron, but pride myſelf in having this Opportunity to dedicate my humble Production,
With the warmeſt Affection and Gratitude,
[]
TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM SHENSTONE, ESQ.
Weſtminſter, January 19, 1774.
PROLOGUE,
[]LONG Time oppreſs'd with painful Doubts and Fears,
At length the dread deciſive Hour appears,
The awful Trial comes! and here I ſtand,
T' abide the Verdict of my native Land.
Will not the Judge himſelf for Favour plead,
When the poor trembling Culprit owns the De [...];
When in falſe Arts he ſcorns to ſeck Support,
But throws him on the Mercy of the Court?
Such is my State, whom will Ambition draws
To ſtand the Judgment of dramatic Laws;
Bold the Attempt, (and, much I fear, in vain),
That I, the humbleſt in the Muſes' Train,
Should dare produce; in this nice-judging Age,
My own weak Efforts on the dang'rous Stage!
Had I the ſlighteſt Touch of plaintive Rowe,
Whoſe Numbers oft have bade your Sorrows flow,
Your Plaudit undiſmay'd I might implore,
And Roſamond might plead, like hapleſs Shore:
But as it is, your Kindneſs be my Friend,
For that alone I ſue—to that I bend.
If by an artleſs Tale, in artleſs Strain,
A mild and patient Hearing I obtain,
And my poor Labours o'er, behold ye part
With unpain'd Ear and undiſguſted Heart,
'Twere Triumph and Delight! but if the Lays,
Deſerve your Cenſure, which aſpir'd to Praiſe,
Ev'n to your Kindneſs will I not preſume,
Nor ſtrive to deprecate my proper Doom;
This ſole Indulgence let my Fault procure,
Mildly inflict, ſubmiſſive I endure.
CHARACTERS.
[]- HENRY II. King of England, Mr. SMITH.
- HENRY Prince of Wales, Mr. WROUGHTON.
- CLIFFORD, Mr. HULL.
- ABBOT, Mr. CLARKE.
- SALISBURY, Mr. GARDNER.
- VERULAM, Mr. R. SMITH.
- LEICESTER, Mr. THOMPSON.
- QUEEN ELEANOR, Miſs MILLER,
- ROSAMOND, Mrs. HARTLEY.
- ETHELINDA, Miſs PEARCE.
SCENE, Oxford, and Places adjacent.
HENRY the SECOND; OR, THE FALL of ROSAMOND.
[]ACT I.
SCENE, an Apartment in Saliſbury's Houſe.
Enter CLIFFORD and SALISBURY.
CLIFFORD.
SALISBURY, no more; ſeek not with empty Words
To talk down Grief like mine; hadſt thou a Child,
Whom thy fond Heart had dwell'd and doated on,
As mine on Roſamond, and felt'ſt the Pang
Of ſeeing her devote her matchleſs Beauty
To lawleſs Love, her Dignity and Virtue
To Infamy, and Shame, thou woud'ſt not brook
Vain Conſolation.
SALISBURY.
[2]Judge not I eſteem
Thy Suff'rings light, or think thy Pains will yield
To cold Philoſophy.
CLIFFORD.
No—Wou'dſt thou eaſe
The tortur'd Wretch, thou muſt ſit down beſide him,
Shed Tear for Tear, in ſympathizing Silence;
Liſt to the Tale which Sorrow loves to tell,
And, by partaking the diſlreſsful Cauſe,
Sooth the ſtrong Woe that will not be controul'd.
SALISBURY.
Give thy ſull Boſom Vent, thy Friend ſhall wait
With patient and participating Heart.
CLIFFORD.
I aſk but that; for ſhou'dſt thou weary Language,
Ranſack the Stores of ſubtle Sophiſtry,
For deepeſt Arguments—my ſimple Anſwer
Confutes and baffles all—I've loſt my Child.
SALISBURY.
I grant it, Lord, and meant alone to ſtand
A friendly Mediator 'twixt thyſelf
And the o'er-ruling Tumults of thy Mind.
I dread their Violence. Did'ſt thou not talk
O [...] Vengeauce and Redreſs? Whence ſhou'd they ſpring?
Where wou'dſt thou point them? Say, is this a Time
To add to Henry's Troubles? now, when dark
Inteſtine Feuds and foreign Foes combine
To ſhake his Throne and Peace?
CLIFFORD.
[3]Couſin, thou call'ſt
A Bluſh to theſe old Checks, at the bare Thought
Of what thy Words imply. Think'ſt thou I mean,
Had this weak Arm the higheſt Power of Vengeance,
To ſtain my native Land with civil Slaughter?
No, Heaven forefend! nor ſhould a Danger reach
My Sovereign's ſacred Life. Were there a Wretch
Accurs'd enough to raiſe his trait'rous Arm
'Gainſt Henry's Breaſt, Clifford would ruſh between,
Oppoſe himſelf to the Aſſaſſin's Point,
And glory in the Death that ſav'd his King.
SALISBURY.
My Mind's at Peace.
CLIFFORD.
So reſt it, noble Saliſbury!
Shall I be plain, and tell thee all my Weakneſs?
'Spite of ungrateful Henry's Perfidy,
'Spite of the Sorrows that aſſail my Heart,
I love him ſtill, I love this royal Robber.
In early Youth I led him to the Field,
Train'd his advent'rous Spirit, ſhar'd his Dangers,
And by his Side maintain'd my Country's Honour,
In many a gallant Feat; Oh, hard Return!
How hath he paid this Love!
SALISBURY.
When headlong Paſſions
Miſlead him not from his inſtinctive Greatneſs,
How nobly ſhews he! Wiſdom, Learning, Policy,
Inform his Mind, and gen'rous Honour ſways it.
CLIFFORD.
[4]Where was it fled, that Guardian of Man's Heart
When, with infidious Arts, in evil Hour,
He lur'd my chaſte, my duteous Roſamond
From Virtue and Obedience? Was ſhe not
All that a Parent's fondeſt Wiſh could form?
In vain her modeſt Grace and Diffidence
Bore the dear Semblance of her Mother's Sweetneſs,
And promis'd an unſullied Length of Days.
She's loſt, and the bright Glories of our Line
Are ſtain'd in her Diſgrace.
SALISBURY.
Thy pious Heart,
Alive to all the Dangers and Miſhaps
That wait on tempting, Beauty, doth not need
My interpoſing Voice to wake ſoft Pity
For the loſt Roſamond. The Love of Goodneſs
Not wholly leaves the Breaſt that Error ſtains,
But oft abides, a wholeſome Monitor,
To call the miſerable Culprit back
To its forſaken Laws. So may it fare
With her. 'Tis true the King, when in her Sight,
Engroſſes all her Thoughts; but in her ſecret
And ſolitary Hours, ſad ſhe regrets
Her ruin'd Innocence, and mourns that Love
Which led her to deſtroy a Father's Peace,
And ſtain the Honours of a ſpotleſs Line.
CLIFFORD.
To ſave her from a deeper Plunge in Guilt
Is all my preſent Purpoſe; 'gainſt the King,
No other Weapons do I mean to uſe,
But thoſe which beſt become the manly Heart,
Reaſon and Conſcience; let him give her back,
[5] Stain'd and diſhonour'd as the Mourner is,
Let him reſtore her to theſe aged Arms,
I aſk no more.
SALISBURY.
Unfold thy utmoſt Wiſh,
And if a Friend's Aſſiſtance may avail,
Command thy Kinſman's warmeſt Services.
CLIFFORD.
Conceal my being here; let not the King
Know Clifford treads theſe Bounds; he muſt be won
To my Diſcourſe, unconſcious who I am.
I have devis'd a Means—enquire not now,
But patient aid me, and await the Iſſue.
I have good Hopes that all the gen'rous Fires,
Which warm'd his noble Heart, are not extinct;
If ſo, I may once more embrace my Child,
My ſtill dear Roſamond.—Blame not my Weakneſs,
I cannot loſe the Father in the Judge,
I ſeek not to inflict but baniſh Pain;
T' awaken in her Breaſt a juſt Remorſe
For her paſt Failings; and entice her Steps
To ſome ſerene Abode, where Penitence
And Contemplation dwell, and jointly ſooth
The contrite Sinner's Mind, with glowing Hopes
Of Heaven's Indulgence, and its promis'd Grace.
[Exeunt.
[6] SCENE II. A retir'd Grove belonging to the Palace.
Enter Prince of WALES and LEICESTER.
PRINCE.
My Spirit will not brook it! What avails
The empty Name and Title of a King,
Without imperial Pow'r! why with his Son
Divide his Throne, unleſs he meant to grant
A Share of that ſupreme Authority,
Which only lends Stability to Greatneſs
And gives its higheſt Luſtre—to be caught
With the gay tinſell'd Garb of Royalty,
Befits an Ideot only; let him know
That Henry's Son inherits Henry's Pride,
And may in Time, with daring Hand, aſſume
What now he is debarr'd.
LEICESTER.
Your Wrongs are great;
But be not too precipitate and raſh,
Leſt you therein defeat the Means by which
You wiſh to gain. Beware, the watchful Eye
Of Curioſity beſets our Paths;
Speak not ſo loud.
PRINCE.
What Danger? Shou'd the King
Himſelf o'er-hear, confront me Face to Face,
I would not ſhrink; mine Eye ſhould not abate
Its angry Fire, nor my ſunk Heart recall
The ſmalleſt Drop of that indignant Blood
That paints my glowing Cheek; but I wou'd ſpeak,
[7] Avow, proclaim, and boaſt my ſettled Purpoſe:
I have a double Cauſe to urge me on,
A royal Mother's Wrongs join'd to my own.
Do I not ſee her injur'd, ſcorn'd, abandon'd,
For the looſe Pleaſures of a Wanton's Bed,
His beauteous Minion, whom embower'd he keeps
In Woodſtock's mazy Walks? Shall he do this
Un-notic'd, un-reproach'd, yet dare to check
My honeſt Ardour? He hath yet to learn,
That Parent who expects his Son to walk
Within the decent Pale of rigid Duty,
Should keep a heedful Watch o'er his own Steps,
And by his Practice well enforce the Doctrine
He means to have him learn.
LEICESTER.
Yet check this Paſſion,
And hear the Dictates of my cooler Mind.
Is not the Council here conven'd this Morn,
By Henry's Order, to debate the Courteſy
Of the French Monarch, who even now invites
Thy royal Preſence to his gallant Court,
On friendly Viſit?
PRINCE.
Yes—and here the Partner
In England's Throne waits, till their mighty Wiſdoms
Shall have determin'd what his Courſe muſt be,
And deign to call him in; waits like a ſervile
And needy Penſioner, that aſks a Boon.
LEICESTER.
Again you lapſe into this wild Extreme.
Forget a while Ambition and Revenge,
And court cool Wiſdom; act the Politician;
Play to their Humours, yield to their Decrees;
Uſe this French Journey, as the happy Step
To mount to your Deſires.—Tho' here depriv'd
[8] Of Pow'r, in Normandy your Half-King Title
Enables you to ſcatter Favours round,
Such as ſhall gain you popular Applauſe
And win your Subjects' Hearts—This Point obtain'd,
All you can aſk is yours; you may command
Where now you ſue, and Henry's Self may fear
Your Potency, and grant your higheſt Wiſh.
PRINCE.
By Heav'n thou haſt inflam'd my eager Soul
With bright Imaginations of Renown,
Of Conqueſt and Ambition; I a while
Will try to ſooth this proudly ſwelling Heart,
Into mild Heavings, and ſubmiſſive Calms,
For this great Purpoſe.
LEICESTER.
To your Aims devoted,
I'll privily away, and meet you there;
Will worm myſelf into each Norman Breaſt;
Pour in their greedy Ears your early Virtues,
Your Love of them, their Intereſt and Honour;
Then join in any hardy Enterpriſe
That Fore-thought can ſuggeſt, and win the Palm,
Or die beſide thee.
PRINCE.
Gen'rous, gallant Friend!
I have not Words to thank thee—to my Breaſt
Let me receive the Guardian of my Glory,
In full Aſſurance that his noble Friendſhip
Shall never be forgot.
LEICESTER.
Behold, the Queen;
She moves this way.
PRINCE.
[9]I will retire a while;
I would not meet her, till this hop'd Departure
Be fix'd irrevocably, leſt her fond
Maternal Love and Softneſs might prevail
O'er that inſtinctive Yielding in the Breaſt,
Which Nature wakens when a Mother ſues,
And win ſome Promiſe from my pliant Heart,
That I ſhould ſcorn to break.
[Exit.
LEICESTER.
What if I try
To win her to our Cauſe? The frequent Wrongs
Which fire her haughty Mind, join'd to Affection
For her young Henry, may engage her Help
In any Scheme that promiſes Revenge.
But ſoft—the preſent is no Time for that;
For with her comes that buſy meddling Abbot,
That Dealer in dark Wiles, who rules and guides
The Conſciences of all who weakly crouch
To his Mock-Sanctity. I will avoid him—
Even now ſome Miſchief broods within his Mind!
Perhaps tow'rd me; for he, of late, hath ſhewn me
Marks of Reſpect and Courteſy, wherein
He was not wont to deal. Time only will
Explain the Object of his preſent Aims,
For in his Proteus-Face, or even his Words,
No ſmalleſt Trace of what employs his Thoughts
Can ever be deſcry'd.
[Exit.
Enter QUEEN and ABBOT.
QUEEN.
Tell me no more
Of long-protracted Schemes and tedious Wiles;
My Soul is all Impatience: Talk to me
Of Vengeance, ſpeedy Vengeance.
ABBOT.
[10]What can be
Devis'd to puniſh, pain, and mortify,
Beyond what is enjoin'd on Henry's Head?
Tho' diſtant from the venerable Shrine,
Where martyr'd Becket's ſacred Blood was ſpill'd,
Is he exempt from Penance? Doth not here
Our careful Mother-Church purſue her Foe?
Is he not nightly doom'd to tread the lone
And ſolemn Iſles of Ida's holy Houſe,
In deep Attonement for the barb'rous Fall
Of that dear murder'd Saint?
QUEEN.
And what attones
For Eleanor's loud Wrongs, her murder'd Peace?
Will all the Penances e'er yet devis'd
By droniſh Prieſts, relieve my tortur'd Heart?
Will they recall my Henry's truant Love,
Or blaſt the Charms of that deluding Witch,
Who lures him from me? This is the Redreſs
Which Eleanor demands—this the Revenge
Alone, which ſhe can condeſcend to take.
ABBOT.
Nor is this paſt my Hope to purchaſe for you:
My Thoughts, devote to you and your Repoſe,
Continually labour for your Good.
Alas! you know not, mighty Queen, the Sighs
My Heart has heav'd, the Tears mine Eyes have ſhed,
For your injurious Treatment; and, even now,
Would you but bid your juſt Reſentment cool,
I think the wiſh'd Occaſion is at Hand,
That gratifies your moſt enlarg'd Deſire.
QUEEN.
[11]Thy Words are Balſam to my wounded Peace.
Go on, go on; dwell on this pleaſing Strain,
And I will worſhip thee.
ABBOT.
Is not the Council
Conven'd by Henry? Do they not decree
Your darling Son ſhall ſtrait for France?
QUEEN.
Ay, there
Again is England's Queen inſulted, mock'd—
Have I no Right of Choice? Shall the dear Boy,
Whoſe noble Spirit feels his Mother's Wrongs,
Shall he be baniſh'd from me, torn away,
My only Comforter?
ABBOT.
He muſt not go.
You muſt prevent it—practiſe every Art;
Nay, bid your Pride and fierce Reſentment bend
To ſoft Requeſt and humbleſt Supplication,
Ere ſuffer his Departure.
QUEEN.
Tell me, Father,
How this is to be done. Canſt thou ſpeak Peace
To the tumultuous Boſom of the Deep,
When the loud Tempeſt tears it? Can I meet
With patient Meekneſs my Oppreſſor's Sight?
Wear an apparent Calmneſs in my Face,
While heaving Anguiſh ſtruggles in my Mind?
It will not be.
ABBOT.
[12]There are no other Means,
What tho' the Council urge State-Policy,
And Public-Good, for their Conſent herein,
Their inward Aim is to oblige the King,
Who labours this great Point. And what's his Drift?
No courteous Scheme, to pleaſe his Brother France:
But merely to remove the gallant Prince.
QUEEN.
Say'ſt thou?
ABBOT.
He fears a Rival in the Hearts
Of diſcontented Subjects; the brave Youth,
With Speech undaunted, that diſdains Diſguiſe,
Hath freely ſpoke your Wrongs: Hence Jealouſy
Broods in the King, leſt your aſpiring Son
May prove, in Time, a Bane to his Purſuits,
In wanton Dalliance, and illicit Love.
QUEEN.
Is this the End of all his boaſted Care
For my Son's Weal, his Happineſs and Honour?
This the great Cauſe his Brother France muſt ſee
Th' all-praiſed Heir of England's mighty Throne?
Oh, Henry! Whither is thy Greatneſs ſled?
Is thy bold Pride, thy Majeſty of Heart,
Sunk in low Stratagems and mean Deceits?
So will it ever be, when Perfidy
Pollutes the Soul; the Senſe of Honour flies,
And Fraud and Meanneſs fill the vacant Seat.
ABBOT.
Loſe not the precious Hours in uſeleſs Reaſonings;
Speed to the Preſence; ſeize the firſt fair Moment:
Hang on his Garment, claſp his ſtubborn Knees;
[13] Foil Art with Art, and practiſe every Means
To win the King from this abhorr'd Deſign.
QUEEN.
I go; howe'er ill-ſuited to the Taſk,
I will eſſay it.—Stoop, exalted Heart,
A Moment ſtoop; and, Tongue, learn thou a new,
An unbeſeeming Leſſon; let the Cauſe,
The noble Motive, conſecrate the Means.
Remember, Eleanor, thou fall'ſt a while,
To riſe more glorious; to record thy Name
Amid the faireſt Legends of Renown,
A brave Avenger of thy Sex's Wrongs.
[Exit.
ABBOT.
Go, ſhallow Woman! thy impatient Soul,
That mounts to Frenzy at each ſlight Surmiſe
Of Injury, makes thee a precious Tool
For deep-laid Policy to work withal.
The Prince muſt here abide—his tow'ring Pride,
And Leiceſter's hot and enterprizing Genius,
Aſſiſted by my ſubtle Aid, may raiſe
A Storm that ſhall deſtroy this haughty King,
This Poiſon to our Cauſe and holy Order.
Henry, thou know'ſt not what a Foe thou haſt
In this un-mitigable Breaſt—my Soul
Abhors thee, and will never know Repoſe,
Till thou haſt fall'n a Victim to my Rage.
The greateſt, nobleſt Cauſe inſpires my Deeds!
Look down, Oh, ſainted Becket! with Delight,
On thy true Servant! Let thy bleſſed Spirit
Aſſiſt my Purpoſe, while I ſeek Revenge
On him who dar'd inſult our holy Faith,
By inſtigating ſacrilegious Hands
With thy dear Blood to ſtain our hallow'd Shrines.
[Exit.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
ACT II.
[14]SCENE, an Apartment in the Palace.
Enter the KING and VERULAM.
KING.
TRUE, Verulam, and it muſt be thy Care
To check this growing Pride, which mounts ſo faſt,
And like the forward Sapling boldly ſtrives
To emulate the lofty Cedar's Height,
Which long hath tower'd in unrivall'd Strength,
The Glory of the Wood.
VERULAM.
That Zeal and Love,
Which hitherto hath won my Maſter's Confidence,
Long as the Life-blood warms this aged Heart,
Shall be employ'd to ſerve him: but this aſks
The niceſt Caution; ſoft Advice muſt ſooth
His head-ſtrong Spirit, that, on the leaſt Surmiſe
Of an uſurp'd Authority, would ſtart
Aſide, indignant of Controul.
KING.
To thee,
Thy Love and Prudence, we confide the Whole.
Thy poliſh'd Senſe, thy Knowledge of Mankind,
And long Experience, render thee moſt fit
For this great Taſk.
VERULAM.
The Time of his Departure,
Is it yet fix'd?
KING.
[15]On our Decree alone
That Point depends; he ſhall with Speed away;
Theſe rude Commotions, that aſſail us round,
May call us from our Realm; ſhould it prove ſo,
He muſt not here remain; his Stay were fatal.
VERULAM.
Not ſo, I hope, my Liege.
KING.
Prudence enjoins
Our ſtricteſt Caution. What his own Ambition
Might of itſelf attempt, we cannot ſay,
But there's a farther Danger to be fear'd.
VERULAM.
His Virtues will defend him from ſuch Deeds,
As Honour and Obedience muſt alike
Condemn; and he has Virtues which, I truſt,
Will caſt a Luſtre o'er his riſing Years,
When the ſlight Indiſeretions of his Youth
Are buried in Oblivion.
KING.
I truſt ſo, too;
Yet, Verulam, where ſplendid Virtues grow
Great Errors alſo ſhoot; his Time of Life
Is now in that capricious, wavering State,
When the ſoft Boſom is ſuſceptible
Of ev'ry new Impreſſion; his Colleague,
(From whom we wiſh him ſunder'd) ſubtle Leiceſter,
Is ever at his Ear, watchful to ſeize
Th' unguarded Moment of the youthful Heart,
When dark Inſinuations may prevail
Upon his ductile Mind. Be thou in Readineſs,
On our firſt Notice.
VERULAM.
[16]This important Point,
Which waited only, what this Morn hath given,
The Council's Sanction, hath been long debated.
I am prepar'd, my Leige.
KING.
Behold our Son!
Enter the PRINCE.
Henry, the Council, zealous for thy Welfare,
The ripe Improvement of thy growing Virtues,
And the ſucceſſive Glories of our Line,
Have by their Voices ſanctified our Will,
In thy Departure hence. Go, reap that Profit
Which the diſcerning and ingenious Mind
Gains from new Climes, that Knowledge of the World,
Of Laws, of Cuſtoms, Policy, and States,
Which Obſervation yields alone, and Books
And learned Guides imperfectly convey.
PRINCE.
I thank my Father's Love; the Council wiſely
Bend to thy Will; they but allot what elſe
Had been demanded by the future Heir,
And preſent Partner in th' imperial Seat.
My glowing Youth and kindling Spirit ſcorn
To live coop'd up within one ſcanty Bound:
Would Life permit, it were Delight to trace
Each ſcepter'd Region of the peopled World,
To mark, compare, define their various Modes,
And glean the Wiſdom that reſults from all.
KING.
Bleſt in th' Inheritance of England's Throne,
This Ardour well beſits thee. Go, my Henry,
Viſit our Brother France; there ſhine a Star
Of this rich Diadem; let the bright Dawn
[17] Of thy young Virtues glitter in their Eyes;
Thoſe Virtues which ſhall grace this glorious Iſle,
When we are low in Duſt.
PRINCE.
And ſhew a Heart
Prepar'd to vindicate each royal Due,
With the laſt Drop that warms its ſwelling Veins.
KING.
Spoke with a free-born Spirit—Yet beware,
Be not impetuous to graſp at Power,
Nor uſe it, when obtain'd, beyond the Limits
Of Reaſon and Uprightneſs; in the Monarch
Do not forget the Man. This honeſt Lord,
An able Counſellor and ſteady Friend,
We make Companion of thy Expedition;
Receive him, Henry, from thy Father's Hand,
Worthy thy Friendſhip, wear him near thy Heart;
And ſhould ſome haſty Warmth miſlead thy Youth,
Be his white Hairs the rev'rend Monitors,
To warn thee back to the neglected Path,
From which thy Steps had ſtray'd.
PRINCE.
I love his Virtues,
And thus receive the Man my Sire eſteems.
Enter the QUEEN.
QUEEN.
Muſt I then loſe him? Is he not my Son?
Or has a Mother's Tongue no Right to plead
In her own Sufferings? Oh, my Lord, my Henry,
Stand thou between thy Wife, and the hard Sentence
Of Men, who feel not the ſoft Ties of Nature,
And give me back my Boy.
KING.
[18]Madam, forbear!
Parental Feelings in my Boſom ſway,
Strong as in thine. Is he not loſt alike
To Henry as to Eleanor? Subdue
This unbecoming Weakneſs, that prefers
Self-Satisfaction to the public Weal.
He muſt away.
QUEEN.
Alas! there was a Time
When Henry's Speech had falter'd o'er and o'er,
Ere he had utter'd, with determin'd Breath,
So harſh a Sentence. Is that Time forgot?
—Nay, turn not from me, Henry! doth thy Heart
Shame to avow the Gueſts it harbour'd once,
Fond Love and gentle Pity?
PRINCE.
Ceaſe, my Mother,
Oh, ceaſe to interrupt my Courſe of Glory;
I go but for a Seaſon, to return
More worthy thy Endearments.
QUEEN.
Art thou, too,
A Traitor to my Peace? And doſt thou wiſh
To fly a Mother's Arms? To leave her here,
Helpleſs and unprotected! Oh, my Son!
Oppoſe not thou my Wiſh, but rather join
To melt a Father's Heart.
KING.
'Twere uſeleſs, Madam;
Think who thy Huſband is, and what his Ties.
How light, how wavering muſt he appear
In public Eyes, ſhould he abjure the Point
He hath juſt labour'd! Recollect thyſelf—
[19] Thou canſt not wiſh him ſo to ſlight the Claim [...]
Of Wiſdom, and of Honour.
QUEEN.
Nor the Claims,
The ſoft'ning Duties of domeſtic Life;
The Claims of Happineſs, of inward Peace,
Which long my Heart hath ſigh'd for.
KING.
Eleanor,
Once more, remember who we are; a King
That will not brook to be arraign'd and ſchool'd
For petty Indiſcretions. Henry judges
His own Miſ-doings, and the Chaſtiſement
Muſt be inflicted by his conſcious Mind,
Not the bold Railings of another's Tongue.
QUEEN.
I will be mild, be patient, be advis'd;
I do recall my Words, revoke each free,
Each haſty Breath of my unguarded Speech,
Which hath offended thee; henceforth I bend
My Temper to thy Will, thy niceſt Wiſh,
So I may keep my Son.
KING.
No more—thou aſkeſt
What cannot be.
QUEEN.
Thus lowly on my Knee
Will I turn Suppliant for him.
KING.
Oh, forbear!
That Poſture ill becomes us both. I grieve
Thou ſhou'dſt be ſo importunate, for what
We muſt not, cannot, will not grant.
QUEEN.
[20]For this
Have I debas'd myſelf? Hath England's Queen
Bent lowly to the Earth, to be denied
A Suit, the Mother had a Right to claim?
My Heart ſwells high, indignant of the Meanneſs,
And ſcorns itſelf for ſuch Servility.
KING.
Prefer a proper Suit, thou can'ſt not aſk
What Henry ſhall refuſe.
QUEEN.
Oh no! Thy Grants,
Thy kind conſenting Smiles, thy ſoothing Accents,
Thy Love, thy Faith, are all withdrawn from Eleanor,
And given to another; conſcious Shame
O'er-pow'rs me, while I own they once were dear:
But I will now forget them, raſe them out
From my officious Mem'ry, which hath dar'd
To call them back to my inſulted Heart.
KING.
Well doth this Railing, which thy Fury promis'd,
Warn us to part; our Kindneſs meant to give
Some Days Indulgence to the Mother's Feelings.
QUEEN.
I ſcorn both that and thee.
PRINCE,
[Aſide.]
My Boſom ſwells,
Impatient of her Wrongs—down, down, a while,
The Time—the Time will come—
KING.
[21]Lord Verulam▪
Prepare thee, on the Inſtant; he ſhall hence
Before yon Sun decline. If thou haſt aught
Of Love or Duty for thy Mother's Ear,
Thou haſt free Licenſe, Henry, to employ
The preſent Moments in that pious Office;
Yet take good Heed—let not a Woman's Weakneſs
Melt thy Reſolves, and tempt thee to forget
The Debt thou ow'ſt thy Country and thy King.
[Exit with Verulam.
PRINCE.
Reſtrain thoſe precious Drops, my deareſt Mother,
That trembling ſtand in thy ſwoll'n Eyes, and ſhew
Like the full Bubblings on the Fountain's Brim,
Preſſing to paſs their Bounds; abate this Grief,
And bid thy Boſom reſt.
QUEEN.
If thou behold'ſt
One Tear diſgrace mine Eye, fierce Indignation,
Not Grief, hath call'd it forth—away, away—
Seem not ſolicitous about the Cauſe
That pains thee not; thou art no more a Son,
No more a Comfort to thy Mother's Woe.
PRINCE.
Oh, by the Hopes I have of future Fame,
I do not merit theſe ungentle Terms.
Revoke thy Words—reſume thoſe gentle Strains,
Which wont to fall upon thy Henry's Ear,
And Nature's Feelings will unfluice my Heart
In Blood to thy Complainings.
QUEEN.
[22]Art not thou
Join'd with the reſt, a Foe to my Repoſe?
See'ſt thou not how thy Mother is neglected,
Abandon'd, ſcorn'd? Yet thou canſt yield Obedience
To the Decrees of him who thus inſults me,
And leave me to my Wrongs.
PRINCE.
Can I oppoſe
A Parent's abſolute Command? Oh, Madam!
Think on my State, how critically nice;
'Twixt two ſuch urgent Claims, how hard to judge!
I muſt reſiſt a King and Father's Power,
Or ſeem neglectful of a Mother's Woes.
Judge me not ſo; even while I own the Strength
Of this imperial Mandate, and prepare
To ſpeed for France, I feel for your Afflictions,
Lament your helpleſs State, and could, with Joy,
Yield up my Life, to ſave you from Diſgrace.
QUEEN.
There ſpoke my Son again! Oh, my dear Henry!
If thy Soul's Truth confirms theſe precious Words,
(And that it does, I truſt that ſtarting Tear)
Reflect what further muſt betide my Life,
What future Hoards of Miſery and Shame
Fate hath to pour upon my wretched Head.
My Share in the imperial Seat, my Life
Even now, perchance, is doubtful; all Ills threaten;
And when the mighty Meaſure is complete,
When every Breaſt, but thine, is callous tow'rd me,
Muſt I call out in vain for my Defender?
Or muſt I yield my Spirit to my Wrongs,
And poorly die beneath them?
PRINCE.
[23]Ere the Hour
Arrive, that ſhould behold that dire Event,
I would myſelf redreſs thee, wou'd excite
My Norman Subjects in thy juſt Defence;
Wou'd head them, and oppoſe my vengeful Sword
To each oppreſſive Breaſt, (ſave One alone)
To vindicate thy Rights.
Enter VERULAM.
VERULAM.
The King, my Lord,
Expects you.
PRINCE.
I attend him ſtrait.
[Exit Verulam.
QUEEN.
This Haſte
Hath Malice in it.
PRINCE.
Heed it not, my Mother;
This Journey (if my Gueſs deceive me not)
Shall be the Source of Good; and on thy Head
May all that Good deſcend! Be Death my Lot,
So I give Peace to thee!
QUEEN.
I will not ſhame
Thy noble Spirit with weak wom'niſh Tears,
Or one diſgraceful Sigh. Wilt thou remember
Thy Mother's Wrongs?
PRINCE.
[24]I will.
QUEEN.
Adieu, begone;
[Exit Prince.
Glory and Bliſs be thine! This gallant Boy
(So my prophetic Mind forebodes) ſhall prove
My great Avenger, and Oppreſſion's Scourge.
Perfidious Henry! thou impell'ſt my Soul
To theſe Extremes; thou mak'ſt me what I am.
Hadſt thou continu'd, what I knew thee once,
Endearing, tender, fond—but hence the Thought!
Let me ſhun that, leſt my great Heart recoil,
And ſhrink inglorious from its mighty Taſk.
Why comes he not? This Abbot! Oh, 'tis well.
Enter the ABBOT.
Where are thy Councils now? Thy ſubtle Schemes?
All weak and un-availing—I am loſt;
Sunk in my own Eſteem; have meanly bent
Beneath injurious Henry's lordly Pride,
And heard my Prayers rejected.
ABBOT.
Hapleſs Queen!
Thy Wrongs, indeed, cry loud.
QUEEN.
My Son's torn from me.
ABBOT.
I've heard it all.
QUEEN.
[25]And ſat inactive down,
To wait the ſlow Events of Time and Chance!
ABBOT.
Miſdeem me not, great Queen; I have revolv'd
Each Circumſtance, with niceſt Scrutiny;
Ev'n from this Journey, which we wiſh'd to thwart,
Much Good may be deriv'd; if the Prince breathe
The Spirit of his Mother—
QUEEN.
Peace! my Policy
Hath flown before thee there; I have explor'd
His active Spirit; found him what I hop'd:
For me he ſallies forth; for me returns,
To vindicate my Rights.
ABBOT.
As we cou'd wiſh;
And a ſharp Spur, to forward his Deſigns
In any daring Enterprize, is Leiceſter.
By ſecret Emiſſaries I have learn'd,
Within this Hour, that warm, ambitious Friend
Withdraws from Court, and ſpeeds to join the Prince
In Normandy.
QUEEN.
But what avail theſe Views,
Of diſtant Vengeance, to my preſent Pangs?
Here I endure the Bitterneſs of Woe,
While my curſt Rival, bane of all my Joys,
Dwells in Tranquility and ſoft Content;
In placid Eaſe, within her Fairy-Bower,
Enjoys my Henry's Smiles, his fond Endearments,
And Vows of Love—Ah! due to me alone!
ABBOT.
[26]That Dream ſhall vaniſh quickly.
QUEEN.
Say'ſt thou, Father?
ABBOT.
This very Evening, my religious Function
Demands me at the Fair-one's Bower.
QUEEN.
The Fiend's—
ABBOT.
To thy ſole Uſe the Time ſhall be employ'd.
I will awaken in her tim'rous Mind
The Dangers of her State; load her with Scruples;
Then work her Temper to ſome dang'rous Scheme,
That ſhall undo her Favour with the King.
QUEEN.
Its Nature?—Speak—
ABBOT.
Tax me not, gracious Miſtreſs,
To farther Explanation—Let me have
The Triumph and Delight to pour at once
My ſubtle Scheme, and its deſir'd Succeſs,
In thy enraptur'd Ear.
QUEEN.
Enough—go on,
And give me this great Comfort; let me hear
The Sorcereſs is ſundered from his Arms;
Work me this Miracle—Renown, and Wealth,
Unbounded Power, and royal Patronage
Shall be thy great Reward.
[Exit.
ABBOT.
[27]For Wealth and Power
I on myſelf alone depend—Vain Dreamer!
Who weakly canſt ſuppoſe I toil for thee.
No, I have further, higher Views, beyond
Thy feeble Stretch;—the ſupple Roſamond
Shall prove a greater Bane to thy Repoſe,
Than thou divin'ſt; her will I inſtigate,
With her ſoft Blandiſhments and witching Phraſe,
To practiſe on her Lover, till ſhe lure him
To caſt thee from thy regal Dignities,
Divorce thee from his Bed and Throne; that done,
Th' Enchantreſs riſes to the vacant Seat;
Thus one great Point of my Deſire is gain'd;
Power uncontroulable awaits my Nod:
The Gewgaw, dazzl'd with her Pomp, ſhall
Rule the King, and I rule all, by ruling her.
[Exit.
SCENE changes to a Cloiſter.
Enter CLIFFORD, dreſſed as an Abbot.
CLIFFORD.
Thou Garb, for holy Purpoſes deſign'd,
Aſſiſt my honeſt Artifice; conceal
My aged Form from Recollection's Trace,
And be my Paſſport to my mourning Child,
I'll hallow thee with Gratitude and Tears.
This is the awful Hour, if right I learn,
When in theſe ſolemn Iſles the royal Henry
Treads, Pilgrim-like, theſe Flints, and pours his Soul
In Sighs for murder'd Becket—where, alas!
Where are the deep Laments, the bitter Tears,
Which he ſhould ſhed for Clifford's ruin'd Peace?
He comes, the great Diſturber of my Breaſt:
Ev'n noble in his Guilt!—my Heart avows
[28] The fond Affection that I bore his Youth,
And melts within me.—Let me ſhun his Sight
A Moment, to retrieve my ſinking Spirit.
[Retires.
Enter the KING, as a Pilgrim.
KING.
Muſt it be ever thus? ſtill doom'd to tread
This ſullen Courſe, and for a bitter Foe?
Becket, tho' in his Grave, torments me ſtill.
And what avails it him, who ſleeps unconſcious
Of my forc'd Penance? Heart, reſume thy Strength!
Rouſe thee! reſiſt the bigot Impoſition,
And be thyſelf again.
CLIFFORD.
Who thus vents forth
[Advancing▪
His ſore Diſquiets?
KING.
What is he who aſks?
If yon expiring Lamp deceive me not,
Thy Garb betokens a religious Function.
CLIFFORD.
Thou judgeſt well.
KING.
Inform me, holy Guide,
What boot the Puniſhments your Laws enjoin?
Self-Caſtigation, balmy Sleep renounc'd,
And lonely Wand'rings o'er the rugged Flint,
Thro' the long-cloiſter'd Iſle?
CLIFFORD.
Much, pious Stranger,
Much they avail: within theſe ſilent Walls
Chaſte Contemplation dwells; this hallow'd Gloom
Inſpires religious Muſings, ardent Prayer,
[29] Which, by their ſervid Impulſe, waft the Soul
Of erring Man, above this Vale of Weakneſs,
And teach him to regain, by heavenly Aid,
What he had forfeited by human Frailty.
KING.
Divinely ſpoke! But well may'ſt thou declaim
On their Utility, who ne'er haſt felt
Their harſh Severities—Thou haply canſt
Produce the Legend of a Life unſtain'd.
CLIFFORD.
No—would to Heaven I had that Boaſt; but rank'd
'Mongſt Error's Sons, I ſhare the general Lot.
Too numerous are my Faults; but one, alas!
Beyond the reſt I mourn—Spare me a Moment,
While I give Reſpite to my ſwelling Grief.
KING.
Methinks thou haſt involv'd me in a Share
Of thy Diſtreſs. For what art thou enjoin'd
This rigid Duty, ſimilar to mine?
Who hath inflicted it?
CLIFFORD.
Myſelf—my Conſcience.
KING.
Thyſelf!
CLIFFORD.
The Mind that feels its own Demerits,
Needs no Infliction from another's Tongue.
KING.
My Ears, my Soul, are open to thy Words—
Give me to know thy Crime.
CLIFFORD.
[30]How can I utter it,
And not ſink down with Shame?
KING.
Let Shame betide
The coward Heart that will not own its Frailties;
If there's a Grace in Man ſuperior far
To all beſide, it muſt be that true Pride,
That bids him ſpeak his own Miſdeeds. Proceed.
CLIFFORD.
I had a Friend—the Darling of my Soul—
He lov'd, he honour'd me—the Trade of War
He taught my Youth; in many a hardy Field
Have we together ſought, aſſerted England's
And noble Henry's Fame, Henry, the greateſt,
The beſt of Kings!—
KING.
Oh, painful Recollection!
[Aſide.
Thou once hadſt ſuch a Friend, ungrateful Henry!
CLIFFORD.
A Length of Brotherhood we 'joy'd together,
Till all its Bleſſedneſs was ſpoil'd by me.
He had a Daughter, beauteous as the Eye
Of Fancy ere imagin'd—
KING.
Spare me, ſpare me—
Oh, bitter Tale! thou hadſt a Daughter, Clifford!
[Aſide,
CLIFFORD.
I mark'd her for my own; pour'd the falſe Tale
Of wily Love into her credulous Ear,
And won her artleſs Heart.
KING
[31]Tumultrous Pangs
[Aſide.
Ruſh like a Torrent thro' my burſting Breaſt;—
My Crime, reflected by this Stranger's Tale,
Glares frightful on me! Till this Hour, I knew not
My Treſpaſs was ſo great—Oh, with what weak,
What partial Eyes we view our own Miſdeeds!
The Faults of others are a huge Olympus,
Our own an Emmet's Neſt.
CLIFFORD.
Heart, Heart, be ſtrong!
[Aſide.
He muſes deeply on it—I have hurt
[To the King.
Thy ſoft Humanity, I fear.—Perchance
Thou haſt a Daughter, who, like this my Victim,
Hath ſtray'd from Virtue's Path.
KING.
Away, Away—
I can endure no more—O Conſcience, Conſcience,
[Aſide.
With what a wild Variety of Torments
Thou ruſheſt thro' my Soul!—'Tis all Diſtraction,
And aſks ſome more than human Strength of Reaſon,
To ſave me from Deſpair.
[Exit.
CLIFFORD.
Kind Heaven, I thank thee;
His noble Nature is not quite extinguiſh'd,
He's wounded deep—Oh! may he but retain
This Senſe of the ſore Pangs he brought on me,
Till I have reſcu'd my repentant Child,
And all my Bus'neſs in this Life is done.
[Exit.
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
ACT III.
[32]SCENE, an Apartment in the Bower.
ROSAMOND diſcovered writing. ETHELINDA attending.
ROSAMOND.
IT is in vain—my trembling Hands deny
Their wonted Office—my diſtracted Mind
Revolves a thouſand Projects to regain
Its vaniſh'd Peace; yet all by Turns evade
My feeble Efforts; like the lucid Vapours,
Which riſe ſucceſſive in a Summer's Sky,
And court our Obſervation, yet are loſt,
Ere Fancy can aſſign them Name or Shape,
Loſt in the wide Expanſe. Ah me! how weak,
How inſufficient to its own Deſires,
Is the poor Breaſt which Honour hath deſerted!
ETHELINDA.
Say, is it ought thy Servant can diſcharge?
She wiſhes to relieve thy Woe, and ſhares
Thy every Pang.
ROSAMOND.
Thy ſympathizing Heart
Hath oft conſol'd me, ſoften'd the rude Hour
Of bitter Recollection, and repell'd
Encroaching Agony—My Henry gave thee
A Servant to my Uſe; but thy mild Nature,
So ill adapted to the lowly State
Wherein thy Lot was caſt, taught me to change
That ſervile Title for the Name of Friend.
ETHELINDA.
[33]Give me that Office now, and let me ſpeak
Thy Meanings there.
ROSAMOND.
I know not what I mean.
In vain, alas! ſhe ſtrives to pleaſe herſelf,
Who hath offended Virtue. On that Paper
I wiſh'd to pour my Duty to my Father,
Implore his dear Forgiveneſs, beg one Bleſſing,
Ere yet he ſleep in Peace—Oh, Roſamond!
Well haſt thou ſpoke! for in the Grave alone
Can Clifferd reſt.—Peace and Repoſe on Earth
Thine impious Offences have deny'd him.
Ere this, perhaps, he is laid low in Duſt,
And his laſt Hours were charg'd with Grief and Shame.
ETHELINDA.
Hope better, my fair Miſtreſs; raiſe thy Thoughts
From the dark Muſings of deſpondent Woe,
To theſe bright Scenes of Happineſs and Joy.
ROSAMOND.
I have no Title to them; theſe bright Scenes
May give Delight to unpolluted Breaſts,
But not to mine! The Charmer, Happineſs,
Hath long deſerted me; with her lov'd Mate,
Seraphic Innocence, ſhe wing'd her Flight,
I fear, for ever.—This retir'd Abode,
Grac'd with each Ornament inventive Fancy
Can furniſh, to allure th' admiring Eye,
Serves but to ſting me deeper with Remorſe;
Upon my Cheek imprint a ſtronger Glow
Of conſcious Shame, reflecting on the Cauſe,
The wretched Cauſe, that brought me to their View.
ETHELINDA.
[34]Theſe are the Dictates of deforming Spleen,
That to the low dejected Mind preſents
Falſe and diſguſtful Objects. Henry's Abſence
Is the ſad Source that caſts this mournful Gloom
On all around: three Days have now elaps'd
Unmark'd by him and Love; when he arrives,
The Bow'r, the Groves, will wear a fairer Aſpect,
And all be dreſs'd in Beauty and Delight.
ROSAMOND.
'Tis true, I try to wear the Smile of Joy
In my dear Conqueror's Sight: Nay, I do wear it;
My Heart acknowledges the ſoft Delight
His Preſence gives. Had I not lov'd too well,
I had not been this Wretch!—My Soul doats on him!
I live but in his Looks. Why was he not
By Fate ordain'd ſome ruſtic Villager,
And I the Miſtreſs of a neighbour Cot,
That we had met, as happy Equals do,
And liv'd in Pleaſures unallay'd by Guilt!
ETHELINDA.
Yet to engage the dear, the tender Hours,
Which royal Henry ſpares from public Toils;
To call that Heart your own, which all agree
To love and honour; feaſt upon thoſe Smiles,
Which millions ſigh for—
ROSAMOND.
Ceaſe, my Ethelinda;
Thou know'ſt not how thy Words afflict my Breaſt.
Think not, tho' fall'n from Innocence, my Mind
Is callous to the Feelings of Humanity,
Of Truth, or Juſtice. I reflect full oft,
Ev'n in my happieſt Moments, there lives One
[35] Who has a Right to Henry's ev'ry Hour,
Each tender Vow, and each attractive Smile:
I know it, and condemn my feeble Heart,
For yielding to Deſires all moral Laws
Forbid, and in-born Reaſon diſapproves.
ETHELINDA.
You ſchool yourſelf too harſhly.
ROSAMOND.
Oh, not ſo!
I have much more to bear. I have not yet
Learn'd the great Duty Expiation claims:
To part, my Ethelinda.
ETHELINDA.
Part! from whom?
ROSAMOND.
From Henry—from the Monarch of my Heart;
My Wiſhes' Lord, my All of earthly Bliſs!
Thou marvel'ſt at my Words—but it muſt be;
It is the ſole Attonement I can make
To a fond Father's Woes, his injur'd Fame,
The tarniſh'd Glories of a noble Line,
The royal Eleanor's inſulted Rights,
And my own conſcious, ſelf-arraigning Heart.
ETHELINDA.
Oh! do not flatter that fond Heart with Hope
Of ſuch exertive Power! Beneath the Trial,
Your Strength would fail, your Reſolution droop;
You cou'd not yield him up.
ROSAMOND.
By my warm Hopes
Of mild Remiſſion to my great Offences,
[36] I feel my Boſom equal to the Taſk,
Hard as it is; ſo Henry left me not
In Anger or Unkindneſs, but reſign'd me,
With the dear Care of a protecting Friend,
To the ſoft Paths of Penitence and Peace,
I would embrace the Torment it entail'd,
And bleſs him for each Pang.
ETHELINDA.
Behold he comes!
[Exit.
Enter the KING.
KING.
My Roſamond! my ever new Delight!
Receive me to thy Arms, enfold me there,
Where ever-blooming Sweets perpetual riſe,
And lull my Cares to Reſt.
ROSAMOND.
It was not thus
My Henry us'd to viſit this Retreat;
Bright Chearfulneſs was wont to dance around him,
Complacent Sweetneſs ſat upon his Brow,
And ſoft Content beam'd lovely from his Eye.
KING.
Well thou reprov'ſt me; I will ſtrive to chace
The gloomy Cloud, that overhangs my Spirit,
Th' Effect of public Buſineſs, public Cares.
(My Tell-Tale Looks, I fear, will ſpeak the Pain
My Heart ſtill ſuffers, from that Stranger's Converſe.)
[Aſide.
Oft do I mourn the Duties of my Station,
That call my Thoughts to them, and claim the Hours,
Which I would dedicate to Love and thee.
ROSAMOND.
[37]I meant not to reproach thee; 'twas my Zeal,
For the dear Quiet of thy Mind, that ſpoke.
I cannot ſee the ſlighteſt Shade of Grief
Dim the bright Luſtre of thy chearing Eye,
But Apprehenſion pains me, leſt for me
Thy Glory be diminiſh'd to the World.
KING.
I ſeek not empty popular Acclaims;
Thy tender Accents falling on mine Ear,
Like rural Warblings on the panting Breeze,
Convey more Rapture, more ſupreme Delight,
Than Io-Paeans of a ſhouting World.
ROSAMOND.
To ſee bright Satisfaction glow within
Thy manly Cheek, behold the riſing Smile,
And hear thee ſpeak the Gladneſs of thy Heart,
Is my beſt Joy, my Triumph, and my Pride;
And yet, my Henry, ought it to be ſo?
Still ſhould I liſten to the Syren, Pleaſure,
While awful Virtue lifts her ſober Voice,
And warns my Heart of her neglected Precepts?
KING.
Forbear, forbear theſe ſoft Complaints, and ſpeak
Of Rapture; ſpeak of my improving Ardour,
And thy unceaſing Love.
ROSAMOND.
Oh! thou divin'ſt not
How many heavy Hours, and ſleepleſs Nights,
Thy Roſe endures! how much my faulty State
(Bleſs'd as I am in thee) arraigns my Mind;
Oft in the bitter Hours when thou art abſent,
[38] My Father's Image riſes to my View,
Array'd in gloomy Grief, and ſtern Reproof.
Nay, do not eye me with that melting Fondneſs;
Haſt thou not often bade me caſt my Cares
On thee, and told me, thou wou'dſt bear them for me?
Hear then, oh, hear me! for to whom but thee
Can I unload my Heart?
KING.
Oh, ſpeak not thus.
Shou'd theſe ſad Accents ſtain the precious Moments,
When Henry flies from a tumultuous World
To tranquil Joys, to Happineſs, and thee?
What buſy Fiend, invidious to our Loves,
Torments thy gentle Breaſt?
ROSAMOND.
Truſt me, my Henry,
This is no ſudden Guſt of wayward Temper,
'Tis Reaſon's Impulſe; oft hath my Heart endur'd
Afflictive Pangs, when my unclouded Face
Hath worn a forc'd and temporary Smile,
Becauſe I would not hurt thy noble Mind.
Advancing Time but multiplies my Torments,
And gives them double Strength; they will have Vent.
Oh! my Protector, make one glorious Effort
Worthy thyſelf—remove me from thy Arms;
Yield me to Solitude's repentant Shade.
KING.
Renounce thee, didſt thou ſay! my Roſamond!
Were thoſe the Words of her and Love?
ROSAMOND.
They were;
It is my Love intreats; that Love which owns
Thee for its firſt, its laſt, its only Lord.
[39] Allow me to indulge it, undiſturb'd
By the ſore Miſeries which now ſurround me,
Without the Senſe of Guilt, that Fiend who waits
On all my Actions, on my every Thought.
KING.
By Heaven, I never knew Diſtreſs till now!
Thy Accents cleave my Soul; thou doſt not know
What complicated Agonies and Pangs
Thy Cruelty prepares for Henry's Heart!
He muſt endure a Throe, like that which rends
The ſeated Earth, ere he can ſummon Strength
To baniſh thee for ever from his Arms.
ROSAMOND.
Think, Conſcience; Honour, plead.
KING.
Down, buſy Fiend;
[Aſide.
That Stranger's Tale, and Clifford's crying Wrongs,
Diſtract my tortur'd Mind—in Pity ceaſe—
[To Roſ.
I cannot part with thee.
ROSAMOND.
A thouſand Motives
Urge thy Compliance—will not public Claims
Soon call thee from thy Realm? When thou art gone.
Who ſhall protect me? Who ſhall then provide
A ſafe Aſylum for thy Roſamord,
To guard her Weakneſs from aſſailing Fears,
And threat'ning Dangers?
KING.
What can here alarm thee?
ROSAMOND.
[40]Perpetual Apprehenſions riſe; perchance
The poignant Senſe, how much my Crimes deſerve,
Adds to the Phantoms; Conſcience-ſtung I dread
I know not what of Ill. Remove me hence,
My deareſt Lord; thus on my Knees I ſue,
And my laſt Breath ſhall bleſs thee. Give me Miſery,
But reſcue me from Guilt.
KING.
What, lead thee forth
From theſe once happy Walls; yield thee, abandon'd,
To an unpitying, unprotecting World!
Then turn, and roam uncomfortably round
The chang'd Abode, explore in vain the Bliſs
It once afforded; like a reſtleſs Sprite
That hourly haunts the deſolated Spot
Where all his Treaſure lay! Bid me tear out
This ſeated Heart, and rend each vital String,
I ſooner could obey thee.
[Going.
ROSAMOND.
Turn, my Henry;
Leave me not thus in Sorrow! Canſt thou part
In Anger from me?
KING.
Anger!—Oh! thou ſweet one!
Witneſs theſe Pangs!—I cannot, will not loſe thee—
ROSAMOND.
Confirm my Pardon then; pitying, reflect
'Tis the firſt Hour I e'er beheld thy Frown.
Forgive me—oh, forgive me!
KING.
[41]Spare me—ſpare
A Moment's Thought to my diſtracted Soul,
To eaſe the Throbs, and huſh the ſwelling Tumults,
Which my fond Love would fain conceal from thee,
Thou exquiſite Tormentor!
[Exit.
ROSAMOND.
Heav'n ſooth thy ſuff'ring Mind, reſtore thy Peace,
And win thy yielding Spirit to my Prayer!
For it muſt be—the Blow muſt be endur'd,
Tho' Nature tremble at it—Heav'n requires it:
I hear the ſacred Voice that claims aloud
Attonement for its violated Laws.
When I am ſunder'd from him, ne'er again
To feaſt my Eyes on his lov'd Form, or ſhare
His Converſe more, it will be then no Sin,
Nor Heav'n nor Man can be offended then,
If ſometimes I devote a penſive Hour
To dwell upon his Virtues; or, at Night,
When Sleep, like a falſe Friend, denies his Comforts,
I bathe my ſolitary Couch with Tears,
And weary Heav'n for Bleſſings on his Head.
Enter the ABBOT.
ABBOT.
Health to the Fair, whoſe radiant Charms diffuſe
Bright Beams around, and ſhame meridian Day
With rival Luſtre and ſuperior Beauty!
ROSAMOND.
Alas, good Father, my dejected Heart,
Ill-ſuited now to Flattery's ſoothing Breath,
Is wrapp'd in other Thoughts.
ABBOT.
[42]An old Man's Praiſe
Is of ſmall Worth; nor ſhou'dſt thou term it Flatt'ry,
The Approbation which the ready Tongue
Spontaneous utters at thy Beauties' Sight:
But thy ſad Eyes are ſwoln with Tears, I truſt
They flow from holy Motives.
ROSAMOND.
Thou haſt oft
Preach'd, in perſuaſive Accents, the great Duty
Of combating Temptation; teaching Virtue
To gain Dominion o'er aſſailing Paſſions,
And with her pious Firmneſs guard the Breaſt.
ABBOT.
I have, fair Daughter.
ROSAMOND.
Theſe thy holy Precepts,
My melancholy Heart, I hope, hath learn'd;
The ſelf-convicted Mourner hath reſolv'd
To turn from Guilt's deluſive dang'rous Way,
And ſeek the penitential Paths of Peace.
ABBOT.
Explain thyſelf, my Pupil; lay thy Meanings
Clear to my View.
ROSAMOND.
I have reſolv'd to leave
This Culprit-State of unchaſte, lawleſs Love,
And, in ſome Solitude's protecting Shade▪
Attone, by future Purity of Life,
My Errors paſt.
ABBOT.
[43]'Tis nobly purpos'd, Daughter;
Worthy the Precepts I have given thy Youth,
And the great Efforts of exalted Virtue:
But why retire to moaping Solitude?
The Heart is weak that finds itſelf unable
In any Situation to repent
Its paſt Miſdeeds; it is the Principle,
And not the Place, attones; we may be good,
And yet abide in active, chearful Life;
There are a thouſand Pleaſures and Delights
Not inconſiſtent with the ſtricteſt Truth
And Sanctity of Mind.
ROSAMOND.
It may be ſo,
And ſuch may be indulg'd by thoſe whoſe Lives
Have ne'er been branded with a flagrant Crime;
But Wretches like myſelf, whom Conſcience taxes,
With violated Chaſtity and Juſtice,
Have forfeited thoſe Rights.
ABBOT.
I like not this—
She dares debate—She judges for herſelf—
I muſt reſtrain this Freedom—'tis Preſumption.
[Aſide.
ROSAMOND.
Yes, all ſhall be renounc'd, all that conſpir'd
To make my guilty Situation wear
The Face of Bliſs; Splendor and Affluence,
All ſhall be given up, and well exchang'd,
If they obtain Remiſſion for my Crimes.
ABBOT.
Some farther Meaning lurks beneath theſe Words,
Which my foreboding Fears diſlike.
[Aſide.
ROSAMOND.
[44]My Hen [...]y
I have ſolicited to this great Purpoſe,
Of my new-open'd, new enkindled Mind.
ABBOT.
As I divin'd—Deſtruction to my Views!
[Aſide.
ROSAMOND.
Why turn'ſt thou from me? Breathe thy pious Comforts
To nouriſh my Reſolves.
ABBOT.
Think'ſt thou, fond Pupil,
Thy Paramour will yield to thy Requeſt?
Oh no! his Paſſion is too much his Maſter.
Think'ſt thou, can he who doats upon thy Beauties,
Doats even to Folly—
ROSAMOND.
Spare me, holy Father—
Wound not my Ear with one contemptuous Word
Againſt his Dignity: I cannot bear it.
ABBOT.
My Recollection, zealous for thy Eaſe,
Recalls the caſual Word. I grieve to ſee thee
Miſled by Phantoms: but there is a Way,
A clear and certain Way to Happineſs,
Which thou haſt not deſcry'd.
ROSAMOND.
Inform me, Father,
How I may compaſs the religious Ends
My State demands, and my whole Soul aſpires to,
Without diſquieting my Henry's Peace,
And I will bleſs thee for it.
ABBOT.
[45]Love alone
Confers true Honour on the Marriage-State.
Without this Sanction of united Hearts,
The ſacred Bond of Wedlock is defil'd,
And all its holy Purpoſes o'erthrown.
ROSAMOND.
Be plain, good Father.
ABBOT.
Happineſs ſhould crown
The Altar's Rites—and Henry ſure deſerves
To be ſupremely happy—thou alone
Canſt make him ſo. Need I ſay more?
ROSAMOND.
Speak on.
Clear unambiguous Phraſes beſt befit
My ſimple Senſe.
ABBOT.
His Union with the Queen
Cannot be term'd a Marriage; Heav'n diſdains
The proſtituted Bond, where hourly Jars
Pervert the bleſs'd Intent; thy vain Retirement
What boots it Eleanor? who now retains
The Name alone of Queen; or what avails
The Title of a Wife? Thou art th' eſpous'd
Of his Affections; let the Church then ſhed
Her holy Sanction on your plighted Loves;
A pious Duty calls, aſſert thy Claim,
Let thy fond Lord divorce her from her State,
And Roſamond ſhall mount the vacant Throne.
ROSAMOND.
Thy ſpecious Arguments delude me not;
My Soul revolts againſt them. Hence, I ſcorn
[46] Thy further Speech—Have I not Crimes enough?
Have I not amply injur'd Henry's Wife,
But I muſt further ſwell the guilty Sum?
Fly with thy wicked, thy pernicious Schemes,
To Breaſts whence every Trace of Good is baniſh'd.
I am not yet ſo vile; 'twas Henry's Self
I lov'd, not England's King; not for the Wealth
Of Worlds, for all that Grandeur can afford,
The Pride of Dignity, the Pomp of Power,
Nor even to fix my Henry mine alone,
Will I advance one added Step in Sin,
Or plant another Torment in her Breaſt,
Whom too ſeverely I have wrong'd already.
[Exit.
ABBOT.
Bane to this coward Heart, that ſhrunk beneath
The peeviſh Outrage of a frantic Girl!
The vain Preſumer ſorely ſhall repent
Her bold licentious Pride, that dar'd oppoſe
Her upſtart Inſolence 'gainſt my Controul,
Whoſe Bidding ſhou'd direct her ev'ry Thought.
Had ſhe obey'd, the doting King perchance
Had rais'd the painted Moppet to his Throne,
And by that Deed, had loſt his People's Love;
A ready Victim to the daring Bands
That threaten him around. That Hope is loſt—
New Schemes muſt be devis'd—all Arts employ'd;
For nothing ſhall appeaſe my fierce Reſentment,
Till the foul Wounds giv'n to our mitred Saint,
Be deep aveng'd in Henry's impious Heart.
[Exit.
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
ACT IV.
[47]SCENE the Palace.
The ABBOT alone.
ABBOT.
IT ſhall be ſo—the Queen herſelf ſhall be
My Inſtrument of Vengeance, both on Henry,
And that audacious Minion, who preſum'd
To diſobey my Dictates. This new Project
Cannot deceive my Hopes: The haughty Eleanor,
Fir'd by thoſe Demons, Jealouſy and Anger,
Will ſet no Bounds to her outrageous Will,
And ſhe hath ſuffer'd Wrongs that might inflame
A colder Breaſt. But why recoils my Heart
At Thought of Harm to this preſumptuous Wanton?
Why feel reluctant Strugglings, as if Virtue
Check'd and condemn'd my Purpoſe? 'Tis not Harm;
'Tis Piety, 'tis Mercy.—Will ſhe not
Be taken from a Life of Sin and Shame,
And plac'd where ſhe at Leiſure may repent
Her great Offences? This is giving her
Her Soul's Deſire.—But Eleanor, not I,
Shall be the Means. Night gathers round apace:
Aſcend, thick Gloom, and with thy ſable Wings
Veil Henry's Peace for ever from his Eyes!
Enter QUEEN.
Hail, honour'd Queen!
QUEEN.
Art thou a Comforter?
Thine Order calls thee ſuch; but thou approacheſt
[48] Unlike the Meſſenger of gladſome Tidings:
Delay is in thy Step, and Diſappointment
Sits on thy Brow.
ABBOT.
Oh, ſkilful in the Lines
Which the Mind pictures on th' obedient Viſage,
To ſpeak her inward Workings!
QUEEN.
Thy Deſigns
Have fail'd?
ABBOT.
To thee I yield the Palm of Wiſdom,
Effective Policy, and deep Contrivance;
To thee reſign it all.
QUEEN.
Loſe not the Moments
In vain Lamentings o'er Miſchances paſt:
One Project foil'd, another ſhould be try'd,
And former Diſappointments brace the Mind
For future Efforts, and ſublimer Darings.
ABBOT.
Thy noble Spirit may perchance ſucceed
Where all my Arts have fail'd. I boaſt no Power
O'er this perverſe, this ſelf-directed Wanton;
She ſeems new-fram'd—her gentle Diſpoſition,
Which erſt was paſſive to Inſtruction's Breath,
As vernal Buds to Zephyr's ſoothing Gale,
Is baniſh'd from her Breaſt; imperious Tones
Exalt her Voice, and Paſſion warms her Cheek.
QUEEN.
Whence can it ſpring, this new preſumptuous Change?
Can ſhe aſſume the Port of Arrogance?
[49] She, whoſe ſoft Looks and hypocritie Meekneſs
Have won admiring Eyes and pitying Tongues,
While I am tax'd with warm and wayward Temper,
For that I have not Meanneſs to conceal
A juſt Reſentment for atrocious Wrongs,
But bid them glow within my crimſon Cheek,
And flaſh indignant from my threat'ning Eye.
ABBOT.
The Lures of Greatneſs, and Ambition's Baits,
Are eagerly purſu'd by ſoaring Minds:
When firſt their Splendor is diſplay'd before them,
Anticipating Hope exalts their Brightneſs,
And fires the wretched Gazer, ev'n to Frenzy.
QUEEN.
What Hope—what Greatneſs—what Ambition? Speak!
Explain thy Meaning, eaſe the gath'ring Tumult
That ſtruggles here, and choaks me with its Fullneſs.
ABBOT.
I fear to ſpeak.
QUEEN.
Why fear? Look on me well;
I am a Woman with a Hero's Heart.
Be quick—be plain—thou haſt no Tale t'unfold
Can make me ſhudder—tho' it make me feel.
ABBOT.
Her wild Imagination hurries her
Beyond Belief, or ev'n Conception's Limit;
Safely protected by the royal Favour
Of her great Maſter (may I ſay his Love?)
QUEEN.
On with thy Speech—Diſpatch!
ABBOT.
[50]She threats Defiance
To every other Power, and all Controul:
Bids me, with haughty Phraſe, no more aſſume
The Right to check her Deeds; exalts herſelf
Above the Peers and Worthies of the Realm:
Nay, frantic in her fancied Excellence,
Becomes thy Rival in imperial Rule,
And plumes herſelf on future Majeſty.
QUEEN.
The Traitreſs! but thou err'ſt, it cannot be:
Thou haſt miſta'en her Words; her coward Heart
Cou'd not conceive ſuch Inſolence of Speech,
Such arrogant Preſuming.
ABBOT.
In Effect
All was expreſs'd, tho' not in open Terms;
Hearts ſo determin'd rarely ſpeak their Meaning,
Leſt juſt Prevention intercept their Purpoſe:
But thus much, in the Fullneſs of her Paſſion,
Fell from her Lips: Let her a while enjoy
(Theſe were her Words) her tranſitory Greatneſs!
Anon the Beam may take a different Poiſe;
The Miſtreſs may become th' exalted Wife,
The haughty Wife become th' abandon'd Miſtreſs.
QUEEN.
Breath'd ſhe thoſe daring, thoſe audacious Accents,
And doth the Wretch ſurvive it? Be it ſo!
She only lives to gratify my Vengeance.
Ere the vain Dreamer mount her airy Throne,
She ſhall be taught the Power of Royalty
O'er her own Littleneſs, her Pigmy Pride.
ABBOT.
You do not mean to ſee her?
QUEEN.
[51]Yes—I do—
She thirſts for Honour; I will ſhew it her;
Will deign to ſet before her ſhrinking View
Majeſtic Eleanor, th' exalted Wife,
And with a Glance deſtroy her.
ABBOT.
All you ſeek
May be obtain'd by this great Condeſcenſion:
Within your Power, beneath your Eye abaſh'd,
Whelm'd with her Crimes, and ſhrinking in her Fears,
She'll crouch to any Terms; bind her by Oath
No more to ſee your Lord; or if you doubt
The Efficacy of that Tye, remove her
From the gay Bower her Infamy hath ſtain'd.
Perform a holy Work; force her to quit
The wanton Courſe of her abandon'd Life,
And in ſome dim, ſecure Retreat, where you
Alone command, conceal the Sorcereſs
For ever from the godlike Henry's Eyes.
QUEEN.
Oh, precious Doctrine! learned Comforter!
Continue thus to counſel; leave my Heart,
My dauntleſs Heart, to execute thy Schemes.
ABBOT.
When mean you—
QUEEN.
Now; this Night—my eager Fury
Brooks no Delay—Thou muſt adviſe the Hour.
ABBOT.
About the Seaſon when imperial Henry
Speeds to his Midnight Penance at the Convent,
I will with niceſt Caution watch the Moments—
QUEEN.
[52]And be my Guide?
ABBOT.
Devoted to your Bidding.
QUEEN.
But ſoft—the Means of our Acceſs—did not
This grand Apoſtate to his nuptial Bond,
Contrive ſome childiſh Toy, ſome ſubtle Clue,
Without whoſe Aid Enquiry's Foot in vain
Attempts to find the Wanton's cloſe Retreat?
ABBOT.
He did; but that Device is only practis'd
When public Duties call him from his Realm;
Then is the Minion deep immur'd within
The very Heart of the obſcure Receſs;
But now that he with frequent Eye o'erlooks
And watches his cag'd Turtle, ſhe enjoys
Free Range of the whole Bower, by few attended,
And none but who ſubmiſſive yield Obedience
To our grave Habit and religious Order.
QUEEN.
Enough, uſe wary Watch—and hye with Speed
To my impatient Soul.
[Exit Abbot.
Conceal her! yes,
In that deep Cavern, that eternal Gloom,
Where all her Shames may be conceal'd—in Death;
Atonement leſs than this were inſufficient
To gratify my boundleſs Thirſt of Vengeance.
Long have they revell'd in the mighty Pangs
That rent my Heart—'tis now my Turn to Triumph,
When I behold the Traitor ſunk in Grief,
Plaining to her whoſe Boſom will be cold
To his Diſtreſs, ſuperior will I riſe,
[53] Proudly exult in his ſevereſt Pangs,
Point at her lifeleſs Corſe, for whom he ſcorn'd me,
And loud exclaim in his afflicted Ear,
Behold the Victim of Deſpair and Love.
[Exit.
SCENE, an Apartment in the Bower.
Enter ROSAMOND with a Letter, and ETHELINDA.
ROSAMOND.
No, Ethelinda—Never from that Hour,
That fatal Hour when firſt I ſaw my Hero,
Saw him returning from the Field of War,
In manly Beauty, fluſh'd with glorious Conqueſt,
Till our laſt grievous Interview, did Henry
Shew Word or Look ungentle—Nay, even now,
Here in the full Diſtraction of his Soul,
O'er his ſtrong Woes ſoft Tenderneſs prevails,
And all the Fondneſs of unbounded Love.
ETHELINDA.
But what does he reſolve?
ROSAMOND.
There Ethelinda,
He gives me freſh Diſquiet, Frenzy ſeems
To guide his wayward Pen; he talks of Life
As of a Load he wiſhes to lay down,
If I perſiſt in my unnatural Purpoſe,
For ſuch he terms it. Canſt thou think, my Henry,
I ſuffer not Affliction great as thine?
Yes, let the preſent Tumults in my Breaſt
Be Witneſs how I ſtruggle with Affection,
Stand up and war with Nature's ſtrongeſt Power,
In Duty and Religion's righteous Cauſe
ETHELINDA.
[54]And muſt your Gentleneſs abide ſuch Trials,
Such hard Extremity of Wretchedneſs?
Is there no middle Courſe to ſteer?
ROSAMOND.
Forbear!
Seek not to tempt me from that proper Senſe
Of my deep Faults, which only can ſuſtain me
In this ſore Trial; to remit my Fervour,
Were to be loſt again.
ETHELINDA.
He'll ne'er Conſent
To yield you up, reſign you to your Woe,
Unfriended, unſuſtain'd, to heave alone
The bitter Sigh and pour th' unpitied Tear.
ROSAMOND.
He ſays he will return to me, and ſoon;
Then paints the Anguiſh of his bleeding Heart,
In unconnected Phraſe and broken Periods;
Adjures me, by our Loves, no more to urge
The hard Requeſt on which his Life depends.
Oh, did I ever think I could refuſe
What Henry aſk'd—but this—It muſt not be—
Lend me thy Arm, my Friend, a ſudden Faintneſs
Comes o'er me, and inſtinctive Boadings whiſper
I ſhall not long ſurvive my Henry's Loſs.
ETHELINDA.
Oh, chide them from you! at the ſad Idea
My Sorrows ſtream afreſh.
ROSAMOND.
Weep not for that,
'Tis my beſt Comfort. In the Grave alone
Can I find true Repoſe, that quiet Haven,
[55] Whereto the wretched Voyager in Life,
Whoſe little helpleſs Bark long Time hath ſtrove
'Gainſt the rude Beatings of tumultuous Guilt,
Oft caſts an ardent Look, an eager Wiſh,
To gain a Shelter there from future Storms.
ETHELINDA.
Let me conduct thee to the cheering Breeze,
Thy Looks are pale.
ROSAMOND.
Oh thou, that art all Mercy,
[Kneels.
Look down, indulgent, on the Child of Frailty;
With Pity view her Errors, and inſtruct her
How to obtain returning Peace and Pardon.
Enter CLIFFORD in his Diſguiſe.
CLIFFORD.
Stay thee, fair Mourner, wherefore doſt thou ſhun
The Meſſenger of Comfort?
ROSAMOND.
Ethelinda!
What Voice was that? My ſtartled Fancy wakes
New Terrors! Yet it cannot be—
CLIFFORD.
My Daughter!—
ROSAMOND.
All gracious Heaven! 'tis he—
[Faints.
CLIFFORD.
Oh, let me claſp her
To a fond Father's aged Breaſt, and call
Her ſinking Spirit from the Shades of Death.
ETHELINDA.
[56]Oh, reverend Stranger, if thou be'ſt her Father,
With gentle Voice allure her; do not caſt
The Frown of Anger on her meek Diſtreſs,
Her Softneſs cannot bear it.
CLIFFORD.
Fear not, Virgin!
Aſſiſt to raiſe her—the returning Blood
Faintly renews its Courſe! her timid Eye
Speaks painful Apprehenſion.
ROSAMOND.
Where is fled,
That rev'rend Form? even now it hover'd o'er me,
Sent by kind Heav'n, the ſacred Delegate
Of Comfort and Protection.
CLIFFORD.
Roſamond!
Oh! turn not from me—do not ſhun my Sight,
In Pity ſhrink not from a Father's Eye,
Who comes to chace thy Sorrows; comes to ſhed
Some pious Drops o'er thy afflicted Heart,
Ere he is mingled with the Duſt.
ROSAMOND.
Thus lowly
Bent to the Earth, with abject Eye, that dares not
Look up to that much injur'd rev'rend Face,
Let me implore thy Pardon.
CLIFFORD.
Riſe, my Child,
Oh riſe and let me gaze on that lov'd Form,
Which once was all my Comfort.
ROSAMOND.
But which now
You look upon with Anger and Diſguſt.
My Crimes deſerve it all.
CLIFFORD.
[57]Nay, meet my Eye—
Survey me well: Doſt thou behold therein
A rigid Judge? Oh no, the Father melts
In theſe faſt-ſtreaming Tears.
ROSAMOND.
Has pitying Heaven
Heard the ſad Prayer of ſuch a guilty Wretch,
And granted, in the Moment of Affliction,
A Parent's Preſence, and returning Bleſſing,
To his repentant Child!
CLIFFORD.
Doſt thou repent?—
And didſt thou wiſh once more to ſee thy Father?
Dry up thy Tears, and anſwer me with Firmneſs;
Doſt thou repent?—Haſt thou the Fortitude
To break the fatal Tye that link'd thy Soul
To lawleſs Love, and all its falſe Allurements?
Canſt thou look up, with ſteady Reſolution,
To that great Power who loves repentant Hearts,
And ſay thou wilt no more tranſgreſs?
ROSAMOND.
I can,
I can, my Father; that all-ſeeing Power,
To whom thou haſt appeal'd, can witneſs for me,
I have renounc'd the Paths of Sin and Shame,
And mean to ſpend my ſad Remains of Life
In deep Contrition for my paſt Offences.
CLIFFORD.
To find thee thus, is Rapture to my Soul!
Enter my Breaſt, and take again Poſſeſſion
Of all the Fondneſs that I ever bore thee.
By my beſt Hopes, when in thy ſmiling Youth
[58] Aline Eye hath hung enamour'd on thy Charms,
Thou ſhew'dſt not then ſo lovelily as now,
Dreſs'd in thoſe graceful penitential Tears.
ROSAMOND.
Oh, my Father!
And may I ſtill look up to thee with Hope
That the dear Love and Tenderneſs, thy Breaſt
Once cheriſh'd for thy darling Roſamond,
Is not extinguiſh'd quite?
CLIFFORD.
Alas, my Child!
I am not loſt to Nature and her Ties.
We are all frail; preach Stoicks how they will,
'Tis not a Parent's Duty to caſt off,
But to reclaim, the Wand'rer of his Blood.
One Queſtion more, on that depends my Peace—
Shall I behold my Child redeem'd from Shame,
Or muſt I ſink with Sorrow to the Grave,
Ere this great Bus'neſs of my Soul's accompliſh'd?
ROSAMOND.
Command my Heart; can I, thus loſt to Goodneſs,
Aſſuage thy Cares, and ſoften the Decline
Of weary Nature? ſay, my deareſt Father,
And by the Zeal of my Obedience, prove
The Truth of my Contrition.
CLIFFORD.
Hear me then,
Thou darling of my Boſom!—Weſtward hence,
On the ſlow Riſing of a fertile Hill,
A virtuous Dame, of honourable Race,
Hath ſounded and endow'd a hallow'd Manſion
To pure Devotion's Purpoſes aſſign'd.
No Sound diſturbs the Quiet of the Place,
Save of the bleating Flocks and lowing Herds,
And the meek Murmurs of the trilling Stream
[59] That flows ſweet-winding thro' the Vale beneath;
No Objects intercept the Gazer's Eye,
But the neat Cots of neighb'ring Villagers,
Whoſe lowly Roofs afford a pleaſing Scene
Of modeſt Reſignation and Content.
There Piety, enamour'd of the Spot,
Reſides; there ſhe inſpires her holy Fervour,
Mild, not auſtere; ſuch Piety, as looks
With ſoft Compaſſion upon human Frailty,
And ſooths the Pilgrim-Sinner to embrace
Repentant Peace beneath her holy Roof.—
Say, wilt thou quit, for ſuch ſerene Delights,
This gay Abode of Shame?
ROSAMOND.
I will, my Father;
My Wiſh invites to ſuch a ſoft Retreat.
Oh, lead me forth!
CLIFFORD.
Thy Words give added Strength
To my weak Frame, and warm my languid Blood.
Some two Hours hence, when Midnight veils the Globe,
Diſguis'd, as now, in this religious Garb,
Again expect me, to redeem thee hence,
And guide thy Steps to that Abode of Bliſs—
Here break we off—
ROSAMOND.
Once more thy Bleſſing on me,
While I pour forth the ſilent Gratitude
Of my full Soul for thy returning Love.
CLIFFORD.
Warm as thy Soul can wiſh, my Child, receive it.
Oh, the ſupreme Delight 'twill be, to ſee thee
Reſtor'd to holy Peace and ſoft Content,
And ſometimes ſhare thy Converſe; then devote
[60] My lonely Intervals to ceaſeleſs Prayer,
That Heaven will pour on thy repentant Heart
Its healing Mercy, and its promis'd Grace!
[Exit.
ROSAMOND.
Propitious Power, who chear'ſt the Mourner's Spirit,
Accept my boundleſs Thanks—thy pitying Goodneſs
Inſpir'd my Father's Heart, and ſent him hither
To ſuccour and ſuſtain me. Oh, continue
Thy ſtrength'ning Fervour, that I may not ſhrink
From the great Taſk I have begun, but riſe
An Object worthy thy returning Grace!
ETHELINDA.
My gentle Miſtreſs, I partake your Tranſport,
Yet Apprehenſion checks the riſing Joy.
What Agonies will pierce your Henry's Heart—
ROSAMOND.
Peace, on thy Life! ſeek not to wake again
Thoſe Thoughts which I muſt huſh within my Breaſt;
The Lover is forgot; what Clifford's Daughter
Leaves unperform'd, Clifford himſelf will perfect.
That Tongue, whoſe wholeſome Counſels Henry wont,
In early Life, to liſten and obey.
That Heart, which lov'd his Virtues, will again
Exert its Power, and win him to applaud
The Miniſter of Peace, who leads me hence
To that Aſylum my Offences claim.
END OF THE FOURTH ACT.
ACT V.
[61]SCENE, the Bower.
Enter ROSAMOND and ETHELINDA.
ROSAMOND.
IS it the vain Suggeſtion of my Fears,
Or do unwonted Sounds, and buzzing Murmurs,
Ride in each Breeze?
ETHELINDA.
'Tis Fancy's Coinage all;
Your Mind, alarm'd leſt any thwart Event
Should interrupt this Night's important Buſineſs,
Creates falſe Terrors.
ROSAMOND.
Twice within this Hour
Hath it preſented to my tortur'd Sight
My Father in the Agonies of Death,
Gaſping and pale, and ſtretching forth his Hands
To me for Aid and Pity.
ETHELINDA.
When Suſpenſe
And Expectation hold Dominion o'er
The agitated Boſom, theſe Illuſions
Are buſy to torment us.
ROSAMOND.
Angels ſpeed him
In Safety to me! and conſole my Henry,
When he ſhall ſeek his Roſamond in vain
[62] Around this once-lov'd Bower! When thou behold'ſt him,
(O! can it be a Crime to leave a Sigh,
One ſoft Adieu for him, who was ſo dear?)
Say, Ethelinda, that I left theſe Walls
Not with a harden'd, but a tutor'd Mind,
Not deſp'rate, but reſolv'd; arm'd with that due,
That holy Reſolution, which becomes
My State and Purpoſe; and when buſy Memory
Recalls the ſad Idea of our Loves,
(Too oft alas! I fear 'twill preſs my Mind!)
I'll pour my fervent Pray'rs, that Bliſs and Honour
May crown the Hero's Days!
ETHELINDA.
I will do all
My Miſtreſs bids; but muſt I ſtay behind?
Muſt I renounce the ſweet Companionſhip,
Her Gentleneſs and ſoft Humanity
Have taught me to eſteem my higheſt Bliſs?
ROSAMOND.
This once, obey—this Night's great Buſineſs done,
I claim no Duty more; but when the Storm
Shall be o'er-blown, and all be calm again,
If aught of Good befall my after-Hours,
Thou, Ethelinda, ſhall partake it with me.
Go now, collect together thoſe dear Pledges,
The only Treaſure I ſhall carry hence,
My Henry's Letters; my o'er-harraſs'd Spirits
Would ſink beneath the Taſk.
[Exit Ethel.
Ill-boading Fears
Poſſeſs me ſtill; ſuch as I oft have heard
Haunt the ſick Couch, Death's fable Harbingers.
Enter QUEEN with a Bowl and Dagger.
QUEEN.
Ay, there the Trait'reſs ſits. Who could ſurmize
Guilt kept abode in ſuch an Angel-Form?
[63] Approach, thou beauteous Fiend! Well mayſt thou ſtart,
'Tis Eleanor that calls; ſhe comes to wake thee
From the vain Dream, which thou haſt long enjoy'd,
To Juſtice and Atonement.
ROSAMOND.
Shield me, Powers,
From that wrong'd Form! My Fears are all explain'd!
QUEEN.
No Pow'r can ſhield thee now—Thy Pray'rs are fruitleſs;
Now cry in vain to him who hath undene thee,
Who robb'd thee of thy Innocence of Heart,
And taught thee to be Rival to a Queen.
ROSAMOND.
Moſt injur'd Majeſty, thus to the Earth
I bow myſelf before thee. I conſeſs
My heinous Crimes; I ſink beneath their Weight:
Yet Oh! take Pity on a hapleſs Creature
Miſled by fatal Love, immers'd in Guilt,
And blinded to the Evils that enſued!
QUEEN.
And plead'ſt thou that in thy Defence, fond Wretch,
Which loudeſt cries againſt thee? Knew'ſt thou not
Who Henry was, what were his noble Ties?
How did thy Paſſion dare aſpire ſo high?
Thou ſhould'ſt have ſought within thine own Degree
Mates for thy wanton Hours; then hadſt thou not
Debas'd a Monarch in his People's Eyes,
Nor wak'd the Vengeance of an injur'd Queen.
ROSAMOND.
Alas, thou look'ſt on me as on a Wretch
Familiar with Pollution, reconcil'd
To harden'd Guilt, and all its ſhameleſs Arts;
[64] I am not ſuch. Night's holy Lamps can witneſs
What painful Sighs my ſad afflicted Heart
Hath heav'd, what ſtreaming Tears my Eyes have pour'd,
To be releas'd from the pernicious Snare
Wherein I was involv'd!
QUEEN.
Thoſe Sighs and Tears,
Had true Contrition been their holy Source,
Should have inſpir'd thy Heart to break the Snare,
And ſet itſelf at Freedom.
ROSAMOND.
O! 'tis true
They ſhould; but in my rebel Breaſt they found
Too ſtrong Reſiſtance. Love hath been my Fault,
My Bane, my Ruin; long he held entranc'd
My faſcinated Senſe—
O let this very Weakneſs plead my Cauſe
Within your royal Breaſt; revolve, great Queen,
How you have lov'd, and let thoſe tender Feelings
Win you to pity me!
QUEEN,
Aſide.
What Witchery
Of Language hangs upon this Circe's Tongue?
Why droops my Reſolution? rouſe thee, Eleanor,
Remember the great Cauſe that brought thee hither,
Nor let a Harlot's Sigh, or treach'rous Tear,
Relax thy Fortitude.
ROSAMOND.
What ſhall I do
To humble me yet lower in thy Sight?
What Form of Language ſhall my Lips adopt
To move thy Mercy? I confeſs my Crimes,
Confeſs their Heinouſneſs, and ſue for Pardon:
Can I do more? Ev'n Heav'n is won by Tears,
By contrite Heart, and fervent Supplication;
[65] Shalt thou be harder to appeaſe—O hear!
A Woman's Weakneſs claims a Woman's Pity.
Exert that Dignity of Soul that riſes
Above Reſentment to a pleaded Wrong,
And teach me how to make Atonement.
QUEEN.
Hence!
[Aſide.
Encroaching Weakneſs! coward Heart, abjure it—
Think on thy mighty Wrongs—Arm thee to meet
My Words with noble Firmneſs! Death alone;
Appeaſes Eleanor's inſulted Love.
ROSAMOND.
Death, ſaidſt thou?—Death!—O yet—
QUEEN.
Behold, Deluder!
I will not ſtain me in thy Blood; this Cup
Contains thy Doom.
ROSAMOND.
Oh! do not bid me die,
Steep'd as I am in Guilt; clos'd in a Convent,
Where Heav'n's clear Air and animating Light
Ne'er fond an Entrance, let me be condemn'd
To all the Hardſhips ever yet devis'd;
Or baniſh me to roam far-diſtant Realms,
Unfriendly Climates, and unſocial Waſtes,
So thou afford me ſome remaining Hours
To reconcile my Soul to that great Summons,
When Heav'n ſhall to deign to call.
QUEEN.
Prophane no more
The Name of Heav'n with thy polluted Breath,
Thou who haſt ſprun'd its Laws! Juſtice demands
Thy forfeit Life. Thou ſhalt no more miſlead
[66] A Monarch's noble Mind, no more deviſe
Inſiduous Arts, to work a Queen's Diſgrace:
Thou ſhalt not live to rob her of her Rights,
Her Lord's Affection, and imperial Pride,
That thou mayſt ſeize the abdicated Seat,
And Triumph in her Fall.
ROSAMOND.
By Heav'n's pure Grace,
My Mind ne'er harbour'd ſuch an impious Thought!
QUEEN.
Heap not freſh Crimes, thou haſt enough already.
ROSAMOND.
Have I no Evidence on this ſide Heaven?
And muſt I fall alone, unjuſtified?
Where is the holy Abbot? Where my Henry?
QUEEN.
Thy Henry! thine!—That Word hath fir'd anew
My failing Spirit. Drink!
ROSAMOND.
Yet, yet, relent—
QUEEN.
Drink! or this Poniard ſearches ev'ry Vein—
ROSAMOND.
Is there no Pity? None?—This awful Silence
Hath anſwer'd me, and I entreat no more.
Some greater Pow'r than thine demands my Life;
Fate ſummons me; I hear, and I obey—
O, Heav'n! if Crimes like mine may hope Forgiveneſs,
Accept a contrite Heart!
[Drinks.
QUEEN,
[67]O, beauteous Witch!
Hadſt thou been leſs alluring, or had I
Forgot to Love, thou hadſt not met this Fate.
[Aſide.
ROSAMOND.
Thou art obey'd—Once more I bend before thee—
Nay harden not thy Heart to the laſt Accents
Of a poor Wretch, that hurries to her Grave.
Look, look upon me; I behold thee not
With unforgiving and reſentful Eyes;
I deem thee but the deſtin'd Inſtrument
Of righteous Heav'n, to puniſh my Miſdeeds.
QUEEN.
A Flood of Agony o'erwhelms my Soul,
And all my Pride and Rage is waſh'd away
[Aſide.
ROSAMOND.
Now caſt an Eye of Pity on my Tears,
Now, in theſe awful, theſe tremendous Moments,
Thou canſt not doubt my Truth. By my warm Hopes
Of Mercy at that Throne where all muſt bow,
My only Crime was Love. No Pow'r on Earth
Could have impell'd me to a further Wrong
Againſt thy State or Peace.
QUEEN.
I muſt believe thee—
What then remains for me? O riſe, and wreak
Thy Vengeance on my now-relenting Rage.
Behold theſe Tears—My Wrongs are all forgot—
Exceſs of Paſſion, Love, that knew no Bounds,
Drove me, with execrable Haſte, to act—
What now I would reſign all earthly Bliſs
To have undone again.
KING,
[68]within.
Seize all that haunt
Theſe winding Avenues—let none eſcape.
ROSAMOND.
Ah me! that Voice!
QUEEN.
'Tis Henry's—let him come,
And take his Share of Mis'ry.
Enter the KING, ETHELINDA, and Attendants.
KING.
Where, where is ſhe?—
O fell, vindictive Fiend, what horrid Act
Hath thy dark Rage been dealing?
QUEEN.
Mad Revenge!
ETHELINDA.
Lo! the dread Means! all this my Mind foretold,
When the Queen's Train firſt met my ſtartled Eye,
ROSAMOND.
Ev'n now my flitting Spirit is on the Wing;
The deadly Draught runs thro' my ſcorching Blood,
I feel it at my Heart—O! Henry—Henry!—
KING.
Malicious Rage, thou rid'ſt the Lightning's Flaſh
To execute thy Vengeance! Ethelinda,
Thy Zeal was cool, thy Expedition ſlow,
Compar'd to that fell Tyrant's rapid Heat.
Lift up thine Eyes—O! do not leave me yet—
Why melts Compaſſion in thy languid Look?
[69] The Flames of Fury ſhould be kindled there,
'Gainſt him, who left thee to invading Fate,
Who ſaw not thy Diſtreſs, heard not thy Cries,
When black Revenge was pouring Torments on thee!—
O cruel Woman, unrelenting Fiend!—
ROSAMOND.
Calm, calm thy Mind; vent not thy Fury there,
Her Wrongs cried loud, and her great Heart is wrapt
In Sorrow for the Deed.
KING.
What now avails it?
Compunction ſhould have ſprang when ſhe beheld
The ſtreaming Tears courſe one another down
Thy beauteous Cheek, and read the ſpeechleſs Grief
Of thy imploring Eyes.—O! was it thus
I thought to ſee my Roſamond again!—
Hath Fury, like an Eaſtern-Blaſt, deſtroy'd
The ſweeteſt, lovelieſt Flow'r that ever bloom'd?
But I will die beſide thee; never more
Reviſit chearful Day, nor dream of Comfort,
When thou art parted from me.
ROSAMOND.
Ceaſe, O! ceaſe
Theſe uſeleſs Plainings; conſecrate to Peace
The few remaining Moments—nor let Rage
Impel thy Soul to meditate Revenge
For a poor Wretch, who juſtly thus atones
Her numerous Crimes. O, royal Eleanor!
Hear theſe laſt Accents—Howſoe'er I lov'd,
However guilty I have ſeem'd to you,
This very Night I had reſolv'd to leave
Theſe fatal Walls, and, by my Father's Guidance,
Devote my future Days to Penitence.
KING.
[70]Doth not thy Blood, like mine, halt in thy Veins,
And chill the Seat of Life?
ROSAMOND.
Extend thy Pity,
(I cannot wrong thee further) grant me now
One Moment to indulge the tender Feelings
Of hapleſs Love, and breathe a fond Adieu,
Ere this poor harraſs'd Spirit quit my Breaſt.
KING.
Why this Compaſſion to the wretched Cauſe
Of all thy Miſeries! I am the Source
Of ev'ry Pang, that feeds on thy lov'd Heart—
Of this thy fatal End.—Reproach, revile me—
Do any thing but look thus kindly on me,
And I will ſtruggle with my mighty Woes,
Taught by thy great Example.
ROSAMOND.
O, my Henry!
Let not the ſad Remembrance of my Fate
Sit on thy Heart, nor call my preſent State
A Miſery; I wiſh'd ſome ſure Retreat
From Grief and Shame, and Heav'n hath heard my Prayer.
QUEEN.
Unhappy Victim of my blinded Fury,
I almoſt envy thee thy preſent State;
Thou ſoon wilt be at Eaſe; while I muſt live
To all the Torments which a guilty Mind
Inflicts upon itſelf.
KING.
Canſt thou feel thus,
Yet couldſt remain obdurate to her Tears,
And deaf to her Intreaties?
QUEEN.
[71]A Deed like this
Was foreign to my Heart, had not the Fraud
Been pour'd into my Ears, that I was meant
To be divore'd for ever from thine Arms,
Be made an Outcaſt from thy Bed and Throne,
That ſhe might riſe my Subſtitute in all.
KING.
What black-ſoul'd Daemon could poſſeſs thy Mind
With ſuch a helliſh Falſhood?
QUEEN.
He—that Fiend!
CLIFFORD brought on in his Diſguiſe.
KING.
Wretch, take thy Death.
ROSAMOND.
Forbear!
[Faints.
CLIFFORD.
Strike, Henry, ſtrike!
Why ſtart'ſt thou back? I ſhrink not from the Blow;
New Woes aſſail me at that ſinking Object,
And all thy Sword can do is Mercy now.
KING.
Thou, Night, in tenfold Darkneſs cloſe me round,
From that much-injur'd Form!
CLIFFORD.
My Child, my Child,
Awake, and let me once more hear thy Voice.
Speak, ſpeak, my Roſamond; tell my ſad Heart
[72] What further Woe awaits it. Hath Affliction
Robb'd me of Senſe, or do I ſee the Pangs
Of ruthleſs Death within thy ſtruggling Eye?
ROSAMOND.
Thou doſt, my Father; let me bleſs thy Goodneſs,
Ere Speech forſake me; thou art come to execute
Thy pious Promiſe—Fate prevents thy Care,
And I ſubmit. My penitential Tears,
My Hopes of heav'nly Mercy, and thy Pardon,
Alleviate Death's ſharp Terrors.
CLIFFORD.
O! what Hand
Hath robb'd me of the lateſt Ray of Hope,
That trembling glitter'd on my Eve of Life?
QUEEN.
In me behold the Murderer of thy Peace!
Vent thy Reproaches, load me with thy Curſes,
I'll bear them all; high as I am in Rank,
And proud in Heart, I bend to make Atonement.
My Rage unſex'd me; and the dire Remembrance
Will ever haunt my Mind.
KING.
It will have Vent.
Lo, injur'd Clifford, Henry kneels before thee!
Henry, who ſpurn'd the holy Ties of Friendſhip,
The kindly Brotherhood of human Nature,
And robb'd thee of thy Child; yet let me mingle
My penitential with thy pious Tears
O'er this lov'd Form, for whom my Heart weeps Blood.
ROSAMOND.
Peace, Peace, a Moment! let my parting Spirit
Glide gently hence; Death hurries on apace.
[73] O! welcome! hide me in thy peaceful Breaſt
From the dread Horrors that ſurround me here.—
Confuſion, Shame, oppreſs my languid Thoughts
In this dread Moment.—Ye, much-injur'd, pour
Compaſſion on me now! Thou, royal Eleanor—
Thou beſt of Fathers—O forgive!—And thou,
Beloved Henry!—Oh!—
[Dies.
KING.
Art thou then gone?—
And did thy dying Looks and Words ſpeak Pardon
To thy Deſtroyer? In that parting Sigh,
The meekeſt, kindeſt Spirit took its Flight
That ever held Abode in human Breaſt.
O, ſorrowing Clifford! how ſhall I atone
Thy bleeding Injuries?
CLIFFORD.
It needs not, Henry;
My Child lies dead before me—'Tis enough—
One Grave will hold us both—My failing Heart
Had but few Drops of Life's warm Stream remaining,
Grief ſoon will drink them all—
KING.
What now can Fate do more?
Rain, Eyes, rain everlaſting Floods of Tears
O'er this ſad Monument of lawleſs Love.
QUEEN.
If thy torn Heart can ſpare from its own Anguiſh
A Moment's Reſpite, hear! Thou know'ſt me, Henry;
Was Cruelty an Inmate of this Breaſt,
When thou wert kind and conſtant? Think what Pangs
I muſt have felt, ere wrought to this black Deed;
[74] Let that Reflection win one pitying Tear
For all my Suff'rings, and I aſk no more.
KING.
It ſhall be ſo; and we will reign together
In ſolemn, ſad, uncomfortable Woe.
QUEEN.
No, Henry, no; the Hand that's foul with Murder,
(Bear Witneſs, Heav'n!) ſhall ne'er be clos'd in thine.
To the ſad Cloiſter and repentant Prayer
I give my future Life. Hail, gloomy Shades!
Ye beſt befit the execrable Wretch,
Who, daring to aſſume the Bolts of Vengeance,
Dealt Deſolation with unbounded Fury,
And ſhew'd the Faults ſhe meant to puniſh ſlight,
Compar'd to her, and her atrocious Crimes.
[Exit Queen.
KING.
In this great Deed thou haſt out-gone thy Henry,
Peace to thy troubled Soul! Ye hapleſs Pair,
Accept theſe Tears, for ever will they flow,
While Memory recalls this dreadful Scene.
Here let the gay Seducer turn his Eyes,
And ſee the dread Effects of lawleſs Love:
Learn, 'tis no ſingle Crime, the Miſchief ſpreads
To all the deareſt Ties of ſocial Life.
Not only the deluded Virgin's Heart
Falls the ſad Victim of his trait'rous Art,
But oft, a Prey to one licentious Deed,
The Friend, the Lover, and the Parent bleed.
Appendix A EPILOGUE,
[]GREAT and fair Ladies! Lords gallant and mighty!
Behold a Female—freſh from Otaheite.
Stretch to the Southern Ocean your Idea,
And view, in me, the Princeſs Oberea.
Full three long Hours I've ſat, with ſmother'd Rage,
To hear the Nonſenſe of your tragick Stage,
To ſee a Queen majeſtically ſwagger,
A Bowl in this Hand, and in this a Dagger;
To ſtab or poiſon (cruel Inclination!)
A Maid, who gave a Huſband Conſolation.
Ah, Ladies! no ſuch Queen at Otaheite;
Love there has Roſes—without Thorns to fright ye;
Frolick our Days, and to compleat our Joy,
A Coterie's form'd—'tis call'd the Arreoy,
Where Love is free and general as the Air,
And ev'ry Beau gallants with ev'ry Fair;
No Ceremonies bind, no Rule controuls
But Love, the only Tyrant of our Souls!
But Pleaſure's foreign to theſe Northern Climes,
And Love, I hear, unknown in theſe dull Times:
Never was Maiden in theſe Days caught tripping,
Never was Wife on Pleaſure's Ice found ſlipping:
True to their Lords, to Gallantry ne'er prone,
Divorces are ſo rare, the Name's ſcarce known.
[76]
Yet in our Southern Air—at leaſt I'm told—
Nor French nor Engliſhmen were quite ſo cold;
And, if your Poet of to-night ſay true,
Love formerly warm'd Britiſh Ladies too;
And Ladies of old Times perhaps might plead,
That modern Ladies are the ſelf-ſame Breed.
There is a Place, I'm told, call'd Doctor's Commons,
Whence Huſbands iſſue to falſe Wives dread Summons;
For each pretends, an all-ſufficient Elf,
To keep a Lady to his precious Self.
Yet Man, proud Man, from Oberea know,
That female Follies on your Follies grow;
And all your Hopes of Conſtancy are vain,
If Marriage binds not in a mutual Chain.
If in cold Sheets ye leave poor Nell to ſleep,
And ſome fair Roſe in Covent-Garden keep;
Think of the Ills that wait domeſtic Strife,
The heavieſt Care of all the Cares of Life—
A tempting Miſtreſs, and an angry Wife!
For you, ye Fair, whom conſcious Virtue arms,
And with her Graces heightens Beauty's Charms,
Hear a frail Siſter on your Pity call,
And ſave fair Roſamond a ſecond Fall!
FINIS.
Appendix C
[]This Day is publiſhed, BELL's EDITION OF Shakeſpeare's Acting Plays.
With twenty-four engravings, done from original drawings made on purpoſe for this work, by Mr. Edwards of the Royal Academy, and executed at a very great expence, by a ſelect number of the moſt eminent Engliſh engravers; to⯑gether with two ſpeaking portraits of SHAKESPEARE and GARRICK, Both which are executed by Mr. Hall, and deſervedly looked upon as the beſt productions of this country.
This curious edition is beautifully printed on fine demy pa⯑per, in five volumes, price only Fifteen Shillings ſewed; and alſo on ſuperfine royal paper, large enough to admit of mar⯑ginal notes, at One Guinea per ſet, ſewed.
It contains twenty-four of the author's moſt eſteemed plays, each of which is ornamented with a beautiful frontiſpiece, and regulated, by permiſſion of the Managers, agreeable to the pre⯑ſent mode of performance at the Theatres Royal in London, by Mr. Hopkins, prompter, at Drury-lane, and Mr. Younger, prompter, at Covent-garden; with notes critical and illuſtra⯑tive, reſpecting the text, and the requiſites neceſſary to do each material character juſtice on the ſtage, By the AUTHORS of the DRAMATIC CENSOR.
The Introduction contains an eſſay on Oratory, which may ſerve as improving leſſons to profeſſors of the pulpit and the bar, as well as of the ſtage.—The leſs eſteemed plays of Shakeſpeare will be publiſhed early this ſeaſon, in order to complete this immortal author's works, in the ſame elegant and convenient manner; thoſe, therefore, who wiſh to poſſeſs the firſt impreſſions of the future, as well as the preſent plates, are deſired to forward their addreſs as ſoon as poſſible to the publiſhers.
London: printed for John Bell, near Exeter Change, in the Strand, and C. Etherington, at York.
Mr. BELL,
I have purchaſed your edition of Shakeſpeare's Acting Plays, with which I am abundantly pleaſed. Your promiſes were large, but your execution has been greater, and I heartily hope that fucceſs will not be ſlow, in rewarding ſo ſpirited a performance. Works of elegance, though eagerly ſought [] after in foreign countries, are rarely to be met with in our own; the cauſes have been differently aſſigned, but the pre⯑ſent work plainly proves, that they proce [...]d not ſo much from a dearth of abilities, as from a want of ſpirit to encourage them.—You have opened the road to excellence, and I doubt not but your fellow traders, though they have not ſpirit to pro⯑ject, will have meanneſs enough to follow your ſteps.—Should this be the caſe, as I have ſome private reaſons to believe it will, with this very publication, you may reſt aſſured, that the Public will always advert to the primary cauſe, and ſupport your improvements, in ſpite of every undue influence which their extenſive connections may be ſuppoſed to effect.
I have ſent a copy of the following Criticiſms, which are not my own ſentiments alone, but thoſe of all whom I have con⯑verſed with on the ſubject, to the St. James's Chronicle, which with this letter, you are at liberty to make what uſe of you think proper, without offending
your friend and well-wiſher, W. R.
January 17, 1774.
J. Bell's reſpectful acknowledgements to the writer of the above, and as it, together with the following, contains ſuch flattering teſti⯑monies of candid approbation, he hopes he ſhall ſtand excuſed by the Writer, and juſtified by the Public, for communicating both in this manner, without treſpaſſing on the confidence of either.
Appendix C.1 CRITIQUE on Part of the PLATES in BELL's Edition of SHAKESPEARE.
Excellent engraving is a beauty of itſelf, and will always to the generality of people appear an ornament, independent of the deſign, or other qualities, of a good print. The French ſeem to have underſtood this better than any other nation.
In imitation of the magnificent editions of the Louvre, they have bedecked their ordinary books with cuts, ſignets, meda⯑lions, head and tail pieces; in the execution of which lies all their merit. Neatneſs and propriety ſtrike at once a ſuperfi⯑cial eye, and therefore aiding their language with the bagatelles I have mentioned, the Parifians are thought to have ſold more books than any three cities in Europe.
An edition of Shakeſpeare's acting plays being lately adver⯑tiſed, I had the curioſity to glance at the propoſals, but coming to that part of the advertiſement, where five volumes, with elegant plates, are offered for fifteen ſhillings, I pitied Shake⯑ſpeare, and thought no more of the work. They are now pu⯑bliſhed, and afford a happy inſtance of what the public are to expect from a bookſeller, who has ſpirit to ſhare his profits with artiſts of merit. I had often thought of writing ſome⯑thing [] upon the preſent ſubject, and cannot, without injuſtice, paſs this new edition in ſilence.
With exception of one or two at moſt, theſe plates are highly finiſhed, finiſhed with freedom and force, united to the admired neatneſs of the French Burin. I am ſorry the deſigns are not, upon the whole, equal to the execution▪ though many of them merit the higheſt applauſe; and ſince I have criti⯑ciſed the plates of former editions, I ſhall make equally free with the preſent, and praiſe or blame, where, in my opinion, either is deſerved.
Othello gives no idea of the noble Moor. The expreſſion of jealouſy is too ambiguous and ſtrong to be marked with ſuc⯑ceſs in miniature; he looks not like an injured ſoldier, but an old enraged eunuch of the ſeraglio. Iago is an excellent figure, his action ſteady, the attitude ſpeaks deſign, and the eye watches the effect of his villany upon the unhappy huſband.
Brutus and the Evil Genius would not make the ghoſt of a Roman between them; it is a bad print, and no part of it better than another.
Roſalind and her companion, in the comedy of As you like it, is one of the ſweeteſt cuts I remember to have ſeen; the action is well choſen, the expreſſion juſt, and the execution delicate as the ſubject. The ſoftneſs of the ſex ſhines through the ma⯑ſculine dreſs, and finely conveys the idea of the poet. Had the trees in the back ground been executed with a little more care, and the keeping better preſerved, this print would have been a maſter-piece.
Every perſon muſt be pleaſed with Piſtol in Harry the fifth: the deſign is good, the action natural—the expreſſion ſtrong, and the execution ſuperior to any poetical cut I ever ſaw in an Engliſh publication.
Iachimo and Imogen deſerve great approbation; the ſeene is dumb ſhow, therefore capable of being perfectly repreſented: accordingly, the ſang-froid of the Italian, taking an inventory of the lady's beauty, is nicely hit—ſhe ſleeps well; her po⯑ſture is natural, and the execution fleſhy and delicate.
The delivery of the letter in Henry the Eighth, muſt alſo give univerſal ſatisfaction; there is a great deal of character in the king and Wolſey, and what is further commendable, they are portraits of theſe perſonages. Wolſey receives the letter with a courtly ſmile, in place of that ſtupefaction viſible in the Car⯑dinal of Gravelot, before its contents were known.
Falſtaff aſſuming the conqueſt of Percy, is a pleaſant high-finiſhed cut; Sir John recalls rather too much the idea of Mr. Shuter in that part, but the youth and gallant figure of the prince is happily ſtruck, and the fallen Percy judiciouſly fore⯑ſhortened. I think he ſhould have retained ſomething of the terrible in death.
[] Doctor Caius, Mrs. Quickly, and Simple, in the Merry Wives of Windſor, are truly comic, well conceived, and convey the very ſpirit of the ſcene; the execution is equal to the deſign, and make together a very perfect print.
Mr. Grignion has been very happy in the frontiſpiece for Much ado about Nothing—His etching gives a peculiar ſpirit to a print, where he is pleaſed to beſtow pains and the arch ſmile in the face of the prince and Leonato, in pretended con⯑ference, demands the attention of an actor.
The feelings of old Lear, are finely marked; the figure, though ſmall, is dignified; and poor Tom almoſt ſhivers upon the paper.
I could with pleaſure review the others, but have already exceeded the ſhort ſketch intended. The ſubject of prints is fertile and entertaining. I could wiſh to ſee it treated by thoſe who have more leiſure and abilities than I am maſter of. Their merits might thence become more generally underſtood, and the art rendered of ſolid uſe and ornament to the works of the learned.
The preſent publication I conſider as a conſiderable ad⯑vance to this improvement, and the public will likely view it in the ſame light.
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The GENTLEMAN's POCKET FARRIER, ſhewing how to uſe your horſe on a journey; and what remedies are proper for common accidents that may befal him on the road.
This little tract has been in great eſtimation, for theſe fifty years paſt, and has gone through many edition in Ireland. The remedies it preſcribes, are ſimple, and eaſily obtained, and never fa [...]l of cure, where the diſorder is curable. And no man who values his horſe ſhould preſume to travel without it.
ADVERTISEMENT.
It may not be unneceſſary to acquaint the reader, that theſe preſcriptions have not been haſtily jumbled together, but are experimentally efficacious. A great many books have been written on farrlery, of which Gibſon's is undoubtedly the beſt, but his rules are too tedious for the pocket. Such a book therefore as this, is neceſſary on a journey, in order to refer to as oc⯑caſion requires; and it contains as much as is known by any of our common farriers.
As ſmall as this tract may appear, it will be found to inform gentlemen, firſt, what methods are beſt to be uſed, if their horſes fall lame. Secondly, what medicines are proper to give him when ſick. Thirdly, how to direct the operations, and eſcape the impoſitions, of ignorant men. In ſhort, by the help of this treatiſe, gentlemen will be able to prevent a groom or farrier from injuring their horſes, by improper applications, and miſtaking one diſtemper for another.
The receipts are few, naked, and cheap; the poultice but one, and con⯑trived on purpoſe to prevent trouble, and ſave time and cha [...]ges, by pointing out the beſt remedies at firſt, ſuch as are eaſieſt to be got, and ſuch as make the ſpeedieſt cures: and the reader may be aſſured that they have been expe⯑rimentally confirmed, by a practice of thirty years. The book is drawn up in a manner calculated for a gentleman's pocket, ſuppoſing him upon a jour⯑ney; and no man, who values his horſe, ſhould travel without it.
- The TOBACCONIST, a Farce, as it is acted at the Theatre-Royal, in the Hay-Market. Price 1s.
- The MACARONI, a new Play, as it is acted at the Theatres-Royal. Price 1s. 6d.
Notes
*
See Mr. Shenſtone's Letter, No. 105, to Mr. Graves, Sept. 14, 1761.
*
He died Feb. 11, 1763.
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3565 Henry the Second or the fall of Rosamond a tragedy as it is performed at the Theatre Royal Covent Garden Written by Thomas Hull. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-59B8-1