"Tis now my turn to tyrannize: I feel, I feel my fury rise!

Tigrefs, be gone.

GRIDE LINE.

I love thee fo

I cannot go.

Sir TRUSTY.

Fly from my paffion, beldame, fly!
GRIDELINE.

Why fo unkind, Sir Trusty, why?
Sir TRUST Y.

Thou'rt the plague of my life.

GRIDELINE.

I'm a foolish, fond wife.

Sir TRUSTY

[Afide.

I will if I can.

GRIDELINE.

O barbarous man!

From whence doth all this paffion flow?
Sir TRUST Y.

Thou art ugly and old,

And a villanous fcold.

GRIDELINE.

Thou art a rustic to call me fo.

I'm not ugly nor old,

Nor a villanous fcold,

But thou art a ruftic to call me fo.

Thou,

[Exit Grid

Sir TRUSTY folus.

How hard is our fate,

Who ferve in the ftate,

And should lay out our cares

On public affairs;

When conjugal toils,

And family broils

Make all our great labours miscarry!

Yet this is the lot

Of him that has got

Fair Rofamond's bower,

With the clew in his power,

And is courted by all,

Both the great and the small,

As principal pimp to the mighty King Harry. But fee, the penfive fair draws near: I'll at a distance ftand and hear.

SCENE

SCENE IV.

ROSAMOND and Sir TRUST Y.

ROSAMOND.

From walk to walk, from fhade to fhade,
From ftream to purling stream convey'd,
Through all the mazes of the grove,
Through all the mingling tracts I rove,
Turning,
Burning,
Changing,

Ranging,

Full of grief and full of love,

Impatient for

my Lord's return

I figh, I pine, I rave, I mourn,
Was ever paffion cross'd like mine?
To rend my breast,

And break my reft,

A thousand thousand ills combine.
Abfence wounds me,

Fear furrounds me,

Guilt confounds me,

Was ever paffion cross'd like mine?

Sir TRUSTY.

What heart of ftone

Can hear her moan,

And not in dumps fo doleful join! [Apart.
ROSAMON D.

How does my constant grief deface
The pleasures of this happy place!

In vain the spring my fenfes greets
In all her colours, all her fweets;
To me the rose

No longer glows,
Every plant

Has loft his fcent;

The vernal blooms of various hue,
The bloffoms fresh with morning dew,
The breeze, that sweeps thefe fragrant bowers,
Fill'd with the breath of op'ning flow'rs,
Purple scenes,
Winding greens,
Glooms inviting,
Birds delighting,

(Nature's fofteft, fweeteft ftore)
Charm my tortur'd foul no more.
Ye powers, I rave, I faint, I die:
Why fo flow! great Henry why!
From death and alarms
Fly, fly to my arms,

Fly to my arms, my monarch fly!

Sir TRUSTY.

How much more bless'd would lovers be,
Did all the whining fools agree
To live like Grideline and me!

ROSAMOND.

O Rofamond, behold too late,
And tremble at thy future fate!
Curse this unhappy, guilty face,
Every charm, and every grace,
That to thy ruin made their way,
And led thine innocence aftray:

}

[Apart. §

At

At home thou seeft thy Queen enraged,
Abroad thy abfent Lord engaged
In wars, that may our loves disjoin,
And end at once his life and mine.
Sir TRUSTY.

Such cold complaints befit a nun:
If the turns honeft, I'm undone!
ROSAMON D.

Beneath fome hoary mountain
I'll lay me down and weep,
Or near fome warbling fountain
Bewail myself afleep;
Where feather'd choirs combining
With gentle murm'ring ftreams,
And winds in confort joining,

[Apart.

Raife fadly-pleafing dreams. [Exit Rof.
Sir TRUST. Y folus.

What favage tiger would not pity
A damfel fo diftrefs'd and pretty!

But hah! a found my bower invades,

[Trumpets flourish. And echoes through the winding fhades; 'Tis Henry's march! the tune I know: A meffenger! It must be fo.

SCENE V.

A MESSENGER and Sir TRUST Y.

MESSENGER.

Great Henry comes! with love opprest;
Prepare to lodge the royal guest.

VOL. II.

C

From