And when the painful night withdraws, My Henry fhall revenge my caufe. O whither does my frenzy drive! Forgive my rage, your wrongs forgive, My veins are froze; my blood grows chill; The weary fprings of life stand still; The fleep of death benumbs all o'er My fainting limbs, and I'm no more.

[Falls on the couch.

QUEEN.

Hear and obferve your Queen's commands.

[To her attendants.

Beneath those hills a convent ftands,
Where the fam'd ftreams of Ifis ftray;
Thither the breathlefs coarfe convey,
And bid the cloifter'd maids with care
The due folemnities prepare.

[Exeunt with the body.

When vanquish'd foes beneath us lie,
How great it is to bid them die!
But how much greater to forgive,
And bid a vanquish'd foe to live!

SCENE VII.

Sir TRUSTY in a fright.
A breathlefs corps! what have I seen!
And follow'd by the jealous Queen!
It must be fhe! my fears are true:
The bowl of pois'nous juice I view.
How can the fam'd Sir Trusty live
To hear his master chide and grieve?
VOL. II.

D

No!

No! tho' I hate fuch bitter beer,

Fair Rofamond, I'll pledge thee here. [Drinks.
The King this doleful news fhall read
In lines of my inditing:

"Great Sir,

"Your Rofamond is dead,

[Writes.

"As I am at this prefent writing.
The bower turns round, my brain's abus'd,
The labyrinth grows more confus'd,
The thickets dance-I ftretch, I yawn.
Death has tripp'd up my heels-I'm gone.

[Staggers and falls.

SCENE VIII.

QUEEN fola.

The conflict of my mind is o'er,
And Rofamond fhall charm no more.
Hence ye fecret damps of care,
Fierce difdain, and cold defpair,
Hence fears and doubts remove;
ye
Hence grief and hate!

Ye pains that wait

On jealoufy, the rage of love.

My Henry fhall be mine alone,
The hero fhall be all my own;
Nobler joys poffefs my heart

Than crowns and fcepters can impart.

ACT

ACT III. SCENE I.

SCENE a grotto, HENRY afleep, a cloud defcends, in it two angels fuppos'd to be the guardian fpirits of the British Kings in war and in peace.

BE

1 ANGE L.

EHOLD the unhappy monarch there,
That claims our tutelary care!

2 ANGE L.

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

In hours of

peace, unfeen, unknown,

I hover o'er the British throne.

2 ANGE L.

When hoafts of foes with foes engage,
And round th' anointed hero rage,
The cleaving fauchion I misguide,
And turn the feather'd fhaft afide.
I ANGEL.

When dark fermenting factions swell,
And prompt th' ambitious to rebel,
A thousand terrors I impart,

And damp the furious traitor's heart.
BOTH.

But oh what influence can remove

The

pangs of grief, and rage

D 2

of love!

2 ANGEL.

2 ANGE L.

I'll fire his foul with mighty themes,
"Till love before ambition fly.
1 ANGE L.

I'll footh his cares in pleafing dreams,
'Till grief in joyful raptures die.
2 ANGE L.

Whatever glorious and renown'd
In British annals can be found;
Whatever actions fhall adorn
Britannia's heroes, yet unborn,
In dreadful vifions fhall fucceed;
On fancy'd fields the Gaul fhall bleed,
Creffy fall ftand before his eyes,
And Agincourt and Blenheim rife.
IANGE L.

See, fee, he fmiles amidst his trance,
And shakes a vifionary lance,
His brain is fill'd with loud alarms;
Shouting armies, clashing arms,
The fofter prints of love deface;
And trumpets found in ev'ry trace.
BOTH.

Glory ftrives!
The field is won!

Fame revives,

And love is gone.

I ANGEL.

To calm thy grief, and lull thy cares,

Look up and fee

What, after long revolving years,

Thy bower shall be!

When

When time its beauties fhall deface,
And only with its ruins grace
The future profpect of the place.
Behold the glorious pile afcending!*
Columns fwelling, arches bending,
Domes in awful pomp arifing,
Art in curious ftrokes furprising,
Foes in figur'd fights contending,
Behold the glorious pile ascending!
2 ANGE L.

He fees, he fees the great reward
For Anna's mighty chief prepar'd:
His growing joys no measure keep,
Too vehement and fierce her sleep.
1 ANGE L.

Let grief and love at once engage,
His heart is proof to all their pain;
Love may plead-

2 ANGE L.

-And grief may rage

BOTH.

}

But both fhall plead and rage in vain. [The angels afcend, and the vifion disappears. HENRY, farting from the couch. Where have my ravish'd fenfes been! What joys, what wonders, have I feen! The scene yet ftands before my eye, A thousand glorious deeds that lie In deep futurity obscure, Fights and triumphs immature,

⚫ Scene changes to the plan of Blenheim-castle.