SIR TRUSTY. Fly from my passion, beldame, fly! SIR TRUSTY. Let us part, Let us part. GRID. Will you break my poor heart? SIR TRUSTY. I will if I can. From whence doth all this passion flow? GRID. Thou art a rustic to call me so, I'm not ugly nor old, Nor a villanous scold, But thou art a rustic to call me so, Thou traitor, adieu ! SIR TRUSTY. Farewell, thou shrew! GRID. Thou traitor. SIR TRUSTY. Thou shrew! BOTH. Adieu! Adieu! SIR TRUSTY solus. [Exit Grid. How hard is our fate, Who serve in the state, 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 Rosamond's bower, With the clew in his power, Both the great and the small, As principal pimp to the mighty king Harry. SCENE IV. ROSAMOND and SIR TRUSTY. Ros. From walk to walk, from shade to shade, From stream to purling stream convey'd, Through all the mazes of the grove, Through all the mingling tracks I rove, Turning, Burning, Changing, Ranging, Full of grief and full of love, I sigh, I pine, I rave, I mourn, And break my rest, A thousand thousand ills combine. Absence wounds me, Fear surrounds me, Guilt confounds me, Was ever passion cross'd like mine? VOL. II. SIR TRUSTY. What heart of stone Can hear her moan, And not in dumps so doleful join! Ros. How does my constant grief deface The pleasures of this happy place! In vain the spring my senses greets In all her colours, all her sweets; No longer glows, Has lost its scent; The vernal blooms of various hue, The blossoms fresh with morning dew, The breeze, that sweeps these fragrant bow'rs, Purple scenes, [Apart. (Nature's softest, sweetest store,) 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 Ros. O Rosamond, behold too late, And tremble at thy future fate! [Apart. That to thy ruin made their way, In wars, that may our loves disjoin, And end at once his life and mine. SIR TRUSTY. Such cold complaints befit a nun : Ros. Beneath some hoary mountain Or near some warbling fountain Where feather'd choirs combining And winds in consort joining, SIR TRUSTY solus. What savage tiger would not pity A damsel so distress'd and pretty! [Apart. [Exit Ros. But ha! a sound my bower invades, [Trumpets flourish. And echoes through the winding shades; 'Tis Henry's march! the tune I know: A messenger! It must be so. SCENE V. A MESSENGER and SIR TRUSTY. MES. Great Henry comes! with love opprest; Prepare to lodge the royal guest. From purple fields with slaughter spread, From rivers chok'd with heaps of dead, From glorious and immortal toils, Laden with honour, rich with spoils, SIR TRUSTY. The bower and lady both are drest, And ready to receive their guest. MESSENGER. Hither the victor flies (his queen And royal progeny unseen); Soon as the British shores he reach'd Obsequiously to meet him, And must endeavour, At behaviour, That's suitable to greet him. SCENE VI. Enter KING HENRY after a flourish of trumpets. KING. Where is my love! my Rosamond! SIR TRUSTY. First, as in strictest duty bound, I kiss your royal hand. KING. Where is my life! my Rosamond! SIR TRUSTY. Next with submission most profound, I welcome you to land! KING. Where is the tender, charming fair! SIR TRUSTY. Let me appear, great sir, I pray, Methodical in what I say. |