« EelmineJätka »
O Grideline! confult thy glass,
O bow bleft were Grideline,
At length the storm begins to cease,
Thou'rt the plague of my life.
Let us part,
Let us part.
I'm a foolish fond wife.
I will if I can.
my poor heart?
Sir TRUST Y.
Sir TRUST Y.
O barbarous man!
From whence doth all this paffion flow?
Thou art ugly and old,
Thou art a ruftic to call me fo.
I'm not ugly nor old,
Nor a villainous fcold,
But thou art a ruftic to call me fo.
Farewel, thou fhrew !
How hard is our fate,
Who ferve in the state,
And should lay out our cares
Make all our great labours miscarry!
Of him that has got
Fair Rofamond's bower,
With the clew in his power,
Both the great and the small,
As principal pimp to the mighty King Harry.
But fee, the penfive fair draws near:
ROSAMON D and Sir TRUSTY
From walk to walk, from fhade to fhade,
Through all the mazes of the grove,
Full of grief and full of love,
And break my reft,
A thousand thousand ills combine.
Fear furrounds me,
Was ever paffion crofs'd like mine?
What heart of stone
Can hear her moan,
And not in dumps fo doleful join!
How does my conftant grief deface
n all her colours, all her sweets ;
To me the rofe
No longer glows,
The vernal blooms of various hue,
The bloffoms fresh with morning dew,
The breeze, that fweeps thefe fragrant bowers,
(Nature's fofteft, fweeteft ftore)
Fly to my arms, my Monarch, fly!
How much more bless'd would lovers be,
To live like Grideline and me!
ROSAM O N D.
O Rofamond, behold too late,