A CT II.
SCENE I
A Pavilion in the middle of the Bower.
KING and ROSAMON D.
KING.
T
HUS let my weary foul forget
Reftless glory, martial ftrife,
Anxious pleasures of the great,
And gilded cares of life.
ROSAMON D.
Thus let me lofe, in rifing joys, Fierce impatience, fond defires, Abfence that flatt'ring hopes destroys,
And life-consuming fires.
KING,
Not the loud British shout that warms
The warrior's heart, nor clashing arms,
Nor fields with hostile banners strow'd,
Nor life on proftrate Gauls bestow'd,
Give half the joys that fill my breast,
While with my Rofamond I'm bleft.
My Henry is my foul's delight,
My wish by day, my dream by night.
'Tis not in language to impart
The fecret meltings of my heart,
While I my conqueror furvey,
And look my very foul away.
KING.
O may the present blifs endure,
From fortune, time, and death fecure!
O may the present bliss endure !
My eye could ever gaze, my ear
Those gentle founds could ever hear:
But oh! with noon-day heats oppreft,
My aking temples call for reft!
In yon cool grotto's artful night
Refreshing flumbers I'll invite,
Then feek again my abfent fair,
With all the love a heart can bear.
ROSAMOND fola.
From whence this fad prefaging fear,
This fudden figh, this falling tear?
Oft in my filent dreams by night
With fuch a look I've seen him fly,
Wafted by angels to the sky,
And loft in endless tracts of light;
While I, abandon'd and forlorn,
To dark and difmal deferts borne,
Through lonely wilds have feem'd to stray,
A long, uncomfortable way.
They're fantoms all; I'll think no more:
My life has endless joys in flore.
Farewel forrow, farewel fear,
They're fantoms all! my Henry's here.
A Poftern Gate of the Bower.
GRIDELINE.
My ftomach fwells with fecret fpite,
To fee my fickle, faithlefs Knight,
With upright gesture, goodly mien,
Face of olive, coat of green,
That charm'd the Ladies long ago,
So little his own worth to know,
On a mere girl his thoughts to place,
With dimpled cheeks, and baby face;
A child! a chit! that was not born,
When I did town and court adorn,
Can any man prefer fifteen
To venerable Grideline ?
GRIDELINE.
He does, my child; or tell me why
With weeping eye so oft I fpy
His whiskers curl'd, and fhoe-ftrings ty'd,
A new toledo by his fide,
In fhoulder-belt fo trimly plac'd,
With band fo nicely fmooth'd and lac'd.
PAGE.
If Rofamond his garb has view'd,
The Knight is false, the nymph fubdu’d.
GRIDELINE.
GRIDELINE.
How fhou'd I act? canft thou advise?
PAGE.
Open the gate, if you are wife
I, in an unfuspected hour,
May catch 'em dallying in the bower,
Perhaps their loose amours prevent,
And keep Sir Trusty innocent.
GRIDELINE.
Thou art in truth
A forward youth,
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