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Health prefuming,

Beauty blooming,

Ob bow dreadful 'tis to die!


To thofe whom foul dishonours ftain,

Life itfelf fhould be a pain.


Who could refift great Henry's charms,
And drive the hero from her arms?
Think on the foft, the tender fires,
Melting thoughts, and gay defires,
That in your own warm bosom rise,
When languifbing with lovefick eyes
That great, that charming man you see:
Think on yourself, and pity me!


And doft thou thus thy guilt deplore!

[Offering the dagger to her breaks

Prefumptuous woman! plead no more!


O Queen, your lifted arm restrain!

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Hope not a day's, an hour's reprieve.


Tho' I live wretched, let me live,

In fome deep dungeon let me lie,
Cover'd from ev'ry human eye,
Banifh'd the day, debarr'd the light
Where fhades of everlafting night
May this unhappy face difarm,
And caft a veil o'er ev'ry charm:
Offended heav'n I'll there adore,
Nor fee the fun, nor Henry more.

Moving language, shining tears,
Glowing guilt, and graceful fears,
Kindling pity, kindling rage,

At once provoke me, and assuage.


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[Falling on ber knees

Thus proftrate at your feet I fall.
Olet me ftill for mercy call!

Accept, great Queen, like injur'd beav'n,

The foul that begs to be forgiven;

If in the latest gasp of breath,

If in the dreadful pains of death,

When the cold damp bedews your brow,

You hope for mercy, shew it now.


Mercy to lighter crimes is due,

Horrors and deaths fhall thine purfue. [Offering the dagger.


Thus I prevent the fatal blow,

-Whither, ah! whither fhall I go! [Drinks.


Where thy paft life thou shalt lament,

And wish thou hadst been innocent.


Tyrant to aggravate the ftroke,
And wound a heart, already broke!
My dying foul with fury burns,
And flighted grief to madness turns.
Think not, thou author of my use,
That Rofamond will leave thee fo.


At dead of night,

A glaring spright,

With hideous fcreams,

I'll haunt thy dreams;

And when the painful night withdraws,
My Henry fhall revenge my cause.

O whither does my frenzy drive!
Forgive my rage, your wrongs forgive,

My veins are froze; my blood grows chill
The weary springs of life ftand ftill;

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.

Beneath thofe 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


[To ber attendants.

The due folemnities prepare. [Exeunt with the body.

When vanquifb'd foes beneath us. le,

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



Sir TRUSTY in a fright.

A breathless corpfe! 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 Trufy live
To hear his Mafter chide and grieve?
No! tho' I hate fuch bitter beer,

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"Your Rofamond is dead

"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-Iftretch, 1 yawn.

Death bas tripp'd up my

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QUEEN fola.

The conflict of my mind is o'er,
And Rosamond shall charm no more,


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