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Healeb presuming

Beauty blooming,
Ob bow dreadful 'tis to die!

QUE EN
To those whom foul dishonours ftain,
Life itself should be a pain.

R SAMOND
Who could refift great Henry's charms,
And drive the hero from her arms?

Think on the soft, the tender fires,
Melting thoughis, and gay defires,
That in your own warm bosom rife,
When languisbing with lovefick eyes.
That great, that charming man you fee:
Think on yourself, and pity me!

QUE E N.
And doft thoa thus thy guilt deplore !

[Offering the dagger to her breaki Presumptuous woman! plead no more!

RÒS A MOND. o Queen, your lifted arm restrain ! Behold thefe tears!

QUEEN. ---They flow in vain,

ROS'AMOND Look with compassion on my

fate! O hear my fighs!

QUE EN
-They rise too late.

Hope

C.5

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

ROS A MO N D.
Tho' I live wretched, let me live,
In some deep dungeon let me lie,
Cover'd from ev'ry human eye,
Banish'd the day, debarr'd the light ;
Where shades of everlasting night
May this unhappy face difarm,
And cast a veil o'er ev'ry charm:
Offended heav'n I'll there adore,
Nor fee the sun, nor Henry more.

QUE EN
Moving language, joining tears,
Glowing guilt, and graceful fears,
Kindling pity, kindling rage,
At once provoke me, and assuage.

(Afide.
ROS A MON D.
What shall I do to pacify
Your kindled vengeance !

QUE EN
Thou shalt die.

[Offering the dagger. ROS A MO N D. Give me but one moment's stay.

[Afide. -Q Henry, why so far away.

QUE E N.
Prepare to welter in a Hod
Of streaming gore.

[Offering the dagger.
ROSA MO N D.
O spare my blood,

And

And let me grasp the deadly bowl.

[Takes the bowl in her band.

QUE E N. Ye pow'rs, how pity rends my soul!

[Afide. ROS A MO N Di Thus proftrate at your feet I fall. Olet ine ftill for mercy call! (Falling on her knees Accept, great Queen, like injur'd beau'n, The soul that begs to be forgiven ; If in the latest galp of breath, If in the dreadful pains of death, When the cold damp bedews your brow, You hope for mercy, soew it now.

QUE EN Mercy to lighter crimes is due, Horrors and deaths shall thine pursue.[Offering the dagger.

ROS A MO N D. Thus I prevent the fatal blow, -Whither, ah! whither shall I go! [Drinks.

QUEEN
Where thy past life thou shalt lament,
And wish thou hadft been innocent.

ROSAMOND.
Tyrant! to aggravate the stroke,
And wound a heart, already broke!
My dying foul with fury burns,
And Nlighted grief to madness turns.

Think not, thou autbor of my uve,
That Rofamond will leave thee fo,

At dead of nigbla
Aglaringsprigbe,
With hidrous fcreams,

P'll haunt thy dreams ;
And when the painful night withdraw,

My Henry fall rovenge my cause.
O whither does my frenzy drive!
Forgive my rage, your wrongs forgive,
My veins are froze; my blood grows chilli
'The weary springs of life stand still;
The sleep of death benumbs all o'er
My fainting limbs, and I'm no more. (Falls on the couch.

QUEEN.
Hear and observe your Queen's commands.

[Ta ber attendants. Beneath those hills a convent stands, Where the fam'd streams of Ifis ftray ; 'Thither the breathless coarse

convey, And bid the cloister'd maids with care The due folemnities

prepare. [Exeunt with the body. When vanquist'd foes beneath us. lie, How great it is to bid them die! But buww much greater to forgive, And lid & vanquish'd fee to live!

SCENE SCENE VII.

Sir TRUSTY in a frighta

A breathless corpse! what have I seen!
And follow'd by the jealous Queen!
It must be she! my fears are true :
The bowl of pois'nous juice I view.
How can the fam’d Sir Truffy live
To hear his Master chide and grieve ?
No! tho' I hate such bitter beer,
Fair Rosamond, I'll pledge thee here.

[Drinks The King this doleful news shall read

In lines of my inditing: Great Sir,

[Writer. “ Your Rosamond is dead “ As I am at this present writing. The bower turns round, my brain's aburd, The labyrinth grows more confus’d, The thickets dance fretch, 1 yawn. Deatb bas tripp'd up my

beels-
S-I'm gone.

(Staggers and falls.

SCENE VIII.

QUEEN fola. The conflict of my mind is o’er, And Rofamond shall charm no more.

Hence

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