« EelmineJätka »
Bid the drum and trumpets join,
Every ftar, and ev'ry pow'r,
Help me my Henry to affuage,
The Scene changes to that part of the bower where Sir Trusty lies upon the ground, with the bowl and dagger on the table.
Kill'd with fears,
Endless torments dwell about thee:
My Lord appears, I'm all on fire!
My heart's too full, I must retire.
[Retires to the end of the flage. SCENE
Floods of forrew will I hed
To mourn the lovely fhade! My Rajamant, alas, is dead,
And where, O where convey'd! Sc bright a bluum, fi fift am air,
Did ever nymph difclife! The lily was mi balf jo fair,
Nor balf fo fweet the rose.
How is his heart with anguish torn!
your lov'd Rofamond alive,
not my former wrongs revive?
Oh no; by vifions from above,
Prepar'd for grief, and freed from love,
How am I blefs'd if this be true!
And leave th' unhappy nymph for you.
Forbear, my Lord, to grieve,
Ob bow pleafing 'tis to please!
O quickly relate
This riddle of fate!
My impatience forgive,
The bowl with drowsy juices fill'd,
KING and QUEEN.
Some dreadful birth of fate is near:
O horror! Rofamond is dead.
To feek my relief:
Fain wou'd my tongue his griefs appeafe,
Bat fee the caufe of all my fears,
The fatal bowl
Inform'd my foul
Eleonora was too near.
Why do I here my Lord receive?
Is this the welcome that you give ?
Thus fhou'd divided lovers meet?
And is it thus, ab! thus we greet!
What in thefe guilty thades cou'd you,
Cruel woman, what cou'd you?
Degenerate thoughts have fir'd your breaft.
The thirft of blood has yours poffefs'd.