divine ;

Bid the drum and trumpets join,
Warm my soul with

rage
All thy pomps around thee call:

To conquer love will ask them all.

(Exil.

SCENE II.

The Scene changes to that part of the bower where

Sir Trusty lies upon the ground, with the bowl and dagger on the table.

Enter QUE E N.
Every star, and ev'ry pow'r,
Look down on this important hour :
Lend your protection and defence,
Every guard of innocence!
Help me my Henry to assuage,
To gain his love, or bear his rage.

Mysterious love, uncertain treasure,
Haft thou more of pain or pleasure !

Chilld with tears,

Killd with fears,
Endless torments dwell about thee:

Yet who would live, and live without thee!
But oh the fight my soul alarms:

My Lord appears, I'm all on fire!
Why am I banish'd from his arms ?
My heart's too full, I must retire.

[Retires to be end of the page.

SCENE

5711 rier

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CIG. Floods cf forsww I had

To scurt the lovely stade! My Rsament, ales, is dead,

And where, O where coarey'd! 8. brigbe a bit, fe mit an ar,

Did coer symph Ede!
Tbe lily was no: half jo far,
No balf bo faveet ibe rose.

QUE EN
How is his heart with anguish torn!
My Lord, I can not see you mourn:
The living you lament: while I,
To be lamented so, cou'd die.

KING.
The living! speak, oh speak again!
Why will you dally with my pain!

QUE E N. - your lov'd Rofamond alive,

110t my former wrongs reviver

(Aside

KING.
Oh no; by visions from above,
Prepard for grief, and freed from love,
I came to take my last adieu,

QUEEN.
How am I bless'd if this be true!.

K I N G.
And leave th' unhappy nymph for you.
But O!

QUE E N.
Forbear, my Lord, to grieve,
And know your Rofamond does live.

If 'tis joy to wound a lover,

How much more to give him ease?
When his passion we discover,

Ob bow pleafing 'tis to please !
The bliss returns, and we receive
Transports greater than we give.

KING
O quickly relate
This riddle of fate!
My impatience forgive,
Does Rosamond live?

QUEEN.
The bowl with drowsy juices fill'd,
Prom cold Egyptian drugs distillid,
In borrow'd death has clos'd her eyes;
But foon the waking nymph shall rise,

And

X IN G.
Some dreadful birth of fate is near:
Or why, my soul, unus'd to fear,
With secret horror doft thou shake?':
Can dreams such dire impretłons make!
What means this folemn, filent show?
This

pomp of death, this scene of woet
Support me, heav'n! what's this I read?
O horror! Rosamond is dead.
What shall I say, or whither turn?
With grief, and rage, and love, I burn:
From thought to thought my soul is tosta
And in the whirle of paffion loft.
Why did I not in battle fall,
Crush'd by the thunder of the Gaul!
Why did the spear my bosom miss?
Ye pow'rs, was I reserv'd for this

Distracted with
P'll ruso on the foe

To seek my, relief :
I be sword or ebe dars
Sball pierce my fad beart,

And finish my grief!

was

QUE EN

QUE E N.
Fain wou'd my tongue his griefs appease,
And give his tortur'd bosom ease.

[fiele.
K I N G
Best see! the cause of all my fears,
The source of all my grief appears!
No unexpected guest is here ;

The fatal bowl
Inform'd

пту

soul Eleonora was too near.

QUE EN
Why do I here my Lord receive ?

KING.
Is this the welcome that you give?

QUE EN
Thus shou'd divided lovers meet?

BOTH And is it thus, ah! thus que greet!

QUE E N. What in these guilty Hades cou'd you, Inglorious conqueror, pursue?

K I N G. Crucl woman, what cou'd

QUE E N.
Degenerate thoughts have fir'd your breaft.

KING
The thirst of blood has yours poffcss d.

QUE EN

you?