« EelmineJätka »
The living! speak, oh speak again!
Why will you dally with my pain!
Were your lov'd Rosamond alive,
Would not my former wrongs revive?
Oh no; by visions from above
Prepar'd for grief, and freed from love,
I came to take my last adieu.
How am I blest if this be true! - [Aside.
And leave th’unhappy nymph for you.
Forbear, my lord, to grieve, And know your Rosamond does live. “ If ’tis joy to wound a lover,
How much more to give him ease? When his passion we discover,
Oh how pleasing 'tis to please! The bliss returns, and we receive Transports greater than we give.”
O quickly relate
This riddle of fate!
My impatience forgive,
Does Rosamond live?
The bowl, with drowsy juices fillid,
From cold Egyptian drugs distilld,
In borrow'd death has clos'd her eyes:
But soon the waking nymph shall rise,
And, in a convent plac’d, admire'
The cloister'd walls and virgin choir:
With them in songs and hymns divine
The beauteous penitent shall join,
And bid the guilty world adieu.
How am I blest, if this be true! [ Aside.
QUEEN. Atoning for herself and
I ask no more! secure the fair
In life and bliss: I ask not where:
For ever from my fancy fled
May the whole world believe her dead,
That no foul minister of vice
Again my sinking soul entice
Its broken passion to renew,
But let me live and die with you.
How does my heart, for such a prize,
The vain censorious world despise !
Though distant ages, yet unborn,
For Rosamond shall falsely mourn,
And with the present times agree,
To brand my name with cruelty;
How does my heart, for such a prize,
The vain censorious world despise!
But see your slave, while yet I speak,
From his dull trance unfetter'd break!
As he the potion shall survive
O happy day! O pleasing view!
My queen forgives
My lord is true.
“ No more I'll change,
“ No more I'll grieve:
“ But ever thus united live."
SIR TRUSTY awaking.
In which world am I!. all I see,
Ev'ry thicket, bush, and tree,
So like the place from whence I came,
That one would swear it were the same.
My former legs too, by their pace!
And by the whiskers, 'tis my face!
The self-same habit, garb and mien!
They ne'er would bury me in green.
GRIPELINE AND SIR TRUSTY.
Have I then liv'd to see this hour,
And took thee in the very bow'r?
Widow Trusty, why so fine?
Why dost thou thus in colours shine ?
Thou shouldst thy husband's death bewail
In sable vesture, peak, and veil.
Forbear these foolish freaks, and see
How our good king and queen agree.
Why should not we their steps pursue,
And do as our our superiors do?
Am I bewitch'd, or do I dream?
I know not who, or where I am,
Or what I hear, or what I see,
But this I'm sure, howe'er it be,
It suits a person
T observe the mode and be in fashion,
Then let not Grideline the chaste
Offended be for what is past,
And hence anew my vows I plight
To be a faithful courteous knight.
I'll too my plighted vows renew,
Since 'tis so courtly to be true.
“Since conjugal passion
Is come into fashion, And marriage so blest on the throne is,
Like a Venus I'll shine,
Be fond and be fine,
And Sir Trusty shall be my Adonis.
“And Sir Trusty shall be thy Adonis.
The King and Queen advancing.
Who to forbidden joys would rove,
That knows the sweets of virtuous love?
Hymen, thou source of chaste delights,
Cheerful days, and blissful nights,
Thou dost untainted joys dispense,
And pleasure join with innocence:
Thy raptures last, and are sincere
From future grief and present fear.
BOTH. "Who to forbidden joys would rove, That knows the sweets of virtuous love?"
In the first rise and infancy of Farce,
When fools were many, and when plays were scarce,
The raw unpractis'd authors could, with ease,
A young and unexperienc'd audience please:
No single character had e'er been shown,
But the whole herd of fops was all their own;
Rich in originals, thy, set to view,
In every piece, a coxcomb that was new.
But now our British theatre can boast
Drolls of all kinds, a vast unthinking host!
Fruitful of folly and of vice, it shows
Cuckolds, and cits, and bawds, and pimps, and beaux,
Rough country knights are found of every shire;
Of every fashion gentle fops appear;
And punks of different characters we meet,
As frequent on the stage as in the pit.
Our modern wits are forc'd to pick and cull,
And here and there by chance glean up a fool:
Long ere they find the necessary spark,
They search the town, and beat about the Park:
To all his most frequented haunts resort,
Oft dog him to the ring, and oft to court;