"Rise, glory, rise in all thy charms,
Thy waving crest, and burnish'd arms,
Spread thy gilded banners round,
Make thy thundering courser bound,
Bid the drum and trumpet join,
Warm my soul with rage divine;
All thy pomps around thee call:
To conquer Love will ask them all." [Exit.
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 QUEEN.
Every star, and every 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,
Hast thou more of pain or pleasure!
Chill'd with tears,
Endless torments dwell about thee:
Yet who would live, and live without thee!"
But oh the sight 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 the end of the stage.
Some dreadful birth of fate is near:
Or why, my soul, unus'd to fear,
With secret horror dost thou shake?
Can dreams such dire impressions make!
What means this solemn, silent show?
This pomp of death, this scene of woe!
Support me, heav'n! what's this I read?
Oh 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 tost,
And in the whirl of passion lost.
Why did I not in battle fall,
Crush'd by the thunder of the Gaul?
Why did the spear my bosom miss?
Ye powers, was I reserv'd for this!
Fain would my tongue his griefs appease,
And give his tortur'd bosom ease.
But see! the cause of all my fears,
The source of all my grief appears!
No unexpected guest is here;
The fatal bowl
Inform'd my soul
Eleonora was too near.
Why do I here my lord receive?
Is this the welcome that you give.
Thus should divided lovers' meet?
"And is it thus, ah! thus we greet!"
What, in these guilty shades, could you,
Inglorious conqueror, pursue?
Floods of sorrow will I shed
To mourn the lovely shade! My Rosamond, alas! is dead,
And where, O where convey'd!
"So bright a bloom, so soft an air, Did ever nymph disclose!
The lily was not half so fair,
Nor half so sweet the rose.
How is his heart with anguish torn!
My lord, I cannot see you mourn;
The living you lament: while I,
To be lamented so, could die.
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.
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 fill'd,
From cold Egyptian drugs distill'd,
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!
Atoning for herself and you.
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
Believe your Rosamond alive.
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