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Through all the mazes of the grove,
Through all the mingling tracks I rove,

Full of grief and full of love.
Impatient for my lord's return
I sigh, I pine, I rave, I mourn.
Was ever passion crossed like mine?
To rend my breast,

And break my rest,

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A thousand thousand ills combine.
Absence wounds me,

Fear surrounds me,

Guilt confounds me,

Was ever passion crossed like mine?
What heart of stone

Can hear her moan,

And not in dumps so doleful join? [Apart. Rosa. How does my constant grief deface The pleasures of this happy place! In vain the spring my senses greets In all her colours, all her sweets; To me the rose

No longer glows,

Every plant

Has lost its scent:

The vernal blooms of various hue,
The blossoms fresh with morning dew,
The breeze, that sweeps these fragrant bowers
Filled with the breath of opening flowers,

Purple scenes,

Winding greens,
Glooms inviting,

Birds delighting,

(Nature's softest, sweetest store,)
Charm my tortured soul no more.
Ye powers, I rave, I faint, I die;
Why so slow! great Henry, why!
From death and alarms
Fly, fly to my arms,

Fly to my arms, my monarch, fly!

SIR TR. How much more blessed would lovers be,
Did all the whining fools agree
To live like Grideline and me!
ROSA. O Rosamond, behold too late,


And tremble at thy future fate!
Curse this unhappy, guilty face,
Every charm, and every grace,
That to thy ruin made their way,
And led thine innocence astray:
At home thou seest thy queen enraged,
Abroad thy absent lord engaged
In wars, that may our loves disjoin,
And end at once his life and mine.
SIR TR. Such cold complaints befit a nun:

If she turns honest, I'm undone! [Apart.

ROSA. Beneath some hoary mountain

I'll lay me down and weep,

Or near some warbling fountain
Bewail myself asleep;

Where feathered choirs combining

With gentle murmuring streams,
And winds in consort joining.
Raise sadly pleasing dreams.

[Exit Rosa.

SIR TR., solus. What savage tiger would not pity

A damsel so distressed and pretty;

But hah! a sound my bower invades, [Trum. flor.
And echoes through the winding shades;

'Tis Henry's march! the tune I know:

A messenger! It must be so.



MESS. Great Henry comes! with love opprest;
Prepare to lodge the royal guest.

From purple fields with slaughter spread,
From rivers choked with heaps of dead,
From glorious and immortal toils,
Loaden with honour, rich with spoils,
Great Henry comes! Prepare thy bower
To lodge the mighty conqueror.

SIR TR. The bower and lady both are drest,
And ready to receive their guest.
MESS. Hither the victor flies, (his queen
And royal progeny unseen;)


Soon as the British shores he reached,
Hither his foaming courser stretched:
And see! his eager steps prevent
The message that himself hath sent!
Here will I stand

With hat in hand,
Obsequiously to meet him,
And must endeavour
At behaviour,

That's suitable to greet him.


Enter KING HENRY after a flourish of trumpets.

KING. Where is my love! my Rosamond?
SIR TR. First, as in strictest duty bound,
I kiss your royal hand.

KING. Where is my life! my Rosamond?
SIR TR. Next, with submission most profound,
I welcome you to land.

KING. Where is the tender, charming fair?
SIR TR. Let me appear, great sir, I pray,
Methodical in what I say.

KING. Where is my love, O tell me where? SIR TR. For when we have a prince's ear, We should have wit,

To know what's fit

For us to speak, and him to hear. KING. These dull delays I cannot bear.

Where is my love, O tell me where? SIR TR. I speak, great sir, with weeping eyes, She raves, alas! she faints, she dies. KING. What dost thou say? I shake with fear. SIR TR. Nay, good my liege, with patience hear. She raves, and faints, and dies, 'tis true; But raves, and faints, and dies for you. KING. Was ever nymph like Rosamond, So fair, so faithful, and so fond,



Adorned with


I'm all desire!

charm and grace?

My heart's on fire,

And leaps and springs to her embrace.
At the sight of her lover
She 'll quickly recover.

What place will you choose
For first interviews ?

KING. Full in the centre of the grove,
In yon pavilion made for love,
Where woodbines, roses, jessamines,
Amaranths, and eglantines,

With intermingling sweets, have wove
The particoloured gay alcove.

SIR TR. Your Highness, sir, as I presume,
Has chose the most convenient gloom;
There's not a spot in all the park

Has trees so thick, and shades so dark.
KING. Meanwhile with due attention wait
To guard the bower, and watch the gate:
Let neither envy, grief, nor fear,
Nor love-sick jealousy appear;

Nor senseless pomp, nor noise intrude
On this delicious solitude;

But pleasure reign through all the grove,
And all be peace, and all be love.

Oh the pleasing, pleasing anguish,
When we love, and when we languish!

Wishes rising!

Thoughts surprising!

Pleasure courting!

Charms transporting!

Fancy viewing

Joys ensuing!

Oh the pleasing, pleasing anguish! [Exeunt.

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SCENE I-A Pavilion in the middle of the Bower.


KING. THUS let my weary soul forget
Restless glory, martial strife,
Anxious pleasures of the great,
And gilded cares of life.

ROSA. Thus let me lose, in rising joys,
Fierce impatience, fond desires,
Absence that flattering hope destroys,
And life-consuming fires.

KING. Not the loud British shout that warms
The warrior's heart, nor clashing arms,
Nor fields with hostile banners strowed,
Nor life on prostrate Gauls bestowed,
Give half the joys that fill my breast,
While with my Rosamond I'm blest.
ROSA. My Henry is my soul's delight,
My wish by day, my dream by night.
'Tis not in language to impart
The secret meltings of my heart,
While I my conqueror survey,
And look my very soul away.
KING. Oh may the present bliss endure,
From fortune, time, and death secure!
Вотн. Ов may the present bliss endure!
KING. My eye could ever gaze, my ear

Those gentle sounds could ever hear:
But oh! with noon-day heats opprest,
My aching temples call for rest!
In yon cool grotto's artful night
Refreshing slumbers I'll invite,
Then seek again my absent fair,
With all the love a heart can bear.

[Exit King.

ROSA., sola. From whence this sad presaging fear,

This sudden sigh, this falling tear?
Oft in my silent dreams by night
With such a look I've seen him fly,
Wafted by angels to the sky,
And lost in endless tracts of light;

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