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Kindling pity, kindling rage,

At once provoke me, and assuage. [Aside.
ROSA. What shall I do to pacify
Your kindled vengeance?


Thou shalt die.

[Offering the dagger.

ROSA. Give me but one short moment's stay.
-O Henry, why so far away? [Aside.

QUEEN. Prepare to welter in a flood
Of streaming gore.


[Offering the dagger.

O spare my blood,

[Takes the bowl in her hand.

And let me grasp the deadly bowl.

QUEEN. Ye powers, how pity rends my soul! [Aside.
Rosa. Thus prostrate at your feet I fall,

O let me still for mercy call!

[Falling on her knees.
Accept, great queen, like injured Heaven,
The soul that begs to be forgiven:

If in the latest gasp of breath,
If in the dreadful pains of death,
When the cold damp bedews your brow,
You hope for mercy, show it now.

QUEEN. Mercy to lighter crimes is due,
Horrors and death shall thine pursue.

[Offering the dagger.

ROSA. Thus I prevent the fatal blow. [Drinks.
-Whither, ah! whither shall I go?
QUEEN. Where thy past life thou shalt lament,
And wish thou hadst been innocent.

ROSA. Tyrant! to aggravate the stroke,
And wound a heart, already broke!
My dying soul with fury burns,
And slighted grief to madness turns.
Think not, thou author of my woe,
That Rosamond will leave thee so:
At dead of night,

A glaring sprite,
With hideous screams

I'll haunt thy dreams,

And when the painful night withdraws
My Henry shall revenge my cause.

Oh whither does my frenzy drive!
Forgive my rage, your wrongs forgive.
My veins are froze; my blood grows
The weary springs of life stand still;
The sleep of death benumbs all o'er
My fainting limbs, and I'm no more.


[Falls on the couch.

QUEEN. Hear, and observe your queen's commands.

[To her attendants.

Beneath those hills a convent stands,
Where the famed streams of Isis stray;
Thither the breathless corse convey,
And bid the cloistered maids with care
The due solemnities prepare.

[Exeunt with the body.

When vanquished foes beneath us lie,
How great it is to bid them die!
But how much greater to forgive,
And bid a vanquished foe to live!


SIR TRUSTY, in a fright.

A breathless corpse! what have I seen?
And followed by the jealous queen!
It must be she! my fears are true:
The bowl of poisonous juice I view.
How can the famed Sir Trusty live
To hear his master chide and grieve?
No! though I hate such bitter beer,


Fair Rosamond, I'll pledge thee here. [Drinks.
The king this doleful news shall read

In lines of my inditing;

'Great sir,

"Your Rosamond is dead,

As I am at this present writing.'


The bower turns round, my brain's abused,
The labyrinth grows more confused,
The thickets dance-I stretch, I yawn.

Death has tripped up my heels-I'm gone.

[Staggers and falls.


QUEEN, sola.

The conflict of my mind is o'er,
And Rosamond shall charm no more.
Hence, ye secret damps of care,
Fierce disdain, and cold despair,
Hence, ye fears and doubts, remove:
Hence, grief and hate!

Ye pains that wait

On jealousy, the rage of love.
My Henry shall be mine alone,
The hero shall be all my own;
Nobler joys possess my heart

Than crowns and sceptres can impart.


SCENE I-A Grotto, HENRY asleep, a cloud descends, in it two Angels, supposed to be the guardian spirits of the British kings in war and in peace.

1ST ANGEL. BEHOLD the unhappy monarch there, That claims our tutelary care!

2ND ANG. In fields of death around his head
A shield of adamant I spread.

1ST ANG. In hours of peace, unseen, unknown,
I hover o'er the British throne.
2ND ANG. When hosts of foes with foes engage,
And round the anointed hero rage,
The cleaving falchion I misguide,
And turn the feathered shaft aside.
1ST ANG. When dark, fermenting factions swell,
And prompt the ambitious to rebel,
A thousand terrors I impart,
And damp the furious traitor's heart.
BоTH. But, oh! what influence can remove
The pangs of grief and rage of love!
2ND ANG. I'll fire his soul with mighty themes,
Till love before ambition fly.

1ST ANG. I'll soothe his cares in pleasing dreams,
Till grief in joyful raptures die.

2ND ANG. Whatever glorious and renowned
In British annals can be found;
Whatever actions shall adorn
Britannia's heroes, yet unborn,
In dreadful visions shall succeed;
On fancied fields the Gauls shall bleed,
Cressy shall stand before his eyes,
And Agincourt and Blenheim rise.

1ST ANG. See, see, he smiles amidst his trance,
And shakes a visionary lance,


His brain is filled with loud alarms;
Shouting armies, clashing arms,
The softer prints of love deface,
And trumpets sound in every trace.
Glory strives;

The field is won!

Fame revives

And love is gone.

1ST ANG. To calm thy grief, and lull my cares,
Look up and see

What, after long revolving years,
Thy bower shall be !

When time its beauties shall deface,
And only with its ruins grace
The future prospect of the place.
Behold the glorious pile ascending!1
Columns swelling, arches bending,
Domes in awful pomp arising,
Art in curious strokes surprising,
Foes in figured fights contending,
Behold the glorious pile ascending!
2ND ANG. He sees, he sees the great reward
For Anna's mighty chief prepared:
His growing joys no measure keep,
Too vehement and fierce for sleep.
1ST ANG. Let grief and love at once engage,
His heart is proof to all their pain;
Love may plead,



And grief may rageBut both shall plead and rage in vain. [The Angels ascend, and the vision disappears

1 Scene changes to the Plan of Blenheim Castle.

HENRY, starting from the couch.
Where have my ravished senses been!
What joys, what wonders, have I seen!
The scene yet stands before my eye,
A thousand glorious deeds that lie
In deep futurity obscure;

Fights and triumphs immature,
Heroes immersed in time's dark womb,
Ripening for mighty years to come,
Break forth, and, to the day displayed,
My soft, inglorious hours upbraid.
Transported with so bright a scheme,
My waking life appears a dream.
Adieu, ye wanton shades and bowers,
Wreaths of myrtle, beds of flowers,
Rosy brakes,

Silver lakes,
To love and you
A long adieu!

O Rosamond! O rising woe!
Why do my weeping eyes o'erflow?
O Rosamond! O fair distressed!

How shall my heart, with grief oppressed,

Its unrelenting purpose tell,

And take the long, the last farewell?
Rise, glory, rise in all thy charms,
Thy waving crest, and burnished 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.


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.

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