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From glorious and immortal toils,
Loaden with honour, rich with spoils,
Great Henry comes! Prepare thy bower
To lodge the mighty conqueror.

SIR TRUSTY.

The bower and lady both are drest,
And ready to receive their guest.

MESSENGER.

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!

SIR TRUSTY.

Here I will stand

With hat in hand,

Obsequiously to meet him,

And must endeavour

At behaviour,

That's suitable to greet him.

SCENE VI.

Enter King Henry after a flourish of trumpets.

KING.

Where is my love! my Rosamond!

SIR TRUSTY.

First, as in strictest duty bound,
I kiss your royal hand.

KING.

Where is my life! my Rosamond?

SIR TRUSTY.

Next with submission most profound,
I welcome you to land.

KING.

Where is the tender, charming fair?

SIR TRUSTY.

Let me, appear, great Sir, I pray,
Methodical in what I say.

KING.

Where is my love, O tell me where?

SIR TRUSTY.

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 TRUSTY.

I speak, great Sir, with weeping eyes,
She raves, alas! she faints, she dies.

KING.

What dost thou say? I shake with fear.

SIR TRUSTY.

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,
Adorn'd with ev'ry charm and grace!
I'm all desire!

My heart's on fire,

And leaps and springs to her embrace."

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

VOL. VI.

With intermingling sweets have wove
The party-colour'd gay alcove.

SIR TRUSTY.

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.

Mean while 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.

"O the pleasing, pleasing anguish,
When we love, and when we languish!
Wishes rising!

Thoughts surprising!
Pleasure courting!

Charms transporting!

Fancy viewing,

Joys ensuing!

O the pleasing, pleasing anguish!"

Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Pavilion in the middle of the Bower.

KING AND ROSAMOND.

KING.

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

ROSAMOND.

Thus let me lose, in rising joys, Fierce impatience, fond desires, Absence that flatt'ring 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 strewd, Nor life on prostrate Gauls bestow'd, Give half the joys that fill my breast, While with my Rosamond I'm blest.

ROSAMOND.

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.

0 may the present bliss endure,

From fortune, time, and death secure!

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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.
ROSAMOND, 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;
While I, abandon'd and forlorn,
To dark and dismal deserts borne,
Through lonely wilds have seem'd to stray,
A long, uncomfortable way.

"They're phantoms all; I'll think no more: My life has endlss joys in store.

Farewell sorrow, farewell fear,

They're phantoms all! my Henry's here,"

SCENE II.

A Postern Gate of the Bower.

GRIDELINE AND PAGE.

GRIDELINE.

My stomach swells with secret spite,
To see my fickle, faithless knight,
With upright gesture, goodly mien,
Face of olive, coat of green,
That charm'd the ladies long ago,
So little his own worth to know,

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