SIR TRUSTY.

Why wilt thou call thy turtle so?

GRIDELINE.

Cheat not me with false caresses.

SIR TRUSTY.

Let me stop thy mouth with kisses.

GRIDELINE.

Those to fair Rosamond are due.

SIR TRUSTY.

She is not half so fair as you.

GRIDELINE.

She views thee with a lover's eye.

SIR TRUSTY.

I'll still be thine, and let her die.

GRIDELINE.

No, no, 'tis plain. Thy frauds I see,
Traitor to thy king and me!

SIR TRUSTY.

"O Grideline! consult thy glass,
Behold that sweet bewitching face,
Those blooming cheeks, that lovely hue!
Ev'ry feature

(Charming creature)

Will convince you I am true."

GRIDELINE.

"O how blest were Grideline,
Could I call Sir Trusty mine!
Did he not cover amorous wiles
With soft, but, ah! deceiving smiles:
How should I revel in delight,

The spouse of such a peerless knight!”

SIR TRUSTY.

At length the storm begins to cease,
I've sooth'd and flatter'd her to peace.
"Tis now my turn to tyrannise:
I feel, I feel my fury rise!

Tigress, be gone.

[Aside.

SIR TRUSTY.

"Thou art ugly and old,

And a villanous scold.

GRIDELINE.

"Thou art a rustic to call me so.

I'm not ugly nor old,

Nor a villanous scold,

But thou art a rustic to call me so.

Thou, traitor, adieu!

SIR TRUSTY.

Farewell, thou shrew!

GRIDELINE.

SIR TRUSTY.

"Thou traitor,

"Thou shrew,

BOTH.

"Adieu! adieu !"

[Erit Grid.

SIR TRUSTY, solus.
How hard is our fate,

Who serve in the state,

And should lay out our cares
On public affairs;

When conjugal toils

And family broils

Make all our great labours miscarry!

Yet this is the lot

Of him that has got

Fair Rosamond's bower,

With the clew in his power,
And is courted by all,

Both the great and the small,

As principal pimp to the mighty king Harry. But see, the pensive fair draws near: I'll at a distance stand and hear.

SCENE IV.

ROSAMOND AND SIR TRUSTY.

ROSAMOND.

From walk to walk, from shade to shade, From stream to purling stream convey'd, Through all the mazes of the grove, Through all the mingling tracts I rove,

Turning,
Burning,
Changing,
Ranging,

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

And break my rest,

A thousand thousand ills combine.

Absence wounds me,
Fear surrounds me,
Guilt confounds me,

Was ever passion cross'd like mine?"

SIR TRUSTY.

What heart of stone

Can hear her moan,

And not in dumps so doleful join!

ROSAMOND.

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:

[Apart.

The vernal blooms of various hue,
The blossoms fresh with morning dew,
The breeze, that sweeps these fragrant bow'rs,
Fill'd with the breath of op'ning flow'rs,
Purple scenes,
Winding greens,
Glooms inviting,
Birds delighting,

(Nature's softest, sweetest store)
Charm my tortur'd 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 TRUSTY.

How much more blest would lovers be,
Did all the whining fools agree
To live like Grideline and me!

ROSAMOND.

O Rosamond, behold too late,
And tremble at thy future fate!

[Apart.

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 TRUSTY.

Such cold complaints befit a nun:
If she turns honest, I'm undone
ROSAMOND.

"Beneath some hoary mountain
I'll lay me down and weep,
Or near some warbling fountain
Bewail myself asleep;

Where feather'd choirs combining
With gentle murm'ring streams,
And winds in consort joining,

[Apart.

Raise sadly-pleasing dreams." [Exit. Ros.
SIR TRUSTY, solus.

What savage tiger would not pity

A damsel so distress'd and pretty!

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

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

A messenger! It must be so.

SCENE V.

MESSENGER AND SIR TRUSTY.

MESSENGER.

Great Henry comes! with love opprest;
Prepare to lodge the royal guest.
From purple fields with slaughter spread,
From rivers chok'd with heaps of dead,