University of Virginia Library

ACT. III.

SCENE I.

Enter Queen alone, Reading.
Queen.
How dull is all this World without my Child!
My Nature sickens, all my Senses droop;
Each wresty Faculty disorder'd grows,
And ev'ry Vessel through which Life does play
Its feeding Blood, to hearten and refresh
The Limbs and Spirits to obey the Will,
Like Pipes choak'd up, no longer can supply,
But bacward run, and burst for want of passage.
Cou'd I but find the honest, pious Abbot,
He'd free me from this Labyrinth of Fear,
Resolve my Doubts, and give me Peace again.

[Sits down and reads.
Enter Bertrad.
Bertr.

Who the Devil put it into his Lordship's head to employ me
in State affairs? I shall marr all, for want of a Memory; and he might
as well have attempted to make a Sieve hold Water, as trusted me with
his Councils: It is certain I was never cut out for a Politician. This
Reverend Abbot has engag'd me in a fine bus'ness. When Rosamond told
me in Confession of the King's Address to her, and I acquainted his
Lordship with it, he oblig'd me to persuade her she ought not to resist
the Importunities of her Prince, lest her Obstinacy should occasion his
Death, and Royal Murther was a dreadful thing: But what's the reason
of his making me tell the Queen of it? He says 'tis to revenge our
Patron Becket: I know not what it may come to; he has promis'd me
Preferment, and my Conscience must submit to my Ambition.—
Oh she's here.—How shall I deliver my self?—I'm a cursed
Orator.—I'll put some hard words together, which will sound
like Rhetorick, and that may pass for Learning if she understands 'em
not.—Hail, Sacred Majesty.

Queen.
The sound of Health to a departing Wretch
Is not more welcom than such happy Company,
The true Restorative to a sick Mind,
Since all the Physick which the Soul requires
Dwels in your Breasts.

Bertr.
I shall believe anon I'm not the person I took my self for.

Queen.
Where have you left the Abbot?

Bertr.
In his Cell,
Where on the cold hard Pavement he was paying
His zealous Orisons to all the Saints
For the Prosperity of the Illustrious Prince,
Your Royal Son.

Queen.
How much he binds me to him!

Bertr.
Now for my lofty Style.
[Aside.
If the Nation may it please August Majesty,
Could but comprehend the unaccountable Qualifications
Of his indisputable Understanding, they would
Venerate the indulgence of his Sanctity.

Queen.
I do believe you, Father.

Bertr.
Nay I dare be bold to say; nay more, affirm;
And what is more, confirm, That if the
Worthy President he sets Mankind were follow'd,
There would be vast sincerity of Conscience,
And the Age or World (which you please) would not
So transcendently abound with Knaves and Villains.

Queen.
Go on, Father.

Bertr.

Whether I can or no?—No Abbot yet!—I shall be
baffled presently.

Queen.

Why do you pause? why are you thus concern'd?

Bertr.

How should it be otherwise, with profound submission, when
the sacred Ornaments of your Countenance appear not so sublime as
usual; but the Rays of Dignity suffer as it were under the repugnance
of an Eclypse? hum, hum.

Queen.

The absence of the Prince is grievous to me.

Bert.

Ay, Madam, you have mention'd the only Star that grac'd our
Horrizon; to be depriv'd of him, is enough to put the considerating
part of the Nation into Lacrimary showrs, and stupifying sadness.
Enter Abbot, or I must Exit.

Queen.
I am amaz'd!
You seem to hint at dangers, and call up
My Blood which crouds too fast about my heart,
And makes it pant with an unusual terror.
No pain is sure like that of Apprehension:
Therefore, good Father ease me of it quickly;
Pour in a Balm upon my bleeding wounds,
Restore my Health, and give my Tortures ease.

Enter Abbot.
Bert.

He's come in good time; for I am hared with the apprehension
of the fury of her displeasure.

Abbot.
The hours of Peace, Eternal Blessings wait you;
May all your Prayers be heard, your Wishes Crown'd,
And constant happiness attend 'em both.

Queen.
'Tis kindly wish'd; but answer me, my Lord,
Pray, and be sincere; wave Holy niceties,
And tell me plainly, whither yon good Man
Is not distempered in his mind?

Abbot.
Far from it, on my Word.

Bert.
Nay, if she thinks me mad for a little impertinence,
What will she think of the Church that's never at quiet!

Abbot.
He has shot too far, I find it by his looks;
So it is always when he does amiss.

Bert.

How could I help it? You might have come sooner, before
my Rhetorick tyred, and have hindred the stumbling of my understanding.

Abbot.
Be silent; I'll fetch you off.
Your Majesty it seems is ignorant of what
This Holy Man is bless'd withal:
His Fasting, Watching, Praying, constant Penance,
Pull'd down from Heav'n the gift of Prophesy.

Queen.
Indeed, my Lord!

Bert.
I did Prophesy a Lye must help me truly.

Queen.
He seem'd concern'd for my Son's safety.

Abbot.
I fear'd as much: Then all the Truth is out.
Why did you not avoid the Royal presence?
It was not fit the Queen should know it yet;
Babble no more, 'tis of ill consequence.

Bert.
What, has he lost his Beads he's so testy?
Did not you tell me the Queen—

Abbot.
Peace.

Bert.

Good Lord, what's the matter now! 'Tis hard that one Churchman
can't know the bottom of another.

Queen.
Why do you rate him thus? Is it not fit,
If ought concern my safety, that I know it?
Be quick, and do not trifle with my expectation;
I shall forget the Sanction of your Robe,
And slight what I esteem'd.

Abbot.
Pardon me, Royal Mistriss;
I would not for the World offend that goodness:
But this is such a Tale, which I must tell,
Will chill and stagger every sence about you:
Therefore if I do lagg in my Confession,
Think it not want of Duty, but of Courage;
For, O, I dread the fatal consequence
Which must attend the impression it will make.

Queen.
Go on, and fear not;
For I've a Soul so near Divinity,
I can behold the worst that Fate can do,
And Laugh at the Decree.

Abbo.
Then listen, for I talk of wondrous things;
When Kings, to prove their fondness of a Son,
Expose him to the Toyl of Camps and Wars,
And danger is a mark of their esteem.
Then yours is much belov'd.
If, when a Prince has got the Peoples Love,
And all their Jubilees express his Name,
The Father, to indulge their kindness to him,
Sends him abroad to keep him in their mind,
Then ours is strangely worship'd.

Queen.
Ha!

Bert.
What a rare pair of Bellows is a Canting Priest!
She blazes already.

Abbot.
If when a King with Sacred Marriage tyr'd,
To shew how much yet still he hugs that chain
On a fresh Beauty pours his longing Soul;
And jealous of her Rage whom he has wrong'd,
Removes all means by which she might Revenge;
If this be proof that Wedlock he admires,
Then you are justly us'd.

Queen.
How now; what say'st thou! Is my Bed abus'd?
Or is my Son remov'd least he should right me?
Lay by thy cunning Rhetorick, and be plain;
Wind not my Weakness up with Preparation,
To make my Passion more extravagant,
It needs it not; I want no Fire to keep my Anger up:
A Royal Spirit has a Pride that feeds it.

Abbot.
'Tis a sad Truth indeed; but so it is,
The Lord of Clifford's Daughter, Rosamond,
Wears the King's Heart, and you are but a Cypher.

Queen.
How know'st thou this, what certainty? ha! speak.

Abbot.
This Holy Father is her Confessor.

Bert.
What will become of me!

Abbot.
With vast reluctancy he did reveal it,
Upon my promise I would ne're disclose it;
And now he shakes to find himself betray'd.

Queen.
Come hither Priest.

Bert.
Oh, Lord!

Queen.
Come hither; what do'st start at?
Canst thou conduct me where these Lovers meet?

Bert.
Not for the World.

Queen.
Better thy Soul were out on't.
Come Abbot, make him guide us
Where in each others Arms this pair are clasp'd,
That I may cut the twisted folds asunder.

Bert.

Oh! I shall be hang'd for being of their Councel, and betraying
it afterwards.

[Aside.
Abbot.
Oh, give not way to this destructive Rage;
We shall be all undone by this rash act:
Have Patience, and see further.

Queen.
What! do'st thou lay my body on the fire,
And bid me bear its flames with whining Patience,
When I may quench it with a Rivals Blood?

Abbot.
O horrid Resolution!
Would you add Murder to Adultery,
And make your self as wicked as the King?

Queen.
Why didst thou tell me then this cursed story?

Bert.
Let Heav'n Revenge you.

Queen.
I'll not stay so long.

Abbot.
The Church shall Right you.

Queen.
Both are too tedious for me:
Besides you fear (although you hate) the King,
And as your Interest leads, you will direct.
No, you have light the Brand, and shall partake
The heat on't.

Abbot.
Is't fit our Piety should be expos'd in such a shameful cause?
Upon our Knees,

Kneel.
Bert.
Ay, upon our Knees,

Queen.
Is't fit your Piety should be expos'd?
Is't fit my Dignity should be abus'd?
Thus still your Churches Credit you'l maintain,
No matter what we suffer, if you Reign:
But since my Soul you've set upon the Rack,
And touch'd my Love, I'll my own measures take,
Give my Eyes proof of what your Tongues have told;
Think not to shun me, by your Robes I'll hold;
And if I find my Peace you have abus'd,
Never were Hereticks so basely us'd
By your Church Tyranny, as you shall be by me;
Away, be gone, lead on, avaunt Hipocrisy.

[Exeunt, turning to each, and pushing Bertrard.

[Scene]

Scene opens, Rosamond Reading.
Rosam.
How am I alter'd! how estrang'd of late!
Virtue has ta'ne her flight, and Innocence,
The bright, the only Jewel of the Sex,
Flies this polluted place as from Infection.
Oh! Honour, what a dreadful loss thou art,
And yet how hard to keep from what we Love!
How dismal 'tis to think of what I've done!
Should he prove false now, change like other Men,
And only Triumph o're his Wretched Conquest,
How much more dreadful will my loss appear!
Oh! could Men guess the terror we endure,
What 'twixt our Honour and our Love we suffer,
They sure would prize each generous Maid much more,
And, as their Souls, indulge them to the last.
Aspatia.

Aspa.
Madam.

Rosa.
Sing me that Song I gave thee th'other day,
And if thou canst, charm me into a slumber.

Enter Abbot and Queen.
Abbot.
Behold your Rival, and survey her glory;
But not a word of Bertrard, or of me.

Queen.
Be gone.

Abbot.
No; I'll behold the rancour of thy Malice,
Thy thirst of Blood, and most insatiate Fury.
Now Rosamond thou diest, or else Revenge
Lags in its Course; No, run thy full career,
The master stroke of my designs lie here.

Rosa.
What do I see! or is't an Apparition!
My Blood runs backward to my frightned Heart,
And something tells me that my Fate is near.

Queen.
Appear thou Fairy Queen, and summon up
Thy Host of Spirits to defend their Charge;
For I am come to snatch away thy Glories,
Dissolve thy Charms, and hurl thee to destruction.

Rosa.
Why, Madam, this to me? What have I done
To move those Frowns, or urge these angry words?

Queen.
You to my Anger are it seems a stranger,
But with my Rights are very intimate:
What canst thou see defective in this Face,
That you dare vye for Place, or hope for Conquest?

Rosa.
You plunge me still in wonder and amazement!
I ever pay'd that awful Head such Duty
As is expected by a Crown from Subjects:
But if some evil Tongue has blacken'd me,
To make me odious in your Royal looks,
I cannot help the baseness of my Foes;
But I shall still adore, tho' I am scorn'd.

Queen.
Oh! that this wretch, this indigested heap
Of crouding Beauties, which do each outvy
For Place and Praise from the admiring World,
Should have a Soul so unworthy of its Frame;
How poorly dost thou strive to hide thy Faults,
And shake for what the better part o'th' Sex would boast of.
Last Night, last Night, canst thou deny the Blessing,
When in the Arms of my most Treacherous Lord
You Laugh'd and Revell'd the short hours away,
Whil'st I in ignorance expecting lay?

Rosa.
Oh, I am lost!

Queen.
Thou art indeed:
But my Revenge is starv'd;
Thy Life's too little to appease its hunger:
I would contrive some way, if possible,
To be as long in torturing thy Soul,
As the Remembrance of thy Crimes will mine.

Rosa.
Will you not hear me speak?

Queen.
What canst thou plead,
What urge in thy Defence, thou guilty fair one?
Hast thou not Rob'd me of my Souls best thought?
For ever torn my interest from his Love?
Stript me of all my Wishes, all my Joys,
Deafned his Ears to my complaining Soul,
And lock'd up every passage to his Heart?

Rosa.
I shun'd him, long was deaf to his desires,
Avoided him as an approaching Plague,
For well I saw the fatal consequence:
To an excess of Rudeness I abjur'd him;
Nay, yet have only listned to his Love.

Queen.
By Hell 'tis false: thou hast enjoy'd it to.
Think'st thou to blunt my Rage by this denyal?
No, I am too well convinc'd of what is past:
Therefore prepare thy self for what's to come.

[Draws a Dagger.
Rosa.
Oh! Mercy.

Queen.
Mercy,
Canst thou desire to live, and I in being!
Methinks thou should'st intreat me to dispatch,
Considering what a Plague I shall be to thee:
When first I heard the Name of Rosamond,
I thought to find an Amazonian Spirit,
One thar dar'd Cope with injur'd Majesty,
And stand the proof who best deserv'd a King:
But I have err'd, for he has chosen one,
The Relict of some poor half starv'd Plebean,
Dress'd up with Pageant greatness, to allure
the Roving Appetite of a loose King.

Rosa.
I held as Rich, as Pure, and Noble Blood
As any of my Sex, till this Curs'd change
Sullied my Veins, and stain'd my Family.

Queen.
The Sacrifice will be the Nobler for't:
Prepare.

[Holds the Dagger up.
Rosa.
Must I then dye?
Is there no pity left?

Queen.
Banish the thought, Mercy and I are Strangers:
Yet e're thou goest, I charge thee to abjure his Name,
Quit all Pretensions to him,
Curse him before the Pangs of Death come on,
For hurrying thee to Hell before thy time.

Rosa.
No, I will bless him to my utmost gasp,
Groan forth his Name, as he has sigh'd out mine;
Think on the Kneeling hours he has wept away,
The many charming words that mov'd my Heart,
The mighty changes that my Smiles and Frowns
Have rais'd in his expecting, doubtful Soul;
The Transports of his Trembling, Fierce Embraces,
And hug him with such eagerness to Heav'n.

Queen.
Then Face thy Doom.

[Moves forward.
Rosa.
I do:
I have invok'd the Patron of my Love,
And now the weakness of my Sex has left me;
Since I must die for Love, my Love shall arm me,
I know his hatred must pursue thee for it;
Nay, I believe he will Revenge me too:
But since I know this Act will Curse thee from him,
Live, and be wretched in his Scorn.

Queen.
So Arrogant! Sink Tow'ring Sorceress,

[Offers to Stab her.
Enter King and Sir Tho. Vaughan.
[The King stops her.
King.
O, hold! it must not be.

Queen.
Why dost thou barr the stroke, ungrateful Man,
Unless thou would'st employ the point on me;
Here, strike, I know thou hatest me Henry;
Rip up this Bosom, mangle my fond Heart
That bleeds for thy unkindness; do it quickly,
And shew you have some sparks of pity left.

King.
Be calm, my Queen, hush up these jarring Passions;
Let not thy Jealousy exceed thy Reason,
Lest blab-tongu'd Fame should tell the envious World
The frailties of us both.

Queen.
Would I were dead.

King.
Banish that wish for ever; Oh, Eleanor,
If I have Sally'd from great Hymen's Laws,
And surfeited on strange forbidden Fruit,
'Tis I must answer for the great offence;
Why should you seek to stain your purer hands
In Violence and Blood? Why so pollute
Thy Innocence with Infamy and Shame?

Rosa.
What is't I hear! Nay, then would Death had reach'd me.

[Aside.
Queen.
How can you flatter thus, and she in hearing?
I know 'tis only to delude my Rage,
'Tis Nobler killing me, than thus to cheat me;
When I am gone, without controul
You and your Paramour in Sin may triumph,
While poor neglected I, your slighted Queen,
Sleep quiet in the cold and silent Earth:

King.
Oh, dreadful Tryal,
How can I comply with Justice here,
And not destroy what most I covet there?

[Aside.
Rosa.
He's at a stand, his Love has time to think;
Nay then, I find he cools, and I am lost.

[Aside.
Queen.
I do but hinder you from your desires,
And tho' my Soul is put upon the wrack
When I lose any share in your affection,
Yet since you covet it, I will retire.

King.
Stay, Eleanor, and be convinc'd at last
Thy Power is Absolute, and yields to none;
That I have Lov'd her, with a blush I own;
Nay, doated to, with vast excess of longing;
But sure it was some vile Enchantment rid me:
The Spell's dissolv'd by thy more powerful Charms,
And I'm asham'd of my Infatuation.

Rosa.
Oh, faithless, perjur'd, and ungrateful Monster!

Queen.
Can this be real?

King.
By Heav'n the Tide of Love has run its highest,
And all Desire is Ebbing.

Queen.
But the next flood the torrent will return,
And Rosamond break down your Resolution.

King.
Impossible:
There is more pureness, sweetness, true delight
In thee, my Queen, than e're I found
In all the Wilds and Salleys of my Life.

Queen.
Oh, blessed sound!

King.
The World has not thy worth; for in thee
All that thy Sex can boast of is intire.

Queen.
I do believe you, tho' I know 'tis feign'd,
Yet I will seem transported with the change,
And stab my Rival with the sight of it.

King.
Come let us hence, and leave this hated place.

Queen.
I know this sight must make you envy me;
But I, in kind return, will pity thee.

Rosa.
Oh King, farwell.

[As they are going Rosamond Swoons, King turns back.
Sir Tho.
O! help, she Swoons.

King.
Ha! What is that!

Queen.
Only a trick to bring you back again:
A fit o'th' Sullens; come my Lord away.

King.
What! leave her dying, 'twere unnatural.

Rosa.
Oh, cruel Man!

Queen.
The Syren now begins to tune her Magick,
And betray your Promise.

King.
Oh, Rosamond!

Queen.
Is this well done, my Lord?

King.
'Twas but the Blair of Love as it expir'd,
And now 'tis gone for ever: Heart keep thy bounds,
And do not shew my falshood at my Eyes;
This is the rigidst Task I ever met with:
I Torture all the Comfort of my Life,
To please the most vexatious thing, a Wife.

[Exeunt.
Sir Tho.
Madam, Madam, won't you speak? The King's gone,
Ben't frigtned so, 'twas only to blind the Queen;
He Loves you still above all.

Rosa.
Why have you call'd me back to misery,
To endless trouble, and eternal sorrow?

Sir Tho.
Nay, I don't know what to think on't;
I fear we're undone.

Rosa.
Curs'd be the chance that spar'd this hated Life:
Curs'd be the hour when first my Soul gave way,
And drank the Philtre of his baneful Tongue:
May Night for ever cloud me from the World;
May the vile wretched name of Rosamond
Sink through the Leaves of Memory for ever.

Sir Tho.
Be comforted, good Madam;
(Oh, what will become of me!)
[Aside.
All may be well yet.

Rosa.
Hence Bawd, thou Pensioner of Hell,
Betrayer of all Innocence and Virtue,
Thy Soul must answer for the wrack mine suffers:
Oh, Flattering King! Oh, Curs'd dissembling Sex;
That can for Months and Years lye at our Feet,
And Sigh and Swear, Adore us, and Intreat;
Promise whatever we'll Impose, Invent,
And look as what they said they really meant;
But when our frail and tender tempers move
To Recompence with what their Souls most Love;
So quickly with the long'd for Feast they're cloyd,
That always she that gave it was destroy'd.

[Exit.
Sir Tho.
So, now have I time to repent before
I'm hang'd; and that's all.

Enter Abbot.
Abbot.
Confusion on this Reconcilement! all's undone!
Who's that? Sir Thomas Vaughan? Oh, I'll work him.
How is't, Sir Thomas?

Sir Tho.
Why, preparing for the other World, Father,
And you are come to give me a helping hand:
'Tis very hard, we can neither live without you,
Nor die without you.

Abbot.
Oh, I guess what you mean; the Discov'ry
Of Rosamond, and the King being reconcil'd
To the Queen, makes you apprehend her Anger
May be fatal: but fear not, I'll make your
Peace there.

Sir Tho.
Why you might do a good thing for once in your life:

Abbot.
I will. But do you think this Change i'th' King is real?

Sir Tho.
I hope not.

Abbot.
I'm sure not; he's gone into his Closet,
And has left the Queen abruptly; follow him,
And I'll attend the Queen; we'll meet an hour
Hence, and then confer.

[Exit.
Sir Tho.

With all my heart. I'm more glad to hear they're parted
already, than the Queen could be at his leaving Rosamond. Chear up,
Sweet-heart, he's thine still: What a Pox! be hang'd in the first year
of my Pimping! How should Favourites get Estates at that rate? For
all this, I don't like this same Abbot: I thought there was no good towards,
when I saw Him and the Queen coming to this place; and
therefore call'd the King to prevent the Mischief I fear'd. This may be
a Lye of his and only a design to send me to the King just now in his
rage, to dispatch me immediately. No matter, I'll venture.

[Exit.