 | Henry the Second, King of England |  |
ACT. V.
[Scene]
Enter Abbot and Bertrard.Abbot.
It must be done; there is no other way:
We must launch out, or split upon the Rock
Of her Displeasure.
Bert.
Ay, but the King!
Abbot.
Fear not; the Wind sits fair, and the auspicious Gale
Will in few hours waft him to Normandy.
Bert.
Ay, ay; You've fed me up all along with Fancies, and made
me believe the Lord knows what, that I should be promoted and advanc'd:
I'm in a very fair way indeed, if Hanging will do't.
Abbot.
The lucky hour is come, accept the Offer,
And be what thou desirest.
Bert.
What, because I'm Rosamond's Confessor, and have the Privilege
of the Bowr, you persuade me to make my self a Property to the Queens
Revenge, and be accessary to the Death of my sweet Charge?
Abbot.
You take me for a Villain then, it seems.
Bert.
It seems somewhat scurvily; Not that I take You for one, but
I'm afraid I shall be so.
Abbot.
Go to; you are to blame, and I must chide you.
What, think you I'd impose a Falshood on you,
Upon the Man I love, my Confident?
Bert.
Oh, she's a furious Queen! I shall never forget what a fright
she put me in; I am not come to my self yet, nay, 'tis a question whether
ever I shall.
Abbot.
I tell thee, she's a perfect Convert, Brother;
Moves with my Will, and acts as I direct.
Come, shall I tell thee why she courts this visit?
I have enjoyn'd it as a Penance to her,
To mortifie her Pride, and haughty Humour,
And work, if possible, a Change in Nature.
Where thou fear'st Danger, thou shalt find it calm
As Peace it self.
Bert.
This is wonderful!
Abbot.
The tim'rous Rosamond shall be surpriz'd,
And with the Arms of Clemency embrac'd;
The Lioness and Lamb shall yoke together.
Bert.
Ay, but can it be lasting?
Abbot.
My Life for't.
Mark what I say, and thou shalt find it Truth:
This Queen thou dread'st, shall daily visit her,
Condole their sep'rate Loss in Henry's Absence;
Nay, with the Bowl of Plenty shall caress her;
As this must usher in the happy Union.
Bert.
Why this is from one Extreme to th'other:
Can Magnificent Majesty condescend to this?
Abbot.
You soon shall be convinc'd: See there,
I've been her Purveyor already:
Choice Wines and Fruits, the best of Nature's Store,
Are ready to Regale the fair Recluse.
Come, will you do the Office of a Friend,
Or shall I tell the Queen of your refusal?
Bert.
Oh, no, no, by no means. (I believe he's in earnest, and I will
not baulk my Fortune.
Aside.)
But do you really think in your Soul I
shall ever live to be an Abbot?
Abbot,
The Mitre waits thy own acceptance, Bertrard.
Bert.
Why truly a Mitre's a fine thing; next to a Crown there's
nothing above it; my, I have often known the Mitre govern the
Crown; and really 'tis great to govern a Crown; 'tis part of the
Churches Prerogative: and though I am but a little Abbot, I shall be
a tite Abbot, and the World is not over-stock'd with tite Abbots. Well,
Father, I am all Obedience, I'll do't.
Abbot.
About it then.
Bert.
What just now at this minute! ha!
Abbot.
Why dost thou tremble so?
Bert.
Cold, only Cold, nothing else. There's no going back now,
I have given my promise; but my mind misgives me plaguily. If she
murders Rosamond, I must certainly make up the Chorus: and if, instead
of a Mitre to enlighten my Brow, I should have a Halter to encircle
my Neck, Oh Lord!
Abbot.
Who waits?
Enter two Servants.
Bert.
Who are these, ha? They look terribly. That Fellow has a
dreadful Cut-throat Countenance.
Abbot.
They are my Servants.
Bert.
I never saw 'em before.
Abbot.
What then?
Bert.
Nay, be not angry, I'm ready.—Sure this Abbot cannot have
the heart to murder one of his Brethren, when I am no hindrance to
his Preferment.
Aside.
—My Lord!
Abbot.
What say you?
Bert.
Is the Queen ready?
Abbot.
At hand.
Bert.
Sir Thomas is dev'lish Jealous; you must keep out of sight till
I've secur'd him; if he sees us, I'm undone.
Abbot.
Oh! fear not.
[Ex. Bert. with the Ruffians.
The Fool's grown troublesom and dangerous,
Too fearful, too inquisitive to live.
I hope his Curiosity will tempt him
To taste both Wine and Fruit; all which are poyson'd
Beyond the reach of Art to remedy.
'Tis not improbable but he may urge her
To follow the Example of her Granum.
But say this Project fails, what then must second?
A Dagger must complete the erring Potion.
Remov'd she must be, let come on't what will;
There is no middle Course in doing ill.
Enter Queen and Attendants.
Queen.
What, at a loss, my Friend, my Oracle?
Is this a time for thinking?
Abbot.
'Twas for your Service, Madam.
Queen.
I believe you, but cannot brook delay:
My Rage boyls o'er, and Nature's in a flame;
Fierce as a Tygress that has lost her Young,
I thirst for the Pursuit of the Destroyer.
Abbot.
Your Guards must stay behind.
Queen.
Why so?
Abbot.
They are too numerous, and will breed suspicion.
Besides, I have provided Hands enough,
And nothing's wanting but your Royal Presence
To grace the Scene.
Queen.
Now, Rosamond, thy last of Life is run:
Since thy Ambition levels at my Crown,
Swift as the first Usurper thou shalt down,
To Molten Seas, and Lakes of Sulph'rous Fire,
Whose Flames are restless as thy own desire;
Seem always dying, but shalt ne'er expire.
[Exeunt.
[Scene]
Scene, The Out-side of the Bowr.Enter Bertrard and Ruffians.
Bert.
Oh, yonder he is. What, ho! Sir Thomas!
[Knocks.
Sir Tho.
(above.)
The Devil's in the Fellow: If a Man were not deaf,
here's noise enough to make him so.
Bert.
'Tis I, your Friend.
Sir Tho.
Father Bertrard?
Bertr.
The same.
Sir Tho.
What Wind drives you hither?
Bert.
A Message from the King, and a Present for the Lady.
Sir Tho.
I'm coming, I'm coming.
[Descends.
Bert.
My Heart beats still; I sweat with apprehension: I should
make but an ill Martyr for Religion; and to die for these Lovers would
be ten times more terrible.
Sir Tho.
What have we here, ha! I should have thought a present
of Jewels had been more proper than Wine; but may be he thinks it fit
she should be kept Maudlin till he return: In with your Luggage Friends.
Bert.
What, before you?
Sir Tho.
This is no place for Ceremony, I take it therefore.
Troop, or—
[Ex. Bert. and Ruff.
There must be something more than ordinary in this, for he never
mention'd a syllable to me; yet now I think on't, Lovers are very apt
to forget, and the poor Gentleman was in a strange confusion at parting:
Well I'll in and examine the whole. Ha! who comes yonder!
the Queen! Gods Life, there's Villany, I'll House presently and secure
my Charge.
Murder, Murder.
Enter Queen and Abbot.
Abbot.
Drag him to yonder Thicket. Now, Madam, all is safe, and
we may enter.
[Ruff. Drags of Sir Tho. Ex. Queen and Abbot.
Enter King, and Verulam Disguis'd.
King.
Pity me rather than condemn my frailty,
And spare the rigid censure I deserve;
I cannot rest, some Devils haunt my Soul:
When late last Night I sunk to my repose,
A dreadful Vision entertain'd my slumber;
Poor Rosamond methought was all on fire,
And as I strove to quench the raging object,
The Queen threw Oyl on the expiring Flames,
And made 'em blaze a-fresh with fiercer fury.
Veru.
'Tis but the restless passion of your Love.
King.
I started from my Dream, and call'd to thee,
Bad thee get Horse, attend me instantly,
And thus unknown we've posted from Southampton;
Methinks we have Rid upon the Wind, ha, Verulam,
I scarce could feel the speed my Spurs created,
And yet methoughts 'twas a slow pace to Love.
Veru.
It is not fit that I dispute your will,
Tho' I could wish, nay, do with all my Soul,
This Ague fit of Love had never seis'd you;
For by it, you may lose the bless'd occasion
That time e're offer'd to surprize your Foes.
King.
Tell me no more of Foes while she's in danger,
For, oh my Soul is Wedded to the Fair,
Whose Power is boundless as her Beauties Charms;
When I would go, there's something holds me back;
Even while I talk, my boding Heart, with more
Than usual fierceness, beats its time,
As if that Life were on the hurry.
Why do I tremble thus?
Surely the Earth suffers the throws of Labour,
And some strange Birth starts forth to view the World.
Ver.
Imagination gains upon you, Sir.
King.
Ha! Is't not Blood?
By Heav'n a mighty Tract! Where is the source?
Search! find it out! I'm on the Rack!
[They search and drag in Sir Tho. Vaughan.
Am I to blame now, Verulam?
Oh, speak! Where is my Soul? my Love? my Rosamond?
Sir Tho.
I shall never recover.
King.
Say, is she living? Answer me quickly,
If thou'dst save the King.
Sir Tho.
The Queen and Abbot—
King.
The Devil.
Sir Tho.
Ay, and his Dam too, they have maul'd me.
King.
Force open the Doors.
Ver.
Impossible! the means are wanting.
King.
Would I have answer'd so to Verulam?
To thy Relief I would have added Wings.
Would I had Men, not Walls, to Combat with!
With my keen Sword I'd hew a passage through!
Spight of all opposition force my way,
And from the Harpies Talons snatch the Prey.
[Ex. K. and Veru
Sir Tho.
Gently, gently, good Gentlemen, I shall reach my Journie
end soon enough. If the King does force in, and my Life keeps me
company so long, I would fain see my self Reveng'd on this Damn'd
Abbot.
Gent.
Will you not be dress'd, Sir, you may recover?
Sir Tho.
No, I'm past the Cure of a Salve-dauber, would I had
the Grace to ask Pardon for my Sins: But I have put off my Repentance
as I us'd to do my Bus'ness, till the last hour, and now I'm hurried
to the Devil at a moments warning! Softly, good Sirs, softly.
[Ex.
[Scene]
SCENE, the Bower.Enter Rosamond and Bertrard.
Rosa.
You have remov'd the Mist of my Offences,
Which, like a Cloud, ascended up to Heav'n,
And hinder'd all my Prayers from being heard.
How willingly could I relinquish Life!
Part with this wretched Being! and for ever,
Within the Earth's cold Womb, contented lye?
Bert.
Have you a mind to destroy your self? Go to, you're to
blame; by my Order you are. What! spil that pritty face with
whimpering, and crying, for a little Absence?
Rosa.
I am miserable, Father! A lost Creature!
For all the comfort of my Life is gone!
Like those who live under the Frozen Pole,
Am now all Darkness, Horror and Confusion.
Bert.
He'll return, I warrant thee, speedily; he can't live without
you. You're the Apple of his Eye, the Joy of his Heart, the Lamp
of his Life, and he'll bring Oil to feed it, I'm certain—If the
Queen should bolt upon us, while she's in this humour, 'twou'd scare
her out of her Wits; there's no perswading her to Reason: I'll see
what a Comfortable Dram will do. Why, Madam! Madam! you
have forgot what the King sent, he foresaw there would be occasion,
and, like a prudent Man, provided against a Rainy Season; see how
it sparkles, 'tis as bright as your Eyes:
[Opens a Flask of Wine and fills.
As red as your Lips. Now cannot I forbear His Majesties Health:
May he live for ever.
[Drinks.
Rosa.
Heav'n say, Amen.
Bert.
'Thas an odd sort of a Farewel—I can't imagine what
growth this Grape is of—'tis not Burgundy. Gad shall save me, it
warms one strangely; such a twang I have not met with: I must cover
His Majesties Health with your Ladiships. Come, bless both! bless
both!
[Drinks.
Enter Queen and Abbot.
Queen.
What stately Rooms! what glorious Apartments!
How Furnish'd! how Adorn'd! These shew a Grandeur,
Fit for the Empress of the Universe.
Abbot.
Love always serves his Minions at this Rate,
And 'tis her turn to be ascendant now.
Queen.
Not, and I live, my most Officious Sir.
Rosa.
The Queen!
Bert.
Ha! how terrible she looks.
Queen.
An unexpected Visitor it seems.
Rosa.
Where is my Guardian? Where my Servants?
Abbot.
They're gone before to Usher you the way.
Rosa.
I am Betray'd! Undone!
Queen.
Thou art, indeed.
Thy Guilt arraigns thee, and thy Conscience has
Pronounc'd against thy self the fatal Sentence:
Here all thy Glories mingle with the Dust.
Bert.
Oh Lord! what will become of us, she's got into one of her
mad Fits again? I'm ruin'd! A lost Man!
Rosa.
What means my Queen?
Queen.
No, you mistake, I am the Slave, you are the Queen,
For all of Majesty, of Power, and Pomp,
Are Center'd by my Lord, the King, in you;
I servilely attend your leisure hours,
And humbly wait upon his idle pleasures.
Bert.
Here will be Murder; I'm in a Sweat already.
Abbot.
Peace, Fool.
Peace Fool! Where is't? here's no likelihood of Peace; here's
nothing but Fire and Tow, and I burn already.
Rosa.
Will you but hear me?
Queen.
No, 'tis in vain, thy bounds of Life are set;
Thou dyest Usurper.
Rosa.
Yet stay, one Word before you strike the blow.
Abbot.
She is not fit to live, therefore dispatch:
Strike home, and while she's studying for a Lye,
Let her sink quick to Hell and tell it there.
[A noise within.
Enter Ruffian.
Ruff.
The King.
Queen.
Ha! where?
Ruff.
Is upon Entrance.
Abbot.
Has mischief plaid the Jilt?
Rosa.
Oh luckly Minute!
Bert.
Welcom, dear King; but I burn confoundedly.
Queen.
Thou shalt not scape.
Rosa.
You will not Murder me!
Queen.
Hadst thou ten thousand Lives, here they should end.
Abbot.
We trifle time away.
Queen.
To let thee see I yet am Charitable,
And would not kill but on Necessity,
Here, take thy choice, Drink this, and linger out
A moments space.
Rosa.
Yet Mercy!
[Kneels.
Queen.
Here's all I have.
[Offers to Stab her.
Rosa.
Oh, hold! Give me the Cup! The Dagger gives
Immediate Death, and I shall perish e'r I see the King.
Abbot.
What, will you spare her?
[Noise louder.
Queen.
No—Drink or—
Rosa.
I do. Thus I submit, and Drink the Bane of Life;
The Bane of Love. Oh Henry! thus I fall thy Sacrifice.
[Drinks.
Bert.
What! Do I see the same Wine I drank? Oh! My Bowels!
Queen.
Rise, Rosamond.
Rosa.
Only to fall again? No, I am down for ever.
Bert.
Is the Wine Poyson'd, no help?
Abbot.
None; you must be tasting, fall to your Prayers.
Bert.
I've none of my Beads: Oh! I'm gone! I'm dying! I'm dead!
Abbot.
Lead the Fool out; let not his noise disturb us.
Bert.
Oh, Gentlemen, what will become of my Soul? What will
become of my Soul? Take notice, Friends, that I dye in doubt! I
dye in doubt! for I don't know where I'm going.
[Ruffians lead out Bertrard.
Enter King, Verulam, and Guards.
King.
Am I then come too late? And is my Rose,
My lovely Rose, torn short from off the Stalk?
Look up my Love, and bless me with thy Eyes;
And when they close, I'll sink in darkness with 'em.
Rosa.
I do, I must while I have any being;
But, Oh, the date is short, yet I am blest
That I expire within your Royal Arms.
King.
Open the snowy Mansion of thy Breasts,
Where Natures everlasting matchless sweets
Shoot forth, to bless the sence that can approach 'em.
Oh, shew me where the bleeding sluces are,
That I may piece-meal tear my trembling Flesh,
To stop thy flowing Life.
Rosa.
I have no wounds.
King.
Why then dost thou talk of dying?
Why stretch my Soul upon the Rack of Tortures?
Queen.
Oh, most detested sight;
Curse on my Hand that spar'd the Object
Which so much torments me.
King.
Help me to rear her.
Rosa.
Oh, If I stir I die, my Dear, Dear Henry.
King.
What?
Rosa.
I'm Poison'd; Let me embrace you for the time
I stay, and breath my Soul out here, for 'tis on wing.
King.
Some run with speed, and call assistance hither,
My Crown to him that saves her.
Enter Sir Thomas, led in.
Sir Tho.
Thank you Gentlemen for your good company hither, I
am travailing; the Abbot, that Spiritual Guide, has given me a wrong.
Pass, a Pox on him.
Abbot.
While Fate is busie, I will shift the place,
It grows too hot for me.
Veru.
Your Pardon Sir,
[As the Abbot is going, Verulam stops him.
We must not part yet.
Sir Tho.
No, hold him good Verulam; let not the Layety be ever
the sufferers; let the Church have her share of this mischief, that she
may not laugh at us always.
Abbot.
An Ax, a Gibbet, or a Wheel; Oh, scandal of my Tribe,
to be thus caught.
Rosa.
Have I your hand?
King.
Why, dost thou question it?
Rosa.
A sudden mist intrudes upon my sight,
My Limbs grow numb; I shiver with the cold,
Cold touch of Death; Oh, help me, clasp me hard;
A tall lean shade is plucking me away:
I must along with him.
King.
Oh, dreadful sound!
Remember me a little amidst your Joys hereafter,
Indeed I'll think on you; Oh, in my Grave, when you
Expire, be laid; I'll keep it warm against your coming.
I'm very sick—my pain's exceeding great—
But yet I love, believe me that I love, Farewell.
[Dies.
King.
Oh, one word more, my Rosamond, one more,
She's gone, the Beeuteous frame's dissolv'd,
Life is no more; And what is Life without her?
Now for Medusa's Head to work a change,
That I might grow a Statue by her side,
And be each others Monument for ever.
Veru.
My Royal Lord,
King.
VVhat wondrous sweetness dwells upon her Lips?
Tho' Death has Ravish'd hence the blooming Rose,
The Lillies spring afresh—but a pale yellow
Steals upon their Beauty, and, with the Setting-Sun,
They seem to wither.
Veru.
Sir, I beseech you;
King.
Oh, Verulam, behold! how Nature struggles,
The Red again seems to assume her Cheeks,
And Death's unwilling to perform his Office;
He's stept to Heav'n to beg her a Reprieve:
Life, like a Lambent Glory, Dances round her,
And waits for fresh admittance.
Veru.
Will you not hear me Sir?
King.
The Gods were deaf to me when I complain'd,
And I will now be so to all the World.
Queen.
May I not speak?
King.
And justify the Murder: Hence, begone.
Queen.
No; as an expiation for the fact,
Here take my Life, but spare my Children.
King.
Ha! what say you?
Queen.
Our easie Natures were impos'd upon,
Abused by yonder Villains sophistry;
Had he ne're blown the Embers of Suspition,
That you design'd to Ruin them and me,
These Hands had ne're been stain'd with Blood.
King.
Speak Fury, What could urge thee to this deed?
Abbot.
Remember Becket— and then shake with horror.
King.
Away with him to death.
Abbot.
Thou dar'st not kill me Henry;
Too much o'th' Churches Blood hangs on thy Head:
If thou tak'st mine 'tis multiplying Murder.
King.
Thou shalt not live, tho' I appeal unto his Holiness.
Sir Tho.
That's asking my Fellow if I'm a Thief.—
There's Justice cheaper for you:
[Stabs the Abbot, who falls.
Sink Pulpit-Furniture.
'Tis done, and all your torturing Projects are prevented:
But Monarch, here I Prophesie thy Ruin! To Becket's Shrine thou
must a Pilgrim go, the Church has vow'd it; shun it if thou canst.
And next thy Son; Thy Son shall wear thy Crown in thy own Life
time. Becket, thy Hand, and Guide me, for I'm coming.
King.
Can Wickedness, like thine, e'r hope for Heav'n?
Abbot.
No matter what I hope for, this I know,
Thy Plagues on Earth will equal mine below.
[Dyes.
Sir Tho.
So, here's a Temporal Pimp by a Spirirual Knave, and
how to get to Heav'n without him will be hard.
Ver.
Poor Sir Thomas.
Sir Tho.
As rich as I was Born, the Earth has her own again, and I
owe the World nothing.
[Dyes.
King.
Behold what thou hast done, unthinking Woman!
Thou wretched Instrument to yonder Villain!
Prithee begone, lest that my trembling Hand
Rush on a Deed unworthy of my self.
Queen.
I go, and if thy Rage will banish me for ever,
It will some pleasure to my wrongs appear,
As I must ne'r have thee, thou canst not her.
[Ex. Queen.
King.
Oh, Rosamond!
What Wonders would I do to purchase thee again!
Ver.
Take Comfort, Sir, since she is past restoring:
Let War, and thoughts of Conquest, drive her from you.
Your Country wants you, and your Honour calls,
If you'd do something to Revenge her loss,
Now is the time; your Son invites you to't.
We'll raise a Funeral Pile of Norman Rebels,
And burn 'em to the memory of her.
King.
I thank thee, Verulam, thou hast awak'd me;
Let's hasten to Erect that Monument.
Oh Rosamond! thou shalt be Nobly follow'd;
Of my own Bowels I will make Attonement!
And my Curs'd Queen shall find her Rage outdone,
For I'll Revenge thy loss upon her Son.
[Ex.
| Henry the Second, King of England | |