University of Virginia Library

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.

Ros.
Thus let me lose, in rising Joys,
Fierce Impatience, fond Desires,
Painful Absence that 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 strow'd,
Nor Life on prostrate Gauls bestow'd,
Give half the Joys that fill my Breast,
While with my Rosamond I'm blest.

Ros.
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.
O may the present Bliss endure
From Fortune, Time, and Death secure!

Both.
O may the present Bliss endure!

King.
My Eye cou'd ever gaze, my Ear
Those gentle Sounds cou'd ever hear.
But oh! with Noon-day Heats oppress'd,
My aking 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 Tracks of Light;
While I abandon'd and forlorn,
To dark and dismal Desarts born,
Through lonely Wilds have seem'd to stray,
A long, uncomfortable Way.