University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enter King Henry, Duke of Cornwall, and Attendants.
K. Henry.
Comes on our Brother Scotland?

Cornwall.
Yes, my Liege:
He means to give my Lord of Chester Battle.

K. Henry.
Be't so: Our Arms shall tame his Insolence.
Where is our Son? His uncurb'd Spirit of late
Gives Cause of some Suspicion: Yet we hope,
In humble wise, he will confess the Fault
Of his abrupt Departure. His new Friends
(No Friends to me; tho' Foes, I fear them not)
He must abandon; and, mean time, we trust,
A Look of our Displeasure shall controul
His heedless Folly, and enforce his Duty.

Cornwall.
My Liege, the Queen.

K. Henry.
I would have shunn'd her; for she awes my Soul.
I know her still a tender faithful Wife,
Wrong'd as she is: 'Tis my eternal Guilt,
That love I cannot, where I must esteem.
She comes—Why starts my Breast?—I must assume
The cruel Port of Shame-proof Villainy.
[Enter Queen.
Excuse my Freedom, Madam, if I ask,
What Business has the Queen of England here?

Queen.
I come by virtue of a better Title:
Was Elinor no more than Queen of England,
She had not thus disturb'd you with her Presence.
Am I nought else, my Lord?

K. Henry.
Ay, thou'rt my Wife;
A Name that sounds offensive in my Ear.

Queen.
Why didst thou teach me 'twas a pleasing Name,
Importing Peace, and Harmony, and Joy?
You lov'd me, when you made me what I am;
And yet you lov'd me but to make me wretched.

K. Henry.
Love you have learnt, and so all Women can.
Didst thou e'er learn Obedience to a Husband?

Queen.
Can Malice say I ever fail'd in that?

K. Henry.
I pr'y thee then be dutiful, and leave me.

Queen.
This Treatment is unkind. Is that the Voice,
That oft hath chid me for a Moment's Absence?
Does it displease thee to behold me thus?
Blame not the Weakness which yourself have caus'd:
'Tis Grief's allow'd Prerogative to mourn;
For sure it is no Crime to be distress'd.

K. Henry.
Away! Thy Woman's Tears are lost on me.
Why dost thou plead against Necessity?
It was in Spite of me, I lov'd thee once;
And 'twas in Spite of me, that I forsook thee:
The Tie of Marriage is but personal;
For Love alone's the Cement of the Heart.
Yet grant that Contract good, my Falshood voids it.
I am no Husband: Why art thou a Wife?
The Bond is cancell'd. Be as free as I am;
And take thy Heart from this ungrateful Object.

Queen.
Can the swift Current to its Spring recede?
Or elemental Fire to Earth descend?
Then only my fixt Thought can turn from thee.
My Love, tho' ill repaid, shall shine a Pattern
Of Faith unmov'd, without Reproach, for ever:
Henry, tho' cruel, yet is Henry still.
What was it, but my Love, that sent me hither?
I thought I durst not come—but still I came,
Unwelcom'd, slighted Stranger as I am.

K. Henry.
I see thy Virtue, and respect it, Elinor:
But what is Virtue in the Eye of Love?
Fate wrongly join'd us, and mismatch'd our Hearts.
Thou art fram'd tender, innocent, and good,
For private Comfort, and domestic Joy:
My restless Spirit ranges uncontroul'd,
As Fancy sways, or lawless Passion guides.

Queen.
And yet thou canst be true, tho' not to me:
That restless Spirit Rosamond can rule,
The Mistress of my Property, thy Heart.
Throw that detested Wanton from thy Breast:
The Pride of Woman's Nature sues for this.
O do not wrong me in the Face of Day,
And I will bear thy Hate with Chearfulness.

K. Henry.
Thou hast the Licence of an injur'd Wife;
And 'tis a Woman's Privilege to rail;
Else, let me tell thee, Elinor, 'twere Treason,
What thou hast just now said.

Queen.
I ask your Pardon:
I had forgot how dearly Henry loves her;
And 'tis my Duty to promote his Joy:
Nor justly can I hate ev'n her my Rival;
Woman is frail, and Henry more than Man:
Be happy then, blest Pair, while I'm undone:
A jealous Wife no more shall spoil your Loves:
I will not taint your Peace with one Upbraiding,
But lay me down without a Groan, and die.

K. Henry.
This Tenderness reproaches me yet more
Than all the just Invectives thou couldst offer.
O live to scorn the Man has wrong'd thee thus.
Provoke I not thy utmost Enmity?

Queen.
Thou canst provoke my Sorrows, not my Hate.

K. Henry.
Have I not giv'n thee Cause? Be but my Foe,
I shall enjoy the Sharpness of thy Malice;
But Goodness undeserv'd, unask'd, torments me.
Love, Honour, Pity, tear my lab'ring Soul.

[Aside.
Queen.
Life had been happy with thee—But 'tis past;
And I submit—Live, and be happy thou.

K. Henry.
By Heav'n, this moves my Stubbornness of Temper;
And Rosamond, and Elinor, distract me.
Must I then ruin one, whom Laws divine,
And my free Choice, decreed mine own for ever,
And coolly mark her close her Eyes in Death?
Or can I leave the gentle Rosamond,
That tender Prime of Youth, that Spring of Beauty,
First won by Promise of eternal Love?
Painful Extreme of Madness, either Way!
For either Way I'm doom'd to be a Villain.

Queen.
Seek not Excuses for thy broken Vows:
I freely give those sacred Pledges back;
Nor shall I e'er ascribe the Pangs I suffer,
To Henry's Crime, but Heav'n's afflicting Hand:
I know thee great and noble still by Nature.
Thou wilt hereafter reverence my Name,
And praise the Woman, whom thou could'st not love.

K. Henry.
O Heart, Heart, Heart, why art thou not my own?
Hadst thou attack'd me like a Fiend from Hell,
Arm'd with keen Malice, and severest Wrath,
I had not shunn'd the Conflict: But as now
Thou shinest Angel-like, and all-forgiving,
Thou dost perforce convict my guilty Soul,
And sink my Thoughts in black Despair for ever.
O Elinor, my Queen!—But soft, some News,
Enter Guard.
My Liege, the young Prince Henry waits without,
And asks Admission to your Majesty.

K. Henry.
He comes in proper Time: Let him advance.
[Enter Prince Henry.
Well, thou young Man!—With what a lordly Look
Thou mak'st Approach—Dost thou not know me, Harry?

P. Henry.
Yes, Sir, you are my Father, and my King;
Names sacred both: But still more sacred those
Of Faith, and Honour; these are what enroll
The Monarch's Name in Glory's noble List,
And stamp substantial Royalty upon him.
Th'Imperial Robe, the bright-deck'd Diadem,
The lifted Brow, the World-commanding Nod,
Ay, and the loud-tongu'd Voice of Acclamation,
That bears up frail Mortality to Heav'n;
These all are Majesty's Appendages;
The Dress, but not the Substance; that disgrace
The Undeserver, and but lift him high
To a Pre-eminence of splendid Shame.

K. Henry.
What! art thou come to preach to us, thou Boy?
Are these th'obsequious Terms of filial Duty?
But mark, I henceforth warn thee to Obedience;
And therefore satisfy our Royal Pleasure
Why thou didst leave the Court?

P. Henry.
That's a plain Question,
My Mother could have answer'd.

K. Henry.
Hah, our Queen!
Thou seem'st surpris'd. Is that a Face of Guilt?
Speak, speak; for my shock'd Soul has form'd a Thought
Too black for Utt'rance.

Queen.
By my Hopes of Heav'n,
(For there perhaps I shall at last have Peace)
I only know that I am innocent.

P. Henry.
I know no more than that, and that's enough.
Shall I beseech awhile your Royal Ear
To give me patient Audience?

K. Henry.
Well, I'll hear thee.

P. Henry.
Did Henry leave the Court? Not so, my Liege;
For Henry left a Brothel, not a Court:
Loose Riot and Intemperance dwelt there,
Soft-seated Indolence, and Female Foppery,
And pamper'd Jollity, with full-blown Cheeks,
Keeping high Festival, and Jubilee.
Was it for me to trust my Spring of Youth,
That takes Impression like the yielding Wax,
With such licentious Characters as these?
Was it for me, to sink in Luxury,
To see a dimpled Harlot's wanton Reign,
While, banish'd from your House, your Board, your Bed,
The best of Women languish'd Time away,
At once a Widow, and at once a Wife?
I saw her Griefs, I heard her just Complaints,
I left, by her Advice, th'unhallow'd Roof,
Lest I should seem to abet the Injury,
And triumph o'er the Woes of her that bore me.

K. Henry.
Woman has not her Match on this Side Hell:
Fool! to believe a scorn'd, abandon'd Wife
Less subtle, or malicious, than the Devil:
Is this the praying, dying Elinor!
Curse on thy fawning, Honey-steep'd Deceit!
What! dost Thou practise with my secret Foes
In dev'lish League? Dost Thou foment Rebellion?
Say, Woman, dost thou?

Queen.
What shall I say?
Wilt thou, thou rash, hard-hearted Youth, undo me?
Revoke the impious Slander of thy Tongue,
And save thy Mother's Name from foul Dishonour.

K. Henry.
It is too late—I see confed'rate Mischief,
This stripling Traytor has betray'd thy Counsel:
Thee I had long since hated, now despise.
For you, our sometime Son, but that I scorn
To waste a Thought upon thee, I could humble
That lofty Spirit, till its fallen Crest
Should crouch, and offer Homage to the Dust.
But Majesty is fenc'd with Adamant,
Proof against Treason's Darts, that but recoil,
And mock the Force that threw them.—It is thus
The Ocean does but fret upon the Strand,
And the Storm breathes against the deep-bas'd Tow'r.

Queen.
Will it avail me to appeal to Heav'n?
O may its choicest Stores of Wrath consume me,
If e'er in Word, or Thought, I urg'd this Variance!
He has abus'd thee with a well-feign'd Tale,
Screening some dreadful Purpose.

K. Henry.
Peace, I say.
You've fool'd me once, and would you make me mad?
Hah! who shall tame me then? By Heav'n, if Thought
But halts a Moment in Suspense to doubt thee,
Full-sated Sense rebukes it.

Queen.
O my Son,
The Pain thou gav'st me once, was Ease to this:
Why was thy Birth-day hail'd with general Joy?
Why did I bless the Sun that saw thee first?
Why did I fondly rear thy feeble Age?
Is thy Heart Flint? O yet unweave thy Craft,
Ere the sad Scheme be ratify'd above,
And Fate has sign'd the Warrant.

P. Henry.
Let not these Fear-indited Words deceive
The King, while, on my Knee, I call to witness
The guardian Pow'rs that shield the Lives of Princes,
That not in pers'nal Pique, or private Grudge,
Or Peevishness of Appetite restrain'd,
Or the wild Policy of high Ambition,
I sought this Breach; but in an honest View
Of Duty to a Mother's just Request,
And Hope to reconcile you to her Love.

K. Henry.
Thou ly'st as well as she—You both meant more.

P. Henry.
Abuse fair-spoken Honour, and e'en Love
Becomes a Malecontent.

K. Henry.
Damn'd Hypocrites!
Ye Home-bred Plagues, ye vile intestine Mischiefs!
O had Rebellion bellow'd in the Field,
And boldly challeng'd forth the Lord's Anointed,
I could have calmly met its hottest Battle:
But to reflect on unsuspected Treason,
Most unsuspected, as unnatural,
Spreading its Poison ev'n within my Walls,
Insulting in the sacred Name of Justice,
Or stabbing with the smiling Look of Love;
This grinds my Thought—Now let Confusion reign,
All Order and Relation be dissolv'd:
And thou, O Nature, turn aside thy Face,
Crimson'd with Blushes—All my firm Resolves
Are brittle now, and Patience turns a Fury.
Who's there? Our Loving Wife, and Loyal Son!

Queen.
Thy loving Wife, but most disloyal Son
To me, and thee: Let me appeal, my Lord,
To the fair Judgment of your former Love.
Did I not ever make your Will my Law?
Was I deceitful, treach'rous, artful, then?
'Tis true, my Wrongs are great: but sure no Wrongs
Can alter Nature, or invert the Mind:
My Wrongs call for Revenge; but sure a Queen
Could well revenge a nobler Way than this.
O take my All, my Liberty, my Life;
But leave me, leave me, my good Name untainted.

K. Henry.
Woman, no more. Have I not heard thy Son?

Queen.
He is no Son of mine.

P. Henry.
What! would the Queen
So poorly yield her well contested Right?
I know thy Cause, and know my Duty better.

Queen.
Take heed, ere yet an injur'd Mother's Curse
Fix on thy Bloom of Youth.

P. Henry.
Her Grief distracts her.
Yet let me quit my Honour to the King:
Wherein is my Complaint unwarrantable?
Is it Rebellion, Sir, to sue for Justice,
Which the poor Country Hind, if he but lose
His starveling Scrap of Property, demands?
Is this deny'd your Son? Be the King sure
I know my Right, and, knowing, dare maintain it.

K. Henry.
Thou hast no Right to move, to speak, to breathe,
But with our Royal Licence: Cease, thou Fool,
To parly with our high Authority:
Thy trait'rous Friends have poison'd thy young Ear:
Harry, I know them well: But mark, I charge thee,
Forsake for ever all that Vermin Tribe;
Or know their rotten Counsels will undo thee.

P. Henry.
Forsake my Friends? Hear me, all-conscious Heav'n,
While I renounce the base unmanly Thought:
Forbid it, Justice! and forbid it, Honour!
Not one of them but lives in my best Love,
Dear as the vital Stream, that warms my Heart:
Great are their Virtues, and their Persons sacred:
Let the whole World be told, my Life protects them:
And here I swear, not all the Pow'rs combin'd,
Of Earth or Hell, shall drive me from this Purpose.

K. Henry.
Hah! Didst thou ever see thy King in Wrath?
If my large Weight of Vengeance fall upon thee,
'Twill crush thee, like an Insect, into Dust.
What! am I brav'd by thee? Shall Henry walk
Within the scanty Sphere of thy Prescription?
Fame, stop thy Mouth; nor be it known abroad,
That He, whose wide Circumference of Sway
In its vast Fold embraces Nations round,
Was tutor'd by a Boy: Droop thy Head, Greatness,
If Striplings shall give Law to Pow'r like mine.
Be wise in Time, and know, young Counsellor,
Our Wisdom pities thy raw Youth; but learn
More low Demeanour, or thou'lt fire my Blood,
And damn thyself for ever.

P. Henry.
Words are Wind;
Still noisy, but not hurtful: 'Tis that Blood,
That Blood of thine, that sparkles in my Veins,
Forbids Capitulation: Could I brook
Terms of high Challenge, I were not your Offspring.
Shall I be frighted, when an old Man storms?
Or fear a peevish Father in my Foe?
Let Majesty shine forth in all its Pow'r,
I dare, unmov'd, behold its fiercest Blaze;
And like an Eagle face this burning Sun.
So take thy unregarded Threatning back.

K. Henry.
Still so untam'd, young Man!—What Hoa! our Guard.

[Enter Guard.
P. Henry.
Stand off, ye Ministers of Tyranny.
Who dares with impious Hand to touch our Person,
I spurn to Hell's black Centre.—Ye vile Slaves,
Be motionless at our supreme Command:
See ye not sacred Majesty about us?
Sir, we well know our sov'reign Dignity,
When thus infring'd—The Crown, your Grant bestow'd,
With our best Force we will till Death defend.

K. Henry.
It is enough—Hence from our Sight for ever.

P. Henry.
A last Farewel to Duty! You're obey'd.
And know, if ever more I greet your Ear,
'Twill be with Thunder, and the Voice of War.
[Exit Prince.

K. Henry.
Impetuous in his Folly, let him go.
This Notice has diminish'd Majesty.
See you this Night arrest the Earl of Leicester:
[To the Guard.
I know him well the Pillar of the Faction.
Our Queen still here!—in Tears!—She's innocent—
Ay, and the Devil's not black—Away, false Woman!
Follow, for Shame, this Hero of thy own,
Or curse thy disappointed Fraud at Home:
O you have vext my Heart—But Rosamond
With Love shall heal it—To her Arms I fly—
What! do I gall thee with that envy'd Name?
Thank Heav'n, my utmost Hate is Justice now:
So, Elinor, farewel; Rave, and despair,
Then die, and be thy Name forgot for ever.

[Exeunt King, &c.
Manet Queen.
And shall I then expostulate with Heav'n?
Impious, and vain! No rather let me die,
Perish for him, for whom alone I liv'd;
And, self-acquitted, leave the World in Peace.
The watchful Eye of Providence, that sees
Thro' Night's most sable Shade, and well discerns
Each dark Intrigue, each Crevice of the Heart,
Shall one Day vindicate my Innocence,
And crown my injur'd Love with Praise immortal.
Then, when I'm laid in Dust, my cruel Lord,
O'er my cold Grave shall shed a pitying Tear,
And own, I well deserv'd a happier Fate.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Enter King Henry, and Rosamond.
Rosamond.
And will you go?

K. Henry.
But for this Night, my Fair.

Rosamond.
This Night: how many Hours are in this Night?
How many Minutes in each tedious Hour?
Methinks I dare not trust thee from my Arms.

K. Henry.
Thou know'st, my Love, the solemn Vow I made:
I must do Penance at the sacred Shrine
Of Becket, ere I close mine Eyes in Sleep.
The Holy Father of the Church injoin'd it.
If I refuse, I draw upon mine Head,
Curses, Anathemas, and Execrations,
And all th'Artillery of angry Priesthood.
This once perform'd, I am thy own for ever.

Rosamond.
O let my Lord excuse my selfish Fears:
For what is Henry's Safety but my own?

K. Henry.
Why, we shall live to triumph over both,
This Traitress Queen, and fierce hot-headed Son.
But I forget them, while I view thy Beauty;
Sole Comfort adequate to kingly Care:
The soothing Freshness of the vernal Breeze,
The lulling Notes of dying Harmony,
The rapt'rous Calm of good Mens golden Dreams,
Bring not such balmy Quiet to the Soul,
As thy Sense-stealing Softness.

Rosamond.
Can my Love
Stray but a Moment, ev'n in Thought, from thee,
Joy of my Life, and Sov'reign of my Wishes?
Such Sighs as these within your Bosom heav'd,
Such lively Fondness sparkled in your Eyes,
Such tuneful Accents trembled on your Tongue,
When first transported at my Feet you sigh'd,
My Royal Captive, and there swore you lov'd.

K. Henry.
Thy Charms had caught me but some Days before.
Let me look back on that delightful Hour;
'Twas in an Ev'ning of the blooming May,
The Nymphs, and Swains, in rural Garb attir'd,
To the Pipe's woodland Strain, upon the Lawn,
In mirthful Freedom, join'd the sprightly Dance;
You shone superior 'midst the Virgin Throng,
Fairest among the Fair: Auspicious Fortune
Had led my Steps that Way: I came, I saw,
And, seeing, lov'd.

Rosamond.
Love, like a watchful Spy, surpris'd my Heart,
Well-fitted to receive the soft Impression:
Thy graceful Presence drew my wond'ring Eyes:
I sigh'd, but knew not twas a Sigh of Love;
I wept, but knew not that I wept for thee;
Till Nature by degrees inform'd my Heart,
And something told me I was made for you.

K. Henry.
For me, for me alone; those heav'nly Charms,
Had been dishonour'd by inferior Love:
Nature design'd thee for the noblest Conquest,
And, giving thee such Excellence of Beauty,
Wisely contriv'd a Blessing for a Monarch.

Rosamond.
And, of all Monarchs, only for my Henry,
Who shines distinguish'd 'midst a Trib of Kings,
As they among the vulgar Herd.

K. Henry.
Enough:
Be it my Glory to deserve thy Sweetness.

Rosamond.
Be it my Glory to repay thy Truth.

K. Henry.
How strong the Tie which Love himself has made!
One dear Embrace, and for this Night adieu!

Rosamond.

[Exeunt.