University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Enter Queen, Duke of Cornwall, and Guard.
Cornwall.
This is the Way, that leads to her Apartment:
Fortune now bids thee triumph o'er thy Rival.

Queen.
Alas! I know not how t'insult Misfortune;
Yet must I act a haughty Rival's Part,
Affect the high Disdain of Majesty,
The Rage of Jealousy, and Storm of Vengeance,
Ill-suited to my Tenderness of Nature:
But soft Compassion, dress'd in Terms of Hate,
Will make more worth the Gift of forfeit Life,
And justify my Name to future Times.

Cornwall.
These shall be near to wait th'expected Call.

[Exeunt.
Rosamond
sola.
How dreadful 'tis to commune with one's self!
It is Society, that makes Sin pleasing:
Lead-pinion'd Slumber weighs upon the Sense;
But wakeful Conscience knows no Hour of Rest,
And the clos'd Eye-lid cannot shut out Care.
Why tarries Harriana? But she comes.
Hah! I'm betray'd!—The jealous angry Queen,
And with her a grim Crew of Murderers.
Earth, open wide thy Bosom to receive me!
Night shield me with impenetrable Darkness.
Enter Queen.
Stand you without, and wait our Word of Fate.
Where is this impious and deluded Woman?
Prepare, prepare, to meet my big Resentment,
And satisfy the Vengeance of my Soul.

Rosamond.
Thus self-condemn'd, how shall I plead for Pardon?
Or stand before offended Majesty?
Yet Heav'n accepts, in Part of due Atonement,
Confession of the Crime: Here on my Knees—

Queen.
Call'st thou it Merit, to confess a Crime,
Thou dar'st no more deny, than vindicate?
Strive not in vain to deprecate my Wrath:
Think on the Anguish of an injur'd Wife;
Think on the Torture of a slighted Lover;
Think on the Hatred of a pow'rful Rival;
Think on all these; and think on Death.

Rosamond.
O, rather,
Think on the Horror of a Wretch, that stands
Upon the Brink of Death, but dares not die.
My Soul is startled at the View of Death,
And ev'ry Weakness takes the sad Alarm.

Queen.
Art thou afraid to die? I'd have thee so:
'Tis Joy to antedate thy Misery:
To suff'ring Virtue Death's a Remedy;
To Guilt, like thine, alone, a Punishment.

Rosamond.
Great Queen, relent, and spare my Bloom of Youth.
Compassion on Distress is great, and noble;
But, undeserv'd, 'tis godlike: O, remember,
Mercy's the shining Attribute of Heav'n;
'Twill sooth thee in thy last sad Hour to think,
Thou didst not plunge me into endless Ruin:
And when thou mountest to thy native Sky,
Admiring Angels shall come crouding round thee,
And own that thou, of all the Race of Men,
Hast copy'd best thy bright Original.

Queen.
Think not to whine me from my firm Resolve:
Can a Sigh cool the Sun's meridian Blaze?
Or a Tear quench the Rage of spreading Flames?
Then may this Shew of artificial Grief,
Of forc'd Remorse, appease my angry Soul.

Rosamond.
'Tis not in Art to mimic Grief like mine:
Let me conjure thee, as thou art a Woman,
By all the natural Softness of our Sex,
Not in wild Haste to dye thy Hands in Blood.
Much have I sinn'd indeed. If Love's a Sin,
That Sin in every Circumstance was Love:
Who knows not female Passions lordly Rule,
Impatient ever of cool Judgment's Sway?
Disgrace, Confusion, Ruin, Rage, and Death,
Are Arguments to Reason, not to Love:
A Woman's Weakness claims a Woman's Pity.

Queen.
A Rival's Joys demand a Rival's Hate:
If female Passions sway with lordly Rule,
Revenge may glow with Fires as hot as Lust.
Shall I forgive thee, and destroy myself?
What, let thee live to triumph o'er my Folly,
Again to riot in my Henry's Arms,
And in each Fit of wanton Dalliance,
To lisp, and prattle o'er, the dismal Tale;
Then kiss, and make him swear, 'Tis pitiful?
By Heav'n it makes Imagination mad.

Rosamond.
Witness the Pow'r supreme, that sees my Shame,
I here renounce for ever Henry's Love;
Tho' Life itself would thus be dearly bought:
But I've a fearful Reck'ning yet to make,
Much from my Soul is due to injur'd Heav'n;
Will these few Pangs discharge the Debt, or will
A Moment's Sorrow pay for Years of Guilt?

Queen.
That as Heav'n pleases; but my Anger's urgent,
And now demands an instant Sacrifice.

Rosamond.
Let me but live: Is that so great a Boon?
I'll wander in the World a Vagabond,
Turn'd loose from Human-kind, forlorn, and wild;
Each scornful Tongue, that hail'd my happier Days,
Shall mock my abject Fall: I'll owe my Life
To common Charity; from Door to Door
I'll beg Subsistence, and be proud to feast
Upon the Refuse of gorg'd Appetite.
And when the Wrath of Heav'n is satisfy'd,
And the full Term of all my Woes expires,
On the cold Flint I'll stretch my weary'd Limbs,
And bless thy Name, and die.

Queen.
Shame of thy Sex,
Whom can thy Blessings help, or Curses hurt?
Why do I trifle thus? It is resolv'd:
Inexorable Justice claims her Right.

Rosamond.
'Tis Cruelty, not Justice, thirsts for Blood.

Queen.
Be't which it will, it must be satisfy'd.

Rosamond.
What canst thou gain by killing me?

Queen.
Revenge.

Rosamond.
Will England's Queen avow so poor a Motive?

Queen.
Will England's Queen conform her great Designs
To vulgar Rules of Action? Thou shalt die.

Rosamond.
Then 'tis in vain to struggle with my Fate:
Yes, I will die, and glory in my Love;
For it is constant, gen'rous, fixt, and true,
The Will's firm Union, not the Form of Law:
It is my Pride, and I defy thy Malice:
Shall Henry's Mistress fear a Rival's Rage?
His Love shall chear me in my latest Moment;
It shall deceive thy Cruelty, to mark
With how serene a Brow I meet my Death;
And thou shalt envy Nature's parting Pang.

Queen.
So bold! But we shall try this boasted Courage.

Rosamond.
Then be my Blood on thy devoted Head!
My Lord, my Henry, shall revenge my Death:
And when the World shall hear our fatal Story,
Thy savage Rage, and unrelenting Hate,
Shall brand thy Name with Infamy for ever:
My hapless Lot shall find a gentler Treatment,
And After-times, indulgent to the Weakness,
That present Censure magnifies with Malice,
Shall rank me high among Heroic Lovers,
That liv'd Love's Votaries, and dy'd its Martyrs.

Queen.
In that poor Comfort go, and lose thy Life.
Advance ye Instruments of my just Vengeance,
And do the Work of Fate: Bear her to Death.

Enter Guard.
Rosamond.
What do I see: it melts my fixt Resolves:
Courage, and Innocence, would shake at this:
What then must Guilt, and feeble Woman, feel?
And must I fall by Ruffians brutal Hands?
O, yet forgive my Rashness; spare my Life;
Spare me at least the Horror of this Sight;
Discharge these ghastly, and grim-featur'd Wretches,
And take my Life with thy own Royal Hand.

Queen.
It is beneath me: Hence! Away with her.

Rosamond.
Pause yet one last fad Moment, and I go:
Since Death is sure, let me not die like one
That has no Foresight of a long Hereafter:
Tongue cannot tell the Anguish I now feel;
O may it purchase my eternal Peace!
Thee, mighty Queen, I above measure wrong'd:
Yet this is surely Punishment enough;
If 'tis too much, Heav'n pardon the Excess,
And not impute Severity of Justice:
Be thou yet happy in thy Henry's Love,
And, with my Life, let ev'ry Discord cease:
Yet let him wet my Tomb with one sad Tear,
And pity her his fatal Love has ruin'd:
Then may he quite forget our guilty Joys,
And bless the Nations with his Royal Virtues!
Life, Love, and Henry, all Adieu, for ever.

[Exit Rosamond guarded.
Queen.

[Exit.