University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Enter King Henry, and Attendants.
At length the holy Task is full perform'd,
And my freed Soul is clear of Becket's Murder.
Now we may view our Royal State at Home:
Our Brother Scotland is our Prisoner:
If we think good, we seize upon his Crown;
Or bid him reign the Monarch of our Nod.
Let him attend the Sentence of our Will.
For our proud Son; we trust this late Defeat,
And Leicester's Death, shall clip his tow'ring Wing;
Of him we shall think further at our Leisure:
For now more tender Thoughts possess my Soul;
To Love's soft Influence all its Motions yield,
And ev'ry Passion owns its sov'reign Master.
Queen of my Heart, my Rosamond, I come.
Enter the Duke of Cornwall.
Hah! Cornwall, why that Terror in thy Look?

Cornwall.
Pardon, my Liege, the Messenger of Fate,
That brings afflicting Tidings to your Ear:
But what is done, 'twere Folly to disguise.
Then, to be brief: Last Night the jealous Queen—

K. Henry.
Hold, on thy Life! Thou dost affright Conception:
I could with Patience hear the Knell of Death,
But not thy horrid Tale: Yet let me know it—
Proceed, and tell me nought but Truth, thou Wretch!
But dare not tell me, Rosamond is dead.

Cornwall.
See where she comes herself. I stand discharg'd
Of my ungrateful Office.

Enter Queen.
K. Henry.
Can it be?
With how compos'd a Brow she hides her Guilt!
Dove-like Appearance, with a Serpent's Heart!
May I not hope a Woman will speak Truth
To do a Mischief? Therefore tell me, Elinor,
Without the forc'd Evasion of a Lye,
Where is my Love, my Life, my Rosamond?

Queen.
Would all King Henry's Foes were safe as she!
Poor Wretch! she's fast asleep.

K. Henry.
What! dost thou mock me?
Dost thou with Triumph own thy Cruelty?
My vast Revenge shall tear thee—Soft, my Soul—
This Rage becomes me not—Fly hence, thou Tygress,
Lest I forget, in Wrath, myself, and thee,
And stain my Hands ignobly with thy Blood.

Queen.
Thy Menaces, great Monarch, fright me not.
What I have done, was but the Deed of Justice.
Didst thou believe me then so tame of Soul,
That I could bear my Injuries for ever?
Yet, Henry, in my utmost Pride of Heart,
Let me confess my tender Love for thee:
Cast out that hated Wanton from thy Thoughts,
And I can yet forgive thee all my Wrongs.

K. Henry.
'Tis well! Thank Heav'n, in full Contempt I hear thee.
But, O, Philosophy's no Cure for Love;
This only Way Fate could unman my Soul:
O Rosamond, for ever, ever lost!
My Love was sweeter than the op'ning Flow'r,
That trembles with the Morning silver's Dew:
Fair, as the Down of Swans, or Mountain's Snow;
Then she was faithful as the Turtle's Mate,
And harmless as the Smile of Infancy.
Why was I born a Ruler of the World,
First Potentate on Earth, and Lord of Nations;
Yet could not keep one Jewel worth them all?
O Rosamond, for ever, ever lost!

Queen.
Triumphant, happy Rival, ev'n in Death!
Does then a a Harlot's Fate deserve those Tears?
Had the cold Tomb receiv'd me to my Rest,
It had not cost thy barb'rous Heart a Sigh;
Thou wouldst have bless'd the lucky Destiny,
That took away the nauseous Inconvenience.

K. Henry.
Time was I did revere thy boasted Virtue.
Now thou hast done a Deed that startles Nature.
And wouldst thou still profess thy Love for me?
Can Hell produce Hypocrisy like thine?
Would she, that loves me, stab me to the Heart?
Couldst thou have form'd one tender gen'rous Thought,
Thou hadst in Pity spar'd my Soul's first Darling;
Thy Mercy had well prov'd thy Love unfeign'd,
And won my Praise, and Fame's fair Palm for ever.
But now, away!—Thou dost delight in Blood.

Queen.
Could I have hop'd, my Lord, by gentle Means—

K. Henry.
Silence, false Woman! Thou didst know full well,
The Temper of my Soul, by Nature, noble;
And now, ev'n now, I mean to prove it so:
'Twas thine to gratify a mean Revenge,
The King, and Husband, scorns to stoop so low:
Go hence, and let thy Punishment be Life.
What have I done? Alas! my Rosamond,
Didst thou not call upon thy Henry's Name?
Didst thou not wish me to avenge thy Death?
Oh, no; thy tender Nature did forgive
The Stroke of Cruelty, and dy'd in Smiles.

Queen.
I can no more.
Joy to thy Heart! thy Rosamond yet lives.

K. Henry.
Hah! did I hear? Was it an Angel's Voice?
Speak it, O speak again, ye Heav'ns, in Thunder!

Queen.
I told my Lord, that Rosamond yet lives.

K. Henry.
Where is she? Let me fly into her Arms,
That I may tell my Heart's full Transport there:
Lost Crowns recover'd, sprightly Health restor'd
To Nature sunk, were Blessings poor to this:
Who sav'd her precious Life? He's my best Friend,
And let him take a Kingdom for his Service.

Queen.
That Friend was I.

K. Henry.
What can thy Malice mean?
Fortune acts underhand, and fools my Soul:
Whom shall I hear, or what shall I believe?
Can none resolve my Doubts? My Lord of Cornwall,
As thou know'st ought has chanc'd, I charge thee speak.

Cornwall.
My Liege, the Queen has utter'd but the Truth

K. Henry.
O ye immortal Pow'rs! how can this be?

Queen.
That I've this Day abus'd your Royal Ear,
Thus humbly on my Knee I ask Forgiveness:
'Tis the first Time I ever yet deceiv'd you.
Let Actions speak for me; hear, and believe
How I have lov'd thee, how I love thee still!
Fortune, last Night, gave me sure means of Vengeance,
But, great as thine, my Soul disdain'd them all.
She lives, my Rival lives, tho' not for thee;
Happy, tho' thou shalt charm her Eyes no more;
A Convent's sacred Walls secure the Fair,
Where Heav'n (I trust) shall with free Grace accept
The pious Tribute of her future Duty.

K. Henry.
If this be true—and sure I feel it is,
I must not, dare not, think how I have wrong'd thee;
Earth does not bear so black a Wretch as me.
What hast thou done? Thou hast been wond'rous good;
Yet cruel to Excess—See her no more?
Shine then no longer, Sun—What! not to part?
Not one kind Word, one Kiss, one last Embrace!
O mournful, sad, eternal Banishment!
Banish'd? From whence? From a wild World of Folly,
To Virtue's calm Abode; banish'd to Heav'n.
And am I griev'd at this, because I lov'd her?
O sudden, painful Test of Sense and Honour!
Strong is the Voice of Reason, and of Virtue;
But Love pleads too, and Nature will be heard.

Queen.
I did not this with any mean Design:
Virtue seeks not Advantage from her Deeds:
Therefore I say not this deserves your Kindness:
The cool Respect of Gratitude I scorn;
My Love for thee was ever from the Heart,
And equal Love alone can make me happy:
Else, tho' undone, I have discharg'd my Duty.

K. Henry.
I pr'ythee, pr'ythee, leave me, Elinor—
Yet stay—By Heav'ns, again she holds me fast,
The lovely Image clings about my Soul!
Hence, dear Illusion, pleasing Phantom, vanish!—
'Tis done—Methinks, yon golden Cloud descends;
And, lo! a heav'nly Form, that calls my Love!
And now they glide across th'ethereal Plain:
Am I then left behind? For what, just Heav'n?
Do I not know for what?
'Tis mad to pause, and madder to resolve:
O that for one kind Minute Thought could stagnate!

Queen.
Assist his struggling Soul, all-gracious Heav'n!

Cornwall.
So please your Majesty, the Prince approaches.

Enter Prince Henry, Winchester, and Surry.
K. Henry.
A Stranger come to Court—Well, my young Hero,
What, are your conqu'ring Forces up in Arms?
Or dost thou kindly offer Terms of Peace?

P. Henry.
Oh, Sir, 'tis past—Here, at your Royal Feet,
Behold this Rebel Son, a Penitent.
My haughty Soul, that erst climb'd Heaven high,
Is but a Reptile now—Ambition shrinks,
Ev'n like an empty Vapour vanishing,
Whose Place is seen no more—I only ask
Pardon, and Peace, for me, and these my Friends.

Queen.
Unhop'd for Change!—O let the King grant both.
Thou art my Son again.

K. Henry.
What may this mean?
Harry, I lov'd thee once.

P. Henry.
And if you lov'd,
May I presume to hope you will forgive too?
Sir, I once flourish'd in your Royal Smile:
Early my Soul began to pant for Glory:
But as the Seeds of Honour grew within me,
An artful Villain tamper'd with the Soil,
And spoil'd a goodly Crop—The rest you know—
Fortune, unequal to my daring Cause,
Has open'd since my Eyes: I wak'd indeed;
But only wak'd to see my Shame and Sorrow.

K. Henry.
Can I have Faith in this? Thou hast deceiv'd me.

P. Henry.
'Twas in the fatal Day of youthful Folly:
But now the Purpose of Deceit is over;
For I am going henee, to that high Court,
Where Cunning cannot screen, or Darkness hide.

Queen.
Alas! my Fears! What didst thou say, my Son?

P. Henry.
Let me not waste my most important Moments.
I have this Morning drank a deadly Draught.
I feel all-conqu'ring Death advancing on me;
He lays close Siege: My sinking Spirits fail;
My Nerves are slacken'd all; my Blood runs cold,
And Nature's Out-works yield; tho' still my Heart,
Like a strong Citadel, resists the Storm.

Queen.
Is there no Help? O fatal, woful Deed!

P. Henry.
Why weeps my gentle Mother? What I did,
Was in the Frenzy of extreme Despair;
And Madness, if my Hopes have not been flatter'd,
Bars not the Gate of everlasting Mercy.
Reason has since resum'd her proper Seat,
And all is calm within—Yet would I take
A Father's Blessing with me to the Grave.

K. Henry.
May Heav'n forgive thy hapless Youth, as I do!

P. Henry.
Then welcome Death!—And, if in this last Hour,
I have found Grace, O let me recommend
The Queen, my injur'd Mother, to your Love:
She never bore a Thought against your Highness.
Behold! she faints—Support her, righteous Pow'rs!
For she deserves your Care—Now, Farewel both—
Let not the busy World be prattling of me—
But write upon my Stone—“Here lies a Prince,
“That, once misled, could not sustain the Shame.”—
'Tis dark—O Mercy!—

[Dies.
K. Henry.
Honour, more than Grief,
Is due to Death like this, which has absolv'd,
By ending mortal Frailty: Mourns the Queen
So bitterly for him, whose hasty Spirit,
Aspers'd her spotless Name?

Queen.
That Name's now clear;
And he that did asperse it, was my Son.
He was my Son indeed—O there's the Sting!
And is it thus that we are reconcil'd?
Is Death alone the Peace-maker between us?
Why then I'll follow thee—Farewel, my Lord;
For, now, this Life has no Temptation left;
Yet, ev'n in Death, my Faith shall be approv'd,
And my last Breath shall be a Pray'r for thee.
It was the Study of my Life to please thee:
That fail'd, and I have now no farther Care.
That I ne'er meant thee Evil, ev'n in Thought,
By Proof too fatal Providence has shewn:
And to die justify'd is still my Glory.

K. Henry.
O, hold, talk not of Death; for I, alone,
Am fit for Ruin—O, my Elinor,
I tremble at the Thought of what I am!
Canst thou forgive me from thy very Heart?

Queen.
Can Henry, from his Heart, desire Forgiveness?

K. Henry.
I can, I must, I do. The Conflict's over:
I am thy wondrous Virtue's Proselyte.
Receive me in thy Arms, thou Excellence,
Thou Glory of thy Sex—Here will I hide
My guilty Head, till thy kind Smile shall raise me;
For Shame, and Joy, and Love, so work within me,
That I can only speak them thus and thus—

Queen.
O let my Language too, my Lord, be this.

K. Henry.
Bear hence the Body; for it grieves our Sight.
Curst that I was to wrong such Innocence!
'Twill be my Shame for ever—

Queen.
It is past:
A Moment's Love has made Amends for all;
And I forget, that ever you was false.

K. Henry.
When I prove so again—'Tis Sin to think on't.
From this auspicious Day my Soul shall labour
To heal thy Sorrows, to redeem lost Time,
And pay thee all my vast Arrears of Love.

Queen.
Thanks to all-bounteous Heav'n!

K. Henry.
And thy own Virtue!
Enter Salisbury.
Welcome, Lord Salisbury! Where's the good old Clifford?
It is beneath a King to do Injustice;
But it is more beneath him to defend it.
Will he forgive my Baseness? For, methinks,
All is not right, till he is reconcil'd.

Salisbury.
That's spoke indeed like great Plantagenet:
I read Content in ev'ry chearful Face,
And I am griev'd to spoil the gen'ral Joy:
My Liege, poor Clifford lies a breathless Coarse,
By Leicester slain—But, dying, he forgave you—
It ever was his Wish to see this Day.

K. Henry.
By holy Friendship thou hast touch'd my Soul.
It was but Yesterday I saw him well:
His keen Device did gall me to the Heart.
Clifford, accept these Tears; for Tears are all
The Monarch, or the Friend, can give thee now.
We will do Honour to his Memory,
And show'r our Royal Bounty on his House:
O Sal'sbury, let me take thee to my Heart,
Dear as thy Kinsman was.

Salisbury.
I thank your Highness.

K. Henry.

[Exeunt omnes.