 | Henry the Second ; Or, The Fall of Rosamond |  |
32
ACT III.
SCENE, an Apartment in the Bower.ROSAMOND discovered writing. ETHELINDA attending.
ROSAMOND.
It is in vain—my trembling Hands deny
Their wonted Office—my distracted Mind
Revolves a thousand Projects to regain
Its vanish'd Peace; yet all by Turns evade
My feeble Efforts; like the lucid Vapours,
Which rise successive in a Summer's Sky,
And court our Observation, yet are lost,
Ere Fancy can assign them Name or Shape,
Lost in the wide Expanse. Ah me! how weak,
How insufficient to its own Desires,
Is the poor Breast which Honour hath deserted!
ETHELINDA.
Say, is it ought thy Servant can discharge?
She wishes to relieve thy Woe, and shares
Thy every Pang.
ROSAMOND.
Thy sympathizing Heart
Hath oft consol'd me, soften'd the rude Hour
Of bitter Recollection, and repell'd
Encroaching Agony—My Henry gave thee
A Servant to my Use; but thy mild Nature,
So ill adapted to the lowly State
Wherein thy Lot was cast, taught me to change
That servile Title for the Name of Friend.
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Give me that Office now, and let me speak
Thy Meanings there.
ROSAMOND.
I know not what I mean.
In vain, alas! she strives to please herself,
Who hath offended Virtue. On that Paper
I wish'd to pour my Duty to my Father,
Implore his dear Forgiveness, beg one Blessing,
Ere yet he sleep in Peace—Oh, Rosamond!
Well hast thou spoke! for in the Grave alone
Can Clifford rest.—Peace and Repose on Earth
Thine impious Offences have deny'd him.
Ere this, perhaps, he is laid low in Dust,
And his last Hours were charg'd with Grief and Shame.
ETHELINDA.
Hope better, my fair Mistress; raise thy Thoughts
From the dark Musings of despondent Woe,
To these bright Scenes of Happiness and Joy.
ROSAMOND.
I have no Title to them; these bright Scenes
May give Delight to unpolluted Breasts,
But not to mine! The Charmer, Happiness,
Hath long deserted me; with her lov'd Mate,
Seraphic Innocence, she wing'd her Flight,
I fear, for ever.—This retir'd Abode,
Grac'd with each Ornament inventive Fancy
Can furnish, to allure th'admiring Eye,
Serves but to sting me deeper with Remorse;
Upon my Cheek imprint a stronger Glow
Of conscious Shame, reflecting on the Cause,
The wretched Cause, that brought me to their View.
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These are the Dictates of deforming Spleen,
That to the low dejected Mind presents
False and disgustful Objects. Henry's Absence
Is the sad Source that casts this mournful Gloom
On all around: three Days have now elaps'd
Unmark'd by him and Love; when he arrives,
The Bow'r, the Groves, will wear a fairer Aspect,
And all be dress'd in Beauty and Delight.
ROSAMOND.
'Tis true, I try to wear the Smile of Joy
In my dear Conqueror's Sight: Nay, I do wear it;
My Heart acknowledges the soft Delight
His Presence gives. Had I not lov'd too well,
I had not been this Wretch!—My Soul doats on him!
I live but in his Looks. Why was he not
By Fate ordain'd some rustic Villager,
And I the Mistress of a neighbour Cot,
That we had met, as happy Equals do,
And liv'd in Pleasures unallay'd by Guilt!
ETHELINDA.
Yet to engage the dear, the tender Hours,
Which royal Henry spares from public Toils;
To call that Heart your own, which all agree
To love and honour; feast upon those Smiles,
Which millions sigh for—
ROSAMOND.
Cease, my Ethelinda;
Thou know'st not how thy Words afflict my Breast.
Think not, tho' fall'n from Innocence, my Mind
Is callous to the Feelings of Humanity,
Of Truth, or Justice. I reflect full oft,
Ev'n in my happiest Moments, there lives One
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Each tender Vow, and each attractive Smile:
I know it, and condemn my feeble Heart,
For yielding to Desires all moral Laws
Forbid, and in-born Reason disapproves.
ETHELINDA.
You school yourself too harshly.
ROSAMOND.
Oh, not so!
I have much more to bear. I have not yet
Learn'd the great Duty Expiation claims:
To part, my Ethelinda.
ETHELINDA.
Part! from whom?
ROSAMOND.
From Henry—from the Monarch of my Heart;
My Wishes' Lord, my All of earthly Bliss!
Thou marvel'st at my Words—but it must be;
It is the sole Attonement I can make
To a fond Father's Woes, his injur'd Fame,
The tarnish'd Glories of a noble Line,
The royal Eleanor's insulted Rights,
And my own conscious, self-arraigning Heart.
ETHELINDA.
Oh! do not flatter that fond Heart with Hope
Of such exertive Power! Beneath the Trial,
Your Strength would fail, your Resolution droop;
You cou'd not yield him up.
ROSAMOND.
By my warm Hopes
Of mild Remission to my great Offences,
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Hard as it is; so Henry left me not
In Anger or Unkindness, but resign'd me,
With the dear Care of a protecting Friend,
To the soft Paths of Penitence and Peace,
I would embrace the Torment it entail'd,
And bless him for each Pang.
ETHELINDA.
Behold he comes!
[Exit.
Enter the KING.
KING.
My Rosamond! my ever new Delight!
Receive me to thy Arms, enfold me there,
Where ever-blooming Sweets perpetual rise,
And lull my Cares to Rest.
ROSAMOND.
It was not thus
My Henry us'd to visit this Retreat;
Bright Chearfulness was wont to dance around him,
Complacent Sweetness sat upon his Brow,
And soft Content beam'd lovely from his Eye.
KING.
Well thou reprov'st me; I will strive to chace
The gloomy Cloud, that overhangs my Spirit,
Th'Effect of public Business, public Cares.
(My Tell-Tale Looks, I fear, will speak the Pain
My Heart still suffers, from that Stranger's Converse.)
[Aside.
Oft do I mourn the Duties of my Station,
That call my Thoughts to them, and claim the Hours,
Which I would dedicate to Love and thee.
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I meant not to reproach thee; 'twas my Zeal,
For the dear Quiet of thy Mind, that spoke.
I cannot see the slightest Shade of Grief
Dim the bright Lustre of thy chearing Eye,
But Apprehension pains me, lest for me
Thy Glory be diminish'd to the World.
KING.
I seek not empty popular Acclaims;
Thy tender Accents falling on mine Ear,
Like rural Warblings on the panting Breeze,
Convey more Rapture, more supreme Delight,
Than Io-Pæans of a shouting World.
ROSAMOND.
To see bright Satisfaction glow within
Thy manly Cheek, behold the rising Smile,
And hear thee speak the Gladness of thy Heart,
Is my best Joy, my Triumph, and my Pride;
And yet, my Henry, ought it to be so?
Still should I listen to the Syren, Pleasure,
While awful Virtue lifts her sober Voice,
And warns my Heart of her neglected Precepts?
KING.
Forbear, forbear these soft Complaints, and speak
Of Rapture; speak of my improving Ardour,
And thy unceasing Love.
ROSAMOND.
Oh! thou divin'st not
How many heavy Hours, and sleepless Nights,
Thy Rose endures! how much my faulty State
(Bless'd as I am in thee) arraigns my Mind;
Oft in the bitter Hours when thou art absent,
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Array'd in gloomy Grief, and stern Reproof.
Nay, do not eye me with that melting Fondness;
Hast thou not often bade me cast my Cares
On thee, and told me, thou wou'dst bear them for me?
Hear then, oh, hear me! for to whom but thee
Can I unload my Heart?
KING.
Oh, speak not thus.
Shou'd these sad Accents stain the precious Moments,
When Henry flies from a tumultuous World
To tranquil Joys, to Happiness, and thee?
What busy Fiend, invidious to our Loves,
Torments thy gentle Breast?
ROSAMOND.
Trust me, my Henry,
This is no sudden Gust of wayward Temper,
'Tis Reason's Impulse; oft hath my Heart endur'd
Afflictive Pangs, when my unclouded Face
Hath worn a forc'd and temporary Smile,
Because I would not hurt thy noble Mind.
Advancing Time but multiplies my Torments,
And gives them double Strength; they will have Vent.
Oh! my Protector, make one glorious Effort
Worthy thyself—remove me from thy Arms;
Yield me to Solitude's repentant Shade.
KING.
Renounce thee, didst thou say! my Rosamond!
Were those the Words of her and Love?
ROSAMOND.
They were;
It is my Love intreats; that Love which owns
Thee for its first, its lust, its only Lord.
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By the sore Miseries which now surround me,
Without the Sense of Guilt, that Fiend who waits
On all my Actions, on my every Thought.
KING.
By Heaven, I never knew Distress till now!
Thy Accents cleave my Soul; thou dost not know
What complicated Agonies and Pangs
Thy Cruelty prepares for Henry's Heart!
He must endure a Throe, like that which rends
The seated Earth, ere he can summon Strength
To banish thee for ever from his Arms.
ROSAMOND.
Think, Conscience; Honour, plead.
KING.
Down, busy Fiend;
[Aside.
That Stranger's Tale, and Clifford's crying Wrongs,
Distract my tortur'd Mind—in Pity cease—
[To Ros.
I cannot part with thee.
ROSAMOND.
A thousand Motives
Urge thy Compliance—will not public Claims
Soon call thee from thy Realm? When thou art gone.
Who shall protect me? Who shall then provide
A safe Asylum for thy Rosamond,
To guard her Weakness from assailing Fears,
And threat'ning Dangers?
KING.
What can here alarm thee?
40
Perpetual Apprehensions rise; perchance
The poignant Sense, how much my Crimes deserve,
Adds to the Phantoms; Conscience-stung I dread
I know not what of Ill. Remove me hence,
My dearest Lord; thus on my Knees I sue,
And my last Breath shall bless thee. Give me Misery,
But rescue me from Guilt.
KING.
What, lead thee forth
From these once happy Walls; yield thee, abandon'd,
To an unpitying, unprotecting World!
Then turn, and roam uncomfortably round
The chang'd Abode, explore in vain the Bliss
It once afforded; like a restless Sprite
That hourly haunts the desolated Spot
Where all his Treasure lay! Bid me tear out
This seated Heart, and rend each vital String,
I sooner could obey thee.
[Going.
ROSAMOND.
Turn, my Henry;
Leave me not thus in Sorrow! Canst thou part
In Anger from me?
KING.
Anger!—Oh! thou sweet one!
Witness these Pangs!—I cannot, will not lose thee—
ROSAMOND.
Confirm my Pardon then; pitying, reflect
'Tis the first Hour I e'er beheld thy Frown.
Forgive me—oh, forgive me!
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Spare me—spare
A Moment's Thought to my distracted Soul,
To ease the Throbs, and hush the swelling Tumults,
Which my fond Love would fain conceal from thee,
Thou exquisite Tormentor!
[Exit.
ROSAMOND.
Heav'n sooth thy suff'ring Mind, restore thy Peace,
And win thy yielding Spirit to my Prayer!
For it must be—the Blow must be endur'd,
Tho' Nature tremble at it—Heav'n requires it:
I hear the sacred Voice that claims aloud
Attonement for its violated Laws.
When I am sunder'd from him, ne'er again
To feast my Eyes on his lov'd Form, or share
His Converse more, it will be then no Sin,
Nor Heav'n nor Man can be offended then,
If sometimes I devote a pensive Hour
To dwell upon his Virtues; or, at Night,
When Sleep, like a false Friend, denies his Comforts,
I bathe my solitary Couch with Tears,
And weary Heav'n for Blessings on his Head.
Enter the ABBOT.
ABBOT.
Health to the Fair, whose radiant Charms diffuse
Bright Beams around, and shame meridian Day
With rival Lustre and superior Beauty!
ROSAMOND.
Alas, good Father, my dejected Heart,
Ill-suited now to Flattery's soothing Breath,
Is wrapp'd in other Thoughts.
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An old Man's Praise
Is of small Worth; nor shou'dst thou term it Flatt'ry,
The Approbation which the ready Tongue
Spontaneous utters at thy Beauties Sight:
But thy sad Eyes are swoln with Tears, I trust
They flow from holy Motives.
ROSAMOND.
Thou hast oft
Preach'd, in persuasive Accents, the great Duty
Of combating Temptation; teaching Virtue
To gain Dominion o'er assailing Passions,
And with her pious Firmness guard the Breast.
ABBOT.
I have, fair Daughter.
ROSAMOND.
These thy holy Precepts,
My melancholy Heart, I hope, hath learn'd;
The self-convicted Mourner hath resolv'd
To turn from Guilt's delusive dang'rous Way,
And seek the penitential Paths of Peace.
ABBOT.
Explain thyself, my Pupil; lay thy Meanings
Clear to my View.
ROSAMOND.
I have resolv'd to leave
This Culprit-State of unchaste, lawless Love,
And, in some Solitude's protecting Shade!
Attone, by future Purity of Life,
My Errors past.
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'Tis nobly purpos'd, Daughter;
Worthy the Precepts I have given thy Youth,
And the great Efforts of exalted Virtue:
But why retire to moaping Solitude?
The Heart is weak that finds itself unable
In any Situation to repent
Its past Misdeeds; it is the Principle,
And not the Place, attones; we may be good,
And yet abide in active, chearful Life;
There are a thousand Pleasures and Delights
Not inconsistent with the strictest Truth
And Sanctity of Mind.
ROSAMOND.
It may be so,
And such may be indulg'd by those whose Lives
Have ne'er been branded with a flagrant Crime;
But Wretches like myself, whom Conscience taxes,
With violated Chastity and Justice,
Have forfeited those Rights.
ABBOT.
I like not this—
She dares debate—She judges for herself—
I must restrain this Freedom—'tis Presumption.
[Aside.
ROSAMOND.
Yes, all shall be renounc'd, all that conspir'd
To make my guilty Situation wear
The Face of Bliss; Splendor and Affluence,
All shall be given up, and well exchang'd,
If they obtain Remission for my Crimes.
ABBOT.
Some farther Meaning lurks beneath these Words,
Which my foreboding Fears dislike.
[Aside.
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My Henry
I have solicited to this great Purpose,
Of my new-open'd, new enkindled Mind.
ABBOT.
As I divin'd—Destruction to my Views!
[Aside.
ROSAMOND.
Why turn'st thou from me? Breathe thy pious Comforts
To nourish my Resolves.
ABBOT.
Think'st thou, fond Pupil,
Thy Paramour will yield to thy Request?
Oh no! his Passion is too much his Master.
Think'st thou, can he who doats upon thy Beauties,
Doats even to Folly—
ROSAMOND.
Spare me, holy Father—
Wound not my Ear with one contemptuous Word
Against his Dignity: I cannot bear it.
ABBOT.
My Recollection, zealous for thy Ease,
Recalls the casual Word. I grieve to see thee
Misled by Phantoms: but there is a Way,
A clear and certain Way to Happiness,
Which thou hast not descry'd.
ROSAMOND.
Inform me, Father,
How I may compass the religious Ends
My State demands, and my whole Soul aspires to,
Without disquieting my Henry's Peace,
And I will bless thee for it.
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Love alone
Confers true Honour on the Marriage-State.
Without this Sanction of united Hearts,
The sacred Bond of Wedlock is defil'd,
And all its holy Purposes o'erthrown.
ROSAMOND.
Be plain, good Father.
ABBOT.
Happiness should crown
The Altar's Rites—and Henry sure deserves
To be supremely happy—thou alone
Canst make him so. Need I say more?
ROSAMOND.
Speak on.
Clear unambiguous Phrases best befit
My simple Sense.
ABBOT.
His Union with the Queen
Cannot be term'd a Marriage; Heav'n disdains
The prostituted Bond, where hourly Jars
Pervert the bless'd Intent; thy vain Retirement
What boots it Eleanor? who now retains
The Name alone of Queen; or what avails
The Title of a Wife? Thou art th'espous'd
Of his Affections; let the Church then shed
Her holy Sanction on your plighted Loves;
A pious Duty calls, assert thy Claim,
Let thy fond Lord divorce her from her State,
And Rosamond shall mount the vacant Throne.
ROSAMOND.
Thy specious Arguments delude me not;
My Soul revolts against them. Hence, I scorn
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Have I not amply injur'd Henry's Wife,
But I must further swell the guilty Sum?
Fly with thy wicked, thy pernicious Schemes,
To Breasts whence every Trace of Good is banish'd.
I am not yet so vile; 'twas Henry's Self
I lov'd, not England's King; not for the Wealth
Of Worlds, for all that Grandeur can afford,
The Pride of Dignity, the Pomp of Power,
Nor even to fix my Henry mine alone,
Will I advance one added Step in Sin,
Or plant another Torment in her Breast,
Whom too severely I have wrong'd already.
[Exit.
ABBOT.
Bane to this coward Heart, that shrunk beneath
The peevish Outrage of a frantic Girl!
The vain Presumer sorely shall repent
Her bold licentious Pride, that dar'd oppose
Her upstart Insolence 'gainst my Controul,
Whose Bidding shou'd direct her ev'ry Thought.
Had she obey'd, the doting King perchance
Had rais'd the painted Moppet to his Throne,
And by that Deed, had lost his People's Love;
A ready Victim to the daring Bands
That threaten him around. That Hope is lost—
New Schemes must be devis'd—all Arts employ'd;
For nothing shall appease my fierce Resentment,
Till the foul Wounds giv'n to our mitred Saint,
Be deep aveng'd in Henry's impious Heart.
[Exit.
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
| Henry the Second ; Or, The Fall of Rosamond | |