Which to the soft confinement guides. QUEEN. Eleonora, think betimes, What are thy hated rival's crimes! my arms? Tis her crime to be lov'd, "Tis her crime to have charms. She shall die, she shall die. "I feel, I feel my heart relent, All hearts must enslave." PAGE. Hark, hark! what sound invades my ear? Send from afar A sound of war, And fill with horror ev'ry wind.” QUEEN. Henry returns, from danger free! The Entry of the Bower. SIR TRUSTY, Knight of the Bower, solus. "How unhappy is he, That is ty'd to a she, And fam❜d for his wit and his beauty! For of us pretty fellows Our wives are so jealous, They ne'er have enough of our duty.” But hah! my limbs begin to quiver, I glow, I burn, I freeze, I shiver; Whence rises this convulsive strife? I smell a shrew! My fears are true, SCENE III. GRIDELINE AND SIR TRUSTY. GRIDELINE. Faithless varlet, art thou there? SIR TRUSTY. My love, my dove, my charming fair! GRIDELINE. Monster, thy wheedling tricks I know, SIR TRUSTY. Why wilt thou call thy turtle so? GRIDELINE. Cheat not me with false caresses. SIR TRUSTY. Let me stop thy mouth with kisses. GRIDELINE. Those to fair Rosamond are due. SIR TRUSTY. She is not half so fair as you. GRIDELINE. She views thee with a lover's eye. SIR TRUSTY. I'll still be thine, and let her die. GRIDELINE. No, no, 'tis plain. Thy frauds I see, SIR TRUSTY. "O Grideline! consult thy glass, (Charming creature) Will convince you I am true.' GRIDELINE. "O how blest were Grideline, The spouse of such a peerless knight!" SIR TRUSTY. At length the storm begins to cease, I've sooth'd and flatter'd her to peace. 'Tis now my turn to tyrannise: I feel, I feel my fury rise! Tigress, be gone. [Aside. "Thou art a rustic to call me so.. I'm not ugly nor old, Nor a villanous scold, But thou art a rustic to call me so. Thou, traitor, adieu! SIR TRUSTY. Farewell, thou shrew! GRIDELINE, SIR TRUSTY, solus. Who serve in the state, And should lay out our cares When conjugal toils And family broils Make all our great labours miscarry! Yet this is the lot Of him that has got Fair Rosamond's bower, Both the great and the small, As principal pimp to the mighty king Harry. But see, the pensive fair draws near: I'll at a distance stand and hear. SCENE IV. ROSAMOND AND SIR TRUSTY. ROSAMOND. From walk to walk, from shade to shade, From stream to purling stream convey'd, Through all the mazes of the grove, Through all the mingling tracts I rove, Turning, Full of grief and full of love. I sigh, I pine, I rave, I mourn. And break my rest, A thousand thousand ills combine. |