Becomes thy rival in imperial rule, And plumes herself on future majesty. Queen. The traitress! but thou err'st, it cannot be: Thou hast mista'en her words; her coward heart Could not conceive such insolence of speech, Such arrogant presuming. Abbot. In effect All was express'd, tho' not in open terms; (These were her words) her transitory greatness! The haughty wife become th' abandon'd mistress, accents And doth the wretch survive it? Be it so! She thirsts for honour; I will shew it her; And with a glance destroy her. Abbot. All you seek May be obtain'd by this great condescension : Within your power, beneath your eye abash'd, Whelm'd with her crimes, and shrinking in her fears, She'll crouch to any terms, bind her by oath No more to see your lord; or if you doubt Queen. Oh, precious doctrine! learned comforter! Queen. Now; this night-my eager fury Brooks no delay-thou must advise the hour. Abbot. About the season when imperial Henry Speeds to his midnight pennance at the convent, I will with nicest caution watch the momentsQueen. And be my guide? Abbot. Devoted to your bidding. -did not Queen. But soft-the means of our access- Abbot. He did; but that device is only practis'd The very heart of the obscure recess : But now that he with frequent eye o'erlooks Queen. Enough, use wary watch-and hie with speed To my impatient soul. -Conceal her! yes, In that deep cavern, that eternal gloom, [Exit Abbot. Where all her shames may be conceal'd-in death; To gratify my boundless thirst of vengeance. Point at her lifeless corse, for whom he scorn'd me, SCENE II. An Apartment in the Bower. Enter ROSAMOND with a Letter, and ETHELINDA. Rosa. No, Ethelinda-never from that hour, That fatal hour when first I saw my hero, Saw him returning from the field of war, In manly beauty, flush'd with glorious conquest, Till our last grievous interview, did Henry O'er his strong woes soft tenderness prevails, He gives me fresh disquiet, frenzy seems If I persist in my unnatural purpose, For such he terms it. Canst thou think, my Henry, I suffer not affliction great as thine ? Yes, let the present tumults in my breast Be witness how I struggle with affection, Stand up and war with nature's strongest power, Ethel. And must your gentleness abide such trials, Such hard extremity of wretchedness? Is there no middle course to steer? Rosa. Forbear! Seek, not to tempt me from that proper sense Ethel. He 'll ne'er consent To yield you up, resign you to your woe, In unconnected phrase and broken periods; Ethel. Oh, chide them from you! at the sad idea My sorrows stream afresh. Rosa. Weep not for that, 'Tis my best comfort. In the grave alone Can I find true repose, that quiet haven, Whereto the wretched voyager in life, Whose little helpless bark long time hath strove 'Gainst the rude beatings of tumultuous guilt, Oft casts an ardent look, an eager wish, To gain a shelter there from future storms. Ethel. Let me conduct thee to the checring breeze Thy looks are pale. Rosa. Oh thou, that art all mercy, [Kneels. Look down, indulgent, on the child of frailty; With pity view her errors, and instruct her [Going. How to obtain returning peace and pardon. Enter CLIFFORD in his disguise. Cliff. Stay thee, fair mourner, wherefore dost thou slun The messenger of comfort? Rosa. Ethelinda! What voice was that? My startled fancy wakes New terrors! Yet it cannot be |