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;
Hearts so determin'd rarely speak their meaning,
Lest just prevention intercept their purpose:
But thus much, in the fullness of her passion,
Fell from her lips: let her a while enjoy

(These were her words) her transitory greatness!
Anon the beam may take a different poise;
The mistress may become th' exalted wife,

The haughty wife become th' abandon'd mistress,
Queen. Breath'd she those daring, those audacious

accents

And doth the wretch survive it? Be it so!
She only lives to gratify my vengeance.
Ere the vain dreamer mount her airy throne,
She shall be taught the power of royalty
O'er her own littleness, her pigmy pride.
Abbot. You do not mean to see her?
Queen. Yes I do

She thirsts for honour; I will shew it her;
Will deign to set before her shrinking view
Majestic Eleanor, th' exalted wife,

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
The efficacy of that tye, remove her
From the gay bower her infamy hath stain'd.
Perform a holy work; force her to quit
The wanton course of her abandon'd life,
And in some dim, secure retreat, where you
Alone command, conceal the sorceress
For ever from the godlike Henry's eyes.

Queen. Oh, precious doctrine! learned comforter!
Continue thus to counsel; leave my heart,
My dauntless heart, to execute thy schemes.
Abbot. When mean you-

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-
This grand apostate to his nuptial bond,
Contrive some childish toy, some subtle clue,
Without whose aid enquiry's foot in vain
Attempts to find the wanton's close retreat?

Abbot. He did; but that device is only practis'd
When public duties call him from his realm;
Then is the minion deep immur'd within

The very heart of the obscure recess :

But now that he with frequent eye o'erlooks
And watches his cag'd turtle, she enjoys
Free range of the whole bower, by few attended,
And none but who submissive yield obedience
To our grave habit and religious order.

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;
Atonement less than this were insufficient

To gratify my boundless thirst of vengeance.
Long have they revell'd in the mighty pangs
That rent my heart-'tis now my turn to triumph.
When I behold the traitor sunk in grief,
Plaining to her whose bosom will be cold
To his distress, superior will I rise,
Proudly exult in his severest pangs,

Point at her lifeless corse, for whom he scorn'd me,
And loud exclaim in his afflicted ear,
Behold the victim of despair and love.

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
Shew word or look ungentle-nay, even now,
Here in the full distraction of his soul,

O'er his strong woes soft tenderness prevails,
And all the fondness of unbounded love.
Ethel. But what does he resolve?
Rosa. There, Ethelinda,

He gives me fresh disquiet, frenzy seems
To guide his wayward pen; he talks of life
As of a load he wishes to lay down,

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,
In duty and religion's righteous cause.

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
Of my deep faults, which only can sustain me
In this sore trial; to remit my fervour,
Were to be lost again.

Ethel. He 'll ne'er consent

To yield you up, resign you to your woe,
Unfriended, unsustain'd, to heave alone
The bitter sigh and pour th' unpitied tear.
Rosa. He says he will return to me, and soon;
Then paints the anguish of his bleeding heart,

In unconnected phrase and broken periods;
Adjures me, by our loves, no more to urge
The hard request on which his life depends.
Oh, did I ever think I could refuse
What Henry ask'd-But this-It must not be-
Lend me thy arm, my friend, a sudden faintness
Comes o'er me, and instinctive boadings whisper
I shall not long survive my Henry's loss.

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