To harden'd guilt, and all its shameless arts;

I am not such. Night's holy lamps can witness
What painful sighs my sad afflicted heart

Hath heav'd, what streaming tears my eyes have pour'd,

To be releas'd from the pernicious snare

Wherein I was involv'd!

Queen. Those sighs and tears,

Had true contrition been their holy source,
Should have inspir'd thy heart to break the snare,

And set itself at freedom.

Rosa. O! 'tis true

:

They should but in my rebel breast they found Too strong resistance. Love hath been my fault, My bane, my ruin.

O let this very weakness plead my cause

Within your royal breast; revolve, great queen, How you have lov'd, and let those tender feelings Win you to pity me!

Queen. [Aside.] What witchery

Of language hangs upon this Circe's tongue!—
Why droops my resolution ?—Rouse thee, Eleanor!
Remember the great cause that brought thee hither,
Nor let a harlot's sigh, or treach'rous tear,
Subdue thy fortitude.

Rosa. What shall I do

To humble me yet lower in thy sight?
What form of language shall my lips adopt
To move thy mercy? I confess my crimes,
Confess their heinousness, and sue for pardon :

Can I do more? Ev'n Heav'n is won by tears,
By contrite heart, and fervent supplication :
Shalt thou be harder to appeáse-O, hear!
A woman's weakness claims a woman's pity.
Exert that dignity of soul that rises
Above resentment to a pleaded wrong,

And teach me how to make atonement.

Queen. [Aside.] Hence,

Encroaching weakness!-coward heart, abjure it !-
Think on my mighty wrongs-arm thee to meet
My words with noble firmness!-Death, alone,
Appeases Eleanor's insulted love.

Rosa. Death, saidst thou ?

Queen. Behold, deluder!

-Death!

O yet

I will not stain me in thy blood; this cup
Contains thy doom.

Rosa. Oh! do not bid me die,

Steep'd as I am in guilt; clos'd in a convent,
Where Heaven's clear air and animating light
Ne'er found an entrance; let me be condemn'd
To all the hardships ever yet devis'd;
Or banish me to roam far-distant realms,
Unfriendly climates, and unsocial wastes,
So thou afford me some remaining hours
To reconcile myself to that great summons,
When Heaven shall deign to call.

Queen. Profane no more

The name of Heaven with thy polluted breath, Thou, who hast spurn'd its laws!-Justice demands Thy forfeit life. Thou shalt no more mislead

London. Printed for J.Bell,British Library. Strand.May 283785.

A monarch's noble mind; no more devise
Insidious art, to work a queen's disgrace :
Thou shalt not live to rob her of her rights,
Her lord's affection, and imperial pride,
That thou mayst seize the abdicated seat,
And triumph in her fall.

Rosa. By Heaven's pure grace,

My mind ne'er harbour'd such an impious thought! Queen. Heap not fresh crimes, thou hast enough already.

Rosa. Have I no evidence on this side Heaven ?

And must I fall alone, unjustified?

Where is the holy Abbot? Where my Henry? Queen. Thy Henry !-thine!That word hath fir'd anew

Queen. Drink! or this poignard searches every vein. Rosa. Is there no pity?—None ?-This awful silence Hath answer'd me, and I intreat no more.

Some greater pow'r than thine demands my life;

Fate summons me; I hear, and I obey

O, Heaven! if crimes like mine may hope forgiveness,

Accept a contrite heart!

Queen. O, beauteous witch!

Hadst thou been less alluring, or had I

[Drinks.

Forgot to love, thou hadst not met this fate. [Aside.

Rosa. Thou art obey'd-Once more I hend before

thee

Nay, harden not thy heart to the last accents