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QUEEN. Eleonora, think betimes,
My Henry from my arms? 'Tis her crime to be lov'd,
"Tis her crime to have charms.
I feel, I feel my heart relent:
To a monarch like mine,
PAGE. Hark, hark! what sound invades my ear?
The conqueror's approach I hear.
He comes, victorious Henry comes!
A sound of war,
And fill with horror ev'ry wind.
Here shall the happy nymph detain,
The trait'ress shall bleed:
In my rage shall be seen
The revenge of a queen.
The entry of the bower.
SIR TRUSTY, knight of the bower, solus.
How unhappy is he,
That is tied to a she,
And fam'd for his wit and his beauty!
They ne'er have enough of our duty.
Whence rises this convulsive strife?
My fears are true,
GRIDELINE and SIR TRUSTY.
GRID. Faithless varlet, art thou there?
SIR TRUSTY. My love, my dove, my charming fair!
SIR TRUSTY. Why wilt thou call thy turtle so?
SIR TRUSTY. Let me stop thy mouth with kisses.
SIR TRUSTY. O Grideline! consult thy glass,
Those blooming cheeks, that lovely hue!
Will convince you I am true.
GRID O how blest were Grideline,
SIR TRUSTY. At length the storm begins to cease,
I've sooth'd and flatter'd her to peace.
"Tis now my turn to tyrannize: I feel, I feel my fury rise! Tigress, begone.
-I love thee so
SIR TRUSTY. Fly from my passion, beldame, fly!
Let us part.
GRID. Will you break my poor heart?
SIR TRUSTY. I will if I can.
From whence doth all this passion flow?
GRID. 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!
GRID. Thou traitor.
SIR TRUSTY. Thou shrew!
SIR TRUSTY solus.
How hard is our fate,
Make all our great labours miscarry!
Yet this is the lot
Of him that has got
Fair Rosamond's bower,
With the clew in his power,
Both the great and the small,
As principal pimp to the mighty king Harry.
ROSAMOND and SIR TRUSTY.
Ros. 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 tracks I rove,
Full of grief and full of love,
To rend my breast,
And break my rest,
A thousand thousand ills combine.
Fear surrounds me,
Was ever passion cross'd like mine?