Henry the Second, King of ENGLAND; WITH THE Death of Rosamond. A TRAGEDY. Acted at the THEATRE-ROYAL, BY Their Majesty's Servants.  
LONDON: Printed for jacob Tonson, at the judge's Head in Chancery-lane near Fleetstreet. M DC XCIII.   

To the Truly Worthy Sir THOMAS COOK Kt. Alderman, and Sheriff of the Most Famous City of LONDON.  
SIR,  
THough a Stranger to your Person, 'tis impossible to be so to your Virtues; for General Fame (that is so often called a Liar, and seldom takes pains to Blazon Good Deeds, but on the cóntrary is most industrious to expose the Bad) has taken an unusual and peculiar Care to Justify your Reputation; And the united consent of all Mankind concur, that in your Character she has spoke Truth, and what is as commendable, no more than the Truth.  
Your Generous Charity in many considerable Extremities, has sufficiently demonstrated, not only the Ancient Spirit of an English Man, but the more glorious Principle of a Christian. Charity the eldest Favourite of God, the first in Honour, and the last in Love, seems to be declared the Heir of all your Fortunes: It is your Private Pleasure, your Secret Ambition, the Care of your Endeavours, and I cannot help saying, the Blessing that attends 'em.  
Your Noble Commiseration on the Deplorable Condition of many a wretched Soul in the Hard Frost must be remembered, when Corn and Goals were above their reach, and, indeed, so dear, that it would have been counted Impudence, in the greatest necessity, to have begged 'em; You, like a second joseph, in the Famine, relieved their wants, and gave 'em Fire to warm the Hearts you fed.  
Your most Commendable Bounty to the distressed Irish Protestant's must be remembered, for you were their greatest Benefactor, and the First. Such Public Benevolence ought not to be concealed, tho' 'tis your desire; for you would be as well pleased to have it not known, as you are satisfied when you bestow it: But I say again, it ought to be Published out of the hopes that the knowledge of such Goodness may rouse the sleeping hospitality of our Land, that it may take place of Board Wages, which has scandalously shut up those Doors our Grandfathers always kept open for the Poor.  
It is not to be expected that my Pen should set forth your Praise as the merit of it deserves, but as the famous Sir Godfrey Kneller, in a Choice Picture will strike the Eye of the Beholder (tho' a Stranger to the Original) and tell him, some where or other he has seen that Face, tho' he cannot immediately recollect the Person: So I will endeavour by the bold touches of Truth, to let the World know they have heard of the Man, tho' they cannot at the instant apply the Character to his Name.  
So Famous a Citizen has not in many Ages filled the Walls of London; your Generosity is the Honour of it, your Conduct and Affability the Credit of it; And you are one of the chiefest Members in the support of its Trade.  
'Tis probable that the World may admire at a Dedication of this Nature to Sir Thomas Cook, since the Custom of Poets has been to Address their Plays to the Nobility, either by the way of Thanks, for Patronising their Works before they were made public; or else in a Panegyric on their Families: But I declare, neither of these are the occasion of this Epistle; but that it proceeds from a real respect I have to your great Character, and a desire of being the first that should Publish it to the World.  
The Romans whose Courage and Country once excelled all others, were ever proudest of their Citizens, and not without good Reason; for indeed they are the support of all Governments: And as they are the first to be Tried, so they are the longest to be Esteemed, the most to be Encouraged, and the last to be Injured. Anthony reckoned he had as good as Conquered Brutus, when his Oration had overthrown his Interest with the Citizens. That ours may always Flourish, and never want such Virtues as yours to advance their Prosperity, shall be the constant and fervant wish,  
Of Your Most Obedient Servant, WILL. MOUNTFORT.   

PROLOGUE.  

IN this grave Age, improved by statesmen's Art,  
Who e'er can think you'll like a Misses Part?  
Time was, when Rosamond might shine at Court;  
These are no days for Ladies of that sort.  
How strangely Time does Human Things decay!  
Four Cent'ries past, as ancient Writers say,  
She that we represent boar mighty sway:  
Her Beauty wondered at, her Wit extolled,  
Her yellow Locks were called too Threads of Gold.  
But now should that Complexion use the Trade,  
Each puny Fop the Town has newly made,  
Would cry, Confound the Carrot-pated Jade.  
Misses in times of War and jeopardy,  
Like Armourers in days of Peace must be;  
His Swords and Helmets rust, and so will She.  
What sort of Critics than must I endear  
To favour this abandoned Character?  
The French fatigue too much, to mind Amour;  
Th' Italians bigoted; The Spaniard Poor;  
The Clumsy Lover, with his Northern Sense,  
Would have the Yo-Frows, but would spare the Pence:  
Ravenous of Beauty; But when Purse should open,  
Mine Heer is either deaf, or Drunk-aslopen.  
Thus all o'er Europe, as the Scenes are laid,  
War and Religion have quite spoiled Love's Trade.  
Since then from Courts her Part must hope no pity,  
I'll try this English Lovers of the City;  
Kind Souls, who many a Night o'er Toast and Ale,  
Have wept at reading Rosamond's famed Tale,  
And will, we hope for Beauty's sake, to day  
Confront the Wits, and save a harmless Play.  
So may you thrive, your Wagers all be won;  
So may your Wise Stock-jobbing Crimp go on;  
So may your Ships return from the Canaries,  
And stolen French Cargoes in your john's and Maries.  
Stand Buff once for a Mistress: Think what Lives  
Some of you daily lead with scolding Wives.  
And though she fell by jealous Cruelty,  
For Venial Sin 'twas pity she should die.  
Ah! should your Wives and Daughters so be tried,  
And with her Dose their Failings purified,  
Lord! What a Massacre would mawl Cheapside!    

EPILOGUE.  Written by Mr. Dryden. Spoke by Mrs. Bracegirdle. 

THus you the sad Catastrophe have seen,  
Occasioned by a Mistress and a Queen.  
Queen Elinor the Proud was French, they say;  
But English Manufacture got the Day:  
Jane Clifford was her Name, as Books aver,  
Fair Rosamond was but her Nom de Guerre.  
Now tell me, Gallants, would you lead your Life  
With such a Mistress, or with such a Wife?  
If One must be your Choice, which d'ye approve,  
The Curtain-Lecture, or the Curtain-Love?  
Would ye be Godly with perpetual Strife,  
Still drudging on with homely Joan your Wife;  
Or take your Pleasure in a wicked way,  
Like honest Whoring Harry in the Play?  
I guess your minds: The Mistress would be taking,  
And nauseous Matrimony sent a packing.  
The Devil's in ye all; Mankind's a Rogue,  
You love the Bride, but you detest the Clog:  
After a Year, poor Spouse is left i'th' lurch;  
And you, like Haynes, return to Mother-Church.  
Or, if the name of Church comes cross your mind,  
Chapels of Ease behind our Scenes you find:  
The Playhouse is a kind of Marketplace;  
One chaffers for a Voice, another for a Face.  
Nay, some of you, I dare not say how many,  
Would buy of me a pennyworth for your Penny.  
Even this poor Face (which with my Fan I hide)  
Would make a shift my Portion to provide,  
With some small Perquisites I have beside.  
Though for your Love, perhaps, I should not care,  
I could not hate a Man that bids me fair.  
What might ensue, 'tis hard for me to tell;  
But I was drenched to day for loving well,  
And fear the Poison that would make me swell.    

Dramatis Personae.  

King Henry the Second, Mr. Betterton.  
Prince Henry, his Son, Mich. Lee.  
Sir Tho. Vaughan, a Favourite of the King's, Mr. Ant. Leigh.  
Abbot, Mr. Sandford.  
Verulam, Mr. Kynaston.  
Sussex, Mr. Hodgson.  
Aumerle, Mr. Bridges.  
Bertrard, a Priest, Mr. Dogget.  
Queen Elinor, Mrs. Barry.  
Rosamond, M. Bracegirdle.  
Rosamond's Woman, Mrs. Kent.  
Attendants, Priests, Guards.   
Scene, OXFORD.   

Henry the Second, King of ENGLAND.  
ACT. I. SCENE I.  Enter Sussex, Verulam, and Aumerle. Veru. 

YOU do mistake the Cause, and your Opinions  
Too easily comply with what you wish;  
Like young Physicians, pass a hasty Judgement,  
Thinking the Patient's well, because his looks  
Are seeming healthy, streaked with cheerful Red,  
While some unnatural Fire preys on his Heart,  
And drinks up all the moisture of his Life.   Sussex. 

Excuse our Unexperience, and direct us  
How we may solve the Error of our Thoughts.   Veru. 

My Age, and long Attendance on the King,  
Makes me no Stranger to the Mystery.  
But would to Heaven it ne'er had been my Fate,  
Since I've beheld the Troubles of my Master,  
And want the Power to ease his Misery!   Aumer. 

I thought this sudden Alteration  
Proceeded from some Change of Government;  
Believed the headstrong Normans  
By Innovation wrought these Fits of Spleen.   Veru. 

Like a Disease it has been growing on him  
For many years; and now 'tis fixed so fast,  
So deeply in him, he cannot shake it off.  
Love wrought the Change at first,  
And with its Magic quite o'r-powered his Reason,  
Blinded all his Senses,  
Till he sunk quick into the Gulf of Wedlock.  
From the unlucky moment that he joined  
With Eleanor, the Repudiated Leavings  
Of the French King, Lewis, his mortal Foe,  
Strife and Disorder has overspread the Realm:  
Our sad Divisions speak our coming Mischief.   Aumer. 

From whence must rise this Danger,  
You seem so very apprehensive of?   Veru. 

Here, in his Court at Oxford; here, in his Bed and Bosom;  
His jealous Wife, and disobedient Sons.  
Is there a day's cessation from Debate;  
An intermission from their wild's of Nature?  
When will it cease? Not while the Mother's fondness  
Upholds their fiery Youth, smiles on their Insolence,  
Clapping their Cheeks, to show how she approves it.   Sussex. 

Is then the Lion's Voice so soon forgot?  
'Twas not long since they trembled at the sound,  
And their Knees shook with terror of the Accent.   Aum. 

The haughty Queen was forced to rein her Heart,  
And one might read her Passion in her Tears.   Sussex. 

Most of that Sex,  
Whenever they fail of wished Success,  
Their Blood turns Gall, and flashes through their Eyes:  
And if a Shower does fall—   Veru. 

'Tis the hot Stream of Anger boiling o'er,  
Which shows how much the Spleen and Mother governs.  
I'll tell you what befell of late,  
And then give me your Censures.   Aum. 
We attend you.  Ver. 

I have observed the Crowd of fawning Wretches,  
Which servilely attend the Queen's Apartment,  
Watching the early opening of the Door,  
To show their forward Zeal.   Sussex. 
The Fathers and the Priests you mean.  Ver. 

You hit me right.  
These holy, pious, seeming godly Men,  
Swarm not for nothing: Either there's Revenge  
Or Interest stirring, when Churchmen's diligence  
Haunt Majesty so much.  
I have observed how grossly they have flattered,  
Yet she hath swallowed up their nauseous Phrases  
Fast as their utterance, while they praised her Person,  
Or loaded with Hyperboles her Son.   Aum. 
You speak of what is natural to Women.  Veru. 

But when they'd gained attention, and wrought her  
To admiration, than the Fane was turned,  
And their soul Breath pointed against the King.  
Then Becket's Death, that Patron of Rebellion,  
That Traitor to the King and all his Interest,  
Was introduced; and with such doleful Accents,  
As if the Life o'th' Church expired in His.  
Here Henry was forgot, her Lord and Monarch;  
Instead of punishing the saucy Gown-man,  
She mourned the Fall of the aspiring Prelate;  
Would cast her Eyes, almost eclipsed with Tears,  
On the young Race of Heroes standing by,  
Insinuating their Father was too Guilty.   Sussex. 

Nay, they are always ripe for Mischief,  
Whenever the Power o'th' Crown checks that o'th' Church;  
And the World knows too well, if they had Power.   Veru. 

If they had Power! Why, have they not, my Lord?  
Divide the Globe, and you will find a Third  
Are Men in Orders, or the Slaves to them.  
I tell you, Sirs, they are a dreadful Host;  
And should the Pulpit sound to an Alarm,  
I question much whether our Hercules  
Could cope this Hydra. 'Tis a horrid Tale  
They have possessed th'unthinking Crowd withal,  
Concerning Becket's Death.   Aum. 

Would the whole Tribe had met the traitor's Fate,  
Since they aspire to fetter Monarchy,  
Nay the Nobility must sink with him.   Sussex. 

Whilst every Pedant which can gain the Rochet  
Must Lord it o'er us, we shall be like Beasts  
Pegged on the Common, there to graze our Round,  
And must be thankful, though the Soyl's our own.   Aum. 

Surely at last the Royal Soul will rouse,  
And free Himself and People from the Yoke.  
Oh how I covet such a Jubilee!   Verul.. 

I find we centre in Opinion, and shall be  
Glad to join in such a Cause.——  
W''re interrupted, the Court breaks in upon us.   Enter Sir Thomas Vaughan. Sussex. 

Sir Thomas Vaughan! Now dare I pawn  
My Life, some Petticoat Embassy.   Aum. 
That old Gentleman.  Sussex. 

Ay, Sir, upon my word the best of his  
Qualifications consist in acting the part  
Of Mercury to our jupiter.   Veru. 
That's of old Date.  Sussex. 

But may be renewed again,  
If Majesty have occasion.— Let us observe.   Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
This is the second time I have been sent of this Errand; pray Heaven I'm more successful than I have been, I shall go near to be discarded my Office else. One would not imagine what Pains, Care and Understanding are required to make a complete Pimp.  Sussex. 
Very pretty!  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
None but this Virgin of Honour will down with Majesty. She's a fine Woman, that's the truth on't; but a Pox of her Chastity: what a damnable pother she makes to preserve that, which half the Women in the Town would be glad to be rid of! Had she been my Kinswoman now, I had been made for ever. There's no Court-Bribe in the World like a Female-Relation, for a speedy Advancement.  Aum. 

Suppose, after all our suspicions, it should  
Be Love that has wrought this Alteration  
In the King.   Sussex. 
I suspect it shrewdly.  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
I am damnable afraid the Termagant Queen should come to the knowledge of it, she has such a plaguy number of Spies abroad. Well, Sir Thomas, you are in, and must e'en through; 'tis too late to repent. Send thee good luck, old Boy.—— Basta! Who's there?  Sees 'em. Verul. 
Friends.  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
Not Eve-droppers I hope. Ha! my good Lord Verulam, your Lordship's most humble Servant.  Sussex. 
What, in a Sweat, Man?  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
A little warm, my Lord. Who would be a Courtier, that has any regard for his Carcase? This toiling and moiling does not agree with my Age; I must e'en leave it off, and betake to my Prayers in time.  Veru. 
What, a Favourite, and talk of leaving the Court?  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 

I a Favourite! your Lordship's most humble Servant.  
But I take all things in good part from my Friends.   Aum. 
Have you seen the King to day?  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
I just parted with him; he's a very honest Gentleman, the most accomplished, gallant, sweetest natured person in Europe: He has found out something extraordinary in me, for which I am eternally engaged to him.  Sussex. 
You're disposed to be merry.  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
I would I could: But the King's Melancholy strangely discomposes me. Poor Prince! never was Mortal so afflicted.  Veru. 
Nothing that's new, I hope.  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
The Devil and all of Mischief. Yonder Knaves have been at it o' t'other side of the Water, helter skelter; fight Dog, fight Bear; nothing but Mutiny, Mutiny.— Gad, if the King would follow my Advice, we'd mawl 'em.  Sussex. 
What, you mean the Religious Fathers?—  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
Religious d'ye call 'em? I don't know what Religion they have, but they have very good Livings: They have made a fine piece of Work of their Religion.  Veru. 
About what?  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
Why about the Gentleman at Canterbury, that had his Brains beat out to inform his Judgement.  Sussex. 
The Prelate Becket?  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
Ay, ay: They have dignifyed and distinguished him from the infamous Title of a Traitor, to the spiritual one of a Saint.  Veru. 
You should speak more respectfully of the Clothing.  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
Why Black never blushes, you know, say what you will on't.  Veru. 
Would you have us be without 'em?  Sir Tho. Vaug. 
Why when were they ever with us? Did you ever know them join with the People, unless 'twas a Mischief of their own making? We may groan under Misery and Slavery, grumble and complain; but, if the Church's Rights be not invested, they tell us, We must bear it, and submit to the Higher Powers. But if a single Egg of their Tyths were cracked, and not made good to 'em, you should hear them bellow against Power and Dominion, make the Cause of the Church the disquiet of Heaven; tell you, Horror and Plagues will come from above; that the just Divine Wrath will punish your Sacrilege: So destroy you themselves, to preserve you from Judgements.  Sussex. 
Sure they have done thee some mortal injury.  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
Let 'em forbear the King then, and Peace follows; for they're so constantly teizing him about their Religion, the Man can't enjoy himself for 'em: besides, should they biggotize the King to admire Abstinence and Chastity, poor Sir Thomas is kicked out; for Praying and Pimping can never agree— Adds me! my Lords, I forgot to tell you the News; The King's reconciled to the Prince, who must go to Normandy; and the Queen's pleased. There's a Miracle, my Lords! The Queen's pleased! Nay, she's pleased with me, that she has not spoke to this Month! Such a Favour she has done me!  Sussex. 
What is't?  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
Your Servant.  Veru. 
Pray what is't?  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
You'll tell on't.  Aum. 
Think better of us.  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
If the King should know on't.  Veru. 
Never for us.  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
Last night at Supper—  Sussex. 
What then?  Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
Nothing, only the Queen's pleased, that's all. Again your Servant, my Lords, your Servant.  Exit. Veru. 

The Prince to France! this is a sudden motion  
I know the Provinces are Malcontent,  
Apt for Commotion, ready for Rebellion:  
But they require a sharp and steady hand,  
One of Experience— Ha! the King alone!   Withdraw. Enter King Henry. King. 

Oh Love! Oh Rosamond! Why do I name  
That Cruel Maid? But yet alas! I must  
Spite of my fixed Resolves; She grasps my Heart,  
And turns it with each motion of her Eyes:  
If there were hopes; Why, Am I not a King?  
But what are Kings in Love? Like Lions Chained  
We Roar, but cannot reach what we would Prey on:  
Why else, ye Gods, do ye withhold your Bounty?  
Or is this single Beauty thought too much  
For a Reward of all my Sufferings?  
If so you think,  
Take back this Crown and Dignity you gave,  
Confine me to some Corner of the Earth  
Where abject Poverty does make abode;  
Bless me with Rosamond; and even there  
I'll thank your Providence for the Exchange:  
But, Oh! I Rave, and must recall my Senses,  
Business comes forward, cursed business haunts me.  
With what a weight does that poor Monarch move,  
That's Clogged with Business, and perplexed with Love!   Enter Verulam, Sussex, and Aumerle. Veru. 
Your Majesty!  King. 

Thou art the only Man of all the World  
I coveted to see; Come near me Verulam,  
I shall have need of your assistance shortly,  
Your Counsel now.   Veru. 
You doubly Honour me.  King. 

Upon mature Advice, I have resolved  
To send my Eldest Son to Normandy;  
And, to engage his Duty, will Invest him  
With▪ all the Royal Dignities belonging  
To both the Dukedoms; since he longs for Power,  
I'll Load him with the Weight of Government.   Veru. 

None better can direct the Rounds of State  
Than Sacred Majesty; It is in you  
From vast Experience grown to certain Judgement.  
Yet——   King. 

Let me tell thee Verulam,  
I have examined, with the strictest care,  
What Consequences may attend this Act;  
You must allow Youth are most prone to Covet  
What is debarred 'em: Give 'em full possession  
They soon grow weary of the Toy they Longed for.  
But to prevent all danger, 'tis Resolved  
That you attend him; the Commission's ready:  
I know thy Loyalty admits no scruple.   Veru. 
I'm all obedience to your Royal pleasure.  Enter Prince Henry, Attendants. Runs to the King and Kneels. King. 

All is forgot: Thy Father's Memory Takes him up.  
Bears thy good Deeds in sight; but ne'er looks backwards.   Prince. 
You are all Goodness, Tenderness and Mercy.  King. 

I know 'tis want of Action caused the Surfeit,  
The Riots, and the Luxuries o'th' Court;  
But now an opportunity's at hand  
To Wash away the Stains of Idleness.  
Read that.   Gives him a Letter. Prince. 
This Purports that the Normans are in Arms.  King. 
It does.  Prince. 

Are they so Pampered with their fullness, Sir?  
These wresty Slaves, like Horses wanting use,  
Must be kept to it, Rid hard, and exercised;  
Must feel the Bit and Curb, to let 'em know  
They're under Government.   King. 

Why thou hast spoke it, and shall see it done:  
For from this moment do I constitute  
Thee equal sharer with me in my Sceptre.   Prince. 
My Royal Father.  King. 

I have said the Word; Hence be Convinced,  
A Parent's Love can bear, forget, forgive,  
And wait the gentle Season when Penitence  
Shall spring; and shower a Blessing  
That may encourage Virtue as it grows.   Prince. 

My thanks to Heaven and you; Oh! you have made,  
New-moulded up this Mass, and breathed a Soul  
That longs for Action, and the toil of War:  
If I not strive to merit this great Blessing,  
If I not Honourably discharge the Trust,  
Endeavour Nobly; may I sink with shame  
As great as my worst Foes would wish,  
Best Friends lament: For France my Father,  
Where I will season this my Infant Sword,  
To Dedicate to you who taught it Glory.   King. 

This sounds well Harry, as it should be Boy;  
And I foresee England's good Genius Dancing  
In thy Spirit, and pleased with the young Mars  
It has begot. My Lord of Verulam.   Veru. 
Your Majesty?  King. 

Here, as a Pledge of Love,  
Accept this Man; I give him  
As a Guardian Angel to thee:  
His Courage shall assist and strengthen thine,  
His Judgement in the Field shall guide thy boldness;  
And if Fate should approach thee, clap between ye:  
His Care shall lessen thy Fatigue in War;  
In Peace his Diligence shall give thee Pleasure.   Prince. 

Sir, you are mine; your Character is great,  
And I will show how I esteem its worth  
In choosing your Opinion.   Enter Queen, Abbot, Friars, Attendants. Queen. 

Oh Barbarous King! was there no other way  
To reach my heart, but thus to snatch him from me?  
Look on him well, Are these young tender Limbs  
Fit to endure the hardships of a Camp,  
The Cares of War, and Dangers that attend it?  
It shall not, must not be and I alive.  
Oh Harry! hang upon thy Mother's Love,  
And shun thy Father's Cruelty.   King. 

Well, Madam, have you done? Are you at ease?  
Has the fierce Whirlwind of your Passion vent?  
If not, Enlarge after your wonted method.   Queen. 

Ingrateful King, Do you upbraid my fondness!  
Think'st thou this Breast is hardened like thy own?  
I bore him, bred him, felt the rack of Nature;  
Many long Winter Nights have watched his slumbers,  
When the sad hand of Sickness was upon him;  
While you, encompassed round with all your Friends,  
Forgot my Care, and the poor Infant's danger.  
He minds me not: Oh wretched Majesty!  
See Reverend Fathers, Is this humane usage?   Prince. 

Let me beseech you, Madam, calm this Passion:  
The King designs my Greatness.   Queen. 

Deluded Fool, away; Fly, fly betimes  
To Sanctuary, where these good men's assistance  
May break the Philtre, and dissolve the Magic  
Which blinds thy sense, and sets thee mad for Glory:  
Behold, this Holy Man, thy careful Tutor,  
Whose studious diligence first taught thee Knowledge,  
With Art and Patience cleared thy erring Soul,  
And made it Master of Imperial Wisdom;  
Take his Advice: Be deaf to the harsh King's,  
Which would destroy thee, by removing thee.   King. 

Contemn her fondness, and consult thy Honour  
This Passion flows from an unruly Will:  
I tell thee, Harry, all the Sex are thus,  
And Contradiction's their Original Sin;  
For Woman was the first in Disobedience.  
When they were moulded first into a Form,  
And the Almighty liked the great Design,  
Pleased with the Work, withdrew; and in th'Interval  
The Fallen Angel crept unseen and viewed it;  
Saw that Man's Happiness would be complete,  
And from his Gall a drop of Spleen dashed in,  
Which soured the whole Creation:  
'Tis that affects her now; give it but scope,  
And when she sees it moves us not, 'twill down.   Prince. 

If to my Mother's Will I should submit,  
Glory will shun me, Honour fly me,  
And all Brave Men contemn me.   Abbot. 

Most Gracious Majesty, vouchsafe attention  
To the humble Speech of your poor Beadsman:  
I am bound in duty to offer my assistance,  
And to mediate where persons of such near Affinity  
Have different Passions which o'ercloud the Soul,  
Soiling Perfection.  
See your Royal Partner overwhelmed with Tears,  
From the harsh words you've uttered!  
That Noble Graft buried in deep amazement  
Oh! Let this Discord end in Harmony!  
Lull the harsh Note, and raise her up to Life.   King. 

Who asks Advice from you, my Reverend Sir?  
Who sent for you to make up Royal Breaches?  
Because you are th'Examiner of her Sins,  
Must you pretend Dominion o'er my Actions?  
Go to; We know ye: Preach to those who do not,  
And let their Ignorance support your Cunning;  
Thou Pander of the Court!   Abbot. 

Your trusty Knight there Points to Sir T. Vau.  
Becomes the Title better.   King. 
Ha! what said you?  Abbot. 

This Accusation does not suit my Function,  
Nor well become the Mouth of Dignity:  
If We, the Pillars of the Holy Church,  
Are thus calumniated, 'tis easy guessing what  
Will follow: You set an ill Example.   King. 

You seldom show us good ones.  
Come come I know you better than yourselves,  
Your proud, ambitious, haughty, daring Tempers:  
The God you Idolise is Interest;  
Which to obtain you'd bridle all Mankind,  
And ride 'em to the Devil.   Queen. 
Oh Blasphemy!  Abbot. 

Alas poor Queen! how must he use your Goodness,  
If he reviles the Church thus!  
Atheists would blush at this.   King. 

Is there no way to Heaven without these Fellows?  
Try me, and judge me, Oh thou awful Power,  
If I not reverence and adore thy Laws!  
But why through such hard hands are they delivered?  
How is't you make us Kings, whilst these prescribe us?  
Our Actions must be governed by their Consciences,  
Our own has no Pre-eminence nor Judgement.   Abbot. 

Reason is weak, where Passion is so strong:  
Your Arbitrary Power would tire the World,  
Did not Heaven bless you with our Guiding Virtues.   King. 

Yet, with your leaves, Kings may indulge themselves,  
Violate Laws, Disfranchize all their Subjects,  
Provided that your Government's untouched:  
But, should we look  
Asquint upon the Failures of the Church,  
The holy Rooks and Daws betake to wing,  
And fill the Air with Clamour.  
Hence! Be gone, on forfeit of your Lives!   Abbot. 

He shall pay dear for this.  
Come, Brothers, let's to Council.   Exit Abbot, Priests. Sir Tho. Vaugh. 

That's to Mischief.  
Now will the Church fall in a Fever,  
And want his Blood for a Cordial.   King. 

Now, Eleanor, to you: Beware these Men;  
Thou'rt but a Tool to them, to fashion me,  
And work my Actions suitable to theirs.  
Shock not thy Husband's Power, to strengthen them;  
For, credit me, I know their inward Cunning:  
They called my Father in, to serve their Interest;  
And, when he had nobly ventured Life and Power,  
Removed th'Oppressions under which they groaned,  
They grew so weary of Security,  
They would have changed again.  
Observe this, Boy: Seem with the Church to join,  
Harken and weigh whatever they design,  
But never let their Knowledge fathom thine.   Queen. 

But why must he to th'War?  
Oh! Can you love, and put him into danger?   King. 

Hear me;  
And what I say, I hope, will make impression:  
If to divest myself, and place on him  
A sovereign Power, be not the Marks of Love,  
Then I have none: If to advance my Son  
Into an equal share of Empire with me,  
Be not Affection, what then is Affection?   Queen. 
But yet—  King. 

Come, Elinor, be calm, cease all suspicion;  
And if I sallied out in rash expressions,  
Wink at my Failings; For, Oh my Queen!  
The Cares that tend upon a Crown are great,  
And do sometimes distract.   Queen. 
Is there no danger of his Life?  King. 

None that I know of.  
My Lord of Verulam I join to his assistance:  
But if the Sceptre be too ponderous,  
I'll aid the Prince till strength shall reach his Arm,  
And be a Shield 'twixt him and all Invaders.   Prince. 

Dear Madam, hear the King, let him prevail;  
You would not have me stay and wield a Distaff,  
When Honour's Trumpet sounds so brave a Charge,  
When all my Royal Father's great Intentions  
Aim only at th'increasing of my Glory.   Queen. 

It shall be so: But, my dear Child, take care;  
Oh Verulam! be watchful in the War;  
The Comfort of my Life lies all in him.   King. 
I bless thee from my Soul, and wish thee well.  Prince. 

How I'll deserve that Blessing, time shall tell.  
If I return, Conquest and Peace I'll bring;  
If not, just Fame shall, to my Glory, sing,  
I suffered for my Country and my King.   Exeunt omnes. 
The End of the First Act.   

ACT. II.  

SCENE I.  Enter Abbot and Friars. Abbot. 

DID you not mark with what a sprightly Joy  
The Youth took fire when we saluted him?  
The Blood flew up, and almost burst his Cheeks;  
His Eyes did sparkle round unwonted Lustre;  
His faltering Tongue could not express his Soul,  
But with a pleased and eager stammering  
Hinted the wondrous Transport he was under;  
Then with a Bridegroom's haste he clasped us round,  
Called us his Friends, and kissed our Lips with as  
Much warmth as each had been a Mistress.   2 Fry. 

Nay, though the Queen had sent to take her leave,  
How slowly did he quit our Company!  
The falling Showers gushed from his longing Eyes,  
And spoke the wreck he felt i'th' Separation;  
Then on his Knees with humble Adoration  
Besought our guardian Prayers and Benizons.   Abbot. 

It almost made me weep for Company,  
But that the Fire which burns within this Bosom  
Called back the Sap for a more Noble Use.  
Now, should I speak my Thoughts,  
I must declare this early pious, worshipping  
Young Prince, deserves the Crown.   1 Fry. 
What says my Lord?  Abbot. 

Since his ill Father stands accursed for shedding  
Most sacred Blood, and in a holy Place,  
He is divested by his Holiness  
Of Power and Royalty,  
And only bears an empty Title now.   2 Fry. 

But which of us dare to tell him so?  
He has a damnable Spirit, and values  
Hanging a Churchman no more than a mutinying Soldier.   Abbot. 

Weakmen! whose Senses are o'er-whelmed with Ease;  
Think you there goes no more to this great Work,  
Than barely talking? I tell you, We must first  
Join all the Power and Interest we can make,  
To undermine this vast Colossus.  
'Tis of Consequence sufficient to engage  
The whole Profession,  
And call the scattered Levi of the World  
To one entire and absolute Assembly.  
Oh Becket! Oh thou Martyr for our sakes!  
The only Patron of our humble Labours!  
Have you forgot? Speak, has Remembrance left you?  
Are all his Favours buried in Oblivion?   1 Fry. 
No, 'tis to him and you we owe our being.  Abbo. 

And shall We tamely let his Murderer's sleep,  
Sit down in silence to behold their Triumph?  
Oh! never let Ingratitude so foul  
Be laid at the Church door: Think of his goodness,  
He took me when a Boy from my poor Parents,  
Pleased with a forward Spirit which he saw;  
And at his Charge, with Cost and Diligence,  
I was instructed in Divinity;  
Preferred me early into Holy Orders,  
And made me in my Six and Thirtieth year  
One of the Confessors to Majesty:  
And tho' in different ways his Love did move,  
You shared his Bounty, and to good advantage.   2 Fry. 

'Tis true; and we no less than you Repine,  
For want of means to show how we'd Revenge.   Abbo. 

Oh, wonderful stupidity! Is't possible!  
What have we all this time been talking of?  
Was it not of the Prince, the King that must be?  
Does not Heaven give the Power into our hands?  
And by the Gift, plainly direct us how  
To Right the Impious Murder of the Saint?   2 Fry. 
I understand you now:  Abbo. 
You are his Tutor, Becket gained you that.  2 Fry. 
'Tis true.  Abbo. 

Thou sayst he is ambitious; be it so:  
Nourish the growing Plague, Temper the mischief;  
Of Power and Sway the cunning Compound make;  
On the prevailing fuel of his Pride  
Set the Infection; his Spleen will feed the Fire,  
Till wild Ambition blazes to Rebellion.   2 Fry. 

The task is easy; for in his eager Soul  
His Father's Errors bear Pre-eminence,  
With all his Mother's positive ill Nature.   Abbo. 

Blessings upon thy Zeal! this plainly looks  
Like Inspiration, and foretells success:  
Few words, and I have done.  
When thou shalt reach the Prince's Court,  
Thou wilt be swarmed to for News,  
And principally from the Men in Orders;  
None carry Ears more itching than  
The Clothing.   2 Fry. 

Give me your full desire; tell me  
Your heart, and if I fail my Trust,  
Cunning forsake our Tribe.   Abbo. 

Then plainly thus:  
Lay all the Church's sufferings on the Rack,  
Let every scratch appear a mortal Wound;  
Breath to their fickle Souls desire of change,  
And never quit the Subject: Extol the Prince  
With all the Rhetoric Interest can invent;  
Paint the vile King upon the stretch of Fancy,  
Attempt the Root of his Prerogative,  
And load with endless fears each branch of Power,  
Till we have stripped him naked of all Trust.  
Observe the Factious Chiefs, and there enlarge  
Thy well wrought Sophistry.  
If thou shouldst find 'em start into a Curse,  
Say thou Amen.   2 Fry. 
My zealous Spirit glows to be at work.  Abbo. 

When e'er thou com'st among the Female Sex,  
Bemoan the dreadful prospect of our Woes,  
Work 'em to Tears, melt 'em with Apprehension;  
For none engender mischief like that Sex:  
Inquire amongst their Sins, And those  
Thou find'st still most accountable and fearful,  
Work up with dreadful Industry and Terror;  
Sigh out Damnation with prodigious Accent,  
And tell 'em nought can stop such festering wounds,  
But being mighty forward in this Cause:  
Oh, thou shalt see 'em work their Husbands up,  
And teach their lisping Babes to Curse the King:  
They are the Train by which we Blow up Fools;  
There's nothing worthy Note is done without 'em.   2 Fry. 
Let me be gone; I'm eager to be at it.  Abbo. 

Get all things ready; at Night meet  
Me at home, i'th' Morning you set  
Forward; away I must; to th' Queen.   1 & 2 Fry. 
Success attend you.  Ex. 1 & 2 Fry. Abbo. 

Now Becket, if thy Ghost  
Will look so low as us that will revenge thee,  
Dart from thy Saints bright Rays, a Providence  
That may encircle and protect our Actions:  
If Souls which from the World's rich Arms are forced,  
Torn from their Right in Nature by Oppression,  
And sent unjustly, unprepared, away,  
To give an Answer at a moment's warning  
To a long Scroll of all their ill-spent Lives,  
Ben't a Barbarity abhorred by Christians,  
Morality good night;  
Conscience and Equity be ever Banished:  
And Arbitrary Strength officiate Justice.  
No, Becket, thou shalt have full revenge,  
If Blood can give it measure.  
I've traced his Lust,  
Where he supinely does indulge himself;  
Found out his Paramour, and the Queen shall  
Know it.  
Thus my Revenge I'll back with Jealousy;  
A Rival is a plague that tortures Woman  
Worse than her being crossed in her Ambition.  
And Oh, what a charming mischief must that prove,  
That's Got by a Church Hate, and Nursed by Injured Love!   Exit.  

SCENE II.  Enter Sir Tho Vaughan, and Rosamonds Women. Sir Tho. 
Was there ever so perverse a Baggage! Hast thou neither respect to my Age nor my Person? Who am I? what am I? Tell me quickly, or I shall grow very furious, I shall.  Wom. 
Sir, I neither regard your Age nor your Person: And your Anger would do better to be shown among them that fear you, than here, where you're so little welcome.  Sir Tho. 
Why Huzzy? I'm a Gentleman.  Wom. 
'Tis a very improper employment this, if you are so.  Sir Tho. 
Look you, my Lady's Gentlewoman, I will not be popped off with the flap of a Fox Tail, I come with a Message from the King, do you mark? I must have an Answer from your betters e'er I return.  Wom. 
I think you have had Answers enough to have put any Man out of Countenance that had a grain of Modesty in him.  Sir Tho. 
Tell the Wind where it shall blow Child; I'm a thoroughpaced Courtier, used to denials, but that never disheartens me; he that sits down contented with a Lady's answering Nay, twice or thrice, will be Cursed by the Woman, and Laughed at by the World. Importunity and Impudence are the Supporters of our Coat of Arms; indeed our Argent is somewhat scandalous; but our Rampant is very ancient; It came in with Infidelity, and always had the upper hand of Honesty in this World.  Wom. 
I don't understand your Heraldry Sir.  Sir Tho. 
I am an unlucky Dog, never eloquent but among the vulgar; and there it's always thrown away: Come Rogue, I must needs see your Lady.  Wom. 
Her positive Orders were to see none; and I will not infringe 'em to merit your thanks and her displeasure.  Sir Tho. 
To see none? If she means of the Common sort she's much in the right on't, I commend her Judgement: But I come from the King, Child.  Wom. 
There's the more danger: But I tell you she makes no distinction.  Sir Tho. 
Why, 'tis impossible; a Pox on thee, thou hast mistook her Orders; if she is resolved to see no body, let her come and tell me so herself: What, does she think she was made for no other use than our Shrines are, to be shown upon Holidays only?  Wom. 
I am the Servant of her pleasure, Sir.  Sir Tho. 
So am I of my Masters: prithee let them put their pleasures together, and come to a right understanding. A young Woman, a handsome Woman, a brisk Woman, of a yielding Complexion, a sappy Constitution, a languishing Nature, turn Recluse? Why the Devil would as soon turn Tailor, and be bound to Thread his Needle in the dark always. Why, she's good enough for Nuns-flesh Thirty years hence, when she's weary of the World, satiated with Flesh, and sit for no other thing, but a Friar to mumble his Matins o'er.  Wom. 
What d'ye mean Sir?  Sir Tho. 
Why Child, I know 'tis against the Grain of any Woman in the World to be locked up, even in Spain itself, Love. But see, Rogue, see what the King has sent thee, all Yellow, prevailing Yellow, undeniable Yellow; this will die Honour, or Conscience, Chastity, Friendship of any Colour whatsoever; and make Adultery look as Beautiful as the Snow-driven Sheets of a Virgin Sacrifice in Wedlock. Besides, he has provided for thee a Husband, a huge feeding Fellow, and as tough as Whalebone.  Wom. 
You have such pleasant humours— but I dare not take it— my Lady is so—  Sir Tho. 
If thy Lady's such a Fool to stand in her own light, must the Maid follow the example? Be wiser Child; for let me tell thee, a Stale Waiting-woman is a scurvy Commodity; refuse but the Market, and 'twill hang on thy hands long enough.  Wom. 
If I must take it: But I can do nothing for't.  Sir Tho. 
Pshaw, pshaw, say what thou wilt; but do as thou think'st fit.  Wom. 
But she has sworn never to see the King.  Sir Tho. 
What! not see the King! O Lord! O Lord! she's in the state of Damnation; I'll get a Father presently; but now I think on't, there's none can Absolve her better than himself he'll take pains to Convert her.  Wom. 
She comes.  Enter Rosamond. Sir Tho. Vaugh. 
Let me alone with her.— How does my sweet Lady, Nature's Pride, Pleasure of all our Senses, the Day's Comfort, the Night's Enlightner?  Rosa. 

Away, thou venerable Bawd, thonv shame  
To Age and Sanctity.   Sir Tho. 
A very hopeful beginning!  Rosa. 

The Badge of Years, which should be Honourable,  
In thee appears a Mark of Infamy.  
Leave me! Be gone! Thy sight does strike a Horror,  
Such as if Hell should yawn the Tempter up,  
To second thy Delusion.   Sir Tho. 

She'll make me believe I'm a Fury anon, Enter King.  
Oh! 'tis well your Majesty has relieved me;  
I'm schooled to a fright, and give like a   
Tombstone against rainy Wether, Dew all over; Come, Charge, come; 'tis not for you and I to listen to State-affairs; he's a going to swear her of his Cabinet-Council.  Exeunt Sir Tho. & Wom. Rosamond sees the King, and is going out. King. 

Why dost thou shun my Love, thou Charming Maid?  
Why turn away thy Eyes, now they've undone me?  
Thou shouldst have hid their killing Fires before:  
Too well thy conscious Soul their Lustre knew,  
Foresaw the Adoration they'd beget;  
Thou shouldst have ever kept 'em from Mankind,  
Or mingled Pity with their barbarous Power.   Rosam. 

Why will you thus perplex yourself and me?  
How often have I begged you to desist!  
Methinks the many times I have denied,  
Might satisfy you your Attempts are vain.   King. 

Judge rightly of the Patience of my Love,  
With what a meek untired Zeal 't has waited,  
Born all the cold Rebukes of rigid Virtue,  
The harsh Denials of a vigorous Honour,  
Still creeping up to what I knew would crush me:  
Like the weak Reed against the blust'ring North,  
That nods and crouches to each angry Blast,  
Sinks down o'er-pressed by the insulting Storm;  
Yet still it swells, and slowly strives to rise,  
To be blown down again.   Rosam. 
Oh! why do you pursue me?  King. 

Because my Peace has took her flight that way,  
And I must follow through this rugged Road  
To find it out, though every step I tread  
Brings my strict search but nearer to Destruction.   Rosam. 

No, King, in vain you lay a Siege;  
The Fort's impregnable.   King. 

You think my Power's the less because I sue,  
Begging that Blessing which I might command.  
How easy might I seize the longed-for Joy;  
But Force dissolves the sweetness of the Charm.  
Let then my Sufferings urge at last some Hope,  
Let cruel Virtue yield but to a Parley,  
Grant my Request, and make thy own Conditions.   Rosam. 

What can you hope from such a wretched Conquest,  
Where all the Spoil is Infamy and Shame?  
Why would you soil the Glories of your Life,  
In mingling with the Creature you have made?   King. 

Nature may boast Thee as her Masterpiece;  
Thou'rt the result of vast and long Contrivance;  
She practised hard e'er she could reach her mind.  
And when she formed thee from Original Thought,  
The Copy struck her with amazing Pleasure,  
And full Perfection recompensed the Toil.   Rosam. 

Would I'd been born a Leper,  
And all those Graces which have wronged my Virtue,  
By breeding this Infection in your Heart,  
Had been consumed or blasted in their Bud.   King. 
Oh fearful Blasphemy!  Rosam. 

I have reason to curse all Charms that do attract  
Your Eyes: But should I once encourage your  
Attempts, you that are Wedded, out of all Power  
Of making recompense for what you must destroy;  
How will the World censure my senseless weakness!  
I must expect the Brand of Infamy,  
All good men's Curses, and be truly wretched.   King. 

No, Rosamond, I'll place thee in a Sphere  
Above the reach of foul-mouth d Envy,  
Or the blackest Malice; where, like a Deity,  
Thou mayst look down, and either pity  
Or revenge thy Wrongs.   Rosam. 

Yes, by committing greater.  
Therefore upon my Knees let me entreat,  
That you would cease this most ungrateful Suit,  
Or kill me, that will be a deed of Mercy.   King. 

Wouldst thou command me to commit Self-murder?  
My Life's in thine, and must partake its Fate.  
Inexorable Fair! why wert thou made  
So wondrous charming, yet in Love so cruel?   Rosam. 

I must be gone; he gains upon my Heart,  
My Resolution thaws before his Heat,  
And the rich Treasure of my spotless Honour  
Will moulder into Dross.   King. 

No, 'twill be refined,  
And, like the Ore torn from the fertile Womb  
Of the rich Mine, suffer a noble Trial,  
Gaining the Royal' Say.   Rosam. 

Impossible!  
There's such antipathy 'twixt Vice and Virtue,  
They will run counter, ne'er incorporate.   King. 

You are become a glorious Disputant,  
A hardened Rebel 'gainst the Cause of Love.   Rosam. 

I am no Enemy to Love, my Lord;  
Far from the Title, I admire the Deity,  
Could pay him Homage: But you are so far,  
So infinite above my humble State,  
Ruin attends the minute I comply.  
You, like the Sun, while in its midway Path  
Of heaven's bright Arch, do with your Rays call forth  
The Trees to bloom, the Earth to yield her Fruits:  
But when you draw too near the lower Orb,  
Heat shoots too fierce, and withers all around.  
Let me go hence.   King. 

Not till you see me dead,  
My Heartstrings broke, and this half-dying Body  
Become a Victim to your Cruelty.   Rosam. 

Oh I am lost!  
My thirsty Soul drinks up his Words,  
And, pleased with the rich Philtre, craves for more.   King. 

She's at a stand. Aside.  
Must we then part for ever, Rosamond?   Rosam. 
For ever.  King. 
Oh hard sound! For ever, said you?  Rosam. 

If you still love me, as you say you do,  
Unloose my hand.   King. 

Bid the poor dying Wretch quit his Reprieve,  
Or tell the hunger-starved he must not eat,  
Both will obey like me.   Rosam. 
You have undone a miserable Maid.  King. 

Ha! What do I hear! Is pity entered?  
Am I called to Life?   Rosam. 

No, I will not hear you, see you, mind you,  
Know you; My heart beats false, and if my Eyes  
Tell Tales, believe 'em not.   King. 
You must not go.  Rosam. 

I will, and follow if you dare; for I  
Will never yield.   King. 
Nay, I must follow.  Rosam. 
Must you? then I'll stay.  King. 
Do.  Rosam. 
No.  King. 
May I not follow?  Rosam. 

I will not speak;  
You grow too strong, Oh do not tempt the weak!   Exit. King. 

Her Virtue gives apace.  
Be bold my Love, pursue her while she's warm;  
An easy Rape will now dissolve the Charm.   Exit King. 
The End of the Second Act.    

ACT. III. SCENE I.  Enter Queen. alone, Reading. Queen. 

HOW dull is all this World without my Child!  
My Nature sickens, all my Senses droop;  
Each wresty Faculty disordered grows,  
And every Vessel through which Life does play  
Its feeding Blood, to hearten and refresh  
The Limbs and Spirits to obey the Will,  
Like Pipes choked up, no longer can supply,  
But backwardly run, and burst for want of passage.  
Could I but find the honest, pious Abbot,  
He'd free me from this Labyrinth of Fear,  
Resolve my Doubts, and give me Peace again.   Sits down and reads. Enter Bertrad. Bertr. 
Who the Devil put it into his Lordship's head to employ me in State affairs? I shall mar all, for want of a Memory; and he might as well have attempted to make a Sieve hold Water, as trusted me with his Councils: It is certain I was never cut out for a Politician. This Reverend Abbot has engaged me in a fine business. When Rosamond told me in Confession of the King's Address to her, and I acquainted his Lordship with it, he obliged me to persuade her she ought not to resist the Importunities of her Prince, lest her Obstinacy should occasion his Death, and Royal Murder was a dreadful thing: But what's the reason of his making me tell the Queen of it? He says 'tis to revenge our Patron Becket: I know not what it may come to; he has promised me Preferment, and my Conscience must submit to my Ambition.— Oh she's here.— How shall I deliver myself?— I'm a cursed Orator.— I'll put some hard words together, which will sound like Rhetoric, and that may pass for Learning if she understands 'em not.— Hail, Sacred Majesty.  Queen. 

The sound of Health to a departing Wretch  
Is not more welcome than such happy Company,  
The true Restorative to a sick Mind,  
Since all the Physic which the Soul requires  
Dwells in your Breasts.   Bertr. 
I shall believe anon I'm not the person I took myself for.  Queen. 
Where have you left the Abbot?  Bertr. 

In his Cell,  
Where on the cold hard Pavement he was paying  
His zealous Orisons to all the Saints  
For the Prosperity of the Illustrious Prince,  
Your Royal Son.   Queen. 
How much he binds me to him!  Bertr. 

Now for my lofty Style. Aside.  
If the Nation may it please August Majesty,  
Could but comprehend the unaccountable Qualifications  
Of his indisputable Understanding, they would  
Venerate the indulgence of his Sanctity.   Queen. 
I do believe you, Father.  Bertr. 

Nay I dare be bold to say; nay more, affirm;  
And what is more, confirm, That if the  
Worthy Precedent he sets Mankind were followed,  
There would be vast sincerity of Conscience,  
And the Age or World (which you please) would not  
So transcendently abound with Knaves and Villains.   Queen. 
Go on, Father.  Bertr. 
Whether I can or no?— No Abbot yet!— I shall be baffled presently.  Queen. 
Why do you pause? why are you thus concerned?  Bertr. 
How should it be otherwise, with profound submission, when the sacred Ornaments of your Countenance appear not so sublime as usual; but the Rays of Dignity suffer as it were under the repugnance of an Eclipse? hum, hum.  Queen. 
The absence of the Prince is grievous to me.  Bert. 
Ay; Madam, you have mentioned the only Star that graced our Horrizon; to be deprived of him, is enough to put the considerating part of the Nation into Lacrimary showers, and stupefying sadness. Enter Abbot, or I must Exit.  Queen. 

I am amazed!  
You seem to hint at dangers, and call up  
My Blood which crowds too fast about my heart,  
And makes it pant with an unusual terror.  
No pain is sure like that of Apprehension:  
Therefore, good Father ease me of it quickly;  
Pour in a Balm upon my bleeding wounds,  
Restore my Health, and give my Tortures ease.   Enter Abbot. Bert. 
He's come in good time; for I am hared with the apprehension of the fury of her displeasure.  Abbot. 

The hours of Peace, Eternal Blessings wait you;  
May all your Prayers be heard, your Wishes Crowned,  
And constant happiness attend 'em both.   Queen. 

'Tis kindly wished; but answer me, my Lord,  
Pray, and be sincere; wave Holy niceties,  
And tell me plainly, whither you good Man  
Is not distempered in his mind?   Abbot. 
Far from it, on my Word.  Bert. 

Nay, if she thinks me mad for a little impertinence,  
What will she think of the Church that's never at quiet!   Abbot. 

He has shot too far, I find it by his looks;  
So it is always when he does amiss.   Bert. 
How could I help it? You might have come sooner, before my Rhetoric tired, and have hindered the stumbling of my understanding.  Abbot. 

Be silent; I'll fetch you off.  
Your Majesty it seems is ignorant of what  
This Holy Man is blessed withal:  
His Fasting, Watching, Praying, constant Penance,  
Pulled down from Heaven the gift of Prophecy.   Queen. 
Indeed, my Lord!  Bert. 
I did Prophecy a Lie must help me truly.  Queen. 
He seemed concerned for my Son's safety.  Abbot. 

I feared as much: Then all the Truth is out.  
Why did you not avoid the Royal presence?  
It was not fit the Queen should know it yet;  
Babble no more, 'tis of ill consequence.   Bert. 

What, has he lost his Beads he's so testy?  
Did not you tell me the Queen—   Abbot. 
Peace.  Bert. 
Good Lord, what's the matter now! 'Tis hard that one Churchman can't know the bottom of another.  Queen. 

Why do you rate him thus? Is it not fit,  
If ought concern my safety, that I know it?  
Be quick, and do not trifle with my expectation;  
I shall forget the Sanction of your Robe,  
And slight what I esteemed.   Abbot. 

Pardon me, Royal Mistress;  
I would not for the World offend that goodness:  
But this is such a Tale, which I must tell,  
Will i'll and stagger every sense about you:  
Therefore if I do lag in my Confession,  
Think it not want of Duty, but of Courage;  
For, O, I dread the fatal consequence  
Which must attend the impression it will make.   Queen. 

Go on, and fear not;  
For I've a Soul so near Divinity,  
I can behold the worst that Fate can do,  
And Laugh at the Decree.   Abbo. 

Then listen, for I talk of wondrous things;  
When Kings, to prove their fondness of a Son,  
Expose him to the Toil of Camps and Wars,  
And danger is a mark of their esteem.  
Then yours is much beloved.  
If, when a Prince has got the People's Love,  
And all their Jubilees express his Name,  
The Father, to indulge their kindness to him,  
Sends him abroad to keep him in their mind,  
Then ours is strangely worshipped.   Queen. 
Ha!  Bert. 

What a rare pair of Bellows is a Canting Priest!  
She blazes already.   Abbot. 

If when a King with Sacred Marriage tired,  
To show how much yet still he hugs that chain  
On a fresh Beauty pours his longing Soul;  
And jealous of her Rage whom he has wronged,  
Removes all means by which she might Revenge;  
If this be proof that Wedlock he admires,  
Than you are justly used.   Queen. 

How now; what sayst thou! Is my Bed abused?  
Or is my Son removed lest he should right me?  
Lay by thy cunning Rhetoric, and be plain;  
Wind not my Weakness up with Preparation,  
To make my Passion more extravagant,  
It needs it not; I want no Fire to keep my Anger up:  
A Royal Spirit has a Pride that feeds it.   Abbot. 

'Tis a sad Truth indeed; but so it is,  
The Lord of Clifford's Daughter, Rosamond,  
Wears the King's Heart, and you are but a cipher.   Queen. 
How know'st thou this, what certainty? ha! speak.  Abbot. 
This Holy Father is her Confessor.  Bert. 
What will become of me!  Abbot. 

With vast reluctancy he did reveal it,  
Upon my promise I would ne'er disclose it;  
And now he shakes to find himself betrayed.   Queen. 
Come hither Priest.  Bert. 
Oh, Lord!  Queen. 

Come hither; what dost start at?  
Canst thou conduct me where these Lovers meet?   Bert. 
Not for the World.  Queen. 

Better thy Soul were out on't.  
Come Abbot, make him guide us  
Where in each others Arms this pair are clasped,  
That I may cut the twisted folds asunder.   Bert. 
Oh! I shall be hanged for being of their Council, and betraying it afterwards.  Aside. Abbot. 

Oh, give not way to this destructive Rage;  
We shall be all undone by this rash act:  
Have Patience, and see further.   Queen. 

What! dost thou lay my body on the fire,  
And bid me bear its flames with whining Patience,  
When I may quench it with a Rival's Blood?   Abbot. 

O horrid Resolution!  
Would you add Murder to Adultery,  
And make yourself as wicked as the King?   Queen. 
Why didst thou tell me then this cursed story?  Bert. 
Let Heaven Revenge you.  Queen. 
I'll not stay so long.  Abbot. 
The Church shall Right you.  Queen. 

Both are too tedious for me:  
Besides you fear (although you hate) the King,  
And as your Interest leads, you will direct.  
No, you have light the Brand, and shall partake  
The heat on't.   Abbot. 
Is't fit our Piety should be exposed in such a shameful cause? Upon our Knees,  Kneel. Bert. 
Ay, upon our Knees,  Queen. 

Is't fit your Piety should be exposed?  
Is't fit my Dignity should be abused?  
Thus still your Church's Credit you'll maintain,  
No matter what we suffer, if you Reign:  
But since my Soul you've set upon the Rack,  
And touched my Love, I'll my own measures take,  
Give my Eyes proof of what your Tongues have told;  
Think not to shun me, by your Robes I'll hold;  
And if I find my Peace you have abused,  
Never were Heretics so basely used  
By your Church Tyranny, as you shall be by me;  
Away, be gone, lead on, avaunt Hypocrisy.   Exeunt, turning to each, and pushing Bertrard. Scene opens, Rosamond Reading. Rosam. 

How am I altered! how estranged of late!  
Virtue has ta'en her flight, and Innocence,  
The bright, the only Jewel of the Sex,  
Flies this polluted place as from Infection.  
Oh! Honour, what a dreadful loss thou art,  
And yet how hard to keep from what we Love!  
How dismal 'tis to think of what I've done!  
Should he prove false now, change like other Men,  
And only Triumph o'er his Wretched Conquest,  
How much more dreadful will my loss appear!  
Oh! could Men guests the terror we endure,  
What 'twixt our Honour and our Love we suffer,  
They sure would prize each generous Maid much more,  
And, as their Souls, indulge them to the last.  
Aspasia.   Aspa. 
Madam.  Rosa. 

Sing me that Song I gave thee th'other day,  
And if thou canst, charm me into a slumber.   Enter Abbot and Queen. Abbot. 

Behold your Rival, and survey her glory;  
But not a word of Bertrard, or of me.   Queen. 
Be gone.  Abbot. 

No; I'll behold the rancour of thy Malice,  
Thy thirst of Blood, and most insatiate Fury.  
Now Rosamond thou diest, or else Revenge  
Lags in its Course; No, run thy full career,  
The master stroke of my designs lie here.   Rosa. 

What do I see! or is't an Apparition!  
My Blood runs backward to my frightened Heart,  
And something tells me that my Fate is near.   Queen. 

Appear thou Fairy Queen, and summon up  
Thy Host of Spirits to defend their Charge;  
For I am come to snatch away thy Glories,  
Dissolve thy Charms, and hurl thee to destruction.   Rosa. 

Why, Madam, this to me? What have I done  
To move those Frowns, or urge these angry words?   Queen. 

You to my Anger are it seems a stranger,  
But with my Rights are very intimate:  
What canst thou see defective in this Face,  
That you dare vie for Place, or hope for Conquest?   Rosa. 

You plunge me still in wonder and amazement!  
I ever paid that awful Head such Duty  
As is expected by a Crown from Subjects:  
But if some evil Tongue has blackened me,  
To make me odious in your Royal looks,  
I cannot help the baseness of my Foes;  
But I shall still adore, tho' I am scorned.   Queen. 

Oh! that this wretch, this indigested heap  
Of crowding Beauties, which do each outvie  
For Place and Praise from the admiring World,  
Should have a Soul so unworthy of its Frame;  
How poorly dost thou strive to hide thy Faults,  
And shake for what the better part o'th' Sex would boast of.  
Last Night, last Night, canst thou deny the Blessing,  
When in the Arms of my most Treacherous Lord  
You Laughed and Revealed the short hours away,  
Whilst I in ignorance expecting lay?   Rosa. 
Oh, I am lost!  Queen. 

Thou art indeed:  
But my Revenge is starved;  
Thy Life's too little to appease its hunger:  
I would contrive some way, if possible,  
To be as long in torturing thy Soul,  
As the Remembrance of thy Crimes will mine.   Rosa. 
Will you not hear me speak?  Queen. 

What canst thou plead,  
What urge in thy Defence, thou guilty fair one?  
Hast thou not robbed me of my Souls best thought?  
For ever torn my interest from his Love?  
Stripped me of all my Wishes, all my Joys,  
Deafened his Ears to my complaining Soul,  
And locked up every passage to his Heart?   Rosa. 

I shunned him, long was deaf to his desires,  
Avoided him as an approaching Plague,  
For well I saw the fatal consequence:  
To an excess of Rudeness I abjured him;  
Nay, yet have only listened to his Love.   Queen. 

By Hell 'tis false: thou hast enjoyed it to.  
Think'st thou to blunt my Rage by this denial?  
No, I am too well convinced of what is past:  
Therefore prepare thyself for what's to come.   Draws a Dagger. Rosa. 
Oh! Mercy.  Queen. 

Mercy,  
Canst thou desire to live, and I in being!  
Methinks thou shouldst entreat me to dispatch,  
Considering what a Plague I shall be to thee:  
When first I heard the Name of Rosamond,  
I thought to find an Amazonian Spirit,  
One thar dared Cope with injured Majesty,  
And stand the proof who best deserved a King:  
But I have erred, for he has chosen one,  
The Relict of some poor half starved Plebeian,  
Dressed up with Pageant greatness, to allure  
the Roving Appetite of a loose King.   Rosa. 

I held as Rich, as Pure, and Noble Blood  
As any of my Sex, till this Cursed change  
Sullied my Veins, and stained my Family.   Queen. 

The Sacrifice will be the Nobler for't:  
Prepare.   Holds the Dagger up. Rosa. 

Must I then die?  
Is there no pity left?   Queen. 

Banish the thought, Mercy and I are Strangers:  
Yet ere thou goest, I charge thee to abjure his Name,  
Quit all Pretensions to him,  
Curse him before the Pangs of Death come on,  
For hurrying thee to Hell before thy time.   Rosa. 

No, I will bless him to my utmost gasp,  
Groan forth his Name, as he has sighed out mine;  
Think on the Kneeling hours he has wept away,  
The many charming words that moved my Heart,  
The mighty changes that my Smiles and Frowns  
Have raised in his expecting, doubtful Soul;  
The Transports of his Trembling, Fierce Embraces,  
And hug him with such eagerness to Heaven.   Queen. 
Then Face thy Doom.  Moves forward. Rosa. 

I do:  
I have invoked the Patron of my Love,  
And now the weakness of my Sex has left me;  
Since I must die for Love, my Love shall arm me,  
I know his hatred must pursue thee for it;  
Nay, I believe he will Revenge me too:  
But since I know this Act will Curse thee from him,  
Live, and be wretched in his Scorn.   Queen. 
So Arrogant! Sink Towering Sorceress,  Offers to Stab her. Enter King and Sir Tho. Vaughan. The King stops her. King. 
O, hold! it must not be.  Queen. 

Why dost thou bar the stroke, ungrateful Man,  
Unless thou wouldst employ the point on me;  
Here, strike, I know thou hatest me Henry;  
Rip up this Bosom, mangle my fond Heart  
That bleeds for thy unkindness; do it quickly,  
And show you have some sparks of pity left.   King. 

Be calm, my Queen, hush up these jarring Passions;  
Let not thy Jealousy exceed thy Reason,  
Lest blab-tongued Fame should tell the envious World  
The frailties of us both.   Queen. 
Would I were dead.  King. 

Banish that wish for ever; Oh, Eleanor,  
If I have Sallied from great Hymen's Laws,  
And surfeited on strange forbidden Fruit,  
'Tis I must answer for the great offence;  
Why should you seek to stain your purer hands  
In Violence and Blood? Why so pollute  
Thy Innocence with Infamy and Shame?   Rosa. 
What is't I hear! Nay, then would Death had reached me.  Aside. Queen. 

How can you flatter thus, and she in hearing?  
I know 'tis only to delude my Rage,  
'Tis Nobler killing me, than thus to cheat me;  
When I am gone, without control  
You and your Paramour in Sin may triumph,  
While poor neglected I, your slighted Queen,  
Sleep quiet in the cold and silent Earth:   King. 

Oh, dreadful Trial,  
How can I comply with Justice here,  
And not destroy what most I covet there?   Aside. Rosa. 

He's at a stand, his Love has time to think;  
Nay then, I find he cools, and I am lost.   Aside. Queen. 

I do but hinder you from your desires,  
And tho' my Soul is put upon the wrack  
When I lose any share in your affection,  
Yet since you covet it, I will retire.   King. 

Stay, Eleanor, and be convinced at last  
Thy Power is Absolute, and yields to none;  
That I have Loved her, with a blush I own;  
Nay, doted to, with vast excess of longing;  
But sure it was some vile Enchantment rid me:  
The Spell's dissolved by thy more powerful Charms,  
And I'm ashamed of my Infatuation.   Rosa. 
Oh, faithless, perjured, and ungrateful Monster!  Queen. 
Can this be real?  King. 

By Heaven the Tide of Love has run its highest,  
And all Desire is Ebbing.   Queen. 

But the next flood the torrent will return,  
And Rosamond break down your Resolution.   King. 

Impossible:  
There is more pureness, sweetness, true delight  
In thee, my Queen, than e'er I found  
In all the wild's and Salleys of my Life.   Queen. 
Oh, blessed sound!  King. 

The World has not thy worth; for in thee  
All that thy Sex can boast of is entire.   Queen. 

I do believe you, tho' I know 'tis feigned,  
Yet I will seem transported with the change,  
And stab my Rival with the sight of it.   King. 
Come let us hence, and leave this hated place.  Queen. 

I know this sight must make you envy me;  
But I, in kind return, will pity thee.   Rosa. 
Oh King, farewell.  As they are going Rosamond Swoons, King turns back. Sir Tho. 
O! help, she Swoons.  King. 
Ha! What is that!  Queen. 

Only a trick to bring you back again:  
A fit o'th' Sullens; come my Lord away.   King. 
What! leave her dying, 'twere unnatural.  Rosa. 
Oh, cruel Man!  Queen. 

The Siren now begins to tune her Magic,  
And betray your Promise.   King. 
Oh, Rosamond!  Queen. 
Is this well done, my Lord?  King. 

'Twas but the Blair of Love as it expired,  
And now 'tis gone for ever: Heart keep thy bounds,  
And do not show my falsehood at my Eyes;  
This is the rigidst Task I ever met with:  
I Torture all the Comfort of my Life,  
To please the most vexatious thing, a Wife.   Exeunt. Sir Tho. 

Madam, Madam, won't you speak? The King's gone,  
Ben't frigtned so, 'twas only to blind the Queen;  
He Loves you still above all.   Rosa. 

Why have you called me back to misery,  
To endless trouble, and eternal sorrow?   Sir Tho. 

Nay, I don't know what to think on't;  
I fear we're undone.   Rosa. 

Cursed be the chance that spared this hated Life:  
Cursed be the hour when first my Soul gave way,  
And drank the Philtre of his baneful Tongue:  
May Night for ever cloud me from the World;  
May the vile wretched name of Rosamond  
Sink through the Leaves of Memory for ever.   Sir Tho. 

Be comforted, good Madam;  
(Oh, what will become of me!) Aside.  
All may be well yet.   Rosa. 

Hence Bawd, thou Pensioner of Hell,  
Betrayer of all Innocence and Virtue,  
Thy Soul must answer for the wrack mine suffers:  
Oh, Flattering King! Oh, Cursed dissembling Sex;  
That can for Months and Years lie at our Feet,  
And Sigh and Swear, Adore us, and Entreat;  
Promise whatever we'll Impose, Invent,  
And look as what they said they really meant;  
But when our frail and tender tempers move  
To Recompense with what their Souls most Love;  
So quickly with the longed for Feast they're cloyed,  
That always she that gave it was destroyed.   Exit. Sir Tho. 

So, now have I time to repent before  
I'm hanged; and that's all.   Enter Abbot. Abbot. 

Confusion on this Reconcilement! all's undone!  
Who's that? Sir Thomas Vaughan? Oh, I'll work him.  
How is't, Sir Thomas?   Sir Tho. 

Why, preparing for the other World, Father,  
And you are come to give me a helping hand:  
'Tis very hard, we can neither live without you,  
Nor die without you.   Abbot. 

Oh, I guess what you mean; the Discovery  
Of Rosamond, and the King being reconciled  
To the Queen, makes you apprehend her Anger  
May be fatal: but fear not, I'll make your  
Peace there.   Sir Tho. 
Why you might do a good thing for once in your life.  Abbot. 
I will. But do you think this Change i'th' King is real?  Sir Tho. 
I hope not.  Abbot. 

I'm sure not; he's gone into his Closet,  
And has left the Queen abruptly; follow him,  
And I'll attend the Queen; we'll meet an hour  
Hence, and then confer.   Exit. Sir Tho. 
With all my heart. I'm more glad to hear they're parted already, than the Queen could be at his leaving Rosamond. Cheer up, Sweetheart, he's thine still: What a Pox! be hanged in the first year of my Pimping! How should Favourites get Estates at that rate? For all this, I don't like this same Abbot: I thought there was no good towards, when I saw Him and the Queen coming to this place; and therefore called the King to prevent the Mischief I feared. This may be a Lie of his and only a design to send me to the King just now in his rage, to dispatch me immediately. No matter, I'll venture.  

For if the King holds his honest Intention,  
I'll thank him to hang me, for I'm sure of no Pension.   Exit.  

ACT. IV. SCENE I.  Enter Abbot. Abbot. 

THus to be shipwrecked in the sight of Harbour,  
Just when I'd perfected my great Design,  
Throws up the Gall with that impetuous force,  
I burn, I rave, I shall grow made with Anger.  
Had she been murdered, what a Scene had followed!  
What wild Distractions, and ungoverned Rage!  
All would have been embroiled. Should now the King  
(As possibly he may) find out the drift,  
Ruin, Eternal Ruin were my Doom.  
I was afraid of Bertrard; but he's firm,  
Fixed to my Cause, and yielding to my Will.  
Let me consider.— Ha! the King!   Enter King, Verulam (as from France) Sussex, Aumerle, Guards, etc. King. 

Are all his Vows of Duty, Loyalty,  
Obedience come to this; Surely the Clime's Infected,  
The Witchcraft of Rebellion taints the Air,  
And all who breath it suck the foul pollution.   Abbo. 

Sure there is mischief towards, ha! Verulam!  
Nay, than my Friends in France have matched my wishes.   Veru. 

The whole design was formed long since in Hell;  
It was so black, the Instruments so many,  
We scarce had Landed, when the factious People,  
Headed by their Officious, Fawning Guides,  
With Universal Acclamations welcomed  
His safe Arrival; Every one outvied  
Which should be foremost in his Adoration:  
They looked upon him as one sent from Heaven  
To be their Patron, their Deliverer.   King. 
Go on.  Veru. 

Still as we passed through any Town or Village,  
The Windows, Tops of Houses swarmed with people  
To gaze upon the entrance of their Deity.   King. 
The usual method of the Giddy Rabble.  Veru. 

When we had reached the City, at the Gates  
A Train of sleek, smooth, beauteous Youths appeared,  
The Ganymedes and Hylasses o'th' Covents  
Arrayed like Angels all in purest white:  
These past; a numerous Host of Lazy Singing-men  
Chanted out Io Paeans, in his praise:  
Behind, in Ranks, the Jolly well-fed Brothers  
O'th' several Orders, in their Sacred Vestments,  
The Banners of their Founders still displayed;  
Trudged heavily along; each lolling on his Fellow  
With Reverend Waddle, blowing as they stalked,  
Puffed out his Name, and blessed the good young Prince.   King. 
Ten thousand Devils tear 'em for't.  Abbot. 
Ten thousand Angels hug 'em for't.  Veru. 

Thus it continued till we gained the Palace,  
Where a new Scene begins; The Crowds of Gentry!  
That waited there to offer Fealty,  
Would pose Arithmetic to sum 'em up.  
These offered him the Crown.   King. 
How now!  Abbot. 
Why, now 'tis as it should be.  Veru. 

He thankfully accepted the kind offer,  
Embraced 'em, spoke 'em fair, and promised fairer;  
Nay, at their parting, servilely attended 'em,  
Even to the outward Gate of the thronged Court.   Abbot. 
Blessed be the Priests that taught him so much breeding.  Veru. 

The Ceremonious day now being ended,  
And he withdrawn to rest, I thought it time  
To speak my Soul, and let him know his Error.   King. 
How did he bear it from you?  Veru. 

Knitting his Brows, with a Majestic Frown  
He told me, I was Saucy, malapert,  
And bordered upon Treason; He was of Age,  
Nor did he want a Tutor; Bade me be gone  
On forfeit of my Life: Then laying his hand  
Upon his Sword, he let these words escape:  
Think'st thou I will refuse the gift of Heaven,  
And what the People court me to possess?  
No: I'll assert my Right against the World:  
And here shake off all kerbing ties of Blood.   King. 

No more;  
He shall be whipped into his Duty, Verulam,  
What! dare me to the Combat, Insolent Boy;  
He shall not find I am enervated,  
Let all the Ports immediately be stopped, To Sussex.  
Set up the Royal Standard, Summon all into the Field,  
'Tis I, your King, Command it. To Aumerle.  
I'll face this Rebel, meet this young Usurper;  
Scourge from the Earth this Pest of Human kind,  
And be a Terror to the Universe.  
But haste, see all things got in readiness,  
I will set forth to morrow.   Verul. 
I fly, my Lord.  Exeunt all but the King and Abbot. King. 

Oh Rosamond!  
The Wrongs that I have done thee, cry aloud;  
The horrid Vows and fearful Imprecations  
By which I won thy Virtue to compliance,  
Have made Appeal to a more righteous Judge,  
And fall in Showers of Vengeance on my Head.   Abbot. 

This is above my Wishes. Up, Dissimulation;  
Sweet Flattery, with all thy Pomp attend my words,  
That I may gain belief.   Seems to weep. King. 
How! can he weep? are Miracles not ceased?  Abbot. 

Who can forbear, that shall behold you thus  
Loaded with Grief, o'er-pressed with Miseries?  
The most inveterate Heathen to our Faith,  
The Stranger to Humanity or Pity,  
Would grow a Statue, turn a Niobe,  
If he but knew how much the King was injured.   King. 
Oh wondrous Conversion!  Abbot. 

I came to gratulate the Victory  
O'er your unlawful Love,  
And thought to find you bright, serene and gay,  
Shining with Lustre, crowned with a Reward;  
Not all the Noble Virtues of your Soul  
Hurried into a Storm. Oh dismal sight!   King. 

Am I so altered then from what I was?  
Look, view me well; I find no alteration;  
My Pulse keeps time, my Vigour is the same,  
And I am now as much the King as ever.   Abbot. 

Your looks are still August, your Person Sacred:  
Yet, when the Sun is mantled up in Clouds,  
And day shuts in before the wonted Hour:  
People are struck with Wonder and Amazement,  
With Fear observe, and doubt the dreadful Change.   King. 

You would infer, it seems, I am eclipsed:  
But as that Sun you mentioned does regain  
From dismal Darkness a more splendid Light;  
Even so will I, spite o'th' United Power  
Of Hell and Earth, conspired against my Crown,  
Though my rash Son heads their Rebellious Rage.   Abbot. 

What says my Lord?  
Sure the sweet Prince is innocent.   King. 
Thou seem'st a Stranger to't.  Abbot. 

I heard that Mutiny was on the Wing,  
And Treason Lacqueyed it on every side;  
But that your Son, Him whom you made so Great,  
Should side with 'em, is most Unnatural.   King. 
He is proclaimed their King, and I a Tyrant.  Abbot. 

Indeed! Is't possible! O piercing Sound!  
My trembling Knees give way, they shake with Horror.   King. 

If this bare Tale can pierce thy flinty Breast,  
Call up Remorse and pity to those Eyes;  
If thou shouldst know the Burden of my Life,  
'Twould sink thee quick into eternal Darkness.   Abbot. 

Alas! I pity you! Indeed I do.  
Heaven knows how much I grieve for your Afflictions.   King. 

Do I not stand accursed at Rome for Murder,  
Though all good Men do know my Innocence?  
My Son Rebels, and an unnatural War is at the door,  
While wild Distraction reigns within my Palace.  
But these I could endure:  
But, Oh! the loss of Rosamond! that's Mortal.   Abbot. 

Indeed, my Lord, it is a mighty Trial,  
Thus to cast off the lovely beauteous Creature,  
Whose Soul was fraught with Dotage on your Person,  
Whose all of Study was your Royal Pleasure.   King. 
Has Beauty's Power then influenced thy Breast?  Abbot. 

I would not soil that Beauty with Detraction;  
Nay, I must pity, though I dare not help her;  
Could almost wish I were of Temporal Kind,  
To show how I would strive to serve you both.   King. 

Oh charitable Father! now thou workest me;  
Preach on this Subject, I will ever listen:  
My Soul as to an Oracle shall trust,  
And with implicit Faith I'll ever serve thee.   Abbot. 

As I'm a Man, I must confess  
I do admire the Sex, though I'm denied 'em;  
Pity the tender Fair, when in distress,  
And fancy, if I had ever Loved,  
'Twould have destroyed me to have lost the Charmer:  
But Rosamond, indeed, she is a wonder;  
The Single Fondling of the Universe:  
Her Sex's envy, and the Pride of Heaven.   King. 
Wonder on, wonder still.  Abbot. 

I said, the Fondling of the Universe.  
The senseless Babe, when in its Nurse's Arms  
He sees her pass, springs forward towards the fair one,  
Leaves the loved Breast to gaze upon her Face:  
Nay, even the withered, Antiquated Sire,  
Half dead with Age, and hanging on his Crutch,  
If he beholds her, feels new Sap shoot up,  
His shriveled Veins enlarge, and Strength comes on;  
Forgets his Props, and Limps to worship her.   King. 
Art thou my Rival, ha?  Abbot. 
Who? I my Lord!  King. 

None but a Lover could describe her thus;  
And yet thy praise falls short of her perfection:  
Thou yet hast only touched her outward Charms;  
But, Oh! the inward beauties of the Mind,  
The temper of her Soul, sure none can match:  
So mild a Nature, and so soft a Frame,  
So sweet a Spirit, so secure from Anger,  
That even Oppression scarce can taint her calmness:  
One would believe Patience and Courtesy  
Had left the rest o'th' World, and centred there.   Abbot. 

Yet after all these Graces which you've named,  
To leave her, 'tis a matchless Virtue sure.   King. 

Ha! Leave her saidst thou? Is't possible?  
Speak Father, and be merciful a little,  
'Tis not a dreadful Sin to Love this Angel?  
Heaven should be worshipped.   Abbot. 
You are Married.  King. 
Curse on the horrid Yoke.  Abbot. 
And yet—  King. 

What? Oh, Comfort Priest, and I'll resign my Crown;  
The Church shall govern all.   Sure that will bribe thee. Aside. Abbot. 

'Twas a strange Marriage; She only was Divorced  
When you espouzed her,— She partly was another's.   King. 

Nay, I did never think our Marriage Lawful;  
What think you Holy Sir?   Abbot. 
I dare not Answer.  King. 
Nay, do not leave me here thus doubting.  Abbot. 

'Tis not an Office suiting with my Function,  
To sow a difference.—   King. 
No, make up one, where Love is most concerned.  Abbot. 
Ask a Civilian.  King. 
Ha!  Abbot. 
What have I said! alas, I meant not so.—  King, 

Nay, fly not back, By Heaven I've caught thy words,  
And hold 'em fast in memory: I will have ease immediately.   Abbot. 
Have patience, Sir, let not my folly—  King. 

In vain you urge; By Heaven I'll know how far  
I can be free:  
Why have I cherished up this Plague so long?  
I coupled with a fury when I Married,  
Compared to Rosamond, that All of sweetness:  
We have engendered Vipers, which dire brood  
Sucked from the Mother Gall instead of Milk;  
They thirst for Blood, and hunger after Life,  
But I will shake 'em from me, yes, I will:  
This storm once past, all shall be hush and calm.   Abbot. 

I have outgone the Rules of Holy Orders;  
My over Zeal made me forget myself.   King. 

Lose not the Reputation you have gained,  
Nor strive to alter what I have decreed,  
She shall be mine; the Goddess shall be mine,  
Tho' half the Isle fall as a Sacrifice.  
Spite of all Laws both Human and Divine,  
I'll win my Love, or perish at her Shrine.   Ex. King. Abbot. 

He's caught:  
The great Leviathan is caught;  
Now let him Roar, and fill the Air with clamour,  
Spout up an Ocean, lash himself with Rage,  
And Foam with smart of his deep piercing Wounds.  
Oh! thou dear Manes of my Patron Becket,  
If what I'm doing's worthy in thy Eye,  
Smile on thy Vassal toiling for Revenge.   Enter Queen and Attendants. Queen. 

He is abused, some Villain has abused him,  
His Temper's easy as the Down of Turtles,  
Fitter for Dalliance and a Lady's Chamber,  
Than the rude hardships of destructive War.  
What say you, Father, is he not imposed on?  
Some Parasite, some most officious Knave,  
Whose Trade of Life is falsehood, has been busy  
About the King, and whispered his undoing.   Abbot. 

I wish I knew the Villain for your sake;  
But there's no hopes appearing,  
A fearful Combination holds against us,  
Of many Heads and Hands in this design,  
All which are Rivitted to our Destruction.   Queen. 
Dost thou suspect my Son?  Abbot. 

Not for the World.  
I have examined thoroughly the Cause  
Of this Disorder, and I find, or else  
My Judgement errs, His being well received  
By the kind Normans was the source of all:  
And envious Verulam, who was imposed  
Over the Prince to snub him like a School boy.   Queen. 

What says the Father. Was he planted with him  
To overlook, and govern all his Actions?   Abbot. 

So the King designed;  
But the Brave Youth finding his insolence,  
Discharged his Diligence, sent him fretting home,  
Fraught with Complaints, for being justly slighted;  
Nor has he wanted to incense the King,  
With a feigned Tale, larded with suppositions,  
That he aspires the Sovereign Power of Rule.   Queen. 

But sure, good Father, this is not all,  
There's some more powerful Cause;  
Why else this noise of Drums, and sound of Trumpets?  
This hurry and confusion in the Court?   Abbot. 

Ah, Madam, there's a Mystery in that  
Which few Men knows, and those can't prevent it.   Queen. 
Do not conceal a tittle from me.  Abbot. 
The Subject will offend you.  Queen. 
Nothing but silence can.  Abbot. 

Pray give me leave humbly to ask a Question,  
How parted you this Morning?   Queen. 

With all the kindness, tenderness imaginable;  
The long Arrears of Love are fully paid,  
And I suspect no more.   Abbot. 
Then I have done.  Queen. 

'Tis possible you thought  
He longed and hankered after Rosamond;  
No: His Heart's mine, he gave me full possession;  
And I'll secure none shall invade the Trust.   Abbot. 
What pity 'tis such Goodness should be wronged!  Queen. 
Ha! saidst thou?  Abbot. 
Nothing.  Queen, 
Nay, there is something in thee which must out:  Abbot. 
Why, would you know what would destroy your rest?  Queen. 

I charge thee by the Sanction of thy Robe  
Speak, tell me quickly, think'st thou he is false?   Abbot. 
Where did you leave him?  Queen. 
Going to Council.  Abbot. 
He by this, no doubt, has both received and given good Advice.  Queen. 
Of whom? To whom?  Abbot. 

Of Rosamond, his Minion,  
Who sits enthroned, and shining like a Goddess  
Within the Glorious Mansion he has built  
At Woodstock: There uncontrolled she dictates,  
And he as readily obeys the Task.   Queen. 
She chose that place for her Retirement.  Abb. 

A Cloister had been fitter.  
There with strict Discipline she might be humble;  
But here she Riots in Excess.   Queen. 
That I should spare her Life.  Abb. 

It was good Nature, but not Policy.  
I cannot speak for Tears when I behold you, Weeps.  
To think what Villainies are hatched against you;  
You and your Royal Issue are undone,  
Unless the Gods be kind.   Queen. 
Is't possible!  Abb. 

All of us are Embarked in one Calamity;  
The Church, as well as you, must bear her share.   Queen. 
How! Where? In what?  Abb. 

He cannot introduce his innovation,  
His cursed design of Modelling the Church,  
Without Divorcing you.   Queen. 
Why dost thou fear it?  Abb. 

If he returns Victorious, as well he may,  
Since the Designs his own, then comes the Trial,  
And Rosamond succeeds Queen Eleanor.   Queen. 

I shiver with the dreadful apprehension;  
But sure, how e'er I suffer, he will not wrong his Children.   Abb. 

He that will do the one, may do the other,  
While his Lust flames high:  
You see already, what a specious means  
He takes, to blast their growing Reputation.  
Come, let me tell you, that it seems to me  
To be the Prelude of their Sacrifice.   Queen. 

No, Rosamond, the King, myself, and thee;  
Nay, all the World shall perish, e'er that happen.  
I shall grow Wild; I feel Distraction pressing:  
I'll Stab her instantly.   Abb. 

You must not;  
'Tis a noisy Death, 'twill make a Clamour  
'Mongst the common People, and fully your good Name.   Queen. 
Why, would you have her Live?  Abb. 

No, by no means.  
She's a rank Heretic, deserves to suffer  
The worst of Deaths, and feel severest Torments;  
Why do I side thus with you else, but to  
Inform you how to prevent yours,  
And the Church's Fate? 'Twill be a Meritorious Act,  
A Glorious Deed, and Heaven must, sure, Applaud,  
Its Ministers of Justice.   Queen. 
How! Shall she die then?  Abb. 

As Vermin do by Poison:  
It makes no noise, and is a certain Servant.   Queen. 
But when?  Abb. 

Not till to morrow,  
When the King's absence will Assist  
The Undertaking.   Queen. 
How shall we gain Admission to the Bower?  Abb. 

Leave that to me: Bertrard, her Confessor,  
Who time from time has been my Tool, my Engine,  
Shall be the Instrument to Dole the Bane,  
And we, as standers by, behold the Deed.   Queen. 

By Heaven! I'll have the pleasure on't myself;  
From my own Hand she shall the Potion Drink,  
For being my Rival, 'twill torment her more.  
And I will Triumph o'er her sinking Soul,  
Disturb her Dying with my Husband's Name,  
Plague her with thinking she must leave him mine;  
And lest the Poison too much haste should make,  
I'll Henry Sing to keep her Pains awake.   Ex. Queen. Abb. 

And if her Vengeance from its purpose start,  
Stars! 'tis your fault, I'm sure I've done my part.   Ex. Abbot. Enter King and Rosamond. King. 

Is't possible, that such a cruel Thought  
Could ever harbour with my Rosamond?  
Did you not see constraint in every part?  
The Agony that Nature suffered under,  
Fearing the Jealousy of an Incensed Queen?   Rosa. 
Away.  King. 

As one who views his Friend, seized for a Crime  
Which he himself was equal Partner in,  
He cunningly insinuates to the Crowd,  
Sides with their Prejudice and Clamours loudest,  
Till by degrees he moulds 'em to his purpose,  
And, as a Stranger, pitying the Offence,  
Flatters their surly Natures to dismiss him:  
So I, by seeming to abhor thy Guilt,  
Sheltered my own, and screened thee from her Rage.   Rosa. 

You saved me from the Rack to Die by Fire;  
Preserved me only from her Jealousy,  
To suffer by your greater Perjury.  
No; I'm convinced you never loved at all,  
Or else so little, you yourself scarce knew it.   King. 

By Heaven, I Love thee more than Love can speak;  
My Soul's uneasy with the vast excess.  
It fain would throw its fondness in thy Bosom:  
It languishes with pain to tell its Pleasure.  
It swells with every touch as it would burst:  
It longs to speak what it can ne'er express.  
Desire is over-taken by Desire;  
Like Waves they swallow up each other still,  
And Wishes, like the Sands, are numberless.   Rosa. 

With Words, like these, you first overpowered my Weakness,  
Drew me to base compliance with your Falsehood,  
To loss of Honour, Kindred, Friends and Fame,  
And yet, methought, I never should have missed 'em.  
I found no want whilst I had Henry's Love,  
But wanting that, the World is Barren to me:  
Love, like a rough bred Warrior, almost starved,  
So full was bent on one reviving Meal,  
It satiated with greediness, not seeding,  
And being in haste forgot its Benefactor.   King. 

But Gratitude has met me in the way,  
And sent me back to pay my Thanks to Love:  
Oh! Pardon then those Errors fear Created,  
And let the inward Friendship of my Soul,  
Plead for the outward coldness of Behaviour.   Rosa. 

Oh Flattering Sex! whose Tongues are at Command  
To Conquer still, what e'er their Heart's desire!  
Why, why, ye Powers, did you on Man bestow  
Such an unbounded sense, to win our fondness,  
And yet so little Honour to Indulge it?  
His Tongue has Charms equal to his Embraces,  
And one is by the other still relieved,  
That there's no end of Pleasure where he is.   King. 

Relentless Creature! Is this Woman's usage?  
Can that Divinity hear so unmoved?  
Some cursed Fiend has stolen upon thy Sleep,  
And changed the Nature of my Rosamond.  
What is it you could think to ask of me,  
But I'd have granted it before 'twas Named?  
Wilt thou not speak? Must I begone for ever?  
What! Not a look to tell me I may stay?  
If thy proud Heart's too stubborn to express it,  
Give me a doubtful glance to keep me here.  
All! All are shut 'gainst my entreating Prayers!  
Farewell then, since there is no glimpse of Comfort. Retires.  
My Soul's turned Woman, I must ask again.  
Yet, Rosamond, one Word. She's fixed!  
Oh that some Power would Rivet us for ever  
Within each other's view,  
That she, like me, might have no other Object.  
Yet e'er I go, for ever Rosamond—   Rosa. 
What is it you would have me speak?  King. 
Why any thing that will excuse my staying.  Rosa. 
I cannot look upon you.  King. 

Then turn away, talk to thyself:  
Let me but hear thee, if I must not see thee.   Rosa. 

Why should you tempt me to believe again,  
Only to load me with a new affliction?  
Could I be satisfied— but 'tis impossible,  
So we must part; there is no Remedy.   King. 

'Tis a sad Truth indeed: Part! 'tis resolved!  
Alas, I only came to take my leave,  
But fain I would have parted Friends with thee,  
Because I thought I had no Friend beside.   Rosa. 
And could you think parting would make us Friends?  King. 
No, but I thought our meeting might.  Rosa. 
Then why d'ye talk of parting?  King. 
I know not what I talk of; any thing, let us but talk.  Rosa. 
Better be silent, sure, than talk of that.  King. 
Why must we not then part?  Rosa. 

Oh never, Henry! I can hold no longer!  
Be false, or faithful, I must love thee ever.  
If we must part, be't all upon thy Head!  
For thus I am resolved to live or die.   Embraces. King. 

Then let thy Arms grow round me:  
Into thy Soul press-mine: Tie 'em so fast,  
That one may never stir without the other.  
Oh! now my Trial comes. Heart, bear this shock,  
And nothing, sure, can hurt thee.   Aside. Rosa. 

Why d'you tremble?  
Your Blood is Summoned from your Cheeks  
By some strange Call; or have I pressed too hard,  
And kissed it from 'em?   King. 
It will not out.  Rosa. 
What will not?  King. 
Fate has so ordered.  Rosa. 
How has Fate ordered? Oh! my Soul bodes Ruin!  King. 
I'll call it by a gentler Name than parting.  Rosa. 
Nothing that's gentle is allied to it.  King. 
We must separate.  Rosa. 
Not when my Arms grow round thee.  King. 
My Stars have loosed 'em.  Rosa. 
'Tis false, they clasp thee still.  King. 

My Son, in whom I placed entire Repose,  
Has cast off Duty, and now Heads Rebellion!  
The Factious Clergy all applaud the Act!  
His Mother knows, but softens the vile Treason!  
And if the Current be'nt with speed turned off,  
'Twill burst the Barriers of our Love for ever.   Rosa. 
Let me go with you.  King. 

Impossible!  
Thy tender Body cannot brook such usage,  
As the Necessity of War throws on us.   Rosa. 

I'll like a Page attend you where you go,  
Run by your side, and Watch your Sleeping hours,  
And in the Fight I'll always meet your Danger.  
I'll step before you as your Fate approaches,  
That when the God of War beholds my daring,  
And sees he must through me create his Conquest,  
Honour shall find itself outdone by Love,  
And blushingly reverse your Destiny.   King. 

Oh wondrous Constancy!  
Heaven! Art thou not ashamed to let us want each other?  
But we must bear it:  
Our present pain will make our future Joy,  
And to show much of Love is much to suffer.  
Within this Bower, which purposely I framed  
For thy security, thou shalt remain;  
The Labyrinths conveyance none does know  
But Vaughan,  
He, and thy Confessor, are all shall wait thee.   Rosa. 
Alas, I shall not need 'em.  King. 
Why?  Rosa. 

Oh! I shall never see thy Face again!  
An evil Dream this Morning entertained me,  
And now it is confirmed.   King. 

Divert those fears, for I shall come again:  
I've made a vow to Heaven, in thy behalf,  
And sure 'twill Guard us till it is performed.  
I'm called; once more into thy Arms, and Trumpets sound.  
Then to War. Farewell.   Rosa. 

Nay, let me see thee to the Gates.  
Let my fond Eyes the most o'th' Object make:  
Oh that they could such a long slumber take,  
That I, thy absence, might in sleep beguile,  
Then wake to run with a transported smile,  
And meet thee at thy last returning Mile.   Exeunt.  

ACT. V.  Enter Abbot and Bertrard. Abbot. 

IT must be done; there is no other way:  
We must launch out, or split upon the Rock  
Of her Displeasure.   Bert. 
Ay, but the King!  Abbot. 

Fear not; the Wind sits fair, and the auspicious Gale  
Will in few hours waft him to Normandy.   Bert. 
Ay, ay; You've fed me up all along with Fancies, and made me believe the Lord knows what, that I should be promoted and advanced: I'm in a very fair way indeed, if Hanging will do't.  Abbot. 

The lucky hour is come, accept the Offer,  
And be what thou desirest.   Bert. 
What, because I'm Rosamond's Confessor, and have the Privilege of the Bower, you persuade me to make myself a Property to the Queen's Revenge, and be accessary to the Death of my sweet Charge?  Abbot. 
You take me for a Villain then, it seems.  Bert. 
It seems somewhat scurvily; Not that I take You for one, but I'm afraid I shall be so.  Abbot. 

Go to; you are to blame, and I must chide you.  
What, think you I'd impose a Falsehood on you,  
Upon the Man I love, my Confident?   Bert. 
Oh, she's a furious Queen! I shall never forget what a fright she put me in; I am not come to myself yet, nay, 'tis a question whether ever I shall.  Abbot. 

I tell thee, she's a perfect Convert, Brother;  
Moves with my Will, and acts as I direct.  
Come, shall I tell thee why she courts this visit?  
I have enjoined it as a Penance to her,  
To mortify her Pride, and haughty Humour,  
And work, if possible, a Change in Nature.  
Where thou fear'st Danger, thou shalt find it calm  
As Peace itself.   Bert. 
This is wonderful!  Abbot. 

The timorous Rosamond shall be surprised,  
And with the Arms of Clemency embraced;  
The Lioness and Lamb shall yoke together.   Bert. 
Ay, but can it be lasting?  Abbot. 

My Life for't.  
Mark what I say, and thou shalt find it Truth:  
This Queen thou dread'st, shall daily visit her,  
Condole their separate Loss in Henry's Absence;  
Nay, with the Bowl of Plenty shall caress her;  
Each day shall still beget new marks of Friendship,  
As this must usher in the happy Union.   Bert. 

Why this is from one Extreme to th'other:  
Can Magnificent Majesty condescend to this?   Abbot. 

You soon shall be convinced: See there,  
I've been her Purveyor already:  
Choice Wines and Fruits, the best of Nature's Store,  
Are ready to Regale the fair Recluse.  
Come, will you do the Office of a Friend,  
Or shall I tell the Queen of your refusal?   Bert. 
Oh, no, no, by no means. (I believe he's in earnest, and I will not balk my Fortune. Aside.) But do you really think in your Soul I shall ever live to be an Abbot?  Abbot, 
The Mitre waits thy own acceptance, Bertrard.  Bert. 
Why truly a Mitre's a fine thing; next to a Crown there's nothing above it; nay, I have often known the Mitre govern the Crown; and really 'tis great to govern a Crown; 'tis part of the Church's Prerogative: and though I am but a little Abbot, I shall be a tight Abbot, and the World is not over-stocked with tight Abbots. Well, Father, I am all Obedience, I'll do't.  Abbot. 
About it then.  Bert. 
What just now at this minute! ha!  Abbot. 
Why dost thou tremble so?  Bert. 
Cold, only Cold, nothing else. There's no going back now, I have given my promise; but my mind misgives me plaguily. If she murders Rosamond, I must certainly make up the Chorus: and if, instead of a Mitre to enlighten my Brow, I should have a Halter to encircle my Neck, Oh Lord!  Abbot. 
Who waits?  Enter two Servants. Bert. 
Who are these, ha? They look terribly. That Fellow has a dreadful Cutthroat Countenance.  Abbot. 
They are my Servants.  Bert. 
I never saw 'em before.  Abbot. 
What then?  Bert 
Nay, be not angry, I'm ready.— Sure this Abbot cannot have the heart to murder one of his Brethren, when I am no hindrance to his Preferment. Aside.— My Lord!  Abbot. 
What say you?  Bert. 
Is the Queen ready?  Abbot. 
At hand.  Bert. 
Sir Thomas is devilish Jealous; you must keep out of sight till I've secured him; if he sees us, I'm undone.  Abbot. 

Oh! fear not. Ex. Bert. with the Ruffians.  
The Fool's grown troublesome and dangerous,  
Too fearful, too inquisitive to live.  
Therefore I've sent him on this speedy Errand.  
I hope his Curiosity will tempt him  
To taste both Wine and Fruit; all which are poisoned  
Beyond the reach of Art to remedy.  
'Tis not improbable but he may urge her  
To follow the Example of her Granum.  
But say this Project fails, what then must second?  
A Dagger must complete the erring Potion.  
Removed she must be, let come on't what will;  
There is no middle Course in doing ill.   Enter Queen and Attendants. Queen. 

What, at a loss, my Friend, my Oracle?  
Is this a time for thinking?   Abbot. 
'Twas for your Service, Madam.  Queen. 

I believe you, but cannot brook delay:  
My Rage boils o'er, and Nature's in a flame;  
Fierce as a Tygress that has lost her Young,  
I thirst for the Pursuit of the Destroyer.   Abbot. 
Your Guards must stay behind.  Queen. 
Why so?  Abbot. 

They are too numerous, and will breed suspicion.  
Besides, I have provided Hands enough,  
And nothing's wanting but your Royal Presence  
To grace the Scene.   Queen. 

Now, Rosamond, thy last of Life is run:  
Since thy Ambition levels at my Crown,  
Swift as the first Usurper thou shalt down,  
To Molten Seas, and Lakes of Sulphurous Fire,  
Whose Flames are restless as thy own desire;  
Seem always dying, but shalt ne'er expire.   Exeunt. Scene, The Outside of the Bower. Enter Bertrard and Ruffians. Bert. 
Oh, yonder he is. What, ho! Sir Thomas!  Knocks. Sir Tho. (above.) 
The Devil's in the Fellow: If a Man were not deaf, here's noise enough to make him so.  Bert. 
'Tis I, your Friend.  Sir Tho. 
Father Bertrard?  Bertr. 
The same.  Sir Tho. 
What Wind drives you hither?  Bert. 
A Message from the King, and a Present for the Lady.  Sir Tho. 
I'm coming, I'm coming.  Descends. Bert. 
My Heart beats still; I sweat with apprehension: I should make but an ill Martyr for Religion; and to die for these Lovers would be ten times more terrible.  Enter Sir Thomas. Sir Tho. 
What have we here, ha! I should have thought a present of Jewels had been more proper than Wine; but may be he thinks it fit she should be kept Maudlin till he return: In with your Luggage Friends.  Bert. 
What, before you?  Sir Tho. 
This is no place for Ceremony, I take it therefore.  
Troop, or—  Ex. Bert. and Ruff. 
There must be something more than ordinary in this, for he never mentioned a syllable to me; yet now I think on't, Lovers are very apt to forget, and the poor Gentleman was in a strange confusion at parting: Well I'll in and examine the whole. Ha! who comes yonder! the Queen! God's Life, there's Villainy, I'll House presently and secure my Charge.  Re-enter Ruff. and Stab him. 
Murder, Murder.  Enter Queen and Abbot. Abbot. 
Drag him to yonder Thicket. Now, Madam, all is safe, and we may enter.  Ruff. Drags of Sir Tho. Ex. Queen and Abbot. Enter King, and Verulam Disguised. King. 

Pity me rather than condemn my frailty,  
And spare the rigid censure I deserve;  
I cannot rest, some Devils haunt my Soul:  
When late last Night I sunk to my repose,  
A dreadful Vision entertained my slumber;  
Poor Rosamond methought was all on fire,  
And as I strove to quench the raging object,  
The Queen threw Oil on the expiring Flames,  
And made 'em blaze afresh with fiercer fury.   Veru. 
'Tis but the restless passion of your Love.  King. 

I started from my Dream, and called to thee,  
Bade thee get Horse, attend me instantly,  
And thus unknown we've posted from Southampton;  
Methinks we have Rid upon the Wind, ha, Verulam,  
I scarce could feel the speed my Spurs created,  
And yet methoughts 'twas a slow pace to Love   Veru. 

It is not fit that I dispute your will,  
Tho' I could wish, nay, do with all my Soul,  
This Ague fit of Love had never seized you;  
For by it, you may lose the blessed occasion  
That time e'er offered to surprise your Foes.   King. 

Tell me no more of Foes while she's in danger,  
For, oh my Soul is Wedded to the Fair,  
Whose Power is boundless as her Beauty's Charms;  
When I would go, there's something holds me back;  
Even while I talk, my boding Heart, with more  
Than usual fierceness, beats its time,  
As if that Life were on the hurry.  
Why this cold Dew, which flows from every Poor?  
Why do I tremble thus?  
Surely the Earth suffers the throws of Labour,  
And some strange Birth starts forth to view the World.   Ver. 
Imagination gains upon you, Sir.  King. 

Ha! Is't not Blood?  
By Heaven a mighty Tract! Where is the source?  
Search! find it out! I'm on the Rack! They search and drag in Sir Tho. Vaughan.  
Am I to blame now, Verulam?  
Oh, speak! Where is my Soul? my Love? my Rosamond?   Sir Tho. 
I shall never recover.  King. 

Say, is she living? Answer me quickly,  
If thou'dst save the King.   Sir Tho. 
The Queen and Abbot—  King. 
The Devil.  Sir Tho. 
Ay, and his Dam too, they have mauled me.  King. 
Force open the Doors.  Ver. 
Impossible! the means are wanting.  King. 

Would I have answered so to Verulam?  
To thy Relief I would have added Wings.  
Would I had Men, not Walls, to Combat with!  
With my keen Sword I'd hew a passage through!  
Spite of all opposition force my way,  
And from the Harpies Talons snatch the Prey.   Ex. K. and Veru Sir Tho. 
Gently, gently, good Gentlemen, I shall reach my journeys end soon enough. If the King does force in, and my Life keeps my company so long, I would fain see myself Revenged on this Damn'd Abbot.  Gent. 
Will you not be dressed, Sir, you may recover?  Sir Tho. 
No, I'm past the Cure of a Salve-dauber, would I had the Grace to ask Pardon for my Sins: But I have put off my Repentance as I used to do my Business, till the last hour, and now I'm hurried to the Devil at a moment's warning! Softly, good Sirs, softly.  Ex SCENE, the Bower. Enter Rosamond and Bertrard. Rosa. 

You have removed the Mist of my Offences,  
Which, like a Cloud, ascended up to Heaven,  
And hindered all my Prayers from being heard.  
How willingly could I relinquish Life!  
Part with this wretched Being! and for ever,  
Within the Earth's cold Womb, contented lie?   Bert. 
Have you a mind to destroy yourself? Go to, you're to blame; by my Order you are. What! spoil that pretty face with whimpering, and crying, for a little Absence?  Rosa. 

I am miserable, Father! A lost Creature!  
For all the comfort of my Life is gone!  
The Sun has left the Horizon, and I,  
Like those who live under the Frozen Pole,  
Am now all Darkness, Horror and Confusion.   Bert. 
He'll return, I warrant thee, speedily; he can't live without you. You're the Apple of his Eye, the Joy of his Heart, the Lamp of his Life, and he'll bring Oil to feed it, I'm certain— If the Queen should bolt upon us, while she's in this humour, 'twould scare her out of her Wits; there's no persuading her to Reason: I'll see what a Comfortable Dram will do. Why, Madam! Madam! you have forgot what the King sent, he foresaw there would be occasion, and, like a prudent Man, provided against a Rainy Season; see how it sparkles, 'tis as bright as your Eyes: Opens a Flask of Wine and fills. As red as your Lips. Now cannot I forbear His Majesty's Health: May he live for ever.  Drinks. Rosa. 
Heaven say, Amen.  Bert. 
'Thas an odd sort of a Farewell— I can't imagine what growth this Grape is of— 'tis not Burgundy. Gad shall save me, it warms one strangely; such a twang I have not met with: I must cover His Majesty's Health with your Ladyships. Come, bless both! bless both!  Drinks. Enter Queen and Abbot. Queen. 

What stately Rooms! what glorious Apartments!  
How Furnished! how Adorned! These show a Grandeur,  
Fit for the Empress of the Universe.   Abbot. 

Love always serves his Minions at this Rate,  
And 'tis her turn to be ascendant now.   Queen. 
Not, and I live, my most Officious Sir.  Rosa. 
The Queen!  Bert. 
Ha! how terrible she looks.  Queen. 
An unexpected Visitorit seems.  Rosa. 
Where is my Guardian? Where my Servants?  Abbot. 
They're gone before to Usher you the way.  Rosa. 
I am Betrayed! Undone!  Queen. 

Thou art, indeed.  
Thy Guilt arraigns thee, and thy Conscience has  
Pronounced against thyself the fatal Sentence:  
Here all thy Glories mingle with the Dnst.   Bert. 
Oh Lord! what will become of us, she's got into one of her mad Fits again? I'm ruined! A lost Man!  Rosa. 
What means my Queen?  Queen. 

No, you mistake, I am the Slave, you are the Queen,  
For all of Majesty, of Power, and Pomp,  
Are Centred by my Lord, the King, in you;  
I servilely attend your leisure hours,  
And humbly wait upon his idle pleasures.   Bert. 
Here will be Murder; I'm in a Sweat already.  Abbot. 
Peace, Fool.  Bert. 
Peace Fool! Where is't? here's no likelihood of Peace; here's nothing but Fire and Tow, and I burn already.  Rosa. 
Will you but hear me?  Queen. 

No, 'tis in vain, thy bounds of Life are set;  
Thou diest Usurper.   Rosa. 
Yet stay, one Word before you strike the blow.  Abbot. 

She is not fit to live, therefore dispatch:  
Strike home, and while she's studying for a Lie,  
Let her sink quick to Hell and tell it there.   A noise within. Enter Ruffian. Ruff. 
The King.  Queen. 
Ha! where?  Ruff. 
Is upon Entrance.  Abbot. 
Has mischief played the Jilt?  Rosa. 
Oh luckily Minute!  Bert. 
Welcome, dear King; but I burn confoundedly.  Queen. 
Thou shalt not scape.  Rosa. 
You will not Murder me!  Queen. 
Hadst thou ten thousand Lives, here they should end.  Abbot. 
We trifle time away.  Queen. 

To let thee see I yet am Charitable,  
And would not kill but on Necessity,  
Here, take thy choice, Drink this, and linger out  
A moment's space.   Rosa. 
Yet Mercy!  Kneels. Queen. 
Here's all I have.  Offers to Stab her. Rosa. 

Oh, hold! Give me the Cup! The Dagger gives  
Immediate Death, and I shall perish e'er I see the King...   Abbot. 
What, will you spare her?  Noise louder. Queen. 
No— Drink or—  Rosa. 

I do. Thus I submit, and Drink the Bane of Life;  
The Bane of Love. Oh Henry! thus I fall thy Sacrifice.   Drinks. Bert. 
What! Do I see the same Wine I drank? Oh! My Bowels!  Queen. 
Rise, Rosamond.  Rosa. 
Only to fall again? No, I am down for ever.  Bert. 
Is the Wine Poisoned, no help?  Abbot. 
None; you must be tasting, fall to your Prayers.  Bert. 
I've none of my Beads: Oh! I'm gone! I'm dying! I'm dead!  Abbot. 
Lead the Fool out; let not his noise disturb us.  Bert. 
Oh, Gentlemen, what will become of my Soul? What will become of my Soul? Take notice, Friends, that I die in doubt! I die in doubt! for I don't know where I'm going.  Ruffians lead out Bertrard. Enter King, Verulam, and Guards. King. 

Am I then come too late? And is my Rose,  
My lovely Rose, torn short from off the Stalk?  
Look up my Love, and bless me with thy Eyes;  
Oh, gaze upon me while their lustre last,  
And when they close, I'll sink in darkness with 'em.   Rosa. 

I do, I must while I have any being;  
But, Oh, the date is short, yet I am blessed  
That I expire within your Royal Arms.   King. 

Open the snowy Mansion of thy Breasts,  
Where Natures everlasting matchless sweets  
Shoot forth, to bless the sense that can approach 'em.  
Oh, show me where the bleeding sluices are,  
That I may piecemeal tear my trembling Flesh,  
To stop thy flowing Life.   Rosa. 
I have no wounds.  King. 

Why then dost thou talk of dying?  
Why stretch my Soul upon the Rack of Tortures?   Queen. 

Oh, most detested sight;  
Curse on my Hand that spared the Object  
Which so much torments me.   King. 
Help me to rear her.  Rosa. 
Oh, If I stir I die, my Dear, Dear Henry.  King. 
What?  Rosa. 

I'm Poisoned; Let me embrace you for the time  
I stay, and breathe my Soul out here, for 'tis on wing.   King. 

Some run with speed, and call assistance hither,  
My Crown to him that saves her.   Enter Sir Thomas, led in. Sir Tho. 
Thank you Gentlemen for your good company hither, I am travailing; the Abbot, that Spiritual Guide, has given me a wrong Pass, a Pox on him.  Abbot. 

While Fate is busy, I will shift the place,  
It grows too hot for me.   Veru. 

Your Pardon Sir, As the Abbot is going, Verulam stops him.  
We must not part yet.   Sir Tho. 
No, hold him good Verulam; let not the Laity be ever the sufferers; let the Church have her share of this mischief, that she may not laugh at us always.  Abbot. 
An Axe, a Gibbet, or a Wheel; Oh, scandal of my Tribe, to be thus caught.  Rosa. 
Have I your hand?  King. 
Why, dost thou question it?  Rosa. 

A sudden mist intrudes upon my sight,  
My Limbs grow numb; I shiver with the cold,  
Cold touch of Death; Oh; help me, clasp me hard;  
A tall lean shade is plucking me away:  
I must along with him.   King. 
Oh, dreadful sound!  Rosa. 

Remember me a little amidst your Joys her eafter,  
Indeed I'll think on you; Oh, in my Grave, when you  
Expire, be laid; I'll keep it warm against your coming.  
I'm very sick— my pain's exceeding great—  
But yet I love, believe me that I love, Farewell.   Dies. King. 

Oh, one word more, my Rosamond, one more,  
She's gone, the Beeuteous frame's dissolved,  
Life is no more; And what is Life without her?  
Now for Medusa's Head to work a change,  
That I might grow a Statue by her side,  
And be each other's Monument for ever.   Veru. 
My Royal Lord,  King. 

What wondrous sweetness dwells upon her Lips?  
Tho' Death has Ravished hence the blooming Rose,  
The Lilies spring afresh— but a pale yellow  
Steals upon their Beauty, and, with the Setting-Sun,  
They seem to wither.   Veru. 
Sir, I beseech you;  King. 

Oh, Verulam, behold! how Nature struggles,  
The Red again seems to assume her Cheeks,  
And Death's unwilling to perform his Office;  
He's stepped to Heaven to beg her a Reprieve:  
Life, like a Lambent Glory, Dances round her,  
And waits for fresh admittance.   Veru. 
Will you not hear me Sir?  King. 

The Gods were deaf to me when I complained,  
And I will now be so to all the World.   Queen. 
May I not speak?  King. 
And justify the Murder: Hence, begone.  Queen. 

No; as an expiation for the fact,  
Here take my Life, but spare my Children.   King. 
Ha! what say you?  Queen. 

Our easy Natures were imposed upon,  
Abused by yonder. Villain's sophistry;  
Had he ne'er blown the Embers of Suspicion,  
That you designed to Ruin them and me,  
These Hands had ne'er been stained with Blood.   King. 
Speak Fury, What could urge thee to this deed?  Abbot. 
Remember Becket- and then shake with horror.  King. 
Away with him to death.  Abbot. 

Thou dar'st not kill me Henry;  
Too much o'th' Church's Blood hangs on thy Head:  
If thou tak'st mine 'tis multiplying Murder.   King. 
Thou shalt not live, tho' I appeal unto his Holiness.  Sir Tho. 

That's ask my Fellow if I'm a Thief.—  
There's Justice cheaper for you: Stabs the Abbot, who falls.  
Sink Pulpit-Furniture.   Abbot. 
'Tis done, and all your torturing Projects are prevented: But Monarch, here I Prophesy thy Ruin! To Becket's Shrine thou must a Pilgrim go, the Church has vowed it; shun it if thou canst. And next thy Son; Thy Son shall wear thy Crown in thy own Life time. Becket, thy Hand, and Guide me, for I'm coming.  King. 
Can Wickedness, like thine, e'er hope for Heaven?  Abbot. 

No matter what I hope for, this I know,  
Thy Plagues on Earth will equal mine below.   Dies. Sir Tho. 
So, here's a Temporal Pimp by a Spiritual Knave, and how to get to Heaven without him will be hard.  Ver. 
Poor Sir Thomas.  Sir Tho. 
As rich as I was Born, the Earth has her own again, and I owe the World nothing.  Dies. King. 

Behold what thou hast done, unthinking Woman!  
Thou wretched Instrument to yonder Villain!  
Prithee begone, lest that my trembling Hand  
Rush on a Deed unworthy of myself.   Queen. 

I go, and if thy Rage will banish me for ever,  
It will some pleasure to my wrongs appear,  
As I must ne'er have thee, thou canst not her.   Ex. Queen. King. 

Oh, Rosamond!  
What Wonders would I do to purchase thee again!   Ver. 

Take Comfort, Sir, since she is past restoring:  
Let War, and thoughts of Conquest, drive her from you.  
Your Country wants you, and your Honour calls,  
If you'd do something to Revenge her loss,  
Now is the time; your Son invites you to't.  
We'll raise a Funeral Pile of Norman Rebels,  
And burn 'em to the memory of her.   King. 

I thank thee, Verulam, thou hast awaked me;  
Let's hasten to Erect that Monument.  
Oh Rosamond! thou shalt be Nobly followed;  
Of my own Bowels I will make Atonement!  
And my Cursed Queen shall find her Rage outdone,  
For I'll Revenge thy loss upon her Son.   Ex. 
FINIS.