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Sir TRUSTY.

O Grideline! confult thy glass,
Behold that freet bewitching face,

Thafe blooming cheeks, that lovely bue!
Ev'ry feature

(Charming creature)

Will convince you I am true.

GRIDELINE,

O bow bleft were Grideline,

Could I call Sir Trusty mine!

Did he not cover amorous wiles
With foft, but ab! deceiving fmiles:
How bould I revel in delight,
The fpoufe of fuch a peerless Knight!

Sir TRUSTY,

At length the storm begins to cease,
I've footh'd and flatter'd her to peace.

>Tis now my turn to tyrannize:

I feel, I feel my fury rise !

Tigrefs, be gone.

GRIDELINE.

-I love thee fo,

I cannot go.

Sir TRUSTY.

Fly from my paffion, Beldame, fly!

GRIDELINE.

Why fo unkind, Sir Trusty, why?

[Afide

Sir TRUST Y.

Thou'rt the plague of my life.

GRIDELINE.

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Yet this is the lot

Of him that has got

Fair Rofamond's bower,

With the clew in his power,

And is courted by all,

Both the great and the fmall,

As principal pimp to the mighty King Harry.
But fee, the pensive fair draws near:
I'll at a diftance ftand and hear.

SCENE IV.

ROSAMON D and Sir TRUST T

ROSAMON D.

From walk to walk, from fhade to fhade,

From ftream to purling ftream convey'd,

Through

Through all the mazes of the grove,

Through all the mingling tracts I rove,

Turning,

Burning,

Changing,

Ranging,

Full of grief and full of love,
Impatient for my Lord's return
I figh, I pine, I rave, I mourn,
Was ever paffion cross'd like mine?
To rend my breast,

And break my reft,

A thousand thousand ills combine.

Abfence wounds me,

Fear furrounds me,

Guilt confounds me,

Was ever paffion cross'd like mine?

Sir TRUSTY.

What heart of stone

Can hear her moan,

And not in dumps fo doleful join!

ROSAMON D.

How does my conftant grief deface
The pleasures of this happy place!
In vain the spring my fenfes greets
In all her colours, all her fweets;

To me the rofe

No longer glows,

[Apart

Every plant

Has left his fcent;

The vernal blooms of various hue,

The bloffoms fresh with morning dew,

The breeze, that sweeps thefe fragrant bowers,
Fill'd with the breath of op'ning flow'rs,

Purple scenes,

Winding greens,

Glooms inviting,

Birds delighting,

(Nature's fofteft, fweetest ftore) Charm my tortur'd foul no more. Ye powers, Irave, I faint, I die: Why fo flow! great Henry, ruby! From death and alarms

Fly, fly to my arms,

Fly to my arms, my Monarch, fly!

Sir TRUST r.

How much more blefs'd would lovers be,

Did all the whining fools agree

To live like Grideline and me!

ROSAMON D.

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[Apart.

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