Sir TRUSTY.

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

Thase 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 soft, but ah! deceiving smiles:
How should I revel in delight,
The spouse 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 !

Tigress, be gone.

GRIDELINE.

I love thee so,

I cannot go.

Sir TRUSTY.

Fly from my passion, Beldame, fly!

GRIDELINE.

Why so unkind, Sir Trusty, why?

[Afide

Sir TRUSTY.

Thou'rt the plague of my life.

GRIDELINE.

I'm a foolish fond wife.

Sir TRUSTY.

Let us part,

Let us part.

GRIDELINE.

Will you break my poor heart?

Will you break my poor heart?

Sir TRUSTY.

I will if I can.

GRIDELINE.

O barbarous man!

From whence doth all this passion flow?

Sir TRUSTY.

Thou art ugly and old,

And a villainous fcold.

GRIDELINE

Thou art a ruftic to call me fo.

I'm not ugly nor old,

Nor a villainous fcold,

But thou art a ruftic to call me so.

Thou, traitor, adieu!

Sir TRUSTΥ.

Farewel, thou shrew!

GRIDELINE.

Thou traitor.

Yet this is the lot

Of him that has got

Fair Rosamond's bower,

With the clew in his power,

And is courted by all,

Both the great and the small,

As principal pimp to the mighty King Harry.

But fee, the pensive fair draws near :
I'll at a distance stand and hear.

SCENE IV.

ROSAMOND and Sir TRUSTT.

ROSAMOND.

From walk to walk, from shade to shade,

From stream to purling stream 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 passion cross'd like mine?

To rend my breast,
And break my reft,

A thousand thousand ills combine.
Absence 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 so doleful join!

ROSAMOND.

How does my constant grief deface
The pleasures of this happy place!
In vain the spring my senses greets
In all her colours, all her sweets;

To me the rofe
No longer glows,

Apart

Every plant
Has loft his scent;

The vernal blooms of various hue,
The blossoms fresh with morning dew,

The breeze, that sweeps these fragrant bowers,

Fill'd with the breath of op'ning flow'rs,

Purple scenes,

Winding greens,
Glooms inviting,

Birds delighting,

(Nature's softest, sweetest store)
Charm my tortur'd foul no more.
Ye powers, Irave, I faint, I die:
Why so flow! great Henry, ruby!
From death and alarms

Fly, fly to my arms,

Fly to my arms, my Monarch, fly!

Sir TRUSTY.

How much more bless'd would lovers be,

Did all the whining fools agree

To live like Grideline and me!

ROSAMOND.

O Rofamond, behold too late,
And tremble at thy future fate!
Curse this unhappy, guilty face,
Every charm, and every grace,
That to thy ruin made their way,
And led thine innocence aftray:

[Apart.

At