Scroop.
So early gentle fair one at your orisons!

Elea.
Is't not, my lord, my duty to prepare
For th' holy state my fortune waits t'embrace,
By prior acts of penitence and prayer?

Scroop.
O cruel fortune! is't for blooming youth
To spend its prime amidst the doleful gloom
Of spleenful solitude; shut from the world,
And from the golden joys that wait on beauty?

Elea.
Alas, my lord, my days of joy are pass'd;
I have indeed possess'd too great a share,
And all are fled. But of my lord, the king;
What errands need such honourable messengers?

Scroop.
How cruel is't to rob the world's fair garden
Of flowers so sweet to sense and choice as this! [Half aside.
Lady, indeed, with pain I recollect
The hated terms of my ungrateful message:
For little those of chiding and reproof
Suit Masham's gentle nature. Yet the king,
Anger'd to see what others joy to look on,
Hath sent me to remind you of his pleasure,
And hasten your retirement from the world.
Your late appearance at his coronation,
It seems, hath much offended.

Elean.
Could that, my lord, be deem'd so great a crime?
To wish to see my Henry's face again,
Ere yet I bade the flatt'ring world adieu;
To take one parting look, to drop a tear,

And bid him, with mine eyes, farewell for ever?

Scroop.
Princes, alas! are not like other men;
At least so flatt'rers buz it in their ears:
While o'er their hearts vain pride usurps dominion,
And all the gentler passions fall before it.

Elea.
I see, my lord, indeed, I see it now.
Say, 'twas a fault, my failing heart betray'd me;
Yet 'twas a venial fault; the fault of love.

Scroop.
The king affects to think you disobedient.

Elea.
And was I ever disobedient to him?
His will to me was evermore a law;
And shall be still: for, tho' he cast me off,
No other's pleasure will I study ever.
Let him not think I wish to disobey him;
Or feel one pang, in parting from the world,
But from the wounds receiv'd by his displeasure.
Let him not think I valued but his love;
His fame, his honour, equally were dear;
And mine I've made a sacrifice to both.

Scroop.
O had possession of so rich a prize,
Such store of beauty, tenderness and truth
But fell to Masham's lot; tho' twice a king,
I would have worn it ever next my heart,
More priz'd than all the jewels in my crown!

Elea.
O flatter not, my lord, so Henry slatter'd:
So vow'd the prince, when, sighing at my feet,
He won my easy, unsuspecting heart.

Scroop.
O wrong me not; nor wrong those heav'nly charms.
Perdition catch me if I meant to flatter.

Elea.
What means, my lord?

Scroop.
For Henry's heart, you've lost,
To give you mine; a heart that cannot change.
Accept it, love, nor say th' exchange is poor;
For constancy o'erballances a crown.

Elea.
My lord, farewell—is this thy hated errand?
Hated indeed, if Henry sent thee on it.
Thou art employ'd, I see, to try my heart:
It is the king's till his unkindness break it.
Ah how unkind! so kind while yet a prince!
If thus a golden crown can steel his heart,

O may I ne'er behold him while a king!
No—be some humble cell my future lot,
Princes and kings, and all but heaven forgot. [Exit Eleanor.

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