_Alic._ No further, gentle friend; good angels guard you, And spread their gracious wings about your slumbers. The drowsy night grows on the world, and now The busy craftsmen and the o'er-labour'd hind Forget the travail of the day in sleep: Care only wakes, and moping pensiveness; With meagre discontented looks they sit, And watch the wasting of the midnight taper. Such vigils must I keep, so wakes my soul, Restless and self-tormented! O, false Hastings! Thou hast destroy'd my peace. [_knocking without._ What noise is that? What visitor is this, who, with bold freedom, Breaks in upon the peaceful night and rest, With such a rude approach? _Enter a Servant._ _Serv._ One from the court, Lord Hastings (as I think) demands my lady. _Alic._ Hastings! Be still, my heart, and try to meet him With his own arts! with falsehood.--But he comes. _Enter Lord Hastings, speaking to a Servant as entering._ _Lord H._ Dismiss my train, and wait alone without. Alicia here! Unfortunate encounter! But be it as it may. _Alic._ When humbly, thus, The great descend to visit the afflicted, When thus, unmindful of their rest, they come To sooth the sorrows of the midnight mourner, Comfort comes with them; like the golden sun, Dispels the sullen shades with her sweet influence, And cheers the melancholy house of care. _Lord H._ 'Tis true, I would not over-rate a courtesy, Nor let the coldness of delay hang on it, To nip and blast its favour, like a frost; But rather chose, at this late hour, to come, That your fair friend may know I have prevail'd; The lord protector has receiv'd her suit, And means to show her grace. _Alic._ My friend! my lord. _Lord H._ Yes, lady, yours; none has a right more ample To task my pow'r than you. _Alic._ I want the words, To pay you back a compliment so courtly; But my heart guesses at the friendly meaning, And wo' not die your debtor. _Lord H._ 'Tis well, madam. But I would see your friend. _Alic._ O, thou false lord! I would be mistress of my heaving heart, Stifle this rising rage, and learn from thee To dress my face in easy, dull, indiff'rence; But 'two' not be; my wrongs will tear their way, And rush at once upon thee. _Lord H._ Are you wise? Have you the use of reason? Do you wake? What means this raving, this transporting passion? _Alic._ O, thou cool traitor! thou insulting tyrant! Dost thou behold my poor, distracted, heart, Thus rent with agonizing love and rage, And ask me, what it means? Art thou not false? Am I not scorn'd, forsaken, and abandon'd; Left, like a common wretch, to shame and infamy; Giv'n up to be the sport of villains' tongues, Of laughing parasites, and lewd buffoons? And all because my soul has doated on thee With love, with truth, and tenderness unutterable!