Rude I am,

Y. Noro. I know not how to thank

you.
In speech and manners:* never till this hour
Stood I in such a presence: yet, my lord,
There's something in my breast which makes me bold
To

say, that Norval ne'er will shame thy favour. Lady Rund. I have no doubt thou wilt not. Thoa

shalt be Ny knight; and ever, as thou didst to-day, With happy valour guard the life of Randolph. Lord Rand. Well hast thou spoke. Let me forbid reply.

[To Norval.
We are thy debtors still; thy high desert
O'ertops our gratitude.t I must proceed,
As was at first intended, to the camp.
Some of my train I see are speeding hither,
Impatient, doubtless, of their lord's delay.
Go with me, Norval, and thine eyes shall see
The chosen warriors of thy native land,
Who languish for the fight, and beat the air
With brandish'd swords.

Y. Noro. Let us begone, my lord.
Lord Rand. [76 Lady R. About the time that the

declining sun
Shall his broad orbit o'er yon hills suspend,
Expect us to return. This night once more
Within these walls I rest; my tent I pitch
To-morrow in the field. Prepare the feast.
Free is his heart who for his country fights ::
Then danger to a soldier's soul endears
The human joy that never may return.

[Exeunt Lord Randolph and Y. Norval. Lady Rand. His parting words have struck a fatal O Douglas ! Douglas! tender was the time [truth.

When we two parted, ne'er to meet again!
How many years of anguish and despair
Has Heaven annex'd to those swift-passing hours
Of love and fondness! " Then my bosom's flame

Oft, as blown back by the rude breath of fear, • Return'd, and with redoubled ardour blaz’d.'

Anna. May gracious Heav'n pour the sweet balm of Into the wounds that fester in your breast! [peace For earthly consolation cannot cure them.

Lady Rand. One only cure can Heav'n itself bestow; A grave—that bed in which the weary rest.*

Anna. O say not so, my dearest lady. Heav'n
Has stores of mercy, various cures to heal
The deepest wounds its wisdom may inflict.
Lady Rand. Nay, thou speak'st truth. Why, then,

am I so wretched?
At every happy parent I repine!
How blest the mother of yon gallant Norval! .
She for a living husband bore her pains,
And heard him bless her when a man was born:t.
She nurs'd her smiling infant on her breast;
Tended the child, and reard the pleasing boy
She, with affection's triumph, saw the youth
In grace and comeliness

surpass

his

peers: Whilst I to a dead husband bore a son, And to the roaring waters gave my

child.
Anna. Alas! alas! why will you thus resume
Your grief afresh? I thought that gallant youth
Would for a while have won you from your woe.
On him intent you gaz'd, and with a look
Much more delighted, than your pensive eye
Has deign'd on other objects to bestow.

Lady Rand. Delighted say'st thou? Oh! even there

my favour.

Found fuel for my life-consuming sorrow.
I thought, that had the son of Douglas liv'd,
He might have been like this young gallant stranger,
And pair'd with him in features and in shape;
In all endowments, as in years, I deem,
My boy with blooming Norval might have number'd.
Whilst thus I mus'd, a spark from fancy fell
On my sad heart, and kindled up a fondness
For this young stranger, wand'ring from his home,
And like an orphan cast upon my care.
I will protect thee, (said I to myself)
With all my power, and grace with all

Anna. Sure Heav'n will bless so gen'rous a resolve.
You must, my noble dame, exert your power:
You must awake: devices will be fram’d,
And arrows pointed at the breast of Norval.
Lady Rand. Glenalvon's false and crafty head will

work
Against a rival in his kinsman's love,
If I deter him not: I only can.
Bold as he is, Glenalvon will beware
How he pulls down the fabric that I raise.
I'll be the artist of young Norval's fortune.*

'Tis pleasing to admire! most apt was I * To this affection in my better days;

Though now I seem to you shrunk up, retird " Within the narrow compass of my woe. Have

you not sometimes seen an early flower Open it's bud, and spread it's silken leaves, • To catch sweet airs, and odours to bestow; Then, by the keen blast nipt, pull in it's leaves, And, tho' still living, die to scent and beauty?

Emblem of me: affliction, like a storm, I Hath kill'd the forward blossom of

my

heart.' Enter GLEN ALVON. Glen. Where is my dearest kinsman, noble Randolph? Lady Rand. Have you not heard, Glenalvon, of the

6

Glen. I have: and that the villains may not 'scape,
With a strong band I have begirt the wood.
If they lurk there, alive they shall be taken,
And torture force from them th’ important secret
Whether some foe of Randolph hir'd their swords,
Or if-

Lady Rand. That care becomes a kinsman's love.
I have a counsel for Glenalvon's ear. [Exit Anna.

Glen. To him your counsels always are commands. Lady Rand. I have not found so: thou art known to Glen. Known!

[me. Lady Rand. And most certain is my cause of know

ledge. Glen. What do you know?* You much amaze me. No created thing, Yourself except, durst thus accost Glenaiton. Lady Rand. Is guilt so bold? and dost thou make a

merit Of thy pretended meekness? This to me; Who, with a gentleness which duty blames, Have hitherto conceal'd what, if divulg'd, Would make thee nothing; or, what's worse than that, An outcast beggar, and unpitied too: For mortals shudder at a crime like thine. Glen. Thy virtue awes me.

First of womankind!
Permit me yet to

that the fond man
Whom love transports beyond strict virtue's bounds,
If he is brought by love to misery,
In fortune ruin'd, as in mind forlorn,
Unpitied cannot be. Pity's the alms
Which on such beggars freely is bestow'd:
For mortals know that love is still their lord,
And o'er their vain resolves advances still:
As fire, when kindled by our shepherds, moves
Thro' the dry heath before the fanning wind.

Lady Rand. Reserve these accents for some other ear. To love's apology I listen not. Mark thou my words; for it is meet thou should'st. His brave deliverer Randolph here retains. Perhaps his presence inay not please thee well: But, at thy peril, practise ought against him: Let not thy jealousy attempt to shake And loosen the good root he has in Randolph; Whose favourites I know thou hast supplanted. Thou look'st at me, as if thou fain would'st pry Into my heart. 'Tis open as my speech. I give this early caution, and put on The curb, before thy temper breaks away. The friendless stranger my protection claims: His friend I am, and be not thou his foe. [Exit.

Glen. Child that I was, to start at my own shadow, And be the shallow fool of coward conscience ! I am not what I have been; what I should be. The darts of destiny have almost pierc'd My marble heart. Had I one grain of faith In holy legends and religious tales, I should conclude there was an arm above That fought against me, and malignant turn'd, To catch myself, the subtle snare I set. Why, rape and murder are not simple means ! Th’ imperfect rape to Randolph gave a spouse; And the intended murder introduc'd A favourite to hide the sun from me; And worst of all, a rival. Tow'ring mischief! This were thy summit, if I thought she lov'd him! 'Tis certain she contemns me; nay commands me, And waves the flag of her displeasure o'er me, In his behalf. And shall I thus be brav'd? Curb'd as she calls it, by dame chastity? Darkly a project peers upon my mind, Like the red moon when rising in the east, Cross'd and divided by strange-colour'd clouds. I'll seek the slave who came with Norval hither, And for his cowardice was spurned from him. I've known a follower's rankled bosom breed Venom most fatal to his heedless lord.

[Exit.