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Investing awful war,* Norval, I see,
Transport thy youthful mind.

Y. Norv. Ah! should they not?

Blest be the hour I left my father's house!
I might have been a shepherd all my days,
And stole obscurely to a peasant's grave.
Now, if I live, with mighty chiefs I stand;
And, if I fall, with noble dust I lie.

Lady Rand. There is a gen'rous spirit in thy breast, That could have well sustain'd a nobler fortune. This way with me; under yon spreading beech,'+ Unseen, unheard, by human eye or ear,

I will amaze thee with a wond'rous tale.

Y. Norv. Let there be danger, lady, with the secret, That I may hug it to my grateful heart,

And prove my faith. Command my sword, my life:
These are the sole possessions of poor Norval.

I'd

Lady Rand. Know'st thou these gems?

Y. Norv. Durst I believe mine eyes,

say

I knew them, and they were my father's. Lady Rand. Thy father's, say'st thou! ah! they were thy father's!

Y. Norval. I saw them once, and curiously enquir'd Of both my parents whence such splendor came? But I was check'd, and more could never learn.

Lady Rand. Then learn of me, thou art not Norval's Y. Norv. Not Norval's son!

Lady Rand. Nor of a shepherd sprung.

Y. Norv. Lady, who am I then ?

Lady Rand. Noble thou art;

For noble was thy sire!

"all quality,

[son.

"Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!" &c.

+ After this line the 12mo. reads,

Othello, A. 111. S. 3.

"Since lucky chance has left us here alone," which 1 do not wish to insert, since there is always some difficulty with respect to the use of the word chance. It is certainly used by our Saviour, in Luke x. 31, and the word chances in the first of the Col lects at the end of the Communion Service.

See Secker's Sermons on the Liturgy, Lond. Edit. Vol. VI. Serm. XI. p. 291.

Y. Noro. I will believe

O! tell me further! Say who was my father?
Lady Rand. Douglas!

Y. Norv. Lord Douglas, whom to day I saw ?
Lady Rand. His younger brother.

Y. Noro. And in yonder camp?

Lady Rand. Alas!

Y. Noro. You make me tremble-Sighs and tears! Lives my brave father?

Lady Rand. Ah! too brave indeed!

He fell in battle ere thyself was born.

Y. Norv. Ah me! unhappy! ere I saw the light? But does my mother live? I may conclude, From my own fate, her portion has been sorrow. Lady Rand. She lives; but wastes her life in constant Weeping her husband slain, her infant lost. [woe,

Y. Norv. You that are skill'd so well in the sad story Of my unhappy parents, and with tears Bewail their destiny, now have compassion Upon the offspring of the friends you lov'd. O! tell me who, and where my mother is! Opprest by a base world, perhaps she bends Beneath the weight of other ills than grief; And, desolate, implores of Heav'n, the aid Her son should give. It is, it must be so Your countenance confesses that she's wretched. O! tell me her condition! Can the sword Who shall resist me in a parent's cause? Lady Rand. Thy virtue ends her woe.my son !

I am thy mother, and the wife of Douglas!

-My son,

[Falls upon his neck. Doug. O heav'nly Pow'r, how wond'rous is my fate!

Art thou my mother? Ever let me kneel!

Lady Rand. Image of Douglas! fruit of fatal love!

All that I owe thy sire I pay to thee.

Doug. Respect and admiration still possess me, Checking the love and fondness of a son.

Yet I was filial to my humble parents.

But did my sire surpass the rest of men,
As thou excellest all of womankind?*

Lady Rand. Arise, my son! In me thou dost behold
The poor remains of beauty once admir'd :
The autumn of my days is come already :
For sorrow made my summer haste away.
Yet in my prime I equall'd not thy father:
His eyes were like the eagle's, yet sometimes
Liker the dove's; and, as he pleas'd, he won
All hearts with softness, or with spirit aw'd.

Doug. How did he fall? Sure 'twas a bloody field When Douglas died. O I have much to ask!

[tale

Lady Rand. Hereafter thou shalt hear the lengthen'd
Of all thy father's and thy mother's woes.
At present this: Thou art the rightful heir
Of yonder castle, and the wide domains

Which now Lord Randolph, as my husband, holds.
But thou shalt not be wrong'd; I have the power
To right thee still: before the king I'll kneel,
And call Lord Douglas to protect his blood.

[boy,

Doug. The blood of Douglas will protect itself.+ Lady Rand. But we shall need both friends and favour, To wrest thy lands and lordship from the gripe Of Randolph and his kinsman. Yet, I think, My tale will move each gentle heart to pity, My life incline the virtuous to believe.

Doug. To be the son of Douglas is to me Inheritance enough. Declare my birth,

And in the field I'll seek for fame and fortune.

*

"Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest "them all." Prov. XXXI. 29.

When the Dutch fleet appeared in the Thames, June the 10th, 1667,"After damaging several vessels, and possessing themselves of "the bull of the Royal Charles, which the English had burned, "they advanced with six men of war and five fire-ships, as far as "Upnore-castle, where they burned the Royal Oak, the Loyal "London, and the Great James. Captain Douglas, who commanded on board the Royal Oak, perished in the flames, though he had "an easy opportunity of escaping. Never was it known,' he said, "that a Douglas had left his post without orders." "- -Hume's Hist, of Engl. 8vo. Edit. 1807. Vol. VII. ch. LXIV. p. 421.

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[injustice

Lady Rand. Thou dost not know what perils and
Await the poor man's valour. O! my son!
The noblest blood in all the land 's abash'd,
Having no lacquey but pale poverty.

Too long hast thou been thus attended, Douglas!
Too long hast thou been deem'd a peasant's child.
The wanton heir of some inglorious chief
Perhaps has scorn'd thee in the youthful sports;
Whilst thy indignant spirit swell'd in vain!
Such contumely thou no more shalt bear:
But how purpose to redress thy wrongs
Must be hereafter told. Prudence directs
That we should part before yon chiefs return.
Retire, and from thy rustic follower's hand
Receive a billet, which thy mother's care,
Anxious to see thee, dictated before
This casual opportunity arose

Of private conference. It's purport mark;
For, as I there appoint, we meet again.

Leave me, my son! and frame thy manners still
To Norval's, not to noble Douglas' state.

Doug. I will remember.

That good old man.

Where is Norval now?

Lady Rand. At hand, conceal'd, he lies,

An useful witness.

But beware, my son,

Of yon Glenalvon; in his guilty breast

Resides a villain's shrewdness, ever prone

To false conjecture. He hath griev'd my heart.

Doug. Has he indeed? Then let yon false Glenalvon

Beware of me.

Lady Rand. There burst the smother'd flame!

O! thou all-righteous and eternal King!
Who father of the fatherless art call'd,*

Protect my son!—Within his bosom kindle
A sacred flame of all that's good, and all

[Exit.

That's great: whereby if thy high will should place him As his forefathers, he, like them, may shine

* See p. 292, Note.

The star and glory of his native land!
Beyond this boon, I ask no more but peace
And thankfulness; and then a tranquil passage
Into the joy of Him thro' whom I pray.
Yonder they come. How do bad women find
Unchanging aspects to conceal their guilt?
When I, by reason, and by justice urg'd,
Find hard the due concealment with these men
In nature's pious cause.

Enter Lord RANDOLPH and GLENALVON.

Lord Rand. Yon gallant chief,

Of arms enamour'd, all repose disclaims.

Lady Rand. Be not, my Lord, by his example sway'd:

Arrange the business of to-morrow now,

And, when you enter, speak of war no more.

[Exit.

Lord Rand. 'Tis so, I see! her mien, her voice, her

And her impatience to be gone, confirm it.

[eye,

Glen. He parted from her now: Behind the mount,

Amongst the trees, I saw him glide along.

Lord Rand. For sad, sequester'd virtue she's reGlen. Most true, my Lord.

Lord Rand. Yet this distinguish'd dame

Invites a youth, the acquaintance of a day,

Alone to meet her at the midnight hour.

[nown'd!

This assignation, [shews a letter] the assassin freed,
Her manifest affection for the youth,

Might breed suspicion in a husband's brain,
Whose gentle consort all for love had wedded:
Much more in mine. Matilda never lov'd me.
Let no man, after me, a woman wed,
Whose heart he knows he has not; tho' she brings

A mine of gold, a kingdom for her dowry.

Glen. Yield not, my Lord, to such afflicting thoughts;

But let the spirit of an husband sleep,

Till your own senses make a sure conclusion.
This billet must to blooming Norval go:
At the next turn awaits my trusty spy;
I'll give it him refitted for his master.
In the close thicket take your secret stand;

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