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Lady Rand. Son, if thou hast discharg'd thy humble
In the low cottage (which I think thou hast,) [duties
A fame awaits thee in the realms of glory,
'Fore which all earthly fame is but a vapour.-
Doug. Fame, say you? Fame?-And that was my

ambition.
Thy words are cheering.-Pardon me, great God,
If on the rock of perishable fame
I've split.

Lady Rand. There will e'en here, I trust, be found
Some noble spirits, judging by themselves,
Who may conjecture what thou might'st have prov'd,
Life only wanting to thy

fame

on earth. Doug. Thou'st pointed me to better fame, and stirr'd In my

deluded mind more worthy thoughts. But who shall comfort thee?

Lady Rand. The Pow'r Divine
Cun if he judge it fitting.

Doug. Had it pleas'd
That Pow'r to feed mine eyes a little while
On thy-Alas! these eyes that gaze on thee
Grow dim apace! my mother-0, my mother! [Dies.

Enter Lord RANDOLPH and Anna.
Lord Rand. Thy words, the words of truth, have

pierc'd my heart.
I am the stain of knighthood and of arms.
Oh! if my brave deliverer survives
The traitor's sword

Anna. Alas! look there, my lord.

Lord Rand. The mother and her son ! And of all this
Was I the cause? Most guilty cause was I:
Yon matchless villain did seduce my soul
To frantic jealousy.

Anna. My lady lives :
The agony of grief hath but supprest
Awhile her powers.

Lord Rand. But my deliverer's dead!
• The world did once esteem Lord Randolph well,
• Sincere of heart, for spotless honour fam'd:

And, in my early days, glory I gain'd

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Beneath the holy banner of the cross. « Now past the noon of life, shame comes upon me;

Reproach, and infamy, and public hate, " Are near at hand: for all mankind will think That Randolph basely stabb’d Sir Malcolm's heir.

[Lady Randolph recovering: Lady Rand. Where am I now? still in this wretched

world!
Whilst he did breathe, I could speak reason to him,
Less feeling mine own woes. But, who to me
Shall now persuade submission and meek patience?
Grief cannot break a heart so hard as mine,
Tho' fiercely it assail.

Lord Rand. O misery!
Midst thy loud grief I must proclaim to thee
My innocence.

Lady Rand. Thy innocence !

Lord Rand. My guilt
Is innocence, compar'd with what thou think'st it.

Lady Rund. Of thee I think not: what have I to do
With thee, or any thing? My son! my son!
My, beautiful ! my brave !* how proud was I
Of thee, and of thy valour! My fond heart
O'erflow'd this day with transport, when I thought
Of growing old amidst a race of thine,
Who might make up to me their father's childhood,
And bear my brother's and my husband's name:
Now all my hopes are dead! A little while
Was I a wife! a mother not so long !
What am I now ?- -What soon to be I know not.

[Runs out. Lord Rand. Follow her, Anna: I myself would follow, But in this instant she abhors my presence. [Exit Anna. Enter Old NORTAL. Old Norv. I heard the voice of woe; Heaven guard my

*" And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber

over the gate, and wept : and as he went, thus he said, O my son “ Absalom; my son, my son Absalom! would Ciod I had died for " thee, O Absalon, my son, my son!"' 2 Samuel XVIII. 33.

“ O lord ! my hoy, my Arthur, my fair son !
“ My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
« My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure !".

King John, A. 111. S. IV.

Lord Rand. Already is the idle gaping croud, [child! The spiteful vulgar, come to gaze on Randolph. Begone.

Old Noro. I fear thee not. I will not go. Here I'll remain. I'm an accomplice, lord, With thee in murder. Yes, my sins did help To crush down to the ground this lovely plant. O noblest youth that ever yet was born! Sweetest and best, gentlest and bravest spirit, That ever bless'd the world!

Wretch that I am, Who saw that noble spirit swell and rise Above the narrow limits that confin'd it! Yet never was by all thy virtues won To do thee justice, and reveal the secret, Which, timely known, had rais'd thee far above The villain's snare. Oh! I am punish'd now! These are the bairs that should have strew'd the ground, And not the locks of Douglas.

[Tears his huir, and throws himself on the ground. Lord Rand. I know thee now: thy boldness I for“My crest is fallen.' For thee I will appoint

[give:
A place of rest, if grief will let thee rest.
I will reward, to punish I'm not call'd.
He fell, (detested name!) Glenalvon fell,
Bafild and slain by the young hand he hated.
Foaming with rage and fury to the last,
Cursing his conqueror, the felon dy'd.

Enter ANNA.
Anna. My lord, my lord !
Lord Rand. Speak : I can hear of horror.
Anna. Horror indeed!
Lord Rand. Matilda ?

Anna. She yet lives.
How long, I dread to think. I left her guarded,
And must return. Yon rocky precipice
Whose fearful summit tempted her wild mind,
To seek release by that unnat’ral act,
Which is presumption against Heav'n's high will,

And does degrade us e'en below the brutes,
Still may with horrid charms seduce her fancy.
I go, to soothe, or check her troubled spirit.

Lord Rand. Would I might follow ! but the time 's Self-murder?-Could she meditate that crime! (not yet,

Anna. It was but too apparent: yet will she
Regain a juster temper.

Lord Rand. Soothe her, Anna.
Guard her from mischief : and, if battle spare
The life I am unworthy of, I will
Henceforward steal into her good opinion,
Teach her to bless, where prompted to upbraid.
There is a sov'reign Pow'r can turn her mind
To better thoughts,--my life to better deeds.
Both yet, in dying hour, may render thanks
We liv'd to feel our sins and to repent.

THE END.

EPILOGUE.

An Epilogue I ask'd; but not one word
Our Bard will write. He says 'tis most absurd
With comic wit to contradict the strain
Of Tragedy, and make your sorrows vain.
Sadly he says, that in the human breast
Pity's a noble passion. 'Tis confest.
For when its sacred streams the heart o'erilow,
In gushes pleasure with the tide of woe:
And when its waves retire, like those of Nile,
They leave behind them such a golden soil,
That there the virtues without culture grow,
There the sweet blossoms of affection blow.
These were his words :void of delusive art
I felt them; for he spoke them from his heart.
Nor will I now attempt with witty folly,
To chase away celestial melancholy.

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