sole evidence that can be adduced to substantiate this fact. The fairies, who preside over the Norval of young Betty, protect him from rational criticism, till time shall have chased away all tiny agency, and have left him to engage on equal ground with his giant competitors. This tragedy of Douglas, extolled by Gray as a work, that had "retrieved the true language of the stage, lost for three hundred years,”—this play, written with the minutest attention to morality in fable, incident, and dialogue, drew upon its meritorious author (who was a minister of the church of Scotland) anathemas from the elders of the Kirk, and bitterest persecution from all the laity of that christian sect. It may be supposed that the church of Scotland would have been less severe on a less moral production; but, for a dramatist to encroach on their exclusive prerogative of teaching virtue, was not to be forgiven. Stripped of his benefices, and wholly repudiated for this enormous presumption, Home took shelter in England. His present Majesty, then Prince of Waies-and not less compassionate for being strictly religious,-moved by the author's misfortunes, and impressed by his genius, bestowed on him a pension, which to this day he enjoys. DOUGLAS ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I. The court of a castle, surrounded with woods. Enter LADY RANDOLPH. Lady R. Ye woods and wilds, whose melancholy Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth Incapable of change, affection lies Buried, my Douglas, in thy bloody grave. But Randolph comes, whom fate has made my lord, To chide my anguish, and defraud the dead. Enter LORD Kandolph. Lord R. Again these weeds of woe! say, dost thou well, To feed a passion, which consumes thy life? The living claim some duty; vainly thou Bestow'st thy cares upon the silent dead. Lady R. Silent, alas! is he, for whom I mourn : Childless, without memorial of his name, He only now in my remembrance lives. Lord R. Time, that wears out the trace of deepest anguish, Has pass'd o'er thee in vain. Sure thou art not the daughter of Sir Malcolm : Lady R. Oh! rake not up the ashes of my fathers: Implacable resentment was their crime, And grievous has the expiation been. Lord R. Thy griefs wrests to its purposes my words. I never ask'd of thee that ardent love, Which in the breasts of fancy's children burns. Lady R. Thou dost not think so: woeful as I am, I love thy merit, and esteem thy virtues. But whither go'st thou now? Lord R. Straight to the camp, Where every warrior on tip-toe stands Lady R. Oh, may adverse winds Far from the coast of Scotland drive their fleet! In peace and safety to his pleasant home! Lord R. Thou speak'st a woman's, hear a warrior's wish; Right from their native land, the stormy north, Then shall our foes repent their bold invasion, Lady, farewell: I leave thee not alone; Yonder comes one, whose love makes duty light. Enter ANNA. Anna. Forgive the rashness of your [Exit. Anna's love: Urged by affection, I have thus presumed To interrupt your solitary thoughts; And warn you of the hours that you neglect, Lady R. So to lose my hours Is all the use I wish to make of time. Anna. To blame thee, lady, suits not with my state: But sure I am, since death first prey'd on man, What had your sorrows been, if you had lost, Anna. Have I distress'd you with officious love, The mind I bear partakes not of my fortune : |