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Which in the breasts of his forefathers burn'd : But if he be the favourite of the fair,
lord In nature's pious cause?
His rising wrath restrain.- [Exit Randolph. Enter Lord RANDOLPH and GLENALVON.
'Tis strange, by heaven!
That she should run full tilt her fond career Lord R. Yon gallant chief,
To one so little known. She, too, that seem'd Of arms enamour'd, all repose disclaims. Pure as the winter stream, when ice, emboss'd, Lady R. Be not, my lord, by his example Whitens its course. Even I did think her chaste, sway'd.
Whose charity exceeds not. Precious sex! Arrange the business of to-morrow now, Whose deeds lascivious pass Glenalvon's And when you enter, speak of war no more.
[Exit. Lord R. 'Tis so, by heav'n! her mien, her
Enter NORVAL. voice, her eye,
His port I love: he's in a proper mood And her impatience to be gone, confirm it. To chide the thunder, if at him it roar'd.Glen. He parted from her now. Behind the
[ Aside mount,
Has Norval seen the troops ? Amongst the trees, I saw him glide along. Nor. The setting sun Lord R. For sad sequester'd virtue she's With yellow radiance lightend all the vale; renown'd.
And as the warriors mor'd, each polish'd belm, Glen. Most true, my lord.
Corslet, or spear, glanc'd back his gilded beams. Lord R. Yet this distinguish'd dame The hill they climb'd, and, halting at its top; Invites a youth, the acquaintance of a day, Of more than mortal size, tow'ring, they seem'd Alone to meet her at the midnight hour. A host angelic, clad in burning arms. This assignation (Shows a Letter] the assas- Glen. Thou talk'st it well; no leader of our sin freed,
host Her manisest affection for the youth, In sounds more lofty speaks of glorious war. Might breed suspicion in a husband's brain, Nor. If I shall e'er acquire a leader's name, Whose gentle consort all for love had wedded: My speech will be less ardent. Novelty Much more in mine. Matilda never lov'd mc. Now prompts my tongue, and youthful adLet no man, after me, a woman wed,
miration Whose heart he knows he has not, though Vents itself freely; since no part is mine she brings
Of praise pertaining to the great in arms. A mine of gold, a kingdom for her dowry. Glen. You wrong yoursel}, brave sir, your For let her seem, like the night's shadowy queen,
martial deeds Cold and contemplative—he cannot trust her; Have rank'd you with the great. But mari She may, she will, bring shame and sorrow
me, Norval: on him;
Lord Randolph's favour now exalts your youti The worst of sorrows, and the worst of shames! Above his veterans of famous service. Glen. Yield not, my lord, to such afflicting Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you thoughts,
Give them all honour: seem not to command But let the spirit of a husband sleep, Else they will scarcely brook your late sprun Till your own senses make a sure conclusion.
power, This billet must to blooming Norval go: Which nor alliance props, nor birth adorns. At the next turn awaits my trusty spy;
Nor. Sir, I have been accustom'd all my
das I'll give it bim refitted for his master. To hear and speak the plain and simple truth In the close thicket take your secret stand; And though I have been told, that there are me The moon shines bright, and your own eyes Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak thei may judge
scorp, Of their behaviour.
Yet in such language I am little skill'd. Lord R. Thou dost counsel well.
Therefore I thank Glenalson for his counsel Glen. Permit me now to make one slight Although it sounded harshly. Why remind essay;
Me of my birth obscure? Why slur my powe Of all the trophies, which vain mortals boast, With such contemptuous terms? By wit, by valour, or by wisdom won,
Glen. I did not mean The first and fairest in a young man's eye To gall your pride, which now I see is gre Is woman's captive heart. Successful love Nor. My pride! With glorious fuines intoxicates the mind, Glen. Suppress it
, as you wish to prospe And the proud conqueror in triumph moves, Your pride's excessive. Yet, for Randolph's sal Air-borne, exalted above vulgar men. I will not leave you to its rash direction.
Lord R. And what avails this maxim? If thus you swell, and frown at high-born me Glen. Much, my lord.
Will bigh-born men endure a shepherd's scor Withdraw a little; I'll accost young Norval, Nor. A shepherd's scorn! And with ironical derisive counsel
Glen. Yes; 'if you presume Explore his spirit. if he is no more To bend on soldiers ihese disdainful eyes, Than humble Norval, by thy favour rais'd, What will become of you? Brave as he is, he'll shrink astonish'd from me: Nor. If this were told!-
Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self? The privato quarrel,
Glen. I agree to this.
Nor. And I.
Enler Servant. -
Serv. The banquet waits, Nor. Whom dost thou think me?
Lord R. We come.
[Exit with Servant. Glen. Norral.
Glen. Norval, Nor. So I am
Let not our variance mar the social hour, And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes? Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph. Glen. A peasant's son, a wandering beggar Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate, boy;
Shall stain my countenance. Smooth thou thy At best no more, even if he speaks the truth.
brow; Nor. False as thou art, dost thou suspect Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame. my truth?
Nor. Think not so lightly, sir, of my reGlen. Thy truth! thou'rt all a lie, and false
sentment. as hell
When we contend again, our strife is mortal. Is the Fain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph.
[Exeunt. Nor. If I were chain'd, unarm'd, and bedrid old,
ACT V. Perhaps I sbould revile: but as I am,
SCENE I.-A Wood.
Doug. This is the place, the centre of the And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword,
grove; id tell thee-what thou art. I know thee well. Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood. Glen. Dost thou not know Glenalvon, born How sweet and solemn is this midnight scene! to command
The silver moon, unclouded, holds her way Ten thousand slaves like thee
Through skies, where I could count each little Kor. Villain, no more!
star. Draw and defend thy life. I did design
The fanning west-wind scarcely stirs the leaves; To have defy'd thee in another cause;
The river, rushing, o'er its pebbled bed, But hear'a accelerates its vengeance on thee. Imposes silence with a stilly sound. Now for my own and lady Randolph's wrongs.
In such a place as this, at such an hour, [They fight. If ancestry can be in aught believ'd,
Descending spirits have convers'd with men, Enter LORD RANDOLPH.
And told the secrets of the world unknown. Lord R. Hold, I command you both. The man that stirs
Enter old NORVAL. Makes me bis foe.
Old N. 'Tis he. But what if he should Nor. Another voice than thino
chide me hence? 12x (breat had rainly sounded, noble Ran- His just reproach I fear. dolph.
[Douglas turns aside and sees him Glen. Hear him, my lord; he's wondrous Forgive, forgive; condescending!
Canst thou forgive the man, the selfish man, Work the hurnility of shepherd Norval ! Who bred sir Malcolm's heir a shepherd's son? Yor. Now you may scoff in safety.
Doug. Kneel not to me; thou art my father [Sheathes his Sword.
still: Lord R. Speak not thus,
Thy wish'd-for presence now completes my joy, Tzanting each other; but unfold to me Welcome to me; my fortunes thou shalt share, The cause of quarrel, then I judge betwixt you. And ever honour'd with thy Douglas live. Hor. Nay, my good lord, though I revere Old N. And dost thou call me father? Oh,
you much, cause I plead not, nor demand your judg- I think that I could die, to make amends ment.
For the great wrong I did thee. 'Twas my ! !lash to speak; I will not, cannot speak
crime, iz opprobrious words that I from him have Which in the wilderness so long conceald borne.
The blossom of thy youth. in the liege lord of my dear native land Doug. Not worse the fruit,
e a sabject's bomage; but ev'n bim That in the wilderness the blossom blow'd. his high arbitration I'd reject.
Amongst the shepherds, in the humble cot, Hithin my bosom reigns another lord ; I learn'd some lessons, which I'll not forget ficar, sole judge, and umpire of itself. When I inhabit yonder lofty towers. & may free speech oflend you, noble Randolph, I, who was once a swain, will ever prove sense your favours, and leí Norval go The
man's friend; and, when my vassals irnce as he came, alone, but not dishonour'd.
bow, Lord R. Thus far I'll mediate with impar- Norval shall smooth the crested pride of Douglas. tial voice:
Old N. Let me but live to e ancient foe of Caledonia's land
exaltation! waves his banners o'er her frighted fields. Yet grievous are my fears. Oh, leave this place, cond your purpose till your country's arins And thosc unfriendly towers! od she bold invader: then decide
Doug. Why should I leave them?
Old N. Lord Randolph and his kinsman By stealth the mother and the son should mee seek your life.
[Embraces hin Doug. How know'st thou that?
Doug. No; on this happy day, this bett Old N. I will inform you how.
birth-day, When evening came, I left the secret place My thoughts and words are all of hope an Appointed for me by your mother's care,
joy. And fondly trod in each accustom'd path Lady R. Sad fear and melancholy still divi That to the castle leads. Whilst thus I rang’d, The empire of my breast with hope and jo I was alarm'd with unexpected sounds Now hear what I adviseOf earnest voices. On the persons came. Doug. First, let me tell Unseen I lurk’d, and overbeard them name What
may the tenor of your counsel chang Each other as they talk’d, lord Randolph this, Lady R. My heart forebodes some evil. And that Glenalvon. Still of you they spoke, Dous. 'Tis not goodAnd of the lady: threat’ning was their speech, At eve, unseen by Randolph and Glenalvon Though but imperfectly my ear could hear it. The good old Norval in the grove o'erhear 'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery; Their conversation; oft they mention'd me And ever and anon they vow'd revenge. With dreadful threat'nings; you they som Doug. Revenge! for what?
times nam'd. Old N. For being what you are,
'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery Şir Malcolm's heir: how else have you offended? And ever and anon they vow'd revenge. When they were gone, I hied me to my cottage, Lady R. Defend us, gracious God! we a And there sat musing how I best might find
betray'd : Means to inform you of their wicked purpose; They have found out the secret of thy birth But I could think of none. At last, perplex'd, It must be so. That is the great discovery. I issued forth, encompassing the tower, Sir Malcolm's heir is come to claim his om With many a wearied step and wishful look. And they will be reveng'd. Perhaps even now Now Providence hath brought you to my sight, Arm'd and prepard for murder, they but wa Let not your too courageous spirit scorn A darker and more silent hour, to break The caution which I give.
Into the chamber where they think thou sleep's Doug. I scorn it not.
This moment, this, heav'n bath ordaindi My mother warn'd me of Glenalvon's baseness:
the ancient servants of your house, Doug. Here in this place
Who in their youth did eat your father's breat I wait my mother's coming: she shall know Then tell them loudly that I am your son. What thou hast told : her counsel I will follow: If in the breasts of men one spark remains And cautious ever are a mother's counsels. Of sacred love, fidelity, or pity, You must depart: your presence may prevent Some in your cause will arm. I ask but fe Our interview.
To drive those spoilers from my father's hous Old N. My, blessing rest upon thee ! Lady R. Oh, nature, nature!'what can chet Oh, may heav'n's hand, which sav'd thee from
thy force? the 'wave,
Thou genuine offspring of the daring Dougla And from the sword of foes, be near thee sti'l; But rush not on destruction : save thyself
, Turning mischance, ifaught hangs o'er thy head, And I am safe. To me they mean no barn All upon mine!
[Exit. Thy slay but risks thy precious life in vain. Doug. He loves me like a parent; That winding path conducts thee to the rive And must not, shall not, lose the son he loves, Cross where thou seest a broad and beate Although his son has found a nobler father.
way, Eventful day! bow bast thou chang'd my state! Which running eastward leads thee to th Once on the cold and winter-shaded side
camp. Of a bleak hill, mischance bad rooted me, Instant demand admittance to lord Douglas: Never to thrive, child of another soil ; Show him these jewels, which his brother wor Transplanted now to the gay sunny vale, Thy look, thy voice, will make him feel th Like the green thorn of May my fortune flowers.
truth, Ye glorious stars! high beav'n's resplendent Which I by certain proof will soon confirm host!
Doug. I yield me, and obey: but yet ń To whom I oft bave of my lot complaind,
beart Hear, and record my soul's unalter'd wish! Bleeds at this parting. Something bids m Dead or alive, let me but be renown'd!
stay, May heav'n inspire some fierce gigantic Dane, And guard a mother's life. Oft have I read To give a bold' defiance to our host! Of wondrous deeds by one bold arm achier? Before he speaks it out, I will accept:
Our foes are two; no more: let me go fort Like Douglas conquer, or like Douglas die. And see if any shield can guard Glenalvon.
Lady R. If thou regard'si thy mother, o Enter LADY RANDOLPH.
rever'st Lady R. My son! I teard a voice- Thy father's memory, think of this no more. Doug. The voice was mine.
One thing I have to say before we part; Lady R. Didst thou complain aloud to na- Long wert thou lost; and thou art found, m
child, That thus in dusky shades, at midnight hours, In a most fearful season.
War and battle
I have great cause to dread. Too well I see Just as my arm had master'd Randolph's sword, Which way the current of thy temper sets: The villain came bebind me; but I slew him. To-day I have found thee. Oh! my long-lost Lady R. Behind thee! ab! thou’rt wounded! hope!
Oh, my child, If thou to giddy valour giv'st the rein, How pale thou look'st! And shall I lose thee To-morrow I may lose my son for ever. The love of thee, before thou saw'st the light, Doug. Do not despair: I feel a lițile faintSustain'd my life when thy brave father fell.
ness; If thou shali fall, I have not love nor hope I hope it will not last. (Leans upon his Sword. la this waste world! My son, remember me! Lady R. There is no hope ! Douş. What shall I say? How can I give And we must part! the hand of death is on you comfort ?
thee! The God of battles of my life dispose
Oh! my beloved child! O Douglas, Douglas! As may be best for you! for whose dear sake Douglas growing more and more faint. I will not bear myself as I resolv'd.
Doug. Oh! had I fall'o as my brave fathers But yet consider, as no vulgar name,
fell, That which I boast, sounds among martial mer, Turning with fatal arm the tide of battle, How will inglorious caution suit my claim ? Like them I should have smild and welcom'd The post of fate unshrinking I maintain.
death; My country's foes must witness who I am.. But thus to perish by a villain's hand! On the invaders' beads I'll prove my birth,
Cut off from nature's and from glory's course, Till friends and foes confess the genuine strain. Which never mortal was so fond to run. If in this strife I fall, blame not your son, Lady R. Hear, justice, hear! stretch thy Who, if he live not honour'd, must not live.
avenging arm. Lady R. I will not utter what my bosom
[Douglas falls. feels.
Doug. Unknown I die; no tongue shall Too well I love that valour which I warn.
speak of me. Farewell, my son, my counsels are but vain. Some noble spirits, judging by themselves,
[Embracing. May yet conjecture what I might have prov'd, And as high bear'n bath willd it, all must be. And think life only wanting to my fame:
[They separate. But who shall comfort thee? Gase not on me, thou wilt mistake the path; Lady R. Despair, Despair! I'll point it out again.
[Exeunt. Doug. Oh, had it pleas'd high heav'n to let Just as they are separating, enter, from A little while!—my eyes that gaze on thee the Wood, LORD RANDOLPH and GlEN- Grow dim apace! my mother-0! my mother!
[Dies. Lady Randolph faints on Lord R. Not in her presence.
the Body. Glen. I'm prepar'd.
Enter LORD RANDOLPH and ANNA. Lord R. No:'l command thee stay. Lord R. Thy words, thy words of truth, I go alotie: it never shall be said
have pierc'd my heart: That I took odds to combat mortal man. I am the stain of knighthood and of arms. The poblest vengeance is the most complete
. Oh! if my brave deliverer survives
Erit. The traitor's sword
the same side of the Stage, lis- Lord R. The mother and her son! Ilow
curst am I! Glen. Demons of death, come setile on my Was I the cause? No: I was not the cause. sword,
Yon matchless villain did seduce my soul And to a double slaughter guide it home! To frantic jealousy. ibe lover and the husband both must die. Anna. My lady lives: Lord R. (Without] Draw, villain! draw! The agony of grief hath but suppress’d Doug. [Without Assail me not, lord Ran- Awhile her powers. dolph;
Lord R. But my deliverer's dead! Nu as thou lor'st thyself.
Lady R. [Recovering] Where am I now? Clashing of Swords.
Still in this wretched world! Glen. (Running out] Now is the time. Grief cannot break a heart so hard as mine.
Lord R. Oh, misery! Enter LADY RANDOLPH, at the opposite Side Amidst thy raging grief I must proclaim of the Stage, faint and breathless.
My innocence. lady R. Lord Randolph, hear me; all shall Lady R. Thy innocence ! be thine own!
Lord R. My guilt let spare! Oh, spare my son!
Is innocence compar'd with what thou think'st il.
Lady R. Of thee I think not; what have I Eater Docglas, with a Sword in each Hand. Doug. My mother's voice !
With thee, or any thing? My son! my son! las protect thee still.
My beautiful! my brave! how proud was I Lady R. He lives! he lives!
of thee and of thy valour! my fond heart Is this
, for this to hear'n, eternal praise ! O'erflow'd this day with transport, when I Be sure I saw thee fall.
thought Doug. It was Glenalvon.
Of growing old amidst a race of thine,
Now all my hopes are dead! A little while JAnd beadlong down-
Lord R. Twas I, alas! 'twas I
(Exit running: Anna. Ob, had you seen her last despairing Lord R. Follow ber, Anna: I myself would
l'pon the brink she stood, and cast her eyes But in this rage she must abhor my presence. Down on the deep: then lifting up her head,
[Erit Anna. And her white hands to heaven, seeming to say
Peace in this world I never can enjoy:
These wounds the gratitude of Randolph gave; Anna. My lord! My lord !
They speak aloud, and with the voice of fate Lord R. Speak: I can hear of horror. Denounce my doom. I am resolu’d. I'll go Anna. Horror, indeed!
Straight to the battle, where the man ibat Lord R. Matilda!
makes Anna. Is no more:
Me turn aside, must threaten worse than death, She ran, she flew like lightning up the hill; Thou, faithful to thy mistress, take this ring, Nor balted till the precipice she gain'd, Full warrant of my power. Let every, rite Beneath whose low'ring top the river falls With cost and pomp upon their funerals wait: Inguifd in risted rocks: thither she came, For Randolph hopes he never shall return. As fearless as the eagle lights upon it,
[The Curtain descends slowly to Music.
L L L L 0. George Lillo, was by profession a jeweller, and was born in the neighbour hood of Moorgate, in London, the 4th of Feb. 1693; in which neighbourhood he pursued his occupation for many years, with the fairest and more unblemished character. He was strongly attached to the Muses, yet seemed to have laid it down as a maxim, that tis devotion paid to them ought always to tend to the promotion of virtue, morality, and religion. In pursuance of thi aim, Mr. Lillo was happy in the choice of his subjects, and shewed great power of affecting the heart, by working ? np the passions to such a height, as to render the distresses of common and domestic life equally interesting as the of kings and heroes; and the ruin brought on private families by an indulgence of avarice, luat etc., made in states and empires by ambition, cruelty and tyranny. His George Barnwell
as the kavod
, Fatal Curiosity, and Arden Fever sham are all planned on common and well-known stories; yet they have, perhaps, more frequently draws lear from an audience, than the more pompous tragedies of Alexander the Great, All for Love, etc. Mr. Lillo, as besor observed, has been happy in the choice of his subjects; his conduct and the management of them is no less mento rious, and his pathos very great. If there is any fault to be objected to his writings, it is, that sometimes he alled an elevation of style somewhat above the simplicity of his subject, and the supposed rank of his characters; both custom of tragedy will stand in some degree of excuse for this; and a still better argument perhaps may he admitte in vindication, not only of our present author, but of others in the like predicament; which is, that even nature Ilse will justify this conduct; since we find even the most humble characters in real life, when under peculiar circumstanci of distress, or actuated by the influeace of any violent passions, will at times be elevated to an aptaess of expression and power of language, not only greatly superior to themselves, but even to the general language and conversation of per sons of much higher rank in life, and of minds moro perfectly cultivated. Our author died Sept. 5d. 1739, in 47th year of his age; and a few months after his death the celebrated Fielding printed the following character of his in The Champion: "Ho had a perfect knowledge of human nature, though his contempt of all base means of applica tion, which are the necessary steps to great acquaintance, restrained his conversation within very narrow bounds. had the spirit of an old Roman, joined to the innocence of a primitive christian, he was contented with his bitde of life, in which his excellent temper of mind gave him a happiness beyond the powet of riches; and it was nece sary for his friends to have a sharp insight into his want of their services, as well as good inclination or abilities serve him, In short, he was one of the best of men, and those who kucw him best will most regret bis loss."
GEORGE BARNWELL. . Turs play was acted 1731, at the Theatre Royal in Drary-lane with great success, "In the newspapers of time” says the Biographia Dramatica, “we find, that on Friday, 3d of July 1731, the Queen sent to the playhouse Drury-lane, for the manascript of George Barnwell, to peruse it, which Mr. Wilks carried to Hampton Court. T tragedy being founded on a well known old ballad, many of the critics of that time, who went to the first represe lation of it, formed to contempluous an idea of the piece, in their expectations, that they purchased the ballad (0) thousands of which were used in one day on this account), in order to draw comparisons between that and the plu But its merit soun got the better of this contempt, and presented them with scenes written so true to the heart, they were compelled to subscribe to their power, and lay aside their ballads to take their handkerchiefs." The origi performer of the character of George Barnwell, Mr. Ross, relates, that "in the year 1752, he played this part. Larrowby wes sept for by a young merchant's apprentice, who was in a high fever; upon the Doctor's approach him, he saw his patient was arhicted with a disease of the mind. The Doctor being alone with the young man, confessed, after much solicitation, that he had made an improper acquaintance with a kepi mistress ; and had made e with money intrusted to his care, by his employers, to the amount of zoo pounds. Seeing Mr. Ross in that piece res - forcibly
struck, he had not enjoyed a moment's peace since, and wished to die, to avoid the shame be saw hat ing over him, The Doctor calmed his patient by telling him, if his father made the least hesitation to give the money, should have it from him. The father arrived, put the amount into the son's hands,—they wepi, kissel, embraced. 1 son soon recovered, and lived to be very eminent merchant. Dr. Barrowby vever told me the same; but onc ex