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For, if a cherub in the shape of woman

Should walk this world, yet defamation would,
Like a vile cur, bark at the angel's train.-
To-day the baron started at your tears.

Lady Rand. He did so, Anna! Well thy mis-
tress knows

If the least circumstance, mote of offence,
Should touch the baron's eye, his sight would be
With jealousy disorder'd. But the more
It does behove me instant to declare

The birth of Douglas, and assert his rights.
This night I purpose with my son to meet,
Reveal the secret, and consult with him:
For wise he is, or my fond judgment errs.
As he does now, so look'd his noble father,
Array'd in nature's ease: his mien, his speech,
Were sweetly simple, and full oft deceived
Those trivial mortals who seem always wise.
But, when the matter match'd his mighty mind,
Up rose the hero; on his piercing eye
Sat observation; on each glance of thought
Decision follow'd, as the thunderbolt

Pursues the flash.

Anna. That demon haunts you still : Behold Glenalvon.

Lady Rand. Now I shun him not.

This day I braved him in behalf of Norval :
Perhaps too far at least my nicer fears
For Douglas thus interpret.

Enter GLENALVON.

Glen. Noble dame!

The hov'ring Dane at last his men hath landed: No band of pirates; but a mighty host,

That come to settle where their valour conquers; To win a country, or to lose themselves.

Lady Rand. But whence comes this intelligence, Glenalvon?

Glen. A nimble courier sent from yonder camp, To hasten up the chieftains of the north,

Inform'd me, as he past, that the fierce Dane Had on the eastern coast of Lothian landed, Near to that place where the sea-rock immense, Amazing Bass, looks o'er a fertile land.

Lady Rand. Then must this western army march to join

The warlike troops that guard Edina's towers.

Glen. Beyond all question. If impairing time

Has not effaced the image of a place

Once perfect in my breast, there is a wild

Which lies to westward of that mighty rock,
And seems by nature formed for the camp
Of water-wafted armies, whose chief strength
Lies in firm foot, unflank'd with warlike horse:
If martial skill directs the Danish lords,
There inaccessible their army lies

To our swift-scow'ring horse; the bloody field
Must man to man, and foot to foot, be fought.
Lady Rand. How many mothers shall bewail
their sons!

How many widows weep their husbands slain!
Ye dames of Denmark! even for you I feel,
Who, sadly sitting on the sea-beat shore,
Long look for lords that never shall return.

Glen. Oft has the unconquer'd Caledonian sword
Widow'd the north. The children of the slain
Come, as I hope, to meet their fathers' fate.
The monster war, with her infernal brood,
Loud yelling fury, and life-ending pain,
Are objects suited to Glenalvon's soul.
Scorn is more grievous than the pains of death:
Reproach more piercing than the pointed sword.
Lady Rand. I scorn thee not, but when I ought

to scorn;

Nor e'er reproach, but when insulted virtue

Against audacious vice asserts herself.

I own thy worth, Glenalvon; none more apt
Than I to praise thine eminence in arms,
And be the echo of thy martial fame.

No longer vainly feed a guilty passion ;
Go and pursue a lawful mistress, Glory:
Upon the Danish crests redeem thy fault,
And let thy valour be the shield of Randolph.

Glen. One instant stay, and hear an alter'd man,
When beauty pleads for virtue, vice abash'd
Flies its own colours, and goes o'er to virtue.
I am your convert; time will shew how truly:
Yet one immediate proof I mean to give,
That youth, for whom your ardent zeal to-day
Somewhat too haughtily defied your slave,
Amidst the shock of armies I'll defend,

And turn death from him with a guardian arm. Sedate by use, my bosom maddens not

At the tumultuous uproar of the field.

Lady Rand. Act thus, Glenalvon, and I am thy friend :

But that's thy least reward. Believe me, sir,

The truly generous is the truly wise;

And he, who loves not others, lives unblest.

[Exit Lady RANDOLPH.

Glen. [Solus.] Amen! and virtue is its own

reward!

I think that I have hit the very tone

In which she loves to speak.

Honey'd assent,

How pleasant art thou to the taste of man,
And woman also! flattery direct

Rarely disgusts. They little know mankind
Who doubt its operation: 'tis my key,
And opes the wicket of the human heart.
How far I have succeeded now, I know not;
Yet I incline to think her stormy virtue
Is lull'd awhile. 'Tis her alone I fear:
Whilst she and Randolph live, and live in faith
And amity, uncertain is my tenure.

Fate o'er my head suspends disgrace and death,
By that weak hair, a peevish female's will.
I am not idle; but the ebbs and flows
Of fortune's tide cannot be calculated.

That slave of Norval's I have found most apt: I shew'd him gold, and he has pawn'd his soul and swear whatever I suggest.

To say

Norval, I'm told, has that alluring look,

"Twixt man and woman, which I have observed

To charm the nicer and fantastic dames,

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