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Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valour,
And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword,
I'd tell thee-what thou art. I know thee well.

Glen. Dost thou know Glenalvon, born to com

mand

Ten thousand slaves like thee !

Norv. Villain, no more:

Draw and defend thy life. I did design
To have defy'd thee in another cause:
But heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee.
Now for my own and Lady Randolph's wrongs.

Enter LORD RANDOLPH.

Lord Rand. Hold, I command you both. The man that stirs

Makes me his foe.

Norv. Another voice than thine

That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph. Glen. Hear him, my lord; he's wond'rous con

descending!

Mark the humility of shepherd Norval!

Norv. Now you may scoff in safety.

[Sheaths his sword.

Lord Rand. Speak not thus,

Taunting each other; but unfold to me

The cause of quarrel, then I judge betwixt you. Norv. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you

much,

My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment.
I blush to speak; I will not, cannot speak
Th' opprobrious words that I from him have borne.
To the liege-lord of my dear native land
I owe a subject's homage; but even him
And his high arbitration I'd reject.
Within my bosom reigns another lord;
Honour, sole judge and umpire of itself.
If my free speech offend

you, noble Randolph, Revoke your favours, and let Norval go

Hence as he came, alone but not dishonour'd.

Lord Rand. Thus far I'll mediate with impartial voice:

The ancient foe of Caledonia's land

Now waves his banners o'er her frighted fields;
Suspend your purpose, till your country's arms

Repel the bold invader: then decide
The private quarrel.

Glen. I agree to this.

Norv. And I.

Enter Servant.

Serv. The banquet waits.

Lord Rand. We come.

Glen. Norval,

[Exit with Servant.

Let not our variance mar the social hour,
Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph.
Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate,
Shall stain my countenance.

brow;

Smooth thou thy

Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame.

Norv. Think not so lightly, sir, of my resent

ment.

When we contend again, our strife is mortal.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE, The Wood.

Enter DOUGLAS.

Doug. This is the place, the centre of the grove;
Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood.
How sweet and solemn is this mid-night scene!
The silver moon, unclouded, holds her way
Through skies where I could count each little star.
The fanning west wind scarcely stirs the leaves;
The river rushing o'er it's pebbled bed,
Imposes silence with a stilly sound.

In such a place as this, at such an hour,
If ancestry can be in aught believed,
Descending spirits have conversed with man,
And told the secrets of the world unknown.

Enter OLD NORVAL.

Old Norv. "Tis he. But what if he should chide

me hence?

His just reproach I fear.

Forgive, forgive!

[DOUGLAS turns and sees him.

Can'st thou forgive the man, the selfish man, Who bred Sir Malcolm's heir a shepherd's son? Doug. Kneel not to me; thou art my father still:

Thy wish'd-for presence now completes my joy. Welcome to me, my fortunes thou shalt share, And ever hononr'd with thy Douglas live.

Old Norv. And dost thou call me father? O my son!

I think that I could die to make amends

For the great wrong I did thee. 'Twas my crime
Which in the wilderness so long conceal'd
The blossom of thy youth.

Doug. Not worse the fruit,

That in the wilderness the blossom blow'd.
Amongst the shepherds, in the humble cot,
I learn'd some lessons, which I'll not forget
When I inhabit yonder lofty towers.

I, who was once a swain, will ever prove

The poor man's friend; and, when my vassals bow, Norval shall smooth the crested pride of Douglas.

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