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Hast thou no fears for iby presumptuous self? | The private quarrel.
Glen. I agree to this.
Nor. And I.
Serv. The banquet waits. Nor. Whom dost thou think me?
Lord R. We come.
[E.rit with Servant. Glen. Norval.
Glen. Norval, Nor. So I am
Let not our variance mar thie 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.
Nor. Think not so lightly, sir, of Glen. Thy truth! thou’rt all a lie: and false
When we contend again, our strise is mortal. Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph.
[Ereunt. Nor. If I were chain'd, unarm’d, and bedrid old,
Scene I.-A Wood.
Doug. This is the place, the centre of the And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword,
grove; I'd 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 Ilow 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 cach little Nor. 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 heav'n 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 bave convers’d with men, Enter LORD RANDOLPH.
And told the secrets of the world unknown. Lord R. Hold, I command you bothThe man that stirs
Enter old NORVAL. Makes me his foe.
Old N. 'Tis he. But what if he should Nor. Another voice than thine
chide me hence? That threat had vainly 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, Mark the bumility of shepherd Norval ! Who bred sir Malcolm's heir a shepherd's son? Nor. 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 Taunting 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. Nor. Nay, my good lord, though I revere Old N. And dost thou call me father? Oh,
you much, My 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 I blush to speak; I will not, cannot speak
crime, The opprobrious words that I from him have Which in the wilderness so long conceal'd borne.
The blossom of thy youth. To the liege lord of my dear native land Doug. Not worse the fruit, I owe a subject's homage; but ev'n him That in the wilderness the blossom blow'd. Ånd his high arbitration I'd reject.
Amongst the shepherds, in the humble cot, Within my bosom reigns another lord ; I learn'd some lessons, which I'll not forget Honour, sole judge, and umpire of itself. When I inhabit yonder lofty towers. If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph, I, who was once a swain, will ever prove Revoke your favours, and lei Norval go The poor man's friend; and, when my vassals Hence 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
see thine The ancient foe of Caledonia's land
exaltation! Now waves his banners o'er her frighted fields. Yet grievous are my fears. Oh, leave this place, Suspend your purpose till your country's arms And those unfriendly towers ! Repel the 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 meet? seek your life.
[Embraces him. Doug. Ilow know'st thou that?
Doug. No; on this happy day, this belter 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 and Appointed for me by your mother's care,
joy. And fondly trod in cach accustom'd path Lady, R. Sad fear and melancholy still divide That to the castle leads. Whilst thus I rangd, The empire of my breast with hope and joy. I was alarm’d with unexpected sounds Now hear what I adviseOf carnest voices. On the persons came. Doug. First, let me tell Unseen I lurk’d, and overheard them name What may the tenor of your counsel change. Each other as they talkid, lord Randolph this, Lady K. My heart forebodes some evil. And that Glenalyon. Still of you they spoke, Doug. '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'erheard 'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery; Theiro conversation; ost they mention'd me And ever and anon they vow'd revenge. With dreadful threat'nings; you they someDoug. Revenge! for what?
times nam'd. Old N. For being what you are,
'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery; Sir 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 are And there sat musing how I best might find
betray'a : 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 own, 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 wait 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'st. Doug. I scorn it not.
This moment, this, heav'n hath ordain'd to My mother warn'd me of Glenalvon's baseness:
save thee! But I will not suspect the noble Randolph. Fly to the camp, my son! In our encounter with the vile assassins, Doug. And leave you
here? I mark'd his brave demeanour; him I'll trust. No: to the castle let us go together, Old N. I fear you will, too far.
Call the ancient servants of your house, Doug. Here in this place
Who in their youth did eat your father's bread; 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 few Our interview..
To drive those spoilers from my father's house. Old N. My blessing rest upon thee ! Lady R. Oh, nature, nature! what can check Oh, may heav'n's hand, which sav'd thee from
thy force ?
Thou genuine offspring of the daring Douglas! And from the sword of foes, be near thee stil; But rush not on destruction : save thyself, Turning mischance, ifaught hangs o'er thy head, And I am safe. To me they mean no harm. All upon mine!
[Exit. Thy stay but risks thy precious life in vain. Doug. Ic loves me like a parent; That winding path conducts thee to the river. And must not, shall not, lose ihe son he loves, Cross where thou seest a broad and beaten Altbough his son has found a nobler faiher.
way, Eventful day! how hast thou chang'd my state! Which running eastward leads thee to the Once on the cold and winter-shaded side
camp. Of a bleak hill, mischance had rooted me, Instant demand admitiance to lord Douglas: Never to thrive, child of another soil ; Show him these jewels, which his brother wore. Transplanted now to the gay sunny vale, Thy look, thy voice, will make him feel the Like the green thorn of May my fortune flowers.
truth, Ye glorious stars! high heav'n's resplendent Which I by certain proof will soon confirm.
Doug. I yield me, and obey: but yet my To whom I oft have of my lot complain’d,
heart licar, and record my soul's unalter'd wish! Bleeds at this parting. Something bids me 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 achiev'd. Before he speaks it out, I will accept: Our focs are two; no more: let me go forth, Like Douglas conquer, or like Douglas die. And see if any shield can guard Glenalvon,
Lady R. If thou regard'st thy mother, or Enter LADY RANDOLPH.
rever'st Lady R. My son ! I heard 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: Lddy R. Didst thou complain aloud to na- Long wert thou lost; and thou art found, my
child, That thus iu dusky shades, at midnight hours, In a most fearful season. War and ballle
I have great cause to dread. Too well I sec Just as my arm had master'd Randolph's sword, Which way the current of thy temper sets: The villain came behind me; but I slew him. To-day I have found thee. Oh! my long-lost Lady R. Behind thee! ah! thou’rt wounded! hope!
Oh, my child, If thou to giddy valour giv'st the rein, llow 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 little faintSustain'd my life when thy brave father fell. If thou shali fall, I have not love nor hope I hope it will not last. [Leans upon his Sword. In this waste world! My son, remember me! Lady R. There is no hope! Doug. What shall I say? How can I give And we must part! the band 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’n as my brave fathers But yet consider, as no vulgar name,
fell, That which I boast, sounds among martial men, Turning with fatal arm the tide of battle, How will inglorious caution suit my claim ? Like them I should have smil'd 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' heads 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 provid, And as high hear'n hath will'd it, all must be. And think life only wanting to my fame:
[They separate. But who shall comfort thee? Gaze not on me, thou wilt mistake the path; Lady R. Despair, Despair! l'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? NowGlen. I'm prepar'd.
Enter LORD RANDOLPH and ANNA. Lord R. No:1 command thee stay. Lord R. Thy words, thy words of truth, I go alone: 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 noblest 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! Jlow
curst am I! Glen. Demons of death, come settle on my Was I the cause? No: I was not the cause. sword,
Yon matchless villain did seduce my soul
Lord R. (Without] Draw, villain! draw! The agony of grief hath but suppress'd
Lord R. But my deliverer's dead!
Lady R. [Recovering] Wherc 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! Enier 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 But spare! Oh, spare my son!
Is innocence compard with whal thou think'st il.
Lady R. Of thee I think not; what have I Enter Douglas, with a Sword in each Hand. Doug. My mother's voice !
With thee, or any thing? My son! my son! I can protect thee still.
My beautiful! my brave? how proud was I Lady R. He lives! be lives!
Of thee and of ihy valour! my fond heart For this, for this to heav'n, eternal praise ! O'ersiow'd this day with transport, when I But 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 And headlong down-,
Lord R. 'Í'was I, alas! 'twas I
down And such a husband drive me to my fate. The precipice of death! Wretch that I am!
[Exit running Anna. Oh, had you seen her last despairing Lord R. Follow her, Anna: I myself would
Upon 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 gare; 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 resolv'd. I'll go Anna. Horror, indeed!
Straight to the battle, where the man that 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 halted 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: Ingulfd in rifted 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 neighbourhood of Moorgate, in London, on the 4th of Feb. 1693; in which neighbourhood he pursued his occupation for many years, with the fairest and most unblemished character. He was strongly attached to the Muses, yet secmed to have laid it down as a maxim, that the devotion paid to them ought always to lend to the promotion of virtue, morality, and religion. In pursuance of this aim, Mr. Lillo was bappy in the choice of his subjects, and shewed great power of assecting the heart, by working up the passions to such a height, as lo render the distresses of common and domestic life equally interesting as those of kings and heroes; and the ruin brought on privale families by an indulgence of avarice, lust clc., as the havock made in states and empires by ambition, cruclly and tyranny. His George Barnwell, Fatal Curiosity, and Arden of Fever shum are all planned on common and well-known stories; yet they have, perhaps, more frequently drawn Icar's from an audience, than the more pompous tragedies of Alexander The Great, All for Love, etc. Mr. Lillo, as before observed, has been happy in the choice of his subjects; his conduct and the management of them is no less merilorious, and his pathos very great. If there is any fault to be objected to his writings, it is, that sometimes he all'ects an elevation of style somewhat above the simplicity of his subject, and the supposed rank of his characters; but the custom of tragedy will stand in some degree of excuse for this; and a still better argument perhaps may he admitted in vindication, not only of our present author, but of others in the like predicament; which is, that even nature itself will justify this conduct; since we find even the most humble characters in real life, when under peculiar circumstances of distress, or acluated by the influence of any violent passions, will at times be elevaled to an aptuess of expression, and power of language, not only greatly superior to themselves, but even to the general language and conversation of persins of much higher rank in life, and of minds more perfectly cultivated. Our author died Sept. 5d. 1739, in the 47th year of his age; and a few months after his death the celebrated Fielding printed the following character of him in The Champion : “He had a perfect knowledge of buman nature, though his contempt of all base means of application, which are the necessary steps to great acquaintance, restrained his conversation within very narrow bounds. Не liad the spirit of an old Roman, joined to the innocence of a primitive christian ; he was conlenled with his little state of life, in which his excellent temper of mind gave him a happiness beyond the power of riches; and it was necessary for his friends to have a sharp insight into his want of their services, as well as good inclination or abilities to serve him.
In short, he was one of the best of men, and those who knew him best will most regret his loss."
This play was acted 1731, at the Theatre Royal in Drury-lane with greal success. “In the newspapers of the time” says the Biographia Dramatica, “we find, that on Friday, xd of July 1731, 'the Queen sent lo the playhouse in Drury-lane, for the manuscript of George Barnu'ell, lo jeruse it, which Mr. Wilks carried to Hampton Court. This tragedy being founded on a well known old ballad, many of the critics of that time, who went lo the first representation of it, formed so contempluona an idea of the piece, in their expectations, that they purchased the ballad (sume thousands of which were used in one day on this account), in order to draw comparisons between that and the play. But its merit soun got the beller of this contempt, and presented them with scenes written so true to the heart, that they were compelled to subscribe to their power, and lay aside their ballads to take their handkerchiefs." The original performer of the character of George Barnwell, Mr. Ross, relates, that “ju the year 1752, he played this part. Dr. Larrowhy was sent for by a young merchant's apprentice, who was in a high fever; upon the Doctor's approaching him, he saw his patient was afflicted with a disvase of the mind. The Ductor being alone will the young man, he confessed, after much solicitation, that he had made an improper acquaintance with a kept mistress ; and had made free with money intrusted to his care, by his employers, to the amount of 200 pounds. Secing Mr. Ross in that piece, lie wax so forcibly struck, he had not enjoyed a moment's peace since, and wished to die, to avoid the shame he saw hanging over him. The Doctor calmed his patient by telling him, his father made the least hesitation to give the money, he should have it from him. The father arrived, put the amount into the son's hands,-they wept, kissed, embraced. The son soon recovered, and lived to be a very eminent merchant. Dr. Barrowby vever told me the name; but one even ing he said to me, you have done some good in your profession, more perhaps than many a clergyman who preached last sunday. I had inr nine or ten years, at my benefit, a note sealed up with ten guineas, and ifiese words," "a tribule of gratitude from one who is highly obliged, and saved from ruin, by sveing Mr. Ross's performance of Bara
What will the virulent decriers of slage-plays say to this ?
Thorow. Nay, 'twas a needless caution; I SCENE I.-A Room in THOROWGOOD's House.
have no cause to doubt your prudence,
Maria. Sir, I find myself upfit for converEnter THOROWGOOD and TRUEMAN. sation., I should but increase the number of True. Sir, the packet from Genoa is arrived. the company, without adding to their satisfac
[Gives Leiters. tion. Thorow. Hearen be praised the storm that Thorow. Nay, my child, this melancholy threatened our royal mistress, pure religion, must not be indulged. liberty, and laws, is for a time diverted. Maria. Company will but increase it. I this means, time is gained to make such pre-wish you would dispense with my presence. paration on our part, as may, heaven concur- Solitude best suits my present temper. ring, prevent his malice, or turn the meditated Thorow. You are not insensible, that it is mischief on himself.
chiefly on your account these noble lords do True. He must be insensible indeed, who is me the honour so frequently to grace my board. not affected when the safety of his country is Should you be absent, the disappointment may concerned. Sir, may I know by what means ? make them repent of their condescension, and -If I am not too bold
think their labour lost. Thorow. Your curiosity is laudable; and I Maria. He that shall think his time or hogratify it with the greater pleasure, because nour lost in visiting you, can set no real value from thence you may learn how honest mer- on your daughter's company, whose only merit chants, as such, may sometimes contribute to is that she is yours. The man of quality who the safety of their country, as they do at all chooses to converse with a gentleman and times to its happiness; that if bereafter you merchant of your worth and character, may should be tempted to any action that has the confer honour by so doing, but he loses none. appearance of vice or meanness in it, upon Thorow. Come, come, Maria, I need not reflecting on the dignity of our profession, tell you, that a young gentleman may prefer you may with honest scorn reject whatever is your conversation to mine, and yet intend me unworthy of it.
no disrespect at all; for though he may lose True. Should Barnwell, or I, who have the no honour in my company, 'tis very natural benefit of your example, by, our ill conduct for him to expect more pleasure in yours. I bring any imputation on that honourable name, remember the time when the company of the ve must be left without excuse.
greatest and wisest man in the kingdom, would Thorow. You compliment, young, man. have been insipid and tiresome to me, if it [Trueman bows respectfully) Nay, I'm not had deprived me of an opportunity of enjoyoffended. As the name of merchant never de-ing your mother's. grades the gentleman, so by no means does Maria. Yours, no doubt, was as agreeable i exclude him; only take heed not to pur- to her: for generous minds know no pleasure ebase the character of complaisant at the ex- in society but where 'tis mutual. pense of your sincerity.
Thorow. Thou knowest I have no heir, no True. Sir, have you any commands for me child, but thee; the fruits of many years sucat this time?
cessful industry must all be thinc. Now it Thorow. Only look carefully over the files, would give me pleasure, great as my love, to to see wbether there are any tradesmen's bills see on whom you will bestow it. I am daily anpaid; if there are, send and discharge 'em. solicited by men of the greatest rank and merit We must not let artificers lose their time, so for leave to address you; but I have hitherlo useful to the public and their families, in un- declined it, in hopes that, by observation, I necessary attendance.
[Exit Trueman. should learn which way your inclination tends;
for, as I know love to be essential to happiEnter MARIA.
ness in the marriage state, I had rather my
approbation should confirm your choice than Well, Maria; have you given orders for the direct it. entertainment? I would have it in some mea- Maria. What can I say? How shall I ansure worthy the guests. Let there be plenty, swer as I ought this tenderness, so uncommon and of the best, that the courtiers may at least even in the best of parents? But you are withcommend our hospitality.
out example; yet, 'had you been less indulMaria. Sir, I have endeavoured not to wrong gent, I had been most wretched. That I look your well-known generosity by an ill-timed on the crowd of courtiers that visit here, with parsimony.
fequal esteem, but equal indifference, you have