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PROLOGUE,

SPOKEN AT LONDON..

In ancient times, when Britain's trade was arms,
And the loved music of her youth, alarms;
A god-like race sustain'd fair England's fame :
Who has not heard of gallant Percy's name?
Ay, and of Douglas ? Such illustrious foes
In rival Rome and Carthage never rose !
From age to age bright shone the British fire,
And every hero was a hero's sire.
When powerful fate decreed one warrior's doom,
Up sprung the phenix from his parent's tomb.
But whilst these generous rivals fought and fell,
These generous rivals loved each other well :
Though many a bloody field was lost and won,
Nothing in bate, in honour all was done.
When Percy, wrong’d, defied his prince or peers,
First came the Douglas with his Scottish spears ;
And, when proud Douglas made his king his foe,
For Douglas, Percy bent his English bow.
Expell’d their native homes by adverse fate,
They knock'd alternate at each other's gate :
Then blazed the castle, at the midnight hour,
For him whose arms had shook its firmest tower.
VOL. I.

T

This night a Douglas your protection claims ; A wife! a mother ! Pity's softest names : The story of her woes indulgent hear, And grant your suppliant all she begs, a tear. In confidence she begs; and hopes to find Each English breast, like noble Percy's, kind.

PROLOGUE,

SPOKEN AT EDINBURGH.

In days of classic fame, when Persia's Lord
Opposed his millions to the Grecian sword,
Flourish'd the state of Athens, small her store,
Rugged her soil, and rocky was her shore,
Like Caledonia's ; yet she gain'd a name
That stands unrival'd in the rolls of fame.

Such proud pre-eminence not valour gave,
(For who than Sparta's dauntless sons more brave ?)
But learning, and the love of every art,
That Virgin Pallas and the Muse impart.

Above the rest the Tragic Muse admired
Each Attic breast with noblest passions fired..
In peace their poets with their heroes shared
Glory, the hero's and the bard's reward.

The Tragic Muse each glorious record kept,
And, o'er the kings she conquer'd, Athens wept.*

Here let me cease, impatient for the scene ;
To you I need not praise the Tragic Queen:
Oft has this audience soft compassion shown
To woes of heroes, heroes not their own.

* Sce the Persai of Æschylus.

This night our scenes no common tear demand,
He comes, the hero of your native land !
Douglas, a name through all the world renown'd,
A name that rouses like the trumpet's sound !
Oft have your fathers, prodigal of life,
A Douglas follow'd through the bloody strife;
Hosts have been known at that dread time to yield
And, Douglas dead, his name hath won the field.
Listen attentive to the various tale,
Mark if the author's kindred feelings fail ;
Sway'd by alternate hopes, alternate fears,
He waits the test of your congenial tears.
If they shall Aow, back to the Muse he flies,
And bids your heroes in succession rise ;
Collects the wand'ring warriors as they roam,
Douglas assures them of a welcome home.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

LORD RANDOLPH.
GLENALVON.
OLD NORVAL.
DOUGLAS.

LADY RANDOLPH.
ΑΝΝΑ.

Servants, &c.

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