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Old N. Lord Randolph and his kinsman By stealth the mother and the son should meet? seek your life.
[Embraces him. Doug, How know'st thou that?
Doug. No; on this happy day, this better 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 each 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 earnest voices. On the persons came. Doug. First, let me tell Unseen I lurk’d, and overhcard them name What may the tenor of your counsel change. Each other as they talk'd, lord Randolph this, Lady R. My heart forebodes some evil. And that Glenalvon. Still of you they spoke, Doug. Tis not goodAnd of the lady: threat'ning was their speech, At eve, unseen by Randolph and Glenalvon, Thougha but imperfectly my ear could hear it. The good old Norval in the grove o'erheard '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 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 prepar'd for murder, they but wait Let pot 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
here? I mark'd bis brave demeanour; him I'll trust. No: to the castle let us go together, Old N. I fear you will, too far.
Call up the ancient servants of your house, Doug. llere 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 infervicw..
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 sti'); 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!
. Thy slay but risks thy precious life in vain. Doug. He 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 Although 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 admittance 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. host!
Doug. I yield me, and obey: but yet my To whom I oft have of my lot complain'd,
heart Hear, 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.
Onc 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, Thil thus in dusky shades, at midnight hours, In a most fearful season. War and batlle
I have great cause to dread. Too well I seet Just as my arm bad master'd Randolph's sword, Which way the current of thy temper sets: The villain came bebind me; but I slew hini. 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, How pale thou look'st! And shall I lose thee To-morrow I may lose my son for ever.
now? The love of thee, before thou saw'st the light, Doug. Do not despair: I feel a little faint-" Sustain'd my life when thy brave father fell. If tbou shalí 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 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 fallin 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' 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 prov'd, And as high heav'n hath will'd it, all must be. And think life only wanting to my farie:
[They separate. But who shall comfort thee? Gare 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 hear'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-O! my mother!
[Dies. Lady Randolph faints on Lord R. Not in her presence.
the Body. Now 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, 1 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! llow
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 And to a double slaughter guide it home! To frantic jealousy: The 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 îne not, lord Ran- Awhile her powers. dolph;
Lord R. But my deliverer's dead! Not 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. Enter LADY RANDOLPA, at the opposite Side Amidst thy raging grief I must proclaim
Lord R. Oh, misery! 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 compar'd with what thou think'st it.
Lady R. Of thee I think not; what have I Enter Douglas, with a Sword in each Hand.
to do 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! he lives!
Of thee and of ihy valour! my fond heart For this, for this to heav'n, eternal praise ! O'erflow'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. 'Twas 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,
[Exit 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 resolvd. 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 gaind, Full warrant of my power. Let every rite Beneath whose low'ring top, the river falls With cost and pomp upon their funerals wait: Ingulfid 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. 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 for wine or ten years, al my benefit, a nolc sealed up with ten guineas, and these words, “a tria bute of gratitude from one who is highly obliged, and saved from ruin, by sceing Mr. Ross's performance of Barn
L I LLO, Goncr Lillo, was hy 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 sairest and most unblemished character. He was strongly attached to the Muscs, yet seemed to have laid it down as a maxim, that the devotion paid to them ought always to tend to the promotion of virtue, morality, and religion. In pursuance of this aim, Mr. Lillo was happy in the choice of his subjects, and showed great power of affecting the heart, by workiog up the passions to such a height, as to render the distresses of common and domestic life equally interesting as those of kings and heroes; and the ruin brought on private families hy an indulgence of açarice, lust cte, as the barock made in stales and empires by ambition, cruelty and tyranny. His George Barnwell, Fatal Curiosity, and Arden of Fevershum are all planned on common and well-known stories; yet they have, perhaps, more frequently drawn fears from an audience, Dian tlic more pompous tragedies of Alexander The Great, All for Love, ele. Mr. Lillo, as before observed, has been happy in the choice of his subjects; his conduct and the management of them is no less merilorions, and his pathos very great. If there is any fault to be objected to his writings, it is, that sometimes he ale's an eleration 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 belter argument perhaps may be 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 actuated by the influence of any violent passions, will at times be elevated to an apiness of expression, and power of laugiage, not only greatly superior to themselves, but even to the general language and conversation of persons of much higher rank in life, and of minds more perfectly cultivated. Our author died Sept. 5d. 1739, in the 47th year of his nge; and a few months after his death the celebrated Fielding printed the following character of hia in The Champion: “He had a perfect knowledge of human 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. H. had the spirit of an old Roman, joined to the innocence of a primitive christian ; he was contented with his little state of life, in which bis 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 tho best of men, and those who kuew him best will most regret his loss."
GEORGE BARNWELL. Tors play was acred 1731, at the Theatre Royal in Drury-lane with great success. “In the newspapers of the timo” says the Biographia Dramatica, “we find, that on Friday, 2d of July 1731, 'the Queen sent to the playhouse iar Drury-lane, for the manuscript of George Barnwell, to peruse 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 to the first represene tation of it, formed so contempllows an idea of the piece, in their expectations, that they purchased the ballad (some thousands of which were used in one day on this acconnt), in order to draw comparisons between that and the play. But its meril soun got the better of this contempt, and presented them with scenes
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, relales, that “in the year 1752, he played this part. De L'arrowhy was sent for by a young merchant's apprentice, who was in a high fever; upon the Doctor's approachia him, he saw his patient was aftlicted with a disease of the mind. The Ductor being alone with the young man, b 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. Seeing Mr. Ross in that piece, kuid was 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, if his father made the least hesitation to give the money, L should have it from him. The father arrived, put the amount into the son's hands,-they wept, kissed, einbraced. The son soon recovered, and lived to be a very eminent merchant. Dr. Barrowby uever told ine the name; but one orest
What will the virulent decriers of slage-plays say to this ?
Officers, with their Al-
Keeper, and Footmen.
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 unfit for converEnter THOROWGood and TRUEMAN. sation. I should but increase the number of True. Sır, the packet from Genoa is arrived. the company, without adding to their satissac
[Gives Letlers. tion. Thorow. Heaven 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. By 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. pot 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 hereafter 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 we 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
Maria. Yours, no doubt, was as agreeable it exclude him; only take heed not to pur- !o her: for generous minds know no pleasure chase 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 thine. Now it Thorow. Only look carefully over the files, would give me pleasure, great as my love, to to see whether there are any tradesmen's bills see on whom you will bestow it. I am daily unpaid; 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 hitherto 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 bave 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, bad you been less indulMaria. Sir, I have endeavoured not to wrong gent, 1 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.
equal esteem, but equal indifference, you have
observed, and I must needs confess; yet, hadfis capable of any action, though ever so vile; you asserted your authority, and insisted on and yet what pains will they not take, what a parent's right to be obeyed, I had submitted, arts not use, to seduce us from our innocence
, and to my duty sacrificed my peace. and make us contemptible and wicked, eren
Thorow. From your perfect obedience in in their own opinion? Then is it not just, the every other instance, I feared as much; and villains, to their cost, should find us so? But therefore would leave you without a bias in guilt makes them suspicious, and keeps them an affair wherein your happiness is so imme- on their guard; therefore we can take advandiately concerned.
tage only of the young and innocent part of Maria. Whether from a want of that just the sex, who never having injured women, ambition that would become your daughter, apprehend no danger from them. or from some other cause, I know not; but I Lucy. Ay, they must be young indeed! find high birth and titles don't recommend the Mill. Such a one I think I have found. As man who owns them to my affections. I have passed through the city, I have often
Thorow. I would not that they should, un-observed him receiving and paying considerless his merit recommends him morc. A no-able sums of money; from thence I conclude ble birth and fortune, though they make not he is employed in affairs of consequence. a bad man good, yet they are a real advan- Lucy. Is he handsome? tage to a worthy one, and place his virtues in Mill. Ay, ay, the stripling is well made, and the fairest light.
has a good face. Maria. I cannot answer for my inclinations ; Lucy. Aboutbut they shall ever be submitted to your wis- Mill. Eighteen. dom and authority. And as you will not com- Lucy. Innocent, handsome, and about eigbpel me to marry where I cannot love, love teen! You'll be vastly happy. Why, if you shall never make me act contrary to my duty. manage well, you may keep him to yourself Sir, have I your permission to retire? these two or three years. Thorow. I'll see you to your chamber, Mill. If I manage well, I shall have done
[Exeunt. with him much sooner: Having long had a SCENE II.- A Room in Millwood's House. design on him, and meeting him yesterday, I
made a full stop, and gazing wishfully on his Enter MilLWOOD and Lucy.
face, asked his name. He blushed, and, bowMill. How do I look to-day, Lucy? ing very low, answered George Barnwell. !
Lucr. O, killingly, madam! A little more begged his pardon for the freedom I had red, and you'll be irresistible!—But why this taken, and told him that he was the person ! more than ordinary care of your dress and had long wished to see, and to whom I had complexion? What new conquest are you an affair of importance to communicate at a aiming at?
proper time and place. He named a tavern; Mill. A conquest would be new indeed! talked of honour and reputation, and in
Lucy. Not to you, who make 'em every vited him to my house. Hle swallowed the day—but to me-Well, 'tis what I'm never to bait, promised to come, and this is the time I expect-unfortunate as I am-But your wit expect him. [Knocking at the Door] Someand beauty
D'ye hear, I'm at home to Mill. First made me a wretch, and still con- nobody to-day, but him. [E.xit Lucy] Less tinue me so. Men, however generous and affairs must give way to those of more consincere to one another, are all selfish bypo- sequence; and I am strangely mistaken if this crites in their affairs with us;
no does not prove of great importance to me, otherwise esteemed or regarded by them, but and him too, before I have done with him. as we contribute to their satisfaction.
Now, after what manner shall I receive him? Lucy. You are certainly, madam, on the Let me consider-What manner of person am wrong side of this argument. Is not the ex- I to receive? He is young, innocent, and bashpense all theirs ? And I am sure it is our own ful; therefore I must take care not to put him fault if we han't our share of the pleasure. out of countenance at first.
Mill. We are but slaves to men.
Lucy. Nay, 'tis they that are slaves most Enter Barnwell, bowing very low. Lucy certainly, for we lay them under contribution.
at a Distance. Mill. Slaves have no property; no, not even Mill. Sir, the surprise and joy! in themselves: all is the victor's.
Barn. Madam! Lucy. You are strangely arbitrary in your Mill. This is such a favour- [Advancing. principles, madam.
Barn. Pardon me, madam! Mill. I would have my conquest complete, Mill. So unhoped for! [Still advances. like those of the Spaniards in the new world; Barnwell salutes her, and retires in conwho first plundered the natives of all the fusion.] To see you here - Excuse the conwealth they had, and then comdemned the fusionwretches to the mines for life, to work for Barn. I fear I am too bold.
Mill. Alas, sir, I may justly apprehend you Lucy. Well, I shall never
Please, sir, to sit. I am scheme of government; I should think it much much at a loss how to receive this honour as more politic, as well as just, to find my sub- I ought, as I am surprised at your goodness jects an easier employment.
in conferring it. Mill. It is a general maxim among the know- Barn. I thought you . had expected me: I ing part of mankind, that a woman without promised to come. irtue, like a man without honour or honesty, Mill. That is the more surprising: few men