University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

An Apartment in Edinborough Castle.
Enter Huntley and Sir David Bruce, meeting.
Sir David.
Good Day, my Lord.

Huntley.
Wou'd it were, Sir David!
But Italian Policy and good Days
Never shine together.

Sir David.
I was in Hopes
E're this, my Lord, that the King's Resentment
Wou'd have 'bated. Lord Huntley, my Heart bleeds,
To see you still within these hated Walls.

Huntley.
Bleed for me, Sir David? O Bruce, let it
Bleed for your poor Country.

Sir David.
My Lord!
That Ruin o'er spreads our Land, is obvious!
Wou'd to Heav'n the Remedy were as plain;
Did I but know it, at hazard of my Life I wou'd apply it.

Huntley.
Why how dare you declare that Scotland's ruin'd,
While an Italian Legate holds the Helm?
Why I avow'd no more.
But where are my Brother Traitors,
Angus, and Daliel? Mayn't we embrace
E're we shake of our Treason, and set out
Upon our final Journey?

Sir David.
My Lord, I have strict Command
Against your seeing each other, or admitting
Any Person to or from you without
Special Order from the King or Sevez.
Report is, you're all to suffer privately
To morrow, in different Parts of the Castle.

Huntley.
O rare Tyranny! Rome's Christian Policy,
Her Holy Inquisition.

Enter an Officer.
Off.
Sir, your Daughter Lady Catherine is below,
She hath brought a special Order from the King,
For her Admittance.

Huntley.
My Daughter! my Child!

Sr. David.
Pray Sir, conduct the Lady up.
[Exit Officer.
I hope, my Lord, she brings an Order for
Your Enlargement.

Huntley.
Just as King Sevez pleases.

Sir David.
Your Daughter may have some private Converse,
I'll leave you, my Lord.

Huntley,
Sir, your Confidence shall not be abused.

[Exit. Sir David
Enter Officer and Katherine, Officer goes out again.
Huntley.
So, my Katherine! my Child! (embraces her)
My all that's left,
Of Gordon's antient Stock. The long Descent
Must end to Morrow by the Traitor's Axe.
Kate, what wilt thou do when I am gone?
How wilt employ thy self?
You'll have no feeble Father to sooth now;
Death will rid you of that endearing Care,
And me, of all my doating Fondness.—Nay, nay.
Do not weep.
The Sight of thee hath ever brought
Joy and Comfort to my old Heart; prithee
Do not vex it now. Let me die like Huntley,
You bear it like his Daughter.

Kath.
O Sir!
'Tis Nature's hardest Task to look on Death,
For that fell Tyrant is her utmost Shock.
And in a Father—

Huntley.
Hold, Katherine, mistake not, it is not Death,
But Guilt, Guilt, my Child, is Nature's utmost Shock.
To the Innocent, Death is a Guide to Life eternal.
But to the Guilty, a ghastly Summoner,
Which frights, and goads, and stings to endless Tortures
Death! 'tis Nature's Companion!
He attends every Action of our Lives!
I have seen the bare-rib'd Tyrant in as
Many Forms, as there were armed Soldiers
In the Field; sometimes darting from Man to Man,
Levelling Ranks, and sweeping down armed Files;
While brazen Engines his iron Messengers
Sent forth, and with a Loudness that deafen'd
Nature, proclaim'd his Triumph! and can I
After this, fear his Block and Ax! no Child,
Only the Traitor starts at those; th'Patriot
Beholds them with a Fortitude that smiles
And triumphs, like the holy Martyr; who,
Before his Fall, sees his Reward register'd
In Heaven.

Kath.
Sure, Sir, you cannot be in love
With Death!

Hunt.
No, Katherine; he, who says he is,
Deceives himself; but my declining Life
Is not worth much Concern; the Oyl is almost spent;
And like a dying Flame on an exhausted Lamp
Wou'd of itself have soon expir'd, without
My cruel Master's hasty Breath.

Kath.
By me, Sir, he sends you offer of Life.

Hunt.
Does he!
He cou'd not have chosen, in Mercy's smiling Train
A lovelier Messenger—Thou art her rosy
Cherub—and Life from thee will come with
Double Relish—but, hear you, Katherine, have you
Brought Life's Blessing with it? It's cordial Drop?
It's balmy Sweet?

Kath.
What mean you, Sir?

Hunt.
Liberty, my Child! heav'n-born Liberty!
Without which, Life is a Curse, and he, who
Rids me of the Plague, is my best-lov'd Friend.

Kath.
O, say not so, but accept his Promise;
Accept of precious Life at any Rate.

Hunt.
Ha! Katherine! what upon base ignoble Terms!
To be a Court Creature; to do filthy Jobs,
As Priests and Rome direct; to bow, defame,
And fawn, and cringe; and beg to be employ'd
In some brave Man's Destruction? To flatter
A pride-swoln Priest; and pamper up
His Avarice and Revenge, with my Country's Ruin.
Is this a Life for Huntley? No.
I know you will not council it—
Well, upon what Terms will our royal Master
Give us Leave to breathe?

Kath.
Know then—O Heav'ns! how shall I speak them!

[apart.]
Hunt.
Nay, if you hesitate, I'm sure they are base.
Your Conscience is a faithful Monitor,
A Dial set by an unerring Hand,
And heavenly Truth is the Light it goes by;
Obey it now, and be silent.

Kath.
No, Sir, I must name it,
Tho' you look me dead, which wou'd be the cruell'st
Death, Fate has in Store. Know then, that the King
Hath promis'd Life, and Liberty, to you, and
The other Lords—on Condition—

Hunt.
Out with it—
Quick—for the Approach of Infamy is
Dreadful.—And I see something in my Katherine's
Eye, was never there before. Shame, conscious Shame!
But come,—the Conditions!

Kath.
The Conditions are,
First, that I marry his suppos'd Cousin,
The Impostor Perkin—

Hunt.
Katherine,
We have convers'd enough upon this Subject;
Our Life is short, therefore we must prepare
To give in our Account as perfect as
We can; not on the Eve of Death to add
To the inadvertent Sallies of Youth
Premeditated Infamy.
I trust I shall employ my short Space to more
Advantage.

Kath.
O my foreboding Heart! 'twas what I fear'd!

[To herself.
Hunt.
But, Katherine, lest you shou'd mistake and
Err into Infamy, know that your mangled
Body in Death wou'd give me Joy,
When your lovely blooming Person in such
A prostituted Marriage, wou'd bring cureless
Sorrow;—it wou'd rive my old Heart in twain.
My Child, farewel (embraces her)
when you
Have better Thoughts
Bring them to comfort me. These vex me sorely;
Farewel,—I am going to my Cell, to
Think of Heaven and you.

[Exit.
Kath.
And what shall I think of!
Death! Death! fell horrid Death! turn where I will
I see the Skeleton dogging
My Father's Steps—and softly stealing with
His shadowy Arm uprais'd, ready to aim
His final Dart.
O some unerring Power direct me!
If I wander into Error; the Crime
Is not in my Will, but my Ignorance;
For I find filial Gratitude and partial
Nature struggling at my Heart, and prompting
That I must not let Him dye, who gave me Life.
I find Love too pleading for my Daliel;
Sure all this must be right, or Heaven would not
Permit it?—No, they shall not dye;
My Father is cruel to himself and me,
And Nature, sympathizing Nature,
Will be obey'd, and they must live.
For on their Lives alone depends my Fate,
As does the Peace of our distracted State.

[Exit.