University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Fleming, Douglas.
Fleming.
My Lord, the time permits not long discourse,
Nor formal introduction; there's a snare
Spread for your life or freedom; to proceed
Upon this journey I aver unsafe.

Douglas.
By whom sir Malcom!—Circumstances strong,
Must guide your judgment ere you thus could speak.

Fleming.
The Chancellor is not your friend: his eye
Speaks plainly out the rancour of his heart.
The eye's allow'd the index of the soul,
And often shews the wicked heart within.
His strain'd respect and complaisance, are meant
But to deceive. Express upon express
Have been dispatch'd, since ever you were here—

Douglas.
Are these the circumstances whence you draw
Conclusions so remote? Iv'e heard that lovers
Construe the meaning of their mistress's eyes,
As vanity suggests. 'Tis strange my friend!
Your reason does not check such idle fears;
Expresses pass to town—And may they not,
On many just occasions, which to us
Bear no relation? Must the wheels of State
Stand still in compliment, till I am gone?

Fleming.
The Chancellor has watch'd you like a child,
Since you arriv'd; been with you still by day;
Seen you to bed; set spies upon us all—

Douglas.
What dreams are these!—

Fleming.
For heaven's sake my Lord!—

Douglas.
Were any that belong to me deny'd
Access to speak their mind? Could he divine
Civility would thus be deem'd deceit,
Respect, a cover to such black designs?
And complaisance a crime? I blush to think
His hospitality is thus requited.
Too oft it is the fate of men of rank,
To have about them those who blow the coals
Of discord, and rekindle antient feuds.
No doubt they have their private ends in view.
How could they else, in spight of all the charms
Of peace, and social virtue, bar the way
To reconcilement? Thus to speak to one
Whose principles I know, his worth approve,
Must give me pain—I'm really at a loss
For words to speak my wonder—How my friend,
Are you the dupe of such unmanly fears!

Fleming,
Bear witness heav'n! with what regrate I saw
The sad necessity of such a charge;
His time of life, and high pretence to virtue,
Ill suit with such designs—I may be wrong—
At least, my Lord, propose but to return;
Perhaps the bare pretence may lay him open.

Douglas.
I never will propose what I intend not!
For you sir Malcom, since you apprehend
I know not what of danger, I dispense
With your attendance—Be the peril mine!

Fleming.
I urge the thing no more—What I have said,
Was the result of love and just respect.
It never shall be said I stay'd behind,
Or turn'd my back upon Lord Douglas' foes.
My safety, heav'n can witness! never cost
A moment's thought—But if you will proceed,
At least permit Lord David to return.
The prudent counsel of your noble father,
You must remember, “Never both to go
Into a place, you could not call your own.”

Douglas.
I will not taint his mind with such suspicions.

Fleming.
Yet, let me beg my Lord—

Douglas.
I'll hear no more!—

[Exit Fleming.