 | The Earl of Douglas |  |
SCENE IV.
Douglas, Crichton.Douglas.
My Lord, I look upon you as my friend,
As such, with honest freedom speak your mind.
Say, for your years and wisdom may explain,
What seems to me mysterious, why am I
So much the subject of licentious tongues?
'Tis strange! 'tis wondrous strange! that I alone
Of all the great, unconscious of offence,
Should be the mark of slander and reproach.
Crichton.
Censorious tongues are never at a loss;
Rather than want a handle to revile;
The most indifferent actions they impute
To evil meaning. Their malignant aim
Skulks under fair pretence, and honey'd words.
They ever and anon profess regard
For those they mean to stab—But let them say;
Happy the man, who self-approv'd can hear
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Slander too gross defeats the very end
The authors have in view; a lie must have
Of truth the semblance, or it can't deceive.
Indeed, my Lord, the numbers you retain,
By malice multiply'd, above the truth,
Afford your foes a plausible pretence,
To say, you mean to over-awe the State;
Two thousand men your enemies give out,
Are not unusual in Lord Douglas' train.
I think it can't be true: th'enormous charge
Of such attendance, soon would drain a prince.
Douglas.
My Lord, I cannot contradict the fact,
If vassals, friends, and servants you include.
The base design infer'd, I must disclaim,
As from my thought remote, and false as hell.
The bounty of their princes hath bestow'd
Upon my ancestors a large estate;
Their frequent publick trusts hath still enlarg'd
The circle of their friends; these not ungrateful,
Full oft attend me, when I could dispense
With vain parade, that never gave me joy.
Ev'n now, had my intent to come to town
Been known, a thousand had been here unbid.
With some, 'tis compliment, in others duty.
The former to refuse, the world would think
Th'effect of sullen pride, or fordid gloom;
Still to excuse the latter might be deem'd
A passing from my right—I ever thought
That men of rank and fortune should disdain
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To hoard an useless treasure, and to gorge
Unnumber'd acres, at the high expence
Of ev'ry virtue, social and divine,
To me appears a wretched choice indeed!
I mean not to exceed the bounds prescrib'd
By prudence, and in riot to consume
The fortune of my fathers; but to add,
Still lands to lands, and eagerly to grasp
At all I have not, were as mad, as vain,
As if a hungry wretch refus'd to eat
The bread he had, yet cried aloud for more.
Crichton.
'Tis justly said, my Lord: what we enjoy
Is all we have: without a soul to use,
The goods of fortune, like a fleeting dream,
But tantalize the fancy, and expose
Their wretched owners to a world of ills.
The sordid mind in midst of plenty pines,
Nor tastes with relish what the liberal hand
Of heav'n bestows. Alone intent to heap,
The pleasures which from social virtue flow
Affect it not; corroding care and gloom
Fill up the whole of its unhallow'd hours.
Once more, my Lord, and I have done, 'tis said,
That knighthood you confer, the antient right,
The envy'd right of sovereign pow'r alone.
Douglas.
I do: that right my ancestors enjoy'd.
Such pow'r, however envy'd, all confess,
A sovereign prince may give. Discreetly us'd,
No ill effects can flow from such a grant.
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Long may Lord Douglas thus assert his right,
And grace the title he so justly bears.
Mean time, my Lord, the posting sun invites
To prosecute our journey.
Douglas.
I, my Lord,
Will instantly attend you.
Crichton.
Then we go.
[Exeunt.
| The Earl of Douglas | |