University of Virginia Library

I. AFTER-SCENE.

Livingston, Lady Livingston, Monteith.
Livingston
, to Monteith.
How did the guards behave?

Monteith.
In silence deep
They hung their heads; and when the pris'ners died,
The bursting tear broke loose from ev'ry eye.

Livingston.
The vulgar still regrate the stroke of justice.

Lady Livingston.
Humanity must feel the stroke of death,
And in the fatal hour forgets the crime.

Livingston.
'Tis disaffection, impious discontent!—
And how their officer?—You ey'd him close?

Monteith.
Extremely grave, and often wip'd his eyes—
He talk'd, my Lord—O I shall ne'er forget—

Livingston.
Who talk'd!—

Monteith.
Lord Douglas. Never mortal died—

Livingston.
Perdition seize thee villain! dost thou speak
To me of Douglas?—Hence! and learn to dread
That pow'r by which he fell!—

[Exit Monteith.
Lady Livingston.
What means my Lord!

Livingston.
Their officer!—a wretch I lately rais'd—
A woman hearted soldier, stain to arms,
But, by the soul of Bruce! the poltroon dies!—

Lady Livingston.
O talk not thus my Lord!—Advance in rank,
The man whose generous sympathy gives proof
Of genuine courage and a manly heart.

Livingston.
Ha! traitress! say, thou'lt join th'unthinking crowd,
To reprobate the deed which I have done!—

Lady Livingston.
I would, could that undo it!—I affirm
The deed dishonest, and my soul detests it!
I knew thy soul was base, thou know'st how oft
I strove to touch it with the love of virtue;
But hence, no more I urge thee to be honest,
So foul a crime excludes thee from my heart!
Last night, when superstition push'd thee on,
O shameful weakness! to consult a witch,
'Twas I that represented her; in pity,
I interpos'd between thy soul and hell.

Livingston.
If so, thou art a devil, for mortal ear
Heard not a whisper of my close design.

Lady Livingston.
I over-heard thee mention Kirkton's name,
And from thy temper, guess'd thy mean intent;
I watch'd thee close, and saw the low disguise,
Meanly assum'd to cover thy disgrace.

Livingston.
Then thou hast rashly push'd me on to that
Which now thou blam'st. I doubted in my self,
If better, still to live in anxious dread,
Or thus at once, to rid me of my foe.
Thy words of dark import—“Beware a Douglas.”
Believ'd oraculous, alarm'd my soul.

Lady Livingston.
Had I not reason, thus to caution thee?
I knew thy spight to that respected house:
What thou had'st done against it; and fore-saw
That thou would'st fall before it—fall thou must,
Crimes of so deep a die cannot escape
The wrath of heav'n—

Livingston.
Cease thy abusive tongue.
I hold thee now no prophetess, nor mind
Thy idle words.

Lady Livingston.
O that I had fore-known,
The wicked purpose thou had'st then in view!
Perhaps the threats of such a wretch had done,
What conscience, honour, virtue tried in vain.
Suppose thy craft and pow'r elude the lash
Of human laws—Remember an hereafter!
[Exit Lady Livingston.

Manet Livingston.
Scarce could I bear the shock—Her biting words
Stung like a scorpion—'Tis over now,—
Whate'er the consequence, it must be born—
'Tis strange! Monteith's unfeeling heart was mov'd,
The guards, their Captain wept—What then am I?
“Remember an hereafter”—There's the thorn!
(A Bell tolls, Livingston listens, starts, and looks wildly about.)
The passing bell of some departed soul!—
Solemn and awful sound! thou speak'st to me—
Thou speak'st to all!—Perhaps in pride of life,
At noon this mortal dream'd of future years,
Unconscious of the gathering cloud of fate,
Now burst upon him—

(seems thoughtful)