 | Earl Douglas ; Or, Generosity Betray'd |  |
SCENE II.
Enter COUNTESS and Lady BEATRIX, from the Queen's Apartments.Countess.
This Queen alone excell'd me once in greatness;
And now in grief. How seldom are they sep'rate!
Her foes have of her royal brood the charge;
In faithful Fleming, mine have found a father.
Lady Beatrix.
Let us retire: we heard a hapless wretch
This way pass guarded to his death. Such scenes
Are shocking to be near.
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We'll beg his life.
Lady Beatrix.
Your sons had done it, had his crimes allow'd:
Yet some dear sister left may mourn his death;
Some virgin's faithful heart in secret bleed.
Countess.
Perhaps his sire bedews his silver beard;
Ah! some poor lonely widow may survive!
Or tender infants helpless and forlorn!
[A Soldier passes over the Stage.
Lady Beatrix.
Can'st thou inform us who was doom'd to death?
Countess.
Silent he goes, and pitying looks casts back.—
This place looks dismal.—Crouds of armed men,
—But none of ours are seen.—Alas, my sons!
As a poor bird, who sees her tender young,
Flutt'ring about the hawk's rapacious nest!
Sill hovers near, and keeps them in her eye,
Waiting, with panting heart, their tragic end:
Too weak to help, she mourns with plaintive sound,
And grieving, pines her feeble breast in vain:
So mournful I attend my gen'rous sons,
As much distrest, as impotent to save.
Chancellor
entering.
By this, Lord Fleming lies without a head.
Countess.
Lord Fleming! O my sons!
Lady Beatrix.
Alas! my brothers
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[Enter the Brothers bound and guarded.
Arm'd guards! O my dear brothers!
Countess.
O my sons!
Sir David
We liv'd like brothers, and like brothers die.
Douglas.
I only fear the stroke which thou must feel.
Sir David.
O may they kill me first, for I can die
Easier than see so dear a brother bleed:
But thy kind heart would feel as much for me.
Countess.
And must my sons then die? Must both my sons?
Lord Douglas' noble house exist no more!
Lady Beatrix
breaking through the guard to them.
Death shall not sep'rate us.—Alas, they're bound!
Bound hard with galling cords! these noble hands,
Sacred to gen'rous deeds, bound like a felon's!
Countess.
If heav'n breath'd sharp, my bosom hid these hands,
Now gall'd with cutting cords.—O sight of anguish!
Douglas.
Then are you here!—both!—in our en'mies power!
For death, but not for this, we were prepar'd!
Countess
kneeling with Lady Beatrix.
See, how on earth, the wife of noble Douglas
Kneels to his foes, for mercy to his sons.
Lady Beatrix.
His daughter kneeling, begs to die for them.
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Guards, lead to death. 'Tis worse than death, so see
My father's wife and daughter kneel to foes.
Now Crichton triumphs o'er the house of Douglas.
Chancellor.
This haughty fair disposes of their fate.—
If she consents to wed my son, they live.
Lady Beatrix.
O let them live!—To save their precious lives,
I'll wed abhorrence, endless discontent:
Let them but live, how much soe'er I'm wretch'd!
Douglas
Then life I lothe, and thee I must renounce
As alien to our blood:—but sure our sister,
So basely never will betray our honour.
O save from this disgrace a line of heroes!
Sir David.
The brave may be betray'd, insulted, slain;
But never conquer'd: while they scorn to yield,
And basely purchase life by mean submissions.
[Lady Beatrix looking at the Earl with earnest affection, seems about to speak.]
Douglas.
O do not bid me live to scorn, to hate thee!
Despis'd, disgrac'd,—abhorr'd for thy debasement!
Lady Beatrix.
Then scorn me, hate me, stab me dead:—but live!
Countess.
O live, my sons, to bless my lonely widowhood!
Your mother begs it, who could die for you.
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Why urge me to disgrace?—Ah, mother!—Sister!—
How can I yield? hither I forc'd Lord Fleming;
And here he fell.—Shall I reward his murder
With our alliance? with my sister's bed?
When men recount the heroes of the name;
The valiant Sholto, and the good Sir James;
William, the hardy; William, flower of chivalry;
Undaunted Tineman, my unyielding sire;
The daring Douglas, slain at Otterburn,
Whose name when dead, brought victory from the skies:
In such a list, to be design'd, The soft,
Faint-hearted William, whom soft female tears
Melted to bow before his treach'rous foe,
And prostitute his sister to his son:
When brave men scorn; the very rabble hiss
The dastard Douglas, who surviv'd his honour;
The first of all his race who fear'd to die;
Too late by death I'll seek to fly dishonour,
Th'eternal stain of an unsullied race.
Douglas.
Spare fruitless words, let us with honour die;
Not live with shame, dishonour'd by the world.
Enter Livingston.
The town pours forth her crouds, the nobles rise;
The tumult hither rolls;—Hark—how they shout!
My son led forth my followers.—Now in triumph,—
The en'mies cry, A Douglas. Aid my son.
Chancellor.
My troops must guard the fortress.
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Rescue mine.
They'll aid.
Chancellor.
Too many mouths are bad for sieges.
Lady Beatrix.
Now all is well! I hear the march of Douglas.
Countess.
Now gracious heav'n preserves my virtuous sons.
Douglas.
Scotland shall flourish; see, her tyrants tremble!
Enter a Messenger to Livingston.
Thy party flies; thy son is seiz'd, and dies,
If Douglas or his brother suffer harm.
Livingston.
They both shall live; I fly to save my son.
[Exit.
Messenger.
The guards within hold parly with the nobles.
Chancellor.
They dare not:—yet can faith be hop'd in ruffians?
[Aside.
Hah! what a tumult! now they enter!—Lords,
Forgive the past!
Douglas.
When our dear Cousin asks it.
Countess.
Can all our lives restore thy worthy guardian's?
O live, to save thy father's house, and his.
Chancellor.
Save my dear son; he's guiltless of your wrongs.
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I know't. My vengeance hurts no guiltless man:
T'assembled peers shall judge in all between us.
Chancellor
to one attending.
Bring them their swords. My hands will loose the cords.
Your gen'rous goodness cheers me, noble Douglas.
Enter a Second Messenger.
The foe is worsted.
Chancellor.
Lucky news! be brief.
Countess.
Oh! heavy tidings!
Lady Beatrix.
O distracting event!
Messenger.
Lord Treasurer, with a band of chosen friends,
His nephew reinforc'd; hard was the combat,
Till your brave son return'd and charg'd the foe,
And to the town drove back their fainting numbers.
Chancellor.
Off with their heads; and fix them on the wall,
To terrify the peers: my son deserves
A greatness built upon their mighty ruins.
Why stand you staring? quick,—dispatch them,—slaves.
[The Ladies clasp about the Brothers.
Countess.
My sons, I'll hold you, while my arms have strength.
O help! O Heav'n!—Doth heav'n forsake the virtuous?
Chancellor.
Tear them asunder.
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Drag us all along.
We'll stick thro' life, and end our woes together.
Douglas.
Forbear t'unbend our souls, which should collect
Their utmost strength, a trial so severe
With dignity to bear, and end with glory.
Sir David.
I cannot bear your tenderness and sorrow.
Countess.
O that the bitterness were mine alone!
But Ah! must I resign these lovely necks
T'a mangling bloodly ax!—O horror, horror!
Chancellor.
Part their embracing arms.—Lead off the criminals.
[The back Scene opening, discovers the Block, and the Executioner standing by it; at the sight whereof the Ladies fall.]
Douglas and Sir David.
O cruelty! O cords we feel you now!
See how they lie; nor can our hands them raise.
Chancellor.
Pull down the traitors. Strike and make them headless.
Douglas,
saluting his brother Sir David.
Embrace we cannot; receive this parting kiss.
A moment's pain brings speedy endless joy:
Our souls shall to eternity embrace,
Where treach'rous murd'rers shall no more disturb us.
[The back Scene shuts. Manet Chancellor.
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Chancellor.
There's consternation in thy dastard looks.
Messenger.
The reinforced peers dispers'd their foes;
Their leaders seiz'd. Your son still guards the entry.
[A stroke of the Ax heard within.
Chancellor.
There dies young Douglas. Bid my son retire
And shut the gates; while th'enraged peers
Pour all their fury on the Regent's kindred.
[Another blow of the Ax heard within.
Chancellor.
That ends another Douglas.
[A deep groan heard within of the Countess dying.
Mourn, proud ladies.
Lady Beatrix
speaking behind.
Strike, butcher, strike; and mix my blood with theirs.
Chancellor,
aloud to the Executioner.
Fly to the wall and shew their bleeding heads;
And tell the peers, They come too late to save them.
Enter Officer.
How blest is virtue's end! How wretch'd the slaves
Of tyrants, doom'd to execute their cruelties!
Chancellor.
Are my commands fulfill'd?
Officer.
Alas! too fully.
Now headless lie, the loveliest, bravest pair
That ever eyes beheld. The fainting mother,
Rous'd by the blow which ended noble Douglas,
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And tow'rd her, reeking flow'd their mingled blood;
At which she with a heavy groan expir'd.
Wild with her grief, the beauteous sister ey'd
Her mother's corps; and then the bleeding trunks,
And heads of her dear brothers; last her eye
Points on the bloody block; on which he flew.—
“Sacred to honour'd deeds, on thee I'll die.—
Strike, butcher, strike; and mix my blood with theirs;”
She said; and stretch'd her stately snowy neck.
When none would strike, she rose, and fixt her view
Upon the mournful ruins: now she lifts
Her eyes to heav'n, then wrings her snowy hands,
Beats her soft breast; next stands as struck with thunder
In silent majesty of mighty grief.
Chancellor.
Now let her scorn my son. Her pride is humbled.
Enter the King.
Durst thou confine me to mine own apartments,
Till those I love were murder'd? I'll have vengeance.
[Exit hastily.
Chancellor.
I love to keep your Majesty from danger.
Enter Livingston.
Ten thousand curses blast thee; for my son
And brother, thy vile treach'ries have murder'd.
When dropping gore, yet warm, the peers beheld
The heads of Douglas' sons, they gave the word:
I saw my first-born's blood flow reeking round.
Chancellor
aside.
My keen revenge cuts with a double edge;
First Douglas' house; then Livingston's comes down.
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Behold the genuine letters Douglas wrote;
These hadst thou sent—
Chancellor.
These! say whence hadst thou these?
Livingston.
Just as I reach'd the gate, thy son was ent'ring;
And that same fatal moment on the wall
Appear'd the murder'd heads. He wildly star'd.
Behold by these, how thou hast been abus'd:
These are the letters wrote by gen'rous Douglas.
He said; and out upon his rival salli'd.
To me, he cry'd, thy Cousins owe their death;
I bore the odious forg'ries which destroy'd them.
Then with his sword upon him rush'd; but turn'd
Its point aside, and all his foe's receiv'd:
Thanks for my cure, he said; life's a disease
Surviving honour: mine expir'd with Douglas.
But, Ah, my sire much time needs to repent!
Gen'rous in height of wrath, the peers command
To bear him hither, that, from insults free,
He may in peace expire, and rest unharm'd.
Chancellor.
O heavy news! thus am I doubly damn'd,
And wholly lose the price of my damnation!
Marking the way with his dear blood he comes!
Would my heart's blood restore him, it should flow!
O can the world afford thee no relief?
Crichton.
No: none to me; who ignorant assisting
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Have courted death to hide me from dishonour.—
Repent, and yet find pardon.—Mercy, Heav'n.—
[Dies.
Chancellor.
He dies! and what a tender look he fixt
On my accursed face! I have destroy'd him.
He's nothing, who was all the world to me;—
Yea, priz'd o'er heav'n, and all that it contains.—
What I regarded now, cannot avail him.
All pleasure here is gone with him; from virtue
I sought no support: from insulted heav'n,
No comfort hope; and hell hath none to give me;
But mocks my folly, and derides my woes.—
This was my choice, and now complaints are vain.
Enter Lady Beatrix.
Justice, though often slow, yet ever sure,
Hath reach'd you, traitors! in your guarded fortress.
Behold her just awards! Your kindred die
For mine; a mean revenge. Your troops have op'd
The gates, and see the nobles come for vengeance.
Enter Sir William Douglas, his sword dyed in blood, with numbers of the Nobles attending, with their swords in their hands.
Sir William Douglas.
Ye murd'rers! draw your swords. Ye stare, and dare not.
'Twould stain my sword to do the hangman's office.
[To the Chancellor.
This sword reeks with thy blood:—thy dearest blood.
Death he deserves not; but thy cruel treacheries
Have pierc'd his breast thus far. You may look dismal.
Bind them, till justice shall requite their crimes.
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Success in ill, is heav'n's severest curse:
For, when the wicked highest swell in pride;
Th'Almighty rising, on the adverse side,
Extends his arm resistless; and the blow
In thunder falls, crushing the blasted foe.
But divine virtue, tho' on all sides prest,
Is never wretched, howsoe'er distrest;
Supported from on high, she keeps the field;
And scorns to pleasure or to pain to yield;
Slight hopes and fears that hang on feeble breath,
Grows strong by suff'ring; and triumphs o'er death.
Exeunt Omnes.
| Earl Douglas ; Or, Generosity Betray'd | |