University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Stuart.
This Solitude but more foments Despair!
Recals—compares—and to th'incessant Pangs
Of Spite, Revenge, and Shame condemns my Soul!—
O! what a miserable Slave am I!—
Precipitated from the tow'ring Hope
Of eagle-ey'd Ambition, to th'Abyss
Of mutt'ring Horror, curs'd from Thought to Thought!
—Hah Jealousy!—I feel th'infernal Power!
Her hissing Snakes arrouse—her Torch inflames
My madd'ning Soul!—Yes,—if he thus permits
My Feet to range at will; my 'vengeful Hand
Will soon requite him.—
[Enter Grime.

SCENE II.

Stuart, Grime.
Grime.
Wherefore thus alone?
Thy noble Kinsman, who now parted hence,
Observes a sullen Cloud o'erhang thy Brow.—
Since from the Dungeon to his Wish restor'd,
A mute Aversion to his Love, secludes
Thy lonely Steps—

Stuart.
Yes,—thou thyself hast nam'd
The Cause accurs'd!—ha, from the Dungeon freed!—
And freed by whom!—there's Poison in the Thought!
—Am I not Hostage of my Uncle's Shame?—

Grime.
Thou dwell'st on that too much.—Few live exempt
From Disappointment and Disgrace, who run
Ambition's rapid Course.—Inur'd to Pain,
The hard'ned Soul, at last, forgets to feel
The Scourge of Fate; and fearless, rushes on
To Deeds advent'rous.—

Stuart.
Who shall frame th'Attempt
That Stuart dreads t'atchieve?—not Pestilence
Not raging Seas, nor livid Flames can bound
My dauntless Undertaking!—Tell me, Grime,
For thou wast train'd to Feats of horrid Proof,
Since, not the Voice of Heav'n itself, can lure
My Honour back again;—what Pow'r of Hell
Shall I invoke to deepen my Revenge?—

Grime.
Ha! Did'st thou say, Revenge?—Hail, sable Pow'r,
To me more dear than Riches or Renown!
What gloomy Joy, to drench the Dagger deep
In the proud Heart of him who robb'd my Fame!
My Fortune thwarted; or essay'd by Fraud
To poison my Delights!—

Stuart.
Ha! thou hast rous'd
The Scorpion-Thought that stings me!—
—Mark me, Grime,—
Our baffled Cause could not alarm me thus:
If Conquest for the Foe declar'd to Day;
Our Arms again the Vagrant might compel,
And chain her to our Side.—But know, my Love
Has been defrauded!—Eleonora's Heart
That Wretch invades.—That Ravisher, who cropt
My budding Fame and sunk me to Reproach!
He, whom my Jealousy, in all its Rage,
Hath singled for Destruction!—

Grime.
He shall die!—

Stuart.
Yes, he shall die!—He shall be flea'd—impal'd!
And his torn Bowels thrown to Beasts of Prey!—
My savage Hate shall on his Tortures feed!
I will have Vengeance!

Grime.
Would'st thou have it full,
Include his Patrons.—

Stuart.
Ha!—What—shall my Arm
Unsheath the secret Steel!

Grime.
Yes.—Strike at once,
For Liberty, Ambition and Revenge.—
Let the proud Tyrant yield his haughty Soul:
And all his Offspring swell the sanguine Stream.
Let Angus perish too.—

Stuart.
O wond'rous Plan
Of unrestrain'd Barbarity!—It suits
The Horrors of my Bosom!—All!—What all?
In slaughter'd Heaps.—The Progeny and Sire!—
To sluice them in th'unguarded Hour of Rest!—
Infernal Sacrifice!—dire—ev'n too dire
For my Despair!—To me what have they done
To merit such Returns?—No, my Revenge
Demands the Blood of one, and he shall fall.—

Grime.
It shall suffice—Dunbar shall bleed alone.—
But let us seize him on the Verge of Bliss;
When the fond Maid's enkind'ling Looks confess
The Flames of bashful Love: When eager Joy,
And modest Fear, by Turns exalt the Blush
To a more fervid Glow.—When Eleonora
Unfolds Elysium to his raptur'd View,
And smiles him to her Arms.—

Stuart.
Hah!—Light'ning scorch
Thy Tongue, Blasphemer!—Sooner may this Globe
Be hurl'd to the profound Abyss of Hell!—
But vain are Words.—This is no Place—remember,
He shall not triumph thus!—Thou hast bely'd him—
He means it not.—Nor will the Syren smile—
No, Grime,—she dares not smile him to her Arms!

Grime.
Reproach, or mute Disgust, is the Reward
Of candid Friendship, that disdains to hide
Unpalatable Truth!—I tell thee, Youth,
Betroth'd by Angus to Dunbar, she yields
Her plighted Faith, this Hour.—But see!—the Maid
Moves hitherward alone!—

Stuart.
Haste,—leave me, Grime!
My soul is up in Arms!—my Vengeance boils!
Love, Jealousy, implacable Despair
In Tempests wheel.—

Grime.
Thou shalt not tarry here!—
Thy frantic Rage may rashly overturn
Our whole Design!—

Stuart.
Let me not urge again
Thy swift Departure!—hence—I come anon.—

[Exit Grime.

SCENE III.

Stuart, Eleonora,
Stuart.
When last we parted, Love had reconcil'd
Our mutual Jealousies; and breath'd anew
The Soul of Harmony within our Breasts.—
Hast thou not, since that Period, entertain'd
One adverse Thought to Constancy and me?

Eleonora.
Say, who invested thee with Pow'r supreme
O'er Eleonora's Conduct; that thou com'st
With frowning Aspect, thus, to judge my Fame?—
Hast thou not forfeited all Claim to me?
Have I not seen thee stray from Honour's Path?
And shall my Love be to the Breast confin'd,
Where Treason in her darkest Hue presides!—
No!—let me wipe thee, blotted as thou art,
From my abhorrent Thoughts!—

Stuart.
Not all this Pride
Of mimic Virtue—not th'assembled Host
Of female Wiles, how exquisite soe'er,
Shall shelter thee, Deceiver!—What new Stain
Defiles my Bosom, since the Morning saw
Thy Tenderness o'erflow; and heard thy Tongue
Seduce me to thy faithless Arms, again?

Eleonora.
Is this the Testimony of thy Love?
This thy asserted Honour! to revile
Defenceless Innocence?—But this will aid
My Duty, to forget thee.—Do'st thou ask
What recent Outrage has estrang'd my Heart?—
There needed none.—The Measure of thy Guilt
Was full enough before.—Yet thou hast heap'd
Offences to Excess: In Battle fought
Against thy King; and sought, with lifted Arm,
My Father's Life—ungrateful as thou art!
Know then, the Honour of my Name forbids
Our Fates to join; and it shall ne'er be said,
That Eleonora, lost to Glory, took
A Traitor to her Bed!—

Stuart.
Perfidious Witch!
Thy Charms shall not avail thee; for I come
Th'avenging Minister of broken Faith!
To claim the promis'd Fruitage of my Love—
Or—mark me—punish, with thy guilty Blood,
Thy Perjury and Fraud!—

Eleonora.
Wilt thou attempt
To gain by Menaces, what the soft Sigh
Of plaintive Anguish, would implore in vain?
Here strike—and let thy ruthless Poignard drink
The Blood of Douglas, which has often flow'd
In Virtue's Cause; and ev'ry Soil enrich'd,
From wintry Scania to the sacred Vale
Where Lebanon exalts his lofty Brow.—

Stuart.
Egregious Sorc'ress!—give me back my Peace—
Bid Yesterday return, that saw my Youth
Adorn'd in all its Splendor, and elate
With gen'rous Pride and Dignity of Soul!—
Ere yet thy Spells had discompos'd my Brain,
Unstrung my Arm, and laid me in the Dust,
Beneath a Rival's Feet!—

Eleonora.
Hear all ye Powers!
He claims of me, what his own conscious Guilt
Hath robb'd him of.—And do'st thou look for Peace
In my afflicted Bosom?—There, indeed,
Thine Image dwells with Solitude and Care,
Amid the Devastation thou hast made!

[Weeps.
Stuart.
O Crocodile!—Curse on these faithless Drops
Which fall, but to ensnare!—Thy specious Words
Shall sooner lull the sounding Surge, than check
The Fury that impels me!—Yet—by Heav'n,
Thou art divinely fair! and thy Distress
With magic Softness ev'ry Charm improves!—
Wer't thou not false as Hell, not Paradise
Could more Perfection boast!—O! let me turn
My fainting Eyes from thy resistless Face;
And from my Sense exclude the soothing Sound
Of thy inchanting Tongue!—Yet—yet renounce
Thine Infidelity—To thine Embrace
Receive this Wanderer—this Wretch forlorn!—
Speak Peace to his distracted Soul; and ease
The Tortures of his Bosom!—

Eleonora.
Hapless Youth!
My Heart bleeds for thee!—careless of her own,
Bleeds o'er thy Sorrows!—'mid the flinty Rocks
My tender Feet would tread, to bring thee Balm:
Or, unrepining, tempt the pathless Snow!—
O! could my Death recall thy banish'd Quiet!
Here would I kneel, a Suppliant to Heav'n,
In thy Behalf; and offer to the Grave
The Price of thy Repose!—Alas! I fear
Our Days of Pleasure are for ever past!

Stuart.
O thou hast Joy and Horror in thy Gift!
And sway'st my Soul at Will!—bless'd in thy Love,
The Memory of Sorrow and Disgrace,
That preys upon my Youth, would soon forsake
My raptur'd Thought, and Hell should plot in vain,
To sever us again!—O! let me clasp thee,
Thou Charm ineffable!

Eleonora.
Forbear, fond Youth,
Our unrelenting Destiny hath rais'd
Eternal Bars between us!

Stuart.
Ha!—what Bars?

Eleonora.
A Sacrifice demanded by my Sire—
A Vow—

Stuart.
Perdition!—Say what Vow, rash Maid!

Eleonora.
A fatal Vow! that blasts our mutual Love—

Stuart.
Infernal Vipers gnaw thy Heart!—A Vow!—
A Vow that to my Rival gives thee up!—
Shall he then trample on my Soul at last.—
Mock my Revenge and laugh at my Despair!
Ha!—shall he rifle all thy Sweets, at Will,
And riot in the Transports due to me?
Th'accursed Image whirls around my Brain!—
He pants with Rapture!—Horror to my Soul!
He surfeits on Delight!—

Eleonora.
O gentle Heav'n!
Let thy soft Mercy on his Soul descend
In Dews of Peace!—Why roll with fiery Gleam
Thy starting Eye-Balls?—Why on thy pale Cheek
Trembles fell Rage!—and why sustains thy Frame
This universal Shock?—Is it, alas!
That I have sworn, I never will be thine?—
True, this I swore—

Stuart.
Hah!—never to be mine!
Th'awaken'd Hurricane begins to rage!—
Be Witness, Heav'n, and Earth, and Hell! she means
To glad the Bosom of my Foe!—Come then
Infernal Vengeance! aid me to perform
A Deed that Fiends themselves will weep to see!
[Draws.
Thus, let me blast his full-bloom'd—

Enter Dunbar, who interposes.

SCENE IV.

Dunbar, Stuart, Eleonora.
Dunbar.
Ruffian, hold
Thy desp'rate Hand!—What Fury 'scap'd from Hell,
Inspires thy Rage to wanton in the Blood
Of such excelling Goodness?—

Stuart.
Infamy
Like mine, deface the Glories of thy Name!
What busy Dæmon sent thee hither, now,
My Vengeance to defeat?—The Hour is come—
The Hour is come at last, that must decide
For ever our Pretensions!

Dunbar.
Whatsoe'er
Thy Hate could meditate against my Life,
My Nature might forgive: But this Attempt
Divests my Soul of Mercy—

Stuart.
Guide my Point
Ye Pow'rs of Darkness, to my Rival's Heart,
Then take me to yourselves.

[They fight.
Eleonora.
Restrain—restrain
Your mutual Frenzy!—Horror!—help—behold—
Behold this miserable Bosom!—plunge
Your Poignards here; and in its fatal Source
Your Enmity assuage!—

Stuart
falling.
It will not be—
Thy Fortune hath eclips'd me: And the Shades
Of Death environ me.—Yet, what is Death
When Honour brings it, but th'eternal Seal
Of Glory, never—never to be broke!—
O thou hast slain me in a dreadful Hour!
My Vengeance frustrated—my Prospect curs'd
With thy approaching Nuptials! and my Soul
Dismiss'd in all her—Eleonora!—Oh!

[Dies.

SCENE V.

Dunbar, Eleonora.
Dunbar.
Ah! wherefore dost thou wring thy tender Hands
In woeful Attitude?—ah! wherefore lift
Thy streaming Eyes to Heav'n; while the deep Groan
Dilates thy lab'ring Breast?

Eleonora.
This is too much—
This is too much to bear!—thou hast destroy'd
My last Remains of Peace!

Dunbar.
And, was thy Peace
Deposited in him?—In him who rais'd
His impious Hand to kill thee!—Is it well
To mourn his Fall, and thus accuse the Blow
That rescu'd thee from Death?

Eleonora.
I blame not thee,
No, Heav'n forbid!—I blame not my Protector—
Yet thy Protection has undone me quite!
And I will mourn—for ever mourn the Hour—
Th'ill-omen'd Hour, that on thy Sword conferr'd
Such terrible Success—How pale appear
These clay-cold Cheeks where Grace and Vigour glow'd!
O dismal Spectacle!—How humble now
Lies that Ambition which was late so proud!—
Did he not call me with his latest Breath!—
He would have said—but cruel Fate controul'd
His fault'ring Tongue!—He would have said, “For thee,
“For thee false Maid, I perish undeplor'd!”
O! had'st thou known how obstinately true
My Heart remained to thee, when thy own Guilt,
My Duty, and thy Rival's Worth, conspir'd
To banish thee from thence; thy parting Soul
Would have acquitted—nay, perhaps, bewail'd
My persecuted Truth!

Dunbar.
O turn thine Eyes
From the sad Object!—Turn thy melting Thoughts
From the disastrous Theme, and look on me—
On me who would with Exstasy resign
This wretched Being, to be thus embalm'd
With Eleonora's Tears!—Were I to fall,
Thy Pity would not thus lament my Fate!

Eleonora.
Thy Death, such Lamentation would not move,
More envy'd than bemoan'd;—thy Memory
Would still be cherish'd, and thy Name survive
To latest Ages, in immortal Bloom.—
Ah, 'tis not so with him!—He leaves behind
No dear Remembrance of unsully'd Fame!
No Monument of Glory, to defy
The Storms of Time!—Nought but Reproach and Shame!
Nought, but perpetual Slander, brooding o'er
His Reputation lost!—O fearful Scene
Of dire Existence, that must never close!

SCENE VI.

Angus entring, Eleonora, Dunbar, Attendants.
Angus.
What Sound of femal Woe—Ha! Stuart slain!
Alas! I fear thou art the fatal Cause!

[To Eleonora.
Eleonora.
Too well my Father has divin'd the Cause
Of their unhappy Strife!—Wherefore, ye Powers!
Am I to Misery deliver'd up!
What kindred Crime (alas!) am I decreed
To expiate, that Misfortunes fall so thick
On my poor Head!

Angus
to Dunbar.
How durst your lawless Rage
Profane this sacred Place with private Brawl!

Dunbar.
By Heav'n! no Place how much soe'er rever'd,
Shall screen th'Assassin who, like him, would aim
The murd'rous Steel at Eleonora's Breast!

Angus.
Ha!—were his Aims so merciless?—Too just
The Vengeance that o'ertook him!—But th'Event
With this unstable Juncture ill accords!—
Remove the Body.—Thou meanwhile retire,
Thy Presence may awake, or aggravate
The Rage of Athol.

[The Body is removed.
Dunbar.
Therefore I obey.—
And O thou lovely Mourner! who now droop'st
Like the spread Rose beneath th'inclement Shower,
When next we meet, I hope to see thee bloom
With vernal Freshness, and again unfold
Thy Beauties to the Sun!
[Exit Dunbar.

SCENE VII.

Angus, Eleonora.
Angus.
Let us, my Child,
Lament with Steadiness, those Ills that flow
From our Mishap: Yet therefore not ascribe
To self Demerit, impotently griev'd,
The Guilt of Accident.—Thou hast enough
Denoted thy Concern.—Let me not think,
Thy Sorrow hath espoused a Traitor's Cause.

Eleonora.
Ah! what avails to me, the hard won Palm
Of fruitless Virtue?—Will it lull to Rest
Internal Anguish!—Will it yield me Peace?—

Angus.
Thy indiscreet Affliction, shall not plead
Against thee, with me, now.—Remember this,
If thou art weak enough to harbour still
A guilty Flame; to thy Assistance call
That noble Pride and Dignity of Scorn,
Which warms, exalts and purifies the Soul.—
But I will trust thee to thyself.—Withdraw;
For Athol comes, and on his Visage lours
A Storm of Wrath.

[Exit Eleonora.

SCENE VIII.

Angus, Athol.
Athol.
Are these the fair Effects
Of our Submission!—These, the promis'd Fruits
Of Amity restor'd!—To violate
The Laws of Hospitality—To guide
The midnight Murderer's inhuman Blow,
And sacrifice your Guests!

Angus.
That Athol mourns
This unforeseen Severity of Fate,
I marvel not.—My own paternal Sense
Is wak'd by Sympathy; and I condole
His interesting Loss.—But thus to tax
Our blameless Faith with traiterous Design,
Not with our pure Integrity conforms,
Nor with thy Duty, Thane.

Athol.
Ha!—who art thou,
That I should bear thy Censure and Reproof?—
Not Protestation, nor th'affected Air
Of Sympathy and Candour, shall amuse
My strong Conception, nor elude the Cry
Of Justice and Revenge!

Angus.
Had Justice crav'd
With rigid Voice, the Debt incurr'd by thee,
How had'st thou far'd?—Say, what has plac'd thy Deeds
Above my Censure?—Let this Day's Event
Proclaim how far I merit thy Disdain.—
That my Humanity is misconceived
Not much alarms my Wonder: Conscious Fraud
Still harbours with Suspicion.—Let me tell thee—
The Fate of Stuart was supremely just.
Th'untimely Stroke his savage Heart prepar'd
Against the guiltless Breast of Eleonora,
Avenging Heav'n retorted on himself.

Athol.
I thought where all thy Probity would end,
Disguis'd Accomplice!—But remember, Lord,
Should this blood-spotted Bravo 'scape, secure
In thy Protection, or th'unjust Extent
Of regal Pow'r; by all my Wrongs! I'll spread
Th'Seeds of Vengeance o'er th'affrighted Land,
And Blood shall answer Blood!

Angus.
How far thy Threats
Are to be fear'd, we know.—But see, the King!—

SCENE IX.

King, Angus, Athol.
King.
Tell me—proud Thanes, why are ye found oppos'd
In loud Revilings?—You, that should promote
By fair Example, Unity and Peace!

Athol.
Have I not Cause to murmur and complain?
Stuart, the latest Gift and dearest Pledge
Of Love fraternal, sooth'd my bending Age:
Him hath the unrelenting Dagger torn
From my parental Arms; and left (alas!)
This sapless Trunk, to stretch its wither'd Boughs
To you for Justice!—Justice then I crave.

King.
To send the injur'd unredress'd away,
How great soe'er the Offender, or the Wrong'd
Howe'er obscure, is wicked—weak and vile:
Degrades, defiles and should dethrone a King!
Say freely, Thane, who has aggriev'd thee thus,
And were he dear as her who shares our Throne,
Thou shalt have ample Vengeance.

Athol.
Then I charge
The Son of March with Perfidy and Murder.

Angus.
Were I with mean Indifference to hear
Th'envenom'd Tongue of Calumny traduce
Defenceless Worth, I should but ill deserve
Your royal Confidence.—Dunbar has slain
The Kinsman of this Thane; yet fell he not
By Murder, Cowardice, or foul Design.
The Sword of Stuart was already drawn
To sacrifice my Daughter, when Dunbar,
By Heav'n directed hither, interpos'd,
Redeem'd the trembling Victim, and repell'd
His Rival's Fury on his hapless Head.

Athol.
Must I refer me to the partial Voice
Of an invet'rate Foe?—No, I reject
The tainted Evidence, and rather claim
The Combat Proof—Enfeebled are my Limbs
With Age that creeps along my Nerves unstrung,
Yet shall the Justice of my Cause recal
My youthful Vigour, rouse my loit'ring Blood,
Swell ev'ry Sinew, strengthen ev'ry Limb,
And crown me with Success—Behold my Gage—
I wait for Justice.

King.
Justice shalt thou have—
Nor shall an equitable Claim depend
On such precarious Issue.—Who shall guard
The Weak from Violence, if brutal Force
May vindicate Oppression.—Truth alone
Shall rule the fair Decision, and thy Wrongs,
If thou art wrong'd, in my unbyass'd Sway
Shall find a just Avenger.—Let Dunbar
Appear when urg'd, and Answer to the Charge.

[To Angus.
[Exeunt King, Angus.

SCENE X.

Athol, Grime.
Athol.
Curse on the smooth Dissembler!—Welcome Grime.
My Soul is wrought to the sublimest Rage
Of horrible Revenge!—If aught remain'd
Of cautious Scruple, to the scatt'ring Winds
I give the Phantome.—May this Carcase rot,
A loathsome Banquet to the Fowls of Heav'n,
If e'er my Breast admit one Thought to bound
The Progress of my Hate!

Grime.
What means my Prince?

Athol.
Th'unhappy Youth is slain!

Grime.
Ha!—Hell be prais'd—
He was a peevish Stripling, prone to Change.
[Aside
—Vain is Condolance.—Let our Swords be swift
To sate his hov'ring Shade.—I have conferr'd
With trusty Cattan, our Design explain'd,
And his full Aid secur'd—To Night, he rules
The middle Watch.—The Clans already move
In Silence o'er the Plain.

Athol.
Come then ye Powers
That dwell with Night, and patronize Revenge!
Attend our Invocation, and confirm
Th'exterminating Blow!—My Boughs are lopt,
But they will sprout again: My vig'rous Trunk
Shall flourish from the Wound my Foes have made,
And yet again, project an awful Shade.