University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

King, Queen, Dunbar.
Queen.
O! this was more than the ill-sorted Train
Of undetermin'd Fancy!—This convey'd
No loose imperfect Images: But all
Was dreadfully distinct! as if the Hand
Of Fate had wrought it.—Profit by those Signs—
Your guardian Angel dictates.—O my Prince!
Let not your blind Security disgrace
The Merit of your Prudence.

King.
No, my Queen,
Let us avoid the opposite Extremes
Of Negligence supine, and prostrate Fear.—
Already hath our Vigilance perform'd
What Caution justifies: And for thy Dream;
As such consider it.—The vain Effect
Of an Imagination long disturb'd.—
Life with substantial Ills, enough is curs'd:
Why should we then, with frantic Zeal, pursue
Unreal Care; and with th'illusive Form
Which our own teeming Brain produc'd, affright
Our Reason from her Throne?

Queen.
In all your Course
Of youthful Glory, when the guiding Hand
Of warlike Henry led you to the Field;
When my Soul suffer'd the successive Pangs
Of fond Impatience and repressive Fear:
When ev'ry reeking Messenger from France,
Wreath'd a new Garland for Albania's Prince,
And shook my Bosom with the dreadful Tale
That spoke your Praise; say, did my weak Despair
Recal you from the Race?—Did not my Heart
Espouse your Fame, and patiently await
The End of your Career?—O! by the Joys
I felt at your Return, when smiling Love
Secure, with Rapture reign'd.—O! by these Tears,
Which seldom plead; indulge my boding Soul!
Arrouse your conqu'ring Troops; let Angus guard
The Convent with a chosen Band.—The Soul
Of Treason is abroad!—

King.
Ye ruling Powers!
Let me not wield the Sceptre of this Realm,
When my degen'rate Breast becomes the Haunt
Of haggard Fear.—O! what a Wretch is he,
Whose fev'rous Life devoted to the gloom
Of Superstition, feels th'incessant Throb
Of ghastly Pannic!—In whose startled Ear
The Knell still deepens, and the Raven croaks!

Queen.
Vain be my Terrors—my Presages vain—
Yet with my fond Anxiety comply,
And my Repose restore!—Not for myself—
Not to prolong the Season of my Life,
Am I thus suppliant.—Ah no! for you—
For you whose Being gladdens and protects
A grateful People.—You, whose parent Boughs
Defends your tender Offspring from the Blasts
That soon would tear them up!—For you, the Source
Of all our Happiness and Peace, I fear!

[Kneels.
King.
Arise, my Queen—O! thou art all compos'd
Of melting Piety and tender Love!
Thou shalt be satisfy'd.—Is ev'ry Guard
By Angus visited?—

Dunbar.
Ev'n now, my Liege,
With Ramsay and his Troop, he scours the Plain.

King.
Still watchful o'er his Charge.—The lib'ral Hand
Of Bounty will have nothing to bestow,
'Ere Angus cease to merit!—Say, Dunbar,
Who rules the nightly Watch?

Dunbar.
To Cattan's Care
The City Guard is subject.

King.
I have mark'd.
Much Valour in him.—Hie thee to him, Youth,
And bid him with a chosen few, surround
The Cloisters of the Convent; and remain
'Till Morn full streaming shall relieve his Watch.
[Exit Dunbar.
Thus shall Repose, with glad Assurance, waft
Its balmy Blessing to thy troubled Breast.

[Exeunt.