University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Room off the Parliament House in Edinburgh.
Livingston
solus.
The Chancellor and I, once more are friends—
Can friendship stand which is not built on virtue?
No: say the moralists—then ours must fall;
The mutual trust, the corresponding passions,
Requir'd in friendship, center not in us.
He cannot bear a rival—I disdain
The thought of parity in place or pow'r.
Such are our views—Our factions nearly equal,
Divide the State—should Douglas join with either,
His weight would in a moment turn the scale.
He loves not me—To guard against the worst,
I think, the gravest casuist must allow
A just precaution—How the world mistakes!
To its misjudging eye the great seem happy:
What numbers envy me, and vainly think,
The place I hold would make them amply so—
They know thee not Ambition!—to indulge
Is but to whet thine appetite the more—
Happy the humble swain! who views his fields
With verdure clad; who sees his flocks encrease:
His children rise to ease the load of life;
And only hopes for daily bread and peace.
The day in healthful exercise employ'd,
Adds charms to night; an undisturb'd repose
Refits him for the labours of to-morrow;
Refresh'd he rises with the early dawn,
And to his wonted labour chearly goes;
Th'encreasing light, the sun's enliv'ning ray,
Inspire his soul with gratitude and joy;
Happy, if the long labours of the year,
Supply the small demands that nature makes!—
How blest is such a state compar'd to mine!—
Why did the States confer these trusts on men,
Whose equal thirst for rule makes them unfit
To act in concert?—Could they see our hearts?—
Why rather did we then, why still assume
Of Virtue and Humility the semblance?—
All would be happy—That's the general aim
Of ev'ry action, and of each resolve—
O that my eye could pierce the cloud that hangs
With low'ring aspect on my future days!—
If in the book of fate success be wrote,
To see the page would be the balm of life;
Evil fore-seen, fore-known, were good, compar'd
To that which preys upon the anxious mind—
I've heard much of a woman, old and wife,
For knowledge of the future greatly fam'd—
Suppose I sent for her—no: 'twere a meanness,
And known, would lay me open to reproach—
Suppose, I like a servant went disguis'd—
Still that were mean—'twere folly, shameful weakness!
I'll think of it no more!—The Chancellor comes!—