University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Crichton-Castle.
Lenox, Fleming.
Lenox.
I like it not sir Malcom—ten to one,
These over-courtesies are only meant
To hide a hollow heart.

Fleming.
The generous youth
Unpractis'd in deceit, receives as gold,
Th'adult'rate coin they spread before his eyes.
And much I doubt, our joint attemps will fail,
To save him from the snare we justly dread.

Lenox.
We must endeavour it, whate'er the issue,
We cannot, must not, see him blindly run
In such a dangerous path—Admit we fail,
Our conscience will acquit us. I have mark'd
The countenance of the Chancellor, and can see
He loves him not—Scarce has an hour elaps'd
Since we were here, but messengers have past
From hence to town—Some dark design's in view,
May heav'n dissappoint it!

Fleming.
Have you mark'd,
With what assiduous care he tends my Lord?

Lenox.
I have. In ev'ry different point of view
The danger heightens, and my doubts encrease.
'Tis true their honour, and the publick faith,
Are both engag'd; but what are these to men,
Who practis'd in deceit, can coolly act,
As faith and virtue were but empty names;
Religion, but a bug-bear of the State,
To frighten fools, and keep the world in awe.
Oaths or engagements cannot bind the man,
Of pow'r possest, who holds religion cheap.

Fleming.
The observation's just. Tho' laws are made
The vicious to restrain, the good alone,
Regard them in their moral view, and yield
Obedience, where they safely might transgress.
Yonder he comes—The Chancellor with him still!
Let us retire to think upon the means,
That prudence my suggest to 'scape the snare.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Crichton, Douglas.
Crichton.
Indeed my Lord, you set an overvalue
On this poor instance of our just respect.

Douglas.
The States, my Lord, by this their act have shown—

Crichton.
No compliments!—What could the States do less?
The great, my Lord, have always been abus'd,
By sanguine tempers and licentious tongues;
Such, with a wicked pleasure, watch their steps,
Abroad, at home, not privity can screen
From the malignant glance of envy's eye.
In popular assemblies still we find
Weak men, who sway'd by vulgar prejudice,
Can swallow ev'ry tale by malice whisper'd,
To hurt them, in the publick estimation.
Such think not for themselves, but blindly plunge
Into the stream of error; those who see,
And know their danger, should in pity lend
Their hand, to help them out—We did no more.

Douglas.
My Lord, your conduct is an ample proof,
That you adopt this generous sentiment.

Crichton.
My Lord, your servant!—Flatt'ry is a vice
My soul detests: yet give me leave to say,
The house of Douglas merits the respect
The States have shown it.

Douglas.
If it shall appear,
That I, or mine, by accident have wrong'd
The meanest subject in his right, or giv'n
Protection to the miscreant who did;
An ample satisfaction shall be made.
I reverence the laws: let him stand forth
Who says I wrong'd him; humbly I'll reply,
Conscious that justice will decide between us,
And give to each his due. While heav'n permits
My heart to beat, I firmly mean to act
To others, as I wish they would to me.
The honour of my country, and my King,
Shall, like a precious jewel, always hang
Next to my heart, and to my soul be dear.

Crichton.
Such noble sentiments confirm the hopes
Your character inspir'd. While thus you act,
The Sov'reign's just respect, the subjects love,
And what exceeds them both, a heart approv'd,
Will be the happy issue; this, my Lord,
Is an ambition worthy of your birth.
My lord the Regent, much your friend my Lord,
And I, had waited of you long ere now,
But that we were advis'd great art was us'd,
To make you look upon us as your foes.

Douglas.
I must confess, that some about me strove
To keep us still assunder, and to give
Impressions, which I could not think were just.

Crichton.
It cannot be deny'd, your noble father
Upon the justest grounds was discontent:
He saw the first, the most distinguish'd trusts,
Conferr'd on men in all respects below him;
Himself neglected, tho' his rank, his parts,
His virtue and experience gave a title,
Which factious envy only could dispute.
The States, my Lord, whate'er their motive was,
Conferr'd those offices on us, unask'd.
Perhaps as they put by my Lord of Douglas,
The more to shew their pow'r, thy fix'd on men,
Whose humble views could never have aspir'd
To such distinguish'd rank, and sacred trust.
The never-ceasing toils, the restless nights,
Which statesmen must put up with, were they known,
Would melt the heart of envy into pity.
A temporary pow'r, a local title,
Too dear are purchas'd! Would that I had spurn'd
The shining baubles, and liv'd retir'd, in peace.

Douglas.
The offices you bear, are so essential
To order, to the publick-good, that some
Must needs have bore them. Providence hath mix'd
In human life the bitter with the sweet:
My Lord, I mean not, that a sounding title,
Appointments and precedence are rewards,
Proportion'd to the weighty cares of State,
These, tho' the food of envy, cannot charm
A generous spirit, conscious of its worth.
To stay the proud oppressor's hand; to raise
Declining virtue; to preserve the State
From foreign bondage, and intestine broils;
To chear the orphan, and make glad the heart
Of humble poverty; are acts of pow'r,
Which shed a pleasing influence on the soul.

Crichton.
I grant they are. But where's the man can promise,
A happy issue to the best designs?
A thousand accidents may intervene,
To render his attempts to serve the State
Abortive, and himself the game of fools.
I say not this, with an intent to check
That strong propensity to serve the publick,
For which your house hath ever been distinguish'd.
How base were that!—It is a generous flame
Which warms the patriot's breast: his ample heart,
Expanded wide, in holy union holds
The happiness of myriads yet unborn,
Connected with his own.

Douglas.
As yet, my Lord,
The cool experience, the superior skill,
Th'extensive knowledge both of men and things,
Requir'd to fit a man for publick life,
Are not in me. Long may the State be serv'd,
By men whose parts are equal to their trust.

Crichton.
A modest diffidence hath ever been
The sign of genuine worth: in youth it charms,
Nor less delights in age. Experience adds
A weight to counsel, and a grace to virtue;
Thus far it may, but years can never give,
What nature has deny'd—Your friend my Lord.
[Exit Crichton.

SCENE III.

Fleming, Douglas.
Fleming.
My Lord, the time permits not long discourse,
Nor formal introduction; there's a snare
Spread for your life or freedom; to proceed
Upon this journey I aver unsafe.

Douglas.
By whom sir Malcom!—Circumstances strong,
Must guide your judgment ere you thus could speak.

Fleming.
The Chancellor is not your friend: his eye
Speaks plainly out the rancour of his heart.
The eye's allow'd the index of the soul,
And often shews the wicked heart within.
His strain'd respect and complaisance, are meant
But to deceive. Express upon express
Have been dispatch'd, since ever you were here—

Douglas.
Are these the circumstances whence you draw
Conclusions so remote? Iv'e heard that lovers
Construe the meaning of their mistress's eyes,
As vanity suggests. 'Tis strange my friend!
Your reason does not check such idle fears;
Expresses pass to town—And may they not,
On many just occasions, which to us
Bear no relation? Must the wheels of State
Stand still in compliment, till I am gone?

Fleming.
The Chancellor has watch'd you like a child,
Since you arriv'd; been with you still by day;
Seen you to bed; set spies upon us all—

Douglas.
What dreams are these!—

Fleming.
For heaven's sake my Lord!—

Douglas.
Were any that belong to me deny'd
Access to speak their mind? Could he divine
Civility would thus be deem'd deceit,
Respect, a cover to such black designs?
And complaisance a crime? I blush to think
His hospitality is thus requited.
Too oft it is the fate of men of rank,
To have about them those who blow the coals
Of discord, and rekindle antient feuds.
No doubt they have their private ends in view.
How could they else, in spight of all the charms
Of peace, and social virtue, bar the way
To reconcilement? Thus to speak to one
Whose principles I know, his worth approve,
Must give me pain—I'm really at a loss
For words to speak my wonder—How my friend,
Are you the dupe of such unmanly fears!

Fleming,
Bear witness heav'n! with what regrate I saw
The sad necessity of such a charge;
His time of life, and high pretence to virtue,
Ill suit with such designs—I may be wrong—
At least, my Lord, propose but to return;
Perhaps the bare pretence may lay him open.

Douglas.
I never will propose what I intend not!
For you sir Malcom, since you apprehend
I know not what of danger, I dispense
With your attendance—Be the peril mine!

Fleming.
I urge the thing no more—What I have said,
Was the result of love and just respect.
It never shall be said I stay'd behind,
Or turn'd my back upon Lord Douglas' foes.
My safety, heav'n can witness! never cost
A moment's thought—But if you will proceed,
At least permit Lord David to return.
The prudent counsel of your noble father,
You must remember, “Never both to go
Into a place, you could not call your own.”

Douglas.
I will not taint his mind with such suspicions.

Fleming.
Yet, let me beg my Lord—

Douglas.
I'll hear no more!—

[Exit Fleming.

SCENE IV.

Douglas, Crichton.
Douglas.
My Lord, I look upon you as my friend,
As such, with honest freedom speak your mind.
Say, for your years and wisdom may explain,
What seems to me mysterious, why am I
So much the subject of licentious tongues?
'Tis strange! 'tis wondrous strange! that I alone
Of all the great, unconscious of offence,
Should be the mark of slander and reproach.

Crichton.
Censorious tongues are never at a loss;
Rather than want a handle to revile;
The most indifferent actions they impute
To evil meaning. Their malignant aim
Skulks under fair pretence, and honey'd words.
They ever and anon profess regard
For those they mean to stab—But let them say;
Happy the man, who self-approv'd can hear
The murmuring voice of envy undisturb'd.
Slander too gross defeats the very end
The authors have in view; a lie must have
Of truth the semblance, or it can't deceive.
Indeed, my Lord, the numbers you retain,
By malice multiply'd, above the truth,
Afford your foes a plausible pretence,
To say, you mean to over-awe the State;
Two thousand men your enemies give out,
Are not unusual in Lord Douglas' train.
I think it can't be true: th'enormous charge
Of such attendance, soon would drain a prince.

Douglas.
My Lord, I cannot contradict the fact,
If vassals, friends, and servants you include.
The base design infer'd, I must disclaim,
As from my thought remote, and false as hell.
The bounty of their princes hath bestow'd
Upon my ancestors a large estate;
Their frequent publick trusts hath still enlarg'd
The circle of their friends; these not ungrateful,
Full oft attend me, when I could dispense
With vain parade, that never gave me joy.
Ev'n now, had my intent to come to town
Been known, a thousand had been here unbid.
With some, 'tis compliment, in others duty.
The former to refuse, the world would think
Th'effect of sullen pride, or fordid gloom;
Still to excuse the latter might be deem'd
A passing from my right—I ever thought
That men of rank and fortune should disdain
Th'unsocial turn, which marks the vulgar soul.
To hoard an useless treasure, and to gorge
Unnumber'd acres, at the high expence
Of ev'ry virtue, social and divine,
To me appears a wretched choice indeed!
I mean not to exceed the bounds prescrib'd
By prudence, and in riot to consume
The fortune of my fathers; but to add,
Still lands to lands, and eagerly to grasp
At all I have not, were as mad, as vain,
As if a hungry wretch refus'd to eat
The bread he had, yet cried aloud for more.

Crichton.
'Tis justly said, my Lord: what we enjoy
Is all we have: without a soul to use,
The goods of fortune, like a fleeting dream,
But tantalize the fancy, and expose
Their wretched owners to a world of ills.
The sordid mind in midst of plenty pines,
Nor tastes with relish what the liberal hand
Of heav'n bestows. Alone intent to heap,
The pleasures which from social virtue flow
Affect it not; corroding care and gloom
Fill up the whole of its unhallow'd hours.
Once more, my Lord, and I have done, 'tis said,
That knighthood you confer, the antient right,
The envy'd right of sovereign pow'r alone.

Douglas.
I do: that right my ancestors enjoy'd.
Such pow'r, however envy'd, all confess,
A sovereign prince may give. Discreetly us'd,
No ill effects can flow from such a grant.

Crichton.
Long may Lord Douglas thus assert his right,
And grace the title he so justly bears.
Mean time, my Lord, the posting sun invites
To prosecute our journey.

Douglas.
I, my Lord,
Will instantly attend you.

Crichton.
Then we go.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Douglas-Castle.
Lady Beatrix
sola, a note in her hand.

'Tis Fleming's hand— (reads)
“This morning
we set out from Crichton-Castle for Edinburgh
—since we have been here, many circumstances have
induced me to believe, that some wicked design is carrying
on between the ministers against my Lord—I have
in vain endeavoured to alarm him—time permits not
further particulars—I have sworn the bearer to make
dispatch—may heav'n dissapoint my fears!”

“Angels and ministers of grace defend him!”—

Going out, meets Lord William , and returns.

Lord William
, after reading the note.
Perdition seize the villains! dare they hope
To hurt my Lord of Douglas, and to live?

Lady Beatrix.
What dare not wicked men, of pow'r possest?
O fly my cousin! fly to their relief!
My friend! my guardian! ev'ry tender name
Would be too little for the man that saves—
Lord Douglas, and his brother—

Lord William.
That shall I,
Or perish in th'attempt—

Lady Beatrix.
Heav'n lend its aid!

Enter Grame.
Lady Beatrix
, to Grame.
Alas my cousin! had your advice prevail'd,
My brothers had not thus—

Grame.
Ha! what of them?

Lady Beatrix.
This form sir Malcom—

(giving him the note)
(a short pause)
Grame.
'Tis what I always fear'd
I've liv'd too long to be surpriz'd at aught.

Enter a Servant.
Lord William
, to the Servant.
Straight let a thousand men be summon'd here,
Each with his horse and armour; men of mettle,
Who will not shrink at danger—On thy life!
Let all be here before to-morrow's sun.

[Exit Servant.
Lady Beatrix.
Down down my heart!—This is a time for action,
A female tear will not divert the storm.

Grame
, to Lord William.
Alas my Lord! you think not of the danger,
That must attend so rash an enterprise;
The danger, not your own, I know you fear not,
But to the noble friends you mean to serve.
Unarm'd, and unattended as they are,
Perhaps their generous confidence may turn
Aside the wicked purpose of their foes,
Whate'er it is. But should a hostile band,
Approach the capital, you on their head,
I dread the consequence!—The States alarm'd,
Might rashly judge Lord Douglas had contriv'd
This plan, to forward some undue attempt;
Perhaps on that presumption!—O forbear,
Your friends are in their power, to urge their fate!

Lord William.
I would not, heav'n can witness! But to stay
Inactive here, Lord Douglas' life in danger,
Can honour dictate? Could my friend approve?
What would you else propose? I'll patient hear
For wisdom is in age.

Grame.
That you, my Lord,
Should countermand the orders you have giv'n,
And only send a chosen friend to town,
To learn the truth of things; then coolly act
As prudence may suggest.

Lord William.
How can I thus—

Lady Beatrix.
I do approve our cousin's cool advice,
And beg it may be follow'd, think, my Lord,
How strong the reasons he has urg'd; how dire
The consequence he fears!

Lord William.
Thus far I yield,
To wait till a return from Fleming shews
The ground of his suspicions. If my Lord
Enjoys his freedom, and was well receiv'd,
Then I'm their friend—But if his life or liberty
Shall be attempted, hear and help me heav'n!
As I with unremitting zeal pursue
The just revenge of innocence betray'd.

[Exit.
Grame.
O what a world is this!—Where righteous heav'n
Can innocence be safe?—O why prevail
The slaves of vice o'er virtue's free born sons!

[Exeunt.