 | The Earl of Douglas |  |
47
ACT V.
SCENE I.
Edinburgh-Castle.Crichton, Livingston. In close conference.
Crichton.
How deep are his designs! The artful youth,
Talks much of virtue; with a smiling brow,
And soft engaging manner, stoops to hear
The plaints of all about him; mildly checks
The guilty, and affects to feel the pain
Of the distress'd—Insuperable pride,
Restrain'd by policy, thus eggs him on
To acts of seeming greatness—Why, my Lord?
But to supplant his Sovereign in the love
And just respect, which nature and the laws
Have mark'd his own.
Livingston.
But if in durance kept,
They cannot hurt the State—Thus far I think,
That popular pretence the publick good,
May bear us out; but to attempt his life,
His friend's, his brother's too, to me, my Lord,
Seems full of danger.
Crichton.
Is the danger less
To us, and to the State, while Douglas lives?
As heav'n hath put them in our hand, my Lord,
Their fate should be the same—All are the foes
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Livingston.
Lord David's youth—
Crichton.
The prudent gard'ner crops the noxious weed,
Before it blows. This great revenge will cow
The heart of faction: meaner foes will dread
To lift their tongue against us.
Livingston.
Still my Lord,
The world will think their doom severe, their friends
Will raise the publick cry—The States alarm'd,
May judge it prudent to abridge our pow'r.
Crichton.
If ev'ry danger possible be fear'd,
Adieu to action! like a frozen plant
We stand and perish—They or we must fall!
Livingston.
Theirs be the lot! I plead their cause no more.
Crichton.
Then we're agreed my Lord—The try'd Monteith
Must instantly be call'd—A trusty guard
Plac'd at the gate—A warrant must be wrote,
Sign'd, seal'd, and sent the Captain of the guard—
Lord Douglas with his brother, and their friend,
Now make the circuit of the castle walls,
Ere they return, these orders must be given.
[Exit Crichton.
Manet Livingston.
How Angus fir'd when I gave distant hints
Of what we had in view—My courage fell,
And but for Kirkton's hint, “Beware a Douglas”
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Slow and inactive, nothing's to be fear'd—
Young Abercorn, Angus, and Dalkeith,
May storm a little—Be it so—Our pow'r,
That blest pretence the publick-good, at last
Must carry all before them—Still I feel
The woman in my heart—Conscience no more!—
The thought that favours Douglas is a lie!
[Exit.
SCENE II.
The King, Livingston, Crichton, Douglas, Lord David. At Dinner.The King.
Indeed my noble cousins you've been unkind,
To stay so long from court.
Douglas.
My royal Liege,
Your highness shall not need again to blame
The same neglect in us.
The King.
Well then my Lord,
On that condition I forgive the past.
Crichton.
My Liege, your royal ancestors have ow'd
The greatest obligations to his house:
Still forward to oppose their country's foes,
And ever ready to support the rights
Of Scotland and its friends.
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'Tis true my Lord.
I've often heard the Queen my mother say,
That Douglas was my friend, and talk of wrongs
She thought he could redress, were he at court.
Crichton
, (aside to Livingston)
Mark that my Lord!—
Livingston.
Thus children tell the truth—
(aside)
My Lord, the kings of Scotland have not been
Unmindful of the house of Douglas' worth.
The bounty of the prince is ill repaid,
If each repeated act does not encrease
The subject's love. Obedience is a claim
To which ungenerous princes have a right,
How deeply founded his, whose high rewards,
Make interest and duty coincide?
What could a prince bestow, except his crown,
Which hath not been, with liberal hand, bestow'd
Upon the house of Douglas, by our kings?
Douglas.
My Lord, if I mistake not, your discourse
Obliquely glanceth on my fathers fame—
Livingston.
What if it did!—Perhaps I meant it should!—
Douglas.
Forgive the boast, my house hath never stain'd
The honours which it won, nor lurk'd at home,
When Scotland's danger call'd it to the field.
Crichton.
If some deserv'd them, others have abus'd
The favour of their prince, and strove to rise
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And trample on the pow'r to which they ow'd
Such obligations as could ne'er be paid.
Douglas.
If any of them—
Crichton.
If!—Presumptuous youth!
That if implies a doubt of what I say!
Douglas.
Was it for this, my Lord, you brought us here?
'Tis mean! thus to insult me, in a presence
Where common decency forbids resentment.
Livingston, whispers to a Servant.
The King.
My lords, you grieve my cousins. Let me beg—
Enter a Servant with a Bull's Head on a Dish, which he sets on the Table before Douglas.
Douglas
, rising in haste.
Is this the welcome, kings give to their guests!—
What have I done my Liege to merit death?
Several armed Men rush into the Room and lay hold of Douglas and Lord David.
The King.
Good heav'n! where am I!—Villains touch them not!
(The Fellows seem indetermined)
Crichton.
Slaves! do your duty, or by heav'n you die!
Bind fast their arms, and instant bear them hence.
Livingston.
Away with them to death!
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To instant death!—
The King.
To death my lords!—Alas! what have they done?—
Crichton.
The tale's too long, your highness yet too young,
To comprehend the blackness of their crimes;
Hereafter you, and all the world shall know,
How justly they deserv'd the fate they meet—
Bear hence the traitors!—
Douglas.
Traitors dost thou say!
Thou hollow hearted statesman! if thy soul
Knows aught of virtue, scorn to give a name
Thy conscience stamps a lie! full in thy teeth
I throw the vile aspersion!—To my prince,
My country, and its laws, a faithful friend,
Here, in my sovereign's presence, I defie thee!
False as thou art, to thee I dare appeal,
Say, had my deeds been foul, my views dishonest,
Could I have trusted thee, slept at thy house
Two nights, and brought my only brother there?
In spight of all my warmest friends could say,
I thought thee honest, fearless enter'd here
Where none can help me; brought my brother too!
O faith! O virtue! whither are ye fled!
Livingston
, (to Crichton)
My Lord! I wonder you can bear him thus—
Douglas.
Is then the publick-faith on which I came,
Of no account with thee? Is there a man
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Livingston.
The publick-faith in common cases binds,
But cannot, where th'observance would produce
A greater ill than from its breach can flow.
Douglas.
Alas! my country! what hast thou to fear,
From men who blush not, coolly to avow
Such principles as these!
Crichton.
Slaves bear them hence!—
The King.
For heav'n's sake, my lords, untie their hands;
You cannot mean to kill them—On my knees
I'll beg their life. (offers to kneel)
Or will you kill me too?
Livingston.
Was ever royalty so low disgrac'd!
Your highness need not, must not interfere,
They both shall die, before the sun goes down.
Crichton.
No favour they deserve, and none shall have!
Douglas.
I scorn thy favour! Let but justice speak—
What have I done? What deed of mine can warrant
The odious appellation thou hast giv'n?
Thy pow'r may finish, what thy craft begun,
And let it!—'Tis the lot of man to die!
But canst thou hope the world will be deceiv'd
By vile pretence, or e'er approve a deed
Subversive of the common faith which binds
Society together?
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Enough to thee,
Thy deeds are tried, thy final sentence past;
Thine, and thy father's crimes together weigh'd,
Have sunk thee in the scale of equity.
The world I mind not, let it blame the deed,
Yet shall it not prevent it—Thou shalt die—
Douglas.
I sue not for my life, nor would I live,
On terms so base—Admit my crimes are great,
What hath this child done? How hath he deserv'd
A sentence so severe?—for him I sue,
For him I'll humbly kneel, O save my brother!
Whose generous nature ne'er offended man.
Lord David.
No my good lords, I care not to outlive
So kind a brother—Tho' I'm but a child,
I'll think myself a man, and die like him,
If you permit—Indulge my first request.
Crichton.
Thy suit is granted. Would thou wert the last,
Of thy detested name!
The King.
Alas! my Lord,
You will not kill the child because he bears
A name you like not. I have often heard
That mercy is a virtue which exalts
The throne of princes. In my tender years,
Stain not my crown with blood. O think my Lord!
Your little son stood there—How would you plead,
Were I so cruel—
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Cease my Liege to urge
A suit against yourself. My son in vain
Should plead for mercy, were his guilt like theirs.
The King.
You ask'd me to invite them here to dine;
Why make me an accomplice?
Livingston
, (aside.)
How he talks!
Crichton.
By heav'n they die! When you assume the reins
Of government, we humbly bend our wills
To your opinion, but till then must act
As prudence shall suggest. Leave to the mob,
This vulgar pity; 'tis below a prince;
It is a weakness that divests the soul
Of all that's great and manly.
The King.
Ah! my Lord,
It is a pleasing weakness, I could die
To save my cousins—see my Lord he cries!—
Douglas.
Your generous sympathy, my prince, excites
The grateful tear, I weep not for myself;
Thus let me thank you—Blasted be the tongue
That e'er imputes the wrongs we meet to you.
The King
, (to Crichton)
Am I your King, and yet must plead in vain?
Crichton.
No more, my Liege!—Your weakness moves me not—
Douglas.
Unfeeling monster!—Canst thou be a man,
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Come then my brother!—Welcome the will of heav'n!
Which orders all things for the best, and draws
From seeming evils, oft the greatest good.
Once we must die, and if in youth or age,
Is but a triffle—My royal Liege farewel!—
May heav'n protect you from your faithless friends,
And bless you with a long and happy reign!—
The King
, (covering his face)
Farewel my noble cousins!—I cannot save you!—
[Exeunt Douglas and Lord David guarded]
Livingston.
For shame! my Liege, how can you mourn the fate
Of traitors, who would pull you from the throne?
While they're alive, you cannot reign secure,
Your sacred life depends upon their fall.
Crichton.
Weep not my Liege, we only mean you good,
And at the peril of our all, have done
This deed to keep the crown upon your head.
The King.
Alas my lords! the crown has cost me dear!
For it I lost my father, basely slain,
For it became a stranger to my mother,
To all my friends!—And now my cousins die
That I may wear it—Dear pre-eminence!
Livingston.
Grieve not my Liege, you know not yet the charms,
Of sovereign pow'r, or it would give you joy,
To think that you had servants who would go
Such lengths to serve you, and to save the State.
[Exeunt.
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SCENE III.
The Outter-Court of the Castle—A Scaffold coveraged with black Cloth.Douglas, Lord David, Mackra, Officer, Guards.
Mackra.
The charity of the good Lord Chancellor
Sends me to your assistance.
Douglas.
It was kind.
You're welcome father!
Mackra.
Since about to pay
The debt you owe to nature and the law,
All the amends you now can make the world,
Is to confess your crimes, and humbly own
Your sentence just.
Douglas.
I owe not this to truth.
To own the sentence past upon me just,
Would wrong my conscience which condemns me not.
The errors of my life, I humbly hope,
Will be forgiv'n; if any I have wrong'd,
'Twas what I meant not; if I e'er let slip
Occasion to do good, or pow'r abus'd,
I heartily regrate it. Man at best
Is weak, and much unequal to the part
He has to act; and if in youth he errs,
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Mackra.
Such general acknowledgements fall short
Of what to heav'n is due, and what to man.
Your crimes against the State you must confess,
If you would hope forgiveness.
Douglas.
Let me ask,
What crime against the State have I committed?
Mackra.
Thy crimes against the State, so soul, so many,
Would any mouth defile, besides thine own;
Thy conscience is erroneous, or thy tongue
Gives not its verdict. Hadst thou not been guilty,
Would men so fam'd for clemency and justice,
Have sent thee hither?—Hence thy guilt is plain.
Douglas.
Forgive me father, if I say you want
That charity, your Master hath affirm'd
The genuine mark of Christians. Thus to judge—
Mackra.
Bold man! dost thou not know the reverence due
The minister of heav'n?
Douglas.
Thou grave reproach!
To virtue and religion, which disclaim thee,
Dost thou assume that venerable title?
'Tis charity's celestial flame that marks
The friend of virtue, and the priest rever'd.
Get thee to him that sent thee! much he needs
Thy courtly aid, to cheer his guilty soul.
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Once more, unhappy mortal I adjure thee
To speak the truth, and own thy sentence just.
If not, the pow'r on me by heav'n conferr'd,
I must employ to sink thy soul to hell.
Douglas.
Fear'st thou not him, who sees thy heart and mine!—
For his sake I beseech thee, let me die
In peace and charity.
Mackra.
Sleep on secure,
Till flames awake thee!
Douglas.
When like me thou stand'st
Upon the brink of time, may heav'n afford!
Thy soul, that comfort thou with-hold'st from me.
[Exit Mackra.
SCENE IV.
Enter Fleming guarded, who stops short on seeing Douglas and Lord David.Fleming.
O sight of horror! to behold those hands,
So oft extended to relieve the wretched,
Thus like a felon's bound!—
Douglas
, turning hastily about.
What voice is that!
Ha! Fleming too!—Where will their malice end!
What hast thou done, thou best of men and friends!
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Fleming.
I've lov'd and serv'd Lord Douglas as I ought,
From gratitude and duty. More than this,
I think, the conscience of my judges knows
I have not done, to merit the respect
They put upon me, thus to let me die,
With those I would not chuse to live behind.
Douglas.
A cruel favour!—'twas to stab me deeper
They sent thee hither—Welcome to my heart!
My arms are bound, but my affections free—
O had I listen'd to thy words of truth!
Mine eyes had ne'er beheld so sad a scene!
My only brother! and my faithful friend!
Fall by my folly!—
Fleming.
Talk not thus my Lord;
Forget the past; had righteous heav'n seen meet,
This snare you had escap'd; since it permits,
With dignity support your lot, and die
Greatly as you have liv'd. To die my Lord!
What is it? but to bear a moment's pain,
And bid a long adieu to this poor spot,
Where vice and error reign: to burst the shell
Which locks us up in matter, and to move
Free and unbounded through the works of God!
Douglas.
I would not wish to shame my fathers blood,
By vulgar fear, nor is there aught in death
So terrible, as parting with my friends.
My sister! O my sister!—How can she
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Affects the soul with many a grating pang,
Above the reach of language to express!
Not joyless age, nor keen distress can loose
The sympathetick tie, or cool the love
Which warms the breast of friends. To part! to die!
No more to hear the soothing voice that charms
The woes, the cares of human life to rest!
No more to taste the genuine joy that flows
From breast to breast, to fan the holy flame
Of social love and friendship—O my friend!
Thou know'st the pang thy heart was made to feel!
Fleming.
The friends of virtue part but for a moment:
The posting tide of life alone divides,
But half divides them: the unbounded soul
Outflies the lightning, shoots beyond the stars,
And tastes, in vision, their eternal feast,
Who first shake off the cumbrous load of clay.
Douglas.
Poor Grame! thou good old man, what griefs are thine!
Severely disciplin'd in virtue's school,
Thy soul, tho' tender, may support the shock.
But O my sister! hapless, virtuous maid!
For thee I feel, for thee the poignant tear
Swells in my eye—in spight of manhood flows!—
Fleming.
Rejoice my Lord, to gain your native skies!
And leave your sister to the care of heav'n.
Methinks I see your great force-fathers stand
With open arms, upon the happy shore,
To give you welcome—O the shining throng!
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Ye glorious sons of liberty we come!—
Douglas.
Adieu the world! my friends! to all below!
The charm's dissolv'd! and now I pant for bliss!
Blest liberty! with thee they live—We come!
Who would not die to grasp thee to his heart!
Fleming.
For liberty, your house hath often bled;
For liberty despis'd the love of life;
For liberty you die, these faithless men
With jealous eye beheld your opening worth,
And fear'd the just reward of their misrule.
Fear not your fame, for every generous heart
Must execrate the deed: nor fear your house
With you shall fall: these impious men shall live
In just contempt, till heav'n avenge their crimes.
Your family, so long the care of heav'n,
Again shall flourish; future kings shall boast
The blood of Douglas. Yonder lucid orb
A meaner planet may eclipse, but soon
He bursts with greater glory on the eye,
Relumes the arch of heav'n, and shines serene.
Officer.
Your time to live, my Lord, is nearly gone.
Douglas.
I know it, sir, and quickly shall have done—
(turning to Fleming and embracing him)
Farewel! my faithful counsellor, and friend!—
We soon shall meet again, to part no more!—
Fleming.
Till then, my dearest Lord!—Till then, farewel!—
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, embracing Fleming.
Farewel! sir Malcom!—'Tis a dismal hour!—
Fleming.
Farewel! sweet youth!—Have courage for a moment,
And these dark clouds will usher in the day!—
[Fleming retires to a corner of the Stage.
Douglas
, making up to Lord David.
And now my brother!—the world's to us no more!—
This heav'n permits, and providence is wise!—
My friend!—my brother!—a last!—a kind embrace!—
If our remembrance reach to future times,
Let it be told, I ask no other fame,
We liv'd as brothers, and like brothers died!—
Lord David.
Farewel! my Lord!—Will death be very painful?
Douglas.
No my sweet child! 'tis but a moment's pain.
(turning to the Officer of the guard)
I ne'er oblig'd you sir—Yet give me leave
To ask a favour—When we are no more,
I beg you'll see our bodies laid in earth.
A little spot will hold them; lay us all
Together in a grave—I have a sister,
May thank you for your charitable care.
If e'er you see her, sir,—Perhaps you may—
Bid her remember well my parting words.
Tell her, it was the very sting of death
To leave her, weak and helpless as she is,
In such a world, where virtue and her friends
Must bear so much. But bid her call to mind
The stock from whence she sprung, so often tried
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Whate'er might shame the noble pride of virtue.
Bid her forgive the wrongs we meet; nor charge
Unerring wisdom rashly. Born to die,
The time, the place, the manner, are to man
Of small importance; if in death his heart
Reproach him not with having liv'd in vain.
Officer.
My orders are, to see your corps interr'd
In decent manner, ere I leave the place;
Depend upon my care. Your other charge,
Should an occasion offer, ev'ry word
I'll faithfully relate—Deep in my mind
They are engrav'd; and never can wear out.
Douglas.
Then we are ready!—
(Douglas and Lord David retire to different corners of the Stage, and the Officer gives a signal to the Executioner, who enters with an Ax in his Hand)
Executioner
, kneeling.
On my knees my Lord,
I humbly ask forgiveness at your hands.
Douglas.
Thou never wrong'dst me friend—Accept of this,
'Tis all I have, (gives money)
and fearless do thy office,
When I shall drop my glove.
Lord David
, to the Executioner.
Take this of me—
(gives money)
When I stretch out my arm, I wish to die.
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, giving money.
When I shall drop my handkerchief—Take care!
And see thou strike not till the signs are giv'n.
Douglas
, embracing Lord David, and Fleming.
O could we die at once!—
Fleming.
First let me die!—
Lord David.
O leave not me my Lord!—
Douglas.
I will not long!—
Our friend shall bring thee with him—Think of heav'n!
Forgive thine enemies!—and bless thy friends!—
My friend!—my brother!—the world! and time adieu!
[Here the Curtain falls]
After a Piece of solemn Musick is performed, the Curtain is again drawn up.
I. AFTER-SCENE.
Livingston, Lady Livingston, Monteith.Livingston
, to Monteith.
How did the guards behave?
Monteith.
In silence deep
They hung their heads; and when the pris'ners died,
The bursting tear broke loose from ev'ry eye.
Livingston.
The vulgar still regrate the stroke of justice.
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Humanity must feel the stroke of death,
And in the fatal hour forgets the crime.
Livingston.
'Tis disaffection, impious discontent!—
And how their officer?—You ey'd him close?
Monteith.
Extremely grave, and often wip'd his eyes—
He talk'd, my Lord—O I shall ne'er forget—
Livingston.
Who talk'd!—
Monteith.
Lord Douglas. Never mortal died—
Livingston.
Perdition seize thee villain! dost thou speak
To me of Douglas?—Hence! and learn to dread
That pow'r by which he fell!—
[Exit Monteith.
Lady Livingston.
What means my Lord!
Livingston.
Their officer!—a wretch I lately rais'd—
A woman hearted soldier, stain to arms,
But, by the soul of Bruce! the poltroon dies!—
Lady Livingston.
O talk not thus my Lord!—Advance in rank,
The man whose generous sympathy gives proof
Of genuine courage and a manly heart.
Livingston.
Ha! traitress! say, thou'lt join th'unthinking crowd,
To reprobate the deed which I have done!—
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I would, could that undo it!—I affirm
The deed dishonest, and my soul detests it!
I knew thy soul was base, thou know'st how oft
I strove to touch it with the love of virtue;
But hence, no more I urge thee to be honest,
So foul a crime excludes thee from my heart!
Last night, when superstition push'd thee on,
O shameful weakness! to consult a witch,
'Twas I that represented her; in pity,
I interpos'd between thy soul and hell.
Livingston.
If so, thou art a devil, for mortal ear
Heard not a whisper of my close design.
Lady Livingston.
I over-heard thee mention Kirkton's name,
And from thy temper, guess'd thy mean intent;
I watch'd thee close, and saw the low disguise,
Meanly assum'd to cover thy disgrace.
Livingston.
Then thou hast rashly push'd me on to that
Which now thou blam'st. I doubted in my self,
If better, still to live in anxious dread,
Or thus at once, to rid me of my foe.
Thy words of dark import—“Beware a Douglas.”
Believ'd oraculous, alarm'd my soul.
Lady Livingston.
Had I not reason, thus to caution thee?
I knew thy spight to that respected house:
What thou had'st done against it; and fore-saw
That thou would'st fall before it—fall thou must,
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The wrath of heav'n—
Livingston.
Cease thy abusive tongue.
I hold thee now no prophetess, nor mind
Thy idle words.
Lady Livingston.
O that I had fore-known,
The wicked purpose thou had'st then in view!
Perhaps the threats of such a wretch had done,
What conscience, honour, virtue tried in vain.
Suppose thy craft and pow'r elude the lash
Of human laws—Remember an hereafter!
[Exit Lady Livingston.
Manet Livingston.
Scarce could I bear the shock—Her biting words
Stung like a scorpion—'Tis over now,—
Whate'er the consequence, it must be born—
'Tis strange! Monteith's unfeeling heart was mov'd,
The guards, their Captain wept—What then am I?
“Remember an hereafter”—There's the thorn!
(A Bell tolls, Livingston listens, starts, and looks wildly about.)
The passing bell of some departed soul!—
Solemn and awful sound! thou speak'st to me—
Thou speak'st to all!—Perhaps in pride of life,
At noon this mortal dream'd of future years,
Unconscious of the gathering cloud of fate,
Now burst upon him—
(seems thoughtful)
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SCENE II.
Crichton, Livingston.Crichton.
Give you joy, my Lord!
Of the deliverance—This stretch of pow'r
The world will loudly blame; that we must bear,
And can, if both unite; on this depends
Our lives, our fortunes, all we hope or fear.
I blush to own, that jealousies and doubts,
The whispers of designing men, the voice
Of busy faction, hath too often broke
The sacred tie of friendship and expos'd
Us and the State to danger. Hence be doubt
Of one another banish'd. On the faith
Of men and christians, let us jointly swear,
To stand or fall together—Witness heaven!—
Livingston.
Heav'n is not of our party—Blood for blood.
Crichton.
What means my Lord!—
Livingston
, taking no notice of Crichton.
“Hereafter—ay hereafter”—
Ha! thither move their corps!—Let me observe
The poor procession—Not a friend to mourn!—
No blazon'd ensigns!—No inscription boasts
A long descent!—Not even a servant here!—
O greatness! greatness!—vanity! and dust!—
Here lay them down a while—This, this was Douglas!—
Where now the sparkling eye, the rosy cheek,
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With blood and dust!—To-morrow, and to-morrow,—
And then another comes—And last of all,
Death and a long account!—O save me heav'n!
The ghost of Douglas, awfully serene,
Hath fix'd its eyes upon me!—Now it frowns:
Then shoots its piercing eye through all my frame,
Points to the headless trunk, and smiles contempt!—
'Tis gone! it soars aloft!—
Crichton
, (aside)
While reason sleeps,
Thus, ever-waking fancy to the mind
Presents her magick glass—Distorted forms,
Hobgoblins, elves, pale fear, and blooming hope,
In wild succession pass—Mean while the soul,
Or grasps at shadows, or as vainly starts
At unsubstantial ills. Indulg'd too long,
These superstitious fancies cloud the mind;
Absorb the flame of reason, and involve
The soul in darkness. If he thus should talk—
[A soft knock at the door, Livingston looks wildly about]
Enter a Servant.
Servant.
The King, my lords, complains he is not well;
And cries incessantly. Thrown on his couch,
He often calls on Douglas; beats his breast;
Then lifts his eyes to heav'n and wrings his hands.
Livingston.
His guiltless hands! O heav'n were mine as pure!—
Crichton
, to the Servant.
Fellow retire!—I'll wait upon the King.
[Exit Servant.
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Of what I ne'er suspected.
Livingston.
Hints, my Lord!—
Crichton.
If Douglas justly fell, to you the State
Owes the deliverance. If your private views
Have push'd you on to this—
Livingston.
O heav'n and earth!—
Crichton.
Those exclamations pass for nought, my Lord,
Who sign'd the warrant? Who in pow'r supreme
Directed every step? Who in the house
Accus'd my Lord of Douglas?
Livingston.
Satan blush!
And own thy self outdone, nor more pretend
Superior craft, or impudence to man.
Thy wretched tool I was, tho' first in pow'r:
This well thou know'st—
Crichton.
Some rest may do you good,
Your late disorder is not quite gone off.
[Exit Crichton.
Manet Livingston.
Thus have I lost my peace!—Alas for what?
Delusive dreams, air bubbles that arise
Upon the varying wave of fancy's sea—
Farewel! my flatt'ring hopes—What right have I
To look for truth in him, myself so false.
O curst ambition! whither hast thou led?
72
I dread to be alone!—O conscience! conscience!
Thou gloomy tyrant of the guilty mind,
Where can I fly from thee, or how divert
Thy dire fore-bodings?—O the happy days!
When thou with gentle voice lull'd me to rest,
And made my slumbers sweet—Alas how chang'd!
Nor future days nor nights have joys for me!
[Exit.
SCENE III.
Douglas's House in Edinburgh.Lenox
solus.
Eternal curses blast the villain's name
Who thus betray'd thee! hapless generous youth!
Farewel society! farewel to government!
To publick order, and to private peace,
If such accumulated guilt escape
Its due reward—It cannot: heav'n is just!—
The very multitude abhor the deed;
Ev'n now they throng the streets, in wild amaze,
Each questioning his fellow, “Is it true!”
And mutt'ring curses on the impious actors.
O where's the spirit of our brave fore-fathers!
When mushrooms such as these can bid defiance
To law and justice—Scotland! how distrest!
Thy King a child! thy noblest blood thus spilt,
By impious men, who revel in thy spoils!—
O what a wound hath publick faith receiv'd!
What feuds must this nefarious deed produce!
73
The care of states, where are you? Why retir'd!—
Our crimes have driv'n you hence! O my poor country!
Impartial Judge! lift thine avenging arm!
Why should the sons of Belial thus prevail?—
But why complaint!—There is another world,
Where injur'd worth shall have a full amends.
Here, times may change, new factions rise and fall,
But sacred Virtue shall out-live them all.
Happy the man! that chuseth for his guide
This best conductress, by experience tried:
Whate'er befals him, firm his mind remains,
Resign'd to bear what ruling-heav'n ordains:
Serene, tho' round him storms and tempests roar,
Secure of bliss, when time and chance are o'er.
[Exit.
The End of the Fifth ACT.
| The Earl of Douglas | |