University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Hall in Earl Douglas's Lodgings.
Earl DOUGLAS, FLEMING, and the CHANCELLOR.
Chancellor,
giving Letters.
These bear the friendship of your cousin King,
These from Lord Regent, with our select friends,
Beg you to meet and treat of high affairs,
Which at their meeting must th'estates employ.

Douglas
to Fleming.
With equal friendship I their love embrace.
Read these, and say who can such kindness scorn.

Fleming.
The words are fair; such oft foul hate conceal;
Dissembling suits a court, as courtiers say;
But ev'ry honest mind such conduct scorns.

Chancellor.
Too true, good Lord: too oft the Courtier's words
Are foreign to his heart; their jealous eyes
Watch ev'ry step. Their friendship is, at best,
A gentle torture to explore the soul:
Oft a fair engine with destruction charg'd,
To burst at once, and crush th'unwary wretch.
Beware of trusting courtiers, good Lord Douglas.

Douglas.
I scorn the thought which fears to be explor'd:
And what are cens'ring or applauding worlds,
Whose voice can neither make me blest nor wretch'd.

Chancellor.
Your sentiments I praise; yet honest fame
Is a fair ornament; dishonest, stains
Even your high station.

Fleming.
What ill fame dares touch him!

Chancellor.
'Tis said, your borderers, us'd to plund'ring foes,
The inland spoil; whom you from justice shield;
Too jealous of your rights: your rights and powers
Came from your sov'reign's and your country's love;
Claim loyal service, and subjection due;
Not discontented wrath, and bold resistance.
Shame springs from pride; ambition's big with woe:
And, when from greatness great mischiefs arise,
Their country's ruins crush the great disturbers.

Douglas.
Who hurts the innocent shall feel my vengeance.

Chancellor.
I'm rudely free; but friendship rudely pulls
The friend from unseen ruin's dreadful brink;
While selfish flatt'rers won't offend to save.

Douglas.
Well doth your salutary freedom please:
The sickly eye lothes all-revealing light;
But on the sound its glories grateful pours.

Chancellor.
Your faults need but be seen to be reform'd:
My crimes, alas! are of more heinous kind,
And may provoke your wrath.—But spare your country.
Revere your glorious sires; nor let their blood,
Which freely flow'd to save the land, be vain:
For what avails deliv'rance from the foe,
To fall by mutual wounds? The King, Lord Regent,
Request your speedy presence: you can heal
Our breaches. Your great power can force tranquillity.

Fleming.
Trust not his words, dear Douglas. Thus decoy'd,
With thy great sire, I bore the dungeon's horrors.
He, true like thee, would trust our courtiers words;
But foul he found their deeds, when kindest these.

Chancellor.
O Scotland, Scotland! know thy woes no end?
Accept these tears;—thy Crichton can no more:—
Fleming, what will convince thee? See my tears;
They flow not frequent, nor for trivial cause.
Mark my plain truth;—almost too harsh for friendship:
Will flatt'rers for men's welfare risk their favour?
Or trusts thou oaths? That awful last appeal
Of mortals to the justice of Omnipotence;
Devise an oath confirm'd by each solemnity
Religion knows: I'll pledge my deathless soul.

Douglas
to Fleming.
My friend;—nay, dearer still, my country's friend.
Behold his face with sacred tears bedew'd;
With tears for Scotland:—canst thou these despise?

Fleming.
If this is false, no fairer truth can seem.
I'll bring the priest, and meet you at the altar;
And there call heav'n to bind our amity.

[Exit.
Douglas.
Hate's banish'd hence to hell; triumphant peace
From heav'n I'll bring, to bless my happy country:
Her friends are mine; who bleeds for her my brother.

Chancellor.
What praise the stripling seeks! his views distract me.
[Aside.
My Lord, your virtue charms me. How I joy
That stronger ties may yet cement our friendship.

Douglas.
I know none stronger than my plighted faith.

Chancellor.
Int'rest sways men.—

Douglas.
But me my honour guides;
And, whom it guides not, from my soul I scorn.

Chancellor.
Haste, let me fly to fix so precious friendship;
And, as we go, I'll open all my soul.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Sir WIL. DOUGLAS, and Lady BEATRIX.
Sir William Douglas.
Why grieves my Joy?

Lady Beatrix.
What mountains bar our bless!

Sir William Douglas.
Rise they to heav'n, I'll o'er them force my way.

Lady Beatrix.
My ghostly father damns our love as incest.

Sir William Douglas.
Curse on his habit which protects the pedant.
Dares he blaspheme our love? Pure as the seraphs,
Burning in blest abodes with social transports.
Priests feel not the desire of virtuous breasts
To join their fates and blend their very souls.
Their vile amours on virtue's ruins rise,
Decoying girls to leave their careful friends
To spouse with God.—The rest my tongue disdains.
Shall such oppose our bless?

Lady Beatrix.
How easy can
The man we love persuade!—

Sir William Douglas.
Nor priest, nor prince,
Nor hell itself shall part us.—

Lady Beatrix.
Long the priest
Convers'd with Crichton.—

Sir Willilm Douglas.
Spiteful cunning fox.
By heav'n, this sword—

Lady Beatrix.
Be calm, my love is stedfast;
My brothers true, his son's attempts are vain.

Sir William Douglas.
'Twere safer for his son to interpose
Between the roaring lion and his prey,
Than to disturb my love. Thy gen'rous brother
Just now swears amity with that old traitor.
The Lords have sent t'invite him to their council.
I'll wait, and bear him to their messengers;
And save him from the snares of Crichton's friendship.
Safety is with the Lords; with Crichton, death.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

Enter CRICHTON, Jun.
My father's gone to swear,—and—to deceive!
[Aside.
Yes.—Like the dire hyæna he usurps
The voice and actions of humanity
T'allure and to devour.—If I reveal it,
He dies,—and justly;—most unjust from me,
Returning death for life.—To one I must.
At his life's peril, Douglas rescu'd mine.
O father! friend! for either could I die:
But if I save the one, I kill the other.
O happy they, who see fair virtue's path!
Tho' rocks rise high across, and furies guard it:
But darkness broods on my benighted way!
But O what joy to save that heav'nly Wonder
From such impending griefs! Now love resolves me.

[She observing him, offers to retire.
Crichton
advancing.
O grant one pitying look to ease despair!
Knew'st thou my heart, sure thou wouldst grant me hearing.

Lady Beatrix.
What signifies my pity, or my hearing;
I never can, nor will be thine. Adieu.

Crichton.
Yet hear me.—Stay.—If thou regard'st the life
Of Douglas.—If thine own most precious life.—

[Seizing her gently.
Lady Beatrix.
O save my brother's life.—Let mine suffice.

Crichton.
Sure death attends.

Lady Beatrix.
Heav'n guard me.
Re-enter Sir William Douglas, with his sword drawn.
Brutal ravisher!
Unhand her.—Draw,—speak not,—but guard thy heart.

[They fight; Crichton is wounded.
Lady Beatrix,
interposing.
Stain not my brother's hospitality.

Crichton.
O rival! had thy sword but pierc'd my heart.

Sir William Douglas,
in disdain.
My rival thou, and in this lady's love!

Crichton.
One word,—Lord Douglas' life.

Sir William Douglas.
Tempt fate no further;
But fly,—and tremble at the name of Douglas.

[Exit Sir W. D. and L. B.
Crichton
solus.
How dreadful is a Douglas in his wrath!
Oh parricide, thou most gigantic crime!
All other murders, tho' most deadly crimes,
To thee are pigmies. I have nearly 'scap'd thee!
But base ingratitude! Must Douglas die?
Who sav'd my life at peril of his own.
Unjust reward! I'll drop a written warning,
To keep them from the castle: here they're safe,

SCENE IV.

CHANCELLOR
entering.
Just now I met the cousins; they are destin'd
For one another's arms; and Douglas owns it.—
My son! he bleeds!—It must be by this ruffian.
—Fly hence, and tremble at the name of Douglas.—
These words were his. And now I understand them.
The Lords have sent to call their brother-peer;
They know they have his mind. I'll watch his body.
Here all my friendship give I to the winds;
My hate return'd, burns fierce with double fury.
How could I dream of friendship with the Douglases!
But from their hearts I'll have thy blood repaid.

Crichton.
'Twas all mistake.

Chancellor.
Thy youth and inexperience
Mistake thy foes for friends.

Crichton.
Regard your oaths.

Chancellor.
Oaths! shackles forg'd by knaves for cred'lous fools:
The wise man's engines to effect his purpose.
Kingdoms and states eternal friendship swear,
Touch holy gospels, and eat hallowed bread,
Yet bathe in blood at ev'ry slight offence.
Subjects to sov'reigns, sov'reigns swear to subjects,
To guard the rights they mean to overthrow.
No place of profit, or of power is got
Without its oaths; forgot as soon as sworn.

Crichton.
Yet oaths, profan'd, demand heav'n's hottest vengeance!

Chancellor.
But they begin the war; this sanctifies
Each hostile deed of ours, by force, or fraud;
Absolves our oaths, and frees from ev'ry crime.
What fool would warn the foe he kills for safety!

Crichton.
Hence lonely stalk, O man, thro' dreary wilds,
Shun thy own kind: no savage can be feller.
The fiercest beasts, the very lion roars
An honest warning, when he spies his prey.
But, ah! if aught in human shape approach;
Grind, every savage, grind your teeth and fangs,
And tear him: He's a treacherous destroyer.

Chancellor.
Be calm. I'll on their ruins build thy greatness.

Crichton.
Heav'n save me from the greatness built on guilt.
But your's ye made me share; I bore the forg'ries
Which may destroy my generous deliv'rer.
O while you may, repent, return to virtue.
Let me not lose my friend, nor hate my father.
Douglas, his cousin, all are innocent:—
'Twas all mistake: the blame was wholly mine.

Chancellor.
Thou knowst how much I love thee; how my heart
Is touch'd with ev'ry thing that touches thee.
Blest in thy virtue, I must love thy friend.
To Crichton thou must haste for writs of moment,
Needful before the meeting of th'Estates.

Crichton.
This with my wish conspires, to save my friend.

[Exit.
Chancellor.
Now shall my son be far from guilt and danger.
Were men themselves but what they wish their children,
Vice none could boast, save monsters, in her train.

[Exit.

SCENE V.

COUNTESS and Lady BEATRIX.
Countess
Alas! what fears o'erwhelm my boding mind!
As usual thou my morning slumbers watch'd,
Saw them disturb'd, and I awakned sad.
I dream'd I in the castle met our queen;
And on my breast two new-blown roses flam'd;
'Twixt these a lily fair, which Crichton's son
Attempt'd to seize, but from his touch it shrank.
Old Crichton then with Livingston advanc'd;
Each cropt a rose's head, and dash'd to earth;
There ly, said they, the heads of Douglas' sons:
To earth I glanc'd, beheld two bleeding heads,
Knew them my children's, and aghast awoke.

Lady Beatrix.
Thither the Queen invites us.

Countess.
It is well.
Since thither go my sons, I must attend.

SCENE VI.

Enter Earl DOUGLAS and Sir DAVID.
Douglas.
Freed from obscurity, with rapid wing,
We'll, hand in hand, to glory's summit soar.

Sir David,
shewing the note dropt by Crichton.
I hope no honour from our father's foes:
This note says death awaits us in the castle.

Douglas.
Such arts are lost on me; my honour's pawn'd,
Which I'll redeem with life; to me 'tis dearer:—
Who fears, may stay; Douglas dares go alone.

Sir David.
Then I attend. 'Tis for thy dearer life
I fear, and not my own. I'll clasp thee fast;
And, sink thou to perdition's deepest gulph,
I'll keep my hold, and never glance aside
To catch at help, that will not save us both.

SCENE VII.

Enter Lord FLEMING.
Fleming.
Your servants went to bring you from the grass,
The gen'rous coursers, which you rode to town;
And found them dying both. Vile foxes tore
Their breasts yet heaving.

Countess.
Ah! too like my dream.

Douglas.
Set in a brave man's eye his country's good,
He spells not omens, nor interprets dreams:
Let war roar dreadful, through her brazen throat,
And fiery volleys belch of pond'rous deaths,
Gaping immense with all her iron teeth,
Fearless he flies upon her horrid front,
And thinks his life well sold to save a land.
Intreat no more: my honour shuts my ears.

Countess.
At my life's peril, first you saw the light,
Nature's hard law on all my sex impos'd;
But could the repetition of these pains,
With what more fell e'er female-nature felt
In all the deepest agonies of death,
Save or restore your lives; I should not plead,
Nor weep; but bleed, groan, agonize, and die,
To save such worth.—And must I lose you both!

[Enter Chancellor unperceived.
Douglas.
Leave not your mother.—O my brother, stay,
Our Father's counsel mind. Thou hast not sworn.

Sir David.
Had our brave sire, in danger from the foe,
Forbid thee to approach; thou hadst been deaf
To such command; and all his danger shar'd.
Were I in danger, thou wouldst interpose,
And joy to intercept its fiercest rage.
Bind oaths to foes? then sure to brothers more.
When good arrives, thou bounteously bestows;
When ills oppress, I'll bear a brother's share.
In soul we brothers are; and shall remain,
In life and death, inseparable still.

Chancellor
advancing.
Fears Douglas friends, by wond'rous goodness gain'd;
The more his friends the less we hop'd forgiveness.
Or will we blast our own, our country's hopes?
For who, but Douglas, can command a peace?
Or who, like him, will pardon all offenders?
O Douglas! thou out-shin'st thy bravest sires;
Saving, without the horrors of a war;
No troops thy triumphs share: thy goodness gains
Thy en'mies hearts, subdues thine own resentment.
Thy sires were heroes, thou appear'st divine;
And shalt be more belov'd to endless ages.
Yet danger if thou fear'st where I command,
Arm'd let thy pow'rs attend: I fear not thee.

Douglas.
Most gen'rous friend, I go—

Fleming.
I can't forsake you.

Chancellor
aside.
Attend this once; and you shall ne'er forsake him.

Douglas,
[Joining one arm in Fleming's and another in the Chancellor's.]
Sage wisdom, and experience my supports,
Now happily in firmest friendship join'd,
I walk secure; two surer, wiser guides
To honest fame, from men I could not chuse.
Thy love hath ever all the parent shewn;
[To Flem.
And thine, though later sprung, is scarce inferior.

Countess.
Farewel; God guard you, since so well resolv'd;
But my poor boding heart will burst. O Douglas!

Douglas.
Farewel. 'Tis his, who guides our fates on high,
T'appoint us when, and how, and where we die;
Our care shall be, 'tis all that mortals can,
To live with honour, or to die like men;
Still firm to truth; and warm with virtue's fires;
Bold for our country; dauntless as our sires.

[Exeunt.