University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A Table furnished with Deserts and Wine. The King at the head, on the Regent's right-hand: next the Regent, the Chancellor: on the King's right-hand, on the other side of the Table, opposite to the Chancellor, the Douglases; next them Fleming: and other Courtiers on both sides of the Table below them.
Chancellor.
Be hence, my Lords, familiar at the board
Of your young King; his frequent welcome guests.

King.
I love you cousins as my soul. Your honours
Shall shine, eclipsing all your sires enjoy'd,
As the ascending sun out-shines the stars.

Douglas.
If our best blood can do our Sov'reign honour,
We'll hold it cheap as sweat of lab'ring swains.

Chancellor
to the Servants.
Bring the last course. Bear you these trifles off.
Their powers are gone. Take these; and rule at will.

[Giving the keys to Livingston
Livingston.
Now dost thou prove thyself a precious friend.

Chancellor
drinking.
Honour and health to all the brave and good,
Who for their King and country shed their blood.

[All drink.
[Enter servants with a bloody raw Bull's head, and set it on the table before the Douglases; follow soldiers with spears, who surround them.]
Fleming.
What means this insult?

Livingston.
Hast thou ne'er seen
A stollen bull's head presented to the thief.

[Earl Douglas sounds a golden whistle to alarm his train.]
Livingston.
Whistle at will, young Lord; thy followers hear not:
They're gone; the gate's fast shut; behold the keys.
Pinion the traitors.

[To the soldiers.
Fleming.
Dogs! you are too base;
To hold a bason to these noble hands;
And add you such indignity to murder?

Livingston.
Bind that arch-traitor hard.

Fleming.
'Tis me you hate;
Spare these young Lords, and I with pleasure die.

Douglas.
Live thus disgrac'd! after my guardian's death.
I'll share thy fate; or live for thy revenge.

King.
O let my cousins live.—Throw down the cords.
Bind not the hands which should defend my throne.
How can you gall with cords the noble hands,
Which ye so lately shook in solemn friendship?
These arms you strain so hard were twin'd in mine.
Regard my tears.—O could they melt your hearts,
Your hearts of flint,—ye tyger-hearted monsters!
To spare my noble, my beloved cousins.

Sir David Douglas.
If guiltless blood you seek, let mine suffice;
A single life. His high-born wife's, his children's,
Hang on Lord Fleming's fate; and on my brother's
His father's house, his country's happiness.
I'll smile in agonies; I'll pray in death
For blessings on your heads, if Douglas lives.

Douglas.
Forbear, my brother: Douglas fears not death.
But, Ah! thy tender youth, thy gen'rous worth,
Might make the fiends relent. If thee they harm,
Heav'n's choicest plagues in flaming wrath shall pour
More dreadful than their blackest guilt divines.

Livingston.
Dares thy bold pride to threaten,—even in bonds!

Douglas.
These bonds do threaten thee. Unrighteous deeds,
The tyrant's cruelties, the villain's crimes,
Th'oppressed's groans, and injur'd virtue's tears;
The butcher'd liberties, expiring laws,
And miseries of an enslaved land;—
These threat:—and never did they threat in vain.

Livingston.
My threats not vain, in anguish thou shalt feel.

Douglas.
'Gainst virtue all the rage of foes is vain.

King.
If ye regard my love, or fear my wrath,
Rob not my youth of friends most dearly priz'd:
Men who would make me wise, and great, and good;
And happy in a happy people's love:
Who from my land would drive the rav'nous war,
And give their lives to make my reign renown'd.
—Must they not live?—because I love ye slay them.—
A monarch's love is fatal to his friends.
I'll spend my future reign in vengeance for them.—
O let them live.—Take ye my power and treasures.
We'll fly from greatness and live blest in virtue;
Happy in hearty love, and humble friendship.
Tho' you relent not, sure the men without
Will hear their prince, and save their noble friends.

[Going.
Chancellor
detaining the King.
Thy danger, not our hate, extorts a deed
That wounds my very soul; while Douglas lives,
Thy throne's unsure, thy royal life unsafe;
Usurpers must destroy their Kings or die.
Why wilt thou weep and break my tortur'd heart?
But better 'tis thy tears, than blood, should flow;
Though these thou mourn'st would see it flow with joy.

King.
'Tis false as hell; thou dost bely my Cousins.

[Exit weeping, the Chancellor following.
Livingston.
In scorn of us, and of your lawful King,
Thou Douglas sent; and thou false Fleming past
Ambassador, to treat with foreign kings.
You leagu'd with Lords at home; whose barb'rous clans,
To spoil the mainland, from their isles you rous'd;
While your lewd bord'rers plunder th'inland shires.
These you protect against your sov'reign's power,
Whose functions you usurp, creating knights,
Conferring honour and nobility.
Your train and daily state your King's exceeds.
By you seduc'd, his peers your courts attend,
Plotting to seize his small remains of power.
For these bold treasons, I condemn your heads
To be divided from your treach'rous breasts.
Thou David, shar'd their crimes; their judgments share.

Fleming.
These are not truths, or are not crimes; but part
Is forg'd, and part our nat'ral right.—

Livingston.
Forbear.
Your doom is fixt, and all defence is vain.

Douglas.
Tyrants can only give a glorious death,
Secure the patriot's endless bliss and fame;
And plunge themselves in guilt, disgrace, and horror.

Livingston.
Guards, keep them sure, to wait our future will.

[Exit.
Sir David.
Late thro' Edina's spacious streets we march'd,
'Midst loud applause of all the friendly throng.
To honour us, nobles with nobles vy'd;
Nor could a brother's love exceed our King's.
But now enclos'd with walls, 'midst cruel guards,
Disgrac'd like felons, bound with galling cords;
Our high descent from heroes and from kings;
Our splendid honours, wealth, and mighty power,
All fortunes trappings; all her favours past,
But deck us out a gaudier sacrifice.
Like thougthless birds decoy'd, like cattle butcher'd;
Whose life or death no glorious deed adorns;
Our en'mies scorn.—Not thus our fathers fell.

Douglas.
Yet neither treach'rous foe, nor adverse fate,
Can tear the gen'rous purpose from our breasts;
Which still in truth and brav'ry match our sires.

Fleming.
The brave and innocent can smile at death,
By sword, or ax, fierce foe, or treach'rous friend.
Should gaping earth devour, or thunder strike,
Serene they meet the blow; and hear with joy
Th'imperial voice; from toil to triumph call'd.
Exert their force, collect their utmost strength,
With dignity their glorious course to end.

Douglas.
The same the dungeon's gloom, or glorious field,
If conscious virtue meets her own applause.
Myriads of eyes immortal view the strife,
And call the conqu'rors to immortal thrones.

Sir David.
This welcome time shall prove my heart sincere;
And worthy of my brother's gen'rous love.

Douglas.
These words, O brother, deeply wound my heart,
Who to thy faith preferr'd a fawning foe,
And sorely griev'd a breast so kind and true.
I scorn'd my sister's griefs, my mother's tears,
My father's last commands, your prudent counsels.
—O brother!—O my guardian!—Victims both
Of love to cred'lous Douglas.—Ill repaid!
O bitt'rer far than death! thus to destroy
Whom best I lov'd.

Fleming.
My dear defenceless babes!
Long may you prattle of your sire's return,
Which ne'er shall glad your little slutt'ring hearts.
O best of women! Thou the royal blood
Of all thy father's house, saw shed. My death
Thy loving heart will—O my wife! my children!

Douglas.
O brother! my dire folly, and thy love.—

Sir David.
Grieve not for me.—It was my ardent wish,
Opprest with favours, to deserve thy love;
And now I could:—I could die for thee,
Wert thou but safe; then were I blest indeed.

Douglas.
Thou must not die; for Douglas at his death,
Will condescend to humble supplications;
Kneel, weep, intreat, and beg his foes to spare thee.

Sir David.
Think not I'll thee desert. Since thou must die,
We'll fearless launch, and unknown worlds explore;
Hand join'd in hand. With like and equal virtues
Heav'n join'd our souls; and never will them sep'rate:
With joy I die, since thou my faith approves.

Douglas.
What have I ruin'd? Wisdom how mature!
[To Flem.
What early virtue! what has Scotland lost!
[To Sir. D.
Severe distress! Firm in himself, the brave
Can only be distrest in them he loves.

Fleming.
Virtue tastes sorrow here, and vice has joy,
Neither sincere: the awful time hastes on
To drink them pure, as well-weigh'd merit claims.
Heav'n kind to virtue sooths the weakling's way.
But who her highest honours hope to gain,
Must struggle hard, must agonize, and groan.
Perfection is by dreadful suff'rings won;
But glorious and immortal her rewards.

Douglas.
For her high summit stretch we then our flight.
Our minds, enlarg'd with ev'ry godlike aim,
With ev'ry virtue can adorn our souls;
We'll shine distinguish'd ev'n among immortals.

Enter Livingston.
Now, on cool thoughts, will you submit to hold
Your lives and fortunes of our special grace?

Fleming.
We scorn such slav'ry to a rightful King;
Far more to thee, deceitful tyrant.

Livingston.
Guards,
Drag him to death.—

[The Guards offer to drag him away.
Fleming.
Keep off your hands, ye slaves.
Virtue meets death undaunted, and undragg'd;
So tyrants dare not, by their guilt dismay'd.

[Exit before the Guards.
Livingston.
In pity of your youth, too soon misled,
I offer grace. Submit, be wise, and live.

Douglas.
The bull's dire head, and these disgraceful cords,
Thy unjust sentence, and our guardian's fate,
Have fixt thee hence eternally my foe:
Nor hope thou peace till Fleming mediates for thee.

Enter Chancellor.
Treating forsooth! but they're too much provok'd;
The courage of a Douglas grows with danger.

Livingston
aside to the Chancellor.
I pity them, but they disdain to yield.—

Chancellor.
Had you two furious lions fast ensnar'd,
And all their fierceness rous'd, would you release them?
'Tis dang'rous to retreat. The dead resent not.

Livingston
aside.
Then shalt thou share the guilt.
See judgment done.
[To the Chancellor.
Let those who scorn our mercy, feel our vengeance.
[Exit Livingston.

Chancellor.
Delight you now in greatness or revenge?
Your foe you may destroy and fill his place.
Let but your sister wed my darling son,
And Scotland you shall sway, and Scotland's King.

Douglas.
Hence, odious traitor! As the hiss of fiends,
Thy words are hateful, and thy self as hell.

Chancellor
half aside.
These words may cost thee dear; tho' scorning death,
Yet their's thou lov'st may wring thy stubborn soul.

Douglas.
Alas! my brother.

Sir David.
Mind not me. Thy brother,
Thy father's son, disdains by mean submission,
To purchase life.

[They both turn from the Chancellor with an air of the highest disdain and indignation.]

SCENE II.

Enter COUNTESS and Lady BEATRIX, from the Queen's Apartments.
Countess.
This Queen alone excell'd me once in greatness;
And now in grief. How seldom are they sep'rate!
Her foes have of her royal brood the charge;
In faithful Fleming, mine have found a father.

Lady Beatrix.
Let us retire: we heard a hapless wretch
This way pass guarded to his death. Such scenes
Are shocking to be near.

Countess
We'll beg his life.

Lady Beatrix.
Your sons had done it, had his crimes allow'd:
Yet some dear sister left may mourn his death;
Some virgin's faithful heart in secret bleed.

Countess.
Perhaps his sire bedews his silver beard;
Ah! some poor lonely widow may survive!
Or tender infants helpless and forlorn!

[A Soldier passes over the Stage.
Lady Beatrix.
Can'st thou inform us who was doom'd to death?

Countess.
Silent he goes, and pitying looks casts back.—
This place looks dismal.—Crouds of armed men,
—But none of ours are seen.—Alas, my sons!
As a poor bird, who sees her tender young,
Flutt'ring about the hawk's rapacious nest!
Sill hovers near, and keeps them in her eye,
Waiting, with panting heart, their tragic end:
Too weak to help, she mourns with plaintive sound,
And grieving, pines her feeble breast in vain:
So mournful I attend my gen'rous sons,
As much distrest, as impotent to save.

Chancellor
entering.
By this, Lord Fleming lies without a head.

Countess.
Lord Fleming! O my sons!

Lady Beatrix.
Alas! my brothers
Could never see their father's friend in bonds!
[Enter the Brothers bound and guarded.
Arm'd guards! O my dear brothers!

Countess.
O my sons!

Sir David
We liv'd like brothers, and like brothers die.

Douglas.
I only fear the stroke which thou must feel.

Sir David.
O may they kill me first, for I can die
Easier than see so dear a brother bleed:
But thy kind heart would feel as much for me.

Countess.
And must my sons then die? Must both my sons?
Lord Douglas' noble house exist no more!

Lady Beatrix
breaking through the guard to them.
Death shall not sep'rate us.—Alas, they're bound!
Bound hard with galling cords! these noble hands,
Sacred to gen'rous deeds, bound like a felon's!

Countess.
If heav'n breath'd sharp, my bosom hid these hands,
Now gall'd with cutting cords.—O sight of anguish!

Douglas.
Then are you here!—both!—in our en'mies power!
For death, but not for this, we were prepar'd!

Countess
kneeling with Lady Beatrix.
See, how on earth, the wife of noble Douglas
Kneels to his foes, for mercy to his sons.

Lady Beatrix.
His daughter kneeling, begs to die for them.

Douglas.
Guards, lead to death. 'Tis worse than death, so see
My father's wife and daughter kneel to foes.
Now Crichton triumphs o'er the house of Douglas.

Chancellor.
This haughty fair disposes of their fate.—
If she consents to wed my son, they live.

Lady Beatrix.
O let them live!—To save their precious lives,
I'll wed abhorrence, endless discontent:
Let them but live, how much soe'er I'm wretch'd!

Douglas
Then life I lothe, and thee I must renounce
As alien to our blood:—but sure our sister,
So basely never will betray our honour.
O save from this disgrace a line of heroes!

Sir David.
The brave may be betray'd, insulted, slain;
But never conquer'd: while they scorn to yield,
And basely purchase life by mean submissions.

[Lady Beatrix looking at the Earl with earnest affection, seems about to speak.]
Douglas.
O do not bid me live to scorn, to hate thee!
Despis'd, disgrac'd,—abhorr'd for thy debasement!

Lady Beatrix.
Then scorn me, hate me, stab me dead:—but live!

Countess.
O live, my sons, to bless my lonely widowhood!
Your mother begs it, who could die for you.

Douglas.
Why urge me to disgrace?—Ah, mother!—Sister!—
How can I yield? hither I forc'd Lord Fleming;
And here he fell.—Shall I reward his murder
With our alliance? with my sister's bed?
When men recount the heroes of the name;
The valiant Sholto, and the good Sir James;
William, the hardy; William, flower of chivalry;
Undaunted Tineman, my unyielding sire;
The daring Douglas, slain at Otterburn,
Whose name when dead, brought victory from the skies:
In such a list, to be design'd, The soft,
Faint-hearted William, whom soft female tears
Melted to bow before his treach'rous foe,
And prostitute his sister to his son:
When brave men scorn; the very rabble hiss
The dastard Douglas, who surviv'd his honour;
The first of all his race who fear'd to die;
Too late by death I'll seek to fly dishonour,
Th'eternal stain of an unsullied race.

Douglas.
Spare fruitless words, let us with honour die;
Not live with shame, dishonour'd by the world.

Enter Livingston.
The town pours forth her crouds, the nobles rise;
The tumult hither rolls;—Hark—how they shout!
My son led forth my followers.—Now in triumph,—
The en'mies cry, A Douglas. Aid my son.

Chancellor.
My troops must guard the fortress.

Livingston.
Rescue mine.
They'll aid.

Chancellor.
Too many mouths are bad for sieges.

Lady Beatrix.
Now all is well! I hear the march of Douglas.

Countess.
Now gracious heav'n preserves my virtuous sons.

Douglas.
Scotland shall flourish; see, her tyrants tremble!
Enter a Messenger to Livingston.
Thy party flies; thy son is seiz'd, and dies,
If Douglas or his brother suffer harm.

Livingston.
They both shall live; I fly to save my son.

[Exit.
Messenger.
The guards within hold parly with the nobles.

Chancellor.
They dare not:—yet can faith be hop'd in ruffians?
[Aside.
Hah! what a tumult! now they enter!—Lords,
Forgive the past!

Douglas.
When our dear Cousin asks it.

Countess.
Can all our lives restore thy worthy guardian's?
O live, to save thy father's house, and his.

Chancellor.
Save my dear son; he's guiltless of your wrongs.

Douglas.
I know't. My vengeance hurts no guiltless man:
T'assembled peers shall judge in all between us.

Chancellor
to one attending.
Bring them their swords. My hands will loose the cords.
Your gen'rous goodness cheers me, noble Douglas.

Enter a Second Messenger.
The foe is worsted.

Chancellor.
Lucky news! be brief.

Countess.
Oh! heavy tidings!

Lady Beatrix.
O distracting event!

Messenger.
Lord Treasurer, with a band of chosen friends,
His nephew reinforc'd; hard was the combat,
Till your brave son return'd and charg'd the foe,
And to the town drove back their fainting numbers.

Chancellor.
Off with their heads; and fix them on the wall,
To terrify the peers: my son deserves
A greatness built upon their mighty ruins.
Why stand you staring? quick,—dispatch them,—slaves.

[The Ladies clasp about the Brothers.
Countess.
My sons, I'll hold you, while my arms have strength.
O help! O Heav'n!—Doth heav'n forsake the virtuous?

Chancellor.
Tear them asunder.

Lady Beatrix.
Drag us all along.
We'll stick thro' life, and end our woes together.

Douglas.
Forbear t'unbend our souls, which should collect
Their utmost strength, a trial so severe
With dignity to bear, and end with glory.

Sir David.
I cannot bear your tenderness and sorrow.

Countess.
O that the bitterness were mine alone!
But Ah! must I resign these lovely necks
T'a mangling bloodly ax!—O horror, horror!

Chancellor.
Part their embracing arms.—Lead off the criminals.

[The back Scene opening, discovers the Block, and the Executioner standing by it; at the sight whereof the Ladies fall.]
Douglas and Sir David.
O cruelty! O cords we feel you now!
See how they lie; nor can our hands them raise.

Chancellor.
Pull down the traitors. Strike and make them headless.

Douglas,
saluting his brother Sir David.
Embrace we cannot; receive this parting kiss.
A moment's pain brings speedy endless joy:
Our souls shall to eternity embrace,
Where treach'rous murd'rers shall no more disturb us.

[The back Scene shuts. Manet Chancellor.
Enter a third Messenger.
Chancellor.
There's consternation in thy dastard looks.

Messenger.
The reinforced peers dispers'd their foes;
Their leaders seiz'd. Your son still guards the entry.

[A stroke of the Ax heard within.
Chancellor.
There dies young Douglas. Bid my son retire
And shut the gates; while th'enraged peers
Pour all their fury on the Regent's kindred.

[Another blow of the Ax heard within.
Chancellor.
That ends another Douglas.
[A deep groan heard within of the Countess dying.
Mourn, proud ladies.

Lady Beatrix
speaking behind.
Strike, butcher, strike; and mix my blood with theirs.

Chancellor,
aloud to the Executioner.
Fly to the wall and shew their bleeding heads;
And tell the peers, They come too late to save them.

Enter Officer.
How blest is virtue's end! How wretch'd the slaves
Of tyrants, doom'd to execute their cruelties!

Chancellor.
Are my commands fulfill'd?

Officer.
Alas! too fully.
Now headless lie, the loveliest, bravest pair
That ever eyes beheld. The fainting mother,
Rous'd by the blow which ended noble Douglas,
Beheld his lovely brother's mournful end;
And tow'rd her, reeking flow'd their mingled blood;
At which she with a heavy groan expir'd.
Wild with her grief, the beauteous sister ey'd
Her mother's corps; and then the bleeding trunks,
And heads of her dear brothers; last her eye
Points on the bloody block; on which he flew.—
“Sacred to honour'd deeds, on thee I'll die.—
Strike, butcher, strike; and mix my blood with theirs;”
She said; and stretch'd her stately snowy neck.
When none would strike, she rose, and fixt her view
Upon the mournful ruins: now she lifts
Her eyes to heav'n, then wrings her snowy hands,
Beats her soft breast; next stands as struck with thunder
In silent majesty of mighty grief.

Chancellor.
Now let her scorn my son. Her pride is humbled.

Enter the King.
Durst thou confine me to mine own apartments,
Till those I love were murder'd? I'll have vengeance.

[Exit hastily.
Chancellor.
I love to keep your Majesty from danger.

Enter Livingston.
Ten thousand curses blast thee; for my son
And brother, thy vile treach'ries have murder'd.
When dropping gore, yet warm, the peers beheld
The heads of Douglas' sons, they gave the word:
I saw my first-born's blood flow reeking round.

Chancellor
aside.
My keen revenge cuts with a double edge;
First Douglas' house; then Livingston's comes down.

Livingston.
Behold the genuine letters Douglas wrote;
These hadst thou sent—

Chancellor.
These! say whence hadst thou these?

Livingston.
Just as I reach'd the gate, thy son was ent'ring;
And that same fatal moment on the wall
Appear'd the murder'd heads. He wildly star'd.
Behold by these, how thou hast been abus'd:
These are the letters wrote by gen'rous Douglas.
He said; and out upon his rival salli'd.
To me, he cry'd, thy Cousins owe their death;
I bore the odious forg'ries which destroy'd them.
Then with his sword upon him rush'd; but turn'd
Its point aside, and all his foe's receiv'd:
Thanks for my cure, he said; life's a disease
Surviving honour: mine expir'd with Douglas.
But, Ah, my sire much time needs to repent!
Gen'rous in height of wrath, the peers command
To bear him hither, that, from insults free,
He may in peace expire, and rest unharm'd.

Chancellor.
O heavy news! thus am I doubly damn'd,
And wholly lose the price of my damnation!
Marking the way with his dear blood he comes!
Would my heart's blood restore him, it should flow!
O can the world afford thee no relief?

Crichton.
No: none to me; who ignorant assisting
The hateful treach'ry, which destroy'd my friends,
Have courted death to hide me from dishonour.—
Repent, and yet find pardon.—Mercy, Heav'n.—

[Dies.
Chancellor.
He dies! and what a tender look he fixt
On my accursed face! I have destroy'd him.
He's nothing, who was all the world to me;—
Yea, priz'd o'er heav'n, and all that it contains.—
What I regarded now, cannot avail him.
All pleasure here is gone with him; from virtue
I sought no support: from insulted heav'n,
No comfort hope; and hell hath none to give me;
But mocks my folly, and derides my woes.—
This was my choice, and now complaints are vain.

Enter Lady Beatrix.
Justice, though often slow, yet ever sure,
Hath reach'd you, traitors! in your guarded fortress.
Behold her just awards! Your kindred die
For mine; a mean revenge. Your troops have op'd
The gates, and see the nobles come for vengeance.

Enter Sir William Douglas, his sword dyed in blood, with numbers of the Nobles attending, with their swords in their hands.
Sir William Douglas.
Ye murd'rers! draw your swords. Ye stare, and dare not.
'Twould stain my sword to do the hangman's office.
[To the Chancellor.
This sword reeks with thy blood:—thy dearest blood.
Death he deserves not; but thy cruel treacheries
Have pierc'd his breast thus far. You may look dismal.
Bind them, till justice shall requite their crimes.
Let mortals know, who move from bad to worse,
Success in ill, is heav'n's severest curse:
For, when the wicked highest swell in pride;
Th'Almighty rising, on the adverse side,
Extends his arm resistless; and the blow
In thunder falls, crushing the blasted foe.
But divine virtue, tho' on all sides prest,
Is never wretched, howsoe'er distrest;
Supported from on high, she keeps the field;
And scorns to pleasure or to pain to yield;
Slight hopes and fears that hang on feeble breath,
Grows strong by suff'ring; and triumphs o'er death.

Exeunt Omnes.