University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

An antichamber in Earl Douglas' lodging.
Enter Lord Fleming, newly returned from his Embassy to France, with Sir William Douglas.
Sir William Douglas
embracing,
Welcome, my Lord, to our unhappy country,—
Unhappy, since our upstart Rulers rais'd
Fierce Discord from the depth of hateful hell,
To bathe sharp Scottish swords in Scottish breasts.
Each potent tyrant treads the humble down;
Industry faints; on rapine, Rapine preys;
And Treach'ry lurks in ambush to destroy.
At breasts of fainting mothers, babes expire;
The full-grown drop, requesting help in vain;
For meagre Famine in his iron paw
Grasps hard the heart, and slow wrings out the life,
And all the ways and fields with carnage strays.

Fleming.
This town, late all alive with chearful crowds,
Mourns her green streets.

Sir William Douglas.
There fun'rals funerals press,
As birds in sable flocks seek ev'ning shades.
The grave's enrich'd, and glutted with our spoils,
Hell banquets on our woes, and quaffs our tears.

Fleming.
Our savage rulers on good subjects prey;
And each, by turns, their sacred monarch seize;
Whom, in a coffer cram'd, the Regent steals;
Then to his rock by force the Chanc'lor bears,
And, in their wrath, lead rapine, famine, death,
And devastation, through a bleeding land.

Sir William Douglas.
Now, weak by mutual wounds, despis'd, abhor'd,
They make a truce; and on lord Douglas fawn;
Recal him to the honours, trusts, and powers,
By birth his due. His journey scarce begun,
Lord Chanc'lor meets him, leads him to his house;
Where splendid feasts, and princely shews consume
Three whole expensive days. To-day he meets
The King, and Regent, in Edina's castle.

Fleming.
Their mutual wounds yet bleeding, they embrace;
Some dire design's in view.—Their hate burns inward.
They fear lord Douglas, upright as his sire,
Who hated ev'ry knave, the highest most;
Condemn'd their crimes, and dar'd their highest rage.
For this in dungeon thrice his virtue suffer'd;
But still dispell'd the storm, and brighter shone
His country's darling, glory and defence.
How rev'rent have I seen our peers arise!
And bowing, his superior merit own.

Sir William Douglas.
It was his due; for a long line of heroes
Had glorious labour'd in the fields of fame,
And shone in council; down from valiant Sholto
Not one degenerate: yet most gen'rous he.

Fleming.
The poor supported, humble virtue rais'd,
Learning caress'd, and industry rewarded,
Form'd a melodious concert in his praise;
The tyrant's dread, and patron of mankind.
With friendship's last dear accents to my care
He left his sons; when his great manly spirit,
In mortal conflict with a fiery fever,
Felt strong commotion; on the verge of heav'n
The friend serenely shone. He graspt my hand;
“In thee a father to my sons survives;
Half of my soul. O form their youth for glory.
Them greatly teach to suffer, greatly dare,
To live for Scotland and for Scotland die;
And glory still in virtue more than rank.”—
This said, he dy'd.—His trust I'll not deceive.

Sir William Douglas.
Your pious care has in his sons restor'd
His ev'ry virtue. All his dauntless truth,
His noble scorn of slav'ry, and of wealth,
Except for gen'rous ends, adorn his heir.
His last night's lib'ral deeds disclose his soul:
To you, for ever, Wigton he returns;
Great lord of Galloway his brother shines;
His mother's portion, doubled, waits his sister;
The pious countess' charity may flow,
Wide as her will, embracing all the wretched.
A divine splendor on his morn of life
Bursts radiant: joy attends where-e'er he moves;
On heav'n's blest confines he sublimely soars;
Yet ever listens to the stifled sigh
Of modest merit, sinking in distress;
And arm'd with power, flies rapid to relieve.

Fleming.
His zeal burns ardent for his country's good.
How sped your embassy? Will Ross and Crawford
See Europe's richest source of wealth and power,
Our gift from nature, drain'd by greedy strangers?
Or raise their country empress of the main,
Their King dread arbiter of Europe's fate,
Shall freedom's throne be firmly fixt in Scotland?

Sir William Douglas.
Ross offers all his islands, ports, and harbours;
These yield convenient stations, active hands,
Well practis'd to the trade, and cheap to hire;
Thousands now idle, turbulent, and desp'rate
Through want, may, thus employed, abound in wealth,
And bear our floating thunders o'er the main.
The mighty peers burn to embrace their cousins,
And hence will hold as theirs his friends and foes.

Fleming.
Then safely waits on Douglas' rising greatness
Count of fair Longueville; great duke of Touraine,
Besides ten thousand crowns of annual gold
He counts as marshal of the Gallic powers.

Sir William Douglas.
These he devotes t'advance the Scottish fishing.
Illustrious youth! Heav'n thus for ever pour
His choicest blessings on his happy head.

Fleming.
Just is your joy; you share in Douglas' success,
Blest with his friendship, and his sister's love.

Sir William Douglas.
They're all my pride; our love began with life,
And death alone shall quench my growing ardor.

Fleming.
Your noble uncle took you from the nurse:
His countess often set you on her knee
Beside her daughter, kissing both by turns,
And bade her daughter kiss her future husband.

Sir William Douglas.
But, ah! our vast disparity of fortune!
She's form'd to grace a throne, and bless a kingdom.
I cannot bear to think I'll marr her greatness.
In sportive youth, I with her brethren oft
Have plan'd our future friendship's destin'd course;
How bold we would in senates raise, and stand
Freedom's firm bulwark, and her en'mies dread:
Or how, with me, my brethren they would call
Companions of their arms, to marshal fields;
How fierce we'd thunder forth, and blast the foe;
Invulnerable by our mutual aid:
Return with trophies crown'd; mine I will throw
At her dear feet, o'erpaid if she approves.
Would you believe young Crichton rivals me?

Fleming.
Such rivals you may scorn; the blood of Douglas
Can only join with heroes of its kind:
Who to the dance prefers the painful march;
Deep midnight studies, to the late amour;
And honours torn from foes, to ladies favours:
Whose manly face becomes the crested helm;
Whose limbs agile in massy armour move,
And fearless, as the bold war-horse he rides,
Dares thunder thro' the iron ranks of war.

Sir William Douglas.
Were she the prize, to be by battle gain'd,
(A brighter prize than palms, or crowns, or thrones,)
For her, how would I fight! in her, how blest!
But, if our kingdom nodded to its fall,
By wild ambition's rage, who could be tame?
Or, should dire Tyranny his iron arm,
To crush our land extend, who would not rise
To break its force, or with his country fall?

Fleming.
I know the noble maid would scorn the man,
Whose grov'ling spirit basely could resign
Glory and manhood for soft female charms,
And, for a fond caress, give up his country:
But him would prize, who, when the brazen voice
Of war roars loud, and Scotia calls, To arms,
From her most fond embrace would bravely burst,
Just snatch a hasty kiss, and say, Farewel;
Rush to the field, and blaze before the van.
Such, like her sires, you are; such she must love.

Sir William Douglas.
Haste we to glad the brothers with the news
Of our success; for sure fraternal love
Ne'er higher flam'd, nor in two worthier breasts.

Fleming.
Haste! let us free them from their en'mies snare;
Their sire, now lost; they're all their country's hope.

SCENE II.

COUNTESS and Lady BEATRIX.
Lady Beatrix.
Can't Heav'n's fair light, with all its rays reveal'd,
Dispel that gloom, which clouds your widow'd heart.
Your children, with their lives, would buy your ease;
You! who have nurs'd, with care, their tender age,
And with demestic virtues bless'd their sire.

Countess.
So ev'ry wife and mother ought: but few,
With love and duty, are so well repaid.
One soul moves in you all.—A gen'rous soul!
O much lov'd heirs of my dear husband's virtues!
How just to grieve such sire! Such husband lost!
This town the mem'ry of that loss renews.—
Ah! mournful loss! never to be repair'd!
Here oft he shone, of Scottish peers the chief:—
Here now he shines no more. O my dear children!

Lady Beatrix.
Just was your grief, in absence of your sons.
Pensive alone, in converse sad and absent;
For them your fond maternal heart still trembled:
But their return may yield your soul delight.

Countess.
Youth finds delight, in converse or retirement,
And sings alone, or sparkles in the ball:
The raging stream, the tempest or the foe,
With terror strike not her gay chearful breast.
Not so the anxious wife espous'd to care:
The mother portion'd out in all her brood,
Husband or child abroad, a thousand fears,
All strange to youth, attack her tender breast.
At drops of rain she shrinks; each breeze forebodes
A hurricane; each cloud with thunder swells;
She sees them struggling with the stream, or foe;
And hears them shriek for help, or wounded groan:
Their absent moments counts: her heart and eyes
Are still abroad, but pain'd with every view:
For busy fancy, to their moving shape,
Moulds every tree, while disappointment waits,
Keenly intent, to stab each infant hope.
So fell my hopes of my lov'd Lord's return;
Who ne'er return'd, since that sad solemn day
He left his castle, with a numerous train
Of gallant squires, brave knights, and noble lords.
Oft! oft he said, Farewel! and oft he kiss'd
The starting tear from either flowing eye.—
These eyes still weep!—but see my Lord no more!
Around me still his circling arms I feel;
The mighty heavings of his manly breast;
And glowing of his cheek, close pressing mine.

Lady Beatrix.
Then, round each brother thrown a valiant arm,
My sons, he said, as you begin, proceed
In virtue, goodness, and fraternal love:
Be brave, be upright, gen'rous, and humane;
Act like your sires, and seek your country's good
Nor enter both where my false foes command:
While one is free, the other is secure.

Countess.
Cautious, as virtuous, would my sons but mind
The whole advice! Why lodg'd they both with Crichton?
Three long slow heavy nights, three joyless days,
Clogged with care, crawl'd off, ere they return'd.

Lady Beatrix.
At last they came and unsolicited:
Your gen'rous Douglas

Countess.
Order'd his affairs,
Like those that take farewel of life.—Sad omen!
His sire, with solemn counsels, and farewels,
Set out, and ne'er return'd. I flew t'attend him
On love's swift wings,—and found but—Breathless clay!
This bounty's lost on me.—I know no joy
In gay attendance, feasts, or rich attire.
My Lord's high rank requir'd a load of state:
But now my glory's gone! my crown's fall'n off!
These eyes for ever set, I shone to please.
My sun is set: you, like three beauteous stars,
Chear my sad night; else, gloomy as the grave.
You now are all my ornaments and joy.—
And, lo! my sons! to glad my mournful heart.

SCENE III.

Enter Earl DOUGLAS and Sir DAVID.
Douglas.
My friends shall joy, while I can gladness give:
My fortune, heart, and life,—my soul is yours.

Sir David.
My brother's deeds proclaim his heart aloud.—
But, ah! the deep-felt pain of generous minds,
Opprest with favours not to be repaid.
Heav'n send a time, to shew how much I hold
My life's blood cheaper than my brother's love.

Douglas.
Few are his joys, who feels but for himself:
'Tis like a God to feel with human kind,
And feast on happiness with all the blest.
The generous flame of goodness bursts from heaven
On the benev'lent heart, and beaming thence
On all around, from every glad'ned face
Again reflected, comes redoubled back.

Countess.
Thine arm, my daughter. My glad heart's o'ercharg'd,
Thy lively eyes run o'er.—Let us retire.
O worthy sons, how could I bear your loss!
—O killing thought!—How oft that thought intrudes!
O spare me, Heaven!—That loss I cannot bear!
O hear my pray'rs! Long spare to me my children.

[Exit Countess and L. B.

SCENE IV.

Earl DOUGLAS and Sir DAVID.
Douglas.
O brother! O my soul's far dearer half!
Why are these eyes cast down? that lovely face
A stranger to its wonted chearfulness?
It grieves my soul to see thee seem but sad.
A friend's the brother of our choice, but heav'n
In thee has chosen me the kindest friend.
Come to my ardent breast, and let us swear
Indissoluble friendship; endless love.

Sir David Douglas.
By all that's fear'd, or hop'd, or lov'd, by man,
Nothing shall e'er divide this breast from thine.
Whatever fate bestows, with thee I'll share,
In life, in death, inseparable still.

Douglas.
Spare oaths, for friendship's wrought thro' all thy soul,
Alike we joy to bless the human kind.
But, ah! how impotent is human power!

Sir David.
Each knave plants ills that thrive to many an age;
Nor can the gen'rous Patriot root them up,
And bid the blessings they expell'd re-bloom.

Douglas.
What I can do, I will; and never more
Did our dear country claim the Patriot's care.
Through all the day for her my heart is pain'd;
By night in dreams I hear her genius mourn,
And seek a Douglas to relieve her woes.
My sires rise glorious in their mighty deeds,
And, frowning on me, ask why Scotia's groans
Disturb their rest, while I their honour's Heir?
Ye venerable shades! I'll heir your worth.
To me, my country shall not sigh in vain:
'Mong her assembled Peers, I'll be the first
To seek her good; to reconcile her sons,
Forgive my wrongs; and make the rest forgive.

Sir David Douglas.
The wrongs they've done, could foes as well forgive,
All might be well; but villains ever fear,
And dread the vengeance of the injur'd brave.

Douglas.
My honest soul all low suspicion scorns.

Sir David.
In happy time our guardian has return'd,
When much we need his sage experienc'd counsel.

Douglas.
Well merits he our confidence and love;
Our father's dearest friend; our second father;
Who, skill'd in all the Greek and Roman wisdom,
Joins to the sage the Patriot and the Hero.

SCENE V.

Enter CHANCELLOR and CRICHTON, Jun.
Chancellor.
Love makes me too familiarly intrude,
And from your gen'rous friendship hope excuse.

Douglas.
Lord regent reconcil'd! my Prince's favour;
A peaceful prospect of the highest honours;
To you I owe: when friends exceed his love,
May Douglas bend before his foes in war.

Chancellor.
Such sentiments will suit your glorious race.

Crichton, Jun.
Your virtue's fame, like sacred incense spread,
Delighting earth, and grateful to the skies,
First charm'd mine ear; your virtue, now my soul.
My brave deliv'rer! When th'enraged bull,
On each strong horn, presented instant death,
Your thund'ring sword soon blasted all his strength.

Douglas.
Such aid from me the meanest had receiv'd.—

SCENE VI.

Enter FLEMING and Sir WILLIAM DOUGLAS.
Douglas.
Welcome, my Cousins, to my house and heart!
Report your success, all you see are friends.

Fleming.
Trust not too soon; for some have long been foes!

Chancellor.
Let not distrust pepetuate Scotia's plagues,
Now tott'ring on destruction's dreadful brink;
Suppress resentment, and fly swift to save.

Sir William Douglas
When Scotia's state was govern'd by her peers,
She rose from ruin to renown and power:
Shut from her councils, peaceful they retir'd,
And to their country sacrific'd revenge,
While o'er their heads their base inferiors rose.

Fleming.
Our nobles suffer'd much, my share was large.
My wife beheld her father's house destroyed;
Their high descent, their royal blood profan'd:
My life pursu'd, I bore the dungeon long.
Lord Douglas knows the suff'rings of his sire.

Chancellor.
Yet gen'rous he forgives! O my good Lords!
Remit the past; let penitence attone,
And future friendship live, for former wrongs.

Douglas.
'Tis godlike to forgive repenting foes.
To be implacable ill suits frail man,
Who daily errs, and daily pardon craves.

Fleming,
giving Letters.
My honest bus'ness, friend or foe may know;
These from the king of France, salute you Count
Of Longueville, and Touraine's potent duke,
With all the powers and rev'nues of your sires.

All.
God bless Touraine's great Duke.

Earl Douglas
to Sir David.
Dear Longueville!
Hence in both kingdoms we united shine;
In Scotland, Douglas and his Galloway;
In France, Touraine and his dear Longueville:
And Wigton's generous care shall find reward.

Chancellor
aside.
Hell blast their thriving greatness!—Hell I call
T'assist my hate! Their virtue bribes the skies!

Sir William Douglas.
Behold this bond by Ross and Crawford seal'd.
They hold your en'mies theirs: to-night expect them,
With noble peers who dwell beyond the Forth.

Chancellor
aside.
Enough t'alarm the Regent's rage and pride.
My royal charge requires me, but my son
[Aloud.
Desires to stay. Adieu, most honour'd Lords.

Exeunt cæteri.
Manet Sir William Douglas.
My uncle bred me as his son to greatness;
His sons have ever as a brother lov'd me:
How gen'rous are their hearts! How great their souls!
This wond'rous maid! The glories of her mind
Outshines even all her heav'nly beauty's brightness!
She moves an angel! Heav'n beams from her eyes!
And lo she comes, majestic in her charms!

Enter Lady Beatrix.
Your safe return and success give us joy.

Sir William Douglas.
Heav'n, and your gen'rous heart, reward your goodness,
Thou miracle of truth, and gen'rous love!
But what can I return to all your kindness?

Lady Beatrix.
A num'rous family of noble friends,
Earth's richest treasure, shall requite my brothers:
And me, your stedfast truth and virtuous love.

Sir William Douglas.
More gen'rous still! with such increase of fortune.

Lady Beatrix.
Truth scorns to alter, or by wealth, or want.

Sir William Douglas.
How exquisite thy joy's cœlestial virtue!
Thou join'd our souls; nor shall they e'er divide.
Fools in a thoughtless, gay, delirium rove,
As passion whirls, they either lothe or love;
And, if their bonds unbroken must remain,
They fret, they rage, and struggle with their chain.

Lady Beatrix.
But happy they whom heav'nly virtue binds,
Unfelt she ties consenting kindred minds:
Truth, honour, reason, gentle love remain
The shining links of her immortal chain:
By these confin'd, the happy captives stay,
And bask, and brighten in her heav'nly day.

Sir William Douglas.
Th'Eternal rais'd her adamantine throne
Of solid rock, coeval with his own.
Below the world's, its fixt foundation lies,
And high as heav'n's, he bad the summit rise.
Dissolve shall earth, and heav'n shall melt away,
Ere virtue's bands dissolve, her power decay.

Exeunt.