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With thee in murder. Yes, my sins did help
To crush down to the ground this lovely plant.
Oh, noblest youth that ever yet was born!
Sweetest and best, gentlest and bravest spirit,
That ever blest the world ! Wretch that I am,
Who saw that noble spirit swell and rise
Above the narrow limits that confin'd it,
Yet never was by all thy virtues won
To do thee justice, and reveal the secret,
Which, timely known, had rais'd thee far above
The villain's snare. Oh! I am punish'd now!
These are the hairs that should have strew'd the

ground,
And not the locks of Douglas.

[Tears his hair, and throws himself upon the body of

Douglas. Lord R. I know thee now : “ thy boldness I forgive:

My crest is fallen.” For thee I will appoint A place of rest, if grief will let thee rest. I will reward, altho' I cannot punish. Curs’d, curs'd Glenalvon, he escap'd too well, 770 Tho' slain and baffled by the hand he hated. Foaming with rage and fury to the last, Cursing his conqueror, the felon died.

Enter ANNA.

Anna. My lord ! My lord !
Lord R. Speak: I can hear of horror.
Anna. Horror, indeed!
Lord R. Matilda ?

Anna. Is no more :
She ran, she flew like lightning up the hill,
Nor halted till the precipice she gain’d, 780
Beneath whose low'ring top the river falls
Ingulph'd in rifted rocks : thither she came,
As fearless as the eagle lights upon it,
And headlong downl-

Lord R. 'Twas I alas! 'twas I
That fill'd her breast with fury; drove her down
The precipice of death! Wretch that I am !

Anna. Oh, had you seen her last despairing look!
Upon the brink she stood, and cast her eyes
Down on the deep: then lifting up her head
And her white hands to Heaven, seeming to say,
Why am I forc'd to this ? she plung’d herself
Into the empty air.

Lord R. I will not vent, In vain complaints, the passion of my soul, Peace in this world I never can enjoy. "These wounds the gratitude of Randolph gave ; They speak aloud, and with the voice of fate Denounce my doom. I am resolv’d." I'll go Straight to the battle, where the man that makes 800 Me turn aside must threaten worse than death. Thou, faithful to thy mistress, take this ring, Full warrant of my power.

Let

every rite With cost and pomp upon their funerals wait: For Randolph hopes he never shall return. [Exeunt. EPILOGUE.

Sadly he

An Epilogue I ask'd; but not one word Our bard will write. He vows 'tis most absurd With comic wit to contradict the strain Of tragedy and make your sorrows vain.

says, that pity is the best, And noblest passion of the human breast : For when its sacred streams the heart o'er-flow, In gushes pleasure with the tide of woe; And when its waves retire, like those of Nile, They leave behind him such a golden soil, That there the virtues without culture grow, There the sweet blossoms of affection blow. These were his words; void of delusive art, I felt them: for he spoke them from his heart. Nor will I now attempt, with witty folly, To chase away celestial melancholy.

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