Which in the breasts of his forefathers burn'd: Enter LORD RANDOLPH and GLENALVON. Of arms enamour'd, all repose disclaims. Lady R. Be not, my lord, by his example sway'd. Arrange the business of to-morrow now, And when you enter, speak of war no more. [Exit. Lord R. 'Tis so, by heav'n! her mien, her voice, her eye, And her impatience to be gone, confirm it. Glen. He parted from her now. Behind the mount, Amongst the trees, I saw him glide along. Lord R. For sad sequester'd virtue she's renown'd. Glen. Most true, my lord. Lord R. Yet this distinguish'd dame Her manifest affection for the youth, A mine of gold, a kingdom for her dowry. The worst of sorrows, and the worst of shames! Glen. Yield not, my lord, to such afflicting thoughts, But let the spirit of a husband sleep, Of their behaviour. Lord R. Thou dost counsel well. Glen. Permit me now to make one slight essay; Of all the trophies, which vain mortals boast, Lord R. And what avails this maxim? Withdraw a little; I'll accost young Norval, Than humble Norval, by thy favour rais'd, Brave as he is, he'll shrink astonish'd from me: But if he be the favourite of the fair, Lord R. "Tis shrewdly thought. His rising wrath restrain. [Exit Randolph. Enter NORVval. His port I love: he's in a proper mood Nor. The setting sun Glen. Thou talk'st it well; no leader of our host In sounds more lofty speaks of glorious war. Nor. If I shall e'er acquire a leader's name, My speech will be less ardent. Novelty Now prompts my tongue, and youthful ad miration To gall your pride, which now I see is grea Nor. My pride! Glen. Suppress it, as you wish to prospe Your pride's excessive. Yet, for Randolph's sak I will not leave you to its rash direction. If thus you swell, and frown at high-born me Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn Nor. A shepherd's scorn! Glen. Yes; if you presume To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes, [Asid Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self? The private quarrel. Glen. Ha! dost thou threaten me? Nor. Didst thou not hear? Glen. Unwillingly I did; a nobler foe Had not been question'd thus. thee But such as Nor. Whom dost thou think me? Glen. Norval. Nor. So I am And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes? At best no more, even if he speaks the truth. Glen. Thy truth! thou'rt all a lie: and false as hell Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph. Perhaps I should revile: but as I am, Glen. I agree to this. Enter Servant. Lord R. We come. [Exit with Servant. Let not our variance mar the social hour, Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame. cause I plead not, nor demand your judg-I ment. ! Wash to speak; I will not, cannot speak Enter old NORVAL. Old N. 'Tis he. But what if he should His just reproach I fear. [Douglas turns aside and sees him Thy wish'd-for presence now completes my joy. Old N. And dost thou call me father? Oh, think that I could die, to make amends For the great wrong I did thee. 'Twas my crime, Which in the wilderness so long conceal'd the liege lord of my dear native land lose a subject's homage; but ev'n him And his high arbitration I'd reject. Within my bosom reigns another lord; Baur, sole judge, and umpire of itself. b my free speech offend you, noble Randolph, ke your favours, and let Norval go arce as he came, alone, but not dishonour'd. Lord R. Thus far I'll mediate with impar- Norval shall smooth the crested pride of Douglas. Old N. Let me but live to exaltation! Doug. Not worse the fruit, That in the wilderness the blossom blow'd. tial voice: see thine ancient foe of Caledonia's land waves his banners o'er her frighted fields. Yet grievous are my fears. Oh, leave this place, cornd your purpose till your country's arms And those unfriendly towers! the bold invader: then decide Doug. Why should I leave them? Old N. Lord Randolph and his kinsman | By stealth the mother and the son should meet? seek your life. Doug. How know'st thou that? Old N. For being what you are, [Embraces him. Doug. No; on this happy day, this better birth-day, My thoughts and words are all of hope and joy. Lady R. Sad fear and melancholy still divide The empire of my breast with hope and joy. Now hear what I advise Doug. First, let me tell What may the tenor of your counsel change. Doug. Tis not good At eve, unseen by Randolph and Glenalvon, 'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery; betray'd: Sir Malcolm's heir: how else have you offended? And ever and anon they vow'd revenge. Old N. My blessing rest upon thee! Oh, may heav'n's hand, which sav'd thee from the 'wave, Sir Malcolm's heir is come to claim his own, Doug. And leave you here? Thou genuine offspring of the daring Douglas [Exit. To whom I oft have of my lot complain'd, way, Which running eastward leads thee to th camp. Instant demand admittance to lord Douglas: Which I by certain proof will soon confirm stay, And guard a mother's life. Oft have I read rever'st Thy father's memory, think of this no more. In a most fearful season. War and battle I have great cause to dread. Too well I see If thou to giddy valour giv'st the rein, The God of battles of my life dispose feels. Just as my arm had master'd Randolph's sword, How pale thou look'st! And shall I lose thee I Doug. Do not despair: I feel a little faint ness; hope it will not last. [Leans upon his Sword. Oh! my beloved child! O Douglas, Douglas! But thus to perish by a villain's hand! [Douglas falls. Doug. Unknown I die; no tongue shall speak of me. Too well I love that valour which I warn. Gaze not on me, thou wilt mistake the path; [Exeunt. Doug. Oh, had it pleas'd high heav'n to let ALVOY Gien. I'm prepar'd. Lord R. No: 1 command thee stay. go alone: it never shall be said That I took odds to combat mortal man. And to a double slaughter guide it home! Not as thou lov'st thyself. [Clashing of Swords. Glen. [Running out] Now is the time. Enter LADY RANDOLPH, at the opposite Side of the Stage, faint and breathless. Lady R. Lord Randolph, hear me; all shall be thine own! But spare! Oh, spare my son! Enter DOUGLAS, with a Sword in each Hand. Doug. My mother's voice! I as protect thee still. Lady R. He lives! he lives! For this, for this to heav'n, eternal praise! sure I saw thee fall. Doug. It was Glenalvon. [Dies. Lady Randolph faints on the Body. Enter LORD RANDOLPH and ANNA. Lord R. Thy words, thy words of truth, have pierc'd my heart: I am the stain of knighthood and of arms. Oh! if my brave deliverer survives The traitor's sword Anna. Alas! look there, my lord. Was I the cause? No: I was not the cause. Anna. My lady lives: The agony of grief hath but suppress'd Lord R. But my deliverer's dead! Amidst thy raging grief I must proclaim Lady R. Thy innocence! Is innocence compar'd with what thou think'st it. Lady R. Of thee I think not; what have I to do With thee, or any thing? My son! my son! My beautiful! my brave! how proud was I Of thee and of thy valour! my fond heart O'erflow'd this day with transport, when I thought Of growing old amidst a race of thine, Now all my hopes are dead! A little while But in this rage she must abhor my presence. And headlong down- The precipice of death! Wretch that I am! Upon the brink she stood, and cast her eyes Lord R. I will not vent, In vain complaints, the passion of my soul. makes Me turn aside, must threaten worse than death. [The Curtain descends slowly to Music, LILLO. as the havock GEORGE LILLO, was by profession a jeweller, and was born in the neighbourhood of Moorgate, in London, an the 4th of Feb. 1693; in which neighbourhood he pursued his occupation for many years, with the fairest and most unblemished character. He was strongly attached to the Muses, yet seemed to have laid it down as a maxim, that the devotion paid to them ought always to tend to the promotion of virtue, morality, and religion. In pursuance of this aim, Mr. Lillo was happy in the choice of his subjects, and shewed great power of affecting the heart, by working up the passions to such a height, as to render the distresses of common and domestic life equally interesting as those of kings and heroes; and the ruin brought on private families by an indulgence of avarice, lust etc., made in states and empires by ambition, cruelty and tyranny. His George Barnwell, Fatal Curiosity, and Arden of Feversham are all planned on common and well-known stories; yet they have, perhaps, more frequently drawn tears from an audience, than the more pompous tragedies of Alexander the Great, All for Love, etc. Mr. Lillo, as before observed, has been happy in the choice of his subjects; his conduct and the management of them is no less merito rious, and his pathos very great. If there is any fault to be objected to his writings, it is, that sometimes he affects an elevation of style somewhat above the simplicity of his subject, and the supposed rank of his characters; but the custom of tragedy will stand in some degree of excuse for this; and a still better argument perhaps may be admitted in vindication, not only of our present author, but of others in the like predicament; which is, that even nature itseli will justify this conduct; since we find even the most humble characters in real life, when under peculiar circumstances of distress, or actuated by the influence of any violent passions, will at times be elevated to an aptuess of expression and power of language, not only greatly superior to themselves, but even to the general language and conversation of per sons of much higher rank in life, and of minds more perfectly cultivated. Our author died Sept. 5d. 1759, in the 47th year of his age; and a few months after his death the celebrated Fielding printed the following character of him in The Champion: "He had a perfect knowledge of human nature, though his contempt of all base means of applic tion, which are the necessary steps to great acquaintance, restrained his conversation within very narrow bounds. He had the spirit of an old Roman, joined to the innocence of a primitive christian; he was contented with his little sta of life, in which his excellent temper of mind gave him a happiness beyond the power of riches; and it was neces sary for his friends to have a sharp insight into his want of their services, as well as good inclination or abilities t serve him. In short, he was one of the best of men, and those who knew him best will most regret his loss." GEORGE BARNWELL. This play was acted 1751, at the Theatre Royal in Drury-lane with great success. "In the newspapers of th time" says the Biographia Dramatica, "we find, that on Friday, 2d of July 1731, the Queen sent to the playhouse i Drury-lane, for the manuscript of George Barnwell, to peruse it, which Mr. Wilks carried to Hampton Court.' Th tragedy being founded on a well known old ballad, many of the critics of that time, who went to the first represen tation of it, formed so contemptuous an idea of the piece, in their expectations, that they purchased the ballad ( thousands of which were used in one day on this account), in order to draw comparisons between that and the play But its merit soon got the better of this contempt, and presented them with scenes written so true to the heart, the they were compelled to subscribe to their power, and lay aside their ballads to take their handkerchiefs." The origa performer of the character of George Barnwell, Mr. Ross, relates, that in the year 1752, he played this part. D Barrowby was sent for by a young merchant's apprentice, who was in a high fever; upon the Doctor's approachin him, he saw his patient was afflicted with a disease of the mind. The Doctor being alone with the young man, confessed, after much solicitation, that he had made an improper acquaintance with a kept mistress; and had made fre with money intrusted to his care, by his employers, to the amount of 200 pounds. Seeing Mr. Ross in that piece, was so forcibly struck, he had not enjoyed a moment's peace since, and wished to die, to avoid the shame he saw han ing over him. The Doctor calmed his patient by telling him, if his father made the least hesitation to give the money, t should have it from him. The father arrived, put the amount into the son's hands,-they wept, kissed, embraced. Ta son soon recovered, and lived to be a very eminent merchant. Dr. Barrowby never told me the name; but one evea |