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Old N. Lord Randolph and his kinsman By stealth the mother and the son should m seek your life.

[Embraces Doug. How know'st thou that?

Doug. No; on this happy day, this b Old N. I will inform you how.

birth-day, When evening came, I left the secret place My thoughts and words are all of hope Appointed for me by your mother's care,

joy. And fondly trod in each accustom'd path Lady R. Sad fear and melancholy still a That to the castle leads. Whilst thus I rang'd, The empire of my breast with hope and I was alarm’d with unexpected sounds Now hear what I adviseOf earnest voices. On the persons came. Doug. First, let me tell Unseen I lurk'd, and overheard them name What may the tenor of your counsel cha Each other as they talk’d, lord Randolph this, Lady R. My heart forebodes some evi And that Glenalvon. Still of you they spoke, Doug. 'Tis not goodAnd of the lady: threat'ning was their speech, At eve, unseen by Randolph and Glenals Though but imperfectly my ear could hear it. The good old Norval in the grove o'erhe 'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discovery; Their conversation; oft they mention d m And ever and anon they vow'd revenge. With dreadful threat'nings; you they sa Doug. Revenge! for what?

times nam'd. Old N. For being what you are,

'Twas strange, they said, a wonderful discov Sir Malcolm's heir: how else have you offended? And ever and anon they vow'd revenge. When they were gone, I hied me to my cottage, Lady R. Defend us, gracious God! we And there sat musing how I best might find

betray'd : Means to inform you of their wicked purpose; They have found out the secret of thy b But I could think of none. At last, perplex’d, It must be so. That is the great discover I issued forth, encompassing the tower, Sir Malcolm's heir is come to claim his « With many a wearied step and wishful look. And they will be reveng'd. Perhaps even i Now Providence hath brought you to my sight, Arm'd and prepar'd for murder, they but Let not your too courageous spirit scorn A darker and more silent hour, to break The caution which I give.

Into the chamber where they think thou slee Doug. I scorn it not.

This moment, this, heav'n bath ordain' My mother warn'd me of Glenalvon's baseness:

save thee!
But I will not suspect the noble Randolph. Fly to the camp, my son!
In our encounter with the vile assassins, Doug. And leave you here?
I mark'd bis brave demeanour; him I'll trust. No: to the castle let us go together,
Old N. I fear you will, too far,

Call
up

the ancient servants of your hous Doug. Here in this place

Who in their youth did eat your father's bri I wait my mother's coming: she shall know Then tell them loudly that I am your son What thou hast told: her counsel I will follow: If in the breasts of men one spark remain And cautious ever are a mother's counsels. Of sacred love, fidelity, or pity, You must depart: your presence may prevent Some in your cause will arm. I ask but Our interview.

To drive those spoilers from my father's ho Old N. My blessing rest upon

thee!

Lady R. Oh, nature, nature! what can ch Ob, may heav'n's hand, which sav'd thee from

thy force ?

Thou genuine offspring of the daring Doug And from the sword of foes, be near thee stiil; But rush not on destruction : save thyself, Turning mischance, ifaught hangs o'er thy head, And I am safe. To me they mean no ba All upon mine!

[Exit. Thy stay but risks thy precious life in vai Doug. He loves me like a parent; That winding path conducts thee to the ri And must not, shall not, lose the son he loves, Cross where thou seest a broad and be Although his son has found a nobler father.

way, Eventful day! how hast thou chang'd my state! Which running eastward leads thee to Once on the cold and winter-shaded side

camp Of a bleak hill, mischance had rooted me, Instant demand admittance to lord Dougla Never to thrive, child of another soil ; Show bim these jewels, which his brother w Transplanted now to the gay sunny vale, Thy look, thy voice, will make him feel Like the green thorn of May my fortune flowers.

truth, Ye glorious starsbigh heav'n's resplendent Which I by certain proof will soon confi

. I , : To whom I oft have of my lot complain'd,

heart Hear, and record my soul's unalter'd wish! Bleeds at this parting. Something bids Dead or alive, let me but be renown'd!

stay, May heav'n inspire some fierce gigantic Dane, And guard a mother's .life. Oft have I re To give a bold' defiance to our host! Of wondrous deeds by one bold arm achie Before he speaks it out, I will accept: Our foes are two; no more: let me go fo Like Douglas conquer, or like Douglas die. And see if any shield can guard Glenalvo

Lady R. If thou regard'st thy mother, Enter LADY RANDOLPH.

rever'st Lady R. My sou! I heard a voice- Thy father's memory, think of this no mor Doug. The voice was mine.

One thing I have to say before we part; Lady R. Didst thou complain aloud to na- Long wert thou lost; and thou art found, turc's ear,

child, That thus in dusky shades, at midnight hours, In a 'most fearful season. War and battle

the wave,

you comfort ?

I have great cause to dread. Too well I see Just as my arm had master'd Randolph's sword, Which way the current of thy temper sets: The villain came behind me; but I slew him. To-day I have found thee. Oh! my long-lost Lady R. Behind thee! ab! thou'rt wounded! hope!

, Oh, my child, If thou to giddy valour giv'st the rein, How pale thou look'st! And shall I lose thee To-morrow I may lose my son for ever.

now? The love of thee, before thou saw'st the light, Doug. Do not despair: I feel a little faintSastaind my life when thy brave father fell. 7

ness; If thou shalí fall, I have not love nor hope I hope it will not last. (Leans upon his Sword. In this waste world! My son, remember me! Lady R. There is no hope!' Doug. What shall I say? How can I give And we must part! the band of death is on

thee! The God of battles of my life dispose Oh! my beloved child! O Douglas, Douglas! As may be best for you! for whose dear sake Douglas growing more and more faint, I will not bear myself as I resolv’d.

Doug. Oh! had I fall'n as my brave fathers But yet consider, as no vulgar name,

fell, That wbich I boast, sounds among martial men, Turning with fatal arm the tide of battle, How will inglorious caution suit my claim ? Like them I should have smild and welcom'd The post of fate unsbrinking I maintain...

death; My country's foes must witness who I am. But thus to perish by a villain's hand! On the invaders' heads I'll prove my birth, Cut off from nature's and from glory's course, Till friends and foes confess the genuine strain. Which never mortal was so fond to run. If in this strife I fall, blame not your son, Lady R. Hear, justice, hear! stretch thy Who, if he live not honour'd, must not live.

avenging arm. Led R I will not utter what my bosom

[Douglas falls. feels.

Doug. Unknown I die; no tongue shall Teo well I love that valour which I warn.

speak of me, Farewell, my son, my counsels are but vain. Some noble spirits, judging by themselves,

.: [Embracing. May yet conjecture what I might have prov'd, And as high heav'n hath will'd it, all must be. And think life only wanting to my fame:

[They separate. But who shall comfort thee? Gare not on me, thou wilt mistake the path; Lady R. Despair, Despair! Il point it out again.

[Exeunt. Doug. Oh, had it pleas'd high heav'n to let

me live Just as they are separating, enter, from A little while !-my eyes that gaze on thec

the Wood, LORD RANDOLPH and GLEN-Grow dim apacc! my mother-O! my mother! ALTON.

[Dies. Lady Randolph faints on Lard R. Not in her presence.

the Body. Now Gler. I'm prepar'd.

Enter LORD RANDOLPH and Anna. Lord R. No:1 command thee stay.

Lord R. Thy words, thy words of truth, I go alone: it never shall be said

have pierc'd my heart: That I took odds to combat mortal man. I am the stain of knighthood and of arms, The noblest vengeance is the most complete. Oh! if my brave deliverer survives

"Exit. The traitor's sword
(Glenalvon makes some Steps to Anna. Alas! look there, my lord.

the same Side of the Stage, lis- Lord R. The mother and her son! llow
tens, and speaks.

curst am I! Glen. Demons of death, come settle on my Was I the cause? No: I was not the cause. sword,

Yon matchless villain did 'seduce my soul
And to a double slaughter guide it home! To frantic jealousy.
The lover and the husband both must die Anna. My lady lives :

Lord R. Without] Draw, villain! draw! The agony of grief hath but suppress'd
Doug. [Without] Assail me not, lord Ran- Awhile her powers.
dolph;

| Lord R. But my deliverer's dead! Not as thou lor'st thyself.

Lady R. (Recovering] Where am I now? [Clashing of Swords.

Still in this wretched world! Glen. [Running out Now is the time. Grief cannot break a heart so hard as miné.

Lord R. Oh, misery!
Enter LADY RANDOLPH, at the opposite Side Amidst thy raging grief I must proclaim

of the Stage, faint and breathless. My innocence.
Lady R. Lord Randolph, hear me; all shall Lady R. Thy innocence!
be thiné own!

L Lord R. My guilt But spare! Oh, spare my son!

Is innocence compar'd with what thou think'st it.

Lady R. Of thee I think not; what have I Enter Douglas, with a Sword in each Hand.

i to do Doug. My mother's voice!

With thee, or any thing? My son! my son! I can protect thee still.

My beautiful! my brave! how proud was I Lady R. He lives! he lives!

* Tof thee and of ihy valour! my fond heart For this, for this to heav'n, eternal praise! O'erflow'd this day with transport, when I But sure I saw thee fall.

thought Doug. It was Glenalvon.

or growing old amidst a race of thine.

Now all my hopes are dead! A little while And headlong down-,
Was I a wife! a mother not so long!

Lord R. 'Twas I, alas! 'twas I
What am I now?- I know-But I shall be That filld her breast with fury; drove !
That only whilst I please; for such a son

down And such a husband drive me to my fate. The precipice of death! Wretch that I am

[E.rit running: Anna, Oh, had you seen her last despairi Lord R. Follow her, Anna: I myself would

look! follow,

Upon the brink she stood, and cast her ey But in this rage she must abhor my presence. Down on the deep: then lifting up her bea

[Exit Anna, And her white hands to heaven, seeming to s Curs'd, curs'd Glenalvon, he escap'd too well, Why am I forc'd to this? she plung d hers Though slain and baffled by the hand he hated, Into the empty air. Foaming, with rage and fury to the last, Lord R. I will not vent, Cursing his conqueror, the felon died. In vain complaints, the passion of my soul

Peace in this world I never can enjoy. Re-enter ANNA.

These wounds the gratitude of Randolph gay Anna. My lord! My lord !

They speak aloud, and with the voice off Lord R. Speak: I can hear of borror. Denounce my doom. I am resolv'd. I'll 8 Anna. Horror, indeed!

Straight to the battle, where the man i Lord R. Matilda !

makes Anna, Is no more:

Me turn aside, must threaten worse than dea She ran, she flew like lightning up the hill; Thou, faithful to thy mistress, take this ring Nor halted till the precipice she gain'd, Full warrant of my power. Let every rite Beneath whose low'ring top, the river falls With cost and pomp upon their funerals wa Ingulf'd in rifted rocks: thither she came, For Randolph hopes he never shall return. As fearless as the eagle lights upon it,

[The Curtain descends slowly to Mus

JOT

L I LL 0. GEORGE Lillo, was by profession a jeweller, and was born in the neighbourhood of Moorgate, in London, the 4th of Feb. 1693 ; in which neighbourhood he pursued his occupation for many years, with the fairest and unblemished character. He was strongly attached to the Muses, yet seemed to have laid it down as a maxim, that devotion paid to them ought always to toad to the promotion of virtue, morality, and religion. In pursuance of aim, Mr. Lillo was happy in the choice of his subjects, and shewed great power of affecting the heart, by' worki up the passions to such a height, as to render the distresses of common and domestic life equally interesting as th of kings and heroes; and the ruin brought on private families by an indulgence of avarice, last etc., as the here made in states and empires by ambition, cruelty and tyranny. His George Barnwell, Fatal Curiosity, and Arden Fever sham are all planned on common and well-known stories; yet they have, perhaps, more frequently drawn to from an audience, than the more pompous tragedies of Alexander The Great, all for Love, etc. Mr. Lillo, as best observed, has been happy in the choice of his subjects; his conduct and the management of them is no less mer rious, and his pathos very great. If there is any fault to be objected to his writings, it is, that sometimes he afla an elevation of style somewhat above the simplicity of his subject, and the supposed rank of his characters ; but custom of tragedy will stand in some degree of excuse for this; and a still better argument perhaps ,may be admit in vindication, not only of our present author, but of others in the like predicament, which is, that even nature itt will justify this conduct; since we find even the most humble characters in real life, when under peculiar circumstan of distress, or actuated by the influence of any violent passions, will at times be elevated to an aptuess of expressi and power of language, not only greally superior to themselves, but even to the general language and conversation of sons of much higher rank in life, and of minds more perfectly cultivated. Our author died Sept. 3d. 1739, in 47th year of his age, and a few months after his death the celebrated Fielding printed the following character of in The Champion: "He had a perfect knowledge of human natnre, though his contempt of all base means of appli tion, which are the necessary steps to great acquaintance, restrained his conversation within very narrow bounds. had the spirit of an old Roman, joined to the innocence of a primitive christian; he was contented with his little si of life, in which his excellent temper of mind gave him a happiness beyond the power of riches; and it was nec sary for his friends to have a sharp insight into his want of their services, as well as good inclination or abilities serye him. In short, he was one of the best of men, and those who knew him best will most regret his loss."

GEORGE BARNWELL: Turs play was acted 1731, at the Theatre Royal in Drury-lane with greal success, "In the newspapers of time” says the Biographia Dramatica, "we find, that on Friday, 2d of July 1731, 'the Qucen sent to the playhouse Drury-lane, for the manuscript of George Barnwell, to peruse it, which Mr. Wilks carried to Hampton Court. 1 tragedy being founded on a well known old ballad, many of the critics of that time, who went to the first represe tation of it, formed so contemptuous an idea of the piece, in their expectations, that they purchased the ballad (sy thousands of which were ased in one day on this account), in order to draw comparisons between that and the But its merit soun got the better of this

contempt, and presented them with scenes written so true to the heart, ! they were compelled to subscribe to their power, and lay aside their ballads to take their handkerchiefs." The origi performer of the character of George Barnwell, Mr. Ross, relates, that “in the year 1752, he played this part. Barrowhy was sent for ly a young merebant's apprentice, who was in a high fever; upon the Doctor's approach him, he saw his patient was aftlicted with a disease of the mind. The Doctor being alone with the young_inal, confessed, afer much solicitation, that he had made an improper acquaintance with a kept mistress, and had made 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, lic had not enjoyed a moment's peace since, and wished to die, to avoid the shame he saw her ing over him. The Doctor calmed his patient by telling him, if his father made the least hesilation to give the money: should have it from him. The father arrived, put the amount into the son's hande, they wept, kissed, embracedo son soon recovered, and lived to be a very eminent merchant. Dr. Barrowby never told me the name; but one ex

ing he said to me, you have done some good in your profession, more perhaps than many a clergyman who preached last sunday. I had for nine or ten years, at my benefit, a nole sealed up with ten guineas, and those words, "a triEnte of grattade from one who is highly obliged, and sayed from ruin, by secing Mr. Ross's performance of Barnwell. What will the virulent decriers of stage-plays say to this ?

DRAMATIS PERSONAE. THOROW GOOD.

TRUEMAN.

ROBERT. BARNWELL, Uncle to

| Officers, with their AtBLUNT.

MARIA. George.

tendants, GAOLER.

MILLWOOD. GEORGE BARNWELL.

Keeper, and Footmen.
JOHN.

LUCY.
• Scene. - London and an adjacent Village.

ACT I.

| Thorow. Nay, 'twas a needless caution; I SCENE L-A Room in THOROW GOOD's House.

have no cause to doubt your prudence. .

Maria. Sir. I find myself unfit for converEnter THOROWGOOD and TRUEMAN. sation. I should but increase the number of True. Sir, the packet from Genoa is arrived. the company, without adding to their satisfac

(Gives Letters. tion. Thorow. Heaven be praised the storm that Thorow. Nay, my child, this melancholy threatened our royal mistress, pure religion, must not be indulged. liberts, and laws, is for a time diverted. By Maria. Company will but increase it. I this means, time is gained to make such pre- wish you would dispense with my presence. paration on our part, as may, heaven concur- Solitude best suits my present temper. ring, prevent his malice, or turn the meditated! Thorow. You are not insensible, that it is mischief on himself.

chiefly on your account these noble lords do True. He must be insensible indeed, who is me the honour so frequently to grace my board. Dot affected when the safety of his country is Should you be absent, the disappointment may concerned. Sir, may I know by what means ? make them repent of their condescension, and -If I am not too bold

think their labour lost. Thorow. Your curiosity is laudable; and I Maria. He that shall think his time or hogratify it with the greater pleasure, because nour lost in visiting you, can set no real value from thence you may learn how honest mer- on your daughter's company, whose only merit charts, as such, may sometimes contribute to is that she is yours. The man of quality who the safety of their country, as they do at all chooses to converse with a gentleman and Úne to its happiness; that if bereafter you merchant of your worth and character, may should be tempted to any action that has the confer honour by so doing, but he loses none. appearance of vice or meanness in it, upon Thorow. Come, come, Maria, I need not reliecting on the dignity of our profession, tell you, that a young gentleman may prefer you may with honest scorn reject whatever is your conversation to mine, and yet intend me unworthy of it.

no disrespect at all; for though he may lose True. Should Barnwell, or I, who have the no honour in my company, 'tis very natural benefit of your example, by our ill conduct for him to expect more pleasure in yours. I bring any imputation on that honourable name, remember the time when the company of the We must be left without excuse.

greatest and wisest man in the kingdom, would Theros. You compliment, young man. have been insipid and tiresome to me, if it [Trueman bows respectfully] Nay, I'm not had deprived me of an opportunity of enjoyoffended. As the name of merchani never de-ing your mother's. grades the gentleman, so by no means does Maria. Yours, no doubt, was as agreeable it exclude him; only take heed not to pur- to her: for generous minds know no pleasure chase the character of complaisant at the ex- in society but where 'tis mutual. pense of your sincerity.

Thorow. Thou knowest I have no heir, no True. Sir, have you any commands for me child, but thee; the fruits of many years sucat this time?

cessful industry must all be thine. Now it Thorow. Only look carefully over the files, would give me pleasure, great as my love, to to see wbether there are any tradesmen's bills see on whom you will bestow it. I am daily unpaid; if there are, send and discharge 'em. solicited by, men of the greatest rank and merit We must not let artificers lose their time, so for leave to address you; but I have hitherto useful to the public and their families, in un-declined it, in hopes that, by observation, I Decessary attendance. [Exit Trucman. should learn which way your inclination tends;

for, as I know love to be essential to happiEnter MARIA.

ness in the marriage state, I had rather my

approbation should confirm your choice than Well, Maria, have you given orders for the direct it. entertainment? I would have it in some mea- Maria. What can I say? How shall I ansure worthy the guests. Let there be plenty, swer as I ought this tenderness, so uncommon and of the best, that the courtiers may at least even in the best of parents? But you are withcommend our hospitality.

out example; yet, had you been less indulMaria. Sir, I bave endeavoured not to wrong gent, I had been most wretched. That I look your well-known generosity by an ill-timed on the crowd of courtiers that visit here, with parsimony.

equal esteem, but equal indifference, you have

observed, and I must needs confess; yet, had is capable of any action, though ever so i you asserted your authority, and insisted on and yet what pains will they not take, v à parent's right to be obeyed, I had submitted, arts not use, to seduce us from our innoce and to my duty sacrificed my peace. and make us contemptible and wicked,

Thorow. From your perfect obedience in in their own opinion? Then is it not just, every other instance, I feared as much; and villains, to their cost, should find us so? therefore would leave you without a bias in guilt makes them suspicious, and keeps ! an affair wherein your happiness is so imme- on their guard; therefore we can take ad diately concerned.

tage only of the young and innocent par Maria. Whether from a want of that just the sex, who never having injured wou ambition that would become your daughter, apprehend no danger from them. or from some other cause, I know not; but I Lucy. Ay, they must be young indeed find high birth and titles don't recommend the Mill. Such a one I think I have found. man who owns them to my affections. I have passed through the city, I have

Thorow. I would not that they should, un- observed bim receiving and paying consi less his merit recommends him more. A no- able sums of money; from thence I cond ble birth and fortune, though they make not he is employed in affairs of consequence. a bad man good, yet they are a real advan- Lucy. Is he handsome? tage to a worthy one, and place his virtues in Mill. Ay, ay, the stripling is well made, the fairest light.

has a good face. Maria. I cannot answer for my inclinations; Lucy. Aboutbut they shall ever be submitted to your wis- Mili. Eighteen. dom and authority. And as you will not com- Lucy. Innocent, handsome, and about pel me to marry where I cannot love, love teen! You'll be vastly happy. Why, if shall never maķe me act contrary to my duty. manage well, you may keep him to you Sir, have I your permission to retire? these two or three years. Thorow. I'll see you to your chamber. Mill. If I manage well, I shall have

[Exeunt. with him much sooner. Having long h Scene II.- A Roonı in Milewoon's House. design on him, and meeting him yesterd:

made a full stop, and gazing wishfully, og Enter MILLWOOD and Lucy.

face, asked his name. He blushed, and, I Mill. How do I look to-day, Lucy? ing very low, answered George Barnwel

Lucy. O, killingly, madam! A little more begged his pardon for the freedom I red, and you'll be irresistible!-But why this taken, and told him that he was the pers more than ordinary care of your dress and had long wished to see, and to whom I complexion ? What new conquest are you an affair of importance to communicate aiming at?

proper time and place. He named a tav Mili. A conquest would be new indeed! I talked of honour and reputation, and

Lucy. Not to you, who make 'em every vited him to my house. He swallowed day—but to me-Well, 'tis what I'm never to bait, promised to come, and this is the ti expect-unfortunate as I am—But your wit expect him. [Knocking at the Door] So and beauty

body knocks.

D'ye hear, I'm at hom Mill. First made me a wretch, and still con- nobody to-day, but him. [Exit Lucy] tinue me so. Men, however generous and affairs must give way to those of more sincere to one another, are all selfish hypo- sequence; and I am strangely mistaken if crites in their affairs with us;

no does not prove of great importance to otherwise esteemed or regarded by them, but and him ioo, before I have done with as we contribute to their satisfaction. Now, after what manner shall I receive !

Lucy. You are certainly, madam, on the Let me consider-What manner of perso wrong side of this argument. Is not the ex- I to receive? He is young, innocent, and by ·pense all theirs ? And I am sure it is our own ful; therefore I must take care not to put fault if we han't our share of the pleasure. out of countenance at first.

Mill. We are but slaves to men.

Lucy. Nay, 'tis they that are slaves most Enter BARNWELL, bowing very low. 1 certainly, for we lay them under contribution.

at a Distance. Mill. Slaves have no property; no, not even Mill. Sir, the surprise and joy! in themselves: all is the victor's.

Barn. Madam! Lucy. You are strangely arbitrary in your Mill. This is such a favour- [Advan principles, madam.

Barn. Pardon me, madam! Mill. I would have my conquest complete, Mill. So unboped for! [Still adea, like those of the Spaniards in the new world - Barnwell salutes her, and retires in who first plundered the natives of all the fusion.] To see you here - Excuse the wealth they had, and then comdemned the fusionwretches to the mines for life, to work for Barn. I fear I am too bold. more.

Mill. Alas, sir, I may justly apprehend Lucy. Well, I shall never approve of your think me Please, sir, to sit. I ar scheme of government; I should think it much much at a loss how to receive this bonoi more politic, as well as just, to find my sub- ! ought, as I am surprised at your good jects an easier employment.

in conferring it. Mill. It is a general maxim among the know- Barn. I thought you had expected m ing part of mankind, that a woman without promised to come. virtue, like a man without honour or honesty, Mill. That is the more surprising: few

we

are

SO.

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