Lord R. [Behind the Scenes.] Draw, villain! draw!

Doug. Without.] Assail me not, lord Randolph;

Not as thou lovest thyself. [Clashing of swords.
Glen. [Running out.] Now is the time.
Enter LADY RANDOLPH, at the other side of
the stage, fuint 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 can protect thee still.

Lady R. He lives, he lives:

For this, for this to Heaven eternal praise!
But sure I saw thee fall.

Doug. It was Glenalvon;

Just as my arm had mastered Randolph's sword, The villain came behind me; but I slew him. Lady R. Behind thee! ah! thou art wounded! Oh, my child,

How pale thou look'st! And shall I lose thee now?

Doug. Do not despair: I feel a little faint

ness,

I hope it will not last. [Leans upon his sword.
Lady R. There is no hope!
And we must part! The hand of death is on thee!
Oh!
my beloved child! O Douglas, Douglas?
[Douglas growing more and more faint.
Doug. Too soon we part: I have not long
been Douglas;

O destiny! hardly thou deal'st with me!
Clouded and hid, a stranger to myself,
In low and poor obscurity I've lived.

Lady R. Has Heaven preserved thee for an end like this!

Doug. Oh! had I fallen as my brave fathers fell,

Turning with fatal arm the tide of battle,

Like them I should have smiled and welcomed

death:

But thus to perish by a villain's hand!
Cut off from nature's and from glory's course,
Which never mortal was so fond to run.
Lady R. Hear, justice, hear! stretch thy
avenging arm!
[Douglas fulls.
Doug. Unknown I die; no tongue shall speak
of me.

Some noble spirits, judging by themselves,
May yet conjecture what I might have proved,
And think life only wanting to my fame:
But who shall comfort thee?

Lady R. Despair, despair!

Doug. Oh, had it pleased high Heaven to let me live

A little while!my eyes, that gaze on thee, Grow dim apace! my mother-O! my mother!

[Dies.

Lord R. Oh, misery!

Amidst thy raging grief I must proclaim My innocence.

Lady R. Thy innocence!

Lord R. My guilt

Is innocence compared with what thou think'st it. Lady R. Of thee I think not: what have Į 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'erflowed this day with transport, when I
thought

Of growing old amidst a race of thine,
Who might make up to me their father's child-
hood,

And bear my brother's and my husband's name;
Now all my hopes are dead! A little while
Was I a wife! a mother not so long!
What am I now?-I know.-But I shall be
That only whilst I please; for such a son
And such a husband drive me to my fate.

[Runs out. Lord R. Follow her, Anna: I myself would follow,

Old Nor. I heard the voice of woe: Heaven guard my child!

Lord R. Already is the idle gaping crowd, The spiteful vulgar, come to gaze on Randolph. Begone.

Old Nor. I fear thee not. I will not go. Here I'll remain. I'm an accomplice, lord, 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 confined it, Yet never was by all thy virtues won To do thee justice, and reveal the secret, Which, timely known, had raised thee far above The villain's snare. Oh! I am punished now! These are the hairs that should have strewed 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, although I cannot punish.
Cursed, cursed Glenalvon! he escaped too well,
Though 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 gained,
Beneath whose lowering top the river falls
Ingulphed in rifted rocks: thither she came,
As fearless as the eagle lights upon it,
And headlong down-

Lord R. 'Twas I, alas ! 'twas I

That filled 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 forced to this? she plunged 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. I am resolved. I'll go
Straight to the battle, where the man that makes
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 omnes.

SCENE I.-Before count BALDWIN's house.

Enter VILLEROY and CARLOS.

Car. THIS Constancy of yours will establish an immortal reputation among the women.

Vil. If it would establish me with IsabellaCar. Follow her, follow her: Troy town was won at last.

Vil. I have followed her these seven years, and now but live in hopes.

Car. But live in hopes! Why, hope is the ready road, the lover's baiting-place; and, for aught you know, but one stage short of the possession of your mistress.

Vil. But my hopes, I fear, are more of my own making than her's; and proceed rather from my wishes, than any encouragement she has given

me.

Car. That I cannot tell the sex is very various; there are no certain measures to be pre

scribed or followed, in making our approaches to the women. All that we have to do, I think, is to attempt them in the weakest part. Press them but hard, and they will all fall under the necessity of a surrender at last. That favour comes at once; and sometimes when we least expect it. Vil. I shall be glad to find it so.

Car. You will find it so. Every place is to be taken, that is not to be relieved: she must comply.

Vil. I am going to visit her.

Car. What interest a brother-in-law can have with her, depend upon.

Vil. I know your interest, and I thank you. Car. You are prevented; see, the mourner

house,

I would transplant her into Villeroy's-
There is an evil fate that waits upon her,
To which I wish him wedded-Only him:
His upstart family, with haughty brow,
(Though Villeroy and myself are seeming friends)
Looks down upon our house; his sister, too,
Whose hand I asked, and was with scorn refused,
Lives in my breast, and fires me to revenge.-
They bend this way-

Perhaps, at last, she seeks my father's doors;
They shall be shut, and he prepared to give
The beggar and her brat a cold reception.
That boy's an adder in my path—they come;
I'll stand apart, and watch their motions.

[Retires.

Enter VILLEROY, with ISABELLA and her little

son.

Isa. Why do you follow me? you know I am A bankrupt every way; too far engaged Ever to make return: I own you have been More than a brother to me, my friend;

And at a time when friends are found no more, A friend to my misfortunes.

Vil. I must be always your friend. Isa. I have known, and found you Truly my friend; and would I could be yours; But the unfortunate cannot be friends: Fate watches the first motion of the soul, To disappoint our wishes; if we pray For blessings, they prove curses in the end, To ruin all about us. Pray, be gone; Take warning, and be happy.

Vil. Happiness!

There's none for me without you: Riches, name,
Health, fame, distinction, place, and quality,
Are the incumbrances of groaning life,
To make it but more tedious without you.
What serve the goods of fortune for? To raise
My hopes, that you at last will share them with

me.

Long life itself, the universal prayer,
And Heaven's reward of well-deservers here,
Would prove a plague to me; to see you always,
And never see you mine! still to desire,
And never to enjoy!

Isa. I must not hear you.

Vil. Thus, at this awful distance, I have served
A seven years bondage-Do I call it bondage,
When I can never wish to be redeemed?
No, let me rather linger out a life
Of expectation, that you may be mine,
Than be restored to the indifference

Of seeing you, without this pleasing pain:
I've lost myself, and never would be found,
But in these arms.

Isa. Oh, I have heard all this!

But must no more-the charmer is no more: My buried husband rises in the face

Of my dear boy, and chides ine for my stay:

Child. Why, have you done a fault? You cry as if you had. Indeed now, I have done nothing to offend you: but if you kiss me, and look so very sad upon me, I shall cry too.

İsa. My little angel, no, you must not cry; Sorrow will overtake thy steps too soon:

I should not hasten it.

Vil. What can I say!

The arguments that make against my hopes
Prevail upon my heart, and fix me more;
Those pious tears you hourly throw away
Upon the grave, have all their quickening charms,
And more engage my love, to make you mine :
When yet a virgin, free, and undisposed,
I loved, but saw you only with my eyes;
I could not reach the beauties of your soul:
I have since lived in contemplation,
And long experience of your growing goodness:
What then was passion, is my judgment now,
Through all the several stages of your life,
Confirmed and settled in adoring you.

Isa. Nay, then, I must be gone. If you are my friend,

If you regard my little interest,

No more of this; you see, I grant you all
That friendship will allow be still my friend;
That's all I can receive, or have to give.

I am going to my father; he needs not an ex

Samp. Well, what's to do now, I trow? You knock as loud as if you were invited; and that is more than I heard of; but I can tell you, you may look twice about you for a welcome in a great man's family, before you find it, unless you bring it along with you.

Isa. I hope I bring my welcome along with me: Is your lord at home? Count Baldwin lives here still?

Samp. Ay, ay, Count Baldwin does live here; and I am his porter: but what's that to the purpose, good woman, of my lord's being at home? Isa. Why, dont you know me, friend? Samp. Not I, not I, mistress; I may have seen