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I am the stain of knighthood and of arms.
Oh! if my brave deliverer survives
The traitor's sword

700 Anna. Alas! look there, my lord.

Lord R. The mother and her son! How curst I am!
Was I the cause? No: I was not the cause.
Yon matchless villain did seduce my soul
To frantic jealousy.

Anna. My lady lives :
The agony of grief hath but suppressid
Awhile her powers.

Lord R. But my deliverer's dead; “ The world did once esteem lord Randolph well, “ Sincere of heart, for spotless honour fam'd: “ And, in my early days, glory I gain'd “ Beneath the holy banner of the cross. “ Now past the noon of life, shame comes upon me; “ Reproach, and infamy, and public hate, 6. Are near at hand : for all mankind will think “ That Randolph basely stabb'd Sir Malcolm's heir." Lady R. [Recovering.] Where am I now? Still in

this wretched world! Grief cannot break a heart so hard as mine. “ My youth was worn in anguish: but youth's strength, “ With hope's assistance, bore the brunt of sorrow; « And train’d me on to be the object now, “ On which Omnipotence displays itself, “ Making a spectacle, a tale of me, " To awe it's vassal, man."'s

Lord R. Oh, misery!

730

Amidst thy raging grief I must proclainn
My innocence.

Lady R. Thy innocence !

Lord R. My guilt
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,
Who might make up to me their father's childhood,
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, But in this rage she must abhor my presence.

[Exit ANNA.
Enter Old NORVAL.
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,

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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 confind 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. Cursd, 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 ?

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Anna. Is no more :
She ran, she flew like lightning up the hill,
Nor halted till the precipice she gain'd,
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 down-

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 resolvd. 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.

AN Epilogue I ask'd ; but not one word
Our bard will write. He vous tis most absurd
With comic wit to contradi&t the strain
Of tragedy and make your sorrows vain.
Sadly he 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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