Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self? | The private quarrel. Glen. Ha! dost thou threaten me? 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 bell Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph. Perhaps I should revile: but as I am, to command [Draws. 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. sentment. When we contend again, our strife is mortal. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I-A Wood. Enter DOUGLAS. Doug. This is the place, the centre of the grove; Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood. star. Ten thousand slaves like thee- [They fight. Enter LORD RANDOLPH. Lord R. Hold, I command you both. The man that stirs Makes me his foe. Nor. Another voice than thine That threat had vainly sounded, noble Ran dolph. Glen. Hear him, my lord; he's wondrous Mark the humility of shepherd Norval! Lord R. Speak not thus, My cause I plead not, nor demand your judg-I ment. I blush to speak; I will not, cannot speak To the liege lord of my dear native land The ancient foe of Caledonia's land Enter old NORVAL. Old N. 'Tis he. But what if he should chide me hence? His just reproach I fear. [Douglas turns aside and sees him Forgive, forgive; still: Thy wish'd-for presence now completes my joy think that I could die, to make amends Now waves his banners o'er her frighted fields. Yet grievous are my fears. Oh, leave this place, 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; Lady R. Defend us, gracious God! we are betray'd: Sir Malcolm's heir: how else have you offended? And ever and anon they vow'd revenge. I issued forth, encompassing the tower, Doug. I scorn it not. My mother warn'd me of Glenalvon's baseness: I wait my mother's coming: she shall know Sir Malcolm's heir is come to claim his own, Doug. And leave' you here? Old N. My blessing rest upon thee! [Exit. Doug. He loves me like a parent; complain'd, To whom I oft have of my lot Lady R. My son! I heard a voice- Which running eastward leads thee to the camp. Instant demand admittance to lord Douglas: Which I by certain proof will soon confirm. Bleeds at this parting. Something bids me And guard a mother's life. Oft have I read Lady R. If thou regard'st thy mother, or 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 I hope it will not last. [Leans upon his Sword. Oh! my beloved child! O Douglas, Douglas! Turning with fatal arm the tide of battle, 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. 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? Gaze not on me, thou wilt mistake the path; Lady R. Despair, Despair! I'll point it out again. Just as they are separating, enter, from A little while!-my eyes that gaze on thee the Wood, LORD RANDOLPH and GLEN- Grow dim apace! my mother-O! my mother! ALVON. Lord R. Not in her presence. Now Glen. I'm prepar'd. [Exeunt. Doug. Oh, had it pleas'd high heav'n to let Lord R. No: 1 command thee stay. I go alone: it never shall be said. Glen. Demons of death, come settle on my 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. I can protect thee still. Lady R. He lives! he lives! For this, for this to heav'n, eternal praise! Doug. It was Glenalvon. me live [Dies. Lady Randolph faints on Enter LORD RANDOLPH and ANNA. 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. to do With thee, or any thing? My son! my son! Of growing old amidst a race of thine. And headlong down- The precipice of death! Wretch that I am! Now all my hopes are dead! A little while Re-enter ANNA. Anna. My lord! My lord! Lord R. Speak: I can hear of horror. Lord R. Matilda ! Anna. Is no more: She ran, she flew like lightning up the hill; 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. GEORGE LILLO, was by profession a jeweller, and was born in the neighbourhood of Moorgate, in London, on the 4th of Feb. 1695; 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., as the havock 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 meritorious, 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 he admitted in vindication, not only of our present author, but of others in the like predicament; which is, that even nature itself 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 aptness of expression, and power of language, not only greatly superior to themselves, but even to the general language and conversation of persins of much higher rank in life, and of minds more perfectly cultivated. Our author died Sept. 5d. 1739, 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 application, 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 state of life, in which his excellent temper of mind gave him a happiness beyond the power of riches; and it was necessary for his friends to have a sharp insight into his want of their services, as well as good inclination or abilities to 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 1731, at the Theatre Royal in Drury-lane with great success. "In the newspapers of the time" says the Biographia Dramatica, "we find, that on Friday, ad of July 1731, the Queen sent to the playhouse in Drury-lane, for the manuscript of George Barnwell, to peruse it, which Mr. Wilks carried to Hampton Court. This tragedy being founded on a well known old ballad, many of the critics of that time, who went to the first representation of it, formed so contemptuous an idea of the piece, in their expectations, that they purchased the ballad (some 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, that they were compelled to subscribe to their power, and lay aside their ballads to take their handkerchiefs." The original performer of the character of George Barnwell, Mr. Ross, relates, that "in the year 1752, he played this part. Dr. Earrowhy was sent for by a young merchant's apprentice, who was in a high fever; upon the Doctor's approaching him, he saw his patient was afflicted with a disease of the mind. The Doctor being alone with the young man, he confessed, after much solicitation, that he had made an improper acquaintance with a kept mistress; and had made free with money intrusted to his care, by his employers, to the amount of 200 pounds. Secing Mr. Ross in that piece, he was so forcibly struck, he had not enjoyed a moment's peace since, and wished to die, to avoid the shame he saw hanging over him. The Doctor calmed his patient by telling him, if his father made the least hesitation to give the money, he should have it from him. The father arrived, put the amount into the son's hands,-they wept, kissed, embraced. The son soon recovered, and lived to be a very eminent merchant. Dr. Barrowby never told me the name; but one even 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 note sealed up with ten guineas, and these words, "a tribute of gratitude from one who is highly obliged, and saved from ruin, by seeing Mr. Ross's performance of Barnwell." What will the virulent decriers of stage-plays say to this? SCENE I-A Room in THOROWGOOD's House. Maria. Sir, I find myself unfit for conversation., I should but increase the number of the company, without adding to their satisfacThorow. Nay, my child, this melancholy Thorow. Heaven be praised! the storm that threatened our royal mistress, pure religion, must not be indulged. liberty, 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 mischief on himself. True. He must be insensible indeed, who is not affected when the safety of his country is concerned. Sir, may I know by what means? -If I am not too bold Thorow. You are not insensible, that it is chiefly on your account these noble lords do me the honour so frequently to grace my board. Should you be absent, the disappointment may make them repent of their condescension, and 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 chants, 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 times to its happiness; that if hereafter 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 reflecting 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 have been insipid and tiresome to me, if it had deprived me of an opportunity of enjoying your mother's. Thorow. You compliment, young man. [Trueman bows respectfully] Nay, I'm not offended. As the name of merchant never degrades 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 whether there are any tradesmen's bills unpaid; if there are, send and discharge 'em. We must not let artificers lose their time, so useful to the public and their families, in unnecessary attendance. [Exit Trueman. Enter MARIA. Well, Maria, have you given orders for the entertainment? I would have it in some measure worthy the guests. Let there be plenty, and of the best, that the courtiers may at least commend our hospitality. I see on whom you will bestow it. I am daily solicited by men of the greatest rank and merit for leave to address you; but I have hitherto declined it, in hopes that, by observation, should learn which way your inclination tends; for, as I know love to be essential to happiness in the marriage state, I had rather my approbation should confirm your choice than direct it. Maria. What can I say? How shall I answer as I ought this tenderness, so uncommon even in the best of parents? But you are without example; yet, had you been less indulMaria. Sir, I have 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. Lequal esteem, but equal indifference, you have |