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prisoner at the battle of Falkirk. He contrived to escape, and was ordained minister of Athelstaneford, in East Lothian, 1750. His tragedy of "Douglas" was performed with great success in Edinburgh; but the fact of a clergyman writing a play at all so offended the presbytery, that he was compelled to resign his living. He died, aged 85, 1808.]

Glenalvon. His port I love: he's in a proper mood
To chide the thunder, if at him it roar'd.
Has Norval seen the troops ?

Norval. The setting sun

With yellow radiance lighten'd all the vale;
And, as the warriors moved, each polish'd helm,
Corslet, or spear, glanced back his gilded beams.
The hill they climb'd; and halting at its top,
Of more than mortal size, towering, they seem'd
An host angelic clad in burning arms.

Glen. Thou talk'st it well: no leader of our host
In sounds more lofty talks of glorious war.

Norv. If I should e'er acquire a leader's name,

My speech will be less ardent. Novelty

Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration
Vents itself freely, since no part is mine

Of praise pertaining to the great in arms.

[Aside

Glen. You wrong yourself, brave sir; your martial deeds
Have rank'd you with the great. But mark me, Norval:
Lord Randolph's favour now exalts your youth

Above his veterans of famous service.

Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you.
Give them all honour; seem not to command;

Else they will hardly brook your late sprung power,
Which nor alliance props nor birth adorns.

Norv. Sir, I have been accustom'd all my days
To hear and speak the plain and simple truth;
And, though I have been told that there are men
Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their scorn,
Yet in such language I am little skill'd,

Therefore I thank Glenalvon for his counsel,
Although it sounded harshly. Why remind
Me of my birth obscure? Why slur my power
With such contemptuous terms?

Glen. I did not mean

To gall your pride, which I now see is great.
Norv. My pride!

Glen. Suppress it, as you wish to prosper.
Your pride's excessive. Yet for Randolph's sake,
I will not leave you to its rash direction.
If thus you swell and frown at high-born men,
Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn?
Norv. A shepherd's scorn!

Glen. Yes! if you presume

To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes,

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As if you took the measure of their minds,
And said in secret, you're no match for me;
What will become of you?

Norv. Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self?
Glen. Ha! dost thou threaten me?

Norv. Didst thou not hear ?

Glen. Unwillingly I did: a nobler foe

Had not been question'd thus; but such as thee-
Norv. Whom dost thou think me ?

Glen. Norval.

Norv. So I am—

And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes?

Glen. A peasant's son, a wandering beggar boy;
At best no more, even if he speaks the truth.

Norv. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth?
Glen. Thy truth! thou'rt all a lie; and false as guile
Is the vainglorious tale thou told'st to Randolph.
Norv. If I were chain'd, unarm'd, or bed-rid old,
Perhaps I should revile; but, as I am,

I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval
Is of a race who strive not but with deeds.

Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valour

And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword,

I'd tell thee-what thou art; I know thee well.

Glen. Dost thou not know Glenalvon, born to command Ten thousand slaves like thee ?

Norv. Villain, no more.

Draw and defend thy life. I did design

To have defied thee in another cause:

But heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee.

Now for my own and Lady Randolph's wrongs!
Lord Ran. (Enters.) Hold, I command you

The man that stirs makes me his foe.
Norv. Another voice than thine

both.

That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph.

Glen. Hear him, my lord, he's wondrous condescending :

Mark the humility of Shepherd Norval!

Norv. Now you may scoff in safety.
Lord Ran. Speak not thus,

Taunting each other; but unfold to me

[Sheathes his sword

The cause of quarrel; then I judge betwixt you.

Norv. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you much, My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment.

I blush to speak, I will not, cannot speak

The opprobrious words that I from him have borne.
To the liege lord of my dear native land
I owe a subject's homage; but even him
And his high arbitration-I'd reject.
Within my bosom reigns another lord;
Honour, sole judge and umpire of itself.

If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph,
Revoke your favours; and let Norval go

Hence as he came, alone, but not dishonour'd!

Lord Ran. Thus far I'll mediate with impartial voice,—
The ancient foe of Caledonia's land

Now waves his banner o'er her frighted fields.
Suspend your purpose, till your country's arms
Repel the bold invader: then decide

The private quarrel.

Glen. I agree to this.

Norv. And I.

Glen. Norval,

Let not our variance mar the social hour;
Nor wrong the hospitality of Pandolph.

Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate,

Shall stain my countenance. Smooth thou thy brow,
Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame.

Norv. Think not so lightly, sir, of my resentment :
When we contend again, our strife is mortal.

SCENE FROM THE IRON CHEST.

GEORGE COLMAN, THE YOUNGER.

[George Colman, the younger, was born 1762, and died 1836.

He was the author of twenty-six plays, including "John Bull," "The Iron Chest," and "Bluebeard;" also of several volumes of comic verse. Towards the end of his career he held the office of licenser and examiner of plays.]

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Sir E. Wilford, approach me.-What am I to say
For aiming at your life?-Do you not scorn me,

Despise me for it ?

Wilf.

Sir E.

I! Oh, sir!

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You must;

Indeed, indeed, sir,

You deeply wrong yourself. Your equal's love,

The poor man's prayer, the orphan's tear of gratitude,

All follow you:-and I-I owe you all!

I am most bound to bless you.

Sir E.

Mark me, Wilford :-
I know the value of the orphan's tear,
The
poor man's
prayer, respect from the respected;
I feel, to merit these and to obtain them,
Is to taste here below that thrilling cordial

Which the remunerating Angel draws
From the eternal fountain of delight,
To pour on blessed souls that enter Heaver
I feel this :-I!-How must my nature, then,
Revolt at him who seeks to stain his hand

In human blood!—and yet, it seems, this day
I sought your life.-Oh! I have suffered madness!
None know my tortures,-pangs!-But I can end them;
End them as far as appertains to thee.-

I have resolved it.-Fearful struggles tear me:

But I have pondered on't,—and I must trust thee.
Wilf. Your confidence shall not be-

Sir E.

You must swear.

Wilf. Swear, sir!—will nothing but an oath, then-
Sir E.

May all the ills that wait on frail humanity
Be doubled on your head, if you disclose
My fatal secret! May your body turn
Most lazar-like and loathsome; and

your

mind

More loathsome than your body! May those fiends,
Who strangle babes for very wantonness,

Shrink back, and shudder at your monstrous crimes,
And, shrinking, curse you! Palsies strike your youth!
And the sharp terrors of a guilty mind

Listen

Poison your aged days! while all your nights,
As on the earth you lay your houseless head,
Out-horror horror! May you quit the world
Abhorred, self-hated, hopeless for the next,
Your life a burden, and your death a fear!
Wilf. For mercy's sake, forbear! you terrify me!
Sir E. Hope this may fall upon thee:- -swear thou hopest it,
By every attribute which heaven or earth
Can lend, to bind and strengthen conjuration,
If thou betrayest me.

Wilf.

Sir E.

Well, I

(Hesitating.)

No retreating.

Wilf. (After a pause.) I swear, by all the ties that bind a man, Divine or human,- -never to divulge!

Sir E. Remember, you have sought this secret :-Yes, Extorted it. I have not thrust it on you.

'Tis big with danger to you; and to me,

While I prepare to speak, torment unutterable.
Know, Wilford, that O torture!

Dearest sir!

Wilf.
Collect yourself. This shakes you horribly:
You had this trembling, it is scarce a week,
At Madam Helen's.

Sir E.

Wilf.

There it is- -Her uncle

Her uncle!

Sir E. Him. She kno.rs it not;-none know it

You are the first ordained to hear me say, -his murderer!

1 amWilf.

Sir E.

O horror!

His assassin.

Wilf. What! you that-mur-the murderer-Iam choked, Sir E. Honour! thou blood-stained god! at whose red altar Sit war and homicide: O! to what madness

Will insult drive thy votaries. In truth,

In the world's range, there does not breathe a man
Whose brutal nature I more strove to soothe

With long forbearance, kindness, courtesy,

Than his who fell by me. But he disgraced me,

Stained me-Oh, death and shame!-the world looked on,
And saw this sinewy savage strike me down,
Rain blows upon me, drag me to and fro,
On the base earth, like carrion. Desperation,
In every fibre of my brain, cried Vengeance!
I left the room which he had quitted. Chance,
(Curse on the chance!) while boiling with my wrongs,
Thrust me against him, darkling, in the street-

I stabbed him to the heart

Rolled lifeless at my foot.
Wilf.

-and my oppressor

Oh! mercy on me!

Would you think it?

How could this deed be covered ?

Sir E.

E'en at the moment when I gave the blow,
Butchered a fellow-creature in the dark,
I had all good men's love. But my disgrace,
And my opponent's death thus linked with it,
Demanded notice of the magistracy.

They summoned me, as friend would summon friend,

To act of import and communication.

We met and 'twas resolved, to stifle rumour,

To put me on my trial. No accuser,

No evidence appeared, to urge it on

"Twas meant to clear my fame.- -How clear it then?
How cover it? you say.-Why, by a lie—

Guilt's offspring, and its guard. I taught this breast,
Which Truth once made her throne, to forge a lie,
This tongue to utter it;-rounded a tale,
Smooth as a seraph's song from Satan's mouth;
So well compacted, that the o'erthronged court
Disturbed cool Justice in her judgment-seat,
By shouting "Innocence!" Ere I had finished,
The court enlarged me; and the giddy rabble
Bore me, in triumph, home. Ay!-look upon me.
I know thy sight aches at me.

Wilf. Heaven forgive you! It may be wrong-
Indeed I pity you.
I disdain all pity.-

Sir E.

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