Tit. Farewel for ever!

Brut. For ever then! but O, my tears run o'er; Groans choak my words, and I can speak no

more.

44 Lady Randolph, Lord Randolph, Norval, not known at the time Randolph's Son.

Lady Ran. How fares my Lord?

and young

to be Lady

HOME.

My heart o'erflows with gratitude to Heaven, And to this noble youth, who, all unknown To you and yours, deliberated not,

Nor paus'd at peril- but, humanely brave, Fought on your fide against such fearful odds. Have you yet learnt of him whom we should thank, Whom call the faviour of Lord Randolph's life? Lord Ran. I ask'd that queftion, and he anfwer'd not:

But I must know who my deliverer is.

[To the Stranger. Norv. A low-born man, of parentage obfcure, Who nought can boaft but his defire to be A foldier, and to gain a name in arms.

Lord Ran. Whoe'er thou art, thy fpirit is ennobled

By the great King of Kings; thou art ordain'd
And ftamp'd a hero by the fovereign hand
Of nature! Blush not, flow'r of modefty
As well as valour, to declare thy birth.
Narv. My name is Norval: on the Grampian
Hills

My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain,
Whose conftant cares were to increase his store,
And keep his only fon, myself, at home.
For I had heard of battles: and I long'd
To follow to the field fome warlike lord;
And Heaven foon granted what my fire denied.
This moon, which rofe laft night round as my
shield,

Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians from the hills
Rufh'd like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds, The hepherds
fied

Returning home in triumph, I difdain'd
The fhepherd's flothful life: and having heard
That our good king had fummon'd his bold peers
To lead their warriors to the Carron fide,
I left my father's houfe, and took with me
A chofen fervant to conduct my steps:
Yon trembling coward, who forfook his master.
Journeying with this intent, I pafs'd thefe tow'rs
And, heaven-directed, came this day to do
The happy deed that gilds my humble name.

Lord Ran. He is as wife as brave; was ever tale

With fuch a gallant modefty rehears'd?
My brave deliv'rer! thou fhalt enter now
A nobler lift; and, in a monarch's fight,
Contend with princes for the prize of fame,
I will prefent thee to our Scottish king,
Whofe valiant spirit ever valour lov'd.
Ha! my Matilda! wherefore ftarts that tear?

Lady Ran. I cannot fay; for various affections
And strangely mingled, in my bosom swell :
Yet each of them may well command a tear.
I joy that thou art fafe; and I admire
Him, and his fortunes, who hath wrought thy
fafety;

Yea, as my mind predicts, with thine his own.
Obfcure and friendless, he the army fought;
Bent upon peril, in the range of death
Refolv'd to hunt for fame, and with his fword
To gain diftin&tion which his birth denied.
In this attempt unknown he might have pes
rish'd,

And gain'd with all his valour but oblivion.
Now, grac'd by thee, his virtue serves no more
Beneath defpair. The foldier now of hope,
He ftands confpicuous; fame and great renown
Are brought within the compafs of his fword.
On this my mind reflected, whilft you spoke,
And blefs'd the wonder-working hand of Hea-

My knight; and ever, as thou didft to-day,
With happy valour guard the life of Randolph.
Lord Ran. Well haft thou spoke. Let me for-
bid reply.
[To Norval.
We are thy debtors ftill; thy high defert
O'ertops our gratitude. I muft proceed,
As was at first intended, to the camp;
Some of my train, I fee, are speeding hither,
Impatient doubtlefs, of their lord's delay.
Go with me, Norval; and thine eyes fhall fee
The chofen warriors of thy native land,
Who languifh for the fight, and beat the air
With brandifh'd fwords.

Norv. Let us be gone, my lord.

45. Young Norval informs Lord Randolph by what Means be acquired a Knowledge in the Art of War. HOME.

BENEATH a mountain's brow, the most remote
And inacceffible by shepherds trod,
In a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand,
A hermit liv'd; a melancholy man,
Who was the wonder of our wand'ring swains.
Auftere and lonely, cruel to himself,
Did they report him; the cold earth his bed,
Water his drink, his food the fhepherds' alms.
I went to see him; and my heart was touch'd
With reverence and with pity. Mild he fpake,
And ent'ring on difcourfe, fuch ftories told,
As made me oft revifit his fad cell.
For he had been a foldier in his youth;
And fought in famous battles, when the peers
Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led,
Againft th' ufurping Infidel difplay'd
The crofs of Chrift, and won the Holy Land.
Pleas'd with my admiration, and the fire [fhake
His fpeech ftruck from me, the old man would
His years away, and act his young encounters:
Then, having fhew'd his wounds, he'd fit him
down,

And all the live-long day difcourfe of war.
To help my fancy, in the fmooth green turf
He cut the figures of the marshall'd hosts;
Defcrib'd the motions, and explain'd the use
Of the deep column, and the lengthen'd line;
The fquare, the crefcent, and the phalanx firm.
For all that Saracen or Christian knew
Of war's vaft art, was to this hermit known.

Unhappy man!

Returning homewards by Meffina's port,
Loaded with wealth and honours bravely won,
▲ rude and boist'rous captain of the sea
Faften'd a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought;
The ftranger fell; and, with his dying breath,
Declar'd his name and lineage. Mighty God!
The foldier cried, my brother! O my brother!

They exchang'd forgiveness:
And happy, in my mind, was he that died;
For many deaths has the furvivor fuffer'd.'
In the wild defert on a rock he fits,
Upon fome nameless ftream's untrodden banks,
And ruminates all day his dreadful fate.
At times, alas! nor in his perfect mind,
Holds dialogues with his lov'd brother's ghoft;

And oft each night forfakes his fullen couch, To make fad orifons for him he flew.

46. Douglas's Soliloquy in the Wood, waiting for Lady Randolph, after be was known to be ber Son. HOME.

is the the centre of the

Here ftands the oak, the monarch of the wood: How sweet and folemn is this midnight fcene! The filver moon, unclouded, holds her way Thro' ikies, where I could count each little ftar. The fanning weft-wind fcarcely ftirs the leaves; The river, rushing o'er its pebbled bed, Imposes filence with a ftilly found. In fuch a place as this, at fuch an hour, If ancestry can be in aught believ'd, Defcending fpirits have convers'd with man, And told the fecrets of the world unknown. Eventful day! how haft thou chang'd my flat' Once on the cold and winter-fhaded fide Of a bleak hill mischance had rooted me, Never to thrive, child of another foil; Transplanted now to the gay funny vale, Like the green thorn of May, my fortune flow'n Ye glorious ftars! high heaven's refplendent hot: To whom I oft have of my lot complain'd, Hear, and record my fowl's unalter'd wish! Dead or alive, let me but be renown'd! May Heaven infpire fome fierce gigantic Dane To give a bold defiance to our host! Before he speaks it out, I will accept : Like DOUGLAS conquer, or like DOUGLAS,

low'rs,

And heavily in clouds brings on the day;
The great, th' important day, big with the fate
Or Cato and of Rome-our father's death
Would fill up all the guilt of civil war,
And close the scene of blood. Already Cefar
Has ravag'd more than half the globe, and fees
Mankind grown thin by his deftructive fword:
Should he go farther, numbers would be wanting
To form new battles and fupport his crimes.
Ye gods, what havoc does ambition make
Among your works!

Marc. Thy fteady temper, Portius,
Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Cefar,
In the calm lights of mild philofophy;
I'm tortur'd e'en to madness, when I think
On the proud victor: ev'ry time he's nam'd
Pharfalia rifes to my view!-I fee

Th' infulting tyrant prancing o'er the field, Strew'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd in flaughter,

His horfe's hoofs wet with patrician blood!
O Portius is there not fome chofen curfe,

To Marcia, whilft her father's life's in danger? Thou might as well court the pale trembling veital,

When the beholds the holy flame expiring.

Sem. The more I fee the wonders of thy race, The more I'm charm'd. Thou muft take heed, my Portius;

The world has all its eyes on Cato's fon;
Thy father's merits fets thee up to view,
And fhews thee in the fairest point of light,
To make thy virtues or thy faults confpicuous.
Por. Well doft thou feem to check my
ling'ring here

On this important hour-I'll ftraight away;
And while the fathers of the fenate meet
In close debate, to weigh the events of war,
I'll animate the foldier's drooping courage
With love of freedom, and contempt of life;
I'll thunder in their ears their country's caufe,
And try to rouse up all that's Roman in 'em.
'Tis not in mortals to command success,
But we'll do more, Sempronius, we'll deferve it.
[Exit.
Sem. Curfe on the ftripling! how he apes his
Ambitiously fententious!-But I wonder [fire,
Old Syphax comes not: his Numidian genius
Is well difpos'd to mifchief, were he prompt
And eager on it; but he must be fpurr'd,
And ev'ry moment quicken'd to the course.
Cato has us'd me ill: he has refus'd
His daughter Marcia to my ardent vows.
Befides, his baffled arms, and ruin'd cause,
Are bars to my ambition. Cæfar's favour,
That fhow'rs down greatness on his friends, will
raife me

To Rome's first honours. If I give up Cato,
I claim, in my reward, his captive daughter.
But Syphax comes-

Enter Syphax.

Juba?

That ftill would recommend thee more to Cæfar, And challenge better terms.

Sy. Alas, he's loft!

He's loft, Sempronius! all his thoughts are full
Of Cato's virtues.-But I'll try once more
(For ev'ry inftant I expect him here)
If yet I can fubdue thofe ftubborn principles
Of faith and honour, and I know not what,
That have corrupted his Numidian temper,
And ftruck th' infection into all his foul.

Sem. Be fure to prefs upon him ev'ry matist, Juba's furrender, fince his father's death, Would give up Afric into Cæfar's hands, And make him lord of half the burning zone. Sy. But is it true, Sempronius, that your is

nate

Is call'd together? Gods! thou must be cautious, Cato has piercing eyes, and will difcern [2. Our frauds, unless they're cover'd thick w

Sem. Let me alone, good Syphax; I'll concen My thoughts in paffion ('tis the foreft way); I'll bellow out for Rome and for my country, And mouth at Cæfar, 'till I fhake the fenate. Your cold hypocrify 's a ftale device, A worn-out trick: wouldst thou be thought it earnest,

Clothe thy feign'd zeal in rage, in fire, in fury Sy. In troth, thou'rt able to inftru&t grey ha And teach the wily African deceit.

Sem. Once more be fure to try thy skill on Jub Mean while I'll haften to my Roman fold.ers, Inflame the mutiny, and underhand Blow up their difcontents, till they break ont Unlook'd for, and difcharge themselves on Ca Remember, Syphax, we must work in hafte: O think what anxious moments pass between The birth of plots and their laft fatal periods, O, 'tis a dreadful interval of time Fill'd up with horror all, and big with death! Deftruction hangs on ev'ry word we speak, On ev'ry thought; till the concluding stroke Determines all, and closes our design.

[Ext.

Sy. I'll try if I can yet reduce to reason This headftrong youth, and make him spurn Cato.

The time is fhort, Cæfar comes rufting on u But hold! young Juba fees me, and approaches, Enter Juba.

Jub. Syphax, I joy to meet thee thus alone, I have obferv'd of late thy looks are fall'n, O'ercaft with gloomy cares and discontent. Then tell me, Syphax, I conjure thee tell me, What are the thoughts that knit thy brow it frowns,

And turn thine eye thus coldly on thy prince

Sy. 'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts, Or carry fmiles and funfhine in my face, When difcontent fits heavy at my heart; I have not yet so much the Roman in me.

Jub. Why doft thou caft out fuch ungen'rou

terms

Against the lords and fovereigns of the world!
Doft thou not fee mankind fall down before them,
And own the force of their fuperior virtue?
Is there a nation in the wilds of Afric,