Fleuron from 'Douglas, a Tragedy', a play by John Home published in 1757
ACT II. SCENE I.
A Court, &c.
Enter servants and a stranger at one door, and Lady RandolphandAnnaat another.
Lady Randolph.What means this clamour? stranger, speak secure;Hast thou been wrong'd? have these rude men presum'dTo vex the weary traveller on his way?
First Servant.By us no stranger ever suffer'd wrong:This man with outcry wild has call'd us forth;So sore afraid he cannot speak his fears.
Enter LordRandolphand young man, with their swords drawn and bloody.
Lady Randolph.Not vain the stranger's fears! how fares my lord?
Lord Randolph.That it fares well, thanks to this gallant youth,Whose valour sav'd me from a wretched death!As down the winding dale I walk'd alone,At the cross way four armed men attack'd me:Rovers, I judge, from the licentious camp,Who would have quickly laid Lord Randolph low,Had not this brave and generous stranger come,Like my good angel in the hour of fate,And, mocking danger, made my foes his own.They turn'd upon him: but his active armStruck to the ground, from whence they rose no more,The fiercest two; the others fled amain,And left him master of the bloody field.Speak, Lady Randolph: upon Beauty's tongueDwell accents pleasing to the brave and bold.Speak, noble dame, and thank him for thy lord.
Lady Randolph.My lord, I cannot speak what now I feel.My heart o'erflows with gratitude to heav'n,And to this noble youth, who all unknownTo you and yours, deliberated not,Nor paus'd at peril, but humanely braveFought on your side, against such fearful odds.Have you yet learn'd of him whom we should thank?Whom call the saviour of Lord Randolph's life?
Lord Randolph.I ask'd that question, and he answer'd not:(to the Stranger)But I must know who my deliverer is.
Stranger.A low born man, of parentage obscure,Who nought can boast but his desire to beA soldier, and to gain a name in arms.
Lord Randolph.Whoe'er thou art, thy spirit is ennobledBy the great King of Kings! thou art ordain'dAnd stampt a hero by the sovereign handOf nature! blush not, flower of modestyAs well as valour, to declare thy birth.
Stranger.My name is Norval: on the Grampian hillsMy father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain,Whose constant cares were to encrease his store,And keep his only son, myself, at home.For I had heard of battles, and I long'dTo follow to the field some warlike lord;And heaven soon granted what my sire denied.This moon which rose last night, round as my shield,Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light,A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills,Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale,Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds fledFor safety, and for succour. I alone,With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'dThe road he took, then hasted to my friends;Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men,I met advancing. The pursuit I led,Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumber'd foe.We fought and conquer'd. E're a sword was drawn,An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief,Who wore that day the arms which now I wear.Returning home in triumph, I disdain'dThe shepherd's slothful life; and having heardThat our good king had summon'd his bold peersTo lead their warriours to the Carron side,I left my father's house, and took with meA chosen servant to conduct my steps:—Yon trembling coward who forsook his master.Journeying with this intent, I past these towers.And, heaven-directed, came this day to doThe happy deed that gilds my humble name.
Lord Randolph.He is as wise as brave. Was ever taleWith such a gallant modesty rehears'd?My brave deliverer! thou shalt enter nowA nobler list, and in a monarch's sightContend with princes for the prize of fame.I will present thee to our Scottish king,Whose valiant spirit ever valour lov'd.Ha! my Matilda! wherefore starts that tear?
Lady Randolph.I cannot say: for various affections,And strangely mingled, in my bosom swell;Yet each of them may well command a tear.I joy that thou art safe; and admireHim and his fortunes who hath wrought thy safety.Obscure and friendless, he the army sought,Bent upon peril, in the range of deathResolv'd to hunt for fame, and with his swordTo gain distinction which his birth denied.In this attempt unknown he might have perish'd,And gain'd, with all his valour, but oblivion.Now grac'd by thee, his virtue serves no moreBeneath despair. The soldier now of hopeHe stands conspicuous; fame and great renownAre brought within the compass of his sword.On this my mind reflected, whilst you spoke,And bless'd the wonder-working Lord of heaven.
Lord Randolph.Pious and grateful ever are thy thoughts!My deeds shall follow where thou point'st the way.Next to myself, and equal to Glenalvon,In honour and command shall Norval be.
Norval.I know not how to thank you. Rude I am,In speech and manners: never till this hourStood I in such a presence: yet, my lord,There's something in my breast which makes me boldTo say, that Norval ne'er will shame thy favour.
Lady Randolph.I will be sworn thou wilt not. Thou shalt beMy knight; and ever, as thou didst to-day,With happy valour guard the life of Randolph.Lord Randolph.Well hast thou spoke. Let me forbid reply. [To Norval.We are thy debtors still; thy high desertO'ertops our gratitude. I must proceed,As was at first intended, to the camp.Some of my train I see are speeding hither,Impatient, doubtless, of their lord's delay.Go with me, Norval, and thine eyes shall seeThe chosen warriors of thy native land,Who languish for the fight, and beat the airWith brandish'd swords.
Norval.With brandish'd swoLet us begone, my lord.
Lord Randolph.[To Lady Randolph.About the time that the declining sunShall his broad orbit o'er yon hills suspend,Expect us to return. This night once moreWithin these walls I rest; my tent I pitchTo-morrow in the field. Prepare the feast.Free is his heart who for his country fights:He in the eve of battle may resignHimself to social pleasure; sweetest then,When danger to a soldier's soul endearsThe human joy that never may return.[Exeunt Randolph and Norval.
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