Douglas (Home, 1757)/Act 3 Scene 3
SCENE III.
Lady Randolph and Anna.
Lady Randolph.My faithful Anna! dost thou share my joy?I know thou dost. Unparalell'd event!Reaching from heaven to earth, Jehovah's armSnatch'd from the waves, and brings to me my son!Judge of the widow, and the orphan's father!
Accept a widow's and a mother's thanksFor such a gift! What does my Anna thinkOf the young eaglet of a valiant nest?How soon he gaz'd on bright and burning arms,Spurn'd the low dunghill where his fate had thrown him,And tower'd up to the region of his sire!
Anna.How fondly did your eyes devour the boy!Mysterious nature, with the unseen cordOf powerful instinct, drew you to your own.
Lady Randolph.The ready story of his birth believ'dSupprest my fancy quite; nor did he oweTo any likeness my so sudden favour:But now I long to see his face again,Examine every feature, and find outThe lineaments of Douglas, or my own.But most of all, I long to let him knowWho his true parents are, to clasp his neck,And tell him all the story of his father.
Anna.With wary caution you must bear yourselfIn public, lest your tenderness break forth,And in observers stir conjectures strange.For, if a cherub in the shape of womanShould walk this world, yet defamation would,Like a vile cur, bark at the angel's train—To-day the baron started at your tears.
Lady Randolph.He did so, Anna! well thy mistress knows,If the least circumstance, mote of offence,Should touch the baron's eye, his sight would beWith jealousy disorder'd. But the moreIt does behove me instant to declareThe birth of Douglas, and assert his rights. This night I purpose with my son to meet,Reveal the secret and consult with him:For wise he is, or my fond judgment errs.As he does now, so look'd his noble father,Array'd in nature's ease: his mien, his speech,Were sweetly simple, and full oft deceiv'dThose trivial mortals who seem always wise.But, when the matter match'd his mighty mind,Uprose the Hero: on his piercing eyeSat Observation; on each glance of thoughtDecision follow'd, as the thunder-boltPursues the flash.
Anna.That demon haunts you still:Behold Glenalvon.
Lady Randolph.Now I shun him not.This day I brav'd him in behalf of Norval;Perhaps too far: at least my nicer fearsFor Douglas thus interpret.
Enter Glenalvon.
Glenalvon.Noble dame!The hov'ring Dane at last his men hath landed:No band of pirates; but a mighty host,That come to settle where their valour conquers;To win a country, or to lose themselves.
Lady Randolph.But whence comes this intelligence, Glenalvon?
Glenalvon.A nimble courier sent from yonder camp,To hasten up the chieftains of the north,Inform'd me, as he past, that the fierce DaneHad on the eastern coast of Lothian landed, Near to that place where the sea-rock immense,Amazing Bass looks o'er a fertile land.
Lady Randolph.Then must this western army march to joinThe warlike troops that guard Edena's tow'rs.
Glenalvon.Beyond all question. If impairing timeHas not effac'd the image of a place,Once perfect in my breast, there is a wildWhich lyes to westward of that mighty rock,And seems by nature formed for the campOf water-wafted armies, whose chief strengthLies in firm foot, unflank'd with warlike horse:If martial skill directs the Danish lords,There inaccessible their army liesTo our swift scow'ring horse, the bloody fieldMust man to man, and foot to foot, be fought.
Lady Randolph.How many mothers shall bewail their sons!How many widows weep their husbands slain?Ye dames of Denmark! ev'n for you I feel,Who, sadly sitting on the sea-beat shore,Long look for lords that never shall return.
Glenalvon.Oft has th'unconquer'd Caledonian swordWidow'd the north. The children of the slainCome, as I hope, to meet their fathers' fate.The monster war, with her infernal brood,Loud yelling fury, and life-ending pain,Are objects suited to Glenalvon's soul.Scorn is more grievous than the pains of death;Reproach, more piercing than the pointed sword.
Lady Randolph.I scorn thee not, but when I ought to scorn; Nor e'er reproach, but when insulted virtueAgainst audacious vice asserts herself.I own thy worth, Glenalvon; none more aptThan I to praise thine eminence in arms,And be the echo of thy martial fame.No longer vainly feed a guilty passion:Go and pursue a lawful mistress, glory.Upon the Danish crests redeem thy fault,And let thy valour be the shield of Randolph.
Glenalvon.One instant stay, and hear an alter'd man.When beauty pleads for virtue, vice abash'dFlies it's own colours, and goes o'er to virtue.I am your convert; time will shew how truely:Yet one immediate proof I mean to give.That youth for whom your ardent zeal to-day,Somewhat too haughtily, defy'd your slave,Amidst the shock of armies I'll defend,And turn death from him, with a guardian arm.Sedate by use, my bosom maddens notAt the tumultuous uproar of the field.
Lady Randolph.Act thus, Glenalvon, and I am thy friend:But that's thy least reward. Believe me, sir,The truly generous is the truely wise;And he who loves not others, lives unblest.Exit Lady Randolph.
Glenalvon solus.Amen! and virtue is it's own reward!———I think that I have hit the very toneIn which she loves to speak. Honey'd assentHow pleasing art thou to the taste of man,And woman also! flattery directRarely disgusts. They little know mankindWho doubt it's operation: 'tis my key, And opes the wicket of the human heart.How far I have succeeded now I know not.Yet I incline to think her stormy virtueIs lull'd awhile: 'tis her alone I fear:Whilst she and Randolph live, and live in faithAnd amity, uncertain is my tenure.Fate o'er my head suspends disgrace and death,By that weak hair, a peevish female's will.I am not idle: but the ebbs and flowsOf fortune's tide cannot be calculated.That slave of Norval's I have found most apt:I shew'd him gold, and he has pawn'd his soulTo say and swear whatever I suggest.Norval, I'm told, has that alluring look,'Twixt man and woman, which I have observ'dTo charm the nicer and fantastick dames,Who are, like lady Randolph, full of virtue.In raising Randolph's jealousy I mayBut point him to the truth. He seldom errsWho thinks the worst he can of womankind.
The End of the Third Act.