BY JOHN HOME
The court of a castle surrounded with woods.
Enter LADY RANDOLPH.
[LADY R.] Ye woods and wilds, whose melan-choly gloom
Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth
The voice of sorrow from my bursting heart,
Farewell a while: I will not leave you long;
|For in your shades I deem some spirit dwells,||5|
O Douglas! Douglas! if departed ghosts
Are e'er permitted to review this world,
|Within the circle of that wood thou art,||10|
Weep for her husband slain, her infant lost.
My brother's timeless1 death I seem to mourn,
|Who perished with thee on this fatal day.||15|
O disregard me not; though I am called
Another's now, my heart is wholly thine.
|Incapable of change, affection lies||20|
To chide my anguish, and defraud the dead.
Enter LORD RANDOLPH.
[LORD R.] Again these weeds of woe! Say, dost thou well
|To feed a passion which consumes thy life?||25|
LADY R. Silent, alas! is he for whom I mourn:
Childless, without memorial of his name,
|He only now in my remembrance lives.||30|
LORD R. ((When was it pure of sadness! These
Express the wonted color of thy mind,
|Forever dark and dismal. Seven long years||35|
Nor broke, nor parted by one gleam of joy.))
Time, that wears out the trace of deepest anguish,
((As the sea smooths the prints made in the
Has passed o'er thee in vain.
((LADY R. If time to come
Should prove as ineffectual, yet, my lord,
Thou canst not blame me. When our Scottish
Vied with each other for my luckless love,
|Oft I besought them, I implored them all||45|
For melancholy had congealed my blood,
And froze affection in my chilly breast.
|At last my sire, roused with the base attempt||50|
Besought me to commiserate his age,
And vowed he should not, could not, die in peace,
|Unless he saw me wedded, and secured||55|
Thee I bespake, professed my strong desire
To lead a single, solitary life,
|And begged thy nobleness, not to demand||60|
And must confess that I am not unjust,
Nor more to thee than to myself injurious.))
|LORD R. ((That I confess; yet ever must regret||65|
((But hadst a spark of other passions in thee,
Pride, anger, vanity, the strong desire
|Of admiration, dear to womankind;||70|
((LADY R. To such a cause the human mind oft
Its transient calm, a calm I envy not.))
LORD R. Sure thou art not the daughter of Sir
That Douglas' son in the same field was slain.
LADY R. Oh! rake not up the ashes of my fathers:
|Implacable resentment was their crime,||80|
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Publication information: Book title: British Dramatists from Dryden to Sheridan. Contributors: George Henry Nettleton - Editor, Arthur Eillicot Case - Editor. Publisher: Boston ; Houghton Mifflin company,.. Place of publication: Boston; New York. Publication year: 1939. Page number: 653.
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