The Family Legend: A Tragedy/The Family Legend Act 5

by Joanna Baillie

ACT V.

SCENE I. Argyll's Castle, the Vestibule, or grand entrance; a noise of bustle and voices heard without, and Servants seen crossing the Stage, as the scene opens.

Enter Dugald, meeting First Servant.

DUGALD.

They are arrived, Maclean and all his train;

Run quickly, man, and give our chieftains notice.

FIRST SERVANT.

They know already: from the tower we spied

The mournful cavalcade: the Earl and Lorne
Are down the stair-case hasting to receive them.

DUGALD.

I've seen them light, a sooty-coated train,

With lank and woeful faces, and their eyes
Bent to the ground, as though our castle gate

Had been the scutcheon'd portal of a tomb,
Set open to receive them.

SECOND SERVANT.

Ay, on the pavement fall their heavy steps

Measured and slow, as if her palled coffin
They follow'd still.

DUGALD.

Hush, man! Here comes the Earl,

With face composed and stern; but look behind him
How John of Lorne doth gnaw his nether lip,
And beat his clenched hand against his thigh,
Like one who tampers with half-bridled ire!

SECOND SERVANT.

Has any one offended him?

DUGALD.

Be silent,

For they will overhear thee.——Yonder too
(Pointing to the opposite side of the stage.)
Come the Macleans: let us our stations keep,
And see them meet.

(Retiring with the other to the bottom of the stage.)

Enter Argyll and Lorne, attended, and in deep mourning; while, at the same time, by the opposite side of the stage, enter Maclean, Benlora, Lochtarish, and Glenfadden, with Attendants, also in deep mourning: Argyll and Maclean go up to one another, and formally embrace.)

ARGYLL.

Welcome! if such a cheerful word as this

May with our deep affliction suited be.
Lochtarish too, and brave Benlora, aye,
And good Glenfadden also,—be ye all
With due respect received, as claims your worth.

(Taking them severally by the hand as he names them. Maclean then advances to embrace Lorne, who shrinks back from him, but immediately correcting himself, bends his body another way, as if suddenly seized with some violent pain.)

Argyll, (to Maclean).

Regard him not: he hath imprudently

A recent wound exposed to chilling air,
And oft the pain with sudden pang attacks him.

LOCHTARISH.

Ay, what is shrewder? we have felt the like,

And know it well, my lord.

ARGYLL, (bowing to Lochtarish, but continuing to speak to Maclean.)

Yet, ne'ertheless, good son-in-law and chieftain,

Believe thou well that with a brother's feelings,
Proportion'd to the dire and dismal case
That hath befallen, he now receives you; also
Receiving these your friends with equal favour.
This is indeed to us a woeful meeting,
Chieftain of Mull.

(Looking keenly in his face, while the other shuns his eye.)

I see full well the change

Which violent grief upon that harrow'd visage
So deeply hath impress'd.

MACLEAN. (still embarrassed, and shrinking from Argyll's observation.)

Ah! ah! the woeful day!—I cannot speak.

Alas, alas!

ARGYLL.

Alas, in truth,

Too much the woeful widower's alter'd looks
Upon thy face I see.

LOCHTARISH, (to Argyll.)

You see, my lord, his eyes with too much weeping

Are weak, and shun the light. Nor should we marvel:
What must to him the sudden loss have been,
When even to us, who were more distantly
Connected with her rare and matchless virtue,
It brought such keen affliction?

ARGYLL.

Yes, good Lochtarish, I did give her to ye—

To your right worthy chief, a noble creature,
With every kindly virtue—every grace
That might become a noble chieftain's wife:
And that ye have so well esteem'd—so well
Regarded, cherish'd, and respected her,
As your excessive sorrow now declares,
Receive from me a grateful father's thanks.
Lochtarish, most of all to thy good love
I am beholden.

LOCHTARISH.

Ah! small was the merit

Such goodness to respect.

ARGYLL.

And thou, Benlora;

A woman, and a stranger, on the brave
Still potent claims maintain; and little doubt I
They were by thee regarded.

(Benlora steps back, frowning sternly, and remains silent.)

And, Glenfadden,

Be not thy merits overlook'd.

GLENFADDEN.

Alas!

You over-rate, my lord, such slender service.

ARGYLL.

Wrong not, I pray, thy modest worth.—But here,(turning again to Maclean.)

Here most of all, from whom her gentle virtues,
(And so indeed it right and fitting was,)
Their best and dearest recompense received,
To thee, most generous chieftain, let me pay
The thanks that are thy due.

MACLEAN.

Oh, oh! alas!

ARGYLL.

Ay, in good sooth! I see thy grief-worn eyes

Do shun the light.
But grief is ever sparing of its words.
In brief, I thank you all: and for the love
Ye have so dearly shown to me and mine,
I trust, before we part, to recompense ye
As suits your merit and my gratitude.

LORNE, (aside to Argyll.)

Ay, father; now ye speak to them shrewd words;

And now I'm in the mood to back you well.

ARGYLL, (aside to Lorne.)

'Tis well thou art; but check those eager looks;

Lochtarish eyes thee keenly.

(Directing a hasty glance to Lochtarish, who is whispering to Glenfadden, and looking suspiciously at Lorne.)

LORNE. (stepping forward to Maclean, &c.)

Chieftain, and honour'd gentlemen, I pray

The sullen, stern necessity excuse
Which pain imposed upon me, and receive,
Join'd with my noble father's, such poor thanks
As I may offer to your loving worth.

ARGYLL.

Pass on, I pray you; till the feast be ready,

Rest ye above, where all things are prepared
For your refreshment. (Exeunt.)

SCENE II. A narrow arched Room or Closet, adjoining to a Gallery.

Enter Lochtarish and Glenfadden.

LOCHTARISH.

How lik'st thou this, Glenfadden? Doth the face

Argyll assumes, of studied courtesy,
Raise no suspicion?

GLENFADDEN.

Faith, I know not well!—

The speech, indeed, with which he welcomed us,
Too wordy, and too artificial seem'd
To be the native growth of what he felt.

LOCHTARISH.

It so to me appear'd: and John of Lorne,

First shrinking from Maclean, with sudden pain,
As he pretended, struck, then stern and silent,
Till presently assuming, like his father,
A courtesy, minute, and over-studied,

He glozed us with his thanks:——
Didst thou not mark his keenly flashing eye,
When spoke Argyll of recompensing us
Before we part?

GLENFADDEN.

I did indeed observe it.

LOCHTARISH.

This hath a meaning.

GLENFADDEN.

Faith, I do suspect

Some rumour must have reach'd their ear; and yet
Our agents faithful are; it cannot be.

LOCHTARISH.

Or can, or can it not, beneath this roof

A night I will not sleep. When evening comes,
Meet we again. If at this banquet, aught
Shall happen to confirm our fears, forthwith
Let us our safety seek in speedy flight.

GLENFADDEN.

And leave Maclean behind us?

LOCHTARISH.

Ay, and Benlora too. Affairs the better

At Mull will thrive, when we have rid our hands
Of both these hind'rances, who in our way
Much longer may not be. (Listening.)
We're interrupted.
Let us into the gallery return,
And join the company with careless face,
Like those who have from curiosity
But stepp'd aside to view the house.—Make haste!
It is Argyll and Lorne.

(Exeunt, looking to the opposite side, alarmed, at which enter Argyll and Lorne.)

LORNE.

Are you not now convinced? his conscious guilt

Is in his downcast and embarrass'd looks,
And careful shunning of all private converse
Whene'er aside you've drawn him from his train,
Too plainly seen: you cannot now, my lord,
Doubt of his share in this atrocious deed.

ARGYLL.

Yet, Lorne, I would, ere further we proceed,

Prove it more fully still. The dinner hour
Is now at hand. (Listening.)
What steps are those,
That in the gallery, close to this door,
Like some lone straggler from the company

Withdrawn, sound quickly pacing to and fro?
Look out and see.

(Lorne, going to the door, and calling back to Argyll in a low voice.)

It is Maclean himself.

ARGYLL.

Beckon him hither then.—Thank heaven for this!

Now opportunity is fairly given,
If that constrainedly he cloaks their guilt,
To free him from their toils.

Enter Maclean, conducted by Lorne.

ARGYLL, (to Maclean).

My son, still in restraint before our vassals

Have we conversed; but now in privacy——
Start not, I pray thee:—sit thee down, Maclean:
I would have close and private words of thee:
Sit down, I pray; my aged limbs are tired.

(Argyll and Maclean sit down, whilst Lorne stands behind them, with his ear bent eagerly to listen, and his eyes fixed with a side-glance on Maclean.)

Chieftain, I need not say to thee, who deeply

Lament'st with us our sad untimely loss,
How keenly I have felt it.———

And now indulge a father in his sorrow,
And say how died my child.—Was her disease
Painful as it was sudden?

MACLEAN.

It was—alas! I know not how it was.

A fell disease!—Her end was so appointed.

LORNE, (behind).

Ay, that I doubt not.

MACLEAN.

A fearful malady! though it received

All good assistance.

LORNE, (behind).

That I doubt not either.

MACLEAN.

A cruel ill!—but how it dealt with her,

My grief o'erwhelm'd me so, I could not tell.

ARGYLL.

Say—Wert thou present? didst thou see her die?

MACLEAN.

Oh, oh! the woeful sight, that I should see it!

ARGYLL.

Thou didst not see it then?

MACLEAN.

Alack! alack!

O would that I had seen——O woe is me!
Her pain—her agony was short to mine!

LORNE, (behind, impatiently).

Is this an answer, chieftain, to the question

Argyll hath plainly ask'd thee?—Wert thou present
When Helen died? didst thou behold her death?

MACLEAN.

O yes; indeed I caught your meaning lamely;

I meant—I thought—I know not certainly
The very time and moment of her death,
Although within my arms she breathed her last.

LORNE, (rushing forward eagerly.)

Now are we answered.

(Argyll, covering his face with his hands, throws himself back in his chair for some time without speaking.)

MACLEAN, (to Argyll.)

I fear, my lord, too much I have distress'd you.

ARGYLL.

Somewhat you have indeed.—And further now

I will not press your keen and recent sorrow
With questions that so much renew its anguish.

MACLEAN.

You did, belike, doubt of my tenderness.

ARGYLL.

O no! I have no doubts.—Within your arms

She breath'd her last?

MACLEAN.

Within my arms she died.

ARGYLL, (looking hard at Maclean, and then turning away).

His father was a brave and honest chief!

MACLEAN.

What says my lord?

ARGYLL.

A foolish exclamation,

Of no determined meaning.(Bell sounds without.)
Dry our tears;
The hall-bell warns us to the ready feast;
And through the gallery I hear the sound
Of many footsteps hastening to the call.
Chieftain, I follow thee.
(Exeunt Argyll and Maclean.)

LORNE, (alone, stopping to listen.)

The castle, throng'd throughout with moving life,

From every winding stair, and arched aisle,
A mingled echo sends.
Ay; light of foot, I hear their sounding steps
A-trooping to the feast, who never more
At feast shall sit or social meal partake.
O wretch! O fiend of vile hypocrisy!
How fiercely burns my blood within my veins
Till I am match'd with thee! (Exit.)

SCENE III. The Great Hall of the Castle, with a Feast set out, and the Company already placed at Table, with Servants and Attendants in waiting, who fill the Stage in every part: Argyll is seated at the head of the table, with Maclean on his left hand, and a chair left empty on his right.

ARGYLL, (to Maclean, &c.)

Most worthy chief, and honour'd guests and kinsmen,

I crave your pardon for this short delay:
One of our company is wanting still,
For whom we have reserved this empty place;
Nor will the chief of Mull unkindly take it;
That on our better hand this chair of honour
Is for a lady kept.

Omnes.

A lady!

(A general murmur of surprise is heard through the hall.)

ARGYLL.

Yes;

Who henceforth of this house the mistress is;
And were it palace of our Scottish king,
Would so deserve to be.

Omnes.

We give you joy, my lord.

(A confused murmur heard again.)

MACLEAN.

We give you joy, my lord: your age is bless'd.

We little thought, in these our funeral weeds,
A bridal feast to darken.

LORNE.

No, belike.

Many who don their coat at break of day,
Know not what shall befal them, therein girt,
Ere ev'ning close. (Assuming a gay tone.)
The Earl hath set a step-dame o'er my head
To cow my pride—What think you, brave Maclean?
This world so fleeting is and full of change,
Some lose their wives I trow, and others find them.
Bridegrooms and widowers do, side by side,
Their beakers quaff; and which of them at heart
Most glad or sorry is, the subtle fiend,
Who in men's hollow hearts his council holds,
He wotteth best, though each good man will swear,
His lost or found all other dames excell'd.

ARGYLL.

Curb, Lorne, thy saucy tongue: Maclean himself

Shall judge if she—the lady I have found,
Equal in beauty her whom he hath lost.
In worth I'm sure she does.—But hush! she comes.

(A great commotion through the Hall amongst the Attendants, &c.)

Omnes.

It is the lady.

ARGYLL, (rising from his seat, and making signs to the Attendants nearest the door.)

Ho there! make room, and let the lady pass.

(The Servants, &c. stand apart, ranging themselves on every side to let the Lady pass; and enter Helen, magnificently dressed, with a deep white veil over her face; while Lorne, going forward to meet her, conducts her to her chair on Argyll's right hand.)

ARGYLL, (to the Campbells.)

Now, fill a cup of welcome to our friends.

LOCHTARISH, (to Maclean.)

Chieftain, forgettest thou to greet the lady?

MACLEAN, (turning to Argyll.)

Nay, rather give, my lord, might I presume,

Our firstling cup to this fair lady's health,
The noble dame of this right princely house.
And though close veil'd she be, her beauty's lustre
I little question.

(Fills up a goblet, while Lochtarish, Benlora, &c.

follow his example, and standing up, bow to the Lady.)

Your health, most noble dame.

(Helen, rising also, bows to him, and throws back her veil: the cup falls from his hands; all the company start up from table; screams and exclamations of surprise are heard from all corners of the hall, and confused commotion seen every where. Maclean, Lochtarish, and Glenfadden, stand appalled and motionless; but Benlora, looking fiercely round him, draws his sword.)

BENLORA.

What! are we here like deer bay'd in a nook?

And think ye so to slay us, crafty foe?
No, by my faith! like such we will not fall,
Arms in our hands, though by a thousand foes
Encompass'd.—Cruel, murderous, ruthless men,
Too good a warrant have you now to think us,
But cowards never!
Rouse ye, base Macleans!
And thou, whose subtlety around us thus
With wreckful skill these cursed toils have wound,
Sinks thy base spirit now? (To Lochtarish.)

ARGYLL, (holding up his hand.)

Be silence in the hall!

Macleans, ye are my guests; but if the feast
Delight you not, free leave ye have to quit it.
Lorne, see them all, with right due courtesy,
Safely protected to the castle gate.
(Turning to Maclean.)
Here, other name than chieftain or Maclean
He may not give thee; but, without our walls,
If he should call thee murderer, traitor, coward,
Weapon to weapon, let your fierce contention
Be fairly held, and he, who first shall yield,
The liar be.——
Campbells! I charge you there.
Free passage for the chieftain and his train.

(Maclean and Lochtarish, &c. without speaking, quit the Hall through the crowd of Attendants, who divide, and form a line to let them pass. Helen, who had sunk down almost senseless upon her seat, seeing the hall cleared of the crowd, who go out after the Macleans, now starts up, and catches hold of Argyll with an imploring look of strong distress.)

HELEN.

O father! well I know foul are his crimes,

But what—O what, am I, that for my sake
This bloody strife should be?—O think, my lord!
He gave consent and sanction to my death,
But thereon could not look: and at your gate—

E'en on your threshold, must his life be ta'en?
For well I know the wrath of Lorne is deadly.
And gallant Lorne himself, if scath should be,—
O pity! pity!—for pity stay them!

ARGYLL.

Let go thy hold, weak woman: pity now!

Rosa, support her hence.

(Committing her to Rosa, who now comes forward, and tearing himself away.)

HELEN, (endeavouring to run after him, and catch hold of him again).

O be not stern! beneath the ocean rather

Would I had sunk to rest, than been the cause
Of horrid strife like this! O pity! pity!

(Exeunt, she running out after him distractedly.)

SCENE IV. Before the Gate of the Castle: a confused noise of an approaching crowd heard within, and presently enter, from the Gate, Maclean, Benlora, Lochtarish, and Glenfadden, with their Attendants, conducted by Lorne, and followed by a crowd of Campbells, who range themselves on both sides of the Stage.

LORNE, (to Maclean).

Now, chieftain, we the gate have pass'd,—the bound

That did restrain us. Host and guest no more,
But deadly foes we stand, who from this spot
Shall never both with life depart. Now, turn,
And boldly say to him, if so thou darest,
Who calls thee villain, murd'rer, traitor, coward,
That he belies thee. Turn then, chief of Mull!
Here, man to man, my single arm to thine,
I give thee battle; or, refusing this,
Our captive here retain thee to be tried
Before the summon'd vassals of our clans,
As suits thy rank and thine atrocious deeds.
Take thou thy choice.

MACLEAN.

Yes, John of Lorne, I turn.

This turf on which we tread my death-bed is;
This hour my latest term; this sky of light
The last that I shall look on. Draw thy sword:
The guilt of many crimes overwhelms my spirit;
But never will I shame my brave Macleans,
By dying, as their chief, a coward's death.

BENLORA.

What! shalt thou fight alone, and we stand by

Idly to look upon it? (Going up fiercely to Lorne.)
Turn me out
The boldest, brawniest Campbell of your bands;
Ay, more than one, as many as you will;
And I the while, albeit these locks be grey,
Leaning my aged back against this tree,
Will show your youngsters how, in other days,
Macleans did fight, when baited round with foes.

LORNE.

Be still, Benlora; other sword than these,

Thy chief's and mine, shall not this day be drawn.
If I prevail against him, here with us
Our captives you remain. If I be conquer'd,
Upon the faith and honour of a chieftain,
Ye shall again to Mull in safety go.

BENLORA.

Spoken like a noble chieftain!

LORNE.

Ye shall, I say, to Mull in safety go.

But there prepare ye to defend your coast
Against a host of many thousand Campbells;
In which, be well assured, swords as good
As John of Lorne's, to better fortune join'd,
Shall of your crimes a noble vengeance take.

(Lorne and Maclean fight; and, after a combat of

some length, Maclean is mortally wounded, and the Campbells give a loud shout.

MACLEAN.

It is enough, brave Lorne; this wound is death:

And better deed thou couldst not do upon me,
Than rid me of a life disgraced and wretched.
But guilty though I be, thou see'st full well,
That to the brave opposed, arms in hand,
I am no coward.——Oh! could I as bravely,
In home-rais'd broils, with violent men have strove,
It had been well: but there, alas! I proved
A poor, irresolute, and nerveless wretch.
(After a pause, and struggling for breath.)
To live, alas! in good men's memories
Detested and contemn'd:—to be with her
For whom I thought to be——Come, gloomy grave!
Thou cover'st all!

(After another painful struggle, every one standing in deep silence round him, and Lorne bending over him compassionately.)

Pardon of man I ask not,

And merit not.—Brave Lorne, I ask it not;
Though in thy piteous eye a look I see
That might embolden me.——There is above
One who doth know the weakness of our nature,—
Our thoughts and conflicts:—all that e'er have breathed;

The bann'd and bless'd must pass to Him:—my soul
Into his hands, in humble penitence,
I do commit. (Dies.)

LORNE.

And may heaven pardon thee, unhappy man!

Enter Argyll, and Helen following him, attended by Rosa.

LORNE, (to Attendants.)

Alas, prevent her!

(Endeavouring to keep her back.)
Helen, come not hither:
This is no sight for thee.

HELEN, (pressing forward, and seeing the body.)

Oh! oh! and hast thou dealt with him so quickly,

Thou fell and ruthless Lorne?—No time allow'd?—
(Kneeling by the body.)
O that within that form sense still were lodged!
To hear my voice,—to know that in my heart
No thought of thee——Let others scan thy deeds,
Pitied and pardon'd art thou here.
(Her hand on her breast.)
Alas!
So quickly fell on thee th' avenging stroke!

No sound of peace came to thy dying ear,
No look of pity to thy closing eyes!
Pitied and pardon'd art thou in this breast,
But canst not know it now.—Alas! alas!

ARGYLL, (to Attendants.)

Prepare ye speedily to move the body.

Mean time, our prisoners within the castle
Secure ye well.

(To other Attendants, who lay hold of Lochtarish and Glenfadden, while Benlora, drawing his sword, attacks furiously those who attempt to seize and disarm him, and they, closing round and endeavouring to overpower him, he is mortally wounded in the scuffle.)

BENLORA.

Ay, bear me now within your prison walls;

Alive indeed, thought ye to bind me? No.
Two years within your dungeons have I lived,
But lived for vengeance: closed that hope, the earth
Close o'er me too!—Alive to bind Benlora!
(Falls.)

LORNE, (running up to him).

Ha! have ye slain him?—Fierce and warlike spirit!

I'm glad that thou hast had a soldier's death,

Arms in thy hands, all savage as thou art.
(Turning to Lochtarish and Glenfadden.)
But thou, the artful, base, contriving villain,
Who hast of an atrocious, devilish act
The mover been, and this thy vile associate,
Prepare ye for the villains' shameful end,
Ye have so dearly earn'd.

(Waving his hand for the Attendants to lead them off.

LOCHTARISH.

Be not so hasty, Lorne.—Think'st thou indeed

Ye have us here within your grasp, and nought
Of hostage or security retain'd
For our protection?

LORNE.

What dost thou mean?

LOCHTARISH.

Deal with us as ye will:

But if within a week, return'd to Mull,
In safety I appear not, with his blood,
The helpless heir, thy sister's infant son,
Who in my mother's house our pledge is kept,
Must pay the forfeit.

HELEN, (starting up from the body in an agony of alarm.)

O horrible! ye will not murder him?

Murder a harmless infant!

LOCHTARISH

My aged mother, lady, loves her son

As thou dost thine; and she has sworn to do it.

HELEN.

Has sworn to do it! Oh! her ruthless nature

Too well I know.(To Lorne eagerly.)
Loose them, and let them go.

LORNE.

Let fiends like these escape?

ARGYLL, (to Helen).

He does but threaten

To move our fears: they dare not slay the child.

HELEN.

They dare! they will!—O if thou art my father!

If Nature's hand e'er twined me to thy heart
As this poor child to mine, have pity on me!
Loose them and let them go!—Nay, do it quickly.
O what is vengeance? Spare my infant's life.

Unpitying Lorne!—art thou a brother too?
The hapless father's blood is on thy sword,
And wilt thou slay the child! spare him! spare him!

(Kneeling to Argyll and Lorne, who stand irresolute, when enter Sir Hubert De Grey, carrying something in his arms, wrapped up in a mantle, and followed by Morton. On seeing Sir Hubert, she springs from the ground, and rushes forward to him.)

Ha! art thou here? in blessed hour return'd

To join thy prayers with mine,—to move their hearts—
Their flinty hearts;—to bid them spare my child!

DE GREY, (lifting up the mantle, and showing a sleeping Child).

The prayer is heard already: look thou here

Beneath this mantle where he soundly sleeps.

(Helen utters a cry of joy, and holds out her arms for the Child, but at the same time sinks to the ground, embracing the knees Sir Hubert. Argyll and Lorne run up to him, and all their Vassals, &c crowding round, close them about on every side, while a general murmur of exultation is heard through the whole. Lochtarish and Gleneadden, remaining on the side of the Stage

with those who guard them, are struck with astonishment and consternation.)

ARGYLL, (to those who guard Lochtarish, &c. stepping forward from the crowd.)

Lead to the grated Keep your prisoners,

There to abide their doom. Upon the guilty
Our vengeance falls, and only on the guilty.
To all their clan besides, in which I know
Full many a gallant heart included is,
I still extend a hand of amity.
If they reject it, fair and open war
Between us be: and trust we still to find them
The noble, brave Macleans, the valiant foes,
That, ere the dark ambition of a villain,
For wicked ends, their gallant minds had warp'd,
We heretofore had found them.
O that men
In blood so near, in country, and in valour,
Should spend in petty broils their manly strength,
That might, united for the public weal,
On foreign foes such noble service do!
O that the day were come when gazing southron,
Whilst these our mountain warriors, marshalled forth
To meet in foreign climes their country's foes,
Along their crowded cities slowly march,
To sound of warlike pipe, their plaided bands,

Shall say, with eager fingers pointing thus,
"Behold those men!—their sunn'd but thoughtful brows:
Their sinewy limbs; their broad and portly chests,
Lapp'd in their native vestments, rude but graceful!—
Those be our hardy brothers of the north;—
The bold and generous race, who have, beneath
The frozen circle and the burning line,
The rights and freedom of our native land
Undauntedly maintain'd."
That day will come,
When in the grave this hoary head of mine,
And many after heads, in death are laid;
And happier men, our sons, shall live to see it.
O may they prize it too with grateful hearts!
And, looking back on these our stormy days
Of other years, pity, admire, and pardon
The fierce, contentious, ill-directed valour
Of gallant fathers, born in darker times!

(The Curtain drops.)

EPILOGUE.

WRITTEN BY HENRY MACKENZIE, ESQ.

SPOKEN BY MRS. H. SIDDONS,*^[1]

In her ordinary Dress.

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    Well! here I am, those scenes of suff'ring o'er,
Safe among you, "a widow'd thing" no more;
And though some squeamish critics still contend
That not so soon the tragic tone should end,
Nor flippant Epilogue, with smiling face,
Elbow her serious sister from the place;
I stand prepared with precedent and custom,
To plead the adverse doctrine—Won't you trust' em?
I think you will, and now the curtain's down.
Unbend your brows, nor on my prattle frown.
    You've seen how, in our country's ruder age,
Our moody lords would let their vassals rage,
And while they drove men's herds, and burnt their houses,
To some lone isle condemn'd their own poor spouses;
Their portion—drowning when the tide should serve;
Their separate aliment—a leave to starve;
And for the Scottish rights of Dower and Tierce,
A deep-sea burial, and an empty hearse.

    Such was of old the fuss about this matter;
In our good times, 'tis managed greatly better;
When modern ladies part with modern lords,
Their business no such tragic tale affords;
Their "Family Legends," in the Charter-chest,
In deeds of ink, not deeds of blood, consist;
In place of ruffians ambushed in the dark.
Comes, with his pen, a harmless lawyer's clerk,
Draws a long—bond, my lady packs her things,
And leaves her mate to smooth his ruffled wings.
    In the free code of first enlighten'd France,
Marriage was broke for want of convenance;
No fault to find, no grievances to tell,
But, like tight shoes, they did not fit quite well.
The lady curt'sied, with "Adieu, Monsieur,"
The husband bow'd, or shrugg'd, "de tout mon coeur!"
"L'affaire est faite;" each partner free to range,
Made life a dance, and every dance a change.
    In England's colder soil they scarce contrive
To keep these foreign freedom-plants alive;
Yet in some gay parterres we've seen, e'en there,
Its blushing fruit this frail exotic bear;—
Couples make shift to slip the marriage chain,
Cross hands—cast off—and are themselves again.
(Bell rings.)
But, soft, I hear the Prompter's summons rung,
That calls me off, and stops my idle tongue;
A Sage, our fair and virtuous Author's friend,
Shakes his stern head, and bids my nonsense end;—
Bids me declare, she hopes her parent land
May long this current of the times withstand;
That here, in purity and honour bred;
Shall love and duty wreath the nuptial bed;

The brave good husband, and his faithful wife,
Revere the sacred charities of life;
And bid their children, like their sires of old,
Firm, honest, upright, for their country bold,
Here, where "Rome's eagles found unvanquished foes,"
The Gallic vulture fearlessly oppose,
Chace from this favoured isle, with baffled wing,
Bless'd in its good old laws, old manners, and old King.

THE END.

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Edinburgh:
Printed by James Ballantyne & Co.

1. * The Prologue was spoken by Mr Terry.