Cross'd and divided by strange-colour'd clouds.
I'll seek the slave who came with Norval hither,
And for his cowardice was spurned from him.
I've known a follower's rankled bosom breed
Venom most fatal to his heedless lord.

[Exit.

ACT III. SCENE I.

A Court, &c. as before. Enter Anna.

Anna.

THY vassals, grief, great nature's order break,
And change the noon-tide to the midnight hour,
Whilst lady Randolph sleeps, I will walk forth,
And taste the air that breathes on yonder bank.
Sweet may her slumbers be! Ye ministers
Of gracious Heaven who love the human race,
Angels and seraphs who delight in goodness!
Forsake your skies, and to her couch descend!
There from her fancy chase those dismal forms
That haunt her waking; her sad spirit charm
With images celestial, such as please
The blest above upon their golden beds.

Enter Servant.

Ser. One of the vile assassins is secur'd. We found the villain lurking in the wood : With dreadful imprecations he denies

All knowledge of the crime. But this is not
His first essay: these jewels were conceal'd

In the most secret places of his garment;
Belike the spoils of some that he has murder'd.
Anna. Let me look on them. Ha! here is a heart,
The chosen crest of Douglas' valiant name!

These are no vulgar jewels.

Guard the wretch.

Enter Servants with a Prisoner.

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[Exit Anna.

Pris. I know no more than does the child unborn

Of what you charge me with.

1st Ser. You say so, Sir!

But torture soon shall make you speak the truth.
Behold, the lady of lord Randolph comes:
Prepare yourself to meet her just revenge.

Enter Lady RANDOLPH and ANNA.

Anna. Summon your utmost fortitude, before You speak with him. Your dignity, your fame, Are now at stake. Think of the fatal secret, Which in a moment from your lips may fly.

Lady R. Thou shalt behold me, with a desperate

heart,

Hear how my infant perish'd. See, he kneels.

[The Prisoner kneels.

Pris. Heav'n bless that countenance so sweet and

mild!

A judge like thee makes innocence more bold.
Oh, save me, lady! from these cruel men,
E

Who have attack'd and seiz'd me; who accuse
Me of intended murder. As I hope

For mercy at the judgment-seat of Heaven,
The tender lamb, that never nipt the grass,
Is not more innocent than I of murder.

40

Lady R. Of this man's guilt what proof can ye pro

duce?

1st Ser. We found him lurking in the hollow glynn. When view'd and call'd upon, amaz'd he fled, We overtook him, and enquir'd from whence And what he was: he said he came from far, And was upon his journey to the camp. Not satisfied with this, we search'd his clothes, And found these jewels, whose rich value plead Most pow'rfully against him. Hard he seems, And old in villainy. Permit us try

His stubbornness against the torture's force.

Pris. Oh, gentle lady! by your lord's dear life; Which these weak hands, I swear, did ne'er assail; And by your children's welfare, spare my age! Let not the iron tear my ancient joints,

And my grey hairs bring to the grave with pain.

Lady R. Account for these; thine own they cannot be; For these, I say: be stedfast to the truth; Detected falshood is most certain death.

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[Anna removes the Servants and returns.]

Pris, Alas! I'm sore beset! let never man, For sake of lucre, sin against his soul! Eternal justice is in this most just!

I, guiltless now, must former guilt reveal.

Lady R. Oh! Anna hear!—once more I charge thee

speak

The truth direct; for these to me foretel

And certify a part of thy narration;

With which, if the remainder tallies not,
An instant and a dreadful death abides thee.
Pris. Then, thus adjur'd, I'll speak to you as just
As if you were the minister of heaven,

Sent down to search the secret sins of men:

Some eighteen years ago I rented land

Of brave Sir Malcolm, then Balarmo's lord;
But falling to decay, his servants seiz'd

All that I had, and then turn'd me and mine,
(Four helpless infants and their weeping mother)
Out to the mercy of the winter winds.
A little hovel by the river's side

Received us: there hard labour, and the skill
In fishing, which was formerly my sport,
Supported life. Whilst thus we poorly liv'd,
One stormy night, as I remember well,
The wind and rain beat hard upon our roof;
Red came the river down, and loud and oft
The angry spirit of the water shriek'd.
At the dead hour of night was heard the cry
Of one in jeopardy. I rose, and ran
To where the circling eddy of a pool,

Beneath the ford, us'd oft to bring within
My reach, whatever floating thing the stream

80

Had caught. The voice was ceas'd; the person lost; But looking sad and earnest on the waters,

By the moon's light I saw, whirl'd round and round,

A basket soon I drew it to the bank,

And nestled curious there an infant lay.
Lady R. Was he alive?

Pris. He was.

Lady R. Inhuman that thou art!

100

How couldst thou kill what waves and tempests spared?

Pris. I am not so inhuman.

Lady R. Didst thou not?

Anna. My noble mistress, you are mov'd too much: This man has not the aspect of stern murder; Let him go on, and you, I hope, will hear Good tidings of your kinsman's long-lost child. Pris. The needy man who has known better days, One whom distress has spited at the world, Is he whom tempting fiends would pitch upon To do such deeds as make the prosperous men Lift up their hands and wonder who could do them. And such a man was I; a man declin❜d,

Who saw no end of black adversity:

Yet, for the wealth of kingdoms, I would not

Have touch'd that infant with a hand of harm.

Lady R. Ha! dost thou say so; then perhaps he lives! Pris. Not many days ago he was alive.

Lady R. O God of Heav'n! did he then die so lately?
Pris. I did not say he died; I hope he lives.
Not many days ago these eyes beheld

Him, flourishing in youth, and health, and beauty.
Lady R. Where is he now?

Pris. Alas! I know not where.

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