« PreviousContinue »
L. Doug. Yet have mercy, Lords! Oh! you are far more gentle, Shrewsbury! Drive not her few, poor, faithful maids from her; Let them receive her blefling, and behold Their dying Mistress' looks, and close her eyes. In pity, nay, in decency, comply; Is't fit the person of a royal Queen Should lie a mangled and unheeded corse, Without her maids to shroud those precious limbs, Which kneeling Princesses were proud to adorn ?
Shrews. 'Tis not in nature to regift the claim. Enter Mary from her Oratory, dressed gorgeously,
with a Cross and Beads.
Mary This world to me is as a thing that's pak;
A burden shaken off-The retrospect
Exhibits nothing but a wearifome
And tedious pilgrimage-What is to come
Opens a scene of glory to my eyes:
Therefore with joy I haften to begin
This course of triumph-Oh! my faithful friends!
Ye all-all of you, my poor followers,
Have facrific'd your days to share my woas.
Now let me ask forgiveness for the past;
Pardon my many negligences!
L. Doug. Oh!
Thus, on aur knees, we crave your blessing all. ·
Mary. Yes, I will bless you with my latest breath; ?Tis all I have to give; except, perchance, Some tries, which I here bequeath among you.
[Delivering her Will, Beton, accept this ring-take that-And thou !
[Giving a Ring to Beton, and her Physiciany
and her Almoner. These tokens may remind you of love. Come hither, all my maids! [The Maids rise and approach.] Farewel, sweet friends.
[Mary killes each of them. We soon Mail meet.--come, Douglas ! let me bind Thine arm with this my bracelet; that so oft As you behold it, you may think on me.
[Cla/ping her in her arms.
* Now let me hold thee thus-Nay, do not weep
That I'm translated from this scene of care • To endless joy-Once more farewel!-lead on!
[Mary makes a Sign for the Procesion to go on,
and is proceeding, when Melvin, an old Man
with grey Locks, throws himself at her Feet, in
Mel. Oh, mercy! mercy Heav'n! alas, my Queen!
« That I shou'd live to such an age for this,
- To see this fight, and carry back this tale!'
Mary. Melvin! my faithful fervant, Melvin, here!
In my last moments. They have kept thee long
• Out of thy Mistress' fight thou comeft in time
• For her poor blefling-Good old man, return;
« Commend me to my son tell him I've done
• No prejudice to Scotland's crown-tell him
• My latest words were those of Scotland's Queen.'
[Melvin tries to speak, and is unable.
Poor soul, thy griefs have choak'd thy speech! Adieu!
Bear witness all, tell it throughout the world,
But chiefly to my family in France,
That I die firmly in their holy faith!
And you, ye Ministers from England's Queen!
Tell her, the hath my pardon; and relate,
That, with my dying breath, I do beseech
Her kindness to my servants; and request
Safe conduct for them into France ; that done,
l've naught to ask, but that my poor remains
May be bestow'd in Lorrain, or in France,
Where I may hope for pious obfequies ;
For here the tombs of my progenitors
Are all profan'd-Remember my requests !.
Now lead me on in triumph, till I gain
Immortal joys, and an immortal reigú.
Written by the AUTHOR,
And spoken by Mrs. SIDDON S.
WERE you not told, before the play began,
Our Author ventur’d on a daring plan?
A tale of woe, a deep historic Play
Giv'n in an age so debonnair and gay.
Was this a place to set up a defence,
And talk of injur'd Mary's innocence ?
Of late discoveries, drawn from dates and words,
Old rotten parchments, mosty, dull records ?
Nor-all is now for tinsel, show!-
Turns a deaf ear - but keenly views the stage !
The Tragic Mufe, nay: all the lifters nine,
Are now eclips da-Aladin's lamp doth shine !
Exulting o'er their tonbe now boxers (par !
And beaux, in raptures, envy every scar!
Learning and wit were once esteem'd, and then
The stage produced Ben Johnfon-now, Big Ben!
Shakespeare make room for Humphries !
-that's the way; To bring the men of fashion to the play!
But to pur Bard - How fhall we judge his career
Who scorns the unities of time and place,
Critics, what say ye?
-Must he sue for peace
To wits of modern France, or ancient Greece ?
The great Voltaire has told us, that a play
Should be within one house, and in one day-
But in one evening, how can it be right,
To represent the morning, noon, and night?
To hail Aurora, swear the sun-beam glows,
While these vile lamps ftill fare beneath my nose.
And as to place ---deception's all in vain
We've known all night, that this is Drury Lane,
Thus English Johnson's sterling wit and fenfe
Treats this French rule, as a poor, weak pretence
To cloak their narrow genius - an expedient
To make their fable, like themselves, obedient.
When action, uniform in every part,
Guides the clear tale directly to the heart,
In vain dramatic pedants may combine
Tke free born Muse, by weakning, to refine,
Whene'er the mounts, their damp, cold veil to fling,
Or clip the matter feather of her wing.
No; let the Tragic Mufe range far and wide,
Bind not in chains the paflions' faithful guide;
Let the full heart expand, and seek relief
From the fveet luxuryot virtuous grief.
lliy no ftern critic or talle hame control
s noble weakness of each generous foul :
th the tender heart alone vou'll find,
heft fairis and a firmet min
AUTHOR OF AMURATH AND ZARA, A TURKISH TALE, &c.
“ O truly generous maid!' when envious time,
Hath, after thousands of revolving years,
Swept ev'ry trace of lesser names away,
Thine still shall flourish 'midst the dreadful wreck,
A bright example of true constancy
To every future age." GAURINI'S PASTOR Fido.
GLASGOW: PRINTED BY D. M'KINZIE, 20. SALTMARKET; FOR THE AUTHOR; AND SOLD BY THE BOOKSELLERE.