British Theatre: The mourning bride, by Mr. Congreve. 1791. Douglas, by John Home. 1791. The Albion queens; or, The death of Mary, queen of Scots, by J. Banks. 1791J. Bell, 1791 |
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Almeria Alonzo Alphonso Anna arms Behold blood bosom brave breast Cecil Child Maurice crown cruel curs'd Davison dead death deed didst dost thou Doug Douglas dread duke Duke of NORFOLK earth Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fatal fate father fear foes Garcia give Glen Glenalvon Gons Gonsalez grief guard hand hast hear heart Heav'n Heli hopes husband innocence JOHN HOME King kneel Lady RANDOLPH Leon live look Lord RANDOLPH lov'd majesty Mary maun mercy mistress Morton mourn mutes ne'er noble Norfolk Norval o'er Osmyn PEREZ pity prince PRINCE of WALES princess prisoner queen of Scotland rage revenge royal SCENE SELIM shew slave soul speak sword tears tell thee thou art thou dost thou hast thou shalt thought traitor Twas Twill valour virtue weep Whilst wretched Zara
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Trang 63 - Heav'n has no rage like love to hatred turn'd, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorn'd.
Trang 36 - Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men, I met advancing. The pursuit I led, Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumber'd foe. We fought and conquer'd. E're a sword was drawn, An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief, Who wore that day the arms which now I wear.
Trang 35 - My name is Norval ! on the Grampian hills My father feeds his flocks : a frugal swain, Whose constant cares were to increase his store, And keep his only son, myself, at home. For I had heard of battles, and I long'd To follow to the field some warlike lord : And Heav'n soon granted what my sire denied.
Trang 35 - They turn'd upon him: but his active arm Struck to the ground, from whence they rose no more, The fiercest two; the others fled amain, And left him master of the bloody field. Speak, Lady Randolph : upon Beauty's tongue Dwell accents pleasing to the brave and bold. Speak, noble dame, and thank him for thy lord. LADY RANDOLPH.
Trang 31 - Looking tranquillity ! it strikes an awe And terror on my aching sight ; the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.
Trang 67 - Oh, thou all-righteous and eternal King, Who father of the fatherless art call'd, Protect my son ! Thy inspiration, Lord ! Hath fill'd his bosom with that sacred fire, Which in the breasts of his forefathers burn'd ! Set him on high like them, that he may shine, The star and glory of his native land ! Then let the minister of death descend, And bear my willing spirit to it's place.
Trang 74 - Through skies, where I could count each little star. The fanning west wind scarcely stirs the leaves ; The river, rushing o'er its pebbled bed, Imposes silence, with a stilly sound. In such a place as this, at such an hour, If ancestry...
Trang 71 - Therefore I thank Glenalvon for his counsel, Although it sounded harshly. Why remind Me of my birth obscure ? Why slur my power With such contemptuous terms ? Glen.
Trang 31 - And terror on my aching sight; the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a dullness to my trembling heart. Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice; Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear Thy voice — my own affrights me with its echoes.
Trang 18 - Which are diffused through the revolving year, Come, heavy-laden with the oppressing weight, To me ; with me, successively, they leave The sighs, the tears, the groans, the restless cares, And all the damps of grief, that did retard their flight; They shake their downy wings, and scatter all The dire collected dews on my poor head ; Then fly with joy and swiftness from me.