Of those, who wore them.

PAL. Degenerate as thou art, Know'st thou to whom thou say'st this?

[He drops his mantle, and is discovered armed as nearly as may be to the suit which hung on the wall; all express terror.

Osw. It is himself-the spirit of mine Ancestor!

ERI. Tremble not, son, but hear me!

[He strikes the wall; it opens, and discovers the Treasure-Chamber. There lies piled The wealth I brought from wasted Cumberland,

Enough to reinstate thy ruin'd for

tunes.

Cast from thine high-born brows that peasant bonnet,

Throw from thy noble grasp the peasant's staff;

O'er all, withdraw thine hand from that mean mate

Whom in an hour of reckless desperation

Of plunder'd Aglionby, whose mighty wealth,

Ravish'd in evil hour, lies yonder

piled;

And not his hand prevails without the key

Of Black Lord Erick; brief space is given

To save proud Devorgoil. So wills high Heaven.

[Thunder; he disappears.

DUR. Gaze not so wildly; you have stood the trial

That his commission bore, and Heaven designs,

If I may spell his will, to rescue Devorgoil

Even by the Heir of Aglionby. Behold him

In that young forester, unto whose hand

Those bars shall yield the treasures of his house,

Destined to ransom yours. Advance,

young Leonard,

And prove the adventure.

LEON. (advances and attempts the
grate).
It is fast

As is the tower, rock-seated.

Osw. We will fetch other means,

and prove its strength,

Nor starve in poverty with wealth before us.

DUR. Think what the vision spoke; The key-the fated key

Enter GULLCRAMMER.

GUL. A key? I say a quay is what we want,

Thus by the learn'd orthographized— Q, u, a, y.

The lake is overflow'd! A quay, a boat,

Oars, punt, or sculler, is all one to

me!

We shall be drown'd, good people!

JOHN MURE OF AUCHINDRANE, an Ayrshire

Baron. He has been a follower of the Regent, Earl of Morton, during the Civil Wars, and hides an oppressive, ferocious, and unscrupulous disposi tion under some pretences to strictness of life and doctrine, which, however, never influence his conduct. He is in danger from the law, owing to his having been formerly active in the assassination of the Earl of Cassilis. PHILIP MURE, his son, a wild, debauched profligate, professing and practising a contempt for his father's hypocrisy, while he is as fierce and licentious as Auchindrane himself.

GIFFORD, their relation, a Courtier. QUENTIN BLANE, a youth, educated for a

Clergyman, but sent by AUCHINDRANE to serve in a Band of Auxiliaries in the Wars of the Netherlands, and lately employed as Clerk or Comptroller to the Regiment-disbanded, however, and on his return to his native country. He is of a mild, gentle, and rather feeble character, liable to be influenced by any person of stronger mind who will take the trouble to direct him. He is somewhat of a nervous temperament, varying from sadness to gaiety, accord

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A rocky Bay on the coast of Carrick, in Ayrshire, not far from the Point of Turnberry. The sea comes in upon a bold rocky shore. The remains of a small half-ruined Tower are seen on the right hand, overhanging the sea. There is a Vessel at a distance in the offing. A Boat at the bottom of the Stage lands eight or ten persons, dressed like disbanded, and in one or two cases like disabled soldiers. They come straggling forward with their knapsacks and bundles. HILDEBRAND, the Sergeant, belonging to the party, a stout elderly man, stands by the boat, as if superintending the disembarkation. QUENTIN remains apart.

ABRAHAM. Farewell the flats of Holland, and right welcome The cliffs of Scotland! Fare thee well, black beer

And Schiedam gin! and welcome twopenny,

Oatcakes, and usquebaugh!

WILLIAMS (who wants an arm). Farewell, the gallant field, and ‘'Forward, pikemen !'

For the bridge-end, the suburb, and the lane ;

stout a Scotsman To bear a Southron's rule an instant longer

Than discipline obliges; and for Quentin,

Quentin the quillman, Quentin the comptroller,

We have no regiment now; or, if we had,

Quentin's no longer clerk to it.

WIL. Forshame! for shame! What! shall old comrades jar thus, And on the verge of parting, and for ever?

Nay, keep thy temper, Abraham, though a bad one.

Good Master Quentin, let thy song last night

Give us once more our welcome to old Scotland.

ABR. Ay, they sing light whose

task is telling money,

When dollars clink for chorus.

QUE. I've done with counting silver, honest Abraham,

As thou, I fear, with pouching thy small share on 't.

But lend your voices, lads, and I will sing

As blithely yet as if a town were won;