Part 2 / Act 3 — SCENE I.

The Council Chamber.

Lord Dunbar, Sir Alexander Seton, with Attendants, grouped in consultation.

Enter Officer.

OFFICER.

My lords, the herald.

HERALD.

The King of England, merciful as brave,

Doth once more summon thee, to render up

The town and castle to your rightful liege,

King Edward Baliol, who is now at Tweedmouth.

Should ye resist the royal mercy still,

The hour of vespers, which approaches near,

Shall see each hostage quivering high in air;

149As token of the truth, behold, even now,

The gibbets rise before the walls of Berwick.

SETON.

Down, down, proud heart! [Aside.

In terms of the truce, we yet do crave

Delay till Keith’s return. Speak to him, March.

DUNBAR.

Tell proud Plantagenet, king of haughty England,

That I, Patrick Dunbar, the earl of March,

Will hold this castle till its stubborn walls

Be levell’d with the ground; and if I render,

Ungird my sword, cut off my knighthood’s spurs,

And let me live degraded. When ’tis ta’en

The prince may breakfast with my lady, Agnes,

Who’ll give him warm toast in her family house,

A few leagues distant.

HERALD.

My lord, we lack not toast,

Although your lady were a noble toast

To grace a conqueror’s banquet. Here I breathe

Defiance in the name of England’s king!

Our veterans burn to kiss your yielding maids;

The gibbets are impatient; at the toll

Of vespers, mercy on each youthful soul!

[Exit Herald.

150DUNBAR.

Seton, prepare for war; for in the camp

There’s mighty movements; but I do not deem

That Edward’s royal mind will stain his chaplet

By such a deed.

Enter Officer.

OFFICER.

My lord, on the horizon

We see the troops advancing. Helm on helm,

Banner on banner, glittering in the sun;

While the far spears gleam like a silver forest

Gilded by lightning.

SETON.

Now Heaven be praised; for Keith will soon be here!

DUNBAR.

I guard the castle—Seton, to the town;

Send gallant Ramsay to protect the ramparts;

Let Prendergest and Gray close up each avenue;

This is the time when England’s arm will strike;

Ring the alarum, till the Bell Tower shakes

To its foundations, and with one voice cry

God for our country, David and St Andrew! [Exeunt.

151 SCENE II.

The Governor’s House.

Enter Sir Alexander Seton and Lady Seton.

LADY SETON.

Whence is this haste, my lord?

SETON.

Love, to the castle,

Where ye may rest in safety as the dove

Sits in the clefted rock when tempests rave.

Oh! know ye not the assault’s again begun!

The magistrates implore us to surrender,

Alarm’d as I am for their hapless children.

LADY SETON.

What! will your coward hearts, without a blow,

Deliver up the place?

SETON.

What can we do?

For sack or storm I care not; no, not I,—

But, Heaven! my boy, my boy!

LADY SETON.

O wavering man!

152Would ye give up your country’s precious trust?

By Bruce’s royal blood that warms your veins,

I conjure you to pause. Think not the tyrant

Will keep his perjured word, though ye surrender.

Ah! no; and these poor minions all too late

Will see their temples spoil’d,—their infants slain—

Chopp’d from their mothers’ breasts, virgins deflower’d,

And hoary headed men, and sickly wretches,

Piled dying on the streets; war’s red arm bared

Till Tweed run blood; the burghers crucified

By the accursed Jews let loose to plunder;

And would ye ope your adamantine gates

To such a horrid scene?

Enter Officer.

OFFICER.

My lord governor,

In a sortie led by the gallant Ramsay,

Your son is taken by the enemy. [Exit Officer.

SETON.

Here I stand, like Job,

Beneath the blasts of Heaven! ay, like the gourd

Smit in the wilderness. Alas! alas!

My children falling round me, one by one.

I can support no more. My son, even now,

Like his lost brother, doom’d to execution.

153Heaven’s scourge falls heavy. Shall my stubborn heart

Refuse submission, that the tyrant’s vengeance

May make me childless.

LADY SETON.

My dear lord, don’t faint!

Bear yourself like a man, and comfort me,

For I had need of it. The cunning Edward

Must not betray us thus. What boots his word?

Remember thy brave brother Christopher,

Who was betray’d, beheaded, like his friend

The glorious Wallace! If they gave themselves

Martyrs for Scotland, oh! shall we refuse

Our sons, who both are young, and Heaven will sure

Reward our sacrifice with plants as fair

As those we’re doom’d to lose,—if plants as fair

May be.

SETON.

O might I perish in their stead!

But Heaven requite the tyrant’s broken faith—

Kings promise, are absolved, and die reputed

For what would damn the meanest wretch that lives.

LADY SETON.

And would ye take the tyrant at his word,

And render town and castle, fame and honour,

To be the victim of credulity,

And afterwards derided as a traitor?

154Rather than homage thus Plantagenet,

Had I a thousand lives I’d lose them all;

Rather bear children daily for an age,

Than buy their lives at such a doubtful price!

While I, your lady, love, like Buchan’s countess,

Will be perch’d up upon the castle’s turrets,

Throned like a wild beast in an iron cage,

For Scorn to point at, and cry Ha! ha! ha!

SETON.

Nay, Christian, it must be, whate’er the event,

For nature now, in silent eloquence,

Even as a voice sent from the opening heavens,

Urges parental duty. What is Fame?

’Tis sound!—a bubble floating in the air;

Painted with rainbow colours, by the sun

Of dazzling honour, and as false as they;

Which men, like grown-up children, seek to catch,

Yet find it nothing,—Oh, my son! my son!

Time flies; ho! messenger! [Exit Seton.

LADY SETON.

Now all is lost. [Exit.

155 SCENE III.

The English Camp at Tweedmouth.

King Edward seated under a Royal Canopy, surrounded by Baliol, Lords Montague, D’Arcy, Percy, John of Hainault, and other Generals. Guards in the back-ground.

[Flourish of Trumpets.

KING EDWARD.

See that the caitiff be secured, and led

To instant execution!

OFFICER.

It shall be done, my liege. [Exit Officer.

KING EDWARD.

These damned Scots,

Nursed in the school of Douglas, practise well

The arts of stratagem; but in the field

Are arrant cowards, else they would not shun

My chastisement. Thanks to my trusty doublet

Well temper’d, else that minion’s thirsty dagger

Had done its office. It is shameful thus

156To tarry, lords, while royal blood is spilt

On such occasion.

D’ARCY.

My most gracious liege,

We wait your orders to chastise the foe.

[They all grasp their swords.

KING EDWARD.

’Tis like the game they play’d at Stanhope Park,

When I was rescued by my gallant chaplain;

Those priests fight well; remember the brave Chapter

Of Mitton, led on by th’ Archbishop of York

Against the mob, who perish’d, every soul,

And saved the queen! these, these were noble men,

To teach my warriors valour!

D’ARCY (aside.)

I, by Saint Patrick, that was well-fed mutton

For the poor hungry Scots.

KING EDWARD.

I burn to whet my faulchion on these Scots,

That fly like game pursued, and ever mock

Our generalship. We march,—they fly—retreat—

Till night returns, and burning villages

Tell where the base outlaws have fix’d their camp;

Next morn beholds the ravaged plains deserted,

Smoking with refuse of luxurious spoils

Stolen from our wealthy yeomen; even as those

157Swart vagabonds that banquet on the heath,

Beneath the blasted tree; and fly at dawn,

Lest the fair day reveal their hellish deeds.

BALIOL.

They dread to meet your highness in the field;

But, like the assassin, strike you in your tent

When asking charity.

Enter Sir Richard Benhale.

KING EDWARD.

Is the caitiff hung

BENHALE.

Yes, gracious liege! and died a horrid death;

For, when upon the scaffold, from his breast

He drew a roll of flax, which, waved in air,

Sent up a rising smoke; he thrust it down

His throat,—it did the executioner’s office;

For when his entrails were taken out, they boil’d

As might become a traitor’s.

KING EDWARD.

Precious rogue!

Useful in death: He must have been a spy,

And this a signal given.

BENHALE.

Even so, my liege!

For now, seen high, upon the walls of Berwick,

The white flag’s hoisted.

158KING EDWARD.

’Tis all a trick! but I am ripe for vengeance.

Hell rot their flags! my purpose now is vengeance!

Lead forth the hostages unto the ramparts,

And hang them in the very teeth of Berwick!

Let Seton’s son be strung above the rest

To rot like carrion in his mother’s face.

Let it be done in silence, that their cries,

Wafted across the Tweed, may ring i’ their ears

Through every future age the wrath of England!

Meanwhile, my warriors, Percy, John of Hainault,

And gallant D’Arcy, be upon the watch.

PERCY.

My sword will be an earnest, for the lands

I hold of Scotland; and that sword will punish

Those chiefs who sought to cheat me of my own.

[Exit Percy.

JOHN OF HAINAULT.

My heavy horse shall crush their spears to atoms!

[Exit Hainault.

D’ARCY.

By good St Patrick, if they escape me now

I ne’er shall see your highness face again;

For I will choke with grief; then drown myself

In the bottom of Loch Neagh! [Exit D’Arcy.

KING EDWARD.

And, ye young galliards! signalize yourselves.

159Who first discovers where the coward Scots

Have fix’d their camp, shall from our royal bounty

Receive a pension of one hundred pounds.—

Montague sack the town; nor sex, nor age,

Nor suckling babe spare not, until the Tweed,

Swollen high with blood, o’erflows its fertile banks;

Hence shall the haughty burghers learn obedience,

Hear but the name of Edward and submit! [Exeunt.