Part 2 / Act 3 — SCENE IV.
Reading edition
A plain on the English side of the Tweed, fronting the Ramparts of Berwick, where a Gibbet is erected, surrounded by Men-at-Arms. The English Bugles are heard at a distance, and the Troops are seen marshalling in the back-ground. The eight young Hostages are led forth to Execution, with their hands pinioned, and halters tied round their necks.
Young Seton and the other Hostages, Executioner, Guards, &c.
EXECUTIONER.
Come forth, my pretty boy! you are the first
Upon the roll.
160YOUNG SETON.
Thanks for the precedence!
I’m ready;—but I weep that these poor youths
Should suffer. Would that I might see the king
To intercede for them. Oh! would that I
Might feed the tyrant’s rage. Don’t weep, my lads!
For we’ll be happy soon. I envy not
The conqueror who gluts his puny vengeance
On harmless heads like ours. We die to serve
Our country, while he lives but to destroy
The innocent. I have but one request
Of thee, stern man!
EXECUTIONER.
’Tis foolish prattling;
I must make haste to do my duty.
YOUNG SETON.
O yes! make haste; I hear a parley sounded,
I see the white flag hoisted. Haste, make haste!
And tarry not, lest they give up the town
To save our lives; alas! of little moment.
But if you have a mother, stern man! hear,
Oh! hear my last request.
Enter Messenger.
MESSENGER.
The boys are all reprieved, except young Seton;
161Be quick, and execute the law on him:
The guards are murmuring at your delay.
YOUNG SETON.
My friends, farewell! as thus I kiss you all.
[Seton embraces the Boys, who shed tears, interrupted
with sobs of joy, at being so unexpectedly
delivered, except Alan, who looks
melancholy, and takes Seton by the hand.
Since this cruel man will hearken not to me,
Alan, I pray thee, give this lock of hair
To my poor mother; tell her that I died
As her son ought to die. This silver bell
Give to my sister Margaret for her falcon;
[The Jailer, unseen by Seton, takes it from Alan.
And tell my father to be comforted
Since we will meet in Heaven.—(Kneels.) Almighty God!
Receive my sinful soul.
[Then looks up unconcernedly into the face of the
Executioner, and exclaims,
Sir, I am ready,—
Now God for Scotland, David, and Saint Andrew!
[A shout is heard without. “A rescue! a rescue!”
while the curtain falls.
162 SCENE V.
A Room in the Governor’s House.
LADY SETON (sola.)
I dread the blow is struck! O Heaven forfend!
The stroke be not too heavy for my lord,
Whose feelings are acute, since it may urge him
Over the fatal precipice of death;
I’m wondrously supported at this time—
Heaven sends afflictions, but it also sends
A supernatural strength to bear them out.
Enter Messenger.
MESSENGER.
O that the night had never grown to day
When I was born, to be the messenger
Of such sad tidings!
LADY SETON.
Well, then, speak them out!
Since what has happen’d cannot be undone.
MESSENGER.
Lady, your son has yielded his fair life,
Innocent as the flower hid in the bud.
163LADY SETON.
Was there no spark of feeling in their breasts?
Were they not men cast in a fleshly mould,
That thus they did outrage both God and man?
MESSENGER.
The men-at-arms look’d grim, and many hearts
Felt warm beneath the icy steel that braced them;
And married men shed tears. Perhaps the youths
Reminded them of home, and of their young ones
By Ouse’s side. I can no more, good lady.
[Exit Messenger.
LADY SETON.
Monster! for once revenge shall be a virtue!
My son has died to win immortal fame,
To bloom like laurel on the shield of Cheyne,
And be a stain for aye on Edward’s chaplet.
Sound the war-slogan now—“Set-on,” to the siege,
Let the red crest spit fire—Revenge, revenge!
[Exit Lady Seton.
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