Part 2 / Act 4 — SCENE I.

The front of Berwick Walls at Port St Mary.—Ramsay is seen on the Ramparts, flying from Post to Post, and filling up the gaps made by the Assailants, who keep up a constant discharge of Arrows. The English Pioneers attempt to break the Barrier, and at last succeed in burning it down. They shout, while Lord Montague leads the Assault.

MONTAGUE.

On, on, my men of England! to the breastwork.

St George! St Edward! ho!

[The English pull down the Drawbridge, cross

it, and fire the Gate.

Well done, my gallants, every man a hero!

165Now for the plunder; see that ye spare none.

[The Gate being consumed, Ramsay calls down

the Guard from the Ramparts, rushes through

the flames, and attacks the Assailants sword

in hand.

RAMSAY.

Back, varlets as ye are! ye shall not pass here

Until you cut a passage through our bodies;—

Charge, gallant Scots, remember Bannockburn!—

Remember how a handful of your fathers

Annull’d these braggadocios—show yourselves

Their true descendants, and don’t shame your mothers!

Charge yet again, refresh the parched earth

With the invaders’ blood—The Bruce—the Bruce!

[After a desperate conflict, the English are beat

back, and the Scots retire within the Walls.

Thanks, gallant friends; we’ll now refresh ourselves

With what the morning’s bivouac afforded.

PRENDERGEST.

The sun has set upon a bloody day,

But it must shine upon a bloodier morrow.

RAMSAY.

And cursed be the coward heart that shrinks from

A life of honour, or a death of glory! [Exeunt.

166 SCENE II.

The King’s Pavilion in the English Camp.

KING EDWARD (solus.)

The Persian wept, when he beheld his hosts

Array’d in all the pomp and strength of war;

He wept to think, that in one hundred years

The soul of life that stirr’d a million men

Should be extinct, and all their warrior forms

Resolved to dust. I weep for other cause!

I weep to see so many chosen men

Wasting their prime in an inglorious ease,

While they might combat on the fields of France,

And dictate laws to nations.

Enter Lords Arundel, Montague, D’Arcy, Percy, and other Nobles, with John of Hainault, and Sir Richard Benhale.

MONTAGUE.

Gracious king!

Keith has rejoin’d the Scots, with many knights,

Prendergest, Ramsay, Gray—th’ assault has fail’d,

As we knew nought of this superior force.

167Inflated now, like frogs who sought a king,

With new-come succours, they refuse surrender;

Treating your summons with insulting scorn;

And say, in terms of truce they stand relieved,

And that their hostages should be given up.

KING EDWARD.

Hah! there I have them, tantalizing rogues!

St George! my nobles, hear ye this, and pause?

ARUNDEL.

Even as the sleugh-hound burns to dip its tongue

In blood of game, we burn to meet the Scots

In deadly conflict.

Enter Rokesby.

ROKESBY.

My liege, the Douglas, with a powerful host,

Comes to the aid of Berwick, and has cross’d

The Tweed beneath the skirts of Halidon.

KING EDWARD.

My gallant Rokesby, ye shall be rewarded

At our royal leisure. Nobles, hear ye this?

Montague, D’Arcy, to the field prepare,—

[Exeunt Montague and D’Arcy.

Percy and John of Hainault, marshal quick

Your numerous troops,—and let the traitors feel

The strength of English spear and English bow.

[Exeunt Percy and Hainault.

168Scots, if ye cheat me now, like Vortigern

I’ll tear the plaited mail from off my shoulders,

And rush upon destruction!

Enter Lieutenant.

LIEUTENANT.

My liege, already from the Scottish camp

Defiance has been given. A giant Scot,

Who turn’d aside the bull from Robert Bruce,

Challenges England’s stoutest knight to combat.

KING EDWARD.

Hah! St George! I feel the elixir

Of life shoot through my veins, to think that I

For once shall meet these rascals in the field:

Speak any?

BENHALE.

I am young, and but the least

Of English knights, yet I accept the challenge,

And in the front of both the armed hosts

Will slay or turn the bull!

[All exclaim “Bravo!”]

[Exit Benhale.

KING EDWARD.

Nobles, unto the camp. [Exeunt.

[Flourish of Trumpets, &c.

169 SCENE III.

A Plain between the front of the two Armies at Halidon-hill.

[Martial Music heard at a distance.

Enter Sir Richard Benhale. Turnbull comes from the opposite side of the Stage, attended by a huge Mastiff.

BENHALE.

I came to fight with men and not with dogs.

TURNBULL.

I came to fight a man and not a pup!

BENHALE.

Were thy hide like the mail’d rhinoceros;

Thy brawny arms like Hercules’ strangling serpents;

Thy ample shoulders like gigantic Atlas

With the globe on his back, I would not shrink,

But with this little arm and trusty sword

Teach thee to temper speech with more politeness.

TURNBULL.

Foam not nor fret not thus, thou baby knight,

The champion of some whorish dame of Norfolk

Fed upon turkies by some foolish housewife.

170Ho! Towser, seize him: shake his silken doublet,

And dine upon his brains,—if brains there be

Within his egg-shell skull.

BENHALE.

Down with thee, brute!——

[The Dog attacks the Knight, who, with one

blow across the loins, severs the hinder-legs

from the body.

Thus will I chop your ruffian of a master. [They fight.

TURNBULL.

Thou art a well-built piece of painted clay,

With bones and sinews in thy dext’rous arm;

Now feel my mountain-strength, that crushes thee

Like a cobweb, since you’ve destroy’d my idol,

My precious dog!

BENHALE.

Not, ruffian, till you feel

The venom of my sting unto your marrow!

[Benhale, with skill and dexterity, avoids the

blows of his antagonist, who nearly overturns

himself by a false stroke; the Knight, improving

the opportunity, cuts off his opponent’s

left arm.

What think ye, braggart! of our English pups,

Now that ye feel their claws?

[Shouts from the English.

171TURNBULL (recovering.)

Thou wicked one,

Nursed by some imp of hell; hence musket-proof,

With Satan’s phiz embroider’d on your vest!

Confess yourself a fiend, nor urge a strife

Unequal. [They both rest on their swords.

BENHALE.

Hadst thou met me as a knight,

With courtesy of arms, on equal ground,

Nor sought to brute and worry me with dogs

Too like yourself, I should have spared you now;

But thou must die: the army has decided

The fate of him whose vanquish’d—St George for England! [They fight.

TURNBULL.

I did but sport with thee, thou baby knight!

And thus I dash your maggot soul to atoms.

[After a fierce combat, Benhale is nearly

worsted, when, by a dexterous pass, he stabs

his opponent, who falls.

H! hast thou master’d me? I scorn thee still;

Oh! that my voice might rouse my murder’d mastiff

T’ avenge my death!—I but regret to perish

By such a puny hand. Revenge me, Scots! [Dies.

BENHALE.

Ye Scots! behold your champion slain, and tremble:

172As the bull’s head, when set at baron’s banquet,

So nicely deck’d with garlands and rosemary,

Foretells assassination to the guest;

So this gigantic head upon my spear,

Which as a garland on my crest I’ll wear,

[He cuts off his opponent’s head, and places it on

his spear.

Foretells defeat, destruction to your army,

God save the king!

[Shouts from the English, accompanied with

execrations from the Scots. The armies now

mutually engage, and the scene closes.