SCENE I.—A Street—the Market-place.

Enter SIR ALEXANDER SETON, RICHARD and HENRY (his sons), PROVOST RAMSAY, HUGH ELLIOT, and others of the People.

Provost Ramsay.—Brither Scotchmen! it is my fixed an' solemn opinion, that the King o' England has entered into a holy alliance wi' the enemy o' mankind! An' does he demand us to surrender!—to gie up our toun!—our property!—our lives!—our liberty!—to Southern pagans, that hae entered into compact wi' the powers o' the air! Surrender! No, Scotchmen! While we breathe, we will breathe the breath o' Freedom! as it soughs down the Tweed, between the heathery hills o' our ain auld country! I am but provost o' Berwick, Sir Alexander, an' ye are its governor; an' in a time like this, the power o' defending or surrendering the gates is yours; but though ye gie up the keys this very hour, an' were every stane o' the walls turned are upon anither—here!—the power to defend this market-place is mine!—and here will I stand, while this hand can wield a sword, or a Scotchman is left to die by my side!

Sir Alex.—Fear not, good provost; I through life have learned To live with honour, or with honour fall.

Richard.—And as the father dies, so shall his sons. What sayest thou, Henry?

Henry.—I would say but this— (If one with a smooth chin may have a voice)— When thou dost nobly fall, I'll but survive To strike revenge—then follow thy example.

Provost Ramsay.—Bravely said, callants! As sure as death, I wish ye were my sons! Do ye ken, Sir Alexander, the only thing that grieves me in a day like this, is, that I hae naebody to die for the glory an' honour o' auld Scotland but mysel? But, save us, neebor Elliot! ye look as douf an' as dowie-like as if ye had been forced to mak yer breakfast o' yer coat-sleeve.

Hugh Elliot.—-In truth, methinks, this is no time for smiles— In every street, each corner of the town, Struck by some unseen hand, the dead are strewed; From every house the children's wail is heard, Screaming in vain for food; and the poor mother, Worn to a skeleton, sits groaning by! My house, 'tis known, o'erlooks the battlements; 'Tis not an hour gone that I left my couch, Hastening to speed me hither, when a sound, Fierce as the thunders, shook our firm-built walls: The casements fell in atoms, and the bed, Which I that moment left, rocked in confusion: I turned to gaze on it, and I beheld!—beheld My wife's fair bosom torn—her heart laid bare! And the red stream came oozing to my feet! Is this a time for smiles!

Provost Ramsay.—Your wife! Heaven preserve us! Weel, after a', I hae reason to be thankfu' I hae neither wife nor bairns on a day like this!

Sir Alex.—Behold an envoy from the English camp, Sent with proposals, or some crafty truce.

Hugh Elliot.—Let me entreat you, then, most noble sir, Give him all courtesy; and if his terms Be such as we in honour may accept, Refuse them not by saying, WE WILL DIE.

Enter EARL PERCY and Attendants.

Percy.—Good morrow, my Scotch cousins! My gracious sovereign, your right lawful master, Hath, in his mercy, left you these conditions— Now to throw wide your gates, and, if ye choose, Go walk into the Tweed, and drown your treason; Or run, like scapegoats, to the wilderness, Bearing your sins, and half a week's provision; Or, should these terms not meet your approbation, Ere midnight we shall send some fleeter messengers. So now, old Governor, my master's answer?

Provost Ramsay.—The mischief's in your impudence! But were I Sir Alexander, the only answer your master should hae, would be your weel-bred tongue sent back upon the end o' an arrow; an' that wad be as fleet a messenger, as ye talk about fleet messengers, as ony I ken o'.

Percy.—Peace, thou barbarian! keep thy frog's throat closed. I say, old greybeard, hast thou found an answer?

Sir Alex.—Had my Lord Percy found more fitting phrase To couch his haughty mandate, I perhaps Had found some meet reply. But as it is, Thou hast thine answer in this people's eyes.

Hugh Elliot.—Since we with life and honour may depart, Send not an answer that must seal our ruin, Though it be hero-like to talk of death.

[Enter LADY SETON, listening.

Bethink thee well, Sir Governor: these men Have wives with helpless infants at their breasts; What husband, think ye, would behold a child Dashed from the bosom where his head had pillowed, That his fair wife might fill a conqueror's arms! These men have parents—feeble, helpless, old; Yea, men have daughters!—they have maids that love them— Daughters and maidens chaste as the new moon— Will they behold them screaming on the streets, And in the broad day be despoiled by violence? Think of these things, my countrymen! [Aside to PERCY, Now, my Lord Percy, you may read your answer.

Percy [aside].—So thou art disaffected, good Sir Orator: Well, ply thy wits, and Edward will reward thee— Though, for my part, I'd knight thee with a halter!

Sir Alex.—Is this thy counsel in the hour of peril, Milk-hearted man? To thee, and all like thee, I offer terms more generous still than Edward's: Depart ye by the Scotch or English gate— Both shall be opened. Lade your beasts of burden— Take all you have—your food, your filthy gold, Your wives, your children, parents, and yourselves! Go to our Scottish king, and prate of courage! Or go to Edward—Percy will conduct thee.

[LADY SETON advances forward.

Lady Seton.—Spoke like thyself, my husband! Out on thee, slave! [To ELLIOT. Or shall I call thee traitor? What didst thou, On finishing thy funeral service, whisper In my Lord Percy's ear?

Elliot.—I whisper, lady?

Lady Seton.—You whisper, smooth-tongued sir!

Percy [aside].—Zounds! by the coronet of broad Northumberland, Could I exchange it for fair England's crown, I'd have my bodyguard of woman's eyes, And make the whole sex sharpshooters!

Provost Ramsay.—Wae's me! friend Elliot, but you have an unco dumfoundered-like look after that speech o' yours in defence o' liberty, and infants, and fair bosoms, maiden screams, and grey hairs, and what not.

Sir Alex.—Percy, we hear no terms but death or liberty. This is our answer.

Percy.—Well, cousins, be it so. The wilful dog— As runs the proverb. Lady, fare-ye-well. [Exit.

Sir Alex.—On with me, friends—on to the southern ramparts! There, methinks, they meditate a breach. On, Scotsmen! on— For Freedom and for Scotland! [Exeunt.