SCENE VI.—A Street—_the Market-place.

Enter_ ELLIOT and Populace.

Elliot—You heard, my townsmen, how our gracious governor Did talk to us of honour—! you all heard him! Can any of you tell us what is honour? He drinks his wine, he feeds on beeves and capons; His table groans beneath a load of meats; His hounds, his hawks, are fed like Christian men! He sleeps in a downy couch, o'erhung with purple; And these, all these are honourable doings! He talks of liberty! Is it, then, liberty to be cooped up Within these prison walls, to starve from want, That we may have the liberty—mark it, my friends!— The wondrous liberty to call him Governor? Had ye the hearts or hands your fathers had, You'd to the castle, take the keys by force, And ope the gates to let your children live. Here comes your provost—now appeal to him.

Enter PROVOST RAMSAY.—The people demand bread.

Provost Ramsay.—Gie you food!—your bairns dee wi' hunger!—and ye maun hae bread! It is easy saying, Gie ye! but where am I to get it? Do you think there's naebody finds the grund o' their stamachs but yersels? I'm sure I hae been blind fastin' these four-and-twenty hours! But wad ye no suffer this, and ten times mair for liberty, and for the glory and honour of auld Scotland?

Elliot [to the people].—He, too, can cant of liberty and honour!

Provost Ramsay.—I say, Mr. Hypocrite! it is my fixed and solemn opinion that ye are at the bottom o' this murmuring. I ken ye're never at a loss for an answer; and there is anither wee bit affair I wad just thank ye to redd up. Do ye mind what a fine story ye made in this very market-place the ither week, about getting ower the bed—and your wife's bosom being torn bare—and the blood gushing to your feet, and a' the rest o't? Do ye mind o' that, sir? Do ye mind o' that? I daresay, townsmen, ye've no forgot it? Now, sir, it's no aboon ten minutes sine, that the poor creature—wha, according to your account, was dead and buried—got loose frae her confinement, and cam fleeing to me for protection, as a man and a magistrate, to save her frae the cruelty o' you, you scoundrel. Now, what say ye to that, sir? What say ye to that? What do you think o' your orator now, friends?

Elliot.—'Tis false, my friends—'Tis but a wicked calumny devised Against the only man who is your friend.

Provost Ramsay.—Saftly, neebor, saftly! have a care how ye gie the lee to what I say; or, it is my solemn opinion, this bit sword o' my faither's may stap you frae gien it till anither.

Enter SIR ALEXANDER and RICHARD.

Ye are weel come, Sir Alexander: here is Orator Elliot been makin' a harangue to the townsfolk; and ane cries for bread, and anither for meal—that it is my opinion I dinna ken what's to be done.

Sir Alex.—What would you have? what is it that you wish? Would ye, for food, sweet friends, become all slaves; And for a meal, that ye might surfeit on it, Give up your wives, your homes, and all that's dear, To the brute arms of men, who hold it virtue To heap their shame upon a fallen foe? Would ye, that ye might eat, yet not be satisfied, Pick up the scanty crumbs around their camp, After their cattle and their dogs have left them; Or would ye, for this favour, be content To take up arms against your countrymen!— For this! will fathers fight against their sons?— Sons 'gainst their fathers?—brethren with each other? Those who would wish it may go o'er to Edward!

[Sound of French horns without

Provost Ramsay.—Ay, here comes mair proposals—the sorry proposal them! I wish them and proposals an' a' were in the middle o' the Tweed.

Enter EARL PERCY and Attendants.

Percy.—Save ye, my band of heroes; by St. Cuthbert, Your valorous deeds have wrought a miracle, And turned my master's hatred into mercy; For, deeming it a sin that such brave fellows Should die a beggar's vulgar death from want, He doth propose to drop hostilities, And for two weeks you may command our friendship: If in that time you gain no aid from Scotland, Renounce the country, and be Edward master; But, should you gain assistance—why, then, we Will raise the siege, and wish you all good-bye.

Elliot [to the people].—Urge the acceptance, friends, of these conditions.

Omnes.—We all accept these terms.

Sir Alex.—It is the people's wish; and I agree.

Percy.—And you, in pledge of due performance, sir, Do give up this your son into our hands, In surety for your honour———

Sir Alex.—What! my son! Give him up too—yield him into your power? Have ye not one already?—No! no! no! I cannot, my Lord Percy; no, I cannot Part with him too, and leave their mother childless!

Provost Ramsay.—Wad ye no tak me as a substitute, Lord Percy? I'm a man o' property, and chief magistrate beside; now, I should think, I'm the maist likely person.

Percy.—Good master magistrate and man of property, I like thy heart, but cannot take thy person. Give up the youth, or here must end my truce!

Richard.—Fear not, my father. I will be their hostage, For Scotland's sake, and for my father's honour—

Sir Alex.—My boy, my boy, and shall I lose you thus? What surety does cruel Edward give, That, keeping faith, he will restore my sons Back to my arms in safety? Tell me, Percy; Gives he his honour as a man or king?

Percy.—As both, I hold it.

Sir Alex.—And wilt thou pledge thine?

Percy.—This is my master's business, and not mine.

Sir Alex.—'Tis an evasion, and I like it not.

Richard.—Farewell! farewell, my father! be the first To teach these men the virtue of self-sacrifice. Commend me to my mother. I will bear Both of your best loves to our Henry. Farewell! Lead on, Lord Percy. [Exeunt.