_Henry_.--Why stand ye musing there? _Here_ lies your duty!
_Elliot_ [_aside_].--'Tis true! 'tis true! _my duty_ DOES _lie there!_
_Henry_.--Follow me, Elliot. See--they scale the walls! A moment lost, and they have gained the battlement.
_Shouting_.--PERCY _and_ Followers _leap upon the battlement_.
_Percy_.--On! followers, on!--for Edward and for England!
_Henry_.--Have at thee, Percy, and thy followers, too! For Freedom and for Scotland! On, Elliot! on! Wipe out the morning's shame.
_Elliot_ [_aside_].--Have at thee, boy, for insult and revenge!
[ELLIOT _strikes_ HENRY'S _sword from his hand_.
_Henry_.--Shame on thee, traitor! are we thus betrayed?
[Percy's Followers _make_ HENRY _prisoner_.
_Elliot_.--Thank Heaven! thank Heaven!--one then is in their grasp! A truce, Lord Percy. See thy prisoner safe, Ere his mad father sound a rescue--off! Thou wouldst not draw thy sword upon a friend?
[SIR ALEXANDER, RICHARD, PROVOST RAMSAY, _and others, enter hurriedly_.
_Sir Alex_.--Thanks, Elliot! thanks! You have done nobly!--thanks! Where is your comrade?--speak--where is my son?
_Elliot_.--Would he had been less valiant--less brave!
_Sir Alex_.--What! is he dead, my good, my gallant boy? Where is his body? show me--where? oh, where?
_Richard_.--Where is my brother? tell me how he fell?
_Elliot_.--Could I with my best blood have saved the youth, Ye are all witnesses that I would have done it.
_Provost Ramsay_.--Indeed, Mr. Elliot, if ye refer to me, I'm witness to naething o' the kind; for it is my solemn opinion, a' the execution your sword did was as feckless as a winnle-strae.
_Sir Alex_.--Where is my poor boy's body?
_Elliot_.--I did not say he died.
_Richard_.--Not dead!
_Sir Alex_.--Not say he died?
_Elliot_.--See yonder group now hurrying to the camp, And shouting as they run. He is their prisoner! [_Aside_] Feed ye, friends, on that.
_Sir Alex_.--Cold-blooded man! them never wert a father. The tyrant is! he knows a father's heart; And he will play the butcher's part with mine! Each day inflicting on me many deaths, Knowing right well I am his twofold prisoner; For on the son's head he'll repay, with interest, The wrongs the father did him! "He is their prisoner," saidst thou?" Is their prisoner!" Thou hast no sons!--none!--I forgive thee, Elliot!
_Elliot_.--Deeply I crave your pardon, noble sir; Pity for you, and love for Scotland, made me That I was loath to speak the unwelcome tidings; Fearful that to attempt his rescue now, Had so cut off our few remaining troops, As seal immediate ruin.
_Provost Ramsay_ [_aside_].--Preserve us a'! hear that. Weel, to be sure, it's a true saying, "Satan never lets _his_ saunts be at a loss for an answer!"
SCENE V.--_Apartment in_ EDWARD'S _Tent._
_Enter_ EDWARD _and_ PERCY.
_Edward_.--How fares it with these stubborn rebels now? Do they still talk of death as of a bridal, While we protract the ceremony?
_Percy_.--I learn, my liege, we've got two glorious allies-- Two most right honourable gentlemen-- Aiding the smooth-tongued orator: _Disease_ and _Famine_ have espoused our cause, And the said traitor Elliot is their oracle.
_Edward_.--Touching this man, we have advice from him, In which he speaketh much concerns the wants And murmurings of the citizens: he, too, Adds, they hold out expecting help from Douglas, And recommendeth that we should demand The other son of Seton as a hostage, In virtue of a truce for fourteen days: This is his snare. The sons once in his power, Their father yields, or both hang up before him.
_Percy_.--'Tis monstrous generous of our friendly Scot; And what return expects he for his service?
_Edward_.--On giving up the father's head--his place.
_Percy_.--I fear the lady will have his head first. Did you but see her eyes! I'd bet my coronet 'gainst our friar's cowl, Man wink not treason in his bedchamber But she detect it. Then her ears, again; 'Sdeath! she can hear the very sound of light As it does steal, i' the morning, through her curtains. Should our _friend_ wear his head another week, His neck, I'll swear, is not as other men's are.
_Edward_.--How fares it with the son, our silent prisoner?
_Percy_.--Poor soul, he leans his head against the wall, And stands with his arms thus--across his breast-- Pale as a gravestone, gnashing at his teeth, And looking on his guards just as his mother would!
_Edward_.--'Tis now the hour that Elliot has proposed To stir the townsmen up to mutiny. Take our conditions, and _whatever_ you please; Get but the son as hostage!--get but that! And both shall die a thief's death if he yield not; He is a father, Percy--he's a father! The town is ours, and at an easy purchase. _[Exit_
_Percy_.--And she's a mother, Edward! she's a mother! Ay! and a mother; I will pledge my earldom, And be but plain Hal Percy all my life, If she despise not gallows, death, and children, And earn for thee a crown of shame, my master! In sooth, I am ashamed to draw my sword, Lest I should see my face in its bright blade; For sure my mother would not know her son, As he goes blushing on his hangman's errand.
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.