Chapter IX: Act III: Scene I

_The Council Chamber._

LORD DUNBAR, SIR ALEXANDER SETON, _with Attendants, grouped in
consultation_.

_Enter_ OFFICER.

OFFICER.

My lords, the herald.

HERALD.

The King of England, merciful as brave,
Doth once more summon thee, to render up
The town and castle to your rightful liege,
King Edward Baliol, who is now at Tweedmouth.
Should ye resist the royal mercy still,
The hour of vespers, which approaches near,
Shall see each hostage quivering high in air;
As token of the truth, behold, even now,
The gibbets rise before the walls of Berwick.

SETON.

Down, down, proud heart! [_Aside._
In terms of the truce, we yet do crave
Delay till Keith’s return. Speak to him, March.

DUNBAR.

Tell proud Plantagenet, king of haughty England,
That I, Patrick Dunbar, the earl of March,
Will hold this castle till its stubborn walls
Be levell’d with the ground; and if I render,
Ungird my sword, cut off my knighthood’s spurs,
And let me live degraded. When ’tis ta’en
The prince may breakfast with my lady, Agnes,
Who’ll give him warm toast in her family house,
A few leagues distant.

HERALD.

My lord, we lack not toast,
Although your lady were a noble toast
To grace a conqueror’s banquet. Here I breathe
Defiance in the name of England’s king!
Our veterans burn to kiss your yielding maids;
The gibbets are impatient; at the toll
Of vespers, mercy on each youthful soul!
[_Exit_ HERALD.

DUNBAR.

Seton, prepare for war; for in the camp
There’s mighty movements; but I do not deem
That Edward’s royal mind will stain his chaplet
By such a deed.

_Enter_ OFFICER.

OFFICER.

My lord, on the horizon
We see the troops advancing. Helm on helm,
Banner on banner, glittering in the sun;
While the far spears gleam like a silver forest
Gilded by lightning.

SETON.

Now Heaven be praised; for Keith will soon be here!

DUNBAR.

I guard the castle—Seton, to the town;
Send gallant Ramsay to protect the ramparts;
Let Prendergest and Gray close up each avenue;
This is the time when England’s arm will strike;
Ring the alarum, till the Bell Tower shakes
To its foundations, and with one voice cry
God for our country, David and St Andrew! [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_The Governor’s House._

_Enter_ SIR ALEXANDER SETON _and_ LADY SETON.

LADY SETON.

Whence is this haste, my lord?

SETON.

Love, to the castle,
Where ye may rest in safety as the dove
Sits in the clefted rock when tempests rave.
Oh! know ye not the assault’s again begun!
The magistrates implore us to surrender,
Alarm’d as I am for their hapless children.

LADY SETON.

What! will your coward hearts, without a blow,
Deliver up the place?

SETON.

What can we do?
For sack or storm I care not; no, not I,—
But, Heaven! my boy, my boy!

LADY SETON.

O wavering man!
Would ye give up your country’s precious trust?
By Bruce’s royal blood that warms your veins,
I conjure you to pause. Think not the tyrant
Will keep his perjured word, though ye surrender.
Ah! no; and these poor minions all too late
Will see their temples spoil’d,—their infants slain—
Chopp’d from their mothers’ breasts, virgins deflower’d,
And hoary headed men, and sickly wretches,
Piled dying on the streets; war’s red arm bared
Till Tweed run blood; the burghers crucified
By the accursed Jews let loose to plunder;
And would ye ope your adamantine gates
To such a horrid scene?

_Enter_ OFFICER.

OFFICER.

My lord governor,
In a sortie led by the gallant Ramsay,
Your son is taken by the enemy. [_Exit_ OFFICER.

SETON.

Here I stand, like Job,
Beneath the blasts of Heaven! ay, like the gourd
Smit in the wilderness. Alas! alas!
My children falling round me, one by one.
I can support no more. My son, even now,
Like his lost brother, doom’d to execution.
Heaven’s scourge falls heavy. Shall my stubborn heart
Refuse submission, that the tyrant’s vengeance
May make me childless.

LADY SETON.

My dear lord, don’t faint!
Bear yourself like a man, and comfort me,
For I had need of it. The cunning Edward
Must not betray us thus. What boots his word?
Remember thy brave brother Christopher,
Who was betray’d, beheaded, like his friend
The glorious Wallace! If they gave themselves
Martyrs for Scotland, oh! shall we refuse
Our sons, who both are young, and Heaven will sure
Reward our sacrifice with plants as fair
As those we’re doom’d to lose,—if plants as fair
May be.

SETON.

O might I perish in their stead!
But Heaven requite the tyrant’s broken faith—
Kings promise, are absolved, and die reputed
For what would damn the meanest wretch that lives.

LADY SETON.

And would ye take the tyrant at his word,
And render town and castle, fame and honour,
To be the victim of credulity,
And afterwards derided as a traitor?
Rather than homage thus Plantagenet,
Had I a thousand lives I’d lose them all;
Rather bear children daily for an age,
Than buy their lives at such a doubtful price!
While I, your lady, love, like Buchan’s countess,
Will be perch’d up upon the castle’s turrets,
Throned like a wild beast in an iron cage,
For Scorn to point at, and cry Ha! ha! ha!

SETON.

Nay, Christian, it must be, whate’er the event,
For nature now, in silent eloquence,
Even as a voice sent from the opening heavens,
Urges parental duty. What is Fame?
’Tis sound!—a bubble floating in the air;
Painted with rainbow colours, by the sun
Of dazzling honour, and as false as they;
Which men, like grown-up children, seek to catch,
Yet find it nothing,—Oh, my son! my son!
Time flies; ho! messenger! [_Exit_ SETON.

LADY SETON.

Now all is lost. [_Exit._

SCENE III.

_The English Camp at Tweedmouth._

KING EDWARD _seated under a Royal Canopy, surrounded by_ BALIOL, LORDS
MONTAGUE, D’ARCY, PERCY, JOHN OF HAINAULT, _and other Generals.
Guards in the back-ground._

[_Flourish of Trumpets._

KING EDWARD.

See that the caitiff be secured, and led
To instant execution!

OFFICER.

It shall be done, my liege. [_Exit_ OFFICER.

KING EDWARD.

These damned Scots,
Nursed in the school of Douglas, practise well
The arts of stratagem; but in the field
Are arrant cowards, else they would not shun
My chastisement. Thanks to my trusty doublet
Well temper’d, else that minion’s thirsty dagger
Had done its office. It is shameful thus
To tarry, lords, while royal blood is spilt
On such occasion.

D’ARCY.

My most gracious liege,
We wait your orders to chastise the foe.
[_They all grasp their swords._

KING EDWARD.

’Tis like the game they play’d at Stanhope Park,
When I was rescued by my gallant chaplain;
Those priests fight well; remember the brave Chapter
Of Mitton, led on by th’ Archbishop of York
Against the mob, who perish’d, every soul,
And saved the queen! these, these were noble men,
To teach my warriors valour!

D’ARCY (_aside._)

I, by Saint Patrick, that was well-fed mutton
For the poor hungry Scots.

KING EDWARD.

I burn to whet my faulchion on these Scots,
That fly like game pursued, and ever mock
Our generalship. We march,—they fly—retreat—
Till night returns, and burning villages
Tell where the base outlaws have fix’d their camp;
Next morn beholds the ravaged plains deserted,
Smoking with refuse of luxurious spoils
Stolen from our wealthy yeomen; even as those
Swart vagabonds that banquet on the heath,
Beneath the blasted tree; and fly at dawn,
Lest the fair day reveal their hellish deeds.

BALIOL.

They dread to meet your highness in the field;
But, like the assassin, strike you in your tent
When asking charity.

_Enter_ SIR RICHARD BENHALE.

KING EDWARD.

Is the caitiff hung

BENHALE.

Yes, gracious liege! and died a horrid death;
For, when upon the scaffold, from his breast
He drew a roll of flax, which, waved in air,
Sent up a rising smoke; he thrust it down
His throat,—it did the executioner’s office;
For when his entrails were taken out, they boil’d
As might become a traitor’s.

KING EDWARD.

Precious rogue!
Useful in death: He must have been a spy,
And this a signal given.

BENHALE.

Even so, my liege!
For now, seen high, upon the walls of Berwick,
The white flag’s hoisted.

KING EDWARD.

’Tis all a trick! but I am ripe for vengeance.
Hell rot their flags! my purpose now is vengeance!
Lead forth the hostages unto the ramparts,
And hang them in the very teeth of Berwick!
Let Seton’s son be strung above the rest
To rot like carrion in his mother’s face.
Let it be done in silence, that their cries,
Wafted across the Tweed, may ring i’ their ears
Through every future age the wrath of England!
Meanwhile, my warriors, Percy, John of Hainault,
And gallant D’Arcy, be upon the watch.

PERCY.

My sword will be an earnest, for the lands
I hold of Scotland; and that sword will punish
Those chiefs who sought to cheat me of my own.
[_Exit_ PERCY.

JOHN OF HAINAULT.

My heavy horse shall crush their spears to atoms!
[_Exit_ HAINAULT.

D’ARCY.

By good St Patrick, if they escape me now
I ne’er shall see your highness face again;
For I will choke with grief; then drown myself
In the bottom of Loch Neagh! [_Exit_ D’ARCY.

KING EDWARD.

And, ye young galliards! signalize yourselves.
Who first discovers where the coward Scots
Have fix’d their camp, shall from our royal bounty
Receive a pension of one hundred pounds.—
Montague sack the town; nor sex, nor age,
Nor suckling babe spare not, until the Tweed,
Swollen high with blood, o’erflows its fertile banks;
Hence shall the haughty burghers learn obedience,
Hear but the name of Edward and submit! [_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.

_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.

YOUNG 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;
Be 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._

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.

LADY 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.