SCENE VII.--_Apartment in_ SETON"S _House_.
_Enter_ SIR ALEXANDER, PROVOST RAMSAY, HUGH ELLIOT, _and others_.
_Sir Alex_.--Would Heaven that all go well with my dear boys!
But there"s that within me that does tear My bosom with misgivings. The very sun To me hangs out a sign of ominous gloom!
A spirit seems to haunt me, and the weight Of evil undefined, and yet unknown, Doth, like a death"s-hand, press upon my heart.
_Provost Ramsay_.--Hoot, I wad fain think that the warst is past, and that there is nae danger o" onything happenin" now.
But do ye ken, sir, it is my fixed and solemn opinion, that, before onything really is gaun to happen to a body, or to ony o"
their friends, like, there is a kind o" something comes ower ane--a sort o" sough about the heart there--an" ye dinna ken what for.
_Sir Alex_.--Have ye beheld how they are raising bastions, Flanking fresh cannon, too, in front the town, Gaining new reinforcements to their camp, And watching all our outgoings? Do you think This looks as Edward meant to keep his faith?
I am betrayed, my friends--I am betrayed.
Fear marcheth quickly to a father"s breast-- My sons are lost! are lost!
_Provost Ramsay_.--It"s true that King Edward"s preparations, and his getting sic fearfu" additions to his army, doesna look weel. But what is a king but his word mair than a man?
_Enter_ Servant.
_Servant_.--Lord Percy craves an audience with your honour.
_Sir Alex_.--Conduct him hither. "Tis as I boded!
[_Exit_ Servant--_enter_ PERCY.
You look grave, my lord.
_Percy_.--Faith, if I can look grave, to-day I should: None of my mother"s children, gossips said, Were born with a sad face; but I could wish That I had never smiled, or that her maid Had been my mother, rather than that I Had been the bearer of this day"s vile tidings.
_Sir Alex_.--"Tis of my sons!--what! what of them, Lord Percy?
What of them?
_Percy_.--Yes, "tis of your sons I"d speak!-- They live--they"re well!--can you be calm to hear me?
I _would_ speak of your sons.
_Sir Alex_.--I feel!--I feel!
I understand you, Percy! you WOULD speak of my sons!-- Go, thrust thy head into a lion"s den, Murder its whelps, and say to it, _Be calm_!
Be calm! and feel a dagger in thy heart!
"Twas kindly said!--kind! kind! to say, _Be calm_!
I"m calm, Lord Percy! what--what of my sons?
_Percy_.--If I can tell thee, and avoid being choked-- Choked with my shame and loathing--I will tell thee!
But each particular word of this black mission Is like a knife thrust in between my teeth.
_Sir Alex_.--Torture me not, my lord, but speak the worst; My ears can hear--my heart can hold no more!
_Enter_ LADY SETON.
_Percy_.--Hear them in as few words as I can tell it: Edward hath sworn, and he will keep his vow, That if to-day ye yield not up the town, Become his prisoners, break your faith with Scotland, Ye with the morning dawn shall see your sons Hung up before your windows. He hath sworn it; And, by my earldom--faith as a Christian-- Honour as a peer--he will perform it!
_Lady Seton [aside]_.--Ruler of earth and heaven! a mother begs Thy counsel--Thy protection! Say I _mother_!
No voice again shall call me by that name-- Both! both my boys!
_Sir Alex_.--Ha! my Matilda!
Thou here! Dry up thy tears, my love! dry up thy tears!
I cannot sacrifice both sons and mother!
Alas, my country! I must sell thee dearly!
My faith--mine honour too!--take--take them, Percy!
I am a father, and my sons shall live!-- Shall _live_! and I shall _die_! [_Unsheathing his sword_.
_Lady Seton_.--Hold! hold, my husband--save thy life and honour!
Thou art a father--am not I a mother?
Knowest thou the measure of a mother"s love?
Think ye she yearns not for her own heart"s blood?
Yet I will _live_! and thou shalt live, my husband!
We will not rob this Edward of his shame; Write--I will dictate as my sons had done it-- I know their nature, for "twas I who gave it.
_Sir Alex_.--Thou wait"st an answer, Percy--I will give it.
_[Sits down to write_.
No; I cannot, Matilda.
_Lady Seton_.--Write thus: "Edward may break his faith, but Seton cannot!
Edward may earn disgrace, but Seton honour!
His sons are in your power! Do! do as ye list!"
_[He starts up in agitation_.
_Sir Alex_.--No, no! it cannot be--say not my sons!
Lord Percy, let your tyrant take my life!
Torture me inchmeal!--to the last I"ll smile, And bless him for his mercy!--but spare, oh spare my children!
_Provost Ramsay_.--Really, Sir Alexander, I dinna ken hoo to advise you. To think o" gien up the toun to sic a monster o"
iniquity, is entirely out o" the question--just impossible a"thegither; and to think o" the twa dear brave bairns sufferin", is just as impossible as to flee in the air. I tell ye what, my lord--and it is my opinion it is a very fair proposal (if naething but deaths will satisfy your king)--I, for ane, will die in their stead--their faither will for anither; and is there ane amang _you_, my townsmen, that winna do the same, and let your names be handed down as heroes to your bairns" bairns, and the last generation?
_Percy_.--Thou hast a n.o.ble heart, old honest Scotsman; but I cannot accept your generous offer.
_Lady Seton_.--Mark this, my husband!--that we may still be parents-- That we might have two sons to _live and scorn us_-- Sell country--honour--all--and live disgraced: Think ye MY SONS would call a _traitor_ father?-- They drew their life from _me_--from _me_ they drew it; And think ye I would call a _traitor husband?_-- What! would ye have them live, that every slave, In banquet or in battle, might exclaim, "For you, ye hinds, your father sold his country?"
Or, would you have them live, that no man"s daughter Would stoop so low as call your sons her husband?
Would you behold them hooted, hissed at, Oft, as they crossed the street, by every urchin?
Would ye your sons--your _n.o.ble_ sons--met this, Eather than die for Scotland? If ye do love them, Love them as a _man_!
_Sir Alex_.--"Tis done! my country, thou hast made me bankrupt!
And I am childless! _[Exeunt_
SCENE VIII.--_The river, and boat. Time midnight. Enter one habited as a friar_.