Chapter 1

_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_.