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Lennox, mine ancient friend, and honour'd lord, Swi. An ancient friend a most notorious knave, Farewell, I think, for ever!

Whose throat I've destined to the dodder'd oak LEN. Farewell, brave friend !-and farewell, noble Before my castle, these ten months and more. Gordon,

Was it not you who drove from Simprim-mains, Whose sun will be eclipsed even as it rises ! And Swinton-quarter, sixty head of cattle? The Regent will not aid you.

HOB. What then, if now I lead your sixty lances Swi. We will so bear us, that as soon the blood-Upon the English flank, where they'll find spoil hound

Is worth six hundred beeves? Shall halt, and take no part, what time his comrade Swi. Why, thou canst do it, knave. I would not Is grappling with the deer, as he stand still,

trust thee And see us overmatch'd.

With one poor bullock; yet would risk my life, LEN. Alas! thou dost not know how mean bis And all my followers, on thine honest guidance. pride is,

HOB. There is a dingle, and a most discreet one, How strong his envy.

[him. (I've trod each step by star-light,) that sweeps round Swi. Then we will die, and leave the shame with The rearward of this hill, and opens secretly

[Exit LENNOX. Upon the archers' flank.-Will not that serve VIP. (to GORDON.) What ails thee, noble youth? Your present turn, Sir Alan? What means this pause ?

Swi.

Bravely, bravely! Thou dost not rue thy generosity?

GOR. Mount, sirs, and cry my slogan. GOR. I have been hurried on by strong impulse, Let all who love the Gordon follow me! Like to a bark that scuds before the storm,

Swi. Ay, let all follow-but in silence follow. Till driven upon some strange and distant coast, Scare not the hare that 's couchant on her formWhich never pilot dream'd of.-Have I not forgiven? The cushat from her nest—brush not, if possible, And am I not still fatherless ?

The dew-drop from the spraySwi.

Gordon, no;

Let no one whisper, until I cry, “ Havoc !” For while we live I am a father to thee.

Then shout as loud 's ye will.-On, on, brave Hob; GOR. Thou, Swinton ?-no!—that cannot, cannot On, thou false thief, but yet most faithful Scotsman! be.

[Excunt. Swi. Then change the phrase, and say, that while

we live,
Gordon shall be my son. If thou art fatherless,
Am I not childless too? Bethink thee, Gordon,
Our death-feud was not like the household fire,
Which the poor peasant hides among its embers,

ACT II.-SCENE I.
To smoulder on, and wait a time for waking.
Ours was the conflagration of the forest,

A rising Ground immediately in front of the Position of Which, in its fury, spares nor sprout nor stem, the English Main Body. PERCY, CHANDOS, RIBAUHoar oak, nor sapling—not to be extinguish'd,

MONT, and other English and Norman Nobles, are Till Heaven, in mercy, sends down all her waters;

grouped on the Stage. But, once subdued, its flame is quench'd for ever; And spring shall hide the tract of devastation,

Per. The Scots still keep the hill—the sun grows With foliage and with flowers.--Give me thy hand.

high. GOR. My hand and heart !—And freely now!—to Would that the charge would sound. fight!

CHA. Thou scent'st the slaughter, Percy.—Who Vip. How will you act ? [To Swinton.] The Gor

comes here? don's band and thine Are in the rearward left, I think, in scorn

[Enter the ABBOT OF WALTHAMSTOW Ill post for them who wish to charge the foremost !

Now, by my life, the holy priest of Walthamstow, Swi. We 'll turn that scorn to vantage, and de- Like to a lamb among a herd of wolves ! scend

See, he's about to bleat. Sidelong the hill—some winding path there must be

AB. The King, methinks, delays the onset long. O, for a well-skill'd guide!

Cha. Your general, Father, like your rat-catcher, [HOB HATTELY starts up from a Thicket.

Pauses to bait his traps, and set his snares.
HoB. So here he stands.-An ancient friend, Sir

AB. The metaphor is decent.
Alan.

CHA.

Reverend sir, Hob Hattely, or, if you like it better,

I will uphold it just. Our good King Edward Hob of the Heron Plume, here stands your guide.

Will presently come to this battle-field,

And speak to you of the last tilting match, 1 MS." But, once extinguish'd, it is quench'd for ever,

Or of some feat he did a twenty years since ;
And spring shall hide the blackness of its ashes." But not a word of the day's work before him.

answer

Even as the artist, sir, whose name offends you,

On yon hill side, like a Leviathan Sits prosing o'er his can, until the trap fall,

That's stranded on the shallows, then had soul in 't, Announcing that the vermin are secured,

Order and discipline, and power of action. And then 'tis up, and on them.

Now 'tis a leadless corpse, which only shows, Per. Chandos, you give your tongue tno bold a By wild convulsions, that some life remains in 't. license.

K. ED. True, they had once a head; and 'twas a Cha. Percy, I am a necessary evil.

wise, King Edward would not want me, if he could, Although a rebel head. And could not, if he would. I know my value. AB. (bowing to the KING.) Would he were here! we My heavy hand excuses my light tongue.

should find one to match him. So men wear weighty swords in their defence, K. Ed. There's something in that wish which Although they may offend the tender shin,

wakes an echo When the steel-boot is doft*d.

Within my bosom. Yet it is as well, AB.

My Lord of Chandos, Or better, that The Bruce is in his grave. This is but idle speech on brink of battle,

We have enough of powerful foes on earth, When Christian men should think upon their sins; No need to summon them from other worlds. For as the tree falls, so the trunk must lie,

PER. Your Grace ne'er met The Bruce ? Be it for good or evil. Lord, bethink thee,

K. Ed. Never himself; but in my earliest field, Thou hast withheld from our most reverend house, I did encounter with his famous captains, The tithes of Everingham and Settleton;

Douglas and Randolph. Faith! they press'd me hard. Wilt thou make satisfaction to the Church

AB. My Liege, if I might urge you with a question, Before her thunders strike thee? I do warn thee Will the Scots fight to-day? In most paternal sort.

K. ED. (sharply.) Go look your breviary. Cha. I thank you, Father, filially.

CHA. (apart.) The Abbot has it-Edward will not Though but a truant son of Holy Church, I would not choose to undergo her censures, On that nice point. We must observe his humour.When Scottish blades are waving at my throat.

[Addresses the King. I'll make fair composition.

Your first campaign, my Liege !—That was in WearAB. No composition ; I'll have all, or none.

dale, Cha. None, then— tis soonest spoke. I'll take my When Douglas gave our camp yon midnight ruffle, chance,

And turn'd men's beds to biers ? And trust my sinful soul to Heaven's mercy,

K. ED. Ay, by Saint Edward !-I escaped right Rather than risk my worldly goods with thee

nearly. My hour may not be come.

I was a soldier then for holidays, AB. Impious—impenitent

And slept not in mine armour: my safe rest PER Hush! the King—the King! Was startled by the cry of“ Douglas ! Douglas!

And by my couch, a grisly chamberlain, Enter King EDWARD, attended by BALIOL and others. Stood Alan Swinton, with his bloody mace. King (apart to Cha.) Hark hither, Chandos !- It was a churchman saved me-my stout chaplain, Have the Yorkshire archers

Heaven quit his spirit! caught a weapon up, Yet join'd the vanguard ?

And grappled with the giant.—How now, Louis ? Cha. They are marching thither. K. ED. Bid them make haste, for shame-send a Enter an Officer, who whispers the King. quick rider.

K. ED. Say to him,-thus—and thusThe loitering knaves! were it to steal my venison,

[Whispers. Their steps were light enough.—How now, Sir Abbot? AB. That Swinton's dead. A monk of ours reSay, is your Reverence come to study with us

ported, The princely art of war?

Bound homeward from St. Ninian's pilgrimage, AB. I've had a lecture from my Lord of Chandos, The Lord of Gordon slew him. In which he term’d your Grace a rat-catcher.

Per. Father, and if your house stood on our borders, K. ED. Chandos, how 's this?

You might have cause to know that Swinton lives, CHA. O, I will prove it, sir !—These skipping Scots And is on horseback yet. Have changed a dozen times 'twixt Bruce and Baliol, CHA.

He slew the Gordon, Quitting each House when it began to totter; That's all the difference—a very trifle. They're fierce and cunning, treacherous, too, as rats, AB. Trifling to those who wage a war more noble And we, as such, will smoke them in their fastnesses. Than with the arm of flesh. K. Ep. These rats have seen your back, my Lord Cua. (apart.) The Abbot's vex'd, I'll rub the sore of Chandos,

for him.And noble Percy's too.

(Aloud.) I have seen priests that used that arın of Per. Ay; but the mass which now lies weltering flesh,

more.

And used it sturdily.-Most reverend Father,

(Flourish of Trumpets, unsuered by a distant What say you to the chaplain's deed of arms

sound of Bugles. In the King's tent at Weardale ?

See, Chandos, Percy-Ha, Saint George! Saint EdAB. It was most sinful, being against the canon

ward! Prohibiting all churchmen to bear weapons ; See it descending now, the fatal hail-shower, And as he fell in that unseemly guise,

The storm of England's wrath-sure, swift, resistPerchance his soul may rue it.

less, K. Ed. (overhearing the last words.) Who may rue ? Which no mail-coat can brook.—Brave English hearts ! And wbat is to be rued ?

How close they shoot together!-as one eye Cha. (apart.) I'll match his Reverence for the tithes Had aim'd five thousand shafts—as if one hand of Everingham.

Had loosed five thousand bow-strings ! -The Abbot says, my Liege, the deed was sinful, Per.

The thick volley By which your chaplain, wielding secular weapons,

Darkens the air, and hides the sun from us. Secured your Grace's life and liberty,

K. Ed. It falls on those shall see the sun no
And that he suffers for 't in purgatory,
K. ED. (to the ABBOT.) Say'st thou my chaplain is The winged, the resistless plague? is with them.
in purgatory?

How their vex'd host is reeling to and fro,
AB. It is the canon speaks it, good my Liege. Like the chafed whale with fifty lances in him,

K. Ed. In purgatory! thou shalt pray him out on't, They do not see, and cannot shun the wound.
Or I will make thee wish thyself beside him.

The storm is viewless, as death's sable wing,
AB, My Lord, perchance bis soul is past the aid Unerring as his scythe.
Of all the Church may do—there is a place

Per. Horses and riders are going down together. From which there's no redemption.

'Tis almost pity to see nobles fall, K. ED. And if I thought my faithful chaplain And by a peasant's arrow. there,

BAL.

I could weep them, Thou shouldst there join him, priest!-Go, watch, fast, Although they are my rebels. pray,

Cha. (aside to Per.) His conquerors, he means, who And let me have such prayers as will storm Heaven

cast him out None of your maim'd and mutter'd hunting masses. From his usurped kingdom.-(Aloud.) 'Tis the worst AB. (apart to Cha.) For God's sake take him off.

of it, CHA. Wilt thou compound, then,

That knights can claim small honour in the field The tithes of Everingham?

Which archers win, unaided by our lances. K. ED. I tell thee, if thou bear'st the keys of K. Ed. The battle is not ended. [Looks towards Heaven,

the field. Abbot, thou shalt not turn a bolt with them

Not ended !-scarce begun! What horse are these, 'Gainst any well-deserving English subject.

Rush from the thicket underneath the hill ? AB. (to Cha.) We will compound, and grant thee, PER. They're Hainaulters, the followers of Queen

Isabel. l' the next indulgence. Thou dost need it much, K. ED. (hastily.) Hainaulters!-thou art blindAnd greatly 'twill avail thee.

wear Hainaulters Cha. Enough-we're friends, and when occasion Saint Andrew's silver cross ?-or would they charge serves,

Full on our archers, and make havoc of them I will strike in

Bruce is alive again-ho, rescue! rescue ! [Looks as if towards the Scottish Army. Who was't survey'd the ground? K. Ed. Answer, proud Abbot; is my chaplain's RIBA. Most royal Liegesoul,

K. ED. A rose hath fallen from thy chaplet, If thou knowest aught on ’t, in the evil place?

Ribaumont. CHA. My Liege, the Yorkshire men have gain’d the RIBA. I'll win it back, or lay my head beside it. meadow.

(Eri. I see the pennon green of merry Sherwood.

K. ED. Saint George ! Saint Edward ! Gentlemen, K. Ed. Then give the signal instant! We have to horse, lost

And to the rescue !-Percy, lead the bill-men; But too much time already.

Chandos, do thou bring up the men-at-arms.AB. My Liege, your holy chaplain's blessed soul If yonder numerous host should now bear down

K. Ep. To hell with it and thee! Is this a time Bold as their vanguard, (to the Abbot,) thou mayst To speak of monks and chaplains!

pray for us,

too, a share

1 MS.-" The viewless, the resistless plague,” &c.

sured the negligence of Randolph, for permitting an English body of cavalry to pass his flank on the day preceding the baltle of Bannockburn.

9 The well-known expression by which Robert Bruce cen

We may need good men's prayers.—To the rescue, For Edward's men-at-arms will soon be on us, Lords, to the rescue! ha, Saint George ! Saint Ed. The flower of England, Gascony, and Flanders; ward !!

But with swift succour we will bide them bravely. [Exeunt. De Vipont, thou look'st sad ? 3

Vip. It is because I hold a Templar's sword
SCENE II.

Wet to the crossed hilt with Christian blood.

Swi. The blood of English archers—what can gild A part of the Field of Battle betwixt the two Main A Scottish blade more bravely!

Armies. Tumults behind the scenes ; alurums, and VIP. Even therefore grieve I for those gallant yeocries of Gordon, a Gordon,” “ Swinton,” &c.

men,

England's peculiar and appropriate sons, Enter, as victorious over the English vanguard, Known in no other land. Each boasts his hearth VIPONT, REYNALD, and others.

And field as free as the best lord his barony, Vip. 'Tis sweet to hear these war-cries sound to- Owing subjection to no human vassalage, gether,

Save to their King and law. Hence are they resolute, Gordon and Swinton.

Leading the van on every day of battle,
Rey. 'Tis passing pleasant, yet 'tis strange withal. As men who know the blessings they defend.
Faith, when at first I heard the Gordon's slogan Hence are they frank and generous in peace,
Sounded so near me, I had nigh struck down As men who have their portion in its plenty.
The knave who cried it.

No other kingdom shows such worth and happiness

Veil'd in such low estate—therefore I mourn them. Enter SWINTON and GORDON.

Swi. I'll keep my sorrow for our native Scots, Swi. Pitch down my pennon in yon holly bush. Who, spite of hardship, poverty, oppression,

GOR. Mine in the thorn beside it; let them wave, Still follow to the field their Chieftain's banner, As fought this morn their masters, side by side. And die in the defence on 't.

Swi. Let the men rally, and restore their ranks GOR. And if I live and see my halls again, Here in this vantage-ground-disorder'd chase They shall have portion in the good they fight for. Leads to disorder'd flight; we have done our part, Each hardy follower shall have his field, And if we're succour'd now, Plantagenet

His household hearth and sod-built home, as free Must turn bis bridle southward.

As ever Southron had. They shall be happy! Reynald, spur to the Regent with the basnet

And my Elizabeth shall smile to see it !
Of stout De Grey, the leader of their vanguard; I have betray'd myself.
Say, that in battle-front the Gordon slew him,

Swi.

Do not believe it.And by that token bid him send us succour. Vipont, do thou look out from yonder height, Gor. And tell him that when Selby's headlong And see what motion in the Scottish host, charge

And in King Edward's.

[Exit VIPONT Had wellnigh born me down, Sir Alan smote him.

Now will I counsel thee; I cannot send his helmet, never nutshell

The Templar's ear is for no tale of love,
Went to so many shivers.-Harkye, grooms ! Being wedded to his Order. But I tell thee,

[To those behind the scenes. The brave young knight that hath no lady-love Why do you let my noble steed stand stiffening Is like a lamp unlighted; his brave deeds, After so hot a course !

And its rich painting, do seem then most glorious, Swi. Ay, breathe your horses, they 'll have work When the pure ray gleams through them.anon,

Hath thy Elizabeth no other name ?5

1 “In the second act, after the English nobles have amused retaining also his old Knight Templar, in defiance of the ans themselves in some trifling conversation with the Abbot of chronism."- Monthly Review, July, 1822. Walthamstow, Edward is introduced; and his proud coura The MS. adds—"guch was my surprise." geous temper and short manner are very admirably delinea 3 “While thus enjoying a breathing time, Swinton observes ted; though, if our historical recollections do not fail us, it is the thoughtful countenance of De Vipont. See what follows. more completely the picture of Longshanks than that of the Were ever England and Englishmen more nobly, more beautithird Edward.

We conceive it to be extremely fully, more justly characterized, than by the latter, or was probable that Sir Walter Scott had resolved to commemorate patriotic feeling ever better sustained than by the former and some of the events in the life of Wallace, and had already his brave companion in arms?"-New Edinburgh Review. sketched that hero, and a Templar, and Edward the First, 4 "There wanted but a little of the tender passion to make when his eye glanced over the description of Homildon Hill, this youth every way a hero of romance. But the poem has no in Pinkerton's History of Scotland; that, being pleased with ladies. How admirably is this defect supplied ! In his enthe characters of Swinton and Gordon, he transferred his thusiastic anticipation of prosperity, he allows a name to esWallace to Swinton; and that, for the sake of retaining his cape him."—New Edinburgh Reviero. portrait of Edward, as there happened to be a Gordon and a 6 "Amid the confusion and din of the battle, the reader is Douglas at the battle of Halidoun in the time of Edward the unexpectedly greeted with a dialogue, which breathes indeed Third, and there was so much similarity in the circumstances the soft sounds of the lute in the clang of trumpets."- Monthly of the contest, he preserved his Edward as Edward the Third, Review,

Gor. Must I then speak of her to you, Sir Alan ? GOR. I penetrate thy purpose; but I go noc. The thought of thee, and of thy matchless strength, Swi. Not at my bidding? I, thy sire in chivalryHath conjured phantoms up amongst her dreams. Thy leader in the battle -I command thee. The name of Swinton hath been spell sufficient GOR. No, thou wilt not command me seek my To chase the rich blood from her lovely cheek,

safety,And wouldst thou now know hers!

For such is thy kind meaning-at the expense Swi.

I would, nay must. Of the last hope which Heaven reserves for Scotland. Thy father in the paths of chivalry,

While I abide, no follower of mine Should know the load-star thou dost rule thy course will turn his rein for life; but were I gone, by.

What power can stay them ? and, our band dispersed, GOR. Nay, then, her name is—hark

What swords shall for an instant stem yon host,

[Whispers. And save the latest chance for victory? Swi. I know it well, that ancient northern house. Vip. The noble youth speaks truth; and were he

GOR. O, thou shalt see its fairest grace and honour gone, In my Elizabeth. And if music touch thee

There will not twenty spears be left with us. Swi. It did, before disasters had untuned me. Gor. No, bravely as we have begun the field, GOR. O, her notes

So let us fight it out. The Regent's eyes, Shall hush each sad remembrance to oblivion, More certain than a thousand messages, Or melt them to such gentleness of feeling,

Shall see us stand, the barrier of his host That grief shall have its sweetness. Who, but she, Against yon bursting storm. If not for honour, Knows the wild harpings of our native land ? If not for warlike rule, for shame at least Whether they lull the shepherd on his hill,

He must bear down to aid us. Or wake the knight to battle; rouse to merriment, Swi.

Must it be so ? Or soothe to sadness; she can touch each mood. And am I forced to yield the sad consent, Princes and statesmen, chiefs renown'd in arms, Devoting thy young life?' 0, Gordon, Gordon ! And grey-hair'd bards, contend which shall the first I do it as the patriarch doom'd his issue; And choicest homage render to the enchantress. I at my country's, he at Heaven's command; Swi. You speak her talent bravely.

But I seek vainly some atoning sacrifice, GOR.

Though you smile, Rather than such a victim !-(Trumpets.) Hark, I do not speak it half. Her gift creative,

they come ! New measures adds to every air she wakes;

That music sounds not like thy lady's lute. Varying and gracing it with liquid sweetness,

GOR. Yet shall my lady's name mix with it gaily.Like the wild modulation of the lark;

Mount, vassals, couch your lances, and cry, “GorNow leaving, now returning to the strain !

don! To listen to her, is to seem to wander

Gordon for Scotland and Elizabeth !” In some enchanted labyrinth of romance,

(Exeunt. Loud Alarums. Whence nothing but the lovely fairy's will, Who wove the spell, can extricate the wanderer. Methinks I hear her now !

SCENE III. Swi.

Bless'd privilege Of youth! There's scarce three minutes to decide Another part of the Field of Battle, adjacent to the 'Twixt death and life, 'twixt triumph and defeat,

former Scene. Yet all his thoughts are in his lady's bower, List’ning her harping !

Alarums. Enter SWINTON, followed by [Enter VIPONT.

HOB HATTELY. Where are thine, De Vipont? Vip. On death-on judgment—on eternity! Swi. Stand to it yet! The man who flies to-day, For time is over with us.

May bastards warm them at his household hearth! Swi. There moves not, then, one pennon to our Hob. That ne'er shall be my curse. My Magdalen aid,

Is trusty as my broadsword. Of all that flutter yonder !

Swi.

Ha, thou knave, ViP. From the main English host come rushing Art thou dismounted too ? forward

Нов. .

I know, Sir Alan, Pennons enow-ay, and their Royal Standard. You want no homeward guide; so threw my reins But ours stand rooted, as for crows to roost on. Upon my palfrey's neck, and let him loose. Swi. (to himself) I'll rescue him at least.—Young Within an hour he stands before my gate; Lord of Gordon,

And Magdalen will need no other token Spur to the Regent-show the instant need

To bid the Melrose Monks say masses for me.

I MS. "And am I doom'd to yield the sad consent

That thus devotes thy life?'

2 MS._"0, could there be some lesser sacrifice."

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