University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—A Room in the Castle.
Enter Cardinal Beaton and Robin Caldcleugh.
CARDINAL.
Sirrah, to-day I did admire thee much,
Maugre thy evil-favour'dness of front:
Thou proved'st thyself no fumbler at thy trade,
But with thy brimston'd match didst counter-work
Most dext'rously the drowning drops of rain,
That seem'd to pelt at thee in contradiction.
'Twas tidily accomplish'd; only I
Liked not the tears that gush'd out at a time,
Slubbering thy uncouth cheeks with sympathy.
Had I then been beside thee, sirrah Robin,
I should have slapp'd from thy woe-writhen face
Th'impertinent and unbecoming pity.
Yet let that pass: Now, I've another turn
Just ready for thy hand executive:—
Hark ye, good Caldcleugh, thou'rt a man of trust,
I've known thee long, a very honest fellow,
And faithful to thy master as his shadow;
Thou hast, you know, below stairs, cabin'd snug,
A poor sea-captain, rotting quietly,
O'ergrown already with the grave's white mould.
He is not worth condemning in a diet,
Or being staked up as a burning-show;
Yet not the less he merits, from his deeds,
If not an honourable fire, at least
The clinch of some dishonourable rope:
My goodly Robin! Thou hast ropes in store
For such by-work; I hope thou'st not mislay'd
The cord that at one pull disqualified
Friar Roger's throat from yelping heresy.
Unbox it once again, and cast it on;
One twist—the thing is done, withouten noise
Or tumult, and will sleep till Doomsday with thee.
See then that this small bit of work be done
Ere morning sun shine on us from the sea:
See that the skipper 'scape not, as the knave
Buchanan 'scaped through th'iron-barred window,
Fooling the sharpness of your custody.—

CALDCLEUGH.

Well-mindet, my Lord—that George Buchanan was the
slipp'riest fallow I ever had within my clutches—I needna

be taunted wi' the loss o'him.—He was sae souple and
slithry, wi' his wit an' his lear, there's nae wonder he slippit
through my fingers—what's done canna be mendit, my
Lord—but gin I catch him again, I'se sattle him for the
Franciscanus. But, let him be scribblin' awa in France
yonder—we'll mind our canny jobs at hame here—Gin ye
dinna find Captain Strang lyin' a bonny straught corps, a'
ready for the straikin', the morn's mornin' afore sax o'clock,
you may e'en chap aff Robin's auld head, an' set up his
face on the Wast-gate as a sort o'worrikow remembrancer
to his successor, my Lord.

[Exit Caldcleuch.

CARDINAL.
A tongue-pad villain this, but sternly true
To his nice duties of executive!
His face, which seems carved out from Caucasus,
Is but the index of his flinty heart:
Let him be gone.—Now, I shall have a rouse;
Now that my Sea-tow'rs clear'd of enemies,
And my affairs go swingingly successful,
I'll celebrate carousal with my friends,
Making this mirthful night e'er memorable.

[Exit.