University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A Tent on Caerlaverock Lea. Midnight.
Halbert Comyne, Sir John Gourlay, Captains, &c.
Com.
Before the sun-rise we commence our march,
And ford the gentle Nith by break of day,
Nor pass through old Dumfries.

Sir John.
Far in the west
The chief strength of the martial covenant lies,
And that way marches Monck.

First Captain.
Four regiments good
From Nithsdale, Annandale, and the green glens
Of mountain Galloway, march under Monck.

Second Captain.
I know each man by name; with them
I've stood
Knee deep in moats, and trenches; and we've wash'd
In England's brooks our bloody hands together.

Third C.
And did our general wave his bonnet feather,
They'd cast their banners in the Tweed, and hang
Monck up to feed the hawks.

Sir John.
Or sell his head
For thrice its weight in beaten gold—each eye,
In the pressing peril of the times, is worth
A kingdom wide; and his right hand would bring—

Com.
Now keep some converse for the morning's march.
How now? What say the peasants? Where are they?

Enter Soldier.
Soldier.
My lord, each peasant in this vale's become
Thine enemy on the sudden. I explain'd
Your order for their armed muster: they
Laugh'd loud, and one show'd me the hilt of his sword,
And said, “I draw it at no villain's bidding,”
And clang'd it in the sheath; another cried,
“Tell Halbert Comyne, when he finds a stream
That can make milkwhite murder's spotted hand,
Wash—wash; I'll be his soldier;” straight a third
Said, “Say one saw on Solway yesternight
A lovely lady, and her sweet son, sailing
In a bottomless boat.” And one stern man,
Whom they call'd Simon Graeme, took me aside,
And talk'd of destiny, and drew his sword;
Said, “Soldier, seest thou this? the blood thou seest
(And it was red with late spilt blood, my lord)
Is Hubert Dougan's.”

Comyne.
Take six armed men,
And bring this rustic—keep him mute—or slay him,
Should he breathe but a word.

Soldier.
My lord, I heard
These tidings as a soldier should; I drew
My sword—so did my comrades. This man is
A thing not to be taken. He slew two;
And though I grappled with him, he did shake
Me like a baby from him; and, unharm'd,
Leap'd in the dashing river.

Comyne.
For his head
A score of bonnet pieces! twenty more
To hear him speak ten words upon the rack!
For he 's a proven traitor to the state,
And no rude peasant he.

Sir John.
Lord, how much gold!
And pure gold, too! I've fought for seven long years,
And never made so much. I go, my lord;
This is a glorious ransom. I will have him,
If he tarries above ground. All current gold!

(Exeunt Sir John Gourlay, and soldiers.)
Com.
What kind of night is this? A sick'ning weight
Hangs in the air; the moon is down, and yet
Her light is left behind her. I can see
'Tis past midnight upon the chapel clock.

First Captain.
'Tis on the stroke of twelve—'tis a wild night,
A fearful looking night—ranks of grim clouds
Stand all around us on the woodland tops;
At times, behind them, flashes of live fire
Brighten, but burst not through.

Second Captain.
As I unfurl'd
Lord Maxwell's banner o'er this tent to-night,
A thing even like a flying banner came
And pitch'd itself aside it. I straight strook
The spectre banner with my lance; and, lo!
Forth gush'd red fire, even as blood gushes from
The thrusting of a spear—and it evanish'd.

Comyne.
Enter a Soldier.

Soldier.
My lord, as I stood on the watch to-night,
Down where the pinewood stretches to the sea,
An armed phantom came and march'd aside me,
And measured step and step.

Comyne.
I'll hear no more;
Go out, and learn to look on thine own shadow.
Now let no one come in my tent to-night;
Wait, four of you, and sleep, or walk, or watch,
Even as it feels most pleasant. As you love me,
And as you fear me, see for me no visions;
Call me up with the first cock crow. Good night.

First C.
My lord, we beg to stretch us on the ground,
To wooe an hour of slumber.

Comyne.
Court and find it.
(Captains stretch themselves on the floor, and sleep.)
Now golden slumber has found out these men,
But I can find no rest. Though in my path
Fame sows her ripest honours—'tis not that
Can give me pleasant slumber, can call back
The colour to my cheek. Although I know
Four of this Monck's six thousand men are mine,
That this famed kingdom's crown hangs in the air
And waits for my bared brow, I'm troubled—troubled:
Thou cursed woman, thy song fills my veins
With thrice 'gealed ice, and in mine ear thy strain
Begins to talk of doomsday. What light's that?
Has fire from heaven fallen in my camp? Ho! ho!—
Rise! hosts of heaven, lend me your safeguard now;
Arise—awake—nay then, sleep on till doomsday;
'Tis I alone that must face all the fiends!

(Storm, thunder, and fire.)
Enter Spirit of Hogan.
Spirit.
Come, Halbert Comyne; we are waiting for you.

Comyne.
Go, senseless semblance of a shallow villain,
Thou creature cursed for cowardice—from me
Expect brief speech—begone. (Spirit passes on.)
(Storm, thunder, and fire.)


Enter Spirit of Dingwall.
Spirit.
Come, Halbert Comyne; Hell is ready for thee.

Comyne.
Shadow, away; the unsumm'd sins of nature,
Grovelling and gross, so swarm'd in thee when living;
Hope not I'll heed thy summons—to be saved
With such as thee would be a curse indeed;
So cumber not the night air with thy presence:
Away. (Spirit passes on.)
(Storm, thunder, and fire.)


Enter Spirit of Neal.
Spirit.
Come, Halbert Comyne; there are fires prepared.

Comyne.
I will not speak to this thing, of all forms
That merit reprobation the most abject.
If this be thy chief pageant, hell, thou 'rt poor
In shapes to shake men's souls. (Spirit passes on.)
(Storm, thunder, and fire.)


Enter Spirit of Hubert Dougan.
Spirit.
Comyne, this night prepare to dwell with me;
And by the light of hell's unquenched fire,
We'll talk of what has passed.

Comyne.
(Spirit passes on.)

First Captain.
(Wakes.)
Touch him not, villain—my good lord—my lord,
God keep thee safe, for I did dream I saw
A fearful figure, with a bared sword
About to pierce thy bosom.

Second Captain.
(Wakes.)
Help, oh! help;
Did you cry help? I heard a voice cry help,
With the tongue of a wounded man.

Third Captain.
My lord, my lord,
The round big drops have started on your brow!
Has some dread thing alarm'd you?

Enter a Soldier.
Soldier.
A dread storm,
With hail and whirlwind, has fallen on our camp,
And blown thy banner into the deep sea;
The crooked fires were running on the ground,
And 'mid the fires—My lord, John Jardine saw
This sight as well as me; and 'mid the fires—

Comyne.
Well! well! amid the fire ye felt some fear,
And I do well believe you. Haste, pluck down
All our pavilions, let my chosen spears
March in the front, and let our rear guard be
Our proof-coat cuirassiers. We pass the Nith
Within one stricken hour—begone.