University of Virginia Library

Scene VI

—Carberry Hill; the camp of the Lords: Lethington looks across the valley in the direction of the Queen's army on the opposite height
Lethington

Will it be thus, I wonder, hereafter: the borders of the great gulf ranged with ironical faces. Could the sheep and goats but front, would they not blink at one another like the unsound augurs of old? Sheep and goats, sheep and goats! A disastrous partition, for man is of his nature indivisible, and can have but one destiny. It is the misplacing that irks! What pleasure can I have among these precise Protestants, who see a street before their

noses, whatsoe'er the pied landscape discover? How I pine for that rare, lyrical creature I have abjured! When they roused me from my rest in the city to come march against her to Musseburgh, I rubbed my eyes long, and lay listening to the blare of the trumpets, as it were in a stupor. May it be my portion some day from the housetops to proclaim what these men are, and to see them degraded one by one. For what I fainest would do is to have my mistress in estate, in person, in honour; and when these miscreants take her to their keeping, I doubt not I shall have to labour for her very life . . . Du Croc has passed to parley with her, but who can reason under this inexorable sun. Not to budge deserves a palm-branch. (To a soldier arranging a banner)
At work, ho! And on the Sabbath made for man! I marvel at you. Come, unfurl your canvas.

Soldier

This banner, sir, is to flap before our army.

Lethington

Tut, my man, it will not pay to fight in this dazzle; we must stand still like cows in the heat. (Nodding, as the soldier unfurls the flag)
Ay, it is pretty and most scriptural! We have here a marvellous sweet babe, pious as the infant Samuel, praying the voiceful air; and in the midst is murdered Abel under a green growing tree. But where is Cain? Here you should figure him, Lord Bothwell, in this corner, with his rumpled brow and villainous, hot face. See, good fellow, they are buying food yonder from the country people. Get to your dinner; I will watch the stuff.

Soldier

Surely, for his pieces will buy cheese.—That picture, sir, must make the harlot wince.

Exit
Lethington
To eat and drink
And be religious is all one to them;
I have no superstition; when a man
Is gross in sanctity it gives me qualms.
I wonder is she sitting on the hill,
Or speaking full of kindness to Du Croc,
This tedious summer day. A gallant soul!
And birds, they say, sing sweeter in the cage,
For then they sing of freedom. I must wait
A time to do her good. These fleecy clouds
Of bosomed thunder dull at least the heat. Enter Morton

Ho, Morton, do you answer to this charge?

(Pointing to the banner)
Morton
Is it not bravely pictured? Thus heaven writes
Across the walls of conscience; I would sooner
Be burned alive than leave this infamous,
Vile murder unavenged. My blood grows hot;
God knows I share His hatreds. Riccio first,
Then the limp Catholic, and now this pair
Of married liars. Would that I saw them stretched
Dead at my feet, like those two subtle ones
Who thought upon the value of their land
When bartering for their souls. I have been patient,
The long, slow way God deals with his elect,
Although He will avenge them speedily.
Since Kirk o' Field I kept this orphan-babe
Firm in my thoughts, and stand here now in arms
To compass retribution.

Lethington
That shall fall
On me, on you, on that frail innocence,
The earl of Moray?

Morton
On the queen herself.
We are but instruments in heaven's high hand.
For better station we must cross the stream,
And take the ridge of Cowsland where the sun
Will not molest us. Grange is with the queen
And there is talk of ending this affray
By single combat of the duke with some
Selected nobleman; but I will stripe
The devil, if he dare to fight with us.

Exit
(Lethington lies down, pulls his cap over his brows and listens to the sky-larks)
Lethington
How sunnily they sing!—About their business
In the deep blue. I give religion up,
It is all controversy; but to flute
One's happiness, get wings to it, and fly;
Leaving the realm of question, to create;
Listen, create and listen—in one's bosom
An inexhaustive fount, and from the brain
An ever finer conduit to the ear:
That were felicity that, in the nest,
The twitter of the young ones would not mar.
If this rude canvas did not flap my face
With such a stinging stroke, these battlefields,
That give a statesman leisure in the midst
Of march and counter-march for reverie,
Were not without advantage. I will pen
A new, rare counsel of perfection while
Insurgent passions parley. (To soldier who re-enters)
Fold it up!

Exit soldier with banner