University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene 1.

The interior of Berwick Castle. Dunbar discovered, to whom enters the Friar.
FRIAR.
Save you, son!
I do attend your summons, and would now
Inquire its cause.

DUNBAR.
The troops of Douglas, father,
Have just arrived, in sight of friends and enemies,
And halted on the Hill of Halidon.

FRIAR.
St. Andrew speed them! This is welcome news.

DUNBAR.
Aye, father, but the news is overburdened
With heaviest tidings for our worthy Governor.
The faithless king, despite his stipulation
To stay proceedings till the day appointed,
And reckless of the truce yet unexpired,
Has sent a threat unless the place be yielded,
That he will order summary execution
On both the sons of Seaton.

FRIAR.
Barbarous monster!
What must—what can be done?

DUNBAR.
I stopped the herald
Before he reached the wretched Governor,
And took upon myself to bear the message;
That, haply, it be told him in some manner
Shorn of its first ferocity. For this
Did I despatch the page to you, good father,
To ask this Christian service at your hands,
That you would break the matter as you may
Unto the parents of these fated children.

FRIAR.
Well may I shudder at my woeful errand,
Yet must not shrink from it. But what dost think?
Will Seaton—

DUNBAR.
Ask me not—I cannot think,
Cannot advise, in circumstance thus shocking.
No sire myself, how could I counsel others
To that which I can ne'er be called to suffer?
How estimate such call? It were presumptuous!
Nay, it were obdurate! Well you know that Seaton
Is worthiest of the worthy; brave, yet sage;
Sparing, albeit, in words, but full in judgment;
With wariest caution, skilled to counteract
The inconsiderate sallies of the rash,
And to conciliate the feuds of others
By the example of his own forbearance.
All this he is; and if he have a weakness,
'Tis for his sons—as, sometimes, the best blades
May yield the most—the proudest, tenderest parent;
Fond, e'en to dotage; (and, in truth, the bantlings
Do well become it;) hence, I doubt his course,
In exigence so sharp, and my reliance
Leans with more fixedness upon his consort.

FRIAR.
The noble Agnes!

DUNBAR.
To her ghostly guardian
I need not urge how well the loftier traits
Of an heroic soul are blent in hers,
With all the touching tenderness of woman.

FRIAR.
I long have noted it.

DUNBAR.
So have I, from the first. My own near kinswoman,
And, had my fortune favored, I had aimed
To make her somewhat nearer; failing that,
I do rejoice her lot has fallen to one
Who, far as man can merit, merits her,
And willingly could forfeit one poor life
But to have kept from both an hour like this!

FRIAR.
These sufferings of the good, my son, are mysteries
Beyond our fathoming.

DUNBAR.
They are so, father.
Now to our several tasks. Thou to the Seatons,
I to attend the herald, whose safe conduct
I must inspect, lest the exasperate sentinel
Should follow Edward's lead, and disregard
The known immunities of time and person.

Scene 2.

The front of the castle. Enter Donaldus.
DONALDUS.
Ah, sinful Scotland! 'tis thine own offences
That toss thee now with tempests. Had thy sons
Been true to thee and to themselves, and proved
A hardy brotherhood, still leagued together
For mutual weal or woe, rather than prowled,
A horde of bandits, bent against each other
In predatory warfare—then, indeed,
What could have wrought them harm? had they not stretched
(Blinded by wrath) their hands toward the stranger,
To battle in their broils—the stranger, then,
Had not, as now, become the general spoiler,
In justest retribution! Watchful Edward
Hailed in disunion's hour his hour of triumph,
And to the horrors of the home-brewed storm
That lowered around the genius of the North,
Sent from abroad his thunders, to combine,
Gather and burst, in bolts of final ruin.
So his own Cornwall's craggy coast has shown
Yet harder hearts and rougher hands, to snatch
E'en from the shipwrecked prey of winds and waves
The refuse of the elements! So, too,
What time the frighted Lusian, forced to fly
From crash of falling tower, leaves all for life,
The daring robber rushes to his home
To rifle what the whelming earth had spared!
[Pauses, then starts and speaks.
Whence comes this darkling mist, that riseth round me
So chill and ominous? and—mighty powers
Of earth or air! what means that shadowy scaffold,
And those dim forms that fill it? Spare them, Edward!
But for the sake of thine own flesh and blood!
For thy soul's sake, be not the slaughtering Herod
To innocents like these! It all disperses.
Can this be fiendish juggling, or, indeed,
A boding from on high?