 | The Valiant Scot |  |
Actus V.
Enter Bruce and Clifford.Bruce.
As you are a souldier, as y'are noble
I charge you and conjure you to unclaspe
A book in which I am graveld.
Cliff.
Perhaps I cannot.
Bruce.
Yes, if you dare you can.
Clif.
Dare? Clifford dares
Do any thing but wrong and what's not just.
Bruce.
Then tell me sir, what was that bitter scorn,
Which I like poyson tasted in my wine?
Clif.
I care not if I doe, because I love vertue even in
My enemy, the bowle of wine kissing your lip.
Behold, quoth one how eagerly yon Scot,
Drinks his own bloud.
Bruce.
Yon Scot drinks his own bloud, which Scot?
Clif.
Best wake some Oracle.
Bruce.
Who brake the jest upon me?
Clif.
Pray pardon me.
Exit Cli.
Bruce.
The Oracle I'le wake is here, oh Wallace,
I ne're had eyes till now, they were clos'd up
By braving English, witchcraft drinks his own bloud,
England my stepdame take my bitter curse,
Thy own nails teare thy own bowels, oh my parent
Dear Scotland, I no more will be a goad,
Pricking thy sides, but if ere I draw a sword,
It shall be double-edg'd with bloud and fire,
To burn and drown this Kingdome and this King.
Gent.
My Generall
Charg'd me in privacie to give you these.
Bruce.
Thanks noble Clifford, what did he bid thee say?
Gent.
Nothing but so.
Exit.
Bruce.
A pair of Spurs, Bruce nere was runaway,
Twelve silver pence, oh bitter scorn, with Judas,
I have betray'd my Master, my dear Country,
And here's the embleme of my treachery,
To hasten to some tree, and desperate die,
Twelve sterling silver pence, sterling, ha sterling,
'Tis a limbe of Scotland, spurs for flight,
Clifford, i'le thither, comment I wrong or right.
Exit.
Enter Grimsby, Mentith, Coming, English Herald, and Rouge-crosse.
Ment.
Stay noble Grimsby, ere he further passe
One of us certifie our Generall,
Perhaps hee'l not admit him to his presence.
Grim.
'Tis like so, stay him here, that pains be mine.
Com.
Let Ruge-crosse bring his pleasure.
Grim.
Come agreed.
Exeunt Grimsby, and Ruge-crosse.
Men.
You bring from Longshanks some strange message
now.
Com.
At least he sends his Gauntlet.
Men.
Gauntlet, no the English
Fight not two dayes together, but like swaggerers,
A fray being made up with a wound or so,
The man whose throat before should have been cut,
Thei'le fawn on us like Spaniels, will they not?
Com.
And that's thy errand, ist not?
Ment.
Commonly, when English see at cuffs they are
too weak, they fall to fishing, and then bait the hook with
mercie, and the Kings pardon, at which who bites ha's his
swallowing spoiled for ever, there's no Scot but scorns to
hang his hope on your Kings promises, be it nere so
smoothly gilded.
Herald.
He gilds none sir.
Ment.
I warrant he would pawn half his Dominions
to shake hands with Wallace, and be friends.
Com.
Had he but him in's Court, he would out-shine
His capring gallants, be would dote on him,
As Jupiter did on Ganymede, and make him
His chief Minion.
Herald.
Hee does already so really dote upon him, 'tis
not yet the age of one houre since my Master sware to
give ten thousand Crowns to Scot or English, that were
so bold to bring him Wallace's head.
Enter Ruge-crosse.
Ruge.
The English Herald.
Exeunt Ruge and Herald.
Ment.
Ten thousand Crowns.
Com.
Would make a faire shew in our purses Jack.
Ment.
I could pick out five thousand heads,
That I durst boldly fell him at that rate.
Com.
Ten thousand Crowns.
Ment.
I and Court wind-falls too,
Some English Earldome or so, here is none but friends,
Should you betray the conference, I care not,
I would deny it, and I would oresway
Your proofs tho neere so massie.
It shall not need, beleeve me worthy Mentith,
What here you locke is safe.
Ment.
Shall we earne this English gold, ten thousand
crownes?
Com.
My hand.
Ment.
They are ours, hee's dead.
Com.
No more, he comes.
Enter Wallace, Grimsbie, Herald.
VVal.
I am to him no vassal, hee's a tyrant,
So tell him, ere his frowne shall bend my knee,
This shall be hang'd upon the gallow tree,
For my appearance tell him this, I'le dyne
On Christmas day next in his English Court,
And in his great Hall at Westminster, at's owne boord,
Wee'le drink Scotch healths in his standing cups of gold:
His blacke Iackes hand in hand about his Court
Shall march with our blew bonnets, we'le eate nothing
But what our swords shall carve, so tell his Souldiers,
Wee'le sit like Lords there whilst they rayle like slaves,
Go with Scotch threats, pay backe your English braves.
Grim.
Youle make the English mad.
Exit Herald.
Omn.
A brave defiance.
VVal.
Defiance,
Lets mad them more, they shall not sleep to night,
Good Grimsbie beat a drum, let bon-fires shine
Through all our army, as if our Tents were burnt,
And we dislodg'd, but recollect our troops
Into an ordered bod, some thing wee'le do
To make our Chronicles swell with English rue.
Grim.
A Drum, call a Drum.
Exit Grimsbie.
VVa.
Oh sir Iohn Mentith I have crackt the Ice,
To a designe, which if it will succeed,
England no more shall strike, nor Scotland bleed.
Lets be partakers, deare sir.
VVal.
What will you say, if I winne Bruce from the English?
Ment.
The happiest day that ever shone on Scotland.
Com.
And crowne him King?
VVal.
That's the up-shot must crowne all, I'm to meet him
Before one houre grow old in Glasco-moore.
Ment.
How meet him?
Wa.
As I am, both come alone, no words to any.
Ment.
Our lips are seal'd.
Com.
Will you ride, or go on foot?
Wal.
No more, I'le ride.
Ment.
Wee'le passe the wood on foot.
Wal.
Jack Mentith, I do laugh to think what face,
Longshancks wil make, when he shall heare what guests
Will dine with him in's Court on Christmas day.
Ment.
What face? he'le kill the Herald sure.
Wal.
Oh! some charme for me to be invisible there, and see him.
Ment.
For my part, of ten thousand crownes by this hand,
I do wish you there.
Com.
For as many of mine, I sweare.
Ment.
Time may come,
In his Exchequer we may share twice that summe.
Wall.
Hence, hye you before, keep close in the wood,
Breake forth if you spie treason, if not, not.
Both.
Good.
Exeunt.
Enter the Fryers Ghost.
Wa.
Ha, if what thou seem'st thou art, step forward, speake,
I have fac'd more horrid terror.
Whare do'st gang?
Wall.
What's that to thee?
Fryer.
Thouse not lest and lang,
Twa wolves will suike thy bluide, by the third night,
I charge thy sawle meete mine, thy death is dight.
Wal.
Thou art a lying spirit.
Fryer.
Bruce byn thy bane,
Gif on thou gang luke not turne backe againe,
Wallace be weere, me thinks it thee should irke,
Mare need hast thou to serve God in the Kirke.
VVa.
Stay, if thou hast a voyce th'art bloud and bone,
As I am, let me feele thee, else I'le thinke thee
A sorcerous imaginarie sound:
Stand me, th'art some English damned witch,
That from a reverend Fryer has stoln his shape
To abuse me—stay—art gone? no Hagge I will not.
It spake sure, told me Bruce should
Exit Ghost beckoning him to follow.
be my bane,—cannot—shall not,
heaven knows such things onely.
Enter old Wallace his Ghost.
That eye hath shot me throw, wounds me to death,
I know that face too well, but 'tis so gastly,
I'le rather with my nayles here dig my grave,
Then once more behold thee.
Exit Ghost.
Part from me vext spirit, my bloud turnes to water,
I beseech thee affright me not—it's gone.
Enter Peggies Ghost.
Peg.
Alace Scotland to wham salt thou compleyne,
Alace, fra mourning wha sall the refayne?
I thee beseek and for him dy'd on tree,
Come not nere Bruyce, yet Bruyce sall not hurt thee,
The dampe dew fra the heaven does gyn to faw,
I to my rest mim gange ere the Cock crawe.
Wall.
It was my wife, what horror meete I here?
No Armour in the world can hold out feare.
Enter Grimsbie.
Grim.
We stay for your direction.
Wal.
Whom did you meete?
Grim.
No body.
Wa.
Saw ye nothing?
Grim.
Not any thing.
Wa.
Twas my braines weaknesse then,
I have seene strange sights, that anon I'le tell;
If Grimsbie we meete never more, farewell.
Exit.
Grim.
Ha, I am strucke dumbe, oh mans slippery fate!
Mischiefes that follow us at our backs we shunne,
And are strucke downe with those we dreame not on.
Exit.
Enter Mentith, and Comyne.
Ment.
I have beside with Wallace sherife of life,
Held private conference, who in Longshancks name,
Who sweares to me we shall have good preferment,
Beside the promist gold.
Enter Wallace.
Com.
Peace, Wallace comes.
Ment.
Is the Bruyce come?
Wal.
It is not yet his houre.
Ment.
Who came along with you?
Wa.
My foot-boy onely, who is tying up my horse.
Ment.
Him must I kill.
I'le looke if Bruce be in sight yet— Exit.
Wal.
Do.
Com.
Y'are sad.
My minde is shaken but the storme is o're,
A cry, helpe, murder within.
What cry is that?
Ment.
Be arm'd, Bruce with a force comes to betray thee,
From some villaines hand thy foot-boy is murdered.
VVal.
Murdred? Bruce shall repent this deed.
Both.
So shalt thou, away with him.
Enter Souldiers, knocke him downe, hurry him away in a sound. Exeunt.
Enter Bruce muffled with a Souldier.
Bru.
Helpe to disguise me Souldier, in exchange
Take these for thine, and here's some gold to boot.
Soul.
If I be not hang'd, my Lord, in all my bravery, I care not.
Bru.
Phew, I warrant thee,
Seale up thy lips and eyes, thou neither seest
Nor canst tell where I am.
Soul.
Not I my Lord.
Oh my poore wrong'd countrey, pardon me heaven,
And with a feather pluck'd from mercies wing,
Brush off the purple spots, that else would grow,
Like freckles on my soule.
Enter North and Clifford.
Soul.
My Lord, here comes company.
Bru.
Here quicke mine own agen, and get thee gone.
Per.
Sirra Souldier, saw'st thou the Earle of Huntington?
Soul.
Huntington?
Cliff.
The Lord Bruce, I meane.
Bru.
Who cals for Bruce?
Muffled up, and alone, I'le to the King.
Exit.
Cliff.
Do, sirra be gone.
Bru.
Whither's Percy gone? he ask'd for Bruce.
Cliff.
There's great enquirie for you.
Bru.
By whom?
Cliff.
The King has a fresh command for Bruce.
Bru.
For me? he may command his Subjects.
Cliff.
True, and Huntington is one.
Bru.
Is none.
Cliff.
No Subject?
Bruce.
None that dare oppose your King, Oh my impostum'd spleene,
Will flie into their faces, what command
Has England now?
Clif.
Fresh powers are to be levied,
Which Bruce of Huntington must leade.
Bruce.
'Gainst whom?
Clif.
Gainst proud Wallace, 'gainst the Scots.
Bruce.
I will not, I'm not his Butcher,
Gainst the Scots I will not fight.
Clif.
How, will not?
Bruce.
No, will not Clifford.
Cliff.
Peace.
Bruce.
My Lord, I dare not,
In this last battell I receiv'd some wounds
That yet bleed inward, I will no more banquet strangers
With my native bloud.
Cliff.
Bruce speaks not like a subject.
Bruce.
English Edward commands not like a King,
Thrice honour'd Clifford, I'le trust you with my bosome.
Clif.
No, you shall not.
My virgin honour is so chast, it shall not
Keepe companie with a disquiet bosome,
Nor talke with discontents.
It shall not, I will but,
Spare me, the ayre hath eares no more,
You sent to me, I will but tell bold Clifford
Not a word,
My thoughts owe as much honour as their Lord.
Within traytor, traytor.
Enter Mentith.
Enter King, North, Herefor, and followers.
King.
A mutinie, what noyse is't?
Per.
Mentith, a Knight of Scotland.
Cliff.
Keepe him off.
King.
What com'st thou for?
Ment.
Comyn my countryman and I have brought
A jewell to your Highnesse, which if 'twere right
As 'tis known counterfeit, 'twere worth a kingdome,
Wearied with warre, and pittying the deep wounds
Which fainting Scotland beares upon her breast,
And knowing that the onely sword which gashes
Her tender sides, is grip'd in Wallace hands,
I in my love to peace, and to the safetie
Of two great Nations, am the man that layed
Snares to entrap this monster, that devoures
So many thousand lives, the Rebell's tane.
King.
Where is he?
Ment.
I have brought him to your English Camp,
Force would not doo't, but policie, we struck the Stagge
To the ground, and thought him dead, but heaven put backe
The blow of purpose, hee's now come to life,
From an astonishment when we thought him dead,
To th'end the world may see the publique shame
Of an Arch-traytor.
King.
Mentith hath wonne fame,
And honour by this act, fetch in this devill.
Exit Ment.
Thou wilt have Englands thanks, but Scotlands curse,
Thou never hast done better, never worse,
Damn'd Iudas to thy Country-man and friend.
Enter Wallace, Mentith, Comyn.
Wal.
Where am I?
Bru.
Here with Bruce.
Wal.
Bruce my Soveraigne?
My bloud is sold, this is not Glasco-moore,
Some villaine hath betray'd me.
Cli.
Speak to your country-men, Comyn and Mentith.
Wal.
Comyn and Mentith?
Something it was that made the modest night
Looke angry on the world, I this was it,
And this was it that cleft my fathers grave,
And rais'd him from his monumentall bed of earth
To give me gentle warning, this was it,
That made my starre, when all the rest look'd pale,
Blush like a siery Meteor, can Heaven winke at this?
Ment.
It can, it doth, and at farre greater mischiefs.
Wal.
Not of thy acting?
Ment.
Yes of mine.
Wal.
Not here.
Ment.
Here or in Hell.
Wal.
Why then goe act them there,
Boast of them there, in that black Kingdome tell
That by a true subject a base Rebell fell.
Kils him with his fist.
King.
Whats that?
Clif.
Your Scotch jeweller is slain,
King.
By whom?
Clif.
By Wallace.
Heare me speak King Edward.
Clif.
Good my Liege heare him,
King., Clif.
I have vow'd,
Neither to heare nor see him, drag him hence,
Mine eye shall not be so compassionate
To view him, least I pitie him: hang, draw, and quarter him.
Wal.
First heare me speak,
King.
Drag him hence, and let that heart, those limbes,
Which were the motives to rebellious warre
Be torn asunder, cast upon that ground,
Which he with unkinde steele so oft did wound,
Away with him.
Wal.
Farewell, to all the World,
I ha met death too often to feare him now,
Only it grieves me that I have not freed
Scotland my native soile from tyranny,
Bruce, thou hast a Kingdome, lose it not.
King.
Stop his throat.
Wal.
I go to one too,
And on my grave, when death hath there down laid me,
Be this my Epitaph, mine own betrayes me— Exit.
Bruce.
Let him have noble triall.
King.
He shall have the triall of an Arch-traitour,
Percy and Clifford take hence Bruce.
Bruce.
Me hence?
King.
You hence sir, from this houre I sweare,
Never to see thee Earle of Huntingdon,
Harke Clifford, and Northumberland, awa:
Bruce.
What is King Edwards meaning?
King.
Your head shal feel our meaning, see it dispatch'd.
Bruce.
You may.
Exeunt Bruce, North and Clifford.
Com.
My honor'd Lord, although untimely death,
Hath taken hence one engine of that work,
Seeing our Countries peace, and Englands good,
Is by his death made perfect and compleat,
I doubt not but the promised reward
Of full ten thousand Crowns shall now remayn,
To the Survivor.
King.
Comin, I perceive
It was reward, not love that acted it,
But you shall have your due, of that anon.
A flourish.
Enter all in state.
I told thee Bruce, that thou upon thy head,
Shouldst feele our meaning, and that all the world,
May know we value honour above conquest,
Having a power able to turn all Scotland
Into a Chaos, here twixt both our Armies,
Give us thy oath of fealty, and weare
Both Crown and title of thine Ancestors.
Bruce.
England is full of honour, Bruce doth bend
To thy command.
They crown him.
King.
Give him his oath of fealty,
With him those Lords which are his Countrymen.
They sweare, Bruce stabs Comin.
Bruce.
Stand back, a Serpent shall not with his breath
Infect our Kingly eares, die slave, for he
That would betray his friend shall nere serve me.
King.
What hath Bruce done?
Bruce.
A sacrifice of honour and revenge, no traitors hand
Shall help to lift a Crown up to my head,
Thou didst betray, then die unpitied.
Brave Bruce, I'le love thee for this honor'd act,
Thou hast perform'd a noble piece of justice:
Now shall the Ghost of Wallace sleepe in peace,
And perfect love shall twixt these Lands increase.
He hath his full reward for his foule treason,
Drag hence the slave, and make him food for Crows.
The Lamp that gave Rebellion light, hath spent
The oile that fed it, all our spears are turn'd
To Palmes and Olive branches, all our stars
Are now made whole, peace is the balme of wars.
FINIS.
| The Valiant Scot | |