University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

—Another Room in the Castle.
Enter Lady Donagill and John Baliol.
LADY DONAGILL.
The maid is dead, my son, whose slender life
Dissever'd thee from royalty.

BALIOL.
Woe, woe
For our bereaved land, at these sad news!

LADY DONAGILL.
If it is woe for Scotland, it is well
For thee, John Baliol, and thy family;
Blew ne'er a wind so boisterous and barren
But some rich wreck came hulling to the shores,
Which most it batters with its surly surge.

BALIOL.
'Twill be a wreck, I fear me, with these realms.—
Sweet Marg'ret dead! and with her all the hopes
That blossom'd thick around her precious life,
Blown off, and perish'd in the rotting grave!
How will the English Edward grieve to hear
Her death, that was betroth'd his daughter-queen!
Whose life, had God prolong'd it, would have soon
Solder'd into one great glad monarchy
These kingdoms, that have stood aloof too long,
Scornfully butting with their horns of pride
Each at the other's proud defying front:
I thought to see them wedded happily,
And that false, forged, erroneous frontier-line,
Which honest-hearted Nature never meant,
But warring brothers traced with bloody streaks,
Erazed eternally, and joyous flowers
Covering the ravaged bounds, and cancelling
The blood of ages with the bloom of peace:—
Alas, these hopes are perish'd, or adjourn'd
To latest generations after us;
And we must see Contention yet again
Rise from that grave, where long he has been buried,
The fiercer from long languor, to embroil
The passive people with soul-vexing feuds.

LADY DONAGILL.
Frett'st thou, De Baliol, at what God hath done?
Death's issues are all his; nor hath he will'd
That England's King should over-lord it now
From sea to sea, engrossing all the isle
Beneath his southern sceptre's tyranny.
He wills Earl David's heir, thy father's son,
Should catch the crown that now descends to him,
And wear it stoutly in his mother's right.
Else shall his mother, in her right's defence,
Shaking off strengthless age and sex infirm,
Assume the spirit that should fire her son,
And to her temples challenge sovereignty.

BALIOL.
Ne'er shall Earl David's and great Roland's heir
Deserve his mother's reprehension so,
By trembling to receive the golden gift
Bequeath'd him from his noble ancestry.
No—I should fail to thee, myself, and God,
By a faint-hearted sneaking from the glory,
And coying off, with worse than cowardice,
Th'hereditary honour from my head.

LADY DONAGILL.
There, there, my son, speaks royally in thee,
Earl David's spirit, glimmering forth a glimpse
Even through the softness of thy nature's mould,
Of kingly mettle bottom'd in thy heart:
Rouse, then, thy prouder nature; put it forth
In open deed, and challenge to the world
Of what is thine from God and from thy mother:—
David of Huntington, my grandsire, was
King William Lion's brother, and begat
Three daughters only, whereof Margaret,
My mother, was the eldest, so that now
King William's progeny extinct, thou art,
In virtue of thy mother's right and mine,
The fam'ly's lineal representative,
And rightful owner of the crown: De Bruce,
My cousin, though with me co-equal in
Degree and distance from our race's root,
Is but the younger daughter's son, and thence
In claim as in descent subordinate
To you, descended from the senior branch.

BALIOL.
De Bruce, I fear me, will not less put up
His plausible pretensions to perplex
My better rights, and captivate the crowd
Into his faction.

LADY DONAGILL.
Let him cast about,
And try to catch the people with mean arts,
That only prove his insecurity.
Thy footing is secure, and stablish'd firm
Upon hereditary rights and usage,
Which are too weighty to be blown aside
By the poor puff of any rabble's breath.
Muster thy friends in Scotland and in France,
Address our States, and clamour in their ears
Thy preference; let Edward's ear be twitch'd
With words conducive to thy benefit.
Even Philip may be hinted to, and help
Away with obstacles.

BALIOL.
I'll advise anon
With all our friends, and, by prevention, try
To win opinion.

LADY DONAGILL.
Instantly;—for Bruce,
More rapid in his bearing, will be flying
Abroad on expedition's every wing,
To give the thoughts of men their first impulse,
And curry with the simple populace.
Away then, John De Baliol, to the work
Of kingdom-courting:—craft and diligence
Are needful for up-scrambling to a throne.

[Exit Baliol.
LADY DONAGILL
, (sola.)
He is too softly-virtuous, this my son;
His soul has not enough of sinew in her,
Whereon to ground resolve; yet whensoever
He is excited by some rousing voice,
He plucks up kingly heart, and slides again
Into his kindred's magnanimity.
Therefore he must be baited and provoked
To embrace the glory, else his soul, abandon'd
To her soft self, will droop and dwindle down
T'ambitionless content:—He must be king;
That is his destiny; that hath been impress'd
Upon my heart by signs and auguries
Of fortune-tellers and astrologers,
Even from the day my knees received him first.
Albeit he seem too gentle and too weak
To brawl a stormy competition out,
That weakness shall his mother's strength supply;
I'll be his counsellor, his setter-on,
His heartner in the chase of royalty,
That, as his blood derives from me the right,
He from his mother too may catch the vigour
T'invest him in that birth-right's privilege.