University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

—Lochmaben Castle.
Robert Bruce; Robert, Thomas, and Alexander, his Sons; Martha, Macduff, and Dishington.
LORD BRUCE.
Good now—our land is king'd.—Marry, how went
The farce of kinging and of coronation?
My ears are itching for the history—
Describe the doings, ye whose eyes were there
Licking the lux'ry up.

MACDUFF.
Our eyes were there,
But did abhor, like loathsome leprosy,
The representment of that piece of pageant.
Our ears were there, but tingled, as with horror,
At words of such servility as never
Were utter'd yet on Scotland's soil of freedom.
Scoon's palace is empoison'd, and become
A scab, requiring lightnings from on high
To purge off her impurity—Heaven's fire
Alone can cleanse her, and his thunder-bolts
Avenge the guilt contracted in her walls.

MARTHA.
Woe, woe, the more for our abused land!

LORD BRUCE.
Haply, I guess the sequel of thy speech;
But tell it out, that we at once may gather
The complement of our brow-branding shame.

MACDUFF.
The day drew near, appointed for that show;
And Scotland, from her shires and seignories,
Shook out her thousand nobles, who came trooping,
Busk'd in their glossiest holiday attire,
With trains of livery'd vassals, that behind them,
Merrily glistening, trail'd their long array:
King Edward, too, th'arch-priest and ringleader
Of that blazed celebration, without whom
The total rites were dash'd and blank'd with nullity,
Stew'd in a sea of sweat, came stalking up
With tyrannous and most assumptive strides,
Meas'ring the goodly fair land not his own.
They came; and Royal Scoon was quite abash'd
At such a pomp.—Meantime the day arrived,
And now had dawn'd; but dawn was usher'd in
With blackness and with darkness, and with signs
In heaven and earth, all character'd with prodigy;
Day-light was sick, and seem'd reluctantly
Squeezed through the murky crevices of sky;
The bright-eyed sun was jaundiced; men grew pale,
But looking on his weak and washy orb;
Ravens, and birds of hideous hellish scream,
Flutter'd all night upon the palace roofs,
And linger'd in defiance of the morn;
The ground beneath the marble chair did quake,
And split, and utter groans so dismal hollow,
That thrice the nightly-rounding sentinels
Ran from their posts amazed; and 'tis said
Some wizard, or unearthly minister,
With locks of fiery red dipt in the lightning,
Stood in the porch, prohibiting ingress,
With curses of detestable import.

MARTHA.
Revered they his commission or his words?

MACDUFF.
They quash'd the curses burning from his lips;
They dragg'd him down; and in despite of heaven,
And prodigies as blackly palpable
As Egypt's plague of darkness, they usurp'd
Possession of the palace. By and by,
Began the process of inauguration,
Crowning, and baptism with the church's oil,
And buttoning on the robe of broidery,
And shouldering the golden-knobbed sceptre,
And fumbling the superb ring up the finger,
And lolling lazily i' the marble chair—.
All to a jot were nicely pageanted,
That nothing lack'd for gentle John to rise,
Steaming and sanctify'd with unctuous vapour,
A king complete, and titled to a tittle!—

LORD BRUCE.
Who handed him from the altar to the throne?
Thou, dear Macduff?—

MACDUFF.
That task had been mine own,
As it has been my fathers' since the times
Of merry Malcolm, had I not disdain'd
That day to do th'hereditary duty;
I knew the shame, and hid me from my honours;
Howbeit, there lack'd not one, a foreigner,
T'assist the King of Scotland to his throne;
John de St John, a glittering worm o'th' south,
Bespangled thick with golden frippery,
Mincing small steps of meant magnificence,
Trailed his slimy slow Pactolian track
Toward old Gathel's chair; our king, beside him,
Was blurr'd, eclipsed with th'excessive glory
Of his gay southern garments: And no sooner
Our monarch stall'd within his seat, had roll'd
Himself in't round about, than Edward, who
Sat yearning in his majesty of flesh
For that agreed occasion, summons up
Th'anointed fire-new king to do him homage:
O shame, shame, shame! (I should repeat that word
A thousand times, till Scotland's every echo
Rebound it back to our aggrieved ears;)
King John arose and knelt, and did him homage,
Even to the ground he knelt, and did him homage;
Even for his crown he knelt, and did him homage:
I saw him rise; I saw him kneel; I saw
His mean prostration, heard his words more mean,
And blush'd at once for him and for my country.

LORD BRUCE.
Dard'st thou to blush?—Tut, blushing will not do it;
Blushing is ignominious; art thou less
A chained bondsman to the King of England,
By blushing to receive his gilded chains?
I will not blush; I will be fierce with fury
At such an innovation of disgrace;
We could have born it, yea, that cousin John
Was over us preferred to the throne,
But that he, by such slavish truckling-under,
By such a villainous vile compromise,
Involving both himself and us and country,
Has damn'd himself into pre-eminence,
And cringed and crouch'd our liberties away;—
It cannot be—O heaven!—it shall not be—
Out on it, fye, O fye!

R. BRUCE, JUN.
Tell us, my lord,
How brook'd the peerage this too-bare affront?
Sat they contented-foolish on their stools,
Or in their writhen faces saw you mirror'd
Any dislike?

MACDUFF.
A few beside the throne,
Kinsmen or hirelings of King John, the Cumings,
And Abernethies, did make effort at
A feeble acclamation, which appear'd
Suppress'd to death, even in the attempted utterance.
Some hands were clapp'd; but these did squirt so weak,
So scatter'd an applause, that the poor few
Who clapp'd took shame from those that clapped not.
While farther off the throne, and all around
The hall, was heard a murmur indistinct,
As if of words up-rising in the throat,
But back within the bulwarks of the teeth
Repell'd by some strong awe; and heads gave signs
That spoke; and aged peers, ashamed, shed
Vehement tears; and men stole gladly out
To give their irrepressible disdain
Large vent in words, leaving the geminy
Of kings to gossip and confabulate
Till feasting-time come on: But, miserable,
Desolate of guests, starved of expected mouths,
Pass'd the rich banquet, all its thousand covers
Unclaim'd, save by a dozen or two that sat
Shiv'ring with ghastly vacancies between,
At the great tables: And, ere even tide,
Without formality of leave-taking,
The many had absconded and slunk off,
With grudging stomachs, to their different homes,
Where now they sit a-grumbling.

LORD BRUCE.
Better so:
Why, at this sin the very land should gape,
And utter grumbling thunders of reproof:
Come hither, O my sons, 'tis now no time
For shallow shifts and paltering policies;
Vigour and vengeance now are straining up
To th'working-pitch; and Huntington's bold blood
Begins to reel within the family-veins;—
Hither, my sons—

MARTHA.
What means my lord and husband?
And why this hot appeal?

LORD BRUCE.
My Lady Carrick,
Fear not;—thy children ne'er shall bow the knee
Ignobly:—Come, my sons; if e'er my words
Have disciplined your tender hearts to virtue,
If Scotland's name be bound up in your thoughts
With honour, her twin-sister, from the which
No separation is imaginable,
Kneel down and swear before me, by the God
Whose light illumes Earth's thousand mountain-tops,
Nourishing men's hearts with sweet life and liberty,
That never you shall stoop th'allegiant knee,
Or count him king that is not to himself
Freeman and king, but hath enthrall'd himself
T'another land, that he may rule his own,
Abjuring God, who is his only chief:
Kneel down, and swear, my children.

LADY CARRICK.
Swear, my children;
It is a righteous and a noble oath!

R. BRUCE, JUN.
O father, by the God from whom this heart
Receives life's ever-gushing kindly stream!
I swear, that never I will bow the knee
To an usurper, or to him that hath
To an usurper cringed in servile homage.
Perish the hope of reigning to our house,
But Scotland's honour, may it live for ever!

EDWARD, THOMAS, ALEXANDER.
We swear it, father, in our brother's words.

R. BRUCE, JUN.
And sooner may a fierce and bloody death
Choke in our lungs life's ever-pleasing play,
Than in our hearts die out the sentiment
Of country's independence and fair name!

MACDUFF.
I do succeed you with a loud Amen;
I and a thousand more, to whom that word
Of vassalage is more unsufferable,
More killing in its cutting ignominy,
Than murder, or men-crushing homicide.
Our nobles, all except a household few,
Hook'd to King John, are querulous, and up
In chafe that undermines their loyalty.
Already, too, th'impressive multitude
Have caught an inkling that they now are dubb'd
The thralls of England; which fast-flying news,
Like windy gust that ruffles up at once
The many green tops of a summer forest,
Excites and irritates the minds of men
To murmurs, mad remarks, and speculations.
As through the streets of Stirling I did pass,
I mark'd the sullen-brow'd and gloomy populace
Assembling fast into seditious knots;—
I saw the grimy blacksmith's face a-fire
With patriot wrath, th'inflamed weaver riving
His throat with noble oaths, and feeble tailors
Lordly and lion-like with indignation.
I heard a buzz flying from group to group,
Edward and Thraldom! Ha! such words for Scotland?
Destruction rather, thrice-repeated death!
Up, Israel, to your tents! and all the way
Southward, the market-towns and villages,
As if the news had rode on the wind's tail,
Ere my fleet steed's approach, had been apprized,
And sent their people out to th'market-crosses
To flout and rail before the public sun
At degradation of their native land.

LORD BRUCE.
There, there is Scotland's spirit! She will never,
Her plough-boys and her cottiers' sons will never,
Abide this shame: up, then, my countrymen,
Let the rage spread from end to end o'th' isle,
Let rankling discontent and sour despite
Exacerbate your milk of loyalty
To that green gall whereof is gender'd treason,
And render you as peevish and as spleeny
As are the fitful February blasts
Toward the mariner's tormented bark;
That Edward's false dominion may be wreck'd
And dash'd to pieces on your brave displeasure.
For me and for my house—we do abjure him,
And fling his misclaim'd lordship back again
Into the tainted south, where let it rot
For ever in perdition.

MACDUFF.
That it may
The sooner, it behoveth us to keep
These discontented humours ever boiling
Upon the minds of our nobility,
That Edward to his cutting cost may know
King Baliol's homage to be not a public,
But private act,—disclaim'd, repudiated,
And execrated by his countrymen.

LORD BRUCE.
And that our cousin, on his new-found throne,
Fretted and gall'd into uneasiness,
May wish that hated fealty unsworn,
Whereby he has o'ertopp'd us, and now sits
Tottering upon his dizzy summit:—But
It needs that we mature these thoughts aright:—
Much yet remains to talk and to resolve.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

—A Room in the Palace.
ABERNETHY, BALIOL.
ABERNETHY.
He is your bitterest enemy, my liege;—
Even on your coronation-day, when yet
Th'inaugurating fumes were smoking on you,
I mark'd his mal-contentedness of feature,
And caught his moody and invidious lips
Mumbling black syllables of mutiny.

BALIOL.
Even let him grumble on; I do not see
Wherefore, for one or two distemper'd words,
I should distemper my serenity,
And simply suffer my dear peace to be
Stabb'd to the quick with airy calumnies.

ABERNETHY.
You are too mild, my liege, and too forgiving;
The gospel-precept was not made for kings,
Of fair forgiveness of our enemies:
Mean men may safely overlook their foes,
Or hug them close in Christian charity;
But mightier monarchs must let slip their necks
From Christian nooses, and in Pagan wise
To death must hate and hunt their enemies.

BALIOL.
To death, my lord?—Recall that baleful word;
It grates too horribly upon my spirit;
I would not be a king to hear it oft:—
Say, what be these great sinnings of Macduff,
That he deserves such signal persecution?

ABERNETHY.
I know too well his deeds and his deserts;
Which your too gracious grace interprets so,
That you are jeoparded by clemency.
He is the colleague and confederate
Of th'intermeddling disappointed Bruce;
With whom he has in darkling colloquy
Been huddling and conspiring head to head,
Setting their faction-fostering thoughts a-broach,
And in your grace's free unforced election,
Searching for friv'lous pegs whereon to hang
Exceptious cavils, and disloyalties:—
Must disaffection gad abroad with licence,
Fattening herself on treasonable breath,
Until her monstrous head attain a growth
As high as heaven, too lofty to be hit?—
I'd rather crush the minim as she crawls,
Preventing toil by one good stamp o' the foot,
Than hew her down with glorious difficulty
In her gigantic overgrowth.

BALIOL.
O, my lord,
Crush her, in God's name, then, within her shell,
In silence, that my life be not perplex'd
With her vexatious chirpings and with yours.
Think not I know th'offence or the offender;—
Think not I'm privy to the punishment.—

ABERNETHY.
Farewell, my gracious sovereign; may thy throne
Be 'stablished on the corses of thy foes.
[Exit Abernethy.

BALIOL.
Woe's me—and is it thus to be a king?—
A king!—that splendid phantom perch'd on high
To terrify and to command the world;
Alas! no longer to command himself,
But be commanded, and be twisted round
Like th'idle vane, by every gust that blows
From Passion's blust'ring universal sky.
For not alone we to ourselves are slaves,
Obedient to the worst of impulses,
Each o'er-officious friend, whose hand did help
To shove us up the steeps of royalty,
The top no sooner gain'd, makes arrogant
And violent encroachment on our peace;
Which as his services' due meed he claims,
Perverting Gratitude's angelic virtue,
Ev'n to forbid us to be virtuous:—
Then, if to be a king cannot be ought
Than to be thus, grant me, O God! again
A subject's virtues, and a subject's peace:
I'm sick already of sad royalty!

SCENE III.

—A Woody Dell.
Abernethy
, with Attendants at a distance.
He comes this way reeling from Annandale,
All drunk with disaffection and revolt;
Here I'll waylay him; hence he cannot 'scape,
Caught and entrapp'd as in a sepulchre,
Within this bosky cave-resembling dell,
So fit for murd'rous ambuscade:—Stand off,
My merry men, till you receive the sign
For timed approach:—King John, good simple soul,
Has whisper'd in mine ear impunity
To rid him of this man as of a traitor;
This plea has gull'd the King, and may be ply'd
T'acquit me of all homicidal blame,
Which else might taint me: though in very deed
I care not for his tricks of treachery,
If there be such:—His being I could bear,
Were't not that these his lands, which I do covet,
Are gifted with a hollow howling voice
That hints his taking off, nor suffers me
T'enjoy God's universal boon of sleep,
Until he be displaced to hell or heaven,
And I enfeoff'd into his things of earth.—
He comes—most opportune for injury;—
Hey, hearts!
Forward, and back me now with ready poniards.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

—Room in the Palace.
King Baliol, Archbishop Fraser, Donagill.
BALIOL.
Earl Duncan murder'd! and the sheriffdom
Of Fife all up in arms?

ARCHBISHOP FRASER.
True, my loved liege;
That murmurer hath perish'd; but his death,
Bruited and blabb'd about through all the shire,
With aggravation of devised lies,
As if the finger of the King were in it,
Hath call'd up twenty thousand mutineers,
Hot for revenge, and burning for the Bruce.

BALIOL.
Alas! what have I done to merit this?
Scarce rested from the toils of coronation,
Outrageous friends beset my throne with suit
And over-zeal importunate to cleanse
All grudge away from my distracted land:
And now their deadly deeds of loving-kindness,
Dared, as they say, for my security,
Rebound, in their disastrous retribution,
Upon my single head. The King, men say,
Has hatch'd all this; and, having many hands,
In every death or murder of a foe,
Even were he distant at the Antipodes,
The royal arm glares manifestly out.
'Tis thus the King contracts around his head
Clouds of dark blame, engender'd from the fens
Just honour'd by the twinkle of his beams;
And he must bide the issue.

DONAGILL.
Let your grace
Think rather how too little has been done—
Albeit enough to waken ill report,
Not so to quash and throttle opposition;
For Enmity, too slightly grazed and scratch'd
By any dolorous weapon, serpent-like
Towards the inflicter twines his saucier head
And hisses fouler poison: Wherefore needs
Some perseverance in revenge's scheme,
Some heart-struck stabs, more forcefully thrust in
To end the monster.

BALIOL.
Would to God he were
Dispatch'd or lull'd by any charm asleep,
That I might sip of peace.

DONAGILL.
To taste of peace
There wants but vigour—Let the royal features
But look severity, and all thy foes,
Confounded in their half-hatch'd treachery,
Backwards will shrink, ashamed that they have meant,
Or mutter'd mutiny.

BALIOL.
Then be it so,
O mother, as thou wilt.

ARCHBISHOP FRASER.
Let him who lopp'd
That lep'rous limb pass out with royal warrant
To muster powers, and stifle, ere it swell,
The disaffection of the sinning shire;
Bribe him to speed and faithful execution;
Attach him to the throne indissolubly
With cords of super-added obligation,
By gift of Duncan's lands, now unpossess'd
And vacant for an owner.

DONAGILL.
He, our kinsman,
Merits high meed for services fore-past,
As well as heartner-on for those a-coming:
That gift be then, with double-doing power,
At once the boon for past, and bond for future;
So shall your highness sit at ease, enshrined
Amid your servants' shelter.

BALIOL.
Happy should
It fortune so; and, in that expectation,
Be issued instant powers for Abernethy
At once to exercise and occupy
As you advise.

DONAGILL.
We'll have it quickly done;
Speed herein is best earnest of success.

SCENE V.

—One of the Streets of Edinburgh.
Enter Two Citizens.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Whither so fast, my pursy friend? What news
Makes you to gallop so asthmatically?

SECOND CITIZEN.
Heard you it not? The King—the King is off
For London.—I've just seen him out o' the Port.

FIRST CITIZEN.
Marry, 'tis quick; what brize hath stung his ear,
That he is gone in such up-huddled haste?

SECOND CITIZEN.
Men only guess—Conjecture's tongue is pert,
Whisp'ring surmises in and out o' the palace.

FIRST CITIZEN.
I fear King Longshanks, our good lord o' the manor,
Will lead our simple John into the mire.

SECOND CITIZEN.
If kingship be a mire of misery,
I fear me out o't; it is Goose 'gainst Reynard.

FIRST CITIZEN.
Belike, he's gone to make more genuflections;
His knees here stiffen with cold northern cramps.

SECOND CITIZEN.
Kings should have knees only to say their prayers,
Like honest burghers.—Any news from Fife?

FIRST CITIZEN.
Fife is a Pandemonium of misrule;
The devil Abernethy is among them.

SECOND CITIZEN.
Alas, poor murder'd Duncan! mickle dread I
His kin will suffer from that caitiff cut-throat.

FIRST CITIZEN.
His lands are taken, and his kindred all
Banish'd or slain.—God help us, times are dreadful!

SECOND CITIZEN.
Threatening aye worse—Black bodements are abroad;
Last night the sky spew'd lapping tongues of fire.

FIRST CITIZEN.
And yesterday ten thousand porpuses
Came wallowing up ev'n to the Pier of Leith.

SECOND CITIZEN.
And twenty ghosts, in winding-sheets as white
As snow, sat cocking on St Monan's steeple.

FIRST CITIZEN.
A fiery dragon, t'other night at ten,
Lash'd with his swingeing tail the frighted moon.

SECOND CITIZEN.
And Cupar Cross, carv'd with the good Thane's arms,
Ooz'd clammy blood that caked upon the stone.

FIRST CITIZEN.
And on the altar of St Andrew's great Church
A human head was found, clotter'd in gore.

SECOND CITIZEN.
Horrible signs o' the times—I'm sick to speak on't;
Pray God we be preserv'd.—Sweet friend, farewell.

FIRST CITIZEN.
Dear friend, adieu. Heaven keep us both from danger!

[Exeunt differently.

SCENE VI.

—Parliament-House in London.
King Edward, Baliol, Murdoch Macduff, and Lords.—Baliol seated in an inferior place.
KING EDWARD.
Brother of Scotland, we have griev'd to hear,
Rung in our ears, bad words, accusing thee
As rendering infamous that royalty
Whereof thou art partaker by our means;
Whence now before the senate of our land
We do indulge thee opportunity
To purify thy much aspersed head
From accusation, which I hope thou wilt
Do to thine honour's quittance and mine own,
From whom thou holdest.—Is there here a voice
T'accuse the King of Scotland.

MURDOCH MACDUFF.
Sire, a voice
Prepared, alas! and fully furnished
With oratory, gushing from a heart
Injured too sensibly not to be rich
And keen of speech.

KING EDWARD.
Wherein canst thou appeach
My brother Scotland?—Is he not thy King
And true liege lord?

MURDOCH MACDUFF.
He is my rightful King
And true liege lord; but thou, O sire, art his.
Thence in unshuddering confidence I stand
Before the throned Majesty of England,
Th'accuser of his vassal.

KING EDWARD.
Let thy voice
Be loud and fearless; utter from thy heart
Unmincingly thy charge, that we may know
The gross of thine unbated griefs.

MURDOCH MACDUFF.
O King!
I come not hither in malevolence
Or gall-fed envy, to impugn with lies
Him who has claim on my allegiance.
Ah no! I come too sadly arm'd with truth,
Bearing the voucher of my misery
Even on my person, that a child may read;
My brother slain, his goodly palace ransack'd,
The murderer wallowing in his rich domain,
His kinsmen hunted and extirpated,
His friends ground down with merciless extortion,
Or crush'd into their graves with tyranny,—
These are the bloody terrors that have chased
Me from my heritage, and hurl'd me hither
A beggar, roaming in this sordid garb,
Beseeching monarchs for a little mercy,
In God-like vindication of the wrong'd.
That I am so,—that here I stand before
A foreign court, a miserable pleader,
Proclaiming thus, in th'energy of grief,
My unexampled, huge calamities,
Is long of thee, King John, who didst incite
Thy minion-murd'rer 'gainst my brother's life,
Gavest him the dagger for the ruffian feat,
Bargain'dst with him in hell-hatch'd covenant,
And when th'abhorred terms were perpetrated,
Didst to my cost fulfil thy pledged part,
Even to the brim of ruthless cruelty.
These are the accusations which I pledge
Myself at lance's point to verify
Even to the terrible truth-sifting death.
God be my witness, and so friend me, God!

KING EDWARD.
Brother of Scotland, I am pain'd to hear
Such sharp-edged words, that cut into the heart
Of thy repute: arise, and with the breath
Of virtuous contradiction, blow from thee
This cloud of black aspersions:—we wait, watching,
Thy wish'd reply.

BALIOL'S ADVOCATE
, (rising.)
May it please your royal grace,
To hear from me what words th'arraigned king
Has arm'd me with for his defence:—It fits not,
'Tis unbecoming England's majesty,
And the high honours of the great defendant,
That to a subject's libel, one who owes him
Faith and knee-duty, he should be compell'd
To rise in this assembly, and to ope
His royal lips in refutation.

KING EDWARD.
It may not be: King John himself has heard
These honour-staining charges; it becomes him.
If his heart leans upon the angel-staff
Of Innocence, ev'n from his place to rise,
And with unborrow'd anger-bolted words,
Repel such monarch-blasting allegations.
He is my homager, and I require it.
Arise, John Baliol, speak.

BALIOL
, (rising.)
O King of England,
My bosom is prepared against this slander,
My tongue is not.

KING EDWARD.
Hence with face-flushing shame!
Embronze thy brows, and heave aloft thy heart,
Clothe thee all o'er with meet audacity
For manly utterance.

BALIOL.
My procurator
Shall be my mouth: My panting heart lies here,
Housed in its consciousness of honesty,
To echo to his answer.

BALIOL'S ADVOCATE
, (rising.)
Much-honour'd sire,
Vouchsafe of thy most gracious condescension,
To hear—

KING EDWARD.
I'll hear no hired proctor-lips;
My vassal must defend himself with weapons
Coin'd in his mind's own workshop.
[Baliol rises and leaves the Assembly.
Ah ha! is't thus? What, what, my brother?—Going?—
Ha, gone!—
By Edward's soul, John Baliol is in guilt;
Did you not mark, my lords, his perturbation?
How his lips quiver'd, how his colour changed,
How his eye trembled in its cowardice,
Even on his judges brooking not a glance;
Each motion had a meaning, and his exit,
Like to a dying sinner's forced confession
Cries loud, and ratifies each charged fact.
Murdoch Macduff, thou shalt have justice done thee;
As thy King's lord superior, I repeal
His sentence gone against thee; thou shalt yet
Rejoice in thy possessions; and th'usurper
Who reels triumphant in thy brother's palace,
Shall be extruded, and give place for those
Whose is the due and just inheritance.
Go then in peace, and be the carrier
Of cheer and consolation to thy friends;
But in the ears of thy blood-broking foes
Shout England, and a speedy retribution.