 | John Baliol |  |
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,
88
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.
| John Baliol | |