University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

—Room in the Palace at Edinburgh.
Baliol, Abernethy, Sir John Cuming, Lady Donagill.
BALIOL.
It was even so—

LADY DONAGILL.
And from a lower place
Contemptuously up-cited—

ABERNETHY.
And my lands
Blown by the breath of his despotic mouth
Back from my grasp—

SIR JOHN CUMING.
Now, by St Andrew's cross,
Had I been scant of stuff to bicker with him,
I'd rather have unsandal'd both my feet,
And hurl'd my shoon into his English face!
Your grace was too forbearing—

LADY DONAGILL.
What, to stand
Amid his Parliament a mocking-stock,
Pillory'd up to view and staged to shame
Upon a scaffold so notorious!
It would have fever'd my weak womanish blood
Up to a frenzy!

ABERNETHY.
To be forced to hear
A sland'rous accusation volley'd from
A subject's traitor-throat!

SIR JOHN CUMING.
I would have raked
The inmost chambers of my brain for words
As bitter and as canker'd as the devil,
To batter at him;—marry, the King of Scotland,
Anointed as himself with as good oil,
William the Lyon's successor and heir,
Th'inheritor of good King Donald's glory,
Made thus a spectacle!—Fy, fy, 'tis foul;
Detestable and bitter to my soul,
As Styx's brimstone wave!
All this, my liege, proceeds from homage-doing;—
Tut, tut—a murrain catch all supple joints!
King Donald was a hero on his rocks;
His knees were as unbendable as boughs.
Of crabbed oak; they did disdain to stoop,
Except to gather limpets; by the mass,
He'd sooner lived for aye on barren Barra,
And breakfasted on crabs and perriwinkles,
Than fawn'd his gallant head into a crown
By cringing cravenly the knee.

BALIOL.
I stay'd not;
I took no leave; I hurried home abrupt,
From that affront, without the ceremony
That clogs and cripples monarchs.

SIR JOHN CUMING.
Ere your highness
Had gone, thou should'st have snatch'd a burning torch,
And at her northern suburb lighted up
Proud London, with a prayer for Aquilo
To crack and burst his puffy cheeks upon't,
Till it shone out a bonfire.

ABERNETHY.
And we must,
Forsooth, sit here like whimpering school-boys dreading
Their master's lash—till Anthony de Bek
Come with his scourge of southern myrmidons
To whip degraded Scotland from her peace,
And me from my possessions.

BALIOL.
Be assured
He will be here.

SIR JOHN CUMING.
I smell his sweet arrival;
'Tis in the wind already, and provokes
My nostrils to abhorrence.

DONAGILL.
Come, defy him;
Command him pass not o'er our frontier,
Else war, the stiffest, sternest hostility
To him and to his lord.

ABERNETHY.
Down with subjection—
Away with fealty—let the winds take it—
And whiff and fritter it about the world,
Till it be worn to nothing, and evanish—
At least for Scotland.

SIR JOHN CUMING.
Revoke is my advice;
Unswear, write out a scroll of revocation
In letters broad and blazing as the moon,
That the whole world may read; and should there lack
A saucy-visaged churl to be the bearer,
I'll be myself the post, and paste it up
On London Tower, maugre her million mouths
A-barking to devour me.

BALIOL.
'Tis all good:—
Were I to travel through the past again,
Better that act of homage were forborne.

ABERNETHY.
'Twas a forced act, imposed usurpingly
By one whose right was only impudence;
One who abused his trust of arbiter
T'obtrude his proud pretensions, and betray'd
Fair confidence, that heavenly stay of kings,
To his own selfish 'vantage.

SIR JOHN CUMING.
'Twas an act
Privately promised, and although perform'd
In public, it remains yet unconfirm'd
By necessary sanction of the States,
Without the which all individual deeds
Of majesty are nugatory things
Of no account or binding.

DONAGILL.
It hath been
Disclaim'd already by the public voice,
That hath been loudly clamouring upon it,
In mobs and riots up to th'palace-windows.

ABERNETHY.
True, true, the public voice hath growl'd upon it;
Here it should be respected.

BALIOL.
Reasons rise,
I do confess, many and plausible,
For th'abrogation of an homage-plight
Extorted with injustice, and therefore
Even by its origin invalidated.
Thereto, that last, shame-branding disrespect,
Across me with its adder-virulence
Comes ever stinging.

ABERNETHY.
Rest assured, whatever
Your grace determines, be it to remain
Liegeman to England, or t'abjure subjection,
Like sequel will accrue:—He will be here
In either case alike tyrannically
T'avenge and to enslave.

DONAGILL.
Far nobler, then,
Beseeming more our country's dignity,
T'anticipate him in the utterance
Of indignation, and t'example him
With frank defiance.

BALIOL.
Be it then defiance,
Though danger dangle o'er it.

ABERNETHY.
Let not fear
Depress the royal heart;—we have good swords;
France will abet us.

SIR JOHN CUMING.
France will holla to us,
And bid us beard the saucy chin of England,
Till every hair be agony.

DONAGILL.
Let letters,
Penn'd rich with the abjuration of knee-duty,
Sign'd with the glorious roundel of our names,
And flaming with the great seal's red impressure,
Fly straight to England.

SIR JOHN CUMING.
Now, I do bethink me,
There is a man I know whose mould is cast
By very nature for their carrier;
A soul hewn from the bowels of the flint,
As sullen as December's rainy day,
Yet, when it likes him, as jocund as June;
As bold as boisterous Ocean in her chafe;
As fertile in fantastic stratagem
As the Old Serpent on a Christmas morn;
As callous-faced and imperturbable
As weather-beaten Mary in her niche;
One who can worm his wily way unscathed
Through a whole nation of mouth-grinning foes.

BALIOL.
Get him ready;
We'll have the writ of abjuration penn'd;—
He shall be sent forthwith;—I long to wreak,
Thus faced and fortified with your concurrence,
On England that contemptuous usage.

ABERNETHY.
Come, then,
Let us about it straight.

SCENE II.

—Before the Palace in Edinburgh.
Dan Henry
, Abbot of Arbroath, solus.
'Tis strange;—some difficult and dogged business
Is sure on hand, that the King's infinite arm
Has by the ear out-cloister'd me so sudden,
Exposing to the night-wind's eager nips
My face, too tender for such sharp assaults:
At two o'clock it fell when I was sitting
Glowing all glad with supper and with Gascoigne,
Within our Abbacy's refectory;
Peter of Pittenweem, and John of Forfar,
And Campsie's blissful parson, Lamberton,
Three jolly pheers, trigemini of Bacchus,
Who had upon a fasting pilgrimage
Arrived, were supping with me; and we had
Just over-swum the gloomy gulf of midnight,
Buoy'd on a dozen bottles: When, behold,
Comes tapping with his tip-staff at my door,
A royal messenger, commanding me,
All hot and joyous-festive as I was,
To plunge myself into the chilly sky,
And take the road upon King John's affairs.
Whereat, conject'ring th'extreme urgency
Of the King's need, and greatly loath to be
Put to the horn for lack of loyalty,
I left my fire-warm, taper-glorious hall,
And silver wine-cups sheeny as the moon,
And sheenier faces of my compotators,
For a most vile exchange—to starve i'th' ether,
To freeze in Jupiter's huge fireless hall,
To kiss the naked Genius of the Frost,
And pledge Bootes for a cup of ice-cream:
All this I brook'd; and, at the royal bidding,
Came post; methought my feast-hot face did hiss
Against the frozen wind till it became
Attemper'd to the pole-star; but, heigh—hold—
Here comes my man of power, my instigator;—
Now, now I must be solemn.—
Enter Sir John Cuming.
Health, Sir John,
And showers of happiness!

SIR JOHN CUMING.
Hail, good Lord Abbot!
Happily come, sweet Saint of Aberbrothwick!
I have been watching, for some weary hours,
The pleni-lune of your desired aspect,
In up-rise peering o'er the heights of Fife;—
Happily come to us impatient—welcome,
Thrice welcome.

DAN HENRY.
Good my Knight of Badenoch,
When the King bids me trudge, 'tis not in me
To keep my stool, and over-count my beads
Like an old beldame shivering o'er her sins;
As posts the meteor o'er the bridge of heaven,
Round from Aquarius to the Virgin's Lap,
My mule and I have shot from Aberbrothwick;
There's not an owl 'tween this and Sidlaw Hill,
That has not been disnested and alarm'd
By our nocturnal hurry.

SIR JOHN CUMING.
Marry, yea,
The sweatier and the fouler be the brows,
Tested the purer is the loyalty;—
And in nice nick it comes; for times are tickle,
Tott'ring that of themselves they cannot stand
Without the props of sturdy holders-up;
Hot zeal and lion-stomach'd stoutness now
Are raked up from corners, and impress'd
On instantaneous service; for, i'th' faith,
'Tis no chuck-farthing work that's now on hand—
Stuff, stuff, for stony-hearted resolutes,
Whose backs bear all rebuffs.

DAN HENRY.
Sir Knight, thou knowest
That I am all the King's—back, flank, and front,
Even to the nail upon my purest toe:
Flesh, skin, and bones, are listed in his service.
His enemies may grind them if they dare:
What would the king with me?

SIR JOHN CUMING.
A deed of hardiment,
Fragrant with honour, rich with difficulty,
Embalm'd with peerless peril and renown;
A task King John rejoices to impose,
As you, my lord, will burn to execute.

ABBOT.
Be it to wade through fire, to swim in seas
Of molten lead, to caper a couranto
Upon the helmet-crest of enemies,
At the king's nod, th'adventure shall be mine.
Express it simply; were it terrible
And grisly-black as are the gates of hell,
I will be at it.

SIR JOHN CUMING.
'Tis the King's desire,
That you do carry to the English throne
This abjuration of the English service,
And be his deputy to swear away
Th'obnoxious bond of service.

ABBOT.
By my lady,
As lustily as I do run to dinner,
When th'Abbey-bell sounds merry banquet-knell,
Dance I to England on this enterprize.
Heigh ho—abjure! That word is to my ears
As glorious-dear as Gascoigne to my veins.
I swell with pride to hear it—I expand
And spread into a giant at the sound;
I'll write it in gilt letters on my cap;
I'll have it nicely wrought and intertissued
Into broad frontlets and phylacteries;
The latchet of my shoe shall speak of it;
My very night-cap shall be hemm'd with it;
I'll holloa it a-top of England's hills
Till all her valleys grumble back its echo;
The gates of London shall be chalk'd with it;
I'll carry round a pulpit on my back,
And preach it up in all her thoroughfares;
Bridges and wharfs, and parliament, and palace,
And Edward's 'sdeignful ears, shall ring with it
To his horrible vexation.

SIR JOHN CUMING.
Thou art the wight,
Lord Abbot, thou!

ABBOT.
Huzza! King John abjures
Thy service, Edward Longshanks!—What? A plague on't!
Are we in Scotland born to be but sneak-ups
To peak and snivel in lean servitude,
Hanging our heads like rain-clogg'd bulrushes,
To any crowned bully of the earth?
Puh, puh!—Fy, fy!—The devil take the homage,
And give it for a rattle to his devilkins
To play with till they suck it down their throats!
Give me th'abjuring letters, good Sir Knight:
I'll see to it that they be well deliver'd;
They shall not founder for a courier.

SIR JOHN CUMING.
Take them, my lord,
(gives the letters.)
To hands more strenuous
They cannot be intrusted.—I rejoice
To be their giver.

LORD ABBOT.
Blessings on the parchment!
O, I will kiss it!—It is rich, rich, rich!
More than the Colchian skin that wore the fleece,
For which old Jason tamed the fiery bulls.
I'll be a Jason to deliver it;
I'll face the brass-horn'd fiery bull of England;
I'll sow the serpent's teeth of irritation;
I'll raise and rout whole armies with a stone;
I'll face St George, abetted by his dragon;
I'll be a second celebrated Jason
On this great expedition.

SIR JOHN CUMING.
To provide
Against contingent needs of travelling,
King John solicits you would arm yourself
With this poor scrip of gold.

DAN HENRY.
Gold? Eh—good, good—
A traveller's ornament, and meetest ballast;
His special prop and adminiculum:
If, as King Philip said, an ass with gold
Could win and carry strongest fortresses,
What may not wise shrewd men effect with it?
Gold is the faith that moves and moulders down
Huge mountains.—'Tis a pretty talisman;
I pocket it unshamed.

SIR JOHN CUMING.
Nothing remains
But to tuck up; the King's affairs ask haste.
I now commit you to the saints, Lord Abbot,
And to yourself, the stoutest saint i'th' ubric:
Depart and prosper.

DAN HENRY.
Fare thee well, Sir Knight;
Ere yon slow zodiack-creeping moon shall have
From blackness re-begot herself, thou'lt see me
Again in Scotland lighten'd of the stomach,
That now enchafes me. Once more, fare thee well,
I go—I disappear.

SIR JOHN CUMING.
Adieu, brave Abbot.

[Exeunt differently.

SCENE III.

—Council-room in London.
King Edward, De Bek, and Lords.
KING EDWARD.
Yet has the North produced no tidings, lords?
Has Scottish John no explanation sent
Of his so sudden and disdainful flight?—
I do misdoubt him much.

DE BEK.
Since he flew off
Upon suspicion's wing, we have not heard,
Even from the babblement of vulgar fame,
Wherefore he went, and whither gone, and how
He means to carry him in his affairs:
He and his court are sealed up and lock'd
In dead strange silence.

KING EDWARD.
We must rip him up
By violence, and tear from out his heart
His cherish'd secrets, should his prudish mouth,
Affecting myst'ry, stint its utterance.
Ay, we shall tweak him with our English torture,
Until his throat do scream a revelation
Of his intents.

Enter an Officer.
OFFICER.
My liege, a messenger,
Arrived directly from the North, solicits
Admission to your grace: His dusted garb
Bespeaks fast travel; and his vehement speech,
And little-patient gesture, argue him
The vessel of important hasty matter.

KING EDWARD.
Let him come in.
[Exit Officer.
We shall be glad to hear
Good news from John of Scotland. This falls out
In lucky time of day; our querulous
Desire-sick hearts shall now be satisfied:
Let him come in.

Enter Officer, with Abbot.
A CLERK OF COUNCIL
, (rising.)
Thou comest from the North
With tidings for his Majesty of England?
His Highness sits before thee, and awaits
Delivery of thy message.

ABBOT.
Happiness,
And hail to England's high-crown'd Majesty!
Pleasure perfume the happy air about him;
And twenty thousand golden-feather'd Joys
Flutter all round, and with their num'rous wings
Flap his bless'd grace into Elysium!
This is my royal master's wish, and I
Express it in my figure.

KING EDWARD.
We rejoice
In our most courteous brother's gratulations,
Which we return, accumulated high
With sumless usury of goodly wishes,
Oppressing him with benedictions.
I hope his grace is well, and sends us hither
Communications joyous?

ABBOT.
Sire of England,
King John, my master, is in lusty cheer,
And well recover'd of that speechless swoon
And syncope of soul that overtook him
Late in the middle of your Parliament.
That spirit-spasm soon pass'd; his native air,
Whereto he ran, purged off the queasiness,
And left him re-establish'd in his might
Of independent and heroic health,
Unpropp'd, unbent, as heretofore, without
A staff except his country and his God.
As an assurance and stanch proof of this,
He sends me to your highness, with commission
That I should certify how well he is,
Being enfranchized both in flesh and spirit
From England's homage and forced fealty.
Lo, as I tear this my frail garment's fold,
[Tearing his garment.
And stamp the rent-off parcel under foot,
He tears your bond of service clean asunder,
And damns it to the dust of Scotland's soil.
Thus, thus he stamps it. To attest that fact
With signature and seal, here are his letters,
Which I deliver to your royal grace
In form, before these noble witnesses;
Beseeching, for myself, your Majesty
T'excuse a subject's peremptory duty,
That pricks him onward to a task so bold.—
That task is done.

KING EDWARD.
O felon, felon!—King?—
He is unking'd this instant—Down with him;
Dash from his faithless head the diadem;
Off with his purple; snap in twain his sceptre;
Roll him about in degradation's mire!
What! John De Baliol, he whom my breath'd voice
Blew up into a throne, apostate now,
Abjuring the creative breath that form'd him,
And puffing back such tempests of defiance
As if he, too, were something!
By Edward's soul, he and his perjured land
Shall smart for this;—they shall be twinged for this;—
With sword in hand, and havoc at my side,
And Death, high perch'd on his hell-hideous horse,
My lackey dogging me with desolation,
I'll trace their blood-streak'd country thro' and thro',
Up to the barrier of the Orkney billow,
As hungry as an eastern pestilence!—
For you, Sir Courier—home, and tell thy master,
That if he will not come to me in right,
I'll come to him in vengeance.
Ah! Mere de Dieu!—I cannot sit it longer;
Up, up—no drumbling now on cabinet benches;
Action—and retribution—and a sword,
To pierce the marrow of oath-breaking Scotland!
Away—away.

[Council disperses.

SCENE IV.

—Marches between England and Scotland.
King Edward, De Bek, Lords, Herald, &c.
KING EDWARD.
Look forth, De Bek.—Yet have we gain'd the march
That sunders merry England from the soil
Where wave the lean, lank oats, their stalky heads
Type of the hunger-shrivell'd land they shadow?

DE BEK.
A little on, my liege; mark there the confines;
On this side, tow'rd the sun, the kidney'd wheat
Struts his gigantic stature; on the other,
Toward the Bear, the husky oaten weed
Cowers in his viler furrow.

KING EDWARD.
Tut, I see it;
Our men do shake their heads, and cry, Aha!
At that poor porridge-prospect; but our horses
Curvet and neigh with gladness, in the hope
Of such fat provender.—Cast out thy glance:
See'st thou De Baliol yonder? 'Mid his marsh
Of long lush oats, can'st thou discern him coming,
Love in his face, and homage in his knee,
An honest landlord, full of kindly greetings?

DE BEK.
I see him not, my lord; behind his hills
He lurks, asham'd of his degeneracy:
He has no face to front his benefactor;
He'll be to seek to-day.

KING EDWARD.
Consumption seek him!
I'll seek him not, save on the spot prefix'd
For his attendance:—Is the herald here,
And ready?

DE BEK.
He is here, and waits thy word
To do his duty.

KING EDWARD.
Has the Lord De Bruce
Been well advertised that it is my pleasure
He should be hovering round me as a bird,
In hope of picking up the pea of gold
About to drop from Baliol's bill?

DE BEK.
Lord Bruce
Now hangs upon our skirts in expectation;
The waving of a hand will waft him hither.

KING EDWARD.
'Tis well; let now our herald forth advance,
And summon our king-vassal to do service.

DE BEK
, (to the HERALD.)
Herald, advance and do the ceremony.

HERALD
, (advancing.)
O King, do'st thou command me now to cite
King John, your vassal, hither?

KING EDWARD.
I command thee.

HERALD.
Are these the frontiers of the Scottish land?

KING EDWARD.
They are.

HERALD.
Then, hear me, Heavens, and hear me, Earth!
Hear me, ye Angels, round whose starry chairs
Truth and fair Faith are ever ministrant,
Hear me, and bear ye witness; I call hither
His Majesty of England's homage,
The King of Scotland, John De Baliol,
Forewarn'd as he has been, of this citation,
To do the feudal service, as is due
To his liege-lord and master, who now stands
Waiting his liegeman on the frontiers.
Appear, King John!
(Pause.)
Again, be witness, Heaven! Be witness, Earth!
Be witnesses, ye Seraphim of Heaven!
Appear, King John!
(Pause.)
Once more, be witness, Heaven! Be witness, Earth!
Ye Seraphim of Heaven, be witnesses!
Appear, King John!
(Pause.)
He comes not, and the holy bond is broke!
Lo, as I pluck this grass up from the ground,
And with my breath do scatter it in heaven
For every wind to toss it in contempt,
My king and master scatters from his heart
All faith, once plighted, now contemn'd and lost,
All confidence, now swallow'd by mistrust,
All union, all protection, now destroy'd,
Obliterated from the page of life,
As if the traceless past had never been.
My lord and master reassumes his right
T'accept another homage, and to give
Its recompense, its glorious annexation,
The power, the crown, to whomsoe'er he will:—
I publish it; I tell it to the Heavens
And to the Earth;—Earth, Heaven, establish it!
Uproot the faithless; make the faithful happy,
And make the issues pregnant with reproof,
That men may tremble and respect the right!—
O'erpass, my lord, and take thy right.

KING EDWARD
, (overpassing the frontier.)
I take it;—
Now have my hands got riddance of their bonds;
'Tis mine to give to whom I will.

HERALD.
'Tis yours.

KING EDWARD.
Call De Bruce hither; let us see how now
Leans his opinion; we must supple him
With oily hopes, butter with blandishments
His canker'd stubborn spirit, till he wind
Into our purpose or fulfil it, limed
With exquisite choice gullery.—I require
His name a little while, wherewith to work
As a nice tool, to scoop and carve the hole
Wherein my honour shall be riveted,
Fix'd in eternally like bars of brass.
But see, he comes—stand farther off, my friends;
Sov'reigns have secrets—ha! methinks he comes
More tow'ring on the tip-toe of high hope,
Than when my postulatum sent him off
Like a mad ostrich, reeling to his desert
To hide his eggs in sand.—Now, honest soul,
He deems them chipt for hatching, and a crown
About to crack the shell.
[Bruce comes forward.
My lord, De Bruce,
All hail, and years of happiness!

LORD BRUCE.
Thrice hail
To England's honour'd Majesty!

KING EDWARD.
My lord,
I bless your genius and your happy star,
For timing thus, with dexterous adaptation,
Your honour'd presence to this needy crisis,
Most lucky at this hour.

LORD BRUCE.
I come, O sire,
Pleased as you were to hint me hitherward;
Obedient to thy bidding, yet uncertain
Of its import.

KING EDWARD.
Thou hast done well, De Bruce:
Obedience here, at least, is innocent,
And may be richly crown'd with consequence.
It lies with thee and with thy genius still
Thyself t'advantage of th'amazing haps
And mutabilities of this great world,
Whose many-spoked wheel is ever whirling,
Now heaving up the low to kiss the heavens,
Now into whirlpools swinging down the proud;
As this day's sun can testify, that has
Beheld a King shorn of his royalty,
Banish'd his throne, and chased back again
Into the valleys of subjected life.
Look tow'rd the North, De Bruce—if thou dost see
A second sun o'er yonder hills, thou see'st
John Baliol, King of Scotland! That same hand
That hung him up a lamp of royalty,
Hath ta'en him down to darkness; and his place,
Now void and gloomy, needs to be relum'd
With some supplying orb.—Wilt thou demur
To shine instead of him?

LORD BRUCE.
My lord, O King,
If in your grace's words there is propounded
To me the tender of that dignity,
Which now is dropping fast from kinsman John,
Thou know'st the terms on which I shall assume it:—
For Scotland's crown no homage.

KING EDWARD.
Out on thee!
Does that vain bugbear, that alarm'd thee late,
Rise up already to ferment thy blood,
And make thee touchy as a porcupine?
Why, Homage is become a grisly ghost
To trouble thee; it haunts thee; it does gibber
Affrightful words even to thy very teeth
Against thee.—Chase it from thee, dear De Bruce;
I spoke not of it; I ne'er thought of it;
It is a pithless shadow which I hate;
Its arms are slim and fugitive as smoke;
'Tis good for nothing; I have found it so
To-day, and yesterday, and shall to-morrow:
But, in its stead, come Generosity!
Beneficence! come with thy golden band,
T'enlink th'obliger and th'obliged together,
As strong, as lasting, as th'eternal chain
That binds the solid universe to Heaven!
Accept, my lord; we will not bodge and boggle
At straws of compact and preliminaries,
Or fight for pennyworths of accessary,
When pounds of substance are agreed upon:
Accept thou, not unthankful; that is all
I ask—a simple sense of gratitude,
Obnoxious to no base external act,
Yet not the less felt cheerly in th'heart
Toward the free bestower.

LORD BRUCE.
If that feeling
Implies no mean surrender of my country,
No sacrifice of noble self-respect,
I will not scorn it; I will cherish it,
And keep it in my bosom warm till death.

KING EDWARD.
Enough; 'tis all I ask; do thou but deign
To live as conscious of the benefaction,
And wear it next thy heart; not like thy kinsman,
Obtrusive at the first with corp'ral signs,
Poor supererogatory services,
As hollow and unreal as his heart;
But, at the last, when the stale benefit
Has pall'd upon his glutted appetite,
Slighting the gift, and snuffing at the giver
With up-toss'd nostril of ingratitude;
I rue the day, when John De Baliol
Was honour'd by me; he deserved it not
By right of birth or eminence of virtue.
Thou, thou, my Lord De Bruce, should'st have been King;
Thy love of country, and thy rights deserved it;—
Yet, yet thou shalt be King.—Let but thy cousin,
Stript utterly of power, be fairly roll'd
Down to the bottom of Privation's gulf,
Thou shalt be up and towering. For this end
We both must work, each with his instruments:
I with my power will pass into your land,
Your name my pass, and my authority,
To get and gather up from sea to sea,
For you her walled towns and fortresses.
Thou must up-muster and excite thy friends,
By letter and suggestion, in thy cause,
That they may operate with me to scatter
Thy rival down to shreds, and fix the crown
Upon thy head, with all th'appendages
Of power into thine hands.

LORD BRUCE.
My cousin's throne
Was never stablish'd in his people's love;
A finger's impulse, then, will push him down
So low, his friends will quit him in despair;
My friends are many, great, and high of zeal,
Requiring but your grace's gracious word,
Abetting of my rights, to rise at once,
And take possession of the land for me:
I will address them to this purport, all,
Athol and Marr in chief.

KING EDWARD.
And instantly,
Ere John have time to barricade himself
Within his castles to your prejudice.
Meanwhile, I with my host will pass along
From Berwick, sweeping all the eastern coast,
Castles, and towns, and forts, into your net
Of occupation:—We shall meet at Edinburgh:—
There shall my hostile circuit terminate:
Reach you at Stirling and the northern holds,
I will secure the south; of this anon
You shall have word.—Go then, De Bruce, work out
With me thy way to empire, and may Fortune
Gladden us both in th'issue.

LORD BRUCE.
For this task
I take my leave of your much-honoured highness,
Intrusting my good cause into your hands.
Farewell!

KING EDWARD.
Adieu, De Bruce! Heaven's grace protect thee
Until the golden sequel. [Exit Bruce.]
Marry, heigh—
He's gone—and gull'd, and carries off with him
A treasury of hopes, all bladder-blown,
As vain, as gilded, and as sure to burst
As sun-bright bubbles on the stream at mid-day.
How easily the man was duped and caught!
His patriotic bluster, and his bounce
Of independence, and no fealty,
Fell flat to silence, when my well-timed hook,
Baited with glittering forgery of empire,
Had griped him by the cheek: So readily
He that is wont to overcrow the most,
And mouth the heavens with patriot braggardism,
Glides down unconsciously into the trap
Of courage-cowing rank self-interest.
So be it now and ever! Thus do kings
Manage the world, and with their little fingers
Twiddle and turn the wisest men about,
Till they wax dizzy, and their mouths renounce
The very words that were their boast before!—
For Berwick, now;—Approach, De Bek—what, ho!—
What is the matter that your face is fallen,
Looking disaster?

Enter De Bek.
My looks, most honoured master,
Precede my words to warn you bad is coming.
Prepare your royal ear for misadventure:
A courier hath from Berwick just arrived,
With tidings that three hundred Scottish spears
Have overpower'd your royal lieges there,
And fenced the city.

KING EDWARD.
Ha! hath crownless John
Shot out his venom in anticipation
So sudden, ere he wist his crown was off?
Go to, declare it fully.

DE BEK.
That stout Abbot,
That did outface you and your Parliament
With his proud preachment of remuneration,
Had, like a felon-fox, stol'n back with life
Into his land t'advertise it of war:
In every village he made proclamation,
In every town he hoiz'd his signal up,
Edward is coming, countrymen! Whereat
The popular opinion, that had warr'd
With John, now with a contrary rebound
Enclasp'd him with applause: And furious men
Sprung from their houses, clad in coats-of-mail,
Demanding leave to let out English blood.
Chiefly the gentry of war-loving Fife:
Impatient they, unheaded and uncaptain'd,
O'ersail'd the Forth in ships, and in a band
Came down on Berwick.

KING EDWARD.
They shall never leave it!
I'll hew them down to pieces o'er her gutters.
St Mary, I shall revel in Dunfermline
One day for this!

DE BEK.
Our navy, congregate
From many sea-ports into Berwick Creek,
Hath been destroy'd, with insult and with spite.
Ten ships were sunk with all their gasping crews;
Ten were seen burning as the post came off,
Tackling and sails, and masts and mariners,
Conflagrant all, and steaming up to heaven
In dusky volumes of fire-shrouding smoke.
Only a few tow'd out to sea had 'scap'd
With their scared shipmen.

KING EDWARD.
Ah, ye boors of Fife!
This little fire, this little wooden fire,
Shall balanced be with bonfires of destruction,
Anointed with your children's best of blood:
Vengeance, arouse thee! O, awake to wrath,
Thou goddess Nemesis!

DE BEK.
They have the town
Fortified fully.

KING EDWARD.
Let them try to keep it;
I'll have it ere Good-Friday be o'erpass'd;
The Holy Pask must be commemorated
This year with corpses and with damned work.
Hence, hence! we linger here too long; come, sound
The trumpet for my merry men to march
For Berwick straight: There's bus'ness for us there.
St George and vengeance guide us!

[Exeunt.