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James. Too old To feel a Scotsman's blood stream at his heart ! I know, I know,-but, as I live by bread, I'll show the sceptre's not a willow wand ! Trust me, 'twere wise in you to join my banner With every spear you have. We've winked too long, But we have not been blind. . Max. My gracious lord, Banish these harsh thoughts of your noble peers, And listen to our humble suit.

James. Oh! humble,Your humble suit,—now, curse on humble suits, Urged with false tongues ! I'd rather have rough words Ay! though against ourself, from the bold heart, Than these same humble suits. What is your suit ?

Max. That you would pause, ere you advance your ban

ner

Against the English king, your loving kinsman.
James. There spoke the recreant Scot! The English

king,
God pardon me! I think, is king of Scots.
My lords—my lords ! this is no time to pause ;
Our loving kinsman is our deadliest foe,
Plucking our wreathéd honours, one by one,
Not in brave fight, but slily, stealthily,-
Turning our nobles into gilded slaves,
And stripping this poor crown of all it had,
Not gold and jewels—they may go, and welcome,
But honour and the allegiance of true hearts,
That were its glory through three hundred years.
I looked not for it-I thought better things.

[A pause-the nobles look disconcerted.
If I had heard a man two years agone,
Say that the Scottish nobles would desert
Their king, when England dared them to come on,
I would have slain him as a slanderous liar ;-
But now !

(Goes up abruptl34 Somer. (To a Bishop.] Your lordship is a man of peace; Speak to the king:

Bishop. (L.) What can I say to hirn ?
Somer. Tell him to spare his people.
Bishop. Ah, my lord!

heart, gave

66

I need not tell king James to spare his people ;
They know he loves them.

Somer. But he'll spill their blood. Bishop. Better to spill their blood than lose their souls “Oh, there be times and causes, good my lords ! " When the white Christian dove must seek her nest, And leave the murky clouds to be cleft through

By the strong pinioned eagle.” There be times When Piety herself must gird the sword, And meek Religion, like an Amazon, Dart her fierce glances over fields of war. James. (Advancing, R.] Well spoken, good Lord Bi

shop! if the fire That warms your

but its sacred heat To other bosoms, there might yet be hope For me—and Scotland !

Kil. There was fire enough
“In Scottish hearts, that now are chilled.”

James.” Now hear me,
There shall no Douglas trample on this land,
While there's a Stuart to defend his people.
“ Where is the Douglas now? In Surrey's ranks,

Feeding on England's offals; nursing scaith
“ To all our realm ; hounding the tyrant on,
“ The blustering braggart Henry; let them go !"
Scotland can face all Tudors on the earth,
And all the Douglases to boot !

Somer. "Twere wise
To see your royal uncle.

James, What to hear ?
His throats, and worse than threats-his patronage ?
As if we stooped our sovran crown, or held it
As vassa! from tive greatest king alive.
No; we are poor~I know we are poor, my lords ;
Our realm is but a niggard in its soil,
And the fat fields of England wave their crops
In richer dalliance with the autumn winds,
Than our bleak plains ; but from our rugged dells,
Springs a far richer harvest-gallant hearts,
Stout hands, and courage that would think foul scorn
To quail before the face of mortal man.
We are our people's king. For you, my lords,

Leave me to face the enemy alone !
I care not for

your
silken

company.
I'll to my stalwart men—I'll name my namo,
And bid them follow James. They'll follow me
Fear not-they'll follow !

Cas. To Somerville, He will do it, my lord.
Promise him fair,

Somer. My liege, I but presumed
To advise delay. I speak for other peers—
If you give order to advance to the south,
We will obey you.

James. Do you speak for all ? (Goes to Somerville.
Lord Somerville, your hair is white with years ;
Our own is grizzled now, but not with age.
We have had griefs--we've had—but let it go;
We

e may be harsh in tongue; but if you saw
Our heart, you would give privilege to the words,
For the dear love they spring from. Sweetest wine
Gives strongest sour. My lords, you pardon us !

Somer. My liege, we are your loving subjects ever.

James. You'll meet me on the Boroughmuir as fixed; Armed for our war, with all your followings. We will not keep you now. Farewell, We have much yet before us—fare ye

well ! [Exeunt lords, C., except Seton, who is following. James. To Seton.) Seton--good Seton !-stay with me.

Seton. My liege, You honour me.

James. Well, man, and wherefore not?
Do you not know I mean to honour you

?
Stand not so coldly, Seton; come more near.
Seton, I thought I that had gathered to me
Love, trust, obedience, from-but let them go!
I have you left. You'll never leave nie, Seton !

Seton. Never! But why this tone ?

James. Because my tongue
Takes lessons from my heart. Ah, Seton-Seton !
I was the proudest king—too proud, perhaps-
I thought I was but foremost in a band
Of men, of brothers, of true-hearted Scots ;
But, pshaw !-it shall not move me.

Seton. My good liege,

my lords,

say my friend.

I think you're too much stirred by the loose talk
Of-

James. No, no, Seton; there is more in this
Than the loose tampering of an idle tongue.
I tell you, Seton, they have made the crown
A bauble on my head. But not for that,
Fail I in purpose-not a jot. Ah, friend,
I sought for hearts-I found but lip and eyes !

Seton. You wrong me-oh! my liege--if I might dare, I'd

James. Say it! I like the word ; Call me your friend.

Seton. My friend ! my too kind friend !

James. Well! Let me say in brief—for time is shortGo to the Boroughmuir, and watch the looks Of our blue Bonnets, when you give the word For trampling on the bonny English Rose. If they are true-ha! Seton—if our trust Is in stout jerkins, and we pass in scorn From blazoned shield and the tall waving plume-

Seton. I think your grace may do it.

James. Never king
Was half so great, girt round with gewgaw earls,
As circled by his people! Hurry, then,
And speed you well! I trust you. What a word
For a king's lip to utter to one man-
I trust you!
Seton. Seton has no voice for thanks.

(Esrit, c. James. (R. C.) Will they be traitors still ? and play the

game
Was played at Lauder Bridge? and leave their king
Unshielded, to the scorn and laugh of England !
I will not think so meanly of them yet :
They are not forward, as their fathers were,
Who died at Flodden, as the brave should die,
With sword in hand, defiance in their hearts,
And a whole land to weep and honour them.
If they desert me-well, I can but die,
And better die than live a powerless king !

[He sinks in thought.-Buckie romes forward, L., and

kneels at his fect. What now! who are you, friend? Ha! I remember ;

We've looked for you ere this. Up, up, man-up!
What want you with us ?
Buc. Your majesty—but there be ears too near-

[Pointing to Mungo. James. (To Mungo.] Retire ! Mun. (Aside.] The hunks ! I wonder who he is.

Erit, R. James. Speak out, man! 'Twas a perilous dip in the

Avon,
That your stout arm and ready help made safe.

Buc. Oh, sir, we're used to simple things like that!

James. What! plucking drowning kings out of a river ? Well, it is lucky you had practice, friend, We might have fared the worse else.

Buc. I was happy In being by to risk my limbs and life, Where Scotland has so long fixed all her love. James. Zounds ! you peak well—a stout, bold, honest

fellow,
What want you with us ?

Buc. To make known to your grace
A something that concerns the kingdom's weal.

Jamcs. In truth ? some scant of justice to yourself?
Some trickster wronged you on a market-day?
Out with it! we will right you, if we can.

Buc. No, gracious king; I speak not of myself.
James. Your father, then ? gave him false weight of

grain. “For Heaven's sake, man, make your complaint at once.”

Buc."' 'Tis treason against you. James. What say you

?-treason

? " Who are you, friend?

Buc. I saved your royal life “ At hazard of my own. Oh, happier far, If I may save your fame!

James. Sir, pardon me, “If I mistook you! Now I listen-speak!

Buc. My liege, you've heard of rich Sir Adam Weir, Of Laichmont?

James. I've heard of him-go on; A rich old usurer.

Buc. Ay, Sir; but his stores

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