Leave me to face the enemy alone!

I care not for your silken company.

I'll to my stalwart men-I'll name my name,
And bid them follow James.

Fear not-they'll follow!

They'll follow me—

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 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, my lords,
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 me, 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,

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 say my friend.

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.

[Exit, 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 comes 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

James. [To Mungo.] Retire!

[Pointing to Mungo.

Mun. [Aside.] The hunks! I wonder who he is.

[Exit, 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 speak 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.
James. 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.

66

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?

66

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

Are heaped for other uses than to lend

To needy lords, or riotous young heirs.

James. What is't you mean? You speak in parables. Buc. He pays a stipend-month by month he pays it— By order sent from England, "signed by Bowes,' To knights and nobles that take daily stand Around your throne.

James. What nobles and what knights?

But, no—I will not know their names. A stipend―
A monthly bribe! To bend their necks so low!
I would not hear their names. If it were Hume!
Or Seton! No, no, no-it cannot be !

Ha! a base bribe; a mean, false, cringing crew!
Tell me no name! I'd make them rue the hour
They sold our Scottish honour for their bribes-
But is it true?-Seizes him by the collar.] "Dog! if you
tell me false,

"I'll brain you on the wall!"

Who told you this?

Where lives this Weir? How got you this advice?

Buc. He lives at Laichmont, near to Calder, Sire.

James. I'll see him. From his heart I'll tear the truth. Thanks, friend. 'Twas kindly meant: but, by my soul, I wish this thing had not been told to me, That I had thought them fickle, wilful, cold, Cowards-ay, cowards-anything but this. Thanks: I will see you soon. Take this, and this.

[Gives his ring and purse. Say naught of what you've told me. I will ride To Lalchmont House this hour,-this very hour. Oh, if 'tis true: if they're the very slaves To live on foreign bribes-there shall be blood Shall make the High Street run as if with wine!

Good day, my friend-be silent-and farewell. [Exit, c Buc. He rides alone-he must not ride alone;

He's worth the whole of the nobles in a bunch.

I'll be his guard, if no one else will.

Mun. [Re-entering, R.] Well?

What said the King?

Buc. That if an impudent fellow Asked any questions, I must tell himMun.-What?

I knew you'd tell me.

Buc. That he was an ass,

And should keep all his breath to cool his porridge. [Exit. Mun. Breath!-porridge!—in your teeth, you saucy

knave!

SCENE II-A Wood in Laichmont.

Enter MADELEINE and MALCOLM, R.

[Exit, c.

Made. This way it flew. Come, Malcolm; see how high

It soars, as if 'twere weary of the world,

And wished to have a home far up in heaven!

Malcolm. Ah, 'twere a happy bird to win such place, And never sink to rugged earth again!

Made. Oh, for a hawk, full summed and high of soar, To follow it into the filmy clouds

And bring it to our feet. But, well-a-day!

We have no hawking now. Five years since, Malcolm,
Ere you went to St. Andrew's, how we loved
To watch the quarry as it rose and rose,
And our strong falcon after it! But now
We are so dull and listless.-You've forgotten
The manege of the lure. I do not think
You could unstrike the jesses for your life.

Mal. I wish I could as easily unstrike
The strings that keep my memories in hood,
And let them down the wind.

Made. And think no more

?

Of the gay time we had when we were young
When we were all alone with cousin Barton ?
When Grandsire was away in foreign climes,
Far o'er the sea, and we rode forth and hawked,
And laughed all day. Would you forget them, Malcolm?
Mal. I wish I could, my gentle Madeleine,-

"For these bright clouds come up like sinful visions,
"Conjured by magic to distract the souls.

"Of solitary men, in lightless caves,

"Retired to commune with their own sad hearts.

Made. But, Malcolm, then your heart was never sad; You were the boldest horseman, sped your arrow Straighter than all, rode deftliest at the ring,

And sang the gayest. Wherefore are you changed?