Chapter X: Act IV: Scene I

_The front of Berwick Walls at Port St Mary._—RAMSAY _is seen on the
Ramparts, flying from Post to Post, and filling up the gaps made by
the Assailants, who keep up a constant discharge of Arrows. The
English Pioneers attempt to break the Barrier, and at last succeed
in burning it down. They shout, while_ LORD MONTAGUE _leads the
Assault_.

MONTAGUE.

On, on, my men of England! to the breastwork.
St George! St Edward! ho!
[_The English pull down the Drawbridge, cross
it, and fire the Gate._
Well done, my gallants, every man a hero!
Now for the plunder; see that ye spare none.
[_The Gate being consumed_, RAMSAY _calls down
the Guard from the Ramparts, rushes through
the flames, and attacks the Assailants sword
in hand_.

RAMSAY.

Back, varlets as ye are! ye shall not pass here
Until you cut a passage through our bodies;—
Charge, gallant Scots, remember Bannockburn!—
Remember how a handful of your fathers
Annull’d these braggadocios—show yourselves
Their true descendants, and don’t shame your mothers!
Charge yet again, refresh the parched earth
With the invaders’ blood—The Bruce—the Bruce!
[_After a desperate conflict, the English are beat
back, and the Scots retire within the Walls._
Thanks, gallant friends; we’ll now refresh ourselves
With what the morning’s bivouac afforded.

PRENDERGEST.

The sun has set upon a bloody day,
But it must shine upon a bloodier morrow.

RAMSAY.

And cursed be the coward heart that shrinks from
A life of honour, or a death of glory! [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_The King’s Pavilion in the English Camp._

KING EDWARD (_solus_.)

The Persian wept, when he beheld his hosts
Array’d in all the pomp and strength of war;
He wept to think, that in one hundred years
The soul of life that stirr’d a million men
Should be extinct, and all their warrior forms
Resolved to dust. I weep for other cause!
I weep to see so many chosen men
Wasting their prime in an inglorious ease,
While they might combat on the fields of France,
And dictate laws to nations.

_Enter_ LORDS ARUNDEL, MONTAGUE, D’ARCY, PERCY, _and other Nobles,
with_ JOHN OF HAINAULT, _and_ SIR RICHARD BENHALE.

MONTAGUE.

Gracious king!
Keith has rejoin’d the Scots, with many knights,
Prendergest, Ramsay, Gray—th’ assault has fail’d,
As we knew nought of this superior force.
Inflated now, like frogs who sought a king,
With new-come succours, they refuse surrender;
Treating your summons with insulting scorn;
And say, in terms of truce they stand relieved,
And that their hostages should be given up.

KING EDWARD.

Hah! there I have them, tantalizing rogues!
St George! my nobles, hear ye this, and pause?

ARUNDEL.

Even as the sleugh-hound burns to dip its tongue
In blood of game, we burn to meet the Scots
In deadly conflict.

_Enter_ ROKESBY.

ROKESBY.

My liege, the Douglas, with a powerful host,
Comes to the aid of Berwick, and has cross’d
The Tweed beneath the skirts of Halidon.

KING EDWARD.

My gallant Rokesby, ye shall be rewarded
At our royal leisure. Nobles, hear ye this?
Montague, D’Arcy, to the field prepare,—
[_Exeunt_ MONTAGUE _and_ D’ARCY.
Percy and John of Hainault, marshal quick
Your numerous troops,—and let the traitors feel
The strength of English spear and English bow.
[_Exeunt_ PERCY _and_ HAINAULT.
Scots, if ye cheat me now, like Vortigern
I’ll tear the plaited mail from off my shoulders,
And rush upon destruction!

_Enter_ LIEUTENANT.

LIEUTENANT.

My liege, already from the Scottish camp
Defiance has been given. A giant Scot,
Who turn’d aside the bull from Robert Bruce,
Challenges England’s stoutest knight to combat.

KING EDWARD.

Hah! St George! I feel the elixir
Of life shoot through my veins, to think that I
For once shall meet these rascals in the field:
Speak any?

BENHALE.

I am young, and but the least
Of English knights, yet I accept the challenge,
And in the front of both the armed hosts
Will slay or turn the bull!
[_All exclaim_ “Bravo!”]
[_Exit_ BENHALE.

KING EDWARD.

Nobles, unto the camp. [_Exeunt._
[_Flourish of Trumpets, &c._

SCENE III.

_A Plain between the front of the two Armies at Halidon-hill._

[_Martial Music heard at a distance._

_Enter_ SIR RICHARD BENHALE. TURNBULL _comes from the opposite side of
the Stage, attended by a huge Mastiff_.

BENHALE.

I came to fight with men and not with dogs.

TURNBULL.

I came to fight a man and not a pup!

BENHALE.

Were thy hide like the mail’d rhinoceros;
Thy brawny arms like Hercules’ strangling serpents;
Thy ample shoulders like gigantic Atlas
With the globe on his back, I would not shrink,
But with this little arm and trusty sword
Teach thee to temper speech with more politeness.

TURNBULL.

Foam not nor fret not thus, thou baby knight,
The champion of some whorish dame of Norfolk
Fed upon turkies by some foolish housewife.
Ho! Towser, seize him: shake his silken doublet,
And dine upon his brains,—if brains there be
Within his egg-shell skull.

BENHALE.

Down with thee, brute!——
[_The Dog attacks the Knight, who, with one
blow across the loins, severs the hinder-legs
from the body._
Thus will I chop your ruffian of a master. [_They fight._

TURNBULL.

Thou art a well-built piece of painted clay,
With bones and sinews in thy dext’rous arm;
Now feel my mountain-strength, that crushes thee
Like a cobweb, since you’ve destroy’d my idol,
My precious dog!

BENHALE.

Not, ruffian, till you feel
The venom of my sting unto your marrow!

[BENHALE, _with skill and dexterity, avoids the
blows of his antagonist, who nearly overturns
himself by a false stroke; the Knight, improving
the opportunity, cuts off his opponent’s
left arm_.
What think ye, braggart! of our English pups,
Now that ye feel their claws?
[_Shouts from the English._

TURNBULL (_recovering._)

Thou wicked one,
Nursed by some imp of hell; hence musket-proof,
With Satan’s phiz embroider’d on your vest!
Confess yourself a fiend, nor urge a strife
Unequal. [_They both rest on their swords._

BENHALE.

Hadst thou met me as a knight,
With courtesy of arms, on equal ground,
Nor sought to brute and worry me with dogs
Too like yourself, I should have spared you now;
But thou must die: the army has decided
The fate of him whose vanquish’d—St George for England! [_They fight._

TURNBULL.

I did but sport with thee, thou baby knight!
And thus I dash your maggot soul to atoms.
[_After a fierce combat_, BENHALE _is nearly
worsted, when, by a dexterous pass, he stabs
his opponent, who falls_.
H! hast thou master’d me? I scorn thee still;
Oh! that my voice might rouse my murder’d mastiff
T’ avenge my death!—I but regret to perish
By such a puny hand. Revenge me, Scots! [_Dies._

BENHALE.

Ye Scots! behold your champion slain, and tremble:
As the bull’s head, when set at baron’s banquet,
So nicely deck’d with garlands and rosemary,
Foretells assassination to the guest;
So this gigantic head upon my spear,
Which as a garland on my crest I’ll wear,
[_He cuts off his opponent’s head, and places it on
his spear._
Foretells defeat, destruction to your army,
God save the king!

[_Shouts from the English, accompanied with
execrations from the Scots. The armies now
mutually engage, and the scene closes._

SCENE IV.

_A Council Chamber in the Castle._

_Enter_ LORD DUNBAR, SIR ALEXANDER SETON, SIR ALEXANDER RAMSAY, _&c._

SETON.

The messenger return’d, says, All is lost!
The Regent mortally wounded; aged Lennox,
With the Earls of Ross, Monteith, and Sutherland,
Carrick and Athole, with the gallant Stewart,
And knights unnumber’d, (what a fearful catalogue!)
With fourteen thousand commoners, are slain!
O, would to Heaven, that we had render’d sooner,
It might have saved my son; now God preserve
My wife from Edward’s vengeance.

DUNBAR.

My nobles, now, we must go strike the flag
Ere ’tis pulled down! and by capitulation
Seek to secure our rights, if not too late,
And save the city from the mercenaries!

RAMSAY.

Scotland is like a mighty cataract,
That bears the weight of navies on its bosom,
And hurls them to destruction. When divided
In many petty streams, it frets, and foams,
And wastes itself away like idle spray,
And does no execution. Were thy nobles
United, they might brave the power of Edward;
But thy proud barons leagued against each other,
Destroy their country and defeat themselves,
The victims of extremes. I will not stay
To bow to Edward; but, with a few friends,
Will cut my way through the victorious hosts,
Were they thrice doubled, and shall meet the war
That soon must burst upon thy towers, Dunbar!

DUNBAR.

Go, faithful Ramsay, aid my noble wife
In this most perilous time; for though the blood
Of Randolph warms her veins, she’s but a woman
Who needs thy manly counsel—warriors arm
To aid defensive measures; since the traitor
Too often lurks beneath a friendly mask
In these sad times, to aid the cunning foe.
If possible, escort the Lady Seton
To place of safety.

RAMSAY.

’Tis impracticable!
Since I must take the high road to Dunbar;
But were her ladyship at Colbrand’s path
I’d guarantee her safety.

DUNBAR.

See to this,
Good Seton; seek the aid of Prendergest.

RAMSAY.

The soldier, Aubery, knows each secret path
By shady Pease.

SETON.

Well thought! sir knights, I speed;
For time, alas! has turn’d an arrant racer,
And flies with winged speed towards his goal.
[_Exit_ SETON.

DUNBAR.

My gallant Ramsay, tell my noble wife
To be of cheer, her castle is impregnable,
Which if she cannot keep, let her destroy!
Tell her to hold out though her lord may yield
To suit occasion; so may we deceive
Edward, and trick the treacherous.

RAMSAY.

Trust me, my lord.—I go; for, hark! these shouts
Announce the foe. [_Exeunt._

SCENE V.

_Port St Mary, and Front of the Walls of Berwick._

_The Scots Army being totally defeated at Halidon-hill, the English
renew the Siege of Berwick. While one party is engaged at the
Barriers, another, by means of a huge machine, escalades the Walls.
The Scots, thrown into confusion, retire into the Castle. A Female,
pursued by an Archer, runs across the stage; he discharges his
arrow, upon which she falls on her knees in the attitude of
supplication._

ARCHER.

Yield thee, my buxom maid! if thou art maid,
And art not mad; else, shall thy stubborn soul
Become the forfeit; which ’twere sad to lose,
Seeing thy sinful person’s better fitted
For me!—
[_The Female’s Cap and Scarf falling off, discovers
the bald head of a Dominican Friar._

FRIAR ADAM.

O misericordie! help, St Dominic! Would that I were hid in the Pigeon’s Cove.

ARCHER.

Nay, down, old poltron, down! unto the death;
Since I must take your life for your deceit.
Ecclesiastics always come between
The soldier and his heaven!

FRIAR ADAM.

Help, Dominic!
It were not worth thy while to kill a friar,
Since thou may’st profit by his safe condition.

ARCHER.

How, fellow, say; I cannot brook delay,
My comrades fast advance to share the booty.

FRIAR ADAM.

Spare me, and I will purchase absolution
For your sad soul by penitence and prayer.

ARCHER.

Old poltron, damn your church’s absolution!
What ’vaileth that to me at such a time!
Since all the holy waves of Christendom,
With thy long hypocritical prayers to boot,
Won’t purchase my salvation. During peace
_You_ fatten on a country; may not _we_
In time of war pick up some prize-money,
Seeing that killing in our trade’s no murder!
Give me substantial stuff, or die, old rogue!

[_The Friar drops a Purse, and appears to swoon;
the Archer passes on. The Friar makes his
escape as a Storming Party comes up._

SCENE VI.

_The Flemings’ Tower._

_Enter a_ STORMING PARTY.

CAPTAIN.

Heavens! these brave fellows, in that lofty tower
Have entrench’d themselves admirably.

LIEUTENANT.

These are Flemings,
Merchants of Flanders, tenants of the tower;
Here must be gold in store!

CAPTAIN.

We might as well
Besiege the heav’ns, as seek by physical force
To conquer these. We must make bees of them
For their rich honey-combs, and smoke them out.

LIEUTENANT.

Even so; but first we speak them a fair chance.—
Ho! in the name of England’s king surrender!
Open your gates; so shall your lives be spared,
Your goods protected!

A FLEMING.

We have proved you well:
Too well, alas! to take you at your word:
Here, loyal subjects of King David Bruce,
We do defend this tower—with it ourselves;
While blood is in our veins, heads on our shoulders,
Strength in our arms, we do defy you here.

CAPTAIN.

Then we shall roast you out, ye churlish knaves;
Even as ye would the bear upon your pennon,
Were he eatable!

A FLEMING.

We do not lack provisions,
Nor ammunition neither; on the moment
When you apply the torch we blow this tower
To heaven, and you to hell.

CAPTAIN.

Come! fire the gate,
And smoke these vermin out!
[_The Soldiers’ fire the Gate, while the Flanders
Merchants spring a Mine, which blows up the
Tower, and scatters destruction in every direction.—The
Soldiers run._
Ha! there they go,
Like rockets to the skies! Let’s save ourselves. [_Exeunt._

_Enter an_ OLD MAN _with his_ DAUGHTER.

OLD MAN.

Nay, leave me here, dear Anna! life is sweet
To one so young as thee, but not to me,
Laden with age, infirmity, disease.
Leave me, and save your person and your honour;
I hope the lady’s safe?

ANNA.

She is, thank Heaven!
Hid in a friar’s disguise she pass’d the army;
’Twill not be well for Edward if he meets her;
She wears a sharpen’d dagger in her bosom,
As I do now, which I too soon may use.
[_A Soldier comes up and seizes the Female, while
the_ OLD MAN _grapples with him_.

SOLDIER.

Nay, greybeard, do not seek to grapple youth;
As well might ivy wrestle with the oak
To be thus crush’d,—down! down!
[_The_ OLD MAN _is thrown_.

OLD MAN.

Oh! spare my daughter!
And I forgive thee. [_Dies._

SOLDIER.

There, thou hoary rogue!
Green trees will often snap before old trunks;
But I have master’d thee.—Come, pretty maid!
[_While he gazes on the_ OLD MAN, _she stabs him
behind_.

ANNA.

There, monster! take thou that; I joy to see
Thine agonies, thou murderer of my father!
He wings to heav’n, while you descend to hell!

SOLDIER.

Oh! thou hast murder’d me, thou cruel maid!
Hear me before I die: I am a Scot,
Though drest (I blush to say’t,) in English garb.
Take this last token; and, if e’er you meet
With Anna Harrison give her this ring;
Say ’twas bequeath’d her by a dying sister!
I die, die! [_He dies._

ANNA.

My sister’s husband! damned, damned war!
That thus destroys consanguinity!
I never can survive this horrid deed,
But bare my breast to the first spear I meet.
[_Weeps over her Father’s body._
Poor, aged man! how cold and stiff art thou! [_Exit._

_Enter_ LORD MONTAGUE _with another Party_.

MONTAGUE.

Hurra! brave men! on to the citadel;
The town is won, and now our task is done;
The stubborn Scot at last beats the chamade,
And sounds a parley.

D’ARCY.

They deserve no quarter!
I would not bet a groat, that they do wear
The heads they wear, even now another day. [_Exeunt._