And am I not still fatherless! Swin. Gordon, no; For while we live, I am a father to thee. Gor. Thou, Swinton? no! that cannot, cannot be. Swin. Then change the phrase, and say, that Gordon shall be my son. If thou art fatherless, Gor. My hand and heart!-And freely nowto fight! Vip. How will you act? [To SWINTON.] The Are in the rearward left, I think, in scorn. Sidelong the hill-some winding path there must be. Per. The Scots still keep the hill-the sun grows high. Would that the charge would sound! Chan. Thou scent'st the slaughter, Percy. Who comes here? Enter the ABBOT OF WALTHAMSTOW. Now, by my life, the holy priest of Walthamstow, Like to a lamb among a herd of wolves! See, he's about to bleat. Ab. The king, methinks, delays the onset long. Chan. Your general, father, like your ratcatcher, Pauses to bait his traps, and set his snares. Reverend sir, Per. Chandos, you give your tongue too bold a license. Chan. Percy, I am a necessary evil. King Edward would not want me, if he could, And could not, if he would. I know my value; My heavy hand excuses my light tongue. So men wear weighty swords in their defence, HOB HATTELY starts up from a thicket. Although they may offend the tender shin, Hob. So here he stands.-An ancient friend, sir When the steel boot is doff'd. O, for a well-skill'd guide! `Alan. Hob Hattely, or, if you like it better, Hob of the Heron Plume, here stands your guide! Swin. An ancient friend?-A most notorious knave, Whose throat I've destined to the dodder'd oak Before my castle, these ten months and more. Was it not you, who drove from Simprim-mains, And Swinton-quarter, sixty head of cattle? Hob. What then? If now I lead your sixty lances Upon the English flank, where they'll find spoil Is worth six hundred beeves? Swin. Why, thou canst do it, knave. I would not trust thee With one poor bullock; yet would risk my life, And all my followers, on thine honest guidance. Hob. There is a dingle, and a most discreet one, (I've trod each step by starlight,) that sweeps round The rearward of this hill, and opens secretly Swin. Bravely, bravely! Gor. Mount, sirs, and cry my slogan. Let all who love the Gordon follow me! Swin. Ay, let all follow-but in silence follow. Scare not the hare that's couchant on her form The cushat from her nest-brush not, if possible, The dew-drop from the spray Let no one whisper, until I cry, "Havoc!" ye Ab. My lord of Chandos, Chan. I thank you, father, filially, Ab. No composition; I'll have all or none. And trust my sinful soul to heaven's mercy, Ab. Impious-impenitent Per. Hush! the king-the king! Enter KING EDWARD, attended by BALIOL, an others. They are marching thither. K. Ed. Bid them make haste, for shame-send a quick rider. The loitering knaves, were it to steal my venison, Their steps were light enough.-How now, sir abbot? Say, is your reverence come to study with us Ab. I've had a lecture from my lord of Chandos, not answer On that nice point. We must observe his humour.Addresses the KING. Your first campaign, my liege?—That was in Weardale, When Douglas gave our camp yon midnight ruffle, And turn'd men's beds to biers. K. Ed. Ay, by saint Edward!-I escaped right nearly. 1 was a soldier then for holidays, And slept not in mine armour: my safe rest [Whispers. Ab. That Swinton's dead, a monk of ours reported, Bound homeward from saint Ninian's pilgrimage, The lord of Gordon slew him. Per. Father, and if your house stood on our borders, You might have cause to know that Swinton lives, And is on horseback yet. Chan. He slew the Gordon, That's all the difference-a very trifle. Ab. Trifling to those who wage a war more noble Than with the arm of flesh. Chan. (apart.) The abbot's vex'd, I'll rub the sore for him. (Aloud.) I have used that arm of flesh, Ab. It was most sinful, being against the canon King. (overhearing the last words.) Who may rue? And what is to be rued? Chan. (apart.) I'll match his reverence for the tithes of Everingham. The abbot says, my liege, the deed was sinful King. (to the ABBOT.) Say'st thou my chaplain is in purgatory? Ab. It is the canon speaks it, good my liege. King. In purgatory! thou shalt pray him out on't, Or I will make thee wish thyself beside him. Ab. My lord, perchance his soul is past the aid Of all the church may do-there is a place From which there's no redemption. King. And if I thought my faithful chaplain there, Thou shouldst there join him, priest!-Go, watch, fast, pray, And let me have such prayers as will storm hea Chan. Wilt thou compound, then, The tithes of Everingham? King. I tell thee, if thou bear'st the keys of heaven, Abbot, thou shalt not turn a bolt with them 'Gainst any well-deserving English subject. Ab. (to CHANDOS.) We will compound, and grant thee, too, a share I' the next indulgence. Thou dost need it much. Chan. Enough—we're friends, and when occasion serves, I will strike in. [Looks as if towards the Scottish army. King. Answer, proud abbot, is my chaplain's soul, If thou knowest aught on't, in the evil place? Chan. My liege, the Yorkshire men have gain'd the meadow. 1 see the pennon green of merry Sherwood. King. Then give the signal instant. We have lost But too much time already. Ab. My liege, your holy chaplain's blessed soul King. To hell with it, and thee! Is this a time To speak of monks and chaplains? [Flourish of trumpets, answered by a distans sound of bugles. See, Chandos, Percy-Ha, saint George! saint Edward! See it descending now, the fatal bail shower, The storm of England's wrath--sure, swift, re sistless, Which no mail-coat can brook. Brave English hearts! Darkens the air, and hides the sun from us. King. It falls on those shall see the sun no more. Per. Horses and riders are going down together. Bal. I could weep them, Although they are my rebels. Chan. (aside to PERCY.) His conquerors, he means, who cast him out From his usurp'd kingdom. (Aloud.) 'Tis the That knights can claim small honour in the field King. The battle is not ended. [Looks towards Not ended!-scarce begun!--What horse are these, Per. They're Hainaulters, the followers of queen And by that token bid him send us succour. Had well nigh borne me down, sir Alan smote I cannot send his helmet, never nutshell Swin. Ay, breathe your horses, they'll have For Edward's men-at-arms will soon be on us, Vip. It is because I hold a templar's sword A Scottish blade more bravely? Vip. Even therefore grieve I for those gallant England's peculiar and appropriate sons, King. (hastily.) Hainaulters!—thou art blind-And field as free as the best lord his barony, wear Hainaulters Saint Andrew's silver cross?—or would they charge Ribau. Most royal liege King. A rose hath fallen from thy chaplet,' Ri baumont. Ribau. I'll win it back, or lay my head beside it. And to the rescue! Percy, lead the bill-men; Owing subjection to no human vassalage, Leading the van on every day of battle, As men who know the blessings they defend. ness Veil'd in such low estate-therefore I mourn them. Gor. And if I live and see my halls again, They shall have portion in the good they fight for. Each hardy follower shall have his field, We may need good men's prayers. To the rescue, His household hearth and sod-built home, as free Lords, to the rescue! ha, saint George! saint Ed-As ever southron had. They shall be happy! And my Elizabeth shall smile to see it! I have betray'd myself. ward! SCENE II. [Exeunt. A part of the Field of Battle betwixt the two Main Armies; tumults behind the scenes; alarms, and cries of "Gordon! a Gordon!" "Swinton!" &c. Enter, as victorious over the English van-guard, VIPONT, REYNALD, and others. Vip. 'Tis sweet to hear these war-eries sound together, Gordon and Swinton. Rey. 'Tis passing pleasant, yet 'tis strange withal. Enter SWINTON and GORDON. Swin. let the men rally, and restore their ranks Swin. Do not believe it. Vipont, do thou look out from yonder height, Gor. Must I then speak of her to you, sir Alan? Gor. Nay, then, her name is hark Whispers. house. Gor. O, thou shalt see its fairest grace and ho- In my Elizabeth. And if music touch thee Shall hush each sad remembrance to oblivion, And choicest homage render to th' enchantress. Though you smile, Swin. Where are thine, De Vipont? Swin. There moves not then one pennon to our O all that flutter yonder? Vip. From the main English host come rushing Pennons enow-ay, and their royal standard. Must it be so? Swin. That music sounds not like thy lady's lute. Gor. Yet shall my lady's name mix with it gayly. Mount, vassals, couch your lances, and cry, "Gordon! Gordon for Scotland and Elizabeth!" [Exeunt. Loud alarum. You want no homeward guide; so threw my reins [Exeunt. Loud and long alarums. After Spur to the regent-show the instant need- ry Thy leader in the battle?-I command thee. Gor. No, thou wilt not command me seek my For such is thy kind meaning, at the expense While I abide, no follower of mine Will turn his rein for life; but were I gone, What sword shall for an instant stem yon host, Vip. The noble youth speaks truth; and were he gone, Gor. No, bravely as we have begun the field, And hie to distant harvest. My toil's over; Shall never, never wield it! Gor. O valiant leader, is thy light extinguish'd! Swin. My lamp hath long been dim. But thine, Just kindled, to be quench'd so suddenly, Gor. Five thousand horse hung idly on yon hill, Which framed this day of dole for our poor coun- Had thy brave father held yon leading staff, Gor. Alas! Alas! the author of the death-feud, Swm. May God assoil the dead, and him who follows! We've drank the poison'd beverage which we brew'd; Have sown the wind, and reap'd the tenfold whirlwind! But thou, brave youth, whose nobleness of heart Pour'd oil upon the wounds our hate inflicted; Thou, who hast done no wrong, need'st no forgiveness, Why should'st thou share our punishment? Gor. All need forgiveness-[distant alarums]Hark! in yonder shout Did the main battles counter! Swin. Look on the field, brave Gordon, if thou canst, And tell me how the day goes. But I guess, Gor. All's lost! all's lost! Of the main Scottish Some wildly fly, and some rush wildly forward; And some there are who seem to turn their spears Against their countrymen. Swin. Rashness, and cowardice, and secret treason, Combine to ruin us; and our hot valour, I'm glad that these dim eyes shall see no more on't. Let thy hand close them, Gordon-I will think My fair-hair'd William renders me that office! [Dies. Gor. And, Swinton, I will think I do that duty To my dead father. Enter DE VIPONT. Vip. Fly, fly, brave youth! A handful of thy followers, The scattered gleaning of this desperate day, Gor. Look there, and bid me fly!-The oak has fallen! And the young ivy bush, which learn'd to climb By its support, must needs partake its fall! Vip. Swinton alas! the best, the bravest, strongest, And sagest of our Scottish chivalry! think thee, Thou dost but stay to perish with the corpse Gor. Ay, but he was my sire in chivalry! Vip. Nay, without thee, I stir not. Enter EDWARD, CHANDOS, PERCY, BALIOL, &c. Gor. Ay, they come on, the tyrant and the traitor, Workman and tool, Plantagenet and Baliol. King. Disarm them-harm them not; though it was they Made havoc on the archers of our van-guard, They and that bulky champion. Where is he? Chan. Here lies the giant! Say his name, young knight! Gor. Let it suffice, he was a man this morning. Chan. I question'd thee in sport. I do not need Thy information, youth. Who that has fought Through all these Scottish wars, but knows that crest, The sable boar chain'd to the leafy oak, And that huge mace still seen where war was wildest. Grim chamberlain, who in my tent at Weardale, Gor. (sinking down.) If thus thou know'st him, Thou wilt respect his corpse. King. As belted knight and crowned king, I will Sleep at his side, in token that our death Gor. Nothing but this: Let not base Baliol, with his touch or look, Profane my corpse or Swinton's. I've some breath still, Enough to say-Scotland-Elizabeth! [Dies. Chan. Baliol, I would not brook such dying looks To buy the crown you aim at. King, (to VIPONT.) Vipont, thy crossed shield shows ill in warfare Against a christian king. Vip. That christian King is warring upon Scot land. 2. I was a Scotsman ere I was a templar.-P. 399. A Venetian general observing his soldiers testified some unwillingness to fight against those of the pope, whom they regarded as father of the church, addressed them in terms of similar en[He rushes on the English, but is couragement:-"Fight on! we were Venetians made prisoner with VIPONT. before we were christians." |