That Edward may be vantageless in that. Then fight for Edward--with your puissance, fight. Fife. I think you're mad. This pertinacity, Which you intend shall urge me to comply-- Which you conceive no doubt a sign of strength, But which I judge a sign of vanity-- Is one of women's weapons, well-approved, With which she jags to death a stronger will. But my resolve is harnessed, and your dart Turns off it blunt--and spent I hope. Buchan. You hear; I said you could not move him.--Come away-- I'm sorry you have set your mind on this. [Fife and Buchan go out. Countess of Buchan. To toss my hair, to weep, to rate my maid, Are small reliefs I ne'er resorted to; And now I must do something notable. What if I went and crowned the Bruce myself? Ah! here's a thought that's like a draught of wine! My brother whose the office is, resiles: Mine--mine it is!--But how?--but if I did? Their tongues, their tongues! their foul imaginings! Is the world wicked as its thought is? Love? There's no one would believe me if I vowed Upon my deathbed, between heaven and earth, I understand no meaning in the word. Maidens have lovers, and they sigh and wake; Wives love their husbands, and they wake and weep: But never, never have I loved a man As I see women love--with bursting hearts, With fire and snow at variance in their cheeks, With arching smiles, the heraldry of joy, Whose rainbow shadows shine on hot, hard tears; With cruel passion, dying ecstasy, With rapture of the resurrection morn. I have not loved. It may be to my shame, But justly to the world's, condemning me For deeds no cause could work me to commit. If I take horse to Scone, farewell my fame, Which halts yet at the threshold. Who's this? Enter James Crombe.