To fail in your unholy enterprise. For destiny, whose servant Nature is, Ordained by the creation of this land-- So long sore vexed by chance, fate's enemy, With heptarchies, divisions, kings and clans-- That one king and one people here should dwell, Clasped in the sea's embrace, happy and safe As heaven is, anchored in eternity. In fighting me you fought fate's champion, Anointed with the fitness of the time, And with the strength of his desire inspired, To finish Nature's work in Albion. You, paltry minion of a band of knaves, In name of patriotism--which in this case Was in the devil's name--fought against God; The coming of His kingdom hindered here. Now His sure vengeance has o'ertaken you, And over both our lands His sweet peace reigns. Wallace. Eternal God, record this blasphemy! Who doubts our lands are destined to be one? Who does not pray for that accomplishment! Why! Know you not that is the period, The ultimate effect I battled for, That you, free English, and that we, free Scots, May one day be free Britons. And we shall; For Scotland never will be tributary: We are your equals, not to be enslaved; We are your kin, your brothers, to be loved. Time is not ripe: fate's crescent purposes, Like aloe-trees, bloom not by forcing them; But seasonable changes, mellowing years, Elaborative ages, must mature The destined blossoms. Listen, king and lords; Here is a thing worthy remembering, And which perhaps you never rightly knew: Duty is always to the owner done; And the immediate debtor wisely pays: The heritage of duty unperformed Increases out of sight of usury. Restore to Scotland freedom. Do that, king, Or it will be required from you or yours With woeful interest.--I have done. I feared I might not find a way to speak these truths, Having no nimble tongue, and die oppressed With warning unpronounced. I truly thought I could command a hearing had I words. Death now, the due of all, my triumph, waits. Edward I. The witnesses, Sir Peter Mallorie; Your accusation now is needless. Mallorie. Sire, Hugh Beaumont is the first. He'll testify Of early deeds in the arch-traitor's life. He is an old man now and garrulous: A gentleman withal, whose gentle blood Stood him in little stead, when windy youth Had sown itself, and whirling poverty Down to the barren common dashed his head. So with his sword he battened as he might, And valour was his star. Let him have scope, For he has much to say. [Hugh Beaumont is led in. Inform the king As strictly as to God of all that passed Between you and the prisoner. Edward I. Speak the truth. Beaumont. Your gracious majesty, what I can tell Is liker fable; but the noble knight, The prisoner, will acknowledge all I say: Much of it honours him.--To Ayr he came One day, disguised, with hat down, cloak pulled up. There as he paced the street, Lord Percy's man Seized on some fish a burgher just had bought;