Fife. Brooding again! Pluck up some sprightliness, for I have news. Pembroke has routed Bruce in Methven wood, And captured many leading rebels. Bruce, Who showed himself a gallant warrior, Proved in retreat wise as a veteran, Escaping to the North. Buchan. My wife? Fife. They say That she and other ladies northward too In Nigel Bruce's charge escaped with speed. Buchan. And is this sure? Fife. I well believe it. Come, Question the man who told me. Buchan. If it's true We'll join our powers and hunt the rebels down Like noxious vermin, as they are. Fife. Be cool. What means this bitter passion? Buchan. Am I hot? But you'll combine with me? Fife. Assuredly: It is a noble chase; the quarry, game To wind us over Scotland. Tally-ho! Buchan. Now you are thoughtless. Come, the messenger. [They go out. SCENE II.--The Wood of Drome. Scotch soldiers about a watch-fire. 1st Soldier. What clouted loons we are! Royal beadsmen! Eh? 2nd Soldier. The king's as ragged as the rest. 1st Soldier. That's true. to-day I hunted with him, and I thought, Seeing his doublet loop-holed, frayed, and fringed; His swaddled legs and home-made shoes of pelt; His barbarous beard and hair, and freckled face, That manhood's surely more than royalty; For through this weedy, nettle-grown decay, A majesty appeared that distanced us, Even as a ruined palace overbears A hamlet's desolation. Enter Bruce, unperceived.