Friends, Good morning. Let me see your eyes.--Randolf, You have not slept.--Sir James, perhaps you have! Your eyes were never dull.--What, half awake! Why, Walter, love, if not anxiety, Should have kept watch in that young head of yours! Brother, I know you slept. Edward Bruce. Why should I not? I thanked God for the error that I made In giving respite to the garrison, Since it has brought us to this desperate pass Where we must conquer. Then I slept, and dreamt; And wakened, laughing at I know not what. Randolf. I had no sleep. This would not leave my mind, That we were one to five. Bruce. Why Randolf, shame! You are the last who should complain of that. What good knight was it, like a water-drop, Lost shape and being in an English sea, Which found him out a rock, but yesterday? Why man, you are my cousin, Thomas Randolf; And this is Douglas; this, my brother Edward; We are men who have done deeds, God helping us. God helping us, we'll do a deed to-day! Randolf. I do not fear; but, lonely, in the night I could not see how we must win. Bruce. No! come. [They go to the door of the tent and look out. I see the battle as it will be fought. The sun climbs up behind us: if he shine, His beams will strike on English eyes. Look there! The earth throws off her mourning nightly weed; And the fresh dawn, her bowermaid, coyly comes To veil her with the morning, like a bride Worthy the sun's embrace. This fight you dread, Regard it as a happy tournament Played at the marriage of the fragrant world, If the full weight and awe of its intent Press on you too o'erwhelmingly. Randolf. Not I. I'd rather lose the fight for what it is, Than win it jestingly. Bruce. Well said! The night, That filled you with its gloom, out of your blood Exhales, and it is day. Imagine, now: Between high Stirling and the Bannock stream, Whose silvery streak hot blood will tarnish soon, Four battles stand. To westward, Edward's charge, Douglas and Walter to the north and east, Randolf, the doubter, in the central van; I keep the second ward. Pent in this space We cannot be unflanked, the river's gorge On this wing, and on that, calthrops and pits. The English archers scattered--Edward's task-- There but remains to stand, while yonder host, Which leaves its revel only now, shall twine, And knot, entangled in its proper coils, Crammed in a cage too small for such a bulk, Such sinuous length, such strength, to bustle in, Save to its own confusion and dismay. Speak I not reasonably, and quietly? Randolf. Too quietly for me! Why, in this trap, This coffin, they shall die for want of air! Edward Bruce. It is too cheap a victory! Douglas. When won, I hope we may not find it all too dear. [Bagpipes, drums, trumpets. Bruce. Ha! now the din begins! My blood is lit!