_Provost Ramsay_.--Really, Sir Alexander, I dinna ken hoo to advise you. To think o' gien up the toun to sic a monster o' iniquity, is entirely out o' the question--just impossible a'thegither; and to think o' the twa dear brave bairns sufferin', is just as impossible as to flee in the air. I tell ye what, my lord--and it is my opinion it is a very fair proposal (if naething but deaths will satisfy your king)--I, for ane, will die in their stead--their faither will for anither; and is there ane amang _you_, my townsmen, that winna do the same, and let your names be handed down as heroes to your bairns' bairns, and the last generation? _Percy_.--Thou hast a noble heart, old honest Scotsman; but I cannot accept your generous offer. _Lady Seton_.--Mark this, my husband!--that we may still be parents-- That we might have two sons to _live and scorn us_-- Sell country--honour--all--and live disgraced: Think ye MY SONS would call a _traitor_ father?-- They drew their life from _me_--from _me_ they drew it; And think ye I would call a _traitor husband?_-- What! would ye have them live, that every slave, In banquet or in battle, might exclaim, "For you, ye hinds, your father sold his country?" Or, would you have them live, that no man's daughter Would stoop so low as call your sons her husband? Would you behold them hooted, hissed at, Oft, as they crossed the street, by every urchin? Would ye your sons--your _noble_ sons--met this, Eather than die for Scotland? If ye do love them, Love them as a _man_! _Sir Alex_.--'Tis done! my country, thou hast made me bankrupt! And I am childless! _[Exeunt_ SCENE VIII.--_The river, and boat. Time midnight. Enter one habited as a friar_. _Friar_.---'Tis now thick midnight. All round me sleep, And not a star looks from the curtained heaven. The very sentinels cease to pace their round, And stand in calm security. I'll brave them. What though the bridge be guarded, and the river Rush like a tiger?--love has no such fears, And Heaven is stronger than its waters! _[A bell tolls slowly_. Ha! that slow-tongued bell, that speaks of death, Falls on my ears as would a solid substance, Pressing my heart down! Oh cruel speed! Already they prepare their execution! But they shall live, or I with them shall die! THOU, who beholdest me, and lookest through The darkness of Thy heavens upon Thy suppliant, Let not a tyrant stain Thy earth with blood-- The blood of innocence! Thou, who art mercy, Spare a father's tears! Thou, who art love, Look on a mother's anguish! Thou, who art justice, Save! oh, save their children! Thou, who art power, Strengthen my hands to-night. _[Rises._ Now, may an angel's hand direct my skiff Straight to their camp, till with one blow I strike Their freedom and my country's! _[He leaps into the boat and pushes off_. SCENE IX.--_The English camp. A fire in the distance. Enter_ HENRY _and_ RICHARD, _fettered and guarded_.