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!