I can not blame the Scots that did besiege her,
For she is all the treasure of our land;
But call them cowards that they ran away,
Having so rich and fair a cause to stay.
* * * * * *
Countess. Sorry am I to see my liege so sad;
What may thy subject do to drive from thee
This gloomy consort, sullen Melancholy?
Edward. Ah, Lady! I am blunt and can not straw
The flowers of solace in a ground of shame.