Percy.—'Tis monstrous generous of our friendly Scot; And what return expects he for his service?
Edward.—On giving up the father's head—his place.
Percy.—I fear the lady will have his head first.
Did you but see her eyes!
I'd bet my coronet 'gainst our friar's cowl,
Man wink not treason in his bedchamber
But she detect it. Then her ears, again;
'Sdeath! she can hear the very sound of light
As it does steal, i' the morning, through her curtains.
Should our friend wear his head another week,
His neck, I'll swear, is not as other men's are.
Edward.—How fares it with the son, our silent prisoner?
Percy.—Poor soul, he leans his head against the wall,
And stands with his arms thus—across his breast—
Pale as a gravestone, gnashing at his teeth,
And looking on his guards just as his mother would!
Edward.—'Tis now the hour that Elliot has proposed
To stir the townsmen up to mutiny.
Take our conditions, and whatever you please;
Get but the son as hostage!—get but that!
And both shall die a thief's death if he yield not;
He is a father, Percy—he's a father!
The town is ours, and at an easy purchase. [Exit
Percy.—And she's a mother, Edward! she's a mother!
Ay! and a mother; I will pledge my earldom,
And be but plain Hal Percy all my life,
If she despise not gallows, death, and children,
And earn for thee a crown of shame, my master!
In sooth, I am ashamed to draw my sword,
Lest I should see my face in its bright blade;
For sure my mother would not know her son,
As he goes blushing on his hangman's errand.
SCENE VI.—A Street—_the Market-place.
Enter_ ELLIOT and Populace.
Elliot—You heard, my townsmen, how our gracious governor
Did talk to us of honour—! you all heard him!
Can any of you tell us what is honour?
He drinks his wine, he feeds on beeves and capons;
His table groans beneath a load of meats;
His hounds, his hawks, are fed like Christian men!
He sleeps in a downy couch, o'erhung with purple;
And these, all these are honourable doings!
He talks of liberty!
Is it, then, liberty to be cooped up
Within these prison walls, to starve from want,
That we may have the liberty—mark it, my friends!—
The wondrous liberty to call him Governor?
Had ye the hearts or hands your fathers had,
You'd to the castle, take the keys by force,
And ope the gates to let your children live.
Here comes your provost—now appeal to him.