"Of thy mis-proud[314] ambitious clan,
Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man,
The only man, in whom a foe
My woman mercy would not know:
But shall a Monarch’s presence brook
Injurious blow, and haughty look?—
What ho! the Captain of our Guard!
Give the offender fitting ward.—
Break off the sports!”—for tumult rose,
And yeomen ’gan to bend their bows,—