Provost Ramsay.—­Indeed, Mr. Elliot, if ye refer to me, I’m witness to naething o’ the kind; for it is my solemn opinion, a’ the execution your sword did was as feckless as a winnle-strae.

Sir Alex.—­Where is my poor boy’s body?

Elliot.—­I did not say he died.

Richard.—­Not dead!

Sir Alex.—­Not say he died?

Elliot.—­See yonder group now hurrying to the camp, And shouting as they run.  He is their prisoner! [Aside] Feed ye, friends, on that.

Sir Alex.—­Cold-blooded man! them never wert a father. 
The tyrant is! he knows a father’s heart;
And he will play the butcher’s part with mine! 
Each day inflicting on me many deaths,
Knowing right well I am his twofold prisoner;
For on the son’s head he’ll repay, with interest,
The wrongs the father did him! 
“He is their prisoner,” saidst thou?” Is their prisoner!”
Thou hast no sons!—­none!—­I forgive thee, Elliot!

Elliot.—­Deeply I crave your pardon, noble sir;
Pity for you, and love for Scotland, made me
That I was loath to speak the unwelcome tidings;
Fearful that to attempt his rescue now,
Had so cut off our few remaining troops,
As seal immediate ruin.

Provost Ramsay [aside].—­Preserve us a’! hear that.  Weel, to be sure, it’s a true saying, “Satan never lets his saunts be at a loss for an answer!”

SCENE V.—­Apartment in EDWARD’S Tent.

Enter EDWARD and PERCY.

Edward.—­How fares it with these stubborn rebels now?  Do they still talk of death as of a bridal, While we protract the ceremony?

Percy.—­I learn, my liege, we’ve got two glorious allies—­ Two most right honourable gentlemen—­ Aiding the smooth-tongued orator:  Disease and Famine have espoused our cause, And the said traitor Elliot is their oracle.

Edward.—­Touching this man, we have advice from him,
In which he speaketh much concerns the wants
And murmurings of the citizens:  he, too,
Adds, they hold out expecting help from Douglas,
And recommendeth that we should demand
The other son of Seton as a hostage,
In virtue of a truce for fourteen days: 
This is his snare.  The sons once in his power,
Their father yields, or both hang up before him.

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.