ester and Mowbray, you are John's sworn friends;
Will you see more? speak, answer me, my lords.
I am no niggard, you shall have your fill.

BOTH. We have too much, and surfeit with the woe.

BRUCE. Are you all full? there comes a ravening kite,
That both at quick, at dead, at all will smite.
He shall, he must; ay, and by'r Lady, may
Command me to give over holiday,
And set wide open what you would not see.

KING. Why stand ye, lords, and see this traitor perch'd
Upon our castle's battlements so proud?
Come down, young Bruce, set ope the castle-gates;
Unto thy sov'reign let thy knee be bow'd,
And mercy shall be given to thee and thine.

BRUCE. O miserable thing!
Comes mercy from the mouth of John our king?
Why then, belike, hell will be pitiful.
I will not ope the gates--the gate I will;
The gate where thy shame and my sorrow sits.
See my dead mother and her famish'd son!
[_Opens a casement, showing the dead bodies within_.]
Open thy tyrant's eyes, for to the world
I will lay open thy fell cruelties.

KING. We heard, indeed, thy mother and her son
In prison died by wilful famishment.

BRUCE. Sin doubled upon sin! Slander'st thou the dead?
Unwilling willingness it shall appear,
By then I have produc'd, as I will do,
The just presumptions 'gainst your unjust act.

KING. Assail the castle, lords! alarum, drums!
And drown this screech-owl's cries with your deep sounds.

LEI. I tell thee, drummer, if thy drum thou smite,
By heav'n, I'll send thy soul to hell's dark night.
Hence with thy drum! God's passion, get thee hence!
Begone, I say; move not my patience.

[_Exit drum_.

KING. Are you advised, Leicester, what you do?

LEI. I am advised; for, my sovereign, know,
There's not a lord here will lift up his arm
Against the person of yon noble youth,
Till you have heard the circumstantial truth,
By good presumptions, touching this foul deed.
Therefore, go on, young Bruce; proceed, refel[369]
The allegation that puts in this doubt,
Whether thy mother, through her wilfulness,
Famish'd herself and her sweet son, or no.

BRUCE. Unlikely supposition: nature first denies
That any mother, when her youngling cries,
If she have means, is so unnatural
To let it faint and starve. But we will prove
She had no means, except this moanful mean,
This torture of herself. Come forth, come forth,
Sir William Blunt, whom slander says I slew:
Come, tell the king and lords what you know