art, but cannot take thy person.
Give up the youth, or here must end my truce!

_Richard_.--Fear not, my father. I will be their hostage,
For Scotland's sake, and for my father's honour--

_Sir Alex_.--My boy, my boy, and shall I lose you thus?
What surety does cruel Edward give,
That, keeping faith, he will restore my sons
Back to my arms in safety? Tell me, Percy;
Gives he his honour as a man or king?

_Percy_.--As both, I hold it.

_Sir Alex_.--And wilt thou pledge thine?

_Percy_.--This is my master's business, and not mine.

_Sir Alex_.--'Tis an evasion, and I like it not.

_Richard_.--Farewell! farewell, my father! be the first
To teach these men the virtue of self-sacrifice.
Commend me to my mother. I will bear
Both of your best loves to our Henry.
Farewell! Lead on, Lord Percy. [_Exeunt_.

SCENE VII.--_Apartment in_ SETON'S _House_.

_Enter_ SIR ALEXANDER, PROVOST RAMSAY, HUGH ELLIOT, _and
others_.

_Sir Alex_.--Would Heaven that all go well with my dear boys!
But there's that within me that does tear
My bosom with misgivings. The very sun
To me hangs out a sign of ominous gloom!
A spirit seems to haunt me, and the weight
Of evil undefined, and yet unknown,
Doth, like a death's-hand, press upon my heart.

_Provost Ramsay_.--Hoot, I wad fain think that the warst is
past, and that there is nae danger o' onything happenin' now.
But do ye ken, sir, it is my fixed and solemn opinion, that,
before onything really is gaun to happen to a body, or to ony o'
their friends, like, there is a kind o' something comes ower
ane--a sort o' sough about the heart there--an' ye dinna ken
what for.

_Sir Alex_.--Have ye beheld how they are raising bastions,
Flanking fresh cannon, too, in front the town,
Gaining new reinforcements to their camp,
And watching all our outgoings? Do you think
This looks as Edward meant to keep his faith?
I am betrayed, my friends--I am betrayed.
Fear marcheth quickly to a father's breast--
My sons are lost! are lost!

_Provost Ramsay_.--It's true that King Edward's
preparations, and his getting sic fearfu' additions to his army,
doesna look weel. But what is a king but his word mair than a
man?

_Enter_ Servant.

_Servant_.--Lord Percy craves an audience with your honour.

_Sir Alex_.--Conduct him hither. 'Tis as I boded!

[_Exit_ Servant--_enter_ PERCY.

You look grave, my lord.

_Percy_.--Faith, if I can look grave, to-day I should:
None of my mother's children