eak his faith, but Seton cannot!
Edward may earn disgrace, but Seton honour!
His sons are in your power! Do! do as ye list!"

_[He starts up in agitation_.

_Sir Alex_.--No, no! it cannot be--say not my sons!
Lord Percy, let your tyrant take my life!
Torture me inchmeal!--to the last I'll smile,
And bless him for his mercy!--but spare, oh spare my children!

_Provost Ramsay_.--Really, Sir Alexander, I dinna ken hoo
to advise you. To think o' gien up the toun to sic a monster o'
iniquity, is entirely out o' the question--just impossible
a'thegither; and to think o' the twa dear brave bairns
sufferin', is just as impossible as to flee in the air. I tell
ye what, my lord--and it is my opinion it is a very fair
proposal (if naething but deaths will satisfy your king)--I, for
ane, will die in their stead--their faither will for anither;
and is there ane amang _you_, my townsmen, that winna do
the same, and let your names be handed down as heroes to your
bairns' bairns, and the last generation?

_Percy_.--Thou hast a noble heart, old honest Scotsman; but
I cannot accept your generous offer.

_Lady Seton_.--Mark this, my husband!--that we may still be parents--
That we might have two sons to _live and scorn us_--
Sell country--honour--all--and live disgraced:
Think ye MY SONS would call a _traitor_ father?--
They drew their life from _me_--from _me_ they drew it;
And think ye I would call a _traitor husband?_--
What! would ye have them live, that every slave,
In banquet or in battle, might exclaim,
"For you, ye hinds, your father sold his country?"
Or, would you have them live, that no man's daughter
Would stoop so low as call your sons her husband?
Would you behold them hooted, hissed at,
Oft, as they crossed the street, by every urchin?
Would ye your sons--your _noble_ sons--met this,
Eather than die for Scotland? If ye do love them,
Love them as a _man_!

_Sir Alex_.--'Tis done! my country, thou hast made me bankrupt!
And I am childless! _[Exeunt_

SCENE VIII.--_The river, and boat. Time midnight. Enter one
habited as a friar_.

_Friar_.---'Tis now thick midnight. All round me sleep,
And not a star looks from the curtained heaven.
The very sentinels cease to pace their round,
And stand in calm security. I'll brave them.
What though the bridge be guarded, and the river
Rush like a tiger?--love has no such fears,
And Heaven is stronger than its waters!

_[A bell tolls slowly_.

Ha! that slow-tong