To meet thy challenge. LIN. He quails, and shuns to look upon my weapon, Yet boasts himself a Berkeley! BER. Lindesay, and if there were no deeper cause But ask not me to tell them, while the villain Who wrought them stands and listens with a smile. NIN. It is said— Since you refer us thus to general fame That Berkeley slew thy brother, the In his own halls at Edzell Ay, in his hallsIn his own halls, good father; that's the word! In his own halls he slew him, while the wine Pass'd on the board between! The gallant Thane, Who wreak'd Macbeth's inhospitable murder, Rear'd not yon Cross to sanction deeds like these. BER. Thou say'st I came a guest! A destined victim, train'd on to the doom His frantic jealousy prepared for me. For shunning thee than terror of thy He fix'da quarrel on me, and we fought. Can I forget the form that came between us weapon, That rock-hewn Cross as soon should start and stir Because a shepherd-boy blew horn beneath it, As I for brag of thine. NIN. I charge you both, and in the name of Heaven, Breathe no defiance on this sacred spot, Where Christian men must bear them peacefully, On pain of the Church thunders. Calmly tell Your cause of difference; and, Lord Lindesay, thou Be first to speak them. LIN. Ask the blue welkin, ask the silver Tay, And perish'd by his sword? 'Twas then I fought For vengeance; until then I guarded life; But then I sought to take it, and prevail'd. LIN. Wretch thou didst first dishonour to thy victim, And then didst slay him! BER. There is a busy fiend tugs at my heart, But I will struggle with it! Youthful knight, My heart is sick of war, my hand of slaughter; I come not to my lordships, or my land, The northern Grampians all things But just to seek a spot in some cold know my wrongs; cloister, Which I may kneel on living, and, Can hold a sword, shall no one cast Compell'd to stand at bay, grows dangerous! Most true thy brother perish'd by my hand, And if you term it murder—I must bear it. Stay but one second-answer but one question. There, Maurice Berkeley, can'st thou look upon That blessed sign, and swear thou 'st spoken truth? I BER. I swear by Heaven, Thus far my patience can; but if thou And by the memory of that murder'd innocent, Each seeming charge against her was The noble dame, on turret high, The level ray to shade, Now to their mates the wild swans row, By day they swam apart; And to the thicket wanders slow The hind beside the hart. The woodlark at his partner's side, Twitters his closing song; All meet whom day and care divide, But Leonard tarries long.. [KATLEEN has come out of the Castle while FLORA was singing, and speaks when the song is ended. KAT. Ah, my dear coz! if that your mother's niece From you my sire can ask no filial duty. KAT. No, thanks to Heaven! May so presume to call your father's No noble in wide Scotland, rich or daughter→→ All these fond things have got some home of comfort poor, Can claim an interest in the vulgar blood To tempt their rovers back: the lady's That dances in my veins; and I might bower, The shepherdess's hut, the wild swan's couch Among the rushes, even the lark's low nest Has that of promise which lures home a lover, But we have nought of this. FLO. How call you, then, this castle of my sire, The towers of Devorgoil? wed A forester to-morrow, nothing fearing The wrath of high-born kindred, and far less That the dry bones of lead-lapp'd an cestors Would clatter in their cerements: at the tidings. FLO. My mother, too, would gladly see you placed Beyond the verge of our unhappiness, KAT. Dungeons for men, and Which, like a witch's circle, blights palaces for owls; Yet no wise owl' would change a farmer's barn and taints Whatever comes within it. KAT. Ah! my good aunt! For yonder hungry hall. Our latest She is a careful kinswoman and That the repast consisted of choice dainties Sent to our larder by that liberal suitor, The kind Melchisedek. FLO. Were famishing the word, I'd famish ere I tasted them-the fop, The fool, the low-born, low-bred, pedant coxcomb! KAT. There spoke the blood of long-descended sires! My cottage wisdom ought to echo back O the snug parsonage! the well-paid stipend ! The yew-hedged garden! beehives, pigs, and poultry! But, to speak honestly, the peasant Katleen, Valuing these good things justly, still would scorn To wed, for such, the paltry Gullcrammer, As much as Lady Flora. FLO. Mock me not with a title, gentle cousin, Which poverty has made ridiculous. [Trumpets far off. |