CLIFFORD

Its well done fellows. The daring Scot fuller of insolence then strength Stand forth to bid us battle. It a brave hunting. Bolt offers to lay his Coat under the king. Speak to your countrymen, Common and Mentith. There's drinking money, hence to your works. What is, what should, what can this Wallace be? Whom fame limbs out for such a gallant piece, And is so curious in her workmanship, No partly deforms him, Yet Wallace is a Rebel, his chief scandal Is poverty of Gentry, by my sword Wertenberg no impeach to my deer Ancestors, I well could spare him some of my unused titles, Or would at martial gaming so I might loose And Wallace win so much of Clifford's honour, Our stocks might be alike, but I exceed, This night he is betrayed, he shall not, I'll turn traitor first he shall not, Call Beaumont back, or else by Clifford's honour, And oath which I esteem above my life, I will turn traitor, and reveal your plots, Call him back. Where's noble Bruce? I have a message, but 'tis more honourable, sent to you too, The Herald says that Wallace dares you, his Spite is all at you, and if your spirit be great As his, you find him in the rear. I would not wish to meet with braver spirits. Take breath, I would not have the world robbed of two such spirits, post to the King, and tell him that the noblest Hearts of the whole herd are hunted to the toil, Ask whither they shall fallen, or live for gain. Charge them black day, The Lion Hunt's a Lion for his prey. A fight. Is not this he that killed Wallace? The pangs of war are Like to childbed throws Bitter in suffering, but the storm being passed, The talk, as of scaped shipwreck sweet, does taste, The death of the Scotch General went to my heart, He had in him of man as as any, And for ought I think, his blood was poorly sold By his own Countrymen, rather then sought by us. Had not the Rear where Wallace did command, Stood and given aim, it had been a day Bloody and dismal, and whose hard to say, Sir, you shall give me leave to drink a health To all the valiant Scots. Perhaps I cannot. The Lord Bruce, I mean. Do, sirrah be gone. There's great enquiry for you. The King has a fresh command for Bruce. True, and Huntington is one. No Subject? Peace. Bruce speaks not Like a subject. Keep him off. Who did this damned villainy? So much swears Clifford. Yet though a traitor, thus much let me speak For absent Wallace, were the case your own, Or one that's baser having any spirit, A murdered father and a bleeding wife, Mangled before him, would strike fire in snow, Make loyalty turn traitor, and obedience Forget all duty. They then put off their title, and put on The name of spies, when in their companies, They take disguised observers. How Northumberland, entrap a foe? Sure it's no English word, Clifford at least was never acquainted with't. Give him fair summons, dare him to the field, And trap him then. Ensnare him so and spare not, for you'll find I fear, That Selby, Haslerig, and the rest Lay yokes too heavy on the Nations neck. Punish they, 'sdeath hang they. No. Do what you will, but my consent is no. But return sirrah, or the next time we take ye You're Crag shall pay for't. No Percy's lunatic, suppose he be a traitor And discipline of the field allow the act, What honour is it for a heard of yours To worry a sleeping Bear? go call him back. The news. Would, how, Wallace. By Mars his helm, a complete Warrior, I so love his worth, I'll court it with my sword. None prayed him stay, It manners being not welcomed to get away. Lets send him commendations too, Beatrice ours. Charge, charge. How now? O he ran away. He ha pined the fool upon his Master's shoulder very handsomely. Sir, I remembered Wallace in my draught. I would give Twice twenty thousand Crowns to have his head On my swords point cut from him with this arm, But how i'th field, nobly, hand to hand, not this straw To a hangman that should bring it me. I did, and saw his sword Like to a Reapers Sith, mow down the Scots. Here he comes. Nothing but a jest. From the enemy sure. Dare? Clifford dares Do any thing but wrong and what's not just. I care not if I do, because I love virtue even in My enemy, the bowl of wine kissing your lip. Behold, quoth one how eagerly you Scot, Drinks his own blood. Best wake some Oracle. Pray pardon me. Exit Cli Fresh powers are to be levied, Which Bruce of Huntington must lead. Gainst proud Wallace, against the Scots. How, will not? No, you shall not. My virgin honour is so chased, it shall not Keep company with a disquiet bosom, Nor talk with discontents. Thou wilt have England's thanks, but Scotland's curse, Thou never hast done better, never worse, Damned Judas to thy Countryman and friend. Your Scotch jeweller is slave, By Wallace. Good my Liege hear him, Brave Bruce, I'll love thee for this honoured act, Thou hast performed a noble piece of justice: Now shall the Ghost of Wallace sleep in peace, And perfect love shall betwixt these Lands increase. He hath his full reward for his foul treason, Drag hence the slave, and make him food for Crows. The Lamp that gave Rebellion light, hath spent The oil that fed it, all our spears are turned To Palms and Olive branches, all our stars Are now made whole, peace is the balm of wars. I for your Kingdoms would not pledge it so.