Doug. An please your Grace, I must speak sadly then;

Yet 'tis soon told. Your son was crowned king
Of Scotland, Mona, and the Hebrid isles.

It was, in truth, a childish ceremony.
Mary. Who held

The mother's crown above her infant's head?
Doug. Knox;-and, as he held it up,
He smiled contempt upon the kingly bauble.

Mary. Who gave the sceptre?

Doug. It was not given.

Mary. How?

Doug. What cannot be received cannot be given:

'Twas but presented by the Earl of Ross.

The infant stretched its little hand and smiled,
Then cried to see the glittering toy withdrawn.

my

child!

Mary. O that I had been there to soothe
May be I might have been allowed to kiss
The tear from off his cheek :-No, no, the touch
Would taint him with my faith, my wretched faith.
O that the haughty Murray would permit

A mother once again to see her child!
But just once more to lift his cradle veil!
Perhaps he'd smile: Remembrance of that smile
Might serve to cheer my gloomy prison hours.
O were I but his nurse! what happiness!-
'Tis not allowed: A mother not allowed

To be her infant's nurse!

Doug. Barbarity!

Monstrous barbarity!

Mary. No voice, no angel's voice,

Can like a mother's sing her child to sleep.
Doug. Shall Murray's fiat cancel nature's law?
Mary. Look down and see in circling flight that lark,
Reflected in the bosom of the lake;

It has a home; it is allowed to stretch

Its pinions o'er its young.

Doug. You shall be free.

Mont. I vow you shall be free.

Mary. I ask not liberty; I could submit,

Like any captive slave, to tend my son :
But this cannot be hoped from Murray's pity;

From him who tore me from my child; who wrenched
My finger from his clinging hand,

Which with its feeble grasp seemed to beseech
That I would not forsake him: Then I thought,
Perhaps this orphan hand may one day hold
The avenging sword o'er tyrant Murray's head.
Doug. I'll serve your Highness with my life.
Mont. And I.

Mary. Think not of serving me; I've now no power
To give rewards; I am no more a queen.
Look at yon lily through my window bars,
Tis withering apace; it has no root:-

I am that rootless flower;

Think not of serving me;

I have no recompence to offer you.

Doug. We wish for none-You know us not.
could-

But have you courage? Wish you to be free?
Mary. What do you mean?-free! O, free!

I

Doug. I could inform your Highness of some things That nearly do concern your freedom,

Mary. What?-say!

Adel. Say-O speak!

Doug. Each night some trusty friends on yonder shore

In secret lurk, ready to aid your flight.

"Tis scarce an hour since, when about to cross,

I communed with the Earl of Arran's brother.
We had been friends even from our boyish days;→
He trusted me :-This night it is his turn

To watch within St Servan's wood:-He brings
A wing-hoofed courser for your majesty.

Adel. God bless the youth, the gallant Hamilton! Doug. And yet there is great hazard in the attempt, What if it should misgive?—I lose life.

your

my

That to be sure is nothing; but Grace
Would be a sufferer too; and fair lady,

you,

Should know that, if we fail, her Grace's durance
Would then be doubly rigid.-Could you attend

Your royal friend into a dungeon-vault?

Adel. Aye, to the bottom of the vilest cavern; Where toads would loath to dwell, where tapers die, My friendship's fire would then but blaze more brightly.

Doug. Fear not, the risk is small; you shall, you

shall

Be free; yes! you shall meet your gallant Hamilton.
But if it should misgive,—the risk-You lose
The little liberty which here you have.
Perhaps they'd banish you to some far shore:-
Shut in a tower in some lone sea-girt isle,
Beholding through the spray-worn prison grate
No sight but waves, or sky, or distant sail;
Hearing no sound but of the weary surge,
With now and then the sea-mew's passing scream,
Borne down the wind,—

Ah! then you would lament that e'er you
This pretty islet, where you seem to dwell
In durance sweet, like some benighted bee
Pent in a flower-bell at the close of eve.-
But yet, an' please your Grace, if 'tis

your

left

will

[To the Queen. To brave the danger which I have described, Our service (for Montgomery too I vouch)

Is

yours.

The castle keys are in my keeping:

Ere midnight, if you will, your way is free:
I'll lead you through the postern to this spot;-
And to yon elm-roots I have moored a skiff.

Mary. (After a pause.) And I will trust you.—
What say you, Adelaide ?

Adel. I too will trust you.

Doug. I see the Lady of Lochleven come

With chiding face. Be ye prepared.

[Exeunt DOUGLAS and MONTGOMERY.

Enter Lady LEVEN.

Leven. Madam, your hour is out-you'll please re

turn;

And, if you'll lay aside that crucifix,
That monstrous emblem of idolatry,
You'll be permitted to attend

The exhortations of a holy man.

The hour of prayer draws nigh;--your soul,
Your shipwrecked soul, may yet be saved,
If pride will let you hear the words of life:
Your prayer might reach the throne of grace, if borne
Upon the breathings of a soul elect.

Mary. The supplications of the wretched reach The God of mercies, though not winged with words Of holy men.

Leven. You must, you shall attend.