Sir Jeoffrey Wiseacre, a foolish old justice of the peace, who (with his clerk, Master Bolt) gives occasion to most of the mirth with which, according to the good old custom, this tragic drama is here and there embellished. Thorne thus addresses the Council: Enter HASLERIgg, Thorne, Selby, and SIR JEOFFREY WISEACRE. Thorne. Fellow colleagues, since it hath pleased our king, Renowned Edward, of his speciall favour, Sel. That's not by lenity; For, howsoe'er the armed hand of war With straighter reins and rougher bitts. I find them easie, tractable, and mild ; Use rein or bitt? clear'd By this all doubts are 'Tis always better to be loved than fear'd. And, by your leave, Sir Thomas, The principles are true—trust not thy wife With secrets, nor thy vassall with thy life,Sound example proves it. Sir Jeoff. And private policy confirms it. I could urge reason why, shew cause wherefore, and speak to purpose whereby; but my betters are in place I know them to be pregnant; and a ready wit's worth all. Sel. For our own safeties, then, and Let us not lose what our king hardly wonne. Has. To that effect call'd we this solemne meeting, To which we have summon'd divers chiefly Wallace, Late Sheriffe of Ayr, which office, though the king Conferr'd on me, the haughty Scot thinks much To tender up.-Observe his insolence. Enter Old WALLACE, and takes his place. O. Wall. Selby, 'tis a seat I and my grandsire's grandsire have enjoy'd And held with worship; and, till Edward's hand VOL. XVI. I'm Selby's equal, both in birth and place. Though in mine office Edward joyn'd you with me, Reade that He never made you ruler over me. And tell me then if Selby or yourself O. Wall. (Reads.) To what my king I humbly bend, resigning on my knee (kneels) Both staffe and office. Selby. (Taking the staff.)-Which thus Over thy head: and now, proud sir, acknowledge Selby your ruler, and with your place resigne Your castle and your lands. O. Wall. That's not inscribed in your What the king has given, I surrender. And ere I lose a pole, a foot, ay, or the smallest turf A silly lark may build on-I'll lose life! Sel. At your own choice; either your lands, or life; I have given my sonne, a boy of that proud temper, As, should he hear thy insolent demand, Would pluck thee from thy seat, and lay thy head A satisfaction at his father's feet. But heavens forbid it: Selby, thus it stands, Thou hast my office, and my sonne my lands. Sel. He must shew how he holds 'em. And, Selby, will shew evidence sufficient; Mine, my deere father's, and my grandsire's sword He wears good evidence about him, Selby, &c. This altercation is still going on with unabated spirit, when lo, and behold, in the very nick of time, 4 R And marry Selby.-Wallace, my jo, not I. Enter Young SELBY himself, and other gallantes guarding Peggie. Young Selby. Marke her: come, Peg, hide your Scottish face. Peggie. Why shild I hayd my Scottis face? my Scottis face is as gude as yare English face; 'tis a true Scottis face. Y. Sel. I know 'tis, sweet Peggy; and because 'tis not a picture for every painter to draw forth, let this curtain be pind before it. Peg. Hange yare flee-flaps ! Na Scottis woeman is asheamed a that luke the master Painter abuife guifes her. Whare mun I gangand now? Fay, fay, fay, what lossell am I, that am hurrand thus till and fra with sweards and wapins? Why mun backerd men gang fencing and florishing about me? Am I your May-game? Y. Sel. No, Peggy, th'art my prisoner; but here's thy jail. (Attempting to embrace her. Peg. Are yee my jailor? What kin bin you to the hangman senu you? whare's hee? Wha is that foule loone amang you that mun be my hangman? Y. Sel. Here's no man here your hangman, or your peg. Peg. Wha then be you? Y. Sel. Your friends that hold you only in bonds of love. Peg. I reckand muckle your luife; fay upon sike luife! The awd fellon thief, luifand the true man's siller, as you luifand me. I'de rather be a Scutchman's whore, then an Englishman's waife, and be dreave to th' kirke with helters. Y. Sel. Tell me, what proud Scot loves understood my case, On Gad's dear earth you sud no farder gange; As butcher's kie to the grund, he sud you bange. Second Gallant. All mildnesse is in vain, take some rough course. Y. Sel. To th' church! Away !—I'll marry her there by force. First Gallant. Away with her! Enter WALLACE, CUMMING, and MENTEITH. PEGGY runs to WALLACE. Sec. Gall. Yonder's Wallace, and's true. Y. Sel. The devill and's dambe bee't, budge not. Peg. O my luife! These Sotherne Carles mickle wrang against me warcke, And now wad foree me gange untill the kirke * i. e. Say now. I'll beat thee, or be beaten. One draws short breath. Wall. I feel no sicknesse. Y. Sel. Yet th'art neare thy death. (Fight.) Enter Two Gallants, COMING, MENTEITH.-WALLACE loses his weapon. 1st Gall. At it so hotly! + In the copy it is "make time, sir," &c. 2d Gall. Kill him. 'Tis faire. Ist. In the copy if. power Of any strength ?-Bruce-leavy powers for France If we but thought thee touch'd in't-Warlike Percy, Beaumont, and Sebastian, fetch him in, Or with a second and more fatall conquest, Ruine that stubborne nation, &c. Wallace, meantime, infuriated by the imprisonment of Peggie Graham, determines to storm the castle of Laverok, where she is confined. (Laverock is the spelling, but Lanark is evidently meant.) He is meditating this matter aloud, when Cumming and Menteith overhear him. Wall. Laverock Castle weares but a slender bolt of brick. Com. Turn'd mad? Wall. And say the moat be fifty fathomes deep Fiftie times fiftie-say it reach through to hell, Wallace will swim't. Com. Swim't!-Yes, so wilt thrust an oxe into an eg-shell, And rost it by moonshine. But why should Wallace? Wall. Why should proud Selby, though his forward son Were justly slain, imprison Peg? Men. Not at sharp, I think; but, by your leave, 'tis thought she has practised in private, put Wallace to foil, and make him be at his hanging ward many a time and oft. Haselrig is now come back to Scotland; and present in his camp with him are old Selby, Sir Jeoffrey Wiseacre, and other English. It has been proclaimed, that unless Wallace surrender himself, Peggy is to die the death forthwith, and Wallace gallantly resolves to save her at the expence of his own safety. With this view he employs her father, Sir John the Graham, to repair immediately to Haselrig, and arrest the execution of the lady. Has. Is it by generall proclamation voiced, That, but proud Wallace yield, Peg Graham dies? Sir Jeoff. The cryers are all hoarse with calling of it. Old Selby. Though in her cause Selby has lost a sonne, And with him all content; so deer I tender The peace of Scotland and my soveraigne's In the copy, 66 aye trowe." + Fawe-It seems doubtful whether this be for false or foul. And wad yee give him to your faes, that gave His blood to your protect ? Like winged lightening, shall prepare a way To Laverck's doom. Friar. Nea, marry, stay a wheane, Here Wallace is brought in guard- Dip not thy winyard in the weambe ed, and ordered to prison forthwith, with strong assurances of being executed ere long. Peggie witnesses this, and exclaims, as he is retiring with his guards, Peg. Dear Wallace, thoe ane shrude Hawd not our bands, wees meet in yander cloud, Whare na fell Southern nowther can ex- Nor bar us fra celestial pulchritude. Like turtle dowes weese bill and find gude Wallace is led off, and so the First Act concludes. The second presents us at its opening with Wallace journeying through a wood in custody of an English company. Some of his old associates lie in wait by the wayside, and rescue him. He is of course full of the desire of revenge, and proposes at once to march against some of the English garrisons, when, behold, an old friar, who has his hermitage in the wood, appears, and gives him advice, in the following very Archaic style : Friar Gertrid. Hied Girtrid's sawe- bloud prove false ? Why, that can never be, till palsey age Hath thrust his icy fingers through my veins, And frozen up the passages of bloud. Comm. The towne of Lavercke peopled Only with English pride, and overjoyed With thy surprizall, are made drunk with mirth. Bonefires, bels, banquets, and the devile and all, Invite our swords to their sad funerall. Wall. Close with advantage, put yourselves in armes, And cease their forfeit lives: This holy Shall first bestow a matrimoniall band Crag-i. e. craig. Anglice, neck. Of Laverick's towne, for giff thou gange Thouse come back seafe, but, barne, I fear, state Stands writ in heaven, and seal'd by fate. She has by vision summon'd me to armes. Shortly after this, the cruel English murder all together in cold blood the Friar Gertride, Old Wallace, and the lovely Peggy Graham. Wallace happens to pass through the forest where immediately afterward, when the folthis butchery has taken place, almost lowing scene occurs:— Peg. O my dear Wallas, for the luive waife, For luive of awe sawles, and thy daying waife, List to my latter accens, and attend, Of all thy joyes the derne and dismawe Wall. Torture above endurance! Wall. O, if I be, let my soule never sleepe In the blest bosome of my ancestors, How, when, what meanes, what cause shall To find it out, and venge yovr tragedies? Selby and Haslerigg byn the fell blood- Whae have hunted laife untill thilke toyles Wall. Are they turn'd hangmen ? Beauteous entreats, and reverend well-a wayes Could not winne grace or favour + Well-a-neer-i. e. most probably "well an year"-an ejaculation of precisely the same import, as well-a-day. While Wallace continues in the same storm of indignation and sorrow, he is saluted in the forest by some ambassadors from Edward, who bear that Prince's commands to hear what Wallace's complaints are, and upon what terms he is willing to confess himself the vassal of the English king. Wallace observes that there is one more in the company than are named in the commission, and discovering that the supernumerary and intruder is Selby himself, he instantly has his nose cut off, and his eyes dug out, and in that condition he desires the terrified embassy to reconduct their friend to the camp of their prince. Ere they go, he has them all treated in the same style: And then, that nothing may be wanting, our hero himself resolves to put on a disguise, and venture into the said camp in his own proper person, in order, as he says, that he may see what impression the appearance of the maimed and mutilated envoys creates : but, in reality, no doubt, that he may pick up a little intelligence as to the intentions of the invaders. He enters ere long "like unto a halting souldier, on wooden stumps," and has, as might be expected, the luck to meet on his journey the objects of his late atrocious attentions. The dialogue that ensues between the "halting soldior" and "Glascot blinde" is not the least amusing thing in the play. He offers himself as their guide in these terms: Make me the thriddman, and here's a bunny noyse of fidlers to gang fra winehouse to wine-house, a blind harper, a mute cornet, and an old Scotch bagpipe worne to the stumpes. He is accepted: and, by and by, the noyse are arrested by some English soldiers going their round-whereupon ensues a deal of fun in the same vein -"I'm blind, indeed," says the blind brother of the trio. "Conduct us to the Lords in the English camp -"How? Lords ?" replies Bolt the justice's clerk-"are you ladies, that you long so for lords?" And another of the party keeps up the ball thus:"What? do you take us for gulls to go tell the Lords, Here's a dumbe man would speak with 'em-What are you? Come, halt not. Let's not find you in two tales, y'are best." Wallace. Ize a Scotchman, sir; ye shall neere find me in twa tales. Bolt. A Scotchman, sir? Do you know where you are, sir? Your blew bonnet on before an English scull? Where's your leg, sir, when an officer speaks to you? Wall. My leg, sir, is not in my galligaskins and slop, as yours is. Ize a pure Scotch souldier out at'heeles, and am glad to bestirr my stumpes, [and] guide these gude men, yare wranged countrymen, wha that fawse traytor Wallace has misusand in sike wise. Omnes. Wallace! Oh slave! Bolt. I shall live (fellows in arms out at elbows) to give fire to my piece with a burnt inch of match made of that rascal's fat of mawegut. Wall. By my saule, sir, I wad I might come to the making of sike a match. Bolt. Here's my hand, because thou sayest so. Thou shalt be by when I make him give fire to my touchhole, &c. At the opening of the third act we find ourselves upon a rocky and desolate part of the coast of Scotland, where Sir Jeffrey Wiseacre and Bolt, walking for their diversion, have just witnessed a shipwreck, and been so handy as to pick up one trunk of silver coin, and another of gold, from amidst the confusion of barrels and boxes littered along the sand. Sir Jeffrey, on examining his share of the booty, makes the pertinent observation, that the Scottish sea is " more rich and more fat than the land." To this Bolt replies, So it had need, for the land looks with a leane payre of cheekes. Yet it has an excellent stomach-it digests anything. Sir Jeo. Then 'tis like the sea, for all's fish that comes to net there. Bolt. I'll tell you the mystery of that. Look what mouths gape at land—the selfsame gape at sea. All the land is one kingdom, and all the sea another. Sir Jeo. And people in't? Bolt. And people in't, (right worshipful;) but they all go wetshod. As there are good and bad here, so there are good and bad there-gulls here, gulls there. As great men here eat up the little men, so Whales feed upon the lesser fishes. Sir Jeo. Belike, then, the watery com monwealth are ill govern'd? Bolt. No, bravely; for heroical Hector Herring is King of Fishes. Sir Jeo. So ? Bolt. Rich cobs his good subjects who at Yarmouth lay down their lives in his quarrell. Swordfish and Pike are his Guard Sir Jeo. On! |