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_.
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