And all of them were fathers,

And their sons were with the King.

VI

And up then rose the Provost

A brave old man was he,

Of ancient name, and knightly fame,
And chivalrous degree.

He ruled our city like a Lord
Who brooked no equal here,
And ever for the townsman's rights
Stood up 'gainst prince and peer.
And he had seen the Scottish host
March from the Borough-muir,
With music-storm and clamorous shout,
And all the din that thunders out
When youth's of victory sure.
But yet a dearer thought had he,
For, with a father's pride,
He saw his last remaining son

Go forth by Randolph's side,
With casque on head and spur on heel,
All keen to do and dare;

And proudly did that gallant boy

Dunedin's 1 banner bear.

Oh! woful now was the old man's look,

And he spake right heavily

-

"Now, Randolph, tell thy tidings, However sharp they be!

1 Edinburgh's.

Woe is written on thy visage,

Death is looking from thy face: Speak! though it be of overthrowIt cannot be disgrace!"

VII

Right bitter was the agony

That wrung that soldier proud: Thrice did he strive to answer,

And thrice he groaned aloud. Then he gave the riven banner

To the old man's shaking hand, Saying "That is all I bring ye From the bravest of the land! Ay! ye may look upon it

It was guarded well and long, By your brothers and your children, By the valiant and the strong. One by one they fell around it, As the archers laid them low, Grimly dying, still unconquered, With their faces to the foe. Ay! ye may well look upon it There is more than honour there, Else, be sure, I had not brought it From the field of dark despair. Never yet was royal banner

Steeped in such a costly dye;

It hath lain upon a bosom

Where no other shroud shall lie.

Sirs! I charge you, keep it holy,

Keep it as a sacred thing,

For the stain ye see upon it

Was the life-blood of your King!"

LAMENT FOR FLODDEN FIELD

JANE ELLIOTT

WHEN night fell at last on Flodden Field, ten thousand Scots lay dead upon the hillside.

I've heard them lilting1 at our ewe-milking,

Lasses a' lilting before dawn o' day;

But now they are moaning on ilka 2 green loaning 3. The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning,5

Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae;7

8

Nae daffin', nae gabbin'," but sighing and sabbing,
Ilk ane lifts her leglin 10 and hies her away.

In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,
Bandsters 11 are lyart, 12 and runkled, 13 and grey;
At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching 14 —
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming 'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle 15 to play;

But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie -
The Flowers of the Forest are weded away.

Dool and wae 1 for the order, sent our lads to the
Border!

The English, for ance, by guile wan the day;

The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,

The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.

We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking;
Women and bairns are heartless and wae;
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning-
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

LADY JANE GREY

JOHN WEBSTER

(From "The Famous History of Sir Thomas Wyatt ")

HENRY VIII. left three children,— Mary, the daughter of Katharine of Aragon; Elizabeth, daughter of Anne Boleyn; and an only son, Edward, who succeeded him. Edward VI. was a boy of nine years when he came to the throne (1546). His short reign was troubled by ecclesiastical controversy and by plots as to the succession. The king was induced by his Protestant advisers to set aside both his sisters and to declare in favor of Lady Jane Grey, the daughter of the younger sister of Henry VIII., and a Protestant. Lady Jane was actually crowned (July 10, 1553), but she reigned only eleven days. The friends of Mary Tudor proclaimed Henry's daughter queen, and she was everywhere acknowledged as the rightful successor to the throne. Lady Jane and her husband, Guildford Dudley, were arrested and confined in the Tower. They were tried for treason and condemned, but

1 dole and woe

the order for their execution was withheld some months.

The re

bellion of Sir Thomas Wyatt soon rendered Mary morbidly jealous of her rival, and the death warrant was sent to the Tower (February 9, 1554).

SCENE. A Room in Sion House, London.

(Enter Guildford and Jane.)

Guild. Our cousin king is dead.

Jane. Alas, how small an urn contains a king!
He, that rul'd all even with his princely breath,
Is forc'd to stoop now to the stroke of death.
Heard you not the proclamation?

Guild. I hear of it, and I give credit to it:

What great men fear to be, their fears make greater.

Our fathers grow ambitious,

And would force us sail in mighty tempests,

And are not lords of what they do possess.

Are not thy thoughts as great?

Jane. I have no thoughts so rank, so grown to head

As are our fathers' pride.

Troth, I do enjoy a kingdom, having thee;

And so1 my pain be prosperous in that,

What care I though a sheep-cote be my palace

Or fairest roof of honour.

[Exeunt.

SCENE. An Apartment in the Castle of Framlingham. (Enter Queen Mary, with a prayer-book in her hand, like a nun.)

Mary. Thus like a nun, not like a princess born, Descended from the royal Henry's loins,