The offended Monarch rode apart, With bitter thought and swelling heart, And would not now vouchsafe again Through Stirling streets to lead his train.-- "O Lennox, who would wish to rule This changeling[319] crowd, this common fool? Hear'st thou," he said, "the loud acclaim With which they shout the Douglas name? With like acclaim, the vulgar throat Strain'd for King James their morning note; With like acclaim they hail'd the day When first I broke the Douglas' sway; And like acclaim would Douglas greet, If he could hurl me from my seat. Who o'er the herd would wish to reign, Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain! Vain as the leaf upon the stream, And fickle as a changeful dream; Fantastic as a woman's mood, And fierce as Frenzy's fever'd blood, Thou many-headed monster thing, Oh, who would wish to be thy king!"
"But soft! what messenger of speed Spurs hitherward his panting steed? I guess his cognizance[320] afar-- What from our cousin,[321] John of Mar?"-- "He prays, my liege, your sports keep bound Within the safe and guarded ground: For some foul purpose yet unknown,-- Most sure for evil to the throne,-- The outlaw'd Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, Has summon'd his rebellious crew; 'Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aid These loose banditti stand array'd. The Earl of Mar, this morn, from Doune, To break their muster march'd, and soon Your grace will hear of battle fought; But earnestly the Earl besought, Till for such danger he provide, With scanty train you will not ride."
[321] Monarchs frequently applied this epithet to their noblemen, even when no blood relationship existed.
"Thou warn'st me I have done amiss,-- I should have earlier look'd to this: I lost it in this bustling day. --Retrace with speed thy former way; Spare not for spoiling of thy steed, The best of mine shall be thy meed. Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, We do forbid the intended war: Roderick, this morn, in single fight, Was made our prisoner by a knight; And Douglas hath himself and cause Submitted to our kingdom's laws. The tidings of their leaders lost Will soon dissolve the mountain host, Nor would we that the vulgar feel, For their Chief's crimes, avenging steel. Bear Mar our message, Braco: fly!"-- He turn'd his steed,--"My liege, I hie,-- Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn, I fear the broadswords will be drawn." The turf the flying courser spurn'd, And to his towers the King return'd.