Ere midnight we shall send some _fleeter messengers_.
So now, old Governor, my master's answer?

_Provost Ramsay_.--The mischief's in your impudence! But
were I Sir Alexander, the only answer your master should hae,
would be your weel-bred tongue sent back upon the end o' an
arrow; an' that wad be as _fleet a messenger_, as ye talk
about _fleet messengers_, as ony I ken o'.

_Percy_.--Peace, thou barbarian! keep thy frog's throat closed.
I say, old greybeard, hast thou found an answer?

_Sir Alex_.--Had my Lord Percy found more fitting
phrase
To couch his haughty mandate, I perhaps
Had found some meet reply. But as it is,
Thou hast thine answer in this people's eyes.

_Hugh Elliot_.--Since we with life and honour may depart,
Send not an answer that must seal our ruin,
Though it be hero-like to talk of death.

[_Enter_ LADY SETON, _listening_.

Bethink thee well, Sir Governor: these men
Have wives with helpless infants at their breasts;
What husband, think ye, would behold a child
Dashed from the bosom where his head had pillowed,
That his fair wife might fill a conqueror's arms!
These men have parents--feeble, helpless, old;