Nor lay aside their Jacks of Gymould mayle,
Nor hang their staves of grained Scottish ash
In peaceful wise upon their City walls,
Nor from their buttoned tawny leathern belts
Dismiss their biting whinyards, till your King
Cry out: Enough, spare England now for pity!
Farewell, and tell him that you leave us here
Before this Castle; say, you came from us,
Even when we had that yielded to our hands.

LORRAIN.
I take my leave, and fairly will return
Your acceptable greeting to my king.

[Exit Lorrain.]

KING DAVID.
Now, Douglas, to our former task again,
For the division of this certain spoil.

DOUGLAS.
My liege, I crave the Lady, and no more.

KING DAVID.
Nay, soft ye, sir; first I must make my choice,
And first I do bespeak her for my self.

DOUGLAS.
Why then, my liege, let me enjoy her jewels.