KING DAVID.
Those are her own, still liable to her,
And who inherits her, hath those with all.

[Enter a Scot in haste.]

MESSENGER.
My liege, as we were pricking on the hills,
To fetch in booty, marching hitherward,
We might descry a might host of men;
The Sun, reflecting on the armour, shewed
A field of plate, a wood of picks advanced.
Bethink your highness speedily herein:
An easy march within four hours will bring
The hindmost rank unto this place, my liege.

KING DAVID.
Dislodge, dislodge! it is the king of England.

DOUGLAS.
Jemmy, my man, saddle my bonny black.

KING DAVID.
Meanst thou to fight, Douglas? we are too weak.

DOUGLAS.
I know it well, my liege, and therefore fly.

COUNTESS.
My Lords of Scotland, will ye stay and drink?