"Do us not so gross an injury as to bring your feud to mortal defiance here; but rather offer your ungloved hand in kindness to the noble earl, and embrace in token of your mutual fealty to the crown of Scotland." "Not so, my liege," answered March; "your Majesty may command me to return my gauntlet, for that and all the armour it belongs to are at your command, while I continue to hold my earldom of the crown of Scotland; but when I clasp Douglas, it must be with a mailed hand.
Farewell, my liege.

My counsels here avail not, nay, are so unfavourably received, that perhaps farther stay were unwholesome for my safety.

May God keep your Highness from open enemies and treacherous friends! I am for my castle of Dunbar, from whence I think you will soon hear news.
Farewell to you, my Lords of Albany and Douglas; you are playing a high game, look you play it fairly.

Farewell, poor thoughtless prince, who art sporting like a fawn within spring of a tiger! Farewell, all--George of Dunbar sees the evil he cannot remedy.

Adieu, all." The King would have spoken, but the accents died on his tongue, as he received from Albany a look cautioning him to forbear.