"It is ane o' the best tales o' the kind that ever I heard," said Charlie.
"It is a most abominable tale," said the poet.
"In what way, Master Poet?" said Charlie: "I dinna like to hear ony body condemned without reason."
"It is for the badness of the moral that I do it dislike," said the poet: "The moral is so truly bad, all mankind it must must shock; it is to kill this harmless lamb, the flower of all the flock,—to feed upon her lovely form that's fairer than the snow,—to eat her flesh and drink her blood! It makes mine eyes to flow!"
"Gude faith, an I thought that war his drift, I wad brain him," said Charlie; "and I confess it looks rather like it."
"There can be no doubt of it," said Master Michael Scott: "The maid Delany is the favourite lamb, whom he wishes you to kill and feast on in the same delicious manner as did the hero of his tale; and I am the goodman whom you are to stick afterwards, and fairly make your escape."
"It is a shocking tale I really doubt," said Charlie; "and throws a disgrace and an imputation o' something unseemly on my chief and a' his friends, and I winna put up wi' it."
"I do propose that from the walls the caitiff we do throw," said the poet; "or kill and eat for dainty meat the laird of Peatstacknowe."
"I fear if the votes were to be ta'en just now he wad hae an ill chance," said Charlie: "But it's fair in ha' where beards wag a'. Let ilk ane of us hae a fair chance. There may be mae bad morals amang us. Wha's turn is't next?"