The Factor: Have you found that money, Laurie?
Tam: It’s not for finding.
The Factor: It’s for spending, it seems.
Tam: I’ve had but two pots, and not to my score.
The Factor: Tuesday week then. I hope you’ll have joy of your travels.
Tam: It’s a poor thing to fleer at a man that’s beaten.
Burns (crossing, pot in hand): A dirty thing, Master Factor, a thing that makes old Nickie-ben laugh down among the sulphur the minister is so fond of gabbing about. And before I’m gone, I’ll stand up and prophesy among you. Mr. Armour, you’re a little man, in a little place, and for your peddling bit of dignity and self-esteem you’ll break your girl’s heart and ruin me. Minister, you’ll sit on the Lord’s right hand till He turns round and catches you there. And you, Factor, will sit on a lord’s right hand till he turns round and finds your fingers in his pocket. And you’re all upright pillars of repute, praise the Lord, Amen. And Tam here is a pauper, and I’m forfeit, and before the God that you blaspheme with your devil’s work, we’ll take our chance at the day of judgment against the lot of you. He’ll have mercy on us, for we are sinners, but I doubt he’ll take no notice of you at all, and you’ll find it a wide place to wander in and learn your lesson.
[Outside is heard the sound of music and song, coming from a band of Beggars passing along the road.]
Burns (going to the window, and looking out): Listen to them—vagabonds, unwashed, thieves perhaps, and kiss who kiss can. But they’re free, and they’re honester than your sort, righter commanders. (Opening the door.) Come in, come in—a pot apiece for a song, my hearties—come and teach the gentlemen to say their grace.
[The Beggars crowd at the door.]