Armour: You think we’ll stay with you and your dirty rapscallions. By your leave—
[He, the Factor, and Holy Willie move to go.]
Burns: No, no—persuade them friends. (Tam and the others, Nell and the Landlord assisting, hold them back, while Burns cries to the Beggars.) Come in—come in—serve them, Nell, my dear, full pots all round.
[He locks the door, and Nell hands round the full pots.]
Armour: This shall be a case for the Justice.
Burns: Justice is a blind wench, Mr. Armour—and it would be a bonny jest for the parish, wouldn’t it? I think we shall swallow it. Now, you jolly beggars, drink and sing.
[The First Beggar, an old man in soldier’s rags, a girl in his arms, sings.]
I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars,
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come;
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,