Man.
Go and learn that yourselves. And when you mark
How grimly addled all the daring is
Now in those brains, do as your hearts shall bid you,
And that is weep, I hope.
Mary.
O let's go back.
Jean. We have no friends spiked on the Scottish Gate.
Man.
No? Well, there's quite a quire of voices there,
Blessing the King's just wisdom for his stern
Strong policy with the rebels.
Mary. Who are those?— I think it's fiendish to have killed so many.
Man.
The chattering birds, my lass, and droning flies:
They're proper Whigs, are birds and flies,—or else
The Whigs are proper crows and carrion-bugs.
[He goes on past them.
Katrina. A Jacobite?
Jean.
That's it, I warrant you.
One of the stay-at-homes.
Mary. Now promise me, We'll only take a glimpse, girls, a short glimpse.