Do any look as if they died afeared?
_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.
_Jean (laughing)_.
Yes, just to see how horrible they are.
[_They go on towards the gate_.
II
_The Scottish Gate, Carlisle. Among the crowd_.
_Mary_.
O why did we come here?
_Jean_.
One, two, three, four--
A devil's dozen of them at the least.
_Katrina_.
Poor lads! They did not need to set them up
So high, surely. Which is the one you'ld call
Prettiest, Jean?
_Jean_.
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