No More Learning

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_.
That fellow with the sneer;
The axe's weight could not ruffle his brow,--
How signed it is with scorn!

_Katrina_.
Ah yes, he's dark
And you are red: Mary and I will choose
Some golden fellow. Which do you think, Mary?

_Jean_.