No More Learning

Do you mean the heads upon the Scottish Gate?

_Man_.
Ay, that's the show, a pretty one.

_Jean_.
Are all
The rebels' heads set up?

_Man_.
All, all; their cause
Is fallen flat; but go you on and see
How wonderly their proud heads are elate.

_Katrina_.
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_.