 | Cardinal Beaton |  |
SCENE III.
—A House in the Castle Wynd, St Andrews.Two old Women, Janet Geens and Katie Tervat.
JANET.
That's a tale now, Katie! Ah, waes me!
KATIE.
Ay, there's news for you, Janet. It's just the haill town's
clatter at this mament.
JANET.
An' is't that honest fair-spoken man, wi' the bands about,
that we heard sae aften at the Scores last simmer? Is he
to be brunt the morn afore my door? The like o'that!
KATIE.
As true's the honest man's ain preachin', Janet. An'
weel I wot, wasna he right in picking out that text, last
time we heard him, “And he beheld the city, and wept
over it?”
I'd rather they took an' brunt me for a wutch, at the
wutch-lake! I suld willently gie my bit frail unworthy
person for his, ony day.
KATIE.
See gin the wratch, the Cardinal, 'ill tak you for him,
Janet. Na, na; he's no a man that cares mickle either
for the flesh or the sauls o'auld women. Gin you were a
fat young quean in your teens, there's nae sayin, may be
there might be a chance, Janet.
JANET.
The sorrow tak him, and a'his crew o'rotten Bishops
thegither! The fient a drap, either o'gude kail or gude
gospel, we get frae ane o'them.
KATIE.
They keep a'their guid things to themsels, Janet.
JANET.
Ay, ay; except a dry paternoster, and a drap holy water
to sloken't wi', nae a plack's-worth we get frae ony o'
them.
KATIE.
Hoot, woman! they hae sae mony sma' weanies o'their
ain, how can they be expeckit to spare ony thing for auld
up, an' at nae little expence, Janet.
JANET.
Brawly do I ken that. There's Bishop Gavin Dunbar's
dochter,—she that's married to Andrew Balfour i'the College-wynd,
—as braw a hizzie, wi' her fardingales and her
fleegairies, as ony Principal's dochter i'the three Colleges.
KATIE.
Dinna speak o'her. There's the Cardinal's ain lang
gilly-gapus dochter, Tibbie Beaton, married to nae less a
man than my Lord Crawford himsel! You see, Janet, it's
a braw luck to be born a Bishop's brat.
JANET.
The de'il's kind to them, wi' his gowd, and his gear, and
his dainties; but he shoots auld decent folk ower wi' a
pickle ait-meal, and a wheen cauld kail-blades.
KATIE.
Very true, Janet; unless you sell yoursel' ower to him
a'thegither; an' then he'll mak mickle o'you, and dandle
an' cuddle you like ane of his ain dawties. You'll then hae
your auld kist fu' o'gowd in a mament; and you'll be enabled
to swallow preens or pokers without ony scaith to your
stamach. He has nae little power, that auld de'il!
I'se hae naething to do wi' him.
KATIE.
An' I wish he would hae naething to do wi' me. But
he touzles folk into mickle distress, an' nae little temptations
whiles, Janet.
JANET.
Let him e'en gang, Katie.—An' is't the morn the honest
gentleman is to be brunt? Is't for that they're heapin' up
coals and sticks afore my door, there? Weel I wot, I'se
no be i'the house. I'se leave the town. I'se be down to
my sister Lizzy, that lives i'the Kirk-wynd at Anster,
yonder.
KATIE.
We'se tak a walk thegither. I canna be contentit bein'
in sic a town, where the godliest folk o'the land are brunt
like warlocks.
JANET.
'Deed, Katie, this town 'ill never thrive wi' sic deevilish
things gaun on in't.
KATIE.
It's never thriven sin' gude Peter Hamilton bleezed to
death afore the auld College, yonder.
A sorrowfu' day that was for St Andrews, weel I wot!
Mickle rinnin back an' forrit to the Castle, ere the fire
kendled! The haill street greetin' a'the time; a'except
the Bishops and their gang, that stood glowrin', and gapin',
and gawfin', as the powther flaffed aff!—That auld ill-faurd
sinner, Rob Caldcleugh, he was the man that set the fire
up. The de'il's i'his face an' his heart yet for that black
deed! I've mickle hopes he'll be hangit, or get his head
smash'd for't yet.
KATIE.
But it's wearin' late, woman; there's aucht o'clock chappin
i'the College steeple. We'll better slip awa' soon to
our beds the night, that we may rise wi' the day-daw, if
we're to straik down to the coast.
JANET.
Very true. Let's hae our Sabbath-day's duds about,
an' our staves i'our hands, sharp at sax.
KATIE.
I'se come and tak a drap o'your parridge wi' you, and
then we'll baith stap awa thegither.
JANET.
My sister, Lizzy Geens, is but a puir body; but she'll
that than be in a house here, wi' a big bane-fire afore your
door, and a decent man bleezin' away i'the middle o't.
KATIE.
Good night then, Janet.
JANET.
Good night, Katie, my woman. Mind sax o'clock.
[Exit Katie. Curtain drops on Janet.
| Cardinal Beaton | |