University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—The Pends near the Cathedral.
Enter Tenants of Drumrawk, Blacklaws, and Gordonsha, &c. armed with coulters, plough-handles, flails, and other rustic armature.
DRUMRAWK.

Here's a caller place, let's stand here—mair-by-token,
there's a dainty black shower maskin' i'the south yonder;
here we'll be weel skougit.

BLACKLAWS.

A bra place this for a skoug—siccan a gousty lump o'
black pended stanewark's no in a'Crail parish! But the
shower'll do mickle guid to the beer-seed.—It's been a sair
drowth this three weeks.

GORDONSHA.

We'll hae a thud o'thunner wi' a guid plout o'weet, I
houp—I hear't thumpin awa already i'the south-west yonder.
Come in than, callants, and hae your armour ready
for a'kinkind o'necessary duty.

DRUMRAWK.

But now, syn we're a'forgathert, what the de'il are we
to be about? Here hae we travelt up to this town, what
wi' wingling flails, and couters, and barrowtrams, an' cudwuddies,
nae little forjeskit; and whom are we to flay or
fell? Is't the rascally Cardinal himsel? Or is't to be daft
Johnnie Tottis, the drunken friar body, that comes daidlin'
down to the coast after drams and wenches? Fient
haet do I ken about it!

BLACKLAWS.

Hoot, toot, man! it's no to slay, but to save life, we're
a'here i'thae black ill-lookin' pends the day. That discreet
man Maister Wishart is een to gang a-low this blessed
day, if we dinna stop it. Thae wicket bishops, wi'
their tippets, and their rockets, and their whistles, an'
ither whigmaleeries—the sorrow tak them, it's a'their
wark! There's no ae true bishop at this moment, Drumrawk,
in a'Scotland.

GORDONSHA.

An' hasna been syn auld Peter Graham's time.

BLACKLAWS.

Peter Graham? wha's that?

GORDONSHA.

Peter was a douce devout auld carl; an' for that, King
Jamie clappit him into Lochleven Castle, where he rottit
awa into a corp, honest man; I've heard auld Grannie
speak o'him. She aye grat when she spoke about him.
But now, when there's naething but lewdness and deboshery
i'the kirk, see how they're thrivin' the hail pack
o'them. See here to your blackguard Cardinal; he's a
house like a palace.

DRUMRAWK.

Weel I wot, that's true; my Lord Anster's and my
Lord Kelly's are but cotter-houses aside it.

GORDONSHA.

Awa' wi' their grandeur, an' their dirt o'frocks, an' tippets,
an' natural weanies! I wadnae gie ae reishlin sermon
o'gude John Rough, or Maister Wishart, for a haill year's
pitter-patterin' o'their Latin creeds and prayers, and ither
raible o'nonsense.

BLACKLAWS.

What ken we about Latin words? I wad rather hear
my bonnie bawsant cow routin' at the back o'Airdrie wood.
She'll rout as gude Latin as ony ane o'them, for aught I
ken about it.

DRUMRAWK.

Commend me to a gude screed o'braid Scotch; I wadnae
gie a pint-stoupfu' o'our plain auld mither tongue for
a chawder o'the biggest Latin words to be found in ony
dictionary in a'the warld. I'm a man for short words and
pithy, no for lang words an' silly.

GORDONSHA.

An' for that ye're nae friends wi' the vicar, Drumrawk?

DRUMRAWK.

He freathes and fozes ower mickle at the mou' for me;
the head's aye dry whare the mou's fozy. Nane o'your
Deninno vicars for me! gie me Sandy Seton or Johnnie
Rough

BLACKLAWS.

Ye'll mind the halesome screed we gat frae Johnnie i'
Crail pupit this time twalmonth?

DRUMRAWK.

Ay, weel do I mind that.—He made the twa gavil ends
o'thair auld kirk to dinnel like a drum wi' the screigh o'
his voice.—I could never look on a bishop's frock, or a
friar's bald crown, wi' ony patience sinsyne.

GORDONSHA.

The sorrow tak their frocks an' their crowns! I'm aye

mad whan I think on them. An', therefore, gin there's a
proud bishop, or a drucken friar, to be fell'd this day, I
houp I'll be in at the death, at least wi' ae lounder.

DRUMRAWK.

But what the plague's keeping the lairds sae lang? They
promised to be wi' us at twal, an' thare's nae sight o'them
yet.

BLACKLAWS.

They'll be consultin' thegither about the rescue, nae
doubt, an' be mickle fash't how to gang about it.

GORDONSHA.

There'll be some stramash, I houp. I'm no a man 'at
wald put on my armour, an' come up sae far for nocht. An'
I but ance tak up a chappin-stick, I'd fain knap a crown
wi't,—mair especially a rotten Papist's.

DRUMRAWK.

I'm nae for fechtin', if I can avoud it; but for wranglin'
wi' words I'm the man; I'll flinch for naebody; no for
Johnnie Tottis, i'the stream-tide o'his druckenness, or
the hairum-scairum dominie o'Crail, i'the very heighest
pinnacle o'his nonsensical eloquence. I'm a man for words,
no for bluid: but an' if the laird bids me fecht, I maun e'en

lay on like the rest as weel as I dow. I've a bit land I
wad like to keep.

BLACKLAWS.

Our laird's a gude gentleman, he'll no bid's do what's
wrang.

GORDONSHA.

Ay, ay, e'en to the thrashin' o'a prelate's banes wi' our
flingin'-trees. He can easily produce his Bible warrant
for that.—But here comes my Laird o'Carnbee, as gude a
man as i'the haill shire.

Enter Melvil of Carnbee.
MELVIL.
Good friends, I charge thee, keep together here,
Group'd and embodied in one faithful cluster,
Beneath this vaulted caravanserai.
The heavens seem sympathizing with the earth,
Boding some battle in the elements,
As in the minds of men some conflict near.
Here linger ye a space, and husband well
Your strength, letting your rustic weapons hang
Suspended in inaction, till we see
Whether th'appearances and likelihood
Of bringing off our much-beloved friend
Shall justify our armed interference,
And clear it from all vile disparagement
Of folly, and audacity's wild name.
The fatal hour fast hastens; I'll go see
The preparations and the goings-on:
I will return anon, if need require,
And lead you forward to your field of action.
Meanwhile, be steady, friends, and fortify
Your breasts with noble resolution.
[Exit Melvil.

GORDONSHA.

Steady, laird? I'se be as steady as the Isle o'May rock
in a gale o'east wind; nae man shall wrastle this flingin'-tree
out o'my hands. Let our faes only come on, I'se
smash haill dozens o'them; regents, doctors, bishops, cardinals,
—a'the deevil's regiment o'Papistical gentry thegither!
—I'se shake them! I'se pelt them! I'se powther
the lift wi' their wigs! I'se drive baith the pridefu' snaw
an' the vermin aff them.—But, haud, haud; wha the deil's
this?—

Enter several Mendicant Friars, as they pass through the Pends towards South Street.

—What squad's this?—Here's a bang o'shavelin' vagabonds
for you!—Let's stand back, callants; let's listen.

[They retreat a little as the Friars are passing.
FIRST FRIAR.

An' whan does this burnin'-match begin? I houp we'll
be in gude time; it would be a sair disappountment gin it
were gane by. We've haen a lang tramp frae Dunfarmlin,
for the very purpose.

SECOND FRIAR.

A quarter after twa it begins preceesely. The heretic-man
(ill be his fa'!) comes out o'his dungeon at twa, dressed
in a'his black ingle-gear, gunpowther pokes hingin'
afore an' ahint him, like sae mony meal-wallets round an
auld beggar. It 'ill mak a braw pluff a'thae fine squibs
o'powther.

THIRD FRIAR.

I'm fidgin' fain to hae a peep o't. I've seen but ae burnin'-bout,
an' that was year thretty-aught, whan Robert
Forrester, an' the bauld Vicar o'Dollar, forbye three mair,
were a'brander'd to dead on the Castlehill o'Embrough.
A grand sacrifeese o'human flesh it was that day! a hecatomb

o'heretics, nae less! Folk fand the smell at King-horn!
The bauld Vicar, being a buirdly man, made a braw
low; he bleezed an' bizz'd awa like a gude fat fresh herrin'!

FIRST FRIAR.

Mony ane I've seen. I mak a pount to be an e'e-witness
o'ilka business o'that sort; it's sae satisfactory to see
a heretic set down in his ain element, whilk is, forsooth,
the fire.—I saw Pate Hamilton burn down bonnily into
white aizles, year twenty-seven. Mickle firewood an' powther
it cost the kintra to get rid o'him; he was an unco
dour heretic to burn. I saw David Straiton, the laird o'
Randerston, roastit wi' the timmer o'his ain curst fishboat,
wharewi' he gaed a fishin' to the Auld Haiks, and
catched mony a caller codlin an' gude haddock. The impudent
wratch! de'il a single teind-potley wad he gie to the
bishop; an' for that was he roastit,—brunt up, clean steek,
stoop an' roop, amang the deals o'his bra boat, an' sticket
up to the oxters in a tar-barrel. I saw Norman Gourlay—

GORDONSHA,
(rushing forward and intercepting him.)

You saw the devil, you beggarly knave! Ye're a man
to gang travellin' the kintra, feedin' your blackguard een
wi' the torments o'the godly! Let your fat back pay for
the sins o'your twa impudent een.—Tak that for Norman

Gourlay, (Smites him with his weapon,)
that for the laird
o'Randerston, (Smites him,)
an' that for gude Peter Hamilton,
puir fallow! (Smites him a third time.)

FIRST FRIAR.

Kyric Eleison!—Mercy on us, my back!

[Flying off.
THIRD FRIAR.

A den o'lions! Here we be like Daniel in the lion's
den!

SECOND FRIAR.

Thieves! thieves! Here we be like the good Samaritan
among the thieves!

BLACKLAWS,
(bolting forward.)

Thieves, you lice!—thieves, you vermin! The decentest,
godliest, honestest tenants in a'the East Neuk, misca'd
and vilified sae by a pack o'beggars, an' be hangit to
you! Tak that (fetches him a blow,)
an' be thankfu' its
no waur! Naething like your deserts, ye rascals! (Again.)

SECOND FRIAR.

Sancte Francisce! my showthers! (scampers off.)

THIRD FRIAR.

Libera me Francisce—Deil's i'the madmen, they'll be
at me next. Godsake, let's aff—

GORDONSHA.

Tak that, friend, ere you gang— (Strikes him.)
We'se
no mak fish o'ane an' flesh o'anither. (Another thwack.)

THIRD FRIAR.

Murder! murder! (Runs off.)

BLACKLAWS.

Didna I lay weel on? I declare I'm a'swatcin' wi't!

GORDONSHA.

An' nae marvel—you're a bauld warrior wi' your bit
auld barrow-tram. Greasy, good-for-naething knaves!
they'll be clawing their sarkless backs till this day twalmonth,
I hope, wi' this. I'se warrant they'll hae sma'
pleasure this day gazin' at the good man's torments.

BLACKLAWS.

Haith, we'se brag o'this some day to John Rough.

DRUMRAWK.

You may e'en brag there—I'll keep mysel quiet—quietness
is aye best.

GORDONSHA.

Now, let's tak a peep out into the South-street, here—
we'll see them fidgin' an' fykin' wi' their loundered backs
a'the way to the Blackfriars Chapel.

[Exeunt.