Page:Dramas 3.pdf/110

108

Shame upon ye! he's a poor fatherless idiot.

Fatherless, forsooth! He's a fiend-begotten imp I warrant ye, and should be sent to the dad he belongs to. (Trumpet heard nearer.)

Red the way, I say, and gang out o' our gait, ilka saul and bouk o' ye! The judges are at han', and my prisoner maun be kary'd or they come, else they'll order ye a' to the tolbooth at a swoop. What a braw thing it is to hear the trumpet sound sae nobly! There they come now; the judges, and the sheriff, and the baillies, and the deacons—a' the grand authorities o' the country.

Hegh saf ' us, what a gurly carle that judge is on the left! nae witch that stan's before him wull escape, I trow, war' she as young and as bonny as the rose-buds in June.

Hau'd your tongue, mither, that a body may