Page:The Family Legend.pdf/20

6

Ye lazy lubbards! Grumble ye thus?—Ye would prefer, I trow. To sun your easy sides, like household curs, Each on his dung-hill stretch'd, in drowsy sloth. Fy on't! to grumble on a day like this, When to the clan a rousing feast is giv'n, In honour of an heir born to the chief— A brave Maclean, still to maintain the honours Of this your ancient race!

A brave Maclean indeed!—vile mongrel hound! Come from the south, where all strange mixtures be Of base and feeble! sprung of varlet's blood! What is our race to thee?

Thou'lt chew, I doubt not, Thy morsel in the hall with right good relish. Whether Maclean or Campbell be our lord.

Ungracious surly lubbards! in, I say. And bring your burdens quicker. And, besides,