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_Mary_.
We might just see how horrible they are.
_Jean_.
Sure, they will make us shudder;
_Katrina_.
Or else cry.
[_A_ MAN _meets them_.
_Man_.
Are you for the show, my girls?
_Jean_.
We aren't your girls.
_Katrina_.
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 la.s.s, 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_.
Now promise me, We'll only take a glimpse, girls, a short glimpse.
_Jean (laughing)_.
Yes, just to see how horrible they are.
[_They go on towards the gate_.
II
_The Scottish Gate, Carlisle. Among the crowd_.
_Mary_.
O why did we come here?
_Jean_.
One, two, three, four-- A devil's dozen of them at the least.
_Katrina_.
Poor lads! They did not need to set them up So high, surely. Which is the one you'ld call Prettiest, Jean?
_Jean_.
That fellow with the sneer; The axe's weight could not ruffle his brow,-- How signed it is with scorn!
_Katrina_.
Ah yes, he's dark And you are red: Mary and I will choose Some golden fellow. Which do you think, Mary?
_Jean_.
O, but mine is the one! Look--do you see?-- He must have put his curls away from the axe; Or did they part themselves when he knelt down, And let the stroke have his nape white and bare?
O could a girl not nestle snug and happy Against a neck, with such hair covering her!
_Katrina_.
Now, Mary, we must make our yellow choice; You've got good eyes; which do you fancy?--Jean!
What ails her?
_Jean_.
How she stares! which is the one She singles out? That topmost boy it is,-- Pretty enough for a flaxen poll indeed.
Is that your lad, Mary?
