Emblems Of Love Part 9

_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?