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"Bill's got the fever," said another. "He just about wears hisself out a-pickin' up and a-totein' 'round likely lookin' rocks. Seems like he was lookin' fer gold mines 'stid o' cattle most of the time." "You're just in time for the turnament, Mose." "For the how-many?" "The turnament and bullfight. Joe Grassie has been gettin' up a bullfight and a kind of a show.
This was a sore joke against me for a length of time; but I tholed it patiently, considering cannily within myself, that even Johnny Cope himself had not learned the art of war in a single morning. IV. My First and Last Play Maister Glen, a farmer from the howes of the Lammermoor, Hills, a far-awa cousin of our neighbour Widow Grassie, came to Dalkeith to buy a horse at our fair.
On the head of this auld Glen and I had another jug, three being cannie, after which we were both a wee tozymozy. Mistress Grassie saw plainly that we were getting into a state where we could not easily make a halt, and brought in the tea-things and told us that a company of strolling players had come to the town and were to give an exhibition in Laird Wheatley's barn.
"Their rotten relics lurk close under ground; With living weight no sense or sympathy They have at all; nor hollow thundering sound Of roaring winds that cold mortality Can wake, ywrapt in sad Fatality: To horse's hoof that beats his grassie dore He answers not: the moon in silency Doth passe by night, and all bedew him o'er With her cold, humid rayes; but he feels not Heaven's power."
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