_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