PLAYERS. Sit down, Ainslie. - Sit down, Andra. - Ma revenge!

AINSLIE. Na, na, I'm for canny goin'. (COMING FORWARD WITH
BOTTLE.) Deacon, let's see your gless.

BRODIE. Not an inch of it.

MOORE. No rotten shirking, Deacon!

[AINSLIE. I'm sayin', man, let's see your gless.

BRODIE. Go to the deuce!]

AINSLIE. But I'm sayin' -

BRODIE. Haven't I to play to-night?

AINSLIE. But, man, ye'll drink to bonnie Jean Watt?

BRODIE. Ay, I'll follow you there. A LA REINE DE MES AMOURS!
(DRINKS.) What fiend put this in your way, you hound? You've
filled me with raw stuff. By the muckle deil! -

MOORE. Don't hit him, Deacon; tell his mother.

HUNT (ASIDE). Oho!


SCENE III