_Mr. H._ No hurry, my gude lass. But I would willingly see the beds for my
poor fellows, that has had a sair march.

_Biddy._ Why then, if your honour would take a fool's advice, you'd not be
looking at them beds, to be spoiling your dinner--since, good or bad, all
the looking at 'em in the wide world won't mend 'em one feather, sure.

_Mr. H._ My gude girl, that's true. Still I'd like ever to face the worst.

_Biddy._ Then it's up that ladder you'll go.

_Mr. H._ No stairs?

_Biddy._ Oh, there are stairs--but they are burnt and coming down, and
you'll find the ladder safest and best; only mind the little holes in the
floor, if you plase, your honour.

[_Mr. HOPE ascends the ladder while she speaks, and goes into the
bedchamber above._

_BIDDY, sola._

Well, I'm ashamed of my life, when a stranger and foreigner's reviewing our
house, though I'm only the girl in it, and no ways answerable. It frets me
for my country forenent them Scotch and English. (_Mr. HOPE descends the
ladder._) Then I'm sorry it's not better for your honour's self, and men.
But there's a new inn to be opened the 25th, in this town; and if you
return this way, I hope things will be more agreeable and proper. But
you'll have no bad dinner, your honour, any way;--there's Scotch broth, and