SCENE IV

A room at the Barley Sheaf, by candlelight, in the late evening of the same day.Seated round a table areLord MuirandBaliol White,a young spark of fashion;Sam Ogilvie,a flash but unprosperous ‘sport’;Neil Simpson,a drab and dissolute little schoolmaster;‘Shy’ Duncan,aspeculative gentleman of finance, at present half asleep, andBurns.Their cups are frequently replenished from a large punch-bowl in the middle of the table.

A room at the Barley Sheaf, by candlelight, in the late evening of the same day.

Seated round a table areLord MuirandBaliol White,a young spark of fashion;Sam Ogilvie,a flash but unprosperous ‘sport’;Neil Simpson,a drab and dissolute little schoolmaster;‘Shy’ Duncan,aspeculative gentleman of finance, at present half asleep, andBurns.

Their cups are frequently replenished from a large punch-bowl in the middle of the table.

Burns(to full chorus, is singing),

O, Willie brew’d a peck o’ maut,And Rob and Allan cam’ to see;Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night,Ye wad na found in Christendie.ChorusWe are na fou, we’re nae that fou,But just a drappie in our e’e;The cock may craw, the day may daw,And aye we’ll taste the barley bree.Here are we met, three merry boys,Three merry boys, I trow, are we;And mony a night we’ve merry been,And mony mae we hope to be!ChorusWe are na fou, etc.It is the moon, I ken her horn,That’s blinkin’ in the lift sae hie;She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,But, by my sooth, she’ll wait a wee!ChorusWe are no fou, etc.

O, Willie brew’d a peck o’ maut,And Rob and Allan cam’ to see;Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night,Ye wad na found in Christendie.

O, Willie brew’d a peck o’ maut,

And Rob and Allan cam’ to see;

Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night,

Ye wad na found in Christendie.

Chorus

We are na fou, we’re nae that fou,But just a drappie in our e’e;The cock may craw, the day may daw,And aye we’ll taste the barley bree.

We are na fou, we’re nae that fou,

But just a drappie in our e’e;

The cock may craw, the day may daw,

And aye we’ll taste the barley bree.

Here are we met, three merry boys,Three merry boys, I trow, are we;And mony a night we’ve merry been,And mony mae we hope to be!

Here are we met, three merry boys,

Three merry boys, I trow, are we;

And mony a night we’ve merry been,

And mony mae we hope to be!

Chorus

We are na fou, etc.

It is the moon, I ken her horn,That’s blinkin’ in the lift sae hie;She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,But, by my sooth, she’ll wait a wee!

It is the moon, I ken her horn,

That’s blinkin’ in the lift sae hie;

She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,

But, by my sooth, she’ll wait a wee!

Chorus

We are no fou, etc.

Muir(beating the table): There’s no eloquence like it. Was not Demosthenes an orator? Then was Demosthenes drunk.

Neil Simpson: Very logically put, my lord. In vino salutas.

Sam Ogilvie: There’s no badger in the world like wine. It defies the dogs of care. The cravenous dogs of care.

Simpson: Cravenous is not good lexicon. It is no word.

Ogilvie: I’ll have you know, Mr. Simpson, it is my word. It means exactly what I mean.

Simpson: It is an abuse—

Baliol White: Let your lexicon go to sleep, dominie. We’ll have no precisians here. I said precisians. Does anyone dispute it?

Muir: Gentlemen, I give you a toast. We have with us this evening a genius of the most pre-eminent intoxication—inspiration. In my opinion he makes Homer look a ninny. I have not perused the works of that celebrated Greek, but I am convinced that he was a ninny. Mr. Burns is not a ninny, and I defy anyone to say that he is. Mr. Burns, if anyone says you are a ninny, he shall answer to me for it.

Ogilvie: Who suggested that Mr. Burns was a ninny?

Muir: I’m not suggesting that anyone suggested it. I merely assert that he is not. Mr. Burns, let me assure you of the confidence of the assembled company. Gentlemen, I give you the health of Mr. Robert Burns, and may his glass never be empty.

[They drink to the toast boisterously.]

White: Speech, speech!

[He is supported by the rest.]

Burns(rising): It is a great honour to be in your convivial company. They are fools outside, but we are Solomons, with the perpetualfount of wisdom before us. We are the true ministers of state, for our policy is everlasting. Love is our law, and drink is our prophet, and shall we not obey these? I give you back a toast—Woman and the brimming bowl—gentlemen!

[The toast is honoured.]

Burns: Mr. Duncan, wake up, sir. Be not dejected in sleep, Mr. Duncan.

White(shaking him): Wake up, Shy. Shall we forget our behaviour before a man of genius, a man of temperament?

Duncan(rousing himself): Ten per cent.? What’s ten per cent. to me? I’ll not deal under twelve. Not a guinea under fifteen.

Muir: Behave yourself, Shy. To-morrow we will be again your devoted clients. To-night we do not discuss these things.

Duncan: I beg your pardon, gentlemen. I fell asleep, and was dreaming of a small transaction—most negligent of me to mention it in this company. By no means.

White: A very unpleasant reference, Shy. When is quarter-day?

Duncan: Don’t allow that to trouble you, Mr. White. I am always accommodating.

Simpson: Sat ad diem diei malum est.

Duncan: Most probably you are. But scholarship has a hungry belly, Mr. Simpson. I forswore it when I was a swaddler. I stand for the receipt of custom.

Muir: O nimble Shy, we are not interested in your biography.

Duncan: Will you write my biography, Mr. Burns?

Ogilvie: It is as unwanted as a paunch on a jockey.

Duncan: My lord, I ask you, does this pea-and-thimble man mean to insult me? (Rising.) I asked Mr. Burns to write my biography.

Muir: Sit down, Shy, you’re drunk.

Duncan: I know I’m drunk—I’m pleased to confess to anybody I’m drunk—

Ogilvie: Drunk and daft, Shylock, sit down.

Duncan: You stable-fly, you tap-sawdust, you ninepenny wager—he owes me four pounds ten—

White(pulling him down): Sit down, Shy, don’t be a fool. A song, Mr. Burns.

The Others: A song, a song.

Burns: Shall gentlemen of spirit quarrel about four pound ten? Call it quits, Mr. Duncan.

Muir: Come, Shy, quits, in honour of Mr. Burns. Sam meant no offence.

Duncan: I honour Mr. Burns highly. But I’ll see him damned before I will stand out of four pound ten.

Simpson: A very ignoble sentiment.

White: A song, a song.

Burns: I’m sorry, Mr. Ogilvie, that our friend will not oblige us. But was ever candour more becoming? A song for you, gentlemen.

Duncan Gray cam’ here to woo,Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,On blythe Yule-night when we were fou,Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.Maggie coost her head fu’ high,Look’d asklent and unco skeigh,Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.Time and chance are but a tide;Ha, ha, the wooing o’t;Slighted love is sair to bide;Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.‘Shall I, like a fool,’ quoth he,‘For a haughty hizzie die?She may gae to—France for me!’Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.How it comes let doctors tell;Ha, ha, the wooing o’t;Meg grew sick—as he grew hale,Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.Something in her bosom wrings,For relief a sigh she brings;And O, her een, they spak’ sic things!Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.Duncan was a lad o’ graceHa, ha, the wooing o’t;Maggie’s was a piteous caseHa, ha, the wooing o’t.Duncan couldna be her death,Swelling pity smoor’d his wrath;Now they’re crouse and canty baith—Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

Duncan Gray cam’ here to woo,

Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,

On blythe Yule-night when we were fou,

Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

Maggie coost her head fu’ high,

Look’d asklent and unco skeigh,

Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;

Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

Time and chance are but a tide;Ha, ha, the wooing o’t;Slighted love is sair to bide;Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.‘Shall I, like a fool,’ quoth he,‘For a haughty hizzie die?She may gae to—France for me!’Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

Time and chance are but a tide;

Ha, ha, the wooing o’t;

Slighted love is sair to bide;

Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

‘Shall I, like a fool,’ quoth he,

‘For a haughty hizzie die?

She may gae to—France for me!’

Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

How it comes let doctors tell;Ha, ha, the wooing o’t;Meg grew sick—as he grew hale,Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.Something in her bosom wrings,For relief a sigh she brings;And O, her een, they spak’ sic things!Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

How it comes let doctors tell;

Ha, ha, the wooing o’t;

Meg grew sick—as he grew hale,

Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

Something in her bosom wrings,

For relief a sigh she brings;

And O, her een, they spak’ sic things!

Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

Duncan was a lad o’ graceHa, ha, the wooing o’t;Maggie’s was a piteous caseHa, ha, the wooing o’t.Duncan couldna be her death,Swelling pity smoor’d his wrath;Now they’re crouse and canty baith—Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

Duncan was a lad o’ grace

Ha, ha, the wooing o’t;

Maggie’s was a piteous case

Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

Duncan couldna be her death,

Swelling pity smoor’d his wrath;

Now they’re crouse and canty baith—

Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.

Simpson: A very sweet measure, Mr. Burns, and exemplary morality. The ancients would most unconsciously have approved. And he who has not the expedition of the ancients is a blockhead.

Muir: A damned blockhead, dominie. That’s what Mr. Burns called the minister at lunch to-day. I never heard a compliment more prettily put. A damned blockhead.

Duncan(rousing from his stupor): Who says I’m a damned blockhead? I resent the insults of this company—I am tired of them. If Mr. Burns says I am a damned blockhead, he’s a bankrupt bastard.

Simpson and White: Order, order.

Muir(a little sobered): Shy Duncan, be ashamed of yourself, man. No one is welcome in this company who cannot get drunk like a gentleman.

Ogilvie(rising): I warned you, my lord, he was no fit member for our society.

Duncan(standing to him): You’re fit enough, I suppose, Mr. Five-Ace Ogilvie.

Muir(with authority now): Drop it, Duncan, I tell you. Sam is our gillie of all games. You’re our financier. We know our obligations. Very well. But you must apologise to Mr. Burns.

Duncan: I will not apologise if he calls me a damned blockhead.

Burns: Mr. Duncan, believe me I had not considered you in that light.

Ogilvie: You are a damned blockhead anyway, Shy.

Duncan: Then I’ve done with argument.

[With this he flings the contents of his cup inOgilvie’sface.Ogilvietries to close with him, but is restrained byWhiteandSimpson,whileMuirandBurnsholdDuncan.]

Duncan(toBurns): Leave me alone, you bawdy jingler. Go back to your wenching, and let men settle their own affairs. Take your hands off me, I say.

White(toOgilvie): Sit down, Sam.

Simpson: Brawling is licentious.

[They quieten him.]

Duncan: Let me go, you.

[ButBurnsneeds a little help fromMuirto keep him in control.]

Burns: Why do you discompose yourself, Mr. Duncan? No one means you any harm.

Duncan: You have no right to address me at all. I am above your quality.

Muir(tipsy like the rest, but clear as to the situation): Duncan, are you going to apologise? Either that, or you can go home, and don’t come back.

Duncan(relapsing suddenly from temper to maudlin stupor, sinking into his chair): I will apologise if Mr. Burns will write my biography.

Simpson: He shall write it, and I will exhibit it by citation.

Duncan: Very well then, I apologise.

Muir: Very unedifying, Mr. Burns. I beg you will overlook it. Fill up, gentlemen.

[He fills the cups. As he is doing so a serving maid comes in.]

The Girl: This has just been left for Mr. Burns. (Giving him a note.) A lady in a coach.

White: A love letter, I’ll warrant. (To theGirl.) Did you read it, darling?

[He puts his arm round her and kisses her.]

The Girl: I have my own, thank you.

White: O, you have, have you?

[She moves to go.Burnsis fumbling with his letter, beyond any easy reading of it.]

Muir(filling the last cup): A moment, Meg. The bowl is empty. We will replenish it. Bear it in front of us. Come, Baliol, we will administer the ingredients together. Excuse us, gentlemen.

[Megcarries the bowl out,MuirandWhitefollowing her.Ogilviehas subsided on to the floor, and is lying with his head onDuncan’sknee, both asleep.]

[Megcarries the bowl out,MuirandWhitefollowing her.

Ogilviehas subsided on to the floor, and is lying with his head onDuncan’sknee, both asleep.]

Burns(the opened letter in his hand): This handwriting is confoundedly fidgetty.

Simpson(who has carried his liquor better than the rest): Is it of a private character, Mr. Burns?

Burns: Its character escapes me.

[Handing the letter to him.]

Simpson(reading): ‘Remember your friends. They remember you. Be just to yourself. Afton Water.’ (Returning the letter.) An obscure reference.

Burns: Just to myself. Are we just to ourselves, Mr. Simpson?

Simpson: It is many years since I asked myself that question, Mr. Burns. I was ambitious once.

Burns: And you betrayed yourself?

Simpson: I accepted my limitations.

Burns: I could have been a different man, Mr. Simpson, and she died. I, too, am accepting my limitations. We’re not very proud of it, eh, Mr. Simpson?

Simpson: I do not vex my mind on the matter any longer.

Burns: That’s it. It comes. It is coming to me—I know it. Mary, lass, Mary.

[And now, brooding far away from his environment, he sings.]

Thou ling’ring star, with less’ning ray,That lov’st to greet the early morn,Again thou usher’st in the dayMy Mary from my soul was torn.O Mary! dear departed shade!Where is thy place of blissful rest?See’st thou thy lover lowly laid?Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?That sacred hour can I forget?Can I forget the hallowed grove,Where, by the winding Ayr, we met,To live one day of parting love?My Mary! dear departed shade!Where is thy place of blissful rest?See’st thou thy lover lowly laid?Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?

Thou ling’ring star, with less’ning ray,

That lov’st to greet the early morn,

Again thou usher’st in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn.

O Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

See’st thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget?Can I forget the hallowed grove,Where, by the winding Ayr, we met,To live one day of parting love?My Mary! dear departed shade!Where is thy place of blissful rest?See’st thou thy lover lowly laid?Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget?

Can I forget the hallowed grove,

Where, by the winding Ayr, we met,

To live one day of parting love?

My Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

See’st thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?

Simpson: She’ll not hear.

[Burnsmakes no reply, but sits alone in his moment of remorse.MuirandWhitereturn with the bowl, now full. They place it on the table.]

[Burnsmakes no reply, but sits alone in his moment of remorse.

MuirandWhitereturn with the bowl, now full. They place it on the table.]

Muir: Gentlemen, gentlemen. Asleep and moody. Come, this is festivity. (Rousing the sleepers.) Wake up, drink up, sing up!

Duncan(waking): I apologise—I said so. Sam Ogilvie, we will wipe out all debts. Let us drink till morning.

Ogilvie: Shy, you’re a thoroughbred.

Muir: Come, Mr. Burns, do not be put out of countenance because a few words have passed. Let gone be gone. We’re all friends now. Another song, Mr. Burns, and here’s to you.

[They all drink again, and call for the song.]

Burns(rousing himself): You mistake me, gentlemen. I am your servant. And, my lord, as you say, we will let gone be gone. We cannot confound our limitations, as Mr. Simpson will tell you. So let us drink, and sing, and drink.

[He drinks a full cup at a draught, and sings, the chorus now renewed to its highest pitch.]

Ken ye ought o’ Captain Grose?Igo and ago,If he’s amang his friends or foes?Iram, coram, dago.Is he south or is he north?Igo and ago,Or drownèd in the river Forth?Iram, coram, dago.Is he slain by Highlan’ bodies?Igo and ago,And eaten like a wether-haggis?Iram, coram, dago.Is he to Abram’s bosom gane?Igo and ago,Or haudin’ Sarah by the wame?Iram, coram, dago.Where’er he be, the Lord be near him!Igo and ago,As for the deil, he daurna steer him!Iram, coram, dago.So may ye get in glad possession,Igo and ago,The coins o’ Satan’s coronation!Iram, coram, dago.

Ken ye ought o’ Captain Grose?Igo and ago,If he’s amang his friends or foes?Iram, coram, dago.

Ken ye ought o’ Captain Grose?

Igo and ago,

If he’s amang his friends or foes?

Iram, coram, dago.

Is he south or is he north?Igo and ago,Or drownèd in the river Forth?Iram, coram, dago.

Is he south or is he north?

Igo and ago,

Or drownèd in the river Forth?

Iram, coram, dago.

Is he slain by Highlan’ bodies?Igo and ago,And eaten like a wether-haggis?Iram, coram, dago.

Is he slain by Highlan’ bodies?

Igo and ago,

And eaten like a wether-haggis?

Iram, coram, dago.

Is he to Abram’s bosom gane?Igo and ago,Or haudin’ Sarah by the wame?Iram, coram, dago.

Is he to Abram’s bosom gane?

Igo and ago,

Or haudin’ Sarah by the wame?

Iram, coram, dago.

Where’er he be, the Lord be near him!Igo and ago,As for the deil, he daurna steer him!Iram, coram, dago.

Where’er he be, the Lord be near him!

Igo and ago,

As for the deil, he daurna steer him!

Iram, coram, dago.

So may ye get in glad possession,Igo and ago,The coins o’ Satan’s coronation!Iram, coram, dago.

So may ye get in glad possession,

Igo and ago,

The coins o’ Satan’s coronation!

Iram, coram, dago.

THE CURTAIN FALLS

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