DUGALD.
There is within that sturdy trunk of thine,
Old as it is, a still exhaustless store.
A Lapland witch's bag could scarcely match it.
Thou could'st, I doubt not, belly out the sails
Of a thrice-masted vessel with thy mouth:
But be thy mercy equal to thy might!
I pray thee now give o'er: in faith the Earl
Has pass'd a sleepless night.
PIPER.
To play or stop at bidding? Is Argyll
The lord and chieftain of our ancient clan,
More certainly than I to him, as such,
The high hereditary piper am?
A sleepless night, forsooth! He's slept full oft
On the hard heath, with fifty harness'd steeds
Champing their fodder round him;—soundly too.—
I'll do mine office, loon, chafe as thou wilt.
(Continuing to pace up and down, and play as before.)
DUGALD.
