Page:The Family Legend.pdf/20

Enter Morton.

MORTON.

Ye lazy lubbards!

Grumble ye thus?—Ye would prefer, I trow.
To sun your easy sides, like household curs,
Each on his dung-hill stretch'd, in drowsy sloth.
Fy on't! to grumble on a day like this,
When to the clan a rousing feast is giv'n,
In honour of an heir born to the chief—
A brave Maclean, still to maintain the honours
Of this your ancient race!

FIRST HIGHLANDER.

A brave Maclean indeed!—vile mongrel hound!

Come from the south, where all strange mixtures be
Of base and feeble! sprung of varlet's blood!
What is our race to thee?

SECOND HIGHLANDER, (to Morton.)

Thou'lt chew, I doubt not,

Thy morsel in the hall with right good relish.
Whether Maclean or Campbell be our lord.

MORTON.

Ungracious surly lubbards! in, I say.

And bring your burdens quicker. And, besides,