We little thought, in these our funeral weeds,
A bridal feast to darken.
LORNE.
Many who don their coat at break of day,
Know not what shall befal them, therein girt,
Ere ev'ning close. (Assuming a gay tone.)
The Earl hath set a step-dame o'er my head
To cow my pride—What think you, brave Maclean?
This world so fleeting is and full of change,
Some lose their wives I trow, and others find them.
Bridegrooms and widowers do, side by side,
Their beakers quaff; and which of them at heart
Most glad or sorry is, the subtle fiend,
Who in men's hollow hearts his council holds,
He wotteth best, though each good man will swear,
His lost or found all other dames excell'd.
ARGYLL.
Shall judge if she—the lady I have found,
Equal in beauty her whom he hath lost.
In worth I'm sure she does.—But hush! she comes.
(A great commotion through the Hall amongst the Attendants, &c.)
