"That's Burns, and out of Shakespeare there isna a healthier spirit in the world. Burns and Shakespeare--both of 'em poor men and straight from the earth, and 'll give ye all the cultured dandies in the world for a farthing gift. So you're playing at play-acting, young man? That's what nine-tenths the world is for ever doing in its daily life. They ca' me a disgusting old man, but they should hear what I ca' them when my tongue's loosed and my mind's eyes seeing visions. I live in Hell, but I've a Heaven in my brain. . . . Your father's a good man to go his own way with the dirty Lutherans and the filthy Puritans yelping at his heels. You'll not be going in for the professional play-acting?" "No," said Frederic. "I sing." Old Lawrie clapped his old silk hat on his head, took his blackthorn stick in his hand and gave a shout of laughter. He patted Frederic on the shoulder, pursed his lips and hummed through them strangely and vaguely as though he were turning over a morsel of music on his tongue, and then he broke into verse and said: _O youth it is a pretty thing, A wild rose in the bud. But it must die with the passing Spring All trampled in the mud. We've heavy feet in our town, Rough shod with iron bands. Virginity goes toppling down Befouled with loutish hands. O Spring is smoked in our town, And life's a dirty scrum, The angels weep to see God's frown And we make Hell to hum._ He turned away after this impromptu and joined a bibulous-looking individual with white hair and an enormous face, Joshua Yeo, his editor, and the nearest approach to a friend that he had. Frederic turned to the spotty-faced youth and found him grinning vacantly. "Quite balmy," said the spotty-faced youth. "I think he's splendid," returned Frederic, amazed at his own enthusiasm. "Wants a new coat," said the spotty-faced youth. "He's worn that ever since I've known him, and it's green with age. He gets fighting roaring blind once a month, and his sons lock him up. I know one of them--Bennett Lawrie--a bee-yooti-ful young man, High-Church and all that. May have been to your governor's show. The old man's a Presbyterian as much as he's anything. He used to be in a bank, same bank that Randolph Caldecott used to be in. But he quarrelled, quarrels with every one." "Do you think he made that up--about youth and our town?" "Comes easy to him. When he's drunk he talks blank verse. He was run in once, and he harangued the beak like Mark Antony at Cæsar's funeral." They were called back to the stage, and Frederic found that he was not nearly so pleased with himself in his part as he had been. He began to think the play foolish and shoddy.