“Had you tasted that pork, brother, you would have found that it was sweet and tasty, which balluva that is drabbed can hardly be expected to be. We have no reason to drab baulor at present, we have money and credit; but necessity has no law. Our forefathers occasionally drabbed baulor; some of our people may still do such a thing, but only from compulsion.” “I see,” said I; “and at your merry meetings you sing songs upon the compulsatory deeds of your people, alias, their villainous actions; and, after all, what would the stirring poetry of any nation be, but for its compulsatory deeds? Look at the poetry of Scotland, the heroic part, founded almost entirely on the villainous deeds of the Scotch nation; cow-stealing, for example, which is very little better than drabbing baulor; whilst the softer part is mostly about the slips of its females among the broom, so that no upholder of Scotch poetry could censure Ursula’s song as indelicate, even if he understood it. What do you think, Jasper?” “I think, brother, as I before said, that occasionally you utter a word of common sense; you were talking of the Scotch, brother; what do you think of a Scotchman finding fault with Romany?” “A Scotchman finding fault with Romany, Jasper! Oh dear, but you joke, the thing could never be.” “Yes, and at Piramus’s fiddle; what do you think of a Scotchman turning up his nose at Piramus’s fiddle?” “A Scotchman turning up his nose at Piramus’s fiddle! nonsense, Jasper.” “Do you know what I most dislike, brother?” “I do not, unless it be the constable, Jasper.” “It is not the constable; it’s a beggar on horseback, brother.” “What do you mean by a beggar on horseback?”