es,
curiously slashed and laced. They wore green caps with silver tassels,
red ribands, and white shoes, had bells hung at their knees and around
their ankles, and naked swords in their hands. This gallant party,
having exhibited a sword dance before the King, with much clashing of
weapons and fantastic interchange of postures, went on gallantly to
repeat their exhibition before the door of Simon Glover, where, having
made a fresh exhibition of their agility, they caused wine to be served
round to their own company and the bystanders, and with a loud shout
drank to the health of the Fair Maid of Perth. This summoned old Simon
to the door of his habitation, to acknowledge the courtesy of his
countrymen, and in his turn to send the wine around in honour of the
Merry Morrice Dancers of Perth.

"We thank thee, father Simon," said a voice, which strove to drown in an
artificial squeak the pert, conceited tone of Oliver Proudfute. "But a
sight of thy lovely daughter had been more sweet to us young bloods than
a whole vintage of Malvoisie."

"I thank thee, neighbours, for your goodwill," replied the glover. "My
daughter is ill at ease, and may not come forth into the cold night air;
but if this gay gallant, whose voice methinks I should know, will go
into my poor house, she will charge him with thanks for the rest of
you."

"Bring them to us at the hostelrie of the Griffin," cried the rest of
the ballet to their favoured companion; "for there will we ring in Lent,
and have another rouse to the health of the lovely Catharine."

"Have with you in half an hour," said Oliver, "and see who will quaff
the largest flagon, or sing the loudest glee. Nay, I will be merry in
what remains of Fastern's Even, should Lent find me with my mouth closed
for ever."

"Farewell, then," cried his mates in the morrice--"fare well, slashing
bonnet maker, till we meet again."

The morrice dancers accordingly set out upon their further progress,
dancing and carolling as they went along to the sound of four musicians,
who led the joyous band, while Simon Glover drew their coryphaeus into
his house, and placed him in a chair by his parlour fire.

"But where is your daughter?" said Oliver. "She is the bait for us brave
blades."

"Why, truly, she keeps her apartment, neighbour Oliver; and, to speak
plainly, she keeps her bed."

"Why, then will I upstairs to see her in her sorrow; you have marred my
ramble, Gaffer Glover, and you owe me amends--