THE RAID. 197 



SCHO. — Here is my basket, my loving master. It is 

 heavy as Venator' s, and I have twenty-nine fish, great 

 and Httle. 



PiSC. — Well done. Scholar ! marry, I am glad you 

 have profited so well by my advice and precept. Now, 

 Corydon, what have you ? 



Cory. — No sae muckle as the tithers, but I hae a 

 gude fesh o' twa poond, and that's mair than they hae, 

 forby. 



Omnes. — Bravo, Corydon ! Bravo ! That is a 

 thumper ! 



PiSC. — But what is this } O, fie, Corydon ! Here is 

 a parr. This is an ofi'ence against our first statute : " No 

 fisher but the ungrown fry forbears." What is to be done, 

 brethren ? 



Omnes. — Fine him glasses round, good master. 

 Cory. — Stop ! stop ! Nae so faust, PU jest tell you 

 nae lees ; that parr was sair hookit, sae I broke his neck 

 to put him oot o' his trouble. 



PlSC— Quite right, too, Corydon. What says the 

 play-book .'' " There's nothing in the world so noble 

 as a kindly angler." 



Peter (aside). — It should have been glasses round, all 

 the same. 



PiSC. —No treason, Peter. Now, what have yoii ? 

 Peter.— Not so much, I have had but ill fortune ; I 

 have here but ten trouts, and I lost one great one ; I had 



a grand fight with him, but had no chance at all, so 



Cory. — Cut it short, Peter. 

 Peter. so I lost him. 



