to win the game.
Farmer's Son:--
The game, sir, the game, sir! it is not in your power,
I'll cut you into inches in less than half-an-hour.
My head is made of iron, my heart is made of steel,
My sword is a Ferrara that can do its duty weel.
Goloshan:--
My body is like rock, sir, my head is like a stone,
And I will be Goloshan when you are dead and gone.
Enter Wallace:--
Here come I, Sir William Wallace, wight,
Who shed his blood for Scotland's right;
Without a right, without a reason,
Here I draw my bloody weapon.
(_Fights with Goloshan--the latter falls._) Farmer's Son:--
Now that young man is dead, sir, and on the ground is laid;
And you shall suffer for it, I'm very much afraid.
Wallace:--
It was not me that did the deed, nor me that did the crime,
'Twas this young man behind me who drew his sword so fine.
Sir Alexander:--
Oh, you artful villain, to lay the blame on me!
For my two eyes were shut, sir, when this young man did dee.
Wallace:--
How could your eyes be shut, sir, when you were looking on?
How could your eyes be shut, sir, when both the swords were drawn?
Farmer's Son (to Wallace):--
How can you thus deny the deed? As I stood looking on,
You drew your sword from out its sheath, and slashed his body down.
Wallace:--
If I have slain Goloshan, Goloshan I will cure,
And I will make him rise and sing in less than half-an-hour;
Round the kitchen, round the town,
Haste and bring me Dr. Brown.
Dr. Brown enters:--
Here come I, old Dr. Brown, the foremost doctor in the town.
Wallace:--
What makes you so good, sir?
Doctor:--
Why, my travels.
Wallace:--
And where have you travelled?
Doctor:--
From Hickerty-pickerty-hedgehog, three times round the West Indies,
and back to old Scotland.
Wallace:--
Is that all?
Doctor:--
No sir. I have travelled from fireside to chairside, from chairside
to stoolside, from stoolside to tableside, from tableside to bedside,
from bedside to press-side, and got many a lump of bread and butter
from my mother; and that's the way my belly's so big.
Wallace:--
Well, what can you cure?
Doctor:--
I can cure the rurvy-scurvy, and the rumble-gumption of a man who
has been seven years dead or more, and can make an old woman of
sixty look like a girl of sixteen.
Wallace:--
How much would you take to cure this dead man? Would
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