SCENE I.

    PROLOGUE TO THE SCENE

                Beneath the south-side of a craigy bield,
                Where crystal springs the halesome waters yield,
                Twa youthfu' shepherds on the gowans lay,
                Tenting their flocks ae bonny morn of May.
                Poor Roger granes, till hollow echoes ring;
                But blyther Patie likes to laugh and ring.

PATIE AND ROGER.
SANG, Tune, The wawking of the faulds.

    PATIE.

MY Peggy is a young thing,
Just enter'd in her teens,
                Fair as the day, and sweet as May,
                Fair as the day, and always gay;
My Peggy is a young thing,
And I'm not very auld,
Yet well I like to meet her at
The wawking of the fauld.

                My Peggy speaks sae sweetly,
Whene'er we meet alane,
        I wish nae mair to lay my care,
        I wish nae mair of a' that's rare;
                My Peggy speaks sae sweetly,
To a' the lave I'm cauld:
                But she gars a' my spirits glow
At wawking of the fauld.

                My Peggy smiles sae kindly,
Whene'er I whisper love,
        That I look down on a' the town,
        That I look down upon a crown.
                My Peggy smiles sae kindly,
It makes me blyth and bauld,
                And nathing gi'es me sic delight,
As wawking of the fauld.

                My Peggy sings sae saftly,
When on my pipe I play;
        By a' the rest it is confest,
        By a' the rest, that she sings best.
                My Peggy sings sae saftly
And in her fangs are tald,
                With innocence, the wale of sense,
At wawking of the fauld.

This funny morning, Roger, chears my blood,
And puts all nature in a jovial mood.
How hartsom is't to see the rising plants,
To hear the birds chirm o'er their pleasing rants;
How halesome is't to snuff the cawler air,
And a' the sweets it bears, when void of care.

What ails thee, Roger, then? what gars thee grane?
Tell me the cause of thy ill-season'd pain?

    ROGER.
I'm born, O Parle, to a thrawart fate!
I'm born to strive with hardships sad and great.
Tempests may cease to jaw the rowan flood,
Corbies and tods to grien for lambkins blood:
But I, opprest with never-ending grief,
Maun ay despair of lighting on relief.

    PATIE.
The bees shall loath the flow'r, and quit the hive,
The saughs on boggie ground shall cease to thrive,
Ere scornfu' queans, or loss of warldly gear,
Shall spill my rest, or ever force a tear.

    ROGER.
Sae might I say; but it's no easy done
By ane whale saul's sae sadly out of tune.
You ha' sae saft a voice, and slid a tongue,
You are the darling baith of auld and young.
If I but ettle at a sang, or speak,
They dit their lugs, syne up their leglens cleek,
And jeer me hameward frae the loan or bught,
While I'm confus'd with mony a vexing thought:
Yet I am tall, and as well built as thee,
Nor mair unlikely to a lass's eye.
For ilk a sheep ye have, I'll number ten,
And should, as ane may think, come farer ben.

    PATIE.

But ablins, nibour, ye have not a heart,
And downa eithly wi' your cunzie part:

If that be true, what signifies your gear?
A mind that's scrimpit never wants some care.

    ROGER.
My byar tumbled, nine braw nowt were smoor'd,
Three elf-shot were, yet I these ills endur'd:
In winter last my cares were very sma',
Tho' scores of wathers perish'd in the snaw.

    PATIE.
Were your bien rooms as thinly stock'd as mine,
Less you wad loss, and less ye wad repine.
He that has just enough can soundly sleep:
The o'ercome only fashes fowk to keep.

    ROGER.
May plenty flow upon thee for a cross,
That thou may'st thole the pangs of mony a loss
O may'st thou doat on some fair paughty wench,
That ne'er will lout thy lowan drowth to quench
'Till bris'd beneath the burden, thou cry dool!
And awn that ane may fret that is nae fool.

    PATIE.
Sax good fat lambs, I sauld them ilka clute
At the West Port, and bought a winsome flute,
Of plum-tree made, with iv'ry virles round:
A dainty whistle, with a pleasant sound:
I'll be mair canty w'it, and ne'er cry dool!
Than you with a' your cash, ye dowie fool.

    ROGER.

Na, Patie, na! I'm nae sic churlish beast,
Some other thing lies heavier at my breast:

I dream'd a dreary dream this hinder night,
That gars my flesh a creep yet with the fright.

    PATIE.
Now, to a friend, how silly's this pretence,
To ane wha you and a' your secrets kens;
Daft are your dreams, as daftly wad ye hide
Your well seen love, and dorty Jenny's pride:
Take courage, Roger, me your sorrows tell,
And safely think nane kens them but your sell.

    ROGER.
Indeed now, Parle, ye have guess'd o'er true,
And there is nathing. I'll keep up frae you.
Me dorty Jenny looks upon asquint;
To speak but till her I dare hardly mint:
In ilka place the jeers me air and late,
And gars me look bombaz'd, and unko blate;
But yesterday I met her yont a know,
She fled as frae a shelly-coated kow.
She Bauldy looes, Bauldy that drives the car,
But gecks at me, and says I smell of tar.

    PATIE.
But Bauldy looes not her, right well I war,
He sighs for Neps;--sae that may stand for that.

    ROGER.

I wish I cou'dna looe her--but in vain,
I still maunt doat, and throle her proud disdain.
My Bawty is a cur I dearly like,
'Till he yowl'd fair the strak the poor dumb tyke;
If I had fill'd a nook within her breast,
She wad have shawn mair kindness to my beast.

When I begin to tune my stock and horn,
With a' her face the thaws a caulrife scorn.
Last night I play'd, ye never heard sic spite;
O'er Bogie was the spring, and her delyte:
Yet tauntingly she at her cousin spear'd,
Gif she could tell what tune I play'd, and sneer'd.
Flocks, wander where ye like, I dinna care,
I'll break my reed, and never whistle mair.

    PATIE.
E'en do sae, Roger, wha can help misluck?
Saebins the be sic a thrawin gabbit chuck,
Yonders a craig, since ye have tint all hope
Gae till't your ways, and take the lover's lowp.

    ROGER.
I needna mak sic speed my blood to spill,
I'll warrant death come soon enough a-will.

    PATIE.

Daft gowk! leave off that silly whinging way;
Seem careless--there's my hand ye'll win the day.
Hear how I serv'd my lass I love as weel
As ye do Jenny, and with heart as leel.
Last morning I was gay and early out,
Upon a dyke I lean'd, glowring about;
I saw my Meg come linkan o'er the lee;
I saw my Meg, but Peggy saw na me:
For yet the sun was wading thro' the mist,
And she was close upon me e'er she wist.
Her coats were kiltit, and did sweetly shaw
Her straight bare legs, that whiter were than snaw.

Her cockernony snooded up fou sleek,
Her haffet locks hang waving on her cheek;
Her cheeks sae ruddy, and her een sae clear;
And O! her mouth's like ony hinny pear.
Neat, neat she was, in bustine waistcoat clean,
As she came skiffing o'er the dewy green:
Blythsome, I cry'd, My bonny Meg, come here,
I ferly wherefore ye're so soon afteer?
But I can guess, ye're gone to gather dew:
She scour'd awa', and said, What's that to you?
Then fare ye weel, Meg-Dorts, and e'en's ye like,
I careless cry'd, and lap in o'er the dyke.
I trow, when that she saw, within a crack,
She came with a right thieveless errand back:
Miscaw'd me first--then bad me hund my dog,
To wear up three waff ews stray'd on the bog.
I leugh, and sae did she; then with great haste
I clasp'd my arms about her neck and waist;
About her yielding waist; and took a south
Of sweetest kisses frae her glowing mouth.
While hard and fast I held her in my grips,
My very saul came lowping to my lips.
Sair, sair she flet wi' me 'tween ilke smack,
But weel I kend she meant nae as she spak.
Dear Roger, when your jo puts on her gloom,
Do ye sae too, and never falls your thumb.
Seem to forsake her, soon she'll change her mood
Gae woo anither, and she'll gang clean wood.

SANG. Tune, Fy gar rub her o'er with strae

                Dear Roger, if your Jenny geck,
And answer kindness with a flight,
                Seem unconcern'd at her neglect,
For women in a man delight:
                But them despise who're soon defeat
And with a simple face give way
                To repulse--then be not blate,
Push bauldly on, and win the day.

                When maidens, innocently young,
Say aften what they never mean
                Ne'er mind their pretty lying tongue,
But tent the language of their een:
                If these agree, and she persist
To answer all your love with hate,
                Seek elsewhere to be better blest,
And let her sigh when 'tis too late.

    ROGER.

Kind Patie, now fair-fa your honest heart,
Ye're ay sae cadgy, and have sic an art
To hearten ane: for now as clean's a leek,
Ye've cherish'd me, since ye began to speak.
Sae, for your pains, I'll mak yea propine,
(My mother, rest her saul! she made it fine;)
A tartan plaid, spun of good hawslock woo,
Scarlet and green the sets, the borders blue:
With spraings like gowd, and siller cross'd with black,
I never had it yet upon my back.

Weel are ye wordy o't, who have sae kind
Red up my revel'd doubts, and clear'd my mind,

    PATIE.
Weel, bald ye there:--and since ye're frankly made
To me a present of your braw new plaid,
My flute's be yours; and she too that's sae nice,
Shall come a-will, gif ye'll tak my advice.

    ROGER.
As ye advise, I'll promise to observ't;
But ye maun keep the flute, ye best deserv't.
Now tak it out, and gie's a bonny spring;
For I'm in tilt to hear you play and sing.

    PATIE.
But first we'll tak a turn up to the height,
And see gif a' our flocks be seeding right;
By that time bannocks, and a shave of cheese,
Will make a breakfast that a laird might please;
Might please the daintiest gabs, were they sae wife
To season meat wi' health instead of spice.
When we ha'e ta'n the grace-drink at this well,
I'll whistle fine, and sing t' ye like my fell.

    [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

    PROLOGUE.

                A flowrie howm, between twa verdant braes,
                Where lasses use to wash and spread their claes
                A trotting burnie wimpling thro' the ground,
                Its channel peebles shining smooth and round:
                Here view twa barefoot beauties, clean and clear;
                First please your eye, next gratify your ear;
                While Jenny what she wishes discommends,
                And Meg, with better sense, true love defends.

PEGGY AND JENNY.

    JENNY.

COME , Meg, let's fa' to wark upon thls green,
The shining day will bleach our linen clean;
The waters clear, the lift unclouded blew,
Will make them like a lily wet wi' dew.

    PEGGY.

Gae farer up the burn to Habbie's How,
Where a' the sweets of spring and simmer grow,
Between twa birks, out o'er a little lin,
The water fa's and maks a singan din;
A pool breast-deep, beneath as clear as glass,
Kisses wi' easy whirls the bord'ring grass:
We'll end our washing while the morning's cool;
And when the day grows het, we'll to the pool,

There wash oursells.--It's healthfou now in May,
And sweetly cauler on sae warm a day.

    JENNY.

Daft lassie, when we're naked, what'll ye say,
Gif our two herds come brattling down the brae,
And see us sae? That jeering fallow Pate
Wad taunting say, Haith, lasses, ye're no blate.

    PEGGY.

We're far frae ony road, and out o' sight;
The lads they're seeding far beyont the height.
But tell me now, dear Jenny, (we're our lane)
What gars ye plague your wooer wi' disdain?
The nibours a' tent this as well as I,
That Roger loo's ye, yet ye carena by.
What ails ye at him? Troth, between us twa,
He's wordy you the best day e'er ye saw,

    JENNY.

I dinna like him, Peggy, there's an end;
A herd mair sheepish yet I never kend.
He kames his hair indeed, and gaes right snug,
With ribbon-knots at his blue bonnet lug;
Whilk pensylie he wears a-thought a-jee,
And spreads his garters dic'd beneath his knee.
He falds his owrelay down his breast with care,
And few gangs trigger to the kirk or fair;
For a' that, he can neither sing nor say,
Except, "How d'ye?"--or, "There's a bony day."

    PEGGY.

Ye dash the lad with constant slighting pride;
Hatred for love is unco sair to bide:

But ye'll repent ye, if his love grow cauld.
What like's a dorty maiden, when she's auld?
Like dawted wean, that tarrows at its meat,
That for some feckless whim will orp and greet:
The lave laugh at it, till the dinner's past,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

SANG. Tunes, Polwart on the Green.

                The dorty will repent,
If lover's heart grow cauld;
                And nane her smiles will tent,
Soon as her face looks auld.

                The dawted bairn thus takes the pet,
Nor eats tho' hunger crave;
                Whimpers and tarrows at its meat,
And's laught at by the lave.

                They jest it till the dinner's past:
Thus by it sell abus'd,
                The fool thing is oblig'd to fast,
Or eat what they've refus'd.

    JENNY.

I never thought a single life a crime.

    PEGGY.

Nor I--but love in whispers lets us ken,
That men were made for us, and we for men.

    JENNY.

If Roger is my jo, he kens himsell,
For sic a tale I never heard him tell.
He glowrs and sighs, and I can guess the cause;
But wha's oblig'd to spell his hums and haws?
Whene'er he likes to tell his mind mair plain,
I'se tell him frankly ne'er to do't again.
They're fools that slav'ry like, and may be free;
The chiels may a' knit up themselves for me.

    PEGGY.

Be doing your ways; for me I have a mind
To be as yielding as my Patie's kind.

    JENNY.

Heh, lass! how can ye loo that rattle skull?
A very deel, that ay maun have his will.
We'll soon hear tell what a poor feightan life
You twa will lead, sae soon's ye're man and wife.

    PEGGY.

I'll rin the risk, nor have I ony fear,
But rather think ilk langsome day a year
Till I with pleasure mount my bridal-bed,
Where on my Patie's breast I'll lean my head:
There he may kiss as lang as kissing's good,
And what we do, there's none dare call it rude.
He's get his will: why no! 'tis good my part
To give him that, an he'll give me his heart.

    JENNY.

He may indeed for ten or fifteen days
Mak meikle o'ye, with an unco frase,

And daut ye baith afore fowk, and your lane:
But soon as his newfangleness is gane,
He'll look upon you as his tether-stake,
And think he's tint his freedom for your fake.
Instead then of lang days of sweet delyte,
Ae day be dumb, and a' the niest he'll flyte;
And may be, in his barlichoods ne'er stick
To lend his loving wife a loundering lick.

SANG. Tune, O, dear mother, what shall I do?

O, dear Peggy, love's beguiling,
We ought not to trust his smiling;
Better far to do as I do,
Lest a harder luck betide you.
Lasses, when their fancy's carry'd,
Think of nought but to be marry'd.
Running to a life destroys
Heartsome, free, and youthfu' joys.

    PEGGY.

Sic coarse spun thoughts as that want pith to move
My settl'd mind; I'm o'er far gane in love.
Patie to me is dearer than my breath,
But want of him I dread nae other skaith.
There's nane of a' the herds that tread the green
Has sic a smile, or sic twa glancing een:
And then he speaks with sic a taking art,
His words they thirle like music throw my heart.
How blythly can he sport, and gently rave,
And jest at little fears that fright the lave.

Ilk day that he's alane upon the hill,
He reads fell books, that teach him meikel skill;
He is--but what need I say that or this?
I'd spend a month to tell you what he is.
In a' he lays or does, there's sic a gate,
The rest seem coofs compar'd with my dear Pate,
His better sense will lang his love secure:
Ill nature heffs in sauls are weak and poor.

SANG. Tune, How can I be fad on my , &c.

        How shall I be fad when a husband I hae,
        That has better sense than ony of thae
        Sour, weak, silly fellows, that study like fools,
        To sink their ain joy, and make their wives snools.
        The man who is prudent ne'er lightlies his wife,
        Or with dull reproaches encourages strife;
        He praises her virtue, and ne'er will abuse
        Her for a small failing, but find an excuse.

    JENNY.

Hey "Bonny Lass of Branksome," or't be lang,
Your witty Patie will put you in a sang.
O 'tis a pleasant thing to be a bride;
Syne whindging getts about your ingle-side,
Yelping for this or that with fasheous din:
To make them brats then ye maun toil and spin.
Ae wean fa's sick, ane scads itsell wi' broe,
Ane breaks his shin, anither tines his shoe.
The "Deel ga'es o'er John Wabster:" hame grows hell;
When Pate miscaws ye war than tongue can tell.

    PEGGY.

Yes, it's a hartsome thing to be a wife,
When round the ingle-edge young sprouts are rife.
Gif I'm sae happy, I shall have delight
To hear their little plaints, and keep them tight.
Wow, Jenny! can there greater pleasure be
Than see sic wee tots toolying at your knee;
When a' they ettle at--their greatest wish,
Is to be made of, and obtain a kiss?
Can there be toil in tenting day, and night
The like of them, when love makes care delight.

    JENNY.

But poortith Peggy, is the worst of a',
Gif o'er your heads ill chance should begg'ry draw
There little love or canty chear can come
Frae duddy doublets, and a pantry toom.
Your nowt may die--the spate may bear away
Frae aff the howms your dainty rucks of hay--
The thick blawn wreaths of snaw, or blashy thows,
May smoor your wathers, and may rot your ews.
A dyver buys your butter, woo, and cheese,
But or the day of payment breaks and flees.
With glooman brow the laird seeks in his rent:
'Tis no to gie; your merchant's to the bent:
His honour maunna want; he poinds your gear:
Syne driven frae house and hald, where will ye steer?
Dear Meg, be wife, and lead a single life;
Troth, it's nae mows to be a married wife.

    PEGGY.

May sic ill luck befa' that silly she
Wha has sic fears, for that was never me.
Let fowk bode weel, and strive to do their best;
Nae mair's requir'd; let heaven make out the rest.
I've heard my honest uncle aften say,
That lads should a' for wives that's vertuous pray;
For the maist thrifty man could never get
A well stor'd room, unless his wife wad let.
Wherefore nocht shall be wanting on my part
To gather wealth to raise my shepherd's heart.
Whate'er he wins, I'll guide with canny care,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    JENNY.

But what if some young giglit on the green,
With dimpled cheeks, and twa bewitching een,
Shou'd gar your Patie think his half worn Meg,
And her kend kisses, hardly worth a feg?

    PEGGY.

Nae mair of that--Dear Jenny, to be free,
There's some men constanter in love than we;
Nor is the ferly great, when nature kind
Has blest them with solidity of mind:

They'll reason caumly, and with kindness smile,
When our short passions wad our peace beguile;
Sae, whensoe'er they slight their maiks at hame,
'Tis ten to ane their wives are maist to blame.
Then I'll employ with pleasure a' my art
To keep him cheerfu', and secure his heart:
At e'en, when he comes weary frae the hill,
I'll have a' things made ready to his will:
In winter, when he toils throw wind and rain,
A bleezing ingle, and a clean hearth-stane;
And soon as he flings by his plaid and staff,
The seething pot's be ready to tak aff;
Clean hag-abag I'll spread upon his board,
And serve him with the belt we can afford:
Good humour and white bigonets shall be
Guards to my face, to keep his love for me.

    JENNY.
A dish of married love right soon grows cauld,
And dozens down to nane, as fowk grow auld.

    PEGGY.

But we'll grow auld togither, and ne'er find
The loss of youth, when love grows on the mind.
Bairns and their bairns make sure a firmer tye,
Than aught in love the like of us can spy.
See yon twa elms that grow up side by side,
Suppose them some years syne bridegroom and bride;
Nearer and nearer ilka year they've prest,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

This shields the other frae the eastlin blast;
That, in return, defends it frae the west.
Sic as stand single (a state sae lik'd by you!)
Beneath ilk storm frae every airth maun bow.

    JENNY.
I've done--I yield, dear lassie, I maun yield;
Your better sense has fairly won the field,
With the assistance of a little fae
Lies dern'd within my breast this mony a day.

SANG. Tune, Nansy's to the green-wood gane.

                I yields dear lassie, ye have won,
And there is nae denying,
                That sure as light flows frae the fun,
Frae love proceeds complying;
                For a' that we can do or say
'Gainst love nae thinker heeds us,
                They ken our bosoms lodge the sae,
That by the heartstrings leads us.

    PEGGY.

Alake, poor pris'ner! Jenny, that's no fair,
That ye'll no let the wie thing take the air:
Haste, let him out; we'll tent as well's we can,
Gif he be Bauldy's or poor Roger's man.

    JENNY.
Anither time's as good--for see the sun
Is right far up, and we're not yet begun
To freath the graith; if canker'd Madge, our aunt,
Come up the burn, she'll gie's a wicked rant;
But when we've done, I'll tell ye a' my mind;
For this seems true, nae lass can be unkind.

    [Exeunt.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II

SCENE I.

    PROLOGUE.

                A snug thack house, before the door a green;
                Hens on the midding, ducks in dubs are seen.
                On this side stands a barn, on that a byer;
                A peet stack joins, and forms a rural square.
                The house is Glaud's--there you may see him lean,
                And to his diver seat invite his frien.

GLAUD AND SYMON.

    GLAUD.

Good morrow, nibour Symon--come, sit down,
And gie's your cracks--What's a' the news in town?
They tell me ye was in the ither day,
And sald your crummock, and her bassend quey.
I'll warrant ye've cost a pund of cut and dry:
Lug out your box, and gie's a pipe to try.

    SYMON.

With a' my heart--and tent me now, auld boy,
I've gather'd news will kittle your mind with joy.
I cou'dna rest till I came o'er the burn,
To tell ye things have taken sic a turn,

Will gar our vile oppressors stend like flaes,
And skulk in hidlings on the hether braes.

    GLAUD.

Fy blaw!--Ah, Symmie! rattling chiels ne'er stand
To cleck and spread the grossest lies aff hand,
Whilk soon flies round like will-fire far and near;
Bul loose your poke, be't true or fause let's hear.

    SYMON.

Seeing's believing, Glaud, and I have seen
Hab, that abroad hath with our Master been;
Our brave good Master, wha right wisely fled,
And left a fair estate to save his head,
Because ye ken fou well he bravely chose
To shine or set in glory with Montrose:
Now Cromwell's gane to Nick; and ane ca'd Monk
Has play'd the Rumple a right slee begunk,
Restor'd king Charles; and ilka thing's in tune
And Habby says, we'll see Sir William soon.

    GLAUD.

That makes me blyth indeed--but dinna flaw,
Tell o'er your news again! and swear til't a'.
And saw ye Hab! and what did Halbert say?
They have been e'en a dreary time away.
Now God be thanked that our laird's come hame;
And his estate, say, can he eithly claim?

    SYMON.

They that hag-rid us 'till our guts did grane,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

SANG. Tune, Cauld Kale in Aberdeen.

        Cauld be the rebels cast,
                Oppressors base and bloody;
        I hope we'll see them at the last
                Strung a' up in a woody.

        Blest be he of worth and sense,
                And ever high in station,
        That bravely stands in the defence
                Of conscience, king, and nation.

    GLAUD.

And may he lang, for never did he stent
Us in our thriving with a racket rent;
Nor grumbled if ane grew rich, or shor'd to raise
Our mailens, when we pat on Sunday's claiths.

    SYMON.

Nor wad he lang, with senseless faucy air,
Allow our lyart noddles to be bare:
' Put on your bonnet, Symon--tak a feat--
' How's all at hame?--how's Elspa?--how does Kate?
' How fells black cattle?--What gies woo this year?'
And sic like kindly questions wad he spear.

SANG. Tune, Mucking of Geordy's byar.

        The laird, who in riches and honour
                Wad thrive, should be kindly and free,
        Nor rack the poor tenants who labour
                To rise aboon poverty;
        Else, like the pack-horse that's unfother'd
                And burthen'd, will tumble down faint:
        Thus virtue by hardship is smother'd,
                And rackers aft tine their rent.

    GLAUD.

Then wad he gar his butler bring bedeen
The nappy bottle ben, and glasses clean,
Whilk in our breast rais'd sic a blythsome flame,
As gart me mony a time gae dancing hame.
My heart's e'en rais'd!--Dear nibour, will ye stay,
And tak your dinner here with me the day:
We'll send for Elspith too--and, upo' sight,
I'll whistle Pate and Roger frae the height.
I'll yoke my sled, and send to the neist town,
And bring a draught of ale, baith stout and brown;
And gar our cottars a man, wife, and wean,
Drink 'till they tine the gate to stand their lane.

    SYMON.

I wadna bauk my friend his blyth design,
Gif that it hadna first of a' been mine:

For here yestreen I brew'd a bow of maut,
Yestreen I slew twa wathers, prime and fat;
A furlet of good cakes my Elspa beuk,
And a large ham hangs reesting in the nook:
I saw mysell, or I came o'er the loan,
Our meikle pot, that scads the whey, put on,
A mutton bouk to boil--and ane we'll roast;
And on the haggles Elspa spares nae cost;
Small are they shorn, and she can mix fou nice
The gusty ingans with a curn of spice:
Fat are the puddings--heads and feet well sung:
And we've invited nibours auld and young,
To pass this afternoon with glee and game,
And drink our Master's health and welcome hame:
Ye maunna then refuse to join the rest,
Since ye're my nearest friend that I like best:
Bring wi'ye all your family; and then,
Whene'er you please, I'll rant wi' you again.

    GLAUD.

Spoke like ye'r sell, auld birky, never fear
But at your banquet I shall first appear:
Faith, we shall bend the bicker, and look bauld,
'Till we forget that we are fail'd or auld:
Auld, said I!--Troth, I'm younger by a score,
With this good news, than what I was before:
I'll dance or een! hey, Madge, come forth, d'ye hear?

    ENTER MADGE.

    MADGE.
The man's gane gyte!--Dear Symon, welcome here--
What wad ye, Glaud, with a' this haste and din?
Ye never let a body sit to spin.

    GLAUD.
Spin! snuff! gae break your wheel and burn your tow,
And let the meikleft peet-stack in a low;
Syne dance about the bane-fire 'till ye die,
Since now again we'll soon Sir William see.

    MADGE.
Blyth news indeed! And wha was't tald you o't?

    GLAUD.
What's that to you?--Gae get my Sunday's coat;
Wale out the whiter of my bobit bands,
My whyt-skin hose, and mittans for my hands;
Then frae their washing cry the bairns in haste,
And mak ye'r sells as trig, head, feet, and waist,
As ye were a' to get young lads or een;
For we're gawn o'er to dine with Sym bedeen.

    SYMON.
Do, honest Madge--and, Glaud, I'll o'er the gate,
And see that a' be done as I wad hae't.

    [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

    PROLOGUE.

                The open field,--A cottage in a glen,
                An auld wife spinning at the funny end.
                At a small distance by a blared tree,
                With falded arms and hass-rais'd look ye see
                Bauldy his lane.

    BAULDY.

WHAT'S this!--I canna bear't! 'Tis war than hell,
To be sae burnt with love, yet dar na tell!
O Peggy, sweeter than the dawning day,
Sweeter than gowany glens or new-mawn hay;
Blyther than lambs that frisk out o'er the knows;
Straighter than aught that in the forest grows.
Her een the clearest blob of dew out-shines;
The lily in her breast its beauty tines:
Her legs, her arms, her cheeks, her mouth, her een,
Will be my deid, that will be shortly seen!
For Pate loes her!--waes me! and she loes Pate;
And I with Neps, by some unlucky fate,
Made a daft vow!--O! but ane be a beast
That makes rash aiths 'till he's afore the priest.
I dar na speak my mind, else a' the three,
But doubt, wad prove ilk ane my enemy:

'Tis sair to thole--I'll try some witchcraft art,
To break with ane and win the other's heart.
Here Mausy lives, a witch, that for sma' price,
Can cast her cantraips, and give me advice:
She can o'ercast the night, and cloud the moon,
And mak the deils obedient to her crune:
At midnight hours, o'er the kirkyard she raves,
And howks unchristen'd weans out of their graves;
Boils up their livers in a warlock's pow:
Rins withershins about the hemlock low,
And seven times does her prayers backwards pray,
'Till Plotcock comes with lumps of Lapland clay,
Mixt with the venom of black raids and snakes:
Of this unsonsy picures aft she makes
Of any ane she hates--and gars expire
With slaw and racking pains afore a fire,
Stuck sou of prins; the devilish pictures melt;
The pain by fowk they represent is felt.
And yonder's Mause; ay, ay, she kens fou weil,
When ane like me comes rinning to the deil:
She and her cat sit beeking in her yard;
To speak my errand, faith amaist I'm fear'd:
But I maun do't, tho' I should never thrive;
They gallop fast, that dells and lasses drive.

    [Exit.

SCENE III.

    PROLOGUE.

                A green kail-yards a little fount,
Where water poplin springs,
                There sits a wife with wrinkled fronts
And yet she spins and sings.

SANG. Tune, Carle and the King come.

    MAUSE.

                Peggy, now the king's come,
Peggy, now the king's come,
                Thou may dance, and I shall sing,
Peggy, since the king's come:
                Nae mair the hawkeys shalt thou milk,
But change thy plaiding-coat for silk,
                And be a lady of that ilk,
Now, Peggy, since the king's come.

    ENTER BAULDY.

    BAULDY.
How does auld honest lucky of the glen?
Ye look baith hale and feir at threescore ten.

    MAUSE.

E'evn twining out a thread with little din,
And beeking my cauld limbs afore the sun.
What brings my bairn this gate sae air at morn
Is there nae muck to lead--to thresh, nae corn?

    BAULDY.

Enough of baith--But something that requires
Your helping hand, employs now all my cares.

    MAUSE.

My helping hand, alake! What can I do,
That underneath baith eild and poortith bow?

    BAULDY.
Ay, but you're wise, and wiser far than we,
Or maist part of the parish tells a lie.

    MAUSE.
Of what kind wisdom think ye I'm possest,
That lifts my character aboon the rest?

    BAULDY.
Well vers'd in herbs, and seasons of the moon,
By skilfu' charms 'tis kend what ye ha' done.

    MAUSE.
What fowk say of me, Bauldy, let me hear;
Keep naithing up, ye naithing have to fear.

    BAULDY.

Well, since ye bid me, I shall tell ye a'
That ilk ane talks about you, but a flaw.
When last the wind made Glaud a roofless barn;
When last the burn bore down my mither's yarn;
When Brawny elf-shot never mair came hame;
When Tibby kirn'd and there nae butter came;
When Belly Freetock's chuffy-cheeked wean
To a fairy turn'd, and cou'dna stand its lane;
When Wattle wander'd ae night thro' the shaw,
And tint himsel amaist amang the snaw;
When Mungo's mare stood still, and swat wi' fright,
When he brought east the Howdy under night;

When Bawsy shot to dead upon the green;
And Sara tint a snood was nae mair seen;
You, Lucky, gat the wyte of a' fell out:
And ilka ane here dreads ye round about;
And sae they may that mean to do do ye skaith
For me to wrang ye, I'll be very laith:
But when I neist make groats, I'll strive to please
You with a furlet of them mixt with pease.

    MAUSE.
I thank ye, lad,--now tell me your demand,
And, if I can, I'll lend my helping hand.

    BAULDY.

Then, I like Peggy,--Neps is fond of me--.

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    MAUSE.

l'll try my art to gar the bowls row right,
Sae gang your ways and come again at night;
'Gainst that time I'll some simple things prepare,
Worth all your pease and groats, take ye na care.

    BAULDY.

Well, Mause, I'll come, gif I the road can find;
But if ye raise the deil, he'll raise the wind;
Syne rain and thunder, may be, when 'tis late,
Will make the night sae mirk, I'll tine the gate.
We're a' to rant in Symmie's at a feast,
O will ye come like badrans for a jest;

And there ye can our different haviours spy;
There's nane shall ken o't there but you and I.

    MAUSE.

'Tis like I may--but let na on what's past
'Tween you and me, else fear a kittle cast.

    BAULDY.

If I aught of your secrets e'er advance,
May ye ride on me ilka night to France.

    [Exit BAUDLY.

    MAUSE HER LANE.

This fool imagines, as do mony sic,
That I'm a witch in compact with Auld Nick,
Because by education I was taught
To speak and act aboon their common thought:
Their gross mistake shall quickly now appear;
Soon shall they ken what brought,what keeps me here.
Now since the royal Charles, and right's restor'd,
A shepherdess is daughter to a lord.
The bonny foundling that's brought up by Glaud,
Wha has an uncle's care on her bestow'd,
Her infant life I say'd, when a false friend:
Bow'd to th' Usurper, and her death design'd,
To establish him and his in all these plains
That by right heritage to her pertains:
She's now in her sweet bloom, has blood and charms
Of too much value for a shepherd's arms:
Nane kens't but me;--and if the morn were come,
I'll tell them tales will gar them a' sing dumb.

SCENE IV.

    PROLOGUE.

                Behind a tree upon the plain
Pate and, his Peggy meet,
                In love without a vicious stain,
                The bonny lass and chearfu' swain
Change vows and kisses sweet.

PATIE AND PEGGY.

    PEGGY.
O PATIE , let me gang, I maunna stay;
We're baith cry'd hame and Jenny she's away.

    PATIE.

I'm laith to part sae soon now we're alane,
And Roger he's away with Jenny gane;
They're as content, for aught I hear or see,
To be alane themselves, I judge, as we.
Here, where primroses thickest paint the greens
Hard by this little burnie let us lean:
Hark how the lav'rocks chant aboon our heads,
How saft the westlin winds rough through the reeds!

    PEGGY.
The scented meadows--birds--and healthy breeze,
For aught I ken, may mair than Peggy please.

    PATIE.

Ye wrang me sair, to doubt my being kind;
In speaking sae, ye ca' me dull and blind,

Gif I could fancy aught's sae sweet or fair
As my sweet Meg, or worthy of my care.
Thy breath is sweeter than the sweetest brier,
Thy cheek and breast the finest flow'rs appear:
Thy words excel the maist delightfu' notes
That warble through the merle or mavis' throats:
With thee I tent nae flowers that busk the field,
Or ripest berries that our mountains yield:
The sweetest fruits that hing upon the tree
Are far inferior to a kiss of thee.

    PEGGY.

But Patrick for some wicked end may fleech,
And lambs should tremble when the foxes preach.
I darna stay,--ye joker, let me gang,
Or swear ye'll never tempt to do me wrang.

    PATIE.

Sooner a mother shall her fondness drap,
And wrank the bairn sits smiling on her lap:
The sun shall change, the moon to change shall cease,
The gaits to clim,--the sheep to yield the fleece,
Ere ought by me be either said or doon,
Shall do thee wrang, I swear by all aboon.

    PEGGY.

Then keep your aith----but mony lads will swear,
And be mansworn to twa in half a year:
Now I believe ye like me wonder weel;
But if anither lass your heart shou'd steal,
Your Meg, forsaken, bootless might relate
How she was dauted anes by faithless Pate.

    PATIE.

I'm sure I canna change, ye needna fear,
Tho' we're but young, I've loo'd you mony a year
I mind it well, when thou cou'dst hardly gang,
Or lisp out words, I choos'd ye frae the thrang
Of a' the bairns, and led thee by the hand,
Aft to the tansy know or rashy strand;
Thou smiling by my side,--I took delight
To pou the rashes green with roots sae white,
Of which, as well as my young fancy cou'd,
For thee I plet the flow'ry belt and snood.

    PEGGY.

When first thou gade with shepherds to the hill,
And I to milk the ews first try'd my skill,
To bear a leglen was nae toil to me,
When at the bught at ev'n I met with thee.

SANG. Tune, Winter was cauld, and my Cleathing was thin.

    PEGGY.

        When first my dear laddie gade to the green hill,
        And I at ewe-milking first seyd my young skill,
        To bear the milk-bowie no pain was to me,
        When I at the bughting forgather'd with thee.

    PATIE.

        When corn riggs wav'd yellow, and blew hether bells
        Bloom'd bonny on moorland and sweet firing fells.
        Nae birns brier, or breckens, gave trouble to me,
        If I sound the berries right ripen'd for thee.

    PEGGY.

        When thou ran, or wrestled, or putted the stane,
        And came off the victor, my heart was ay fane;
        Thy ilka sport manly gave pleasure to me;
        For nane can putt, wrestle, or run swift as thee.

    PATIE.

        Our Jenny sings saftly the "Cowden broom knows,"
        And Rosie lilts swiftly the "Milking the ews;"
        There's few "Jenny Nettles" like Nansy can sing,
        At "Throw the wood laddie," Bess gars our lugs ring.
        But when my dear Peggy sings with better skill,
        The "Boatman, Tweed-side, or the Lass of the Mill,"
        'Tis mony times sweeter and pleasing to me;
        For tho' they sing nicely, they cannot like thee.

    PEGGY.

        How easy can lasses trow what they desire!
        And praises sae kindly increases love's fire:
        Give me still this pleasure, my study shall be,
        To make myself better and sweeter for thee.

    PATIE.

        When corns grew yellow, and the hether-bells
        Bloom'd bonny on the moor and rising fells,
        Nae birns, or briers, or whins, e'er troubled me,
        Gif I cou'd find blae berries ripe for thee.

    PEGGY.

When thou didst wrestle, run, or putt the stane,
And wan the day, my heart was flightering fane:
At all these sports thou still gave joy to me;
For nane can wrestle, run, or putt with thee.

    PATIE.

Jenny sings saft the "Broom of Cowden knows,"
And Rosie lilts the "Milking of the ews;"

There's nane, like Nansy, "Jenny Nettles" sings:
At turns in "Maggy Lawder," Marion dings:
But when my Peggy sings with sweeter skill
The "Boatman," or the "Lass of Patie's Mill,"
It is a thousand times mair sweet to me;
Tho' they sing well, they canna sing like thee.

    PEGGY.

How eith can lasses trow what we desire,
And, roos'd by them we love, blaws up the fire;
But wha loves best, let time and carriage try;
Be constant, and my love shall time defy.
Be still as now, and a' my care shall be,
How to contrive what pleasant is for thee.

    PATIE.

Wert thou a giglet gawky like the lave,
That little better than our nowt behave,
At naught they'll ferly, senseless tales believe,
Be blyth for lilly hechts, for trifles grieve--
Sic ne'er cou'd win my heart, that kenna how
Either to keep a prize, or yet prove true:
But thou in better sense, without a flaw,
As in thy beauty, far excels them a'.
Continue kind, and a' my care shall be,
How to contrive what pleasing is for thee.

    PEGGY.

Agreed;--but harken, yon's auld aunty's cry,
I ken they'll wonder what can make us stay.

    PATIE.

And let them ferly,--now a kindly kiss,
Or five score good anes wad not be amiss;

And syne we'll sing the sang with tunefu' glee,
That I made up last owk on you and me.

    PEGGY.
Sing first, syne claim your hyre--

    PATIE.
Well, I agree.

SANG. To its ane Tune.

    PATIE.

        By the delicious warmness of thy mouth,
        And rowing eye that smiling tells the truth,
        I guess, my lassie that as well as I,
        Ye're made for love, and why should ye deny

    PEGGY.

        But ken ye, lad, gif we confers o'er soon,
        Ye think us cheap, and syne the wooing's done:
        The maiden that o'er quickly tynes her power,
        Like unripe fruit will taste but hard and sowr.

    PATIE.

        But gin they hing o'er lang upon the tree,
        Their sweetness they may tyne, and sae may ye;
        Red-cheek'd ye compleatly ripe appear,
        And I have thol'd and woo'd a lang half year.

    PEGGY (falling into Patie's arms.)

        Then dinna pow me, gently thus I fa'
        Into my Patie's arms, for good and a':
        But stint your wishes to this kind embrace,
        And mint nae farther till we've got the grace.

    PATIE (with his left hand about her waist.)

        O charming armfu'! hence ye cares away,
        I'll kiss my treasure a' the live lang day;
        All night I'll dream my kisses o'er again,
        Till that day come that ye'll be a' my ain.

    SUNG BY BOTH.

        Sun, gallop down the westlin skies,
        Gang soon to bed, and quickly rise;
        O lash your steeds, post time away,
        And haste about our bridal-day;
        And if you're weary'd, honest light,
        Sleep, gin ye like, a week that night.

     [Let down the curtain, and let them kiss.

END OF THE SECOND ACT.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

    PROLOGUE.

                Now turn your eyes beyond yon spreadlng lyme,
                And tent a man whale beard seems bleech'd with time;
                Ane elwand fills his hand, his habit mean,
                Nae doubt ye'll think he has a pedlar been;
                But whitht it is the knight in masquerade,
                That comes hid in this cloud to see his lad.
                Observe how pleas'd the loyal suff'rer moves
                Throw his auld av'news, anes delightfu' groves.

    SIR WILLIAM SOLUS.

THE gentleman, thus hid in low disguise,
I'll for a space, unknown, delight mine eyes
With a full view of ev'ry fertile plain,
Which once I lost--which now are mine again.
Yet, 'midst my joys, some prospects pains renew,
Whilst I my once fair seat in ruins view.
Yonder, ah me! it desolately stands,
Without a roof, the gates fall'n from their bands;
The casements all broke down, no chimney left,
The naked walls of tap'stry all bereft.

My stables and pavilions, broken walls!
That with each rainy blast decaying falls:
My gardens once adorn'd the most compleat,
With all that nature, all that art makes sweet;
Where round the figur'd green and pebble walks,
The dewy flow'rs hung nodding on their stalks:
But, overgrown with nettles, docks, and brier,
No jaccacinths or eglantines appear.
Here fail'd and broke's the rising ample shade,
Where peach and nect'rine trees their branches spread,
Basking in rays, and early did produce
Fruit fair to view, delightful in the use;
All round in gaps the walls in ruin lie,
And from what stands the wither'd branches fly.
These soon shall be repair'd;--and now my joy
Forbids all grief--when I'm to see my boy,
My only prop, and object of my care,
Since heaven too soon call'd home his mother fair:
Him, e'er the rays of reason clear'd his thought,
I secretly to faithful Symon brought,
And charg'd him strictly to conceal his birth
Till we shou'd see what changing times brought forth.
Hid from himself, he starts up by the dawn,
And ranges careless o'er the height and lawn
After his fleecy charge, serenely gay,
With other shepherds whistling o'er the day.
Thrice happy life! that's from ambition free,
Remov'd from crowns and courts how chearfully
A calm contented mortal spends his time
In health, his soul unstain'd with crime.

SANG. Tune, Happy Clown.

                Hid from himself, now by the dawn
                He starts as fresh as roses blawn,
                And ranges o'er the heights and lawn,
After his bleeting flocks.
                Healthful, and innocently gay,
                He chants and whistles out the day:
                Untaught to smile, and then betray,
Like courtly weathercocks.
                Life happy from ambition free,
                Envy and vile hypocrisie,
                When truth and love with joy agree,
Unsullied with a crime:
                Unmov'd with what disturbs the great,
                In propping of their pride and state,
                He lives, and, unafraid of fate,
Contented spends his time.

Now tow'rds good Symon's house I'll bend my ways
And fee what makes yon gamboling to-day;
All on the green, in a fair wanton ring,
My youthful tenants gaylie dance and sing.

    [Exit Sir William.

SCENE II.

    PROLOGUE.

                'Tis Symon's house, please to step in
And vissy't round and round,
                There's nought superfl'ous to give pain,
Or costly to be found.
                Yet all is clean: a clear peat ingle
Glances amidst the floor:
                The green horn spoons, beech luggies mingle
On skelfs forgainst the door.
                While the young brood sport on the green,
The auld anes think it best,
                With the brown cow to clear their een,
Snuff, crack, and take their rest.

SYMON, GLAUD. AND ELSPA

    GLAUD.

WE anes were young our sells--I like to see
The bairns bob round with other merrylie:
Troth, Symon, Patie's grown a strapan lad,
And better looks than his I never bade;
Amang our lads he bears the gree awa':
And tells his tale the clev'rest of them a'.

    ELSPA.

Poor man!--he's a great comfort to us baith;
God mak him good, and hide him ay frae skaith.

He is a bairn, I'll say't, well worth our care,
That gae us ne'er vexation late or air.

    GLAUD.

I trow, goodwife, if I be not mistane,
He seems to be with Peggy's beauty tane,
And troth, my niece is a right dainty wean,
As ye well ken; a bonnyer needna be,
Nor better--be't she were nae kin to me.

    SYMON.

Ha, Gland! I doubt that ne'er will be a match,
My Patie's wild, and will be ill to catch;
And or he were, for reasons I'll no tell,
I'd rather be mixt with the mools mysell.

    GLAUD.

What reason can ye have? There's nane I'm sure
Unless he may cart up that she's but poor:
But gif the lassie marry to my mind
I'll be to her as my ain Jenny kind;
Fourscore of breeding ews of my ain birn,
Five ky that at ae milking fills a kirn,
I'll gie to Peggy that day she's a bride;
By and attour, if my good luck abide,
Ten lambs, at spaining-time, as lang's I live,
And twa quey cawfs I'll yearly to them give.

    ELSPA.

Ye offer fair, kind Glaud, but dinna speer
What may be is not fit ye yet should hear.

    SYMON.
Or this day eight-days likely he shall learn
That our denial disna slight his bairn.

    GLAUD.
Well, nae mair o't;--come, gi's the other bend,
We'll drink their healths, whatever way it end.

     [Their healths gae round

    SYMON.

But will ye tell me, Glaud? By some 'tis said
Your niece is but a fundling , that was laid
Down at your hallon-side, ae morn in May,
Right clean row'd up, and bedded on dry hay.

    GLAUD.
That clattern Madge, my titty, tells sic flaws,
Whene'er our Meg her cankart humour gaws.

    ENTER JENNY.

    JENNY.

O father! there's an auld man on the green,
The fellest fortune-teller e'er was seen;
He tents our loofs, and syne whops out a book,
Turns owre the leaves, and gies our brows a look:
Syne tells the oddest tales that e'er ye heard;
His head is gray, and lang and gray his beard.

    SYMON.

Gae bring him in, we'll hear what he can say,
Nane shall gang hungry by my house to-day,

    [Exit JENNY.

But for his telling fortunes, troth, I fear
He kens nae mair of that than my gray mare.

    GLAUD.

Spae men! the truth of a' their saws I doubt,
For greater liars never ran thereout.

     Returns JENNY bringing in SIR WILLIAM; with them PATIE.

    SYMON.
Ye're welcome, honest carle--here, tak a seat.

    SIR WILLIAM.
I give ye thanks, goodman, Ise no be blate.

    GLAUD (drinks.)
Come, t'ye, friend--How far came ye the day?

    SIR WILLIAM.

I pledge ye, nibour, e'en but little way:
Rousted with eild, a wie piece gate seems lang,
Twa miles or three's the maist that I dow gang.

    SYMON.

Ye're welcome here to stay all night wi' me,
And tak sic bed and board as we can gi'e.

    SIR WILLIAM.

That's kind unsought:--Well, gin ye have a bairn
That ye like well, and wad his fortune learn,
Shall employ the farthest of my skill
To spae it faithfully, be't good or ill.

    SYMON (pointing to PATIE.)
Only that lad--alack! I have nae mae,
Either to mak me joyfu' now or wae.

    SIR WILLIAM.

Young man, let's see your hand--what gars ye sneer?

    PATIE.
Because your skill's but little worth, I fear.

    SIR WILLIAM.
Ye cut before the point--but billy, byde,
I'll wager there's a mouse-mark on your side.

    ELSPA.

Beteech-us-to! and well I wat that's true;
Awa, awa, the deel's owre girt wi' you:
Four inch aneath his oxter is the mark,
Scarce ever seen since he first: wore a sark.

    SIR WILLIAM.

I tell ye mair, if this young lad be spair'd
But a short while, he'll be a braw rich laird.

    ELSPA.

A laird!--Hear ye, goodman--What think ye now?

    SYMON.

I dinna ken! Strange auld man, what art thou?
Fair fa' your heart, 'tis good to bode of wealth;
Come, turn the timmer to laird Patie's health.

    [PATIE's health gaes round.

    PATIE.

A laird of twa good whistles and a kent,
Twa curs, my trusty tenants on the bent,
Is a' my great estate--and like to be;
Sae cunning carle, ne'er break your jokes on me.

    SYMON.

Whisht, Patie--let the man look owre your hand,
Aftymes as broken a ship has come to land.

    [SIR WILLIAM looks a little at PATIE-'S hand, then counterfeits falling into a trance, while they endeavour to lay him right.]

    ELSPA,

Preserve's!--the man's a warlock, or possest
With some nae good, or second-sight at least:
Where is he now?--

    GLAUD.

He's seeing a' that's done
In ilka place beneath or yont the moon.

    ELSPA.

These second-sighted fowks, his peace be here!
See things far aff, and things to come, as clear
As I can see my thumb--wow! can he tell
(Speer at him soon as he comes to himsell)
How soon we'll see Sir William? Whisht, he heaves,
And speaks out broken words like ane that raves.

    SYMON.

He'll soon grow better--Elspa, haste ye, gae
And fill him up a tass of usquebae.

    SIR WILLIAM (starts up and speaks.)

                "A Knight that for a LYON fought
"Against a herd of bears,
                "Was to lang toil and trouble brought,
"In which some thousands shares:
                "But now again the LYON rares,
"And joy spreads O'er the plain.
                "The LYON has defeat the bears,
"The Knight returns again.
                "The Knight in a few days shall bring
"A shepherd frae the fauld,
                "And shall present him to the King,
"A subject true and bauld:
                "He Mr. Patrick shall be call'd--
"All you that hear me now
                "May well believe what I have tald,
"For it shall happen true."

    SYMON.

Friend, may your spaeing happen soon and well;
But, faith, I'm redd you've bargain'd with the Deel,
To tell some tales that fowks wad secret keep;
Or do you get them tald you in your sleep?

    SIR WILLIAM.

Howe'er I get them never fash your beard,
Nor come I to read fortunes for reward:
But I'll lay ten to ane with ony here,
That all I prophesy shall soon appear.

    SYMON.

You prophesying fowks are odd kind men!
They're here that ken, and here that disna ken
The wimpled meaning of your unko tale,
Whilk soon will mak a noise o'er moor and dale.

    GLAUD.

'Tis nae sma' sport to hear how Sym believes,
And taks't for gospel what the spae-man gives
Of flawing fortunes whilk he evens to Pate:
But what we wish we trow at ony rate.

    SIR WILLIAM.

Whisht! doubtfu' carle; for e'er the sun
Has driven twice down to the sea,
What I have said ye shall see done
In part, or nae mair credit me.

    GLAUD.

We'll be't sae, friend; I shall say nathing mair,
But I've twa sonsy lasses young and fair,
Plump, ripe for men: I wish ye cou'd foresee
Sic fortunes for them, might bring joy to me.

    SIR WILLIAM.

Nae mair through secrets can I sift
Till darkness black the bent;
I have but anes a day that gift,
Sae rest a while content.

    SYMON.

Elspa, cast on the claith, fetch butt some meat,
And, of your best, gar this auld stranger eat.

    SIR WILLIAM.

Delay a while your hospitable care,
I'd rather enjoy this evening calm and fair
Around yon ruin'd tower to fetch a walk
With you, kind friend, to have some private talk.

    SYMON.

Soon as you please I'll answer your desire--
And, Glaud, you'll tak your pipe beside the fire.
Well but gae round the place, and soon be back,
Syne sup together, and tak our pint and crack.

    GLAUD.

I'll out a space, and see the young anes play;
My heart's still light, abeit my locks be gray.

    [Exeunt .

SCENE III.

    PROLOGUE.

                Jenny pretends an errand hame,
Young Roger draps the
                To whisper out his melting flame,
And thow his lassie's breast.
        Behind a bush, well hid frae fight, they meet
        See Jenny's laughing, Roger's like to greet.
POOR SHEPHERD .

ROGER AND JENNY.

    ROGER.

DEAR Jenny, I wad speak t'ye, wad ye let,
And yet I ergh ye'r ay sae scornfu' set.

    JENNY.

And what wad Roger say, if he cou'd speak?
Am Ioblig'd to guess what ye'r to seek

    ROGER.

Yes, ye may guess right eith for what I grein,
Baith by my service, sighs, and langing een:
And I maun out wi't, tho' I risk your scorn,
Ye're never frae my thoughts baith even and morn.
Ah! cou'd I loo ye less, I'd happy be,
But happier far! cou'd ye but fancy me.

    JENNY.

And wha kens, honest lad, but that I may?
Ye canna say that e'er I said ye nay.

    ROGER.

Alake! my frighted heart begins to fail,
Whene'er I mint to tell ye out my tale,
For fear some tighter lad, mair rich than I,
Has win your love, and near your heart may lie.

    JENNY.

I loo my father, cusin Meg I love;
But to this day, nae man my heart cou'd move:
Except my kin, ilk lad's alyke to me;
And frae ye a' I best had keep me free.

    ROGER.

How lang, dear Jenny?--sayna that again,
What pleasure can ye tak in giving pain?
I'm glad however that ye yet stand free;
Wha kens but ye may rew, and pity me?

    JENNY.

Ye have my pity else, to see you set
On that whilk makes our sweetness soon forget:
Wow! but we're bonny, good, and every thing!
How sweet we breath whene'er we kiss or sing!
But we're nae sooner fools to give consent,
Than we our daffin, and tint power repent:
When prison'd in four waws, a wife right tame,
Altho' the first, the greater drudge at hame.

    ROGER.

That only happens, when for sake of gear,
Ane wales a wife, as he wad buy a mare;

Or when dull parents bairns together bind
Of different tempers, that can ne'er prove kind:
But love, true downright love, engages me,
(Tho' thou should scorn) still to delight in thee.

    JENNY.

What sugar'd words frae wooers lips can fa'!
But girning marriage comes and ends them a':
I've seen with shining fair the morning rise,
And soon the sleety clouds mirk a' the skies;
I've seen the silver spring a while rin clear,
And soon in mossy puddles disappear;
The bridegroom may rejoice, the bride may smile,
But soon contentions a' their joys beguile.

    ROGER.

I've seen the morning rise with fairest light,
The day unclouded, sink in calmest night:
I've seen the spring rin wimpling throw the plain
Increase and join the ocean, without stain:
The bridegroom may be blyth, the bride may smile;
Rejoice throw life, and all your fears beguile.

SANG. Tune, Leith-wynd.

    JENNY.

        Were I assur'd you'll constant prove,
                You should nae mair complain;
        The easy maid, beset with love,
                Few words will quickly gain:
        For I must own, now since you're free,
                This too fond heart of mine
        Has fang a black sole true to thee,
                With'd to be pair'd with thine.

    ROGER.

        I'm happy now, ah! let my head
                Upon thy breast recline!
        The pleasure strikes me near-hand dead,
                Is Jenny then sae kind?
        O let me brize thee to my heart!
                And round my arms entwine:
        Delytfu' thought, we'll never part!
                Come press thy mouth to mine.

    JENNY.

Were I but sure ye lang would love maintain,
The fewest words my easy heart could gain:
For I maun own, since now at last you're free,
Altho' I jok'd, I lov'd your company;
And ever had a warmness in my breast
That made ye dearer to me than the rest.

    ROGER.

I'm happy now! o'er happy! had my head!--
This gush of pleasure's like to be my deid.
Come to my arms! or strike me! I'm all fir'd
With wond'ring love! let's kiss till we be tir'd.
Kiss, kiss! we'll kiss the sun and starns away,
And ferly at the quick return of day!
O Jenny! let my arms about thee twine,
And brize thy bonny breasts and lips to mine.

    [They embrace.

    JENNY.

With equal joy my safter heart does yield,
To own thy well try'd love has won the field.

Now by there warmest kisses thou has tane,
Swear thus to love me, when by yours made ane.

    ROGER.

I swear by fifty thousand yet to come,
Or may the first ane strike me deaf and dumb,
There shall not be a kindlier dawted wife,
If you agree with me to lead your life.

    JENNY.

Well,I agree--neist to my parent gae,
Get his consent--he'll hardly say ye nae:
Ye have what will commend ye to him well,
Auld fowks like them that want na milk and meal.*

SANG. Tune, O'er Bogie .

        Well, I agree, ye're sure me;
                Next to my father gae:
        Make him content to give consent,
                He'll hardly say you nae:
        For ye have what he wad be at,
                And will commend you weel,
        Since parents auld think love grows cauld
                Where bairns want milk and meal.

        Should he deny I care na by,
                He'd contradict in vain:
        Tho' a' my kin had said and sworn,
                But thee I will have nane.
        Then never range, nor learn to change,
                Like those of high degree:
        For if you prove true to your love,
                You' find nae fault in me.

    ROGER.

My faulds contain twice fifteen forrow nowt;
As mony newcal in my byers rowt:
Five pack of woo I can at Lammas fell,
Shorn frae my bob-tail'd bleeters on the fell.
Good twenty pair of blankets for our bed,
With meikle care, my thrifty mither made:
Ilk thing that makes a hartsome house and tight
Was Kill her care, my father's great delight.
They left me a' which now gi'es joy to me,
Because I can give a', my dear, to thee:
And had I fifty times as mickle mair,
Nane but my Jenny shou'd the samen skair:
My love and a' is yours; now had them fast,
And guide them as ye like to gar them last.

    JENNY.

I'll do my best: but see wha gangs this way,
Parle and Meg--besides I maunna stay:
Let's steal frae ither now, and meet the morn;
If we be seen, we'll dree a deal of scorn.

    ROGER.

To where the saugh-tree shades the mennin pool,
I'll frae the hill come down, when day grows cool:
Keep tryst, and meet me there; there let us meet,
To kiss and tell our doves; there's nought sae sweet.

SCENE IV.

    PROLOGUE.

                This scene presents the Knight and Sym,
Within a gallery of the place,
                Where all looks ruinous and grim;
Nor has the baron shown his face,
                But, joking with his shepherd leel,
                Aft speers the gate he kens fu' weel.

SIR WILLIAM AND SYMON.

    SIR WILLIAM.

To whom belongs this house so much decay'd?

    SYMON.

To ane that lost it, lending gen'rous aid,
To bear the Head up, when rebellious tail
Against the laws of nature did prevail.
Sir William Worthy is our master's name,
Wha fills us a' with joy, now he's come hame.

    PROLOGUE.

                Sir William draps his marking beard;
Symon transported sees
                The welcome knight, with fond regard,
And grasps him round the knees.

My master! my dear master!--do I breath!
To see him healthy, strong, and free frae skaith!

Return'd to cheer his wishing tenants' sight
To bless his son, my charge; the world's delight.

    SIR WILLIAM.

Rise, faithful Symon, in my arms enjoy
A place, thy due, kind guardian of my boy:
I came to view thy care in this disguise,
And am confirm'd thy conduct has been wife,
Since still the secret thou'st securely seal'd,
And ne'er to him his real birth reveal'd.

    SYMON.

The due obedience to your strict command
Was the first lock--neist my ain judgment fand
Out reasons plenty--since, without estate,
A youth, tho' sprung frae kings, looks baugh and blate:

    SIR WILLIAM.

And aften vain and idly spend their time,
'Till grown unfit for action, past their prime,
Hang on their friends--which gie's their sauls a cast
That turns them downright beggars at the last.

    SYMON.

Now, well I wat, Sir, ye have spoken true;
For there's laird Kytie's son, that's loo'd by few;
His father steght his fortune in his wame,
And left his heir nought but a gentle name.
He gangs about sornan frae place to place,
As scrimp of manners as of sense and grace,
Oppressing a', as punishment o' their sin,
That are within his tenth degree of kin:
Rins in ilk trader's debt wha's sae unjust
To his ane family as to gie him trust.

    SIR WILLIAM.

Such useless branches of a commonwealth
Should be lopt off to give a state mair health:
Unworthy bare reflection--Symon, run
O'er all your observations on my son;
A parent's fondness easily finds excuse,
But do not with indulgence truth abuse.

    SYMON.

To speak his praise, the langest simmer-day
Wad be owre short--cou'd I them right display.
In word and deed he can sae well behave,
That out of sight he runs before the lave:
And when there's e'er a quarrel or contest
Patrick's made judge to tell whale cause is best;
And his decree stands good--he'll gar it stand;
Wha dares to grumble finds his correcting hand
With a firm look, and a commanding way,
He gars the proudest of our herds obey.

    SIR WILLIAM.

Your tale much pleases--my good friend, proceed:
What learning has he? Can he write and read?

    SYMON.

Baith wonder well; for, troth, I didna spare
To gi'e him at the school enough of lair:
And he delights in books--He reads and speaks
With fowks that ken them, Latin words and Greeks.

    SIR WILLIAM.

Where gets he books to read--and of what kind?
Tho' some give light, some blindly lead the blind.

    SYMON.

Whene'er he drives our sheep to Edinburgh port,
He buys some books of history, sangs, or sport:
Nor does he want of them a rowth at will,
And carries ay a poutchfu' to the hill.
About ane Shakespear and a famous Ben
He aften speaks, and ca's them best of men.
How sweetly Hawthornden and Stirling sing

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    SIR WILLIAM.

He answer'd well; and much ye glad my ear,
When such accounts I of my shepherd hear:
Reading such books can raise a peanut's mind
Above a lord's that is not thus inclin'd.

    SYMON.

What ken we better that sae sindle look,
Except on rainy Sundays, on a book?
When we a leaf or twa haf read, haf spell,
'Till a' the rest sleep round as weel's our fell.

    SIR WILLIAM

Well jested, Symon--but one question more,
I'II only ask ye now, and then give o'er.
The youth's arriv'd the age when little loves
Flighter around young hearts like cooing doves:

Has nae young lassie, with inviting mien
And rosy cheek, the wonder of the green,
Engag'd his look, and caught his youthfu' heart?

    SYMON.

I fear'd the warst, but kend the smallest part,
'Till late I saw him twa three times mair sweet
With Glaud's fair niece than I thought right or meet.
I had my fears; but now have nought to fear,
Since like yoursell your son will soon appear;
A gentleman enrich'd with all these charms,
May bless the fairest best-born lady's arms.

    SIR WILLIAM.

This night must end his unambitious fire,
When higher views shall greater thoughts inspire.
Go, Symon, bring him quickly here to me;
None but yourfell shall our first meeting see.
Yonder's my horse and servant night at hand;
They come just at the time I gave command:
Straight in my own apparel I'll go dress;
Now ye the secret may to all confess.

    SYMON.

With how much joy I on this errand flee,
There's nane can know that is not down-right me.

    [Exit SYMON.

    SIR WILLIAM SOLUS.

Whene'er th' event of hope's success appears,
One happy hour cancels the toil of years:
A thousand toils are lost: in Lethe's stream,
And cares evanish like a morning dream;

When with'd-for pleasures rise like morning light,
The pain that's pall enhances the delight.
These joys I feel that words can ill express,
I ne'er had known, without my late distress.
        But from his rustic business and love

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

SANG. Tune, Wat ye wha I met yestreen.

                Now from rusticity, and love,
Whose flames but over lowly burn,
                My gentle shepherd must be drove,
His soul must take another turn:
                As the rough diamond, from the mine,
In breakings only shews its light,
                'Till polishing has made it shine,
Thus learning makes the genius bright.

END OF THE THIRD ACT.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

    PROLOGUE.

                The scene describ'd in former page,
                Glaud's onset--Enter MAUSE and MADGE.

    MADGE.
OUR laird come hame! and owns young Pate his heir!

    MAUSE.
That's news indeed!--

    MADGE.

--As true as ye stand there.
As they were dancing all in Symon's yard,
Sir William, like a warlock, with a beard
Five nives in length, and white as driven snaw,
Amang us came, cry'd Had ye merry a
We ferly'd meikle at his unco look,
While frae his poutch he whirl'd forth a book.

As we stood round about him on the green,
He view'd us a', but fix'd on Pate his een;
Then pawkylie pretended he cou'd spae,
Yet for his pains and skill wad naithing hae.

    MAUSE.

Then sure the lasses, and ilk gaping coof,
Wad tin about him, and had out their loof.

    MADGE.

As fast as fleas skip to the tate of woo,
Whilk slee tod lawrie hads without his mow,
When he to drown them, and his hips to cool,
In summer days, slides backward in a pool.
In short, he did for Pate braw things foretell,
Without the help of conjuring or spell;
At last, when well diverted, he withdrew,
Pou'd off his beard to Symon; Symon knew
His welcome master;--round his knees he gat,
Hang at his coat, and syne for blythness grat.
Patrick was sent for--happy lad is he!
Symon tald Elspa, Elspa tald it me.
Ye'll hear out a' the secret story soon:
And troth 'tis e'en right odd, when a' is done,
To think how Symon ne'er afore wad tell,
Na, no sae meikle as to Pate himsell.
Our Meg, poor thing, alake! has lost her jo.

    MAUSE.

It may be sae, wha kens, and may be no:
To lift a love that's rooted, is great pain:

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    MADGE.

Sic nonsense! love tak root, but tocher good,
'Tween a herd's bairn, and ane of gentle blood!
Sic fashions in king Bruce's days might be;
But siccan ferlies now we never see.

    MAUSE.

Gif Pate forsakes her, Bauldy she may gain:--

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    MADGE.

He get her! slaverin doof! it sets him well
To yoke a plough where Patrick thought to teil!
Gif I were Meg, I'd let young master see--

    MAUSE.

Ye'd be as dorty in your choice as he;
And so wad I: but whisht! here Bauldy comes.

     Enter BAULDY [singing ]

                Jocky said to Jenny, Jenny wilt thou do't?
                Ne'er a fit, quoth Jenny, for my tocher good;
                For my tocher good, I winna marry thee.
                E'en's ye liked quoth Jocky, ye may let it be.

    MADGE.

Weel liltit, Bauldy, that's a dainty sang.

    BAULDY.

I'll gie ye't a', 'tis better than 'tis lang.

    [Sings again.

                I hae gowd and gear; I hae land eneugh:
                I have seven good owsen ganging in a pleugh;
                Ganging in a pleugh, and linkan o'er the lee:
                And gin ye winna tak me, I can let ye be.

                I hae a good ha' house, a barn and a byer;
                A peatstack 'fore the door; we'll make a rantin fire;
                I'll make a rantin fire, and merry, fall we be:
                And gin ye winna tak me, I can let ye be.

                Jenny said to Jocky, gin ye winna tell,
                Ye shall be the lad, I'll be the lass mysell;
                Ye're a bonny lad, and I'm a lassie free:
                Ye're welcomer to tak me than to let me be.

I trow sae:--lasses will come to at last,
Tho' for a while they maun their snaw-baws cast.

    MAUSE.

Well, Bauldy, how gaes a'?--

    BAULDY.

--Faith, unco right:
I hope we'll a' sleep sound but ane this night.

    MADGE.
And wha's th' unlucky ane, if we may ask?

    BAULDY.

To find out that is nae difficult task:
Poor bonny Peggy, wha maun think nae mair,
On Pate turn'd Patrick, and Sir William's heir.
Now, now, good Madge, and honest Mause, stand by;
While Meg's in dumps, put in a word for me:
I'll be as kind as ever Pate could prove;
Less wilfu', and ay constant in my love.

    MADGE.

As Neps can witness, and the bushy thorn,
Where mony a time to her your heart was sworn.

Fy, Baudy, blush, and vows of love regard;
What other lass will trow a mansworn herd:
The curse of heaven hings ay above their heads
That's ever guilty of sic sinfu' deeds.
I'll ne'er advise my niece sae gray a gate;
Nor will she be advis'd, fou wed I wate.

    BAULDY.

Sae gray a gate! mansworn! and a' the rest:
Ye lied, auld roudes,--and in faith had best
Eat in your words, else I shall gar you stand,
With a het face, afore the haly band.

    MADGE.

Ye'll gar me stand! ye shevelling-gabbit brock:
Speak that again, and trembling dread my rock,
And ten sharp nails, that when my hands are in,
Can flyp the skin o' y'er cheeks out o'er your chin.

    BAULDY.

I tak ye witness, Mause, ye heard her say
That I'm mansworn--I winna let it gae.

    MADGE.

Ye're witness too he ca'd me bony names,
And shou'd be serv'd as his good breeding claims:
Ye filthy dog!

     [Flees to his hair like a fury .]--A stout battle --
MAUSE endeavours to redd them.

    MAUSE.

Let gang your grips; fy, Madge! howt, Bauldy, leen;
I wadna wish this tulzie had been seen,
'Tis sae daft like.--

    [BAULDY gets out of MADGE's clutches with
a bleeding nose .]

    MADGE.

--'Tis dafter like to thole
An ether-cap like him to blaw the coal.
It lets him weel with vile unscrapit tongue,
To cast up whether I be auld or young:
They're aulder yet than I have married been,
And, or they died, their bairn's bairns have seen.

    MAUSE.

That's true; and, Bauldy, ye was far to blame

[This and the following four lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    BAULDY.
My lugs, my nose, and noddle find the same.

    MADGE.
Auld roudes! filthy fallow, I shall auld ye.

    MAUSE.

Howt, no;--ye'll e'en be friends with honest Bauldy;
Come, come, shake hands; this maun nae farder gae:
Ye maun forgi'e 'm: I see the lad looks wae.

    BAULDY.

In troth now, Mause, I have at Madge nae spite;
But she abusing first was a' the wyte
Of what has happen'd, and shou'd therefore crave
My pardon first and shall acquittance have.

    MADGE.

I crave your pardon! Gallows-face, gae greet
And own your faut to her that ye wad cheat:
Gae, or be blasted in your health and gear,
'Till ye learn to perform as well as swear.
Vow and lowp back!--was e'er the like heard tell?
Swith tak him deel, he's owre lang out of hell.

    BAULDY (running off. )

His presence be about us! Curst were he
That were condemned for life to live with thee.

    [Exit BAULDY

    MADGE (laughing. )

I think I have towzled his harigalds a wee;
He'll no soon grein to tell his love to me.
He's but a rascal that wad mint to serve
A lassie sae he does but ill deserve.

    MAUSE.

Ye townin'd him tightly--I commend ye for't;
His bleeding snout gae me nae little sport:
For this forenoon he had that scant of grace,
And breeding, baith--to tell me to my face
He hoped I was a witch, and wadna stand
To lend him in this case my helping hand.

    MADGE.

A witch! how had ye patience this to bear,
And leave him een to see, or lugs to hear?

    MAUSE.

Auld wither'd hands, and feeble joints like mine,
Obliges fowk resentment to decline,
'Till aft 'tis seen, when vigour fails, then we
With cunning can the lack of pith supply:
Thus I par aff revenge 'fill it was dark,
Syne bad him come, and we should gang to wark:
I'm sure he'll keep his tryst; and I came here
To seek your help, that we the fool may fear

    MADGE.

And special sport we'll hae as I protest;
Ye'll be the witch, and I shall play the ghaist.

A linen sheet wound round me like ane dead,
I'll cawk my face, and grane, and shake my head:
We'll fleg him sae, he'll mint nae mair to gang
A conjuring to do a lassie wrang.

    MAUSE.

Then let us go; for see, 'tis hard on night,
The westlin cloud shines with a setting light.

    [Exeunt .

SCENE II.

    PROLOGUE.

                When birds begin to nod upon the bough,
                And the green swaird grows damp with falling dues
                While good Sir William is to rest retir'd,
                The Gentle Shepherd, tenderly inspir'd,
                Walks throw the broom with Roger ever leel,
                To meet, to comfort Meg, and tak farewel.

PATI E AND ROGER.

    ROGER.

Wow! but l'm cadgie, and my heart lowpslight:
O, Mr Patrick, ay your thoughts were right;
Sure gentle fowk are rarer seen than we
That naithing hae to brag of pedigree.

My Jenny now, wha' brak my heart this morn,
Is perfect yielding--sweet--and nae mair scorn:
I spak my mind--she heard--I spak again--
She smil'd--I kiss'd--I woo'd, nor woo'd in vain.

    PATIE.

I'm glad to hear't--But, O! my change this day
Heaves up my joy, and yet I'm sometimes wae.
I've sound a father, gently kind as brave,
And an estate that lifts me boon the lave.
With looks all kindness, words that love confest,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    ROGER.

How to advise ye, troth I'm at a stand:
But we'rt my case, ye'd clear it up aff hand.

    PATIE.

Duty, and haflen reason plead his cause;
But love rebels against all bounding laws
Fixt in my soul the shepherdess excels,
And part of my new happiness repels.

SANG. Tune, Kirk wad let me be.

        Duty and part of reason,
                Plead strong on the parent's side,
        Which love superior calls treason,
                The strongest must be obey'd;

        For now, tho' I'm one of the gentry,
                My constancy falsehood repels;
        For change in my heart is no entry,
                Still there my dear Peggy excels.

    ROGER.

Enjoy them baith--Sir William will be won
Your Peggy's bonny--you're his only son.

    PATIE.

She's mine by vows, and stronger ties of love,
And frae these bands nae fate my mind shall move.
I'll wed nane else, thro' life I will be true,
But still obedience is a parent's due.

    ROGER.

Is not our master and yoursell to stay
Amang us here--or are ye gawn away
To London court, or ither far aff parts,
To leave your ain poor us with broken hearts?

    PATIE.

To Edinburgh straight to-morrow we advance,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    ROGER.

"They wha have just enough can roundly sleep,
"The owrecome only fashes fowk to keep."--
Good master Patrick, tak your ain tale hame.

[This and the following three lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    PATIE.

What was my morning thought at night's the same
The poor and rich but differ in the name.
Content's the greater bliss we can procure
Frae 'boon the lift--without it, king's are poor.

    ROGER.

But an estate like yours yields braw content,
When we but pike it scantly on the bent:
Fine claiths, saft beds, sweet houses, sparkling wine,
Rich fare, and witty friends, whene'er ye dine,

Submissive servants, honour, wealth, and ease,
Wha's no content with these are ill to please.

    PATIE.

Sae Roger thinks, and thinks not far amiss,
But mony a cloud hings hovering o'er their bliss:
The passions rule the roast--and if they're sour,
Like the lean ky, they'll soon the fat devour:
The spleen, tint honour, and affronted pride,
Stang like the sharpest goads in gentry's side.
The gouts, and gravels, and the ill disease,
Are frequentest with fowk owrelaid with ease;.
While o'er the moor the shepherd, with less care,
Enjoys his sober wish and halesome air.

     ROGER.

Lord, man, I wonder, ay, and it delights
My heart, whene'er I hearken to your flights:
How gat yea' that sense I fain wad lear,
That I may easier disappointments bear?

    PATIE.

Frae books, the wale of books, I gat some skill,
There best can teach what's real good and ill:
Ne'er grudge ilk year to ware some stanes of
To gain these silent friends that ever please.

     ROGER.

I'll do't, and ye shall tell me which to buy:
Faith I'se hae books, tho' I shou'd sell my ky:
But now let's hear how you're design'd to move
Between Sir William's will and Peggy's love.

    PATIE.

Then here it lies--his will maun be obey'd

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    ROGER.

And proud of being your secretary, I
To wyle it frae me a' the deels defy.

    [Exit ROGER.

    PATIE [solus. ]

With what a struggle must I now impart
My father's will to her that hads my heart:
I ken she loves, and her saft soul will sink,
While it stands trembling on the hated brink
Of disappointment--Heav'n support my fair,
And let her comfort claim your tender care:
Her eyes are red--

    ENTER PEGGY

--My Peggy, why in tears?
Smile as ye wont, allow nae room for fears:
Tho' I'm nae mair a shepherd, yet I'm thine.

    PEGGY.

I dare not think sae high--I now repine
At the unhappy chance that made not me
A gentle match, or still a herd kept thee.

Wha can, withouten pain, see frae the coast.
The ship that bears his a' like to be lost?
Like to be carried by some rever's hand
Far frae his wishes to some distant land.

    PATIE.

Ne'er quarrel fate, whilst it with me remains
To raise thee up, or still attend these plains.
My father has forbid our loves, I own:
But love's superior to a parent's frown:
I falsehood hate: come kiss thy cares away;
I ken to love as well as to obey.
Sir William's generous; leave the task to me
To mak strict duty and true love agree.

    PEGGY.

Speak on! speak ever thus, and still my grief,
But short I dare to hope the fond relief;
New thoughts a gentler face will soon inspire,
That with nice airs swims round in silk attire;
Then I! poor me!--with sighs may ban my fate,
When the young laird's nae mair my heartsome Pate.
Nae mair again to hear sweet tales exprest,
By the blyth shepherd that excell'd the rest.
Nae mair be envied by the tattling gang,
When Patie kiss'd me, when I danc'd or sang;
Nae mair, alake! we'll on the meadows play,
And rin haff breathless round the rucks of hay,
As aft times I have fled from thee right fain,
And fawn on purpose, that I might be tane:
Nae mair around the foggy know I'll creep
To watch and stare upon thee, while asleep.

But hear my vow--'twill help to give me ease,--
May sudden death, or deadly fair disease,
And warst of ills attend my wretched life!
If e'er to ane but you I be a wife.

SANG. Tune, Waes my heart that we shou'd sunder.

                Speak on, speak thus, and still my grief,
Hold up a heart that's sinking under
                These fears, that soon will want relief,
When Pate mule from his Peggy sunder.
                A gentler face and silk attire,
A lady rich in beauty's blossom,
                Alake, poor me! will now conspire
To steal thee from thy Peggy's bosom.

                No more the shepherd who excell'd
The rest, whose wit made them to wonder,
                Shall now his Peggy's praises tell;
Ah! I can die, but never sunder.
                Ye meadows, where we often stray'd,
Ye banks, where we were wont to wander;
                Sweet scented rucks round which we play'd,
You'll lore your sweets when we're asunder.

                Again, ah! shall I never creep
Around the know with silent duty,
                Kindly to watch thee while asleep,
And wonder at thy manly beauty.
                Hear, Heaven, while solemnly I vow,
Tho' thou should'st prove a wand'ring lover,
                Throw life to thee I shall prove true,
Nor be a wife to any other.

    PATIE.

Sure heaven approves--and be assur'd of me,
I'll ne'er gang back of what I've sworn to thee:
And time, tho' time maun interpose a while,
And I maun leave my Peggy and this isle,
Yet time, nor distance, nor the fairest face,
If there's a fairer, e'er shall fill thy place.
I'd hate my rising fortune should it move
The fair foundation of our faithfu' love.
If at my foot were crowns and scepters laid,
To bribe my soul frae thee, delightfu' maid,
For thee I'd soon leave these inferior things
To sic as have the patience to be kings.--
Wherefore that tear? believe, and calm thy mind.

    PEGGY.

I greet for joy, to hear my love sae kind;
When hopes were funk, and nought but mirk despair,
Made me think life was little worth my care:
My heart was like to burst; but now I see
The gen'rous thoughts will fare thy heart for me:
With patience then, I'll wait each wheeling year,
Dream thro' that night till my day-star appear;
And all the while I'll study gentler charms
To make me fitter for my trav'ller's arms:
I'll gain on uncle Glaud--he's far frae fool,
And will not grudge to put me throw ilk school
Where I may manners learn--

SANG. Tune, Tweed side.

    PEGGY.

        When hope was quite sunk in despair,
                My heart it was going to break;
        My life appear'd worthless my care,
                But now I will fav't for thy sake.
        Where e'er my love travels by day,
                Wherever he lodges by night,
        With me his dear image shall stay;
                And my soul keep him ever in sight.

        With patience I'II wait the long year,
                And study the gentlest charms;
        Hope time away till thou appear,
                So lock thee for ay in those arms.
        Whilst thou wast a shepherd, I priz'd
                No higher degree in this life;
        But now I'll endeavour to rise
                To a height is becoming thy wife.

        For beauty that's only skin deep,
                Must fade like the gowans of May,
        But inwardly rooted, will keep
                For ever, without a decay.
        Nor age, nor the changes of life,
                Can quench the fair fire of love,
        If virtue's ingrain'd in the wife,
                And the husband have sense to approve.

    PATIE.

--That's wisely said,
And what he wares that way shall be well paid.
Tho' without a' the little helps of art,
Thy native sweets might gain a prince's heart;
Yet now, left in our station we offend,
We must learn modes to innocence unkend;
Affect aft-times to like the thing we hate,
And drap serenity, to keep up state;
Laugh when we're fad, speak when we've nought to say,
And, for the fashion, when we're blyth, seem wae:
Pay compliments to them we aft have scorn'd,
Then scandalize them when their backs are turn'd.

    PEGGY.

If this is gentry, I had rather be
What I am still--but I'll be ought with thee.

    PATIE.

No, no, my Peggy, I but only jest
With gentry's apes; for still amangst the best,
Good-manners give integrity a bleeze,
When native virtues join the arts to please.

    PEGGY.

Since with nae hazard, and sae small expence,
My lad frae books can gather siccan sense.
Then why, ah! why should the tempestuous sea
Endanger thy dear life, and frighten me?
Sir William's cruel that wad force his son,
For watna whats, sae great a risk to run.

    PATIE.

There is nae doubt but trav'lling does improve;
Yet I wou'd shun it for thy fake, my love:

But soon as I've shook aff my landwart cast
In foreign cities, hame to thee I'll haste.

SANG. Tune, Bush aboon Traquair.

    PEGGY.

        At setting day and rising morn,
                With soul that full hall love thee,
        I'll ask of heaven thy safe return,
                With all that can improve thee.
        I'll visit aft the birken bush,
                Where first thou kindly told me
        Sweet tales of love, and hid my blush,
                Whilst round thou didst enfold me.

        To all our haunts I will repair,
                By greenwood shaw or fountain;
        Or where the summer day I'd share
                With thee, upon yon mountain.
        There will I tell the trees and flow'rs,
                From thoughts unfeign'd and tender;
        By vows you're mine, by love is yours
                A heart which cannot wander.

With every setting day and rising morn
I'll kneel to Heaven and ask thy safe return:
Under that tree, and on the suckler brae,
Where aft we wont, when bairns, to run and play:

And to the Hissel shaw, where first ye vow'd
Ye wad be mine, and I as eithly trow'd,
I'll aften gang, and tell the trees and flowers
With joy, that they'll bear witness I am yours.

    PATIE.

My dear, allow me frae thy temples fair
A shining ringlet of thy flowing hair,
Which, as a sample of each lovely charm,
I'll aften kiss, and wear about my arm.

    PEGGY.

Were ilka hair that appertains to me
Worth an estate, they all belong to thee:
My sheers are ready, take what you demand,
And aught what love with virtue may command.

    PATIE.

Nae mair I'll ask; but since we've little time,
To ware't on words wad border on a crime,
Love's safter meaning better is exprest,
When it's with kisses on the heart imprest.

    [Here they embrace, and the curtain's let down.

END OF THE FOURTH ACT.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

    PROLOGUE.

                See how poor Bauldy scares like ane possest,
                And roars up Simon frae his kindly rest:
                Bare-legg'd, with night-cap, and unbutton'd coat',
                See the auld man comes forward to the sot.

    SYMON.

WHAT want ye, Bauldy, at this silent hour,
When nature nods beneath the drowsy pow'r:
Far to the north the scant approaching light
Stands equal 'twixt the morning and the night?
What gars ye shake, and glowre, and look sae wan?
Your teeth they chitter, hair like bristles stand.

     BAULDY.

O len me soon some water, milk, or ale,
My bead's grown giddy--legs with shaking fail;

I'll ne'er dare venture forth at night my lane:
Alake! I'll never be mysell again,
I'll ne'er o'erput it! Symon, O Symon! O!--

     [SYMON gives him a drink.

    SYMON.

What ails thee, gowk?--to make so loud ado.
You've wak'd Sir William, he has left his bed;
He comes, I fear, ill pleas'd; I hear his tred.

    ENTER SIR WILLIAM.

    SIR WILLIAM.

How goes the night? Does day--light yet appear?
Symon, you're very tymously asteer.

    SYMON.

I'm sorry, Sir, that we've disturb'd your rest.

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    BAULDY.

O! ay--dear Sir, in troth, 'tis very true,
And I am come to make my plaint to you?

    SIR WILLIAM (smiling. )
I long to hear't--

    BAULDY.

--Ah! Sir, the witch caw'd Mause,
That wins aboon the mill amang the haws,
First promis'd that she'd help me with her art,
To gain a bonny thrawart lassie's heart:
As she had trysted, I met wi'er this night,
But may nae friend of mine get sic a fright!

For the curs'd hag, instead of doing me good,
(The very thought o't's like to freeze my blood!)
Rais'd up a ghaist or deel, I kenna whilk,
Like a dead coarse in sheet as white as milk;
Black hands it had, and face as wan as death,
Upon me far the witch and it fell baith,
Lows'd down my breeks, while I, like a great fool
Was labour'd as I won't to be at school.
My heart out of its hool was like to lowp,
I pithless grew with fear, and had nae hope,
Till, with an elritch laugh they vanish'd quite;
Syne I haf dead with anger, fear and spite,
Crap up, and fled straight frae them, Sir, to you
Hoping your help to gi'e the deel his due.
I'm sure my heart will ne'er gi'e o'er to dunt,
Till in a fat tar-barrel Mause be brunt.

    SIR WILLIAM.

Well, Bauldy, whate'er's just shall granted be;
Let Mause be brought this morning down to me.

    BAULDY.

Thanks to your honour, soon shall I obey;
But first I'll Roger raise, and twa three mae,
To catch her fast, or she get leave to squeel,
Find cast her cantraips that bring up the deel.

    [Exit BAULDY.

    SIR WILLIAM.

Troth, Symon, Bauldy's more afraid than hurt,
The witch and ghaist have made themselves good sport.
What silly notions croud the clouded mind,
That is throw want of education blind!

    SYMON.

But does your honour think there's nae sic thing,
As witches raising deels up throw a ring,
Syne playing tricks?--a thousand I could tell
Could never be contriv'd on this side hell.

    SIR WILLIAM.

Such as the devil's dancing in a moor
Amongst a few old women, craz'd and poor,
Who are rejoic'd to see him frisk and lowp
O'er braes and bogs with candles in his dowp,
Appearing sometimes like a black horn'd cow,
Aftimes like bawty, badrans, or a sow;
Then with his train throw airy paths to glide,
While they on cats, or clowns, or broomstaffs, ride;
Or in the egg-shell skim out o'er the main,
To drink their leader's health in France or Spain;
Then aft by night bumbaze hare-hearted fools,
By tumbling down their cupboards, chairs, and stools.
Whate'er's in spells, or if there witches be,
Such whimsies seem the most absurd to me:

    SYMON.

'Tis true enough, we ne'er heard that a witch
Had either meikle sense, or yet was rich:
But Mause, tho' poor, is a sagacious wife,
And lives a quiet and very honest life;
That gars me think, this hobleshew that's past
Will end in naithing but a joke at last.

    SIR WILLIAM.

I'm sure it will; but see increasing light
Commands the imps of darkness down to-night:

Call up my servants, and my horse prepare,
Whilst I walk out to take the morning air.

SANG. Tune, Bonny gray-ey'd morn.

        The bonny gray-ey'd morning begins to peep,
                And darkness flies before the rising ray;
        The hearty hynd starts from his lazy sleep,
                To follow healthfu' labours of the day.
        Without a guilty sting to wrinkle his brow,
                The lark and the linnet tend his levee;
        And he joins their concert driving the
                From toil of grimace and pageantry free.

        While fluster'd with wine, or madden'd with loss
                Of half an estate, the prey of a main,
        The drunkard and gamester tumble and toss,
                Wishing for calmness and slumber in vain.
        Be my portion, health and quietness of minds
                Plac'd at due distance from parties and state,
        Where neither ambition, nor avarice blind,
                Reach him who has happiness link'd to his fate.

    [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

    PROLOGUE.

                While Peggy laces up her bosom fair,
                With a blue snood Jenny binds up her hair;
                Glaud by his morning ingle takes a beek,
                The rising sun shines motty throw the reek:
                A pipe in's mouth, the lassies please his een,
                And now and then his joke maun interveen.

    GLAUD.

I WISH , my bairns, it may keep fair till night,
Ye do not use so soon to see the light;
Nae doubt now ye intend to mix the thrang,
To tak your leave of Patrick or he gang:
But, do ye think, that now when he's a laird,
That he poor landwart lassies will regard?

    JENNY.

Tho' he's young master now, I'm very sure
He has mair sense than flight auld friends, tho' poor.
But yesterday he ga'e us mony a tug,
And kiss'd my cusin there frae lug to lug.

    GLAUD.

Ay, ay, nae doubt o't and he'll do't again;
But, be advis'd, his company refrain:
Before, he, as a shepherd, sought a wife,
With her to live a chaste and frugal life;

But now grown gentle, soon he will forsake
Sic godly thoughts, and brag of being a rake.

    PEGGY.

A rake, what's that?--Sure if it means ought ill,
He'll never be't, else I have tint my skill.

    GLAUD.

Daft lassie, ye ken nought of the affair,
You young and good, and gentle's unco rare:
A rake's a graceless spark, that thinks nae shame
To do what like of us thinks sin to name;
Sic are sae void of shame, they'll never stap
To brag how aften they have had the clap;  [flush'd,
They'll tempt young things like you, with youdith
Syne mak yea' their jest when ye're debauch'd
Be wary then I say, and never gi'e
Encouragement, or bourd with sic as he.

    PEGGY.

Sir William's vertuous, and of gentle blood;
And may not Patrick too, like him be good?

    GLAUD.

That's true, and mony gentry mae than he,
As they are wiser, better are than we;
But thinner sawn; they're sae puft up with pride,
There's mony of them mocks ilk haly guide
That shaws the gate to heaven;--I've heard mysell;
Some of them laugh at doomsday, sin, and hell.

    JENNY.

Watch o'er us, father! heh, that's very odd,
Sure him that doubts a doomsday doubts a God.

    GLAUD.

Doubt! why they neither doubt, nor judge, nor think,
Nor hope, nor fear; but curse, debauch, and drink:
But I'm no saying this, as if I thought
That Patrick to sic gaits will e'er be brought.

    PEGGY.

The Lord forbid! Na, he kens better things:
But here comes aunt, her face some ferly brings.

    ENTER MADGE.

    MADGE.

Haste, hast ye, we're a' lent for owre the gate,
To hear, and help to red some odd debate,
'Tween Mause and Bauldy, 'bout some witchcraft spell
At Symon's boule, the knight fits judge himsell.

    GLAUD.

Lend me my staff--Madge, lock the outer door,
And bring the lasses wi'ye; I'll step before.

    [Exit.

    MADGE.

Poor Meg!--Look, Jenny, was the like e'er seen?
Howbleer'd and red with greeting look her een!
This day her brankan wooer taks his horse,
To strute a gentle spark at Edinburgh cross;
To change his kent cut frae the branchy plain,
For a nice sword and glancing headed cane;
To leave his ram-horm spoons and kitted whey,
For gentler tea, that smells like new-won hay;

To leave the green sward dance when we gae milk,
To rustle amang the beauties clad in silk.
But Meg, poor Meg! maun with the shepherds stay,
And tak what God will send in hodden gray.

    PEGGY.

Dear aunt, what needs ye fash us wi' your scorn;
That's no my faut that I'm nae gentler born.
Gif I the daughter of some laird had been,
I ne'er had notic'd Parle on the green:
Now since he rises why should I repine?
If he's made for another, he'll ne'er be mine:
And then, the like has been, if the decree
Designs him mine, I yet his wife may be,

    MADGE.

A bony story, trouth!--But we delay;
Prin up your aprons baith, and come away.

    [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

    PROLOGUE.

                Sir William fills the twa-arm'd chair,
While Symon, Roger, Glaud, and Mause
                Attend, and with loud laughter hear
Daft Bauldy bluntly plead his cause:
                For now it's tell'd him that the tawz
Was handled by revengefu' Madge,
                Because he brak good breeding's laws,
And with his nonsense rais'd their rage,

    SIR WILLIAM.

AND was that all?--Well, Archbald, ye was serv'd
No otherwise than what ye well deserv'd,
Was it so small a matter to defame,
And thus abuse an honest woman's name?
Besides your going about to have betray'd,
By perjury, an innocent young maid.

    BAULDY.

Sir, I confess my faut thro' a' its steps,
And ne'er again shall be untrue to Neps.

    MAUSE.

Thus far, Sir, he oblig'd me on the score,
I kend not that they thought me sic before.

    BAULDY.

An't like your honour, I believe it well;
But trowth I was e'en doilt to seek the deel;

Yet with your Honour's leave, tho' she's nae witch,
She's baith a slee and a revengefu'--
And that my some-place finds;-- but I had best
Haud in my tongue; for yonder comes the ghaist,
And the young bonny witch, whase rosie cheek
Sent me without my wits the deel to seek.

    ENTER MADGE, PEGGY, AND JENNY.

    SIR. WILLIAM (looking at PEGGY.)

Whose daughter's she that wears th' Aurora gown,
With face so fair, and locks a lovely brown?
How sparkling are her eyes! what's this I find!
The girl brings all my sister to my mind.
Such were the features once adorn'd a face,
Which death too soon depriv'd of sweetest grace.
In this your daughter, Glaud?--

    GLAUD.

--Sir, she's my niece--
And yet she's not--but I should had my piece.

    SIR WILLIAM.

This is a contradiction; what d'ye mean?
She is, and she is not! pray, Glaud, explain.

    GLAUD.

Because I doubt, if I should mak appear

[This and the following four lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    MAUSE.

You may reveal what I can fully clear.

    SIR WILLIAM.
Speak soon: I'm all impatience!--

    PATIE.

--So am I!
For much I hope, and hardly yet know why.

    GLAUD.

Then, since my master orders, I obey--
This bonny fundling ae clear morn of May,
Close by the lee side of my door I found,
All sweet and clean, and carefully hapt round,
In infant weeds, of rich and gentle make.
What cou'd they be, thought I, did thee forsake!
Wha, warse than brutes, cou'd leave expos'd to air
Sae much of innocence, sae sweetly fair,
Sae helpless young; for she appear'd to me,
Only about twa towmands auld to be.
I took her in my arms, the bairnie smil'd,
With sic a look, wad made a savage mild.
I hid the story, the has pass'd sincesyne,
As a poor orphan, and a niece of mine;
Nor do I rue my care about the wean,
For she's well worth the pains that I have tane.
Ye see she's bonny; I can swear she's good,
And am right sure she's come of gentle blood;
Of whom I kenna--naithing ken I mair,
Than what I to your honour now delare.

    SIR WILLIAM.

This tale seems strange!--

    PATIE.
The tale delights my ear!

    SIR WILLIAM.
Command your joys, young man, till truth appear;

    MAUSE.

That be my task--Now, Sir, bid all be hush,
Peggy may smile--Thou haft no cause to blush.
Lang have I wish'd to see this happy day,
That I might safely to the truth give way;
That I may now Sir William Worthy name,
The best and nearest: parent she can claim.
He saw't at first, and with quick eyes did trace
His sister's beauties in her doughter's face.

    SIR WILLIAM.

Old woman, do not rave--prove what you say;
'Tis dangerous in affairs like this to play.

    PATIE.

What reason, Sir, can an old woman have
To tell a lie, when she's sae near her grave?
But how, or why, it should be truth, I grant,
I every thing that looks like reason want.

    OMNES.

The story's odd! we wish we heard it out.

    SIR WILLIAM.
Make haste, old woman, and resolve each doubt.

     [MAUSE goes forward leading PEGGY to SIR WILLIAM.]

    MAUSE.

Sir, view me well, has fifteen years so plew'd
A wrinkled face that you have often view'd,
That here I as an unknown stranger stand,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    SIR WILLIAM.

Ha honest nurse! where were my eyes before!
I know thy faithfulness, and need no more:
Yet from the lab'rinth, to lead out my mind,
Say, to expose her, who was so unkind?

    [SIR WILLIAM embraces PEGGY, and makes her sit by him .]

    SIR WILLIAM.

Yes, surely, thou'rt my niece! truth must prevail;
But no more words, 'till Mause relate her tale.

    PATIE.

Good nurse, dispatch thy story wing'd with blisses,
That I may give my cusin fifty kisses.

    MAUSE.

Then it was I that fav'd her infant-life,
Her death being threaten'd by an uncle's wife.
The story's lang; but I the secret knew,
How they purfu'd with avaritious view
Her rich estate, of which they're now posest.
All this to me a confident confest.
I heard with horror, and with trembling dread,
They'd smoor the fakeless orphan in her bed.
That very night, when all where sunk in rest,
At midnight hour the floor I saftly prest,
And staw the sleeping innocent away,
With whom I travell'd some few miles ere day.
All day I hid me;--when the day was done,
I kept my journey, lighted by the moon,

'Till eastward fifty miles I reach'd these plains,
Where needful plenty glads your chearful swains.
For fear of being sound out, and, to secure
My charge, I laid her at this shepherd's door;
And took a neighbouring cottage here, that I,
Whate'er should happen to her, might be by.
Here, honest Glaud himsell, and Symon may
Remember well how I that very day
Frae Roger's father took my little crove.

    GLAUD (with tears of joy happing down his beard .)

I well remember't: Lord reward your love!
Lang have I wish'd for this; for aft I thought
Sic knowledge some time should about be brought.

    PATIE.

'Tis now a crime to doubt--my joys are full
With due obedience to my parent's will.
Sir, with paternal love survey her charms,
And blame me not for rushing to her arms:
She's mine by vows, and would, tho' still unknown,
Have been my wife, when I my vows durst own.

    SIR WILLIAM.

My niece, my daughter, welcome to my care,
Sweet image of thy mother, good and fair;
Equal with Patrick: now my greatest aim
Shall be to aid your joys and well-match'd flame.
My boy, receive her from your father's hand
With as good will as either would demand.

    [PATIE and PEGGY embrace and kneel to SIR WILLIAM.]

    PATIE.

With as much joy this blessing I receive
As ane wad life that's sinking in a wave.

    SIR WILLIAM (raises them. )

I give you both my blessing; may your love
Produce a happy race, and still improve!

    PEGGY.

My wishes are compleat--my joys arise,
While I'm hal dizzy with the blest surprise.
And am I then a match for my ain lad,
That for me so much generous kindness had?
Lang may Sir William bless there happy plains,
Happy, while Heaven grant, he 'on them remains.

    PATIE.

Be lang our guardian, still our master be;

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    GLAUD.

I hope your honour now will take amends
Of them that sought her life for wicked ends.

    SIR WILLIAM.

The bale unnatural villain soon shall know
That eyes above watch the affairs below:
I'll strip him soon of all to her pertains,
And make him reimburse his ill got gains.

    PEGGY.

To me the views of wealth, and an estate,
Seem light, when put in balance with my Pate:
For his sake only I'll ay thankfu' bow
For such a kindness, best of men, to you.

    SYMON.

What double blythness wakens up this day;
I hope now, Sir, you'll no soon haste away.
Sall I unsaddle your horse, and gar prepare
A dinner for ye of hale country fare?
See how much joy unwrinkles every brow,
Our looks hing on the twa, and doat on you:
Even Bauldy, the bewitch'd, has quite forgot
Fell Madge's tawz, and pawky Mause's plot.

    SIR WILLIAM.

Kindly old man; remain with you this day!
I never from these fields again will stray:
Masons and wrights shall soon my house repair,
And bury gardners shall new planting rear:
My father's hearty table you soon shall see
Restor'd, and my best friends rejoice with me.

    SYMON.

That's the belt news I heard this twenty year!
New day breaks up, rough times begin to clear.

    GLAUD.

God save the king, and save Sir William lang,
To enjoy their ain, and raise the shepherds' sang.

    ROGER.

Wha winna dance, wha will refuse to sing?
What shepherd's whistle winna lilt the spring?

    BAULDY.

I'm friends with Mause,--with very Madge I'm greed,
Altho' they skelpit me when woodly fleid;
I'm now fu' blyth, and frankly can forgive,
To join and sing ' Lang may Sir William live.'

    MADGE.

Lang may he live;--and Archbald learn to steek
Your gab a wee, and think before you speak,
And never ca' her auld that wants a man,
Else ye may yet some witche's fingers ban.
This day I'll with the youngest of ye rant,
And brag for ay that I was ca'd the aunt
Of our young lady,--my dear bonny bairn!

    PEGGY.

No other name I'll ever for you learn:
And, my good nurse, how shall I gratefu' be,
For a' thy matchless kindness done for me?

    MAUSE.

The flowing pleasures of this happy day
Does fully all I can require repay.

    SIR WILLIAM.

To faithful Symon, and, kind Glaud, to you.

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    OMNES.

The Lord of heaven return your honour's love,
Confirm your joys, and a' your blessings roove.

    PATIE [presenting ROGER to SIR WILLIAM.]

Sir, here's my trusty friend, that always shar'd
My bosom secrets ere I was a laird:
Glaud's daughter, Janet, (Jenny think nae shame)
Rais'd and maintains in him a lover's flame:
Lang was he dumb, at last he spak and won,
And hopes to be our honest uncle's sort;
Be pleas'd to speak to Glaud for his consent,
That nane may wear a face of discontent.

    SIR WILLIAM.

My son's demand is fair--Glaud, let me crave,
That trusty Roger may your daughter have
With frank consent: and while he does remain
Upon these fields, I make him chamberlain.

    GLAUD.

You crowd your bounties, Sir, what can we say,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    ROGER.

I ne'er was good at speaking a' my days,
Or ever loo'd to make o'er great a fraise;
But for my master, father, and my wife,
I will employ the cares of all my life.

    SIR WILLIAM.

My friends, I'm satisfy'd you'll all behave,
Each in his station, as I'd with or crave.
Be ever virtuous, soon or late ye'll find
Reward and satisfaction to your mind.
The maze of lifc sometimes looks dark and wild,
And aft, when hopes are highest, we're beguil'd.
Aft when we stand on brinks of dark despair,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    PEGGY.

When you demand I readiest should obey:
I'll sing you ane, the newest that I hae.

SANG. Tune, Corn-riggs are bony .

                My Patie is a lover gay,
His mind is never muddy;
                His breath is sweeter than new hay,
His face is fair and ruddy:
                His shape is handsome, middle size,
He's comely in his wawking;
                The shining of his een surprize,
'Tis heaven to hear him tawking.
                Last night I met him on a bawk,
Where yellow corn was growing;
                There mony a kindly word he spak,
That set my heart a glowing:
                He kiss'd, and vow'd he wad be mine,
And loo'd me best of ony;
                That gars me like to sing sinsyne,
O corn-riggs are bony.

Let lassies of a silly mind,
        Refuse what mast they're wanting;
Since we for yielding were design'd,
        We chastly should be granting:
Then I'll comply and marry Pate,
        And syne my cockernony;
He's free to touzle air or late
        Where corn-riggs are bony.

THE END.

THE
GENTLE SHEPHERDa

ENGLISH.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

    DESCRIPTION OF THE SCENE.

                Beneath a rocky shelter's southern side,
                Where fountains clear in healthful streamlets glide,
                Two youthful shepherds on the daisies lay,
                Tending their flocks one lovely morn of May.
                Poor Roger groans, till hollow echoes ring;
                But blither Patie likes to laugh and sing.

PATIE AND ROGER.
SONG.

    PATIE.

                My Peggy is a young thing,
Just enter'd in her teens;
        Fair as the day, and sweet as May,
        Fair as the day, and always gay.
                My Peggy is a young thing,
And I'm not very old,
                Yet well I like to meet her at
The watching of the fold b .

                My Peggy speaks so sweetly,
Whene'er we meet alone,
        O! she's the fair can banish care,
        O! she's the fair without compare.
                My Peggy speaks so sweetly,
To other maids I'm cold:
                But she makes all my spirits glow,
When watching of the fold.

                My Peggy smiles so kindly,
Whene'er I whisper love,
        That I look down on all the towns,
        That I look down upon a crown.
                My Peggy smiles so kindly,
It makes me blithe and bold,
                And nothing gives me such delight,
As watching of the fold.

                My Peggy sings so softly,
When on my pipe I play,
        By all the rest it is confest,
        By all the rest that she sings best.
                My Peggy sings so softly,
And in her songs are told,
                With innocence, the best of sense,
At watching of the fold.

This sunny morning, Roger, cheers my blood,
And puts all nature in a joyous mood.
How blithsome 'tis to see the rising plants,
To hear the birds chirp o'er their pleasing chants;
How healthy 'tis to scent the morning air,
And all the sweets it bears, when void of care.

What ails thee, Roger, then? why sigh you so?
Tell me the cause of thy ill-season'd woe?

    ROGER.

I'm born, O Patie, to an adverse fate!
I'm born to strive with hardships sad and great.
Tempests may cease to dash the rolling flood,
The rav'n and fox to long for lambkin's blood:
But I, opprest with never-ending grief,
Must still despair of lighting on relief.

     PATIE.

The bees shall loath the flow'r, and quit the hive,
Willows on marshy ground shall cease to thrive,
Ere scornful maids, or loss of worldly store,
Shall make me drop a tear, or wake an hour.

    ROGER.

So might I say; but 'tis not eas'ly done
By one whose soul's so sadly out of tune.
you have so soft voice, and smooth a tongue,
That you're the darling of both old and young.
If I attempt to sing, or but to speak,
They stop their ears, and up their milk-pails take,
And jeer me as they home from milking go;
Confus'd and vex'd, I know not what to do:
Yet I'm as tall as thou--as well made too,
Why should I please the lasses less than you?
For every sheep thou hast, ten I can show,
And should, as one may think, before thee go.

    PATIE.

Perhaps, my neighbour, you've a niggard's heart,
So with the coin you cannot freely part.

What signifies your wealth, if that's the case?
A sordid soul still wears a careful face.

    ROGER.

My cow-house falls, nine head of cattle kills,
Three elf-shotc. were, yet I endur'd these ills:
Few cares in winter last my heart did know,
Though scores of wethers perish'd in the snow.

    PATIE.

Were your rich farms as poorly stock'd as mine,
Less you would lose, and less you would repine.
He that has just enough can soundly sleep:
O'erflowing wealth but troubles us to keep.

    ROGER.

May plenty flow upon thee for a cross,
That th'ou may'st, feel the pangs of many a loss!
O may'st thou doat on some fair haughty wench,
Who ne'er will stoop thy scorching thirst to quench!
Till press'd beneath the load, Alas! you say,
And own, tho' one's no fool, yet fret he may.

    PATIE.

Six good fat lambs--I sold them out and out
At the West Portd. --and bought a winning flute,
Of plum-tree made, the joints with iv'ry bound:
A handsome pipe, and of a pleasing sound--
With it I'll blither be, and ne'er look dull,
Than you with all your cash, ye doleful fool.

    ROGER.

I'm no such churlish ass; no, Patie, no--
'Tis other cares that fill my heart with woe:

I dreamt a dreary dream the other night,
That makes me still to shudder with the fright.

    PATIE.

Now, to a friend, how silly is this art,
To one who know each secret of your heart--
Feign'd are your dreams, and weakly do you hide
Your well-seen love, and scornful Jenny's pride:
Take courage, Roger, tell me all your woe,
And safely think none but yourself doth know.

    ROGER.

Indeed now, Patie, you have guess'd too true,
And there is nothing I'll conceal from you--
Me scornful Jenny looks on with despite;
To speak but to her puts me in a fright:
She jeers me morn and night in every place,
Whilst I, confounded, look with bashful face.
Beyond yon hillock green we met last night;
Away she fled as I had been a sprite.
She Bauldy loves--Bauldy that drives the care ;
But me she jibes, and says I smell of tar.

    PATIE.

But Bauldy loves not her--well I know that--
He sighs for Neps--so there is tit for tat.

    ROGER.

I wish I could not love her, but in vain--
I till must doat, and bear her proud disdain.
My Bawty is a dog I dearly like;
Wen till he howl, the poor dumb thing she'll strike.
Since "Love me, love my dog," the proverb goes,
Her cruelty to mine her hatred shews.

When I begin to tune my shepherd's horn,
In all her face she shews a chilling scorn.
Last night I play's, you never heard such spite,
"O'er Bogie "was the tune, and her delight:
Yet tauntingly she to her cousin said,
With such a sneer, "What tune has Roger play'd?'
Flocks, wander where you will, my heart's so sore,
l'll break my reed, and never whistle more.

    PATIE.

E'en do so, Roger, who can help mischance?
Since wayward woman leads you such a dance,
Now that you've lost all hope--yon cliff is steep--
E'en go your way, and take the lover's leap.

    ROGER.

To spill my blood I need not make such haste,
I'll warrant death come soon enough at last.

    PATIE.

Great goose! leave off that silly whining way;
Seem careless--there's my hand you'll win the day.
Hear how I serv'd my lass I love as true
As ever Jenny can be lov'd by you.
Last morning I was rather early out,
Upon a wall f I leant, looking about;
I saw my Peg come frisking o'er the lea;
I saw my Peg, but Peggy saw not me:
For yet the sun was wading thro' the mist,
And she was close upon me ere she wist.
Her petticoat tuck'd up did sweetly show
Her tight-made legs, that whiter were than snow.

Her hair bound back, so glossy and so sleek,
Whilst flowing locks hung waving on her cheek;
Her cheeks so ruddy, and her eyes so clear;
And O! her lips like ripest fruit appear.
Neat, neat she was in snow-white jacket clean,
As she tript lightly o'er the dewy green:
Blithesome, I cried, "My pretty Peg, come here;
"I wonder what makes you so soon appear!
"But I can guess you come to gather g dew:"
Away she scour'd saying, "What's that to you;"
"Then fare you well," said I, "just as you please,"
And leap'd the wall with gay indifferent ease.
But when she saw with how much ease I spake,
She came with a right trifling errand back:
Abus'd me first--then bade me send my dog,
To bring three ewes which stray'd upon the bog.
I smil'd, and so did she; then with great haste
I clasp'd my arms about her neck and waist;
About her yielding walk--and took in truth
A store of kisses from her glowing mouth.
While hard and her to my heart I prest,
I thought my soul would leap out of my breast.
Between each kiss she often tried to scold,
But by her eyes another tale was told.
Dear Roger, when your Jenny tries such tricks,
Do you so too, and never mind her freaks.
Indiff'rent seem, she'll change her mood, my lad;
Go woo another, and she'll run half mad.

SONG.

                Dear Roger, when she plays such tricks,
And answers kindness with a flight,
                Seem unconcern'd at her neglects,
For women still in love delight:
                Despising men who quickly yield,
And with a simple face give way
                To a repulse--then keep the field,
And still advance, you'll win the day.

                When maidens, innocently young,
Say often what they never mean;
                Ne'er mind their pretty lying tongue,
'Tis by their eyes the truth is seen:
                If these agree, and she persist
To answer all your love with hate,
                Seek elsewhere to be better blest,
And let her sigh when 'tis too late,

    ROGER.

Kind Patie! now Heav'n bless your honest heart!
You're still so merry, and have such an art
One's heart to cheer, e'en when 'tis like to break,
As mine was now, ere you began to speak.
So, for your pains, a present I design,
(My mother, rest her soul! she made it fine;)
Spun from the softest wool--such plaids but few--
Scarlet and green the checks, the borders blue:
With streaks like gold, and silver cross'd with black,
I never had it yet upon my back.

You well deserve it, who have been so kind
T' untwist my ravel'd doubts, and clear my mind.

    PATIE.

Well, be it so--since you have frankly made
To me a present of your fine new plaid,
My flute is yours; and she too, now so nice,
Will soon be kind, if you take my advice.

    ROGER.

All you advise I promise to observe;
But keep the flute, which you so well deserve.
Now take it out, let's have some clever thing,
For I'm in trim to hear you play and sing.

    PATIE.

But first we'll take a turn up to the height,
And see if all our flocks be feeding right;
Then by that time our homely bread and cheese
Will make a breakfast that a squire might please;
Might please the nicer tares, had they the wit,
lnstead of spice, with health to season meat.
When we have had the grace-cup front that spring,
Then I shall do my best to play and sing.

    [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

    DESCRIPTION.

                A flow'ry vale, two verdant banks between,
                Where lasses wash, and bleach their linen clean;
                A purling brook runs winding thro' the ground,
                Its channel pebbles shining smooth and round:
                Here view two barefoot beauties, clean and clear;
                First please your eye, then gratify your ear;
                Whilst Jenny what she wishes discommends,
                And Peg with better sense, true love defends.

PEGGY AND JENNY.

    JENNY.

COME , Peg, let's fall to work upon this green,
This shining day will bleach our linen dean;
The water clear, the sky unclouded blue,
Will make them like a lily wet with dew.

    PEGGY.

Go farther up the stream to Habbie's How h ,
Where all the sweets of spring and summer grow:
There, o'er a little cliff, 'tween two birch trees,
The water falls, and murmurs to the breeze;
A pool breast-deep, beneath as clear as glass,
Kisses with easy whirls the bordering grass:
We'll end our washing while the morning's cool,
And, when the day grows hot, we'll to the pool,

There bathe ourselves.--'Tis healthful now in May,
And sweetly cooling on so warm a day.

    JENNY.

Mad girl! when we're undrest, what will you say,
If our two shepherd lads should come that way?
That jeering, fellow Pate would cry in haste,
"Faith, lasses, I must say, you're not shame-fac'd."

    PEGGY.

We're far from any road, and out of sight,
Our shepherds feed their flocks beyond the height.
Now we're alone, dear Jenny, let me know,
Why with neglect you plague your lover so?
By all the neighbours it is clearly seen,
That Roger loves, that you his love disdain.
What faults d'ye find? In truth, between us two,
The best day in the year he's worthy you.

    JENNY.

I do not like him, Peggy, so have done;
A lad more sheepish I have never known.
Full nice he combs his hair, and trim he goes,
And decks his bonnet blue with ribbon-bows;
Which with conceited air he wears aside,
While garters fine below his knees are tied.
His cravat too's put on with nicest care,
And few go nearer to the church or fair;
But what of that? He ne'er has more to say,
Than, "How d'ye do?" or, "Here's a charming day."

    PEGGY.

You dash the lad with pride and slighting scorn,
Hatred for love! it is not to be borne:

But you'll repent, soon as his love grows cold.
What is a haughty maid like when she's old?
Like a spoil'd child, who quarrels with its meat,
And frets and cries for whims, and will not eat:
'Tis laugh'd at by the rest till dinner's past,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

SONG.

                You'll wish you had been kinds
If lover's heart grows cold;
                For none your smiles will mind,
Soon as your face looks old.

        The fondled child, who will not eat,
Although by hunger prest,
                And, whimpering, quarrels with its meat,
Is laugh'd at by the rest.

                They jest it till the dinner's past:
Thus by itself abus'd,
                The foolish thing's oblig'd to fast,
Or eat what they've refus'd.

    JENNY.
I never thought a single life a crime.

    PEGGY.

Nor I--but love in whispers still has said,
That men and we were for each other made.

    JENNY.

If Roger is my love, how should I know?
For sure I am he never told me so.
He looks and sighs, and I can guess the cause;
But who's oblig'd to spell his hums and ha's?
Whene'er he likes to speak his mind more plain,
I'll tell him frankly ne'er to do't again.
They're fools who flav'ry love, and may be free;
The fellows may go hang themselves for me.

    PEGGY.

E'en take your way; for me, I have a mind,
To be as yielding as my Patie's kind.

    JENNY.

How can you love that helter-skelter blade?
A very devil, that mutt be obey'd.
We soon shall hear what a poor wrangling life
You two will lead, when once you're man and wife.

    PEGGY.

I'll run the risk, nor have I any fear,
But rather think each tedious day a year,
Till I with pleasure and with pride shall say,
How much I love, how willingly obey:
When I shall lay aside my maiden art,
And give him love for love with all my heart;
And by the tenderest kindness ever show
That I deserv'd the heart he did bestow.

    JENNY.

He may indeed for ten or fifteen days
Make a great fuss with fondness and with praise,

Fondling you both in public and alone:
But soon as e'er the novelty is gone,
He'll view you as the captive does his chain,
And think he lost his freedom you to gain.
Instead then of long days of sweet delight,
One he'l be dumb, next scold from morn to night:
And, may be, in his wrangling moods bestow
Upon his loving wife a hearty blow.

SONG.

O, dear Peggy, love's beguiling,
We ought not to trust his smiling;
Better far to do as I do,
Lest a harder fate betide you.
Lasses, when their fancy's carried,
Think on nought but being married;
And running to that state destroys
Both cheerful peace, and youthful joys.

    PEGGY.

Such vulgar thoughts as these want pow'r to move
My settled mind--I'm too far gone in love.
Patie to me is than my life more dear;
The loss of him, the only ill I fear.
There's not a shepherd lad in many a smile:
And then he speaks with such a winning art,
His words they thrill like music thro' my heart.
How gently can he sport, and gaily jest,
At idle fears, that frighten all the rest.

Each day that he's alone upon the hill,
He reads wife books, that teach him wit and skill:
He is--but what need I say that or this?
I'd take a month to tell you what he is.
In all he says or does there's such an air;
Compar'd with him, the rest but dolts appear.
His better sense will long his love secure:
I'll nature haunts the soul that's weak and poor.

SONG.

        How shall I be sad when a husband I've chose,
        That has better sense than any of those
        Sour, weak, silly fellows, like fools and like knaves,
        Who sink their own joys by making us slaves.
        The man who is prudent ne'er slights his own wife,
        Nor with dull reproaches encourages strife:
        He praises her virtues, and ne'er will abuse
        Her for a small failing, but find an excuse.

    JENNY.

Ha, "Bonny Lass of Branksome i ," ere 'tis long,
Your witty Pate will put you in a song.
O 'tis a pleasant thing a bride to be;
Then round your fire the whimpering brats you see,
Squalling for this, for that, with teasing din:
To make them rags then you must toil and spin.
One scalds itself with broth, and one falls sick,
One loses shoes, and one its head doth break.
The devil rules the roast, and home grows hell;
Abus'd by Patrick worse than tongue can tell.

    PEGGY.

To be a wife--yes, that's a happy state,
When round the fire she sees sweet children set.
If I'm so happy, I shall take delight
To hear their little plaints, and keep them right.
O, Jenny! can there greater pleasure be
Than seeing playful infants at your knee;
When their first wish, and all they aim at, is
But to be fondled, and obtain a kiss?
Can there be toil in tending day and night
The like of them, when love makes care delight?

    JENNY.

But pen'ry, Peggy, is the worst of all,
If to your lot ill chance make begg'ry fall:
Your clothes all ragged, and your dinner scant--
There's little love or mirth where there is want.
Your cattle die, and floods may bear away
From off the meadows your fine ricks of hay--
Smother'd in wreaths of snow your wethers lie,
Rotten by plashy thaws your ewes may die:
Your butter, wool, and cheese, a dealer buys,
But ere the day of payment breaks and flies.
With threat'ning look the squire his rent demands:
You've none to give; 'tis in a bankrupt's hands:
He muff be paid, and seizes what is left:
Where will you go, of house and home bereft?
Dear Peg, be wife, and live a single life;
Believe me, 'tis no jest to be a wife.

    PEGGY.

May such ill luck befal that silly she
Who has such fears; they never troubled me.
Let's cherish hope, and strive to do our best;
No more's requir'd; trust heaven for the rest.
I've heard my honest uncle oft-times say,
That lads, for wives that virtuous, all should pray;
As the most careful man could never get
A well-stor'd farm, unless his wife would let.
Then nothing shall be wanting on my part
To gather wealth to cheer my shepherd's heart.
Whate'er he gains, I'll guide with prudent care,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    JENNY.

But what if some young giglet on the green,
With dimpled cheeks, bewitching eyes, be seen,
Will make your Patie think his half-worn Peg,
And her accustom'd kiss, scarce worth a fig.

    PEGGY.

No more of that--Dear Jenny, to be free,
Some men more constant are in love than we;
Nor is the wonder great, when nature kind
Has blest them with solidity of mind:

They'll reason calmly, and with kindness smile,
When our quick passions would our peace beguile;
So, when the wife at home meets with neglect,
That she's in fault I'm ready to suspect.
But I'll employ with pleasure all my art
To keep him cheerful, and secure his heart:
At night, when he comes weary from the hill,
I'll have all things made ready to his will:
In winter, when he toils thro' rain and wind,
A blazing fire and clean hearth-gone he'll find;
And soon as he throws by his plaid and stick,
The boiling pot from off the fire we'll take;
Clean huckaback I'll spread upon his board,
And serve him with the best we can afford:
Good humour and the nicest mobs shall be
Guards to my face, to keep his love for me.

    JENNY.

A dish of married love right soon turns cold,
And dwindles down to none, as folk grow old.

    PEGGY.

But we'll grow old together, and ne'er find
The loss of youth, when love grows on the mind.
Our children, and their children, form a tie,
Stronger in love than aught that we can spy.
See yon two elms, that grow up side by side,
Suppose them some years since bridegroom and bride;
Nearer and nearer every year they've prest,

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

This shields the other from the eastern blast;
That, in return, defends it from the west.
Such as stand single (a state so lik'd by you!)
Beneath each storm from ev'ry point must bow.

    JENNY.

I've done--I yield; dear Peggy, I must yield;
Your better sense has fairly won the field,
With the assistance of a little foe
That nestled in my breast long, long ago.

SONG.

                I yield, dear Peggy, you have won,
And there is no denying,
                That, sure as light flows from the sun,
From love proceeds complying;
                For all that we can say or do
'Gainst love, the wife ne'er heed us;
                They know our bosoms lodge the foe,
That by the heart-strings leads us.

    PEGGY.

Alas, poor pris'ner! Jenny, that's not fair,
That you'll not let the urchin take the air:
Hafte, let him out, and I shall well observe
If he does Bauldy or poor Roger serve.

    JENNY.

Another time's as good.--for see the sun
Is very high, and we're not yet begun
To froth our sope; and come our aunt this way,
A wicked scold we'll have for our delay;
But when we've done, I'll tell you all my mind;
For this seems true, no lass can be unkind.

    [Exeunt .

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

    DESCRIPTION.

                A snug thatch'd house, before the door a green;
                Fowls on the dunghill, ducks in pools are seen.
                On this side stands a barn, a cow-house there;
                A peat-stack joins, and forms a rural square.
                The house is Glaud's--there by the door he fits,
                And to his seat of turf his friend invites.

GLAUD AND SYMON.

    GLAUD.

GOOD morrow, neighbour Symon--come, sit down,
Let's have some talk--What's all the news in town?
You've sold at market, as I've heard just now,
The white-fac'd heifer, and her mother too;
And bought, no doubt, tobacco cut and dry:
Out with your box; let's have a pipe to try.

    SYMON.

With all my heart----but mark me now, old boy,
I've gotten news will tickle your heart with joy.
I could not rest till I came here this morn,
To tell you things have taken such a turn,

Our tyrants base trembling for deeds they've done,
Like vermin vile, to desarts now must run.

    GLAUD.

Fine talk!--Oh, Symon! wags will never stand
To hatch and spread the biggest: lies off-hand;
Which soon fly round like wild-fire, far and near:
But loose your budget; true or false, let's hear.

    SYMON.

Seeing's believing, Glaud, and I have seen
Hab, that abroad hath with our Master been;
Our brave good Master! who right wisely fled,
And left a fair estate to fare his head,
Because, you know full well, he bravely chose
To shine, or set in glory, with Montrose:
Now one call'd Monk, since Cromwell's with Old Nick,
Has shew'd the Parliament a right fly trick,
Reilor'd king Charles; and ev'ry thing's in tune:
And Halbert lays, we'll see Sir William soon.

    GLAUD.

That makes me blithe indeed--but jest not you--
Tell o'er your news again, then swear 'tis true.
And saw you Hab! and what did Halbert say?
They've been indeed a dreary time away.
Now God be prais'd! our knight's come home again
Say, his estates can he with ease obtain?

    SYMON.

Those imps, who hagg'd us, till our hearts did groan!

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

SONG.

        Cold be the rebels cast,
                Those bloody, base oppressors;
        I hope we'll see them at the fail
                Hung up like vile transgressors.

        Blest be he of worth and sense,
                And ever high in station,
        That bravely stands in the defence
                Of conscience, king, and nation.

     GLAUD.

And may he long! for never did he stint
Us in our thriving with a racking rent;
Nor grudg'd when one got rich; nor said he'd raise
Our farms, for looking smart and fine, on holidays.

    SYMON.

Nor would he long, with senseless, saucy air,
E'er see, our old white heads, stand by him bare:
'Put on your bonnet, Symon----take a seat----
'How're all at home?--how's Elspa? how does Kate?
'How fell black cattle?--how goes wool this year?'
So kind did all his questions still appear.

SONG.

        The squire who his wisdom would prove,
                Be lov'd, and be honour'd, and rich,
        Should encourage his tenants with loves
                Not greedily try to o'erreach.--
        As the horse that we starve and oppress,
                Drops down in the midst of the road,
        Thus hardships do virtue depress
                Till she fainting finks under the load.

    GLAUD.

Then quick his butler he would make appear,
With cheering bottles, and the glassess clear,
Which in our breasts rais'd such a pleasing flame
That, when we left him, dancing home we came:
So joyful is my heart, dear neighbour, stay,
And take your dinner here with me to day--
We'll send for Elspa too--and, upon sight,
I'll whistle Pate and Roger from the height;
I'll yoke my sled, and send to the next town,
And bring a load of ale, that's stout and brown;
And make our cottagers, both young and old,
Drink till they've lost the way their feet to hold.

    SYMON.

I would not baulk my friend, his blithe design,
If that it had not first of all been mine:--

With plenty of strong ale my casks are fill'd,
Two good fat wethers I have lately kill'd;
Three pecks of nicest cakes bak'd by our dame,
And, hanging by the fire, a large fat ham.--
I saw myself, ere I the lane came down,
Our largest pot that makes the whey put on,
One of the sheep to boil--and one we'll roast,
And on the minc'd meat Elspa spares no cost--
Small is it chopt, and she can mix full nice
The fav'ry onion with the fav'ry spice:--
Rich are the puddings, nice the head and feet,
And neighbours old and young we do invite
To drink Sir William's health and welcome home,
And pass in mirth and glee the hours to come:
You must not then refuse to join the rest,
Since you're my nearest friend that I like best.--
Bring with you all your family; and then,
Whene'er you please, I'll feast: with you again.--

    GLAUD.

Spoke like yourself, old boy! and never fear
But at your banquet I shall first appear.--
Faith we shall fend it round, till we look bold--
Till we forget we're either fail'd or old.--
Old, said I!--Faith I'm younger by a score
With this good news, than what I was before--
I'll dance ere night-ho! Madge, come forth, d'ye hear?

    ENTER MADGE.

    MADGE.

The man's gone wild!--Dear Symon, welcome here;
What would you, Glaud, with all this noise and haste?
To spin a thread, you never let one rest.

    GLAUD.

Spin! burn your tow: your wheel you next may break,
And in a flame go set the great peat-stack--
Then round the bonfire dance till you drop down,
Since we shall see the good Sir William soon.

    MADGE.

Glad news indeed! but by whom were they brought?

    GLAUD.

What's that to you?--go get my Sunday's coat--
Look out the whitest of my nice fring'd bands,
My milk-white stockings, gloves too for my hands--
Then from the washing call the girls in haste,
And make yourselves as neat, head, feet, and waist,
As you were all to wed young men to day--
We dine with Symon--quick--make no delay--.

    SYMON.

Do, honest Madge!--and, Glaud, I'll hasten home,
To see that all's in order when you come.

    [Exeunt .

SCENE II.

    DESCRIPTION.

                The open field, and deep down in a dale,
                A little hut, where turning round her wheel
                An aged woman in the sun is set
                Warming her chilly limbs before his heat:
                At a small distance by a blasted tree,
                With folded arms and looks half wild you see
                Bauldy alone.

    BAULDY.

WHAT'S this! I cannot bear't--'Tis worse than hell,
To be burnt up with love, yet dare not tell!--
O Peggy! sweeter than the dawning day,
Sweeter than daisy'd dales, or new-mown hay;
Blither than lambs that frisk o'er hillocks green,
In all the forest nought so straight is seen.--
Her eyes like dew-drops sparkling on a rose;
And lilies in her breast their beauties lose;
Her legs, her arms, her cheeks, her eyes, her mouth,
Will bring me to my grave in early youth--
For Pate loves her--woes me! and she loves Pate--
And I with Neps, by some unlucky fate,
Made a rash vow--Oh! but one be an ass
That makes rash oaths before the prier say grace.
I dare not speak my mind, else all the three
Doubtless would prove each one my enemy--

'Tis hard to bear--I'll try some witchcraft art.
To break with one, and win the other's heart--
Now here lives Mause--a witch that for small price,
By magic arts, can give me wise advice--
She can o'ercast the night, o'er cloud the moon,
And call up devils! her errands black to run--
At midnight hours the churchyard o'er the raves,
And digs unchristen'd infants from their graves;
Then, in a wizard's scull, their livers boils,
While backward round the hemlock flame she toils;
Then the her prayers revers'd will seven times say,
Till Satan comes with lumps of Lapland clay,
Mixt with the venom, of black toads, and snakes--
Of this her baneful images she makes
Of those she hates--then causes them t' expire
With flow and racking pains before the fire--
Stuck full of pins the devilish pictures melt--
The pains by those they represent are felt.--
Yonder fits Mause--full well by her 'tis known,
When such as I unto the devil run--
She and her cat fit in the yard to bask--
Faith! I'm afraid to name what I'm to ask--
But speak I must, though I should never thrive--
They gallop fast whom maids and devils drive--

    [Exit.

SCENE III.

    DESCRIPTION.

                A cottage garden, fountain cold,
Where bubbling water springs--
                There sits a woman wrinkled old,
And yet she spins and sings.

SONG.

    MAUSE.

                Peggy, now the king's come,
Peggy, now the king's come,
                Thou may'st dance, and I shall sing,
Peggy, since the king's come.
                No more the cows shalt thou go milk,
But change thy coat of plaid for silk,
                And be a lady of that ilk l ,
Peggy, since the king's come.--

    ENTER BAULDY.

    BAULDY.

How does old honest goody of the dale?--
At threescore ten you look both brisk and hale.--

    MAUSE.

E'en twining out a thread with little din,
And basking my cold limbs before the sun.--
What brings my child this way so soon at morn?
Is there no field to dung?--to thresh no corn?--

    BAULDY.

Enough of both--but something that requires
Your helping hand, employs all my desires.--

    MAUSE.

My helping hand! alas! what can I do,
That underneath both age and pen'ry bow?

    BAULDY.

But you are wise--above us all you're wise,
Or most part of the parish must tell lies.--

    MAUSE.

Of what kind wisdom think you I'm possest,
That lifts my character above the rest?

    BAULDY.

Well vers'd in herbs, and seasons of the moon,
By skilful charms 'tis known what you have done.--

    MAUSE.

What folks say of me, Bauldy, let me hear,--
Keep nothing from me, nought you have to fear.

    BAULDY.

Well--since that you have bid me--I'll obey,
And tell you truly what the neighbours say--
When last the wind made Glaud a roofless barn;
When last the brook bore down my mother's yarn;
When Brawny elf-shot never more came home;
When Tibby churn'd, and butter never came;
When Bessy Freetock's chopping little one
A fairy turn'd, and could not stand alone;
When Wattle wander'd all night in the wood,
And snow and fear had almost froze his blood;
When Mungo's mare stood frill, and sweat for fright,
As he the midwife brought on a dark night;

When Bawsy dropt down dead upon the green,
And Sarah lost a fillet ne'er more seen;--
You, Goody, got the blame of all fell out m ,
And every neighbour dreads you all about;--
And so they may, that mean to do you ill;--
For me, I ne'er shall wrong you with my will:
But when I next make groats, I'll strive to please
You with three pecks of them, well mixt with pease.

    MAUSE.

Thank you, my lad! now tell me your demand,
And, if I can, I'll lend my helping hand.

    BAULDY.

Then I love Peggy--Neps is fond of me--

[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]

    MAUSE.

I'll try my art to make the bowls run right--
So go away and come again at night;
By that time I'll some simple things prepare,
Worth all your pease and groats--so banish care.--

    BAULDY.

Well, Mause, I'll come, if I the road can find;--
But if you raise the devil, he'll raise the wind;--
Then, when 'tis late, the rain and thunder may
So dismal make the night, I'll lose my way.
We're all to meet at Symon's at a feast,
O! come you like a cat, just for a jest!

And then you can our different manners spy;
There's none shall know that's there, save you and I.

    MAUSE.

Most like I may--but tell not you what's past:
'Tween you and me--or dread some woful cast.

    BAULDY.

If I aught of your secrets e'er advance,
May you ride on me every night to France.

    [Exit BAULDY.

    MAUSE ALONE.

This fool imagines, as do many such,
I've bargain'd with the Devil, and am a witch--
Because by education I've been taught
To speak and act above their common thought--
Their gross mistakes shall quickly now appear;
Soon shall they know what brought,what keeps me here,
Now since the royal Charles and right's restor'd,
A shepherdess is daughter to a lord.--
This pretty foundling that's brought up by Glaud,
Who has an uncle's care on her bestow'd,
Her infant life I say'd, when a false friend
Bow'd to the Usurper, and her death design'd,
To give him and his heirs right to those plains
That by inheritance are her domains:--
She's now in life's sweet bloom, has blood and charms
Of too much value for a shepherd's arms:
None knows but I;--and if the morn were come,
I'll tell them tales will make them all sit dumb.

SCENE IV.

    DESCRIPTION.

                Behind a tree upon the plain
Pate and his Peggy meet,
                In love which not one thought doth stain,
                The pretty lass and cheerful swain
Change vows and kisses sweet.

PATIE AND PEGGY.

    PEGGY.

O PATIE , let me go--I must not stay,
We're both call'd home, and Jenny she's away.

    PATIE.

I'm loth to part so soon now we're alone,
And Roger he is off with Jenny gone;--
If I may judge from what I hear or see
They're as content to be alone as we.--
Here, where primroses thickest paint the green,
Near by this little riv'let let us lean:
Hark how the larks are chanting o'er our heads!--
How soft the western winds sigh through the reeds!

    PEGGY.

The scented meadows--birds--and healthy breeze,
For aught I know, may more than Peggy please.

    PATIE.

You wrong me much, to doubt my being kind;
In speaking so, you call me dull and blind,--

If I could fancy aught so sweet or fair
As my dear Peg, or worthy of my care.--
Thy breath excels sweet-brier that scents the gale,
Thy cheeks and breast the flowers that paint the vale:--
Thy words excel the most delightful note
That warbles through the thrush or blackbird's throat:
With thee I heed no flower that decks the field,
Or ripest berries that our mountains yield:--
The sweetest fruits that hang upon the tree
Are far inferior to one kiss of thee.

    PEGGY.

To sooth and then deceive, you may dissemble,
And when the foxes preach the lambs should tremble.
You sly one, let me go--I dare not stay,
Or swear my innocence you'll ne'er betray.

    PATIE.

Sooner unnatural shall a mother be,
And wrong the babe that smiles upon her knee:
The fun shall change, the moon to change shall cease,
The goats to climb, the sheep to yield the fleece,
Ere word or thought of mine shall wrong my love,--
I swear by yon bright sun--by all above.--

    PEGGY.

Then keep your oath--but many lads will swear,
And perjur'd be to two in one half year:--
Now that you like me wond'rous well I see,
But should another steal your heart from me,
Forsaken Peg might unredress'd relate
How the was once belov'd by faithless Pate.

    PATIE.

I'm sure I cannot change,--you need not fear,
Though we're but young I've lov'd you many a year:--
I mind it well, ere thou could'st walk along,
Or lisp out words, I chose thee from the throng--
Of little ones,--and led thee by the hand,
Oft to the tansy bank or rushy strand;
Thou smiling by my side,--I took delight
To pull the rushes green with roots so white,
Which mixt with flowers to belts and garlands wove,
As my young fancy taught, bedeck'd my love n .

    PEGGY.

When first thou went'st with shepherds to the hill,
And I to milk the ewes first tried my kill,
To bear the milking pail ne'er gave me pain,
When at the sold on nights I met my swain.

SONG.

    PEGGY.

        When first my dear lad he went to the green hill,
        And I at ewe-milking first tried my young kill,
        The milk-pail to carry no pain was to me,
        If at the sheep-folding I chanc'd to meet thee.

    PATIE.

        When corn fields wav'd yellow, and purple heath bells,
        Bloom'd lovely on moorlands and sweet rising hills,
        What ever gave trouble was nothing to me,
        If I sound the berries right ripen'd for thee.

    PEGGY.

        When thou ran'st, or wrestled, or putted the stone o ,
        My heart beat with gladness, when thou the prize won.
        Thy every sport manly gave pleasure to me,
        For none can putt, wrestle, or run swift as thee.

    PATIE.

        Our Jenny sings softly the "Cowden broom knows,"
        And Rosie chants sweetly the "Milking the ewes,"
        And few "Jenny Nettles" like Nancy can sing,
        In "Through the wood laddie," Bess makes our ears ring.
        But when my dear Peggy sings with better skill,
        The "Boatman, Tweed-side, or the Lass of the Mill,"
        'Tis many times sweeter and pleasing to me,
        For though they ring well, yet they cannot like thee.

    PEGGY.

        How easy can lasses trust what they desire!
        And praising so kindly increases love's fire:
        Give me still this pleasure, my study shall be
        To make myself better and sweeter for thee.

    PATIE.

When corn grew yellow, and the sweet heath-bells,
Bloom'd lovely on the moors and rising hills,
Furze, briers, or new-burnt heath ne'er troubled me,
If I sound purple berries ripe for thee.

    PEGGY.

When thou didst wrestle, run, or putt the stone,
My heart with gladness beat when thou didst win:
At all these sports thou still gav'ft joy to me,
For none can wrestle, run, or putt like thee.

    PATIE.

Jenny sings soft the "Broom of Cowden knows,"
And Rosie chants the "Milking of the ewes;"

In "Jenny Nettles" Nancy does surpass:
For "Maggy Lauder" Marion is the lass:
But when my Peggy sings with better skill
The "Boatman," or the "Lass of Patie's Mill,"
It is a thousand times more sweet to me
Though they sing well--they cannot sing like thee.--

    PEGGY.

With ease we soon believe what we desire,
And, prais'd by one we love, blows up the fire;
But who loves best, let time and conduce try,
Be constant, and my love shall time defy.--
Be still as now, and all my care shall be,
How to contrive what pleasing is for thee.

    PATIE.

Like many a one, a gigling fool wert thou,
Who seem as void of breeding as a cow,
At nought they'll wonder--senseless tales believe,--
Be glad for trifles, and for trifles grieve--
Such ne'er could win my love, that know not how
Either to keep a heart, or yet prove true:--
Without a flaw, much better sense thou hast,
And beauty too, that far excels the rest.
Continue kind, and all my care shall be,
How to contrive what pleating is to thee.

    PEGGY.

Now we're agreed;--but, hark! we must away,
My aunt cloth call,--they'll wonder at our stay.--

    PATIE.

And let them wonder--now a kindly kiss,
Or five score good ones would not be amiss;--

And then the song we'll sing with mirth and glee,
That I last week made up on you and me.

    PEGGY.

Sing first, then claim your hire--

    PATIE.
Well, I agree.--

SONG.

    PATIE.

                By all the smiling beauties of thy mouth,
                And soften'd eyes that sweetly tell the truth,
                I guess, my lass, that thou as well as I,
                Art made for love, then why should'st thou deny?

    PEGGY.

                But know ye, lad, if we confers too soon,
                You think us cheap, and then the wooing's done:
                The maiden that too soon gives up her pow'r,
                Like unripe fruit will taste but hard and sour.

    PATIE.

                But if they hang too long upon the tree,
                Their sweetness they may lose, and so may ye:
                Like full ripe fruit your glowing cheeks appear,
                And I have sigh'd and woo'd a long half year.

     PEGGY (falling into his arms .)

                Then do not pull me, gently thus I fall
                Into my Patie's arms for good and all:
                But don't betray your trust and there's my hand
                Whene'er the priest says grace, you shall command.

    PATIE (with his left hand about her waist. )

                O charming trust! away, my cares away,
                I'll kiss my treasure all the live long day;
                And when 'tis night, then I shall dream of thee,
                'Till that one comes that gives thee all to me.

    SUNG BY BOTH.

                Sun, gallop down the western skies,
                Go soon to bed, and quickly rise;
                O lash your steeds, post time away,
                And haste about that happy day;
                Then, if you're weary, honest light,
                Take a whole week to make one night.

END OF THE SECOND ACT.

ACT IlI.

SCENE I.

    DESCRIPTION.

                Now turn your eyes beyond yon spreading lime,
                Observe a man, whole beard seems bleach'd with time;
                A yard wand in his hand; his habit mean;
                No doubt you think he has a pedler been--
                But, hush! the knight has this disguise put on,
                And comes in masquerade to see his son.--
                Observe how pleas'd the loyal suff'rer moves
                Through his old avenues, once delightful groves.

    SIR WILLIAM SOLUS

THE gentleman thus hid in low disguise,
I'll for a space unknown delight mine eyes
With a full view of every fertile plain,
Which once I lost, which now are mine again.
Yet, 'midst my joys, some prospects pains renew,
Whilst I my once fair seat in ruins view.
Yonder, ah me! how desolate it looks,
Without a roof; the gates fawn of their hooks,
The casements broken down, no chimney left,
The naked walls of tapestry all bereft.

My stables, and pavilions, ruins all!
That with each rainy blast decaying fall.
My gardens, once adorn'd the most complete,
With all that nature, all that art makes sweet;
Where round the figur'd green, and pebbled walks,
The dewy flowers hung nodding on their stalks:
But, overgrown with net.ties, docks, and brier,
No hyacinths or eglantines appear.
Here fail'd and broke's the ample rising shade
Where peach and nect'rine trees their branches spread,
Basking in sunbeams, early did produce
Fruit fair to view, delightful in the use:
All fawn in gapes the walls in ruins lie,
And from what stands, the wither'd branches fly.
These soon shall be repair'd;--and now my joy
Forbids all grief--when I'm to see my boy,
My sole support, and object of my care,
Since heav'n too soon call'd home his mother fair.
Him, ere the rays of reason clear'd his thought,
I secretly to faithful Symon brought,
Charging him strictly to conceal his birth
'Till we should see what changing times brought forth.
Hid from himself, he starts up by the dawn,
And ranges careless o'er the heights and lawn
After his fleecy charge, serenely gay,
With other shepherds whistling out the day.
Thrice happy life! that's from ambition free,
Removed from crowns and courts how cheerfully
A calm contented mortal spends his time
In health and peace, with soul unstain'd by crime.

SONG.

                Hid from himself, by early light,
                As new blown roses, fresh and bright,
                He ranges o'er the lawn and height
After his bleating flocks;
                Healthful, and innocently gay,
                He chants and whistles out the day;
                Untaught to smile, and then betray,
Like courtly weathercocks.
                Blest life that's from ambition free,
                Envy, and vile hypocrisy,
                Where truth and love, with joy agree,
Polluted with no crime:
                Unmov'd with what disturbs the great,
                Supporting of their pride and state,
                He lives, and, ne'er mistrusting fate,
Contented spends his time.

Now to good Symon's house I'll bend my way
And see what makes yon gamboling to-day;
All on the green in a fair wanton ring,
My youthful tenants gaily dance and sing.

    [Exit Sir William.

SCENE II.

    DESCRIPTION.

                'Tis Symon's house, please to step in
And view it round and round;
                There's nought superfl'ous to give pain,
Or coldly to be found.
                Yet all is clean--a fire of peats
Is blazing on the floor.
                The green horn spoons, beech bowls and plates
On shelves that front the door.
                The young folks on the green dance light,
The old ones think it best
                With good brown ale to clear their sight,
Take snuff, and chat, and rest.

SYMON, GLAUD, AND ELSPA.

    GLAUD.