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.