University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A Farm House.
Simon Graeme, Mark Macgee, Penpont, Hinds, Maidens, and Musicians.
Gra.
Come, bound all to the floor—from the sweet maid
I' the middle o' her teens, to the staid dame
Who was young men's delight i' the green year
Afore mirk-monday. Haste; leap shoulder high,
Ye gladsome lads; here is no standing corn;
Nought harder than white fingers for your touch.
What! must the maidens wooe ye? I have seen,
And that's no old tale, when I've made them spring
And pant in dancing like the hunted hart.
Come, screw your pegs, man—make the mole that digs
Five fathom from your heels, run back in his hole,
Scared by the gladsome clamour:—now begin.

Musician.
I'll play a tune, a serious one and sweet.

(Plays.)
First Hind.
Cease, cease thou saintly kittler o' catgut;
I'd liefer shake my legs to th' moan o' a storm
Than to such dolorous music. Faith, I'd make
Music far sweeter with a wooden bowl,
And two horn spoons—or may I kiss nae mair
The lips o' Jenny Jop—here where she stands.

Sec. Hind.
Preserveus! let him play what tune he likes;
I'd dance as gaily to the “babes i' the wood,”
As to “green sleeves”—so let's have the douce tune;
We'll make it soon a wanton ane, I warrant thee.
Enter Penpont, singing.
Here's steaming punch, and haggis reeking rich;
Sound of tight fiddle strings, and smacking, too,
Of maiden's lips. Now, if their lips in kissing
Gave crowns and kingdoms, such like dainty sweets
Are not for Auld Penpont—keep, woeful man,
Thy grey hairs from temptation. (Sings.)


Graeme.
Thou'rt welcome as the May-flower—though thy locks
Have a Decemberish look.

Penpont.
How's Simon Graeme
Of Kittlenaket?—e'en gaun leaping round
Amang the dames, and wi' a touch o' the hand
And word i' the ear making their cheeks the hue
O' the rose in July. That's a gallant trade,
And of old standing. I maun look and sigh— (Sings.)


Graeme.
Come, cast aside thy bonnet and thy staff,
And throw to care complaint about grey locks;
There's mirth in thee might win a widow's heart:
Faith, late I saw thee leaping rafter high,
And calling loud, “Maids look at sixty-eight.”

Pen.
Thou'rt one o' the choice spirits o' the earth;
Lend me thy nief—thou keepest mirth and humour
Alive amang us;—but for Simon Graeme,
Our converse would be controversy;—and mirth
Would have an end. Gude keep the blythe good man
Of Kittlenaket from the hapless gift
Of preaching and expounding—and keep too
(To Mark)
Sic gifts from Mark Macgee: I've seen the day
Thou wert a sinful smiler, and a singer
Of sappy sangs, such as make merry maids
Look through their lily fingers, and cry “fye.”

Macgee.
So thou art laughing yet: could I but catch thee
Singing a psalm tune seriously—'twere mirth
Might serve for seven year.

Penpont.
'Faith, men grow lean
On prayer alone: I never knew but one
Who wax'd the lustier for't; Sue Sighaway,
Of Cummertrees, who pray'd—See! Simon, see!
Well done, my merry masters—'faith, ye set
My frozen blood a moving, and I think (Sings.)