University of Virginia Library

THE GENTLE SHEPHERD,

A Pastoral Comedy; Inscrib'd to the Right Honourable, SUSANNA Countess of Eglintoun.

To the Countess of Eglintoun, with the following Pastoral.

THE GENTLE SHEPHERD.

The Persons.

• Sir William Worthy.
• Patie, The Gentle Shepherd in Love with Peggy.
• Roger, A rich young Shepherd in Love with Jenny.
• Symon, An old Shepherd, Tenant to Sir William.
• Glaud, An old Shepherd, Tenant to Sir William.
• Bauldy, A Hynd engaged with Neps.

• Peggy, Thought to be Glaud's Niece.
• Jenny, Glaud's only Daughter.
• Mause, An old Woman supposed to be a Witch.
• Elspa, Symon's Wife.
• Madge, Glaud's Sister.

SCENE, A Shepherd's Village and Fields some few Miles from Edinburgh.
Time of Action, Within twenty Hours.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

PATIE and ROGER.
Pat.
This sunny Morning, Roger, chears my Blood,
And puts all Nature in a jovial Mood.
How heartsome 'tis to see the rising Plants?
To hear the Birds chirm o'er their pleasing Rants?
How halesome 'tis to snuff the cauler Air,
And all the Sweets it bears when void of Care?
What ails thee, Roger, then? what gars the[e] grane?
Tell me the Cause of thy ill season'd Pain.

Rog.
I'm born, O Patie! to a thrawart Fate;
I'm born to strive with Hardships sad and great.
Tempest may cease to jaw the rowan Flood,
Corbies and Tods to grein for Lambkins Blood;
But I, opprest with never ending Grief,
Maun ay despair of lighting on Relief.

Pat.
The Bees shall loath the Flower, and quit the Hive,
The Saughs on Boggie-Ground shall cease to thrive,
Ere scornful Queans, or Loss of warldly Gear,
Shall spill my Rest, or ever force a Tear.

Rog.
Sae might I say; but 'tis no easy done
By ane whase Saul is sadly out of Tune.
You have sae saft a Voice, and slid a Tongue,
You are the Darling of baith 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 ilka Sheep ye have, I'll number ten,
And should, as ane may think, come farer ben.

Pat.
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.

Rog.
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.

Pat.
Were your bein Rooms as thinly stock'd as mine,
Less you wad lose, and less you wad repine.
He that has just enough, can soundly sleep;
The O'ercome only fashes Fowk to keep.

Rog.
May Plenty flow upon thee for a Cross,
That thou may'st thole the Pangs of mony a Loss.
O mayst thou doat on some fair paughty Wench,
That ne'er will lout thy lowan Drouth to quench,
'Till bris'd beneath the Burden, thou cry Dool,
And awn that ane may fret that is nae Fool.

Pat.
Sax good fat Lambs I sald 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 wi't, and ne'er cry Dool,
Than you with all your Cash, ye dowie Fool.

Rog.
Na, Patie, na! I'm nae sic churlish Beast,
Some other thing lyes heavier at my Breast:
I dream'd a dreary Dream this hinder Night,
That gars my Flesh a' creep yet with the Fright.

Pat.
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.

Rog.
Indeed now, Patie, ye have guess'd o'er true,
And there is nathing I'll keep up frae you.
Me dorty Jenny looks upon a-squint;
To speak but till her I dare hardly mint:
In ilka Place she jeers me air and late,
And gars me look bumbaz'd, and unko blate:
But yesterday I met her 'yont a Know,
She fled as frae a Shelly-coated Kow.
She Bauldy loes, Bauldy that drives the Car;
But gecks at me, and says I smell of Tar.

Pat.
But Bauldy loes not her, right well I wat;
He sighs for Neps—sae that may stand for that.

Rog.
I wish I cou'dna loo her—but in vain,
I still maun doat, and thole her proud Disdain.
My Bawty is a Cur I dearly like,
Even while he fawn'd, she 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 she shaws 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 speer'd,
Gif she cou'd 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.

Pat.
E'en do sae, Roger, wha can help Misluck,
Saebeins she be sic a thrawin-gabet Chuck?
Yonder's a Craig, since ye have tint all Hope,
Gae till't your ways, and take the Lover's Lowp.

Rog.
I needna mak sic Speed my Blood to spill,
I'll warrant Death come soon enough a Will.

Pat.
Daft Gowk! leave off that silly whindging Way;
Seem careless, there's my Hand ye'll win the Day.
Hear how I serv'd my Lass I love as well
As ye do Jenny, and with Heart as leel:
Last Morning I was gay and early out,
Upon a Dike I lean'd glowring about,
I saw my Meg come linkan o'er the Lee;
I saw my Meg, but Meggy saw na me:
For yet the Sun was wading thro' the Mist,
And she was closs upon me ere 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 Cheek sae ruddy, and her Een sae clear;
And O! her Mouth's like ony hinny Pear.
Neat, neat she was, in Bustine Waste-coat clean,
As she came skiffing o'er the dewy Green.
Blythsome, I cry'd, my bonny Meg, come here,
I ferly wherefore ye're sae soon asteer;
But I can guess, ye're gawn to gather Dew:
She scour'd awa, and said, What's that to you?
Then fare ye well, Meg Dorts, and e'en's ye like,
I careless cry'd, and lap in o'er the Dike.
I trow, when that she saw, within a Crack,
She came with a right thievless Errand back;
Misca'd me first,—then bade me hound 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 Waste,
About her yielding Waste, and took a Fouth
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 ilka Smack;
But well I kent she meant nae as she spake.
Dear Roger, when your Jo puts on her Gloom,
Do ye sae too, and never fash your Thumb.
Seem to forsake her, soon she'll change her Mood;
Gae woo anither, and she'll gang clean wood.

Rog.
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 make ye a 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 blew,
With Spraings like Gowd and Siller, cross'd with black;
I never had it yet upon my Back.
Well are ye wordy o't, wha have sae kind
Red up my revel'd Doubts, and clear'd my Mind.

Pat.
Well hald ye there;—and since ye've frankly made
A Present to me of your braw new Plaid,
My Flute's be your's, and she too that's sae nice
Shall come a will, gif ye'll tak my Advice.

Rog.
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 tift to hear you play and sing.

Pat.
But first we'll take a turn up to the Height,
And see gif all our Flocks be feeding right.
Be 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 wise,
To season Meat with Health instead of Spice.
When we have tane the Grace-drink at this Well,
I'll whistle fine, and sing t'ye like my sell.

Exeunt.

SCENE II.

PEGGY and JENNY.
Jen.
Come, Meg, let's fa' to wark upon this Green,
The shining Day will bleech our Linen clean;
The Water's clear, the Lift unclouded blew,
Will make them like a Lilly wet with Dew.

Peg.
Go farer up the Burn to Habby's How,
Where a' the Sweets of Spring and Summer grow;
Between twa Birks, out o'er a little Lin
The Water fa's, and makes a singand Din;
A Pool breast-deep beneath, as clear as Glass,
Kisses with easy Whirles the bordring Grass:
We'll end our Washing while the Morning's cool,
And when the Day grows het, we'll to the Pool,
There wash our sells—'tis healthfu' now in May,
And sweetly cauler on sae warm a Day.

Jen.
Daft Lassie, when we're naked, what'll ye say,
Gif our twa Herds come brattling down the Brae,
And see us sae? That jeering Fallow Pate
Wad taunting say, Haith, Lasses, ye're no blate.

Peg.
We're far frae ony Road, and out of Sight;
The Lads they're feeding far beyont the Height:
But tell me now, dear Jenny, (we're our lane)
What gars ye plague your Wooer with Disdain?
The Nibours a' tent this as well as I,
That Roger loos you, yet ye carna by.
What ails ye at him? Trowth, between us twa,
He's wordy you the best Day e'er ye saw.

Jen.
I dinna like him, Peggy, there's an end;
A Herd mair sheepish yet I never kend.
He kaims his Hair indeed, and gaes right snug,
With Ribbon-knots at his blew Bonnet-lug;
Whilk pensily he wears a thought a-jee,
And spreads his Garters dic'd beneath his Knee.
He falds his Owrlay down his Breast with Care;
And few gang trigger to the Kirk or Fair.
For a' that, he can neither sing nor say,
Except, How d'ye—or, There's a bonny Day.

Peg.
Ye dash the Lad with constant slighting Pride;
Hatred for Love is unco sair to bide:
But ye'll repent ye, if his Love grows cauld.
What like's a dorty Maiden when she's auld?
Like dawted We'an that tarrows at its Meat,
That for some feckless Whim will orp and greet.
The lave laugh at it, till the Dinner's past,
And syne the Fool thing is oblig'd to fast,
Or scart anither's Leavings at the last.
Fy, Jenny, think, and dinna sit your Time.

Jen.
I never thought a single Life a Crime.

Peg.
Nor I—but Love in Whispers lets us ken,
That Men were made for us, and we for Men.

Jen.
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?
When e'er he likes to tell his Mind mair plain,
I'se tell him frankly ne'er to do't again.
They're Fools that Slavery like, and may be free:
The Cheils may a' knit up themsells for me.

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

Jen.
Heh! Lass, how can ye loo that Rattle-scull,
A very Deel that ay maun hae his Will?
We'll soon here tell what a poor fighting Life
You twa will lead, sae soon's ye're Man and Wife.

Peg.
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 we may kiss as lang as Kissing's good,
And what we do, there's nane dare call it rude.
He's get his Will: Why no? 'tis good my Part
To give him that; and he'll give me his Heart.

Jen.
He may indeed, for ten or fifteen Days,
Mak meikle o' ye, with an unco Fraise;
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 Sake.
Instead then of lang Days of sweet Delite,
Ae Day be dumb, and a' the neist he'll flite:
And may be, in his Barlickhoods, ne'er stick
To lend his loving Wife a loundering Lick.

Peg.
Sic coarse-spun Thoughts as thae 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 Musick thro' my Heart.
How blythly can he sport, and gently rave,
And jest at feckless Fears that fright the lave?
Ilk Day that he's alane upon the Hill,
He reads fell Books that teach him meikle 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 says or does, there's sic a Gait,
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.

Jen.
Hey! bonny Lass of Branksome, or't be lang,
Your witty Pate 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 mak them Brats then ye maun toil and spin.
Ae We'an fa's sick, ane scads it sell we Broe,
Ane breaks his Shin, anither tynes his Shoe;
The Deel gaes o'er John Wobster, Hame grows Hell,
When Pate misca's ye war than Tongue can tell.

Peg.
Yes, 'tis a heartsome 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 right.
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?

Jen.
But Poortith, Peggy, is the warst of a',
Gif o'er your Heads ill Chance shou'd Beggary draw:
But 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 Dyvour 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 gi'e; your Merchant's to the bent;
His Honour mauna want, he poinds your Gear:
Syne, driven frae House and Hald, where will ye steer?
Dear Meg, be wise, and live a single Life;
Troth 'tis nae Mows to be a marry'd Wife.

Peg.
May sic ill Luck befa' that silly She,
Wha has sic Fears; for that was never me.
Let Fowk bode well, 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 shou'd a' for Wives that's vertuous pray:
For the maist thrifty Man cou'd 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.
What e'er he wins, I'll guide with canny Care,
And win the Vogue, at Market, Tron, or Fair,
For halesome, clean, cheap and sufficient Ware.
A Flock of Lambs, Cheese, Butter, and some Woo,
Shall first be sald, to pay the Laird his Due;
Syne a' behind's our ain.—Thus, without Fear,
With Love and Rowth we thro' the Warld will steer:
And when my Pate in Bairns and Gear grows rife,
He'll bless the Day he gat me for his Wife.

Jen.
But what if some young Giglit on the Green,
With dimpled Cheeks, and twa bewitching Een,
Should gar your Patie think his haff-worn Meg,
And her kend Kisses, hardly worth a Feg?

Peg.
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 calmly, 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 the Wives are maist to blame.
Then I'll employ with Pleasure a' my Art
To keep him chearfu', and secure his Heart.
At Even, when he comes weary frae the Hill,
I'll have a' things made ready to his Will.
In Winter, when he toils thro' 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 take aff.
Clean Hagabag I'll spread upon his Board,
And serve him with the best we can afford.
Good Humour and white Bigonets shall be
Guards to my Face, to keep his Love for me.

Jen.
A Dish of married Love right soon grows cauld,
And dosens down to nane, as Fowk grow auld.

Peg.
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 Ty,
Than ought 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,
Till wide their spreading Branches are increast,
And in their Mixture now are fully blest.
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 ev'ry Airth, maun bow.

Jen.
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
Lyes darn'd within my Breast this mony a Day.

Peg.
Alake! poor Prisoner! Jenny, that's no fair,
That ye'll no let the wee thing tak the Air:
Haste, let him out, we'll tent as well's we can,
Gif he be Bauldy's or poor Roger's Man.

Jen.
Anither time's as good,—for see the Sun
Is right far up, and we're no 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.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

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 coft a Pund of Cut and Dry;
Lug out your Box, and gie's a Pipe to try.

Sym.
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! Symie, ratling Chiels ne'er stand
To cleck and spread the grossest Lies aff hand,
Whilk soon flies round like Will-fire far and near:
But loose your Poke, be't true or fause, let's hear.

Sym.
Seeing's believing, Glaud, and I have seen
Hab, that abroad has 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 stand his Liege's Friend with Great 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 till'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?

Sym.
They that hag-raid us till our Guts did grane,
Like greedy Bairs, dare nae mair do't again;
And good Sir William sall enjoy his ain.

Glaud.
And may he lang; for never did he stent
Us in our thriving, with a racket Rent:
Nor grumbl'd, if ane grew rich; or shor'd to raise
Our Mailens, when we pat on Sunday's Claiths.

Sym.
Nor wad he lang, with senseless saucy Air,
Allow our lyart Noddles to be bare.
Put on your Bonnet, Symon;—Tak a Seat.—
How's all at hame?—How's Elspa? How does Kate?
How sells black Cattle?—What gie's Woo this Year?—
And sic like kindly Questions wad he speer.

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 Elspath 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 We'an,
Drink till they tine the Gate to stand their lane.

Sym.
I wad na bauk my Friend his blyth Design,
Gif that it hadna first of a' been mine:
For heer-yestreen I brew'd a Bow of Maut,
Yestreen I slew twa Wathers prime and fat;
A Firlot of good Cakes my Elspa beuk,
And a large Ham hings reesting in the Nook:
I saw my sell, 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 Haggies Elspa spares nae Cost;
Sma' are they shorn, and she can mix fu' 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 mauna then refuse to join the rest,
Since ye're my nearest Friend that I like best.
Bring wi' ye a' your Family, and then,
When e'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 be a Score,
With your good News, than what I was before.
I'll dance or Een! Hey! Madge, come forth: D'ye hear?

Enter Madge.
Mad.
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 set the meiklest Peat-stack in a Low.
Syne dance about the Bane-fire till ye die,
Since now again we'll soon Sir William see.

Mad.
Blyth News indeed! And wha was tald you o't?

Glaud.
What's that to you?—Gae get my Sunday's Coat;
Wale out the whitest of my bobbit Bands,
My white-skin Hose, and Mittons for my Hands;
Then frae their Washing cry the Bairns in haste,
And make your sells as trig, Head, Feet and Waist,
As ye were a' to get young Lads or E'en;
For we're gaun o'er to dine with Sym bedeen.

Sym.
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.

Bauldy his lane.
Baul.
What's this!—I canna bear't! 'tis war than Hell,
To be sae burnt with Love, yet darna 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 ought that in the Forest grows:
Her Een the clearest Blob of Dew outshines;
The Lilly in her Breast its Beauty tines.
Her Legs, her Arms, her Cheeks, her Mouth, her Een,
Will be my dead, that will be shortly seen!
For Pate loes her,—wae's 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 dare 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 Kirk-yards she raves,
And howks unchristen'd We'ans 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 backward pray,
Till Plotcock comes with Lumps of Lapland Clay,
Mixt with the Venom of black Taids and Snakes;
Of this unsonsy Pictures aft she makes
Of ony ane she hates—and gars expire
With slaw and racking Pains afore a Fire;
Stuck fu' of Prins, the devilish Pictures melt,
The Pain, by Fowk they represent, is felt.
And yonder's Mause: Ay, ay, she kens fu' well,
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 Deils and Lasses drive.

Exit.

SCENE III.

Mause
sings.
“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 Hawkies 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.
Baul.
How does auld honest Lucky of the Glen?
Ye look baith hale and fere at threescore ten.

Maus.
E'en twining out a Threed 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?

Baul.
Enough of baith:—But something that requires
Your helping Hand, employs now all my Cares.

Maus.
My helping Hand, alake! what can I do,
That underneath baith Eild and Poortith bow?

Baul.
Ay, but ye're wise, and wiser far than we,
Or maist Part of the Parish tells a Lie.

Maus.
Of what kind Wisdom think ye I'm possest,
That lifts my Character aboon the rest?

Baul.
The Word that gangs, how ye're sae wise and fell,
Ye'll may be take it ill gif I shou'd tell.

Maus.
What Fowk says of me, Bauldy, let me hear;
Keep nathing up, ye nathing have to fear.

Baul.
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 Bessy Freetock's chuffy-cheeked We'an
To a Fairy turn'd, and cou'd na stand its lane;
When Watie wander'd ae Night thro' the Shaw,
And tint himsell amaist amang the Snaw;
When Mungo's Mear stood still, and swat with 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 you round about.
And sae they may that mint to do ye Skaith:
For me to wrang ye, I'll be very laith;
But when I neist make Grots, I'll strive to please
You with a Firlot of them mixt with Pease.

Maus.
I thank ye, Lad;—now tell me your Demand,
And, if I can, I'll lend my helping Hand.

Baul.
Then, I like Peggy,—Neps is fond of me;—
Peggy likes Pate,—and Patie's bauld and slee,
And loes sweet Meg.—But Neps I downa see.—
Cou'd ye turn Patie's Love to Neps, and than
Peggy's to me,—I'd be the happiest Man.

Maus.
I'll ry 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 Grots; tak ye nae Care.

Baul.
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 rough, I'll tine the Gate.
We're a' to rant in Symie'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.

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

Baul.
If I ought of your Secrets e'er advance,
May ye ride on me ilka Night to France.

Exit Bauldy.
Mause her lane.
Exit.

SCENE IV.

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

Pat.
I'm laith to part sae soon; now we're alane,
And Roger he's awa with Jenny gane:
They're as content, for ought I hear or see,
To be alane themsells, I judge, as we.
Here, where Primroses thickest paint the Green,
Hard by this little Burnie let us lean.
Hark how the Lavrocks chant aboon our Heads,
How saft the Westlin Winds sough thro' the Reeds.

Peg.
The scented Meadows,—Birds,—and healthy Breeze,
For ought I ken, may mair than Peggy please.

Pat.
Ye wrang me sair, to doubt my being kind;
In speaking sae, ye ca' me dull and blind.
Gif I could fancy ought's sae sweet or fair
As my dear Meg, or worthy of my Care.
Thy Breath is sweeter than the sweetest Brier,
Thy Cheek and Breast the finest Flowers appear.
Thy Words excel the maist delightfu' Notes,
That warble through the Merl 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.

Peg.
But Patrick, for some wicked End, may fleech,
And Lambs should tremble when the Foxes preach.
I dare na stay—ye Joker, let me gang,
Anither Lass may gar ye change your Sang;
Your Thoughts may flit, and I may thole the Wrang.

Pat.
Sooner a Mother shall her Fondness drap,
And wrang 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 done,
Shall skaith our Love; I swear by all aboon.

Peg.
Then keep your Aith:—But mony Lads will swear,
And be mansworn to twa in haff a Year.
Now I believe ye like me wonder well;
But if a fairer Face your Heart shou'd steal,
Your Meg forsaken, bootless might relate,
How she was dauted anes by faithless Pate.

Pat.
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 coud'st 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 Delite,
To pou the Rashes green, with Roots sae white,
Of which, as well as my young Fancy cou'd,
For thee I plet the flowry Belt and Snood.

Peg.
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 E'en I met with thee.

Pat.
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.

Peg.
When thou didst wrestle, run, or putt the Stane,
And wan the Day, my Heart was flightering fain:
At all these Sports thou still gave Joy to me;
For nane can wrestle, run, or putt with thee.

Pat.
Jenny sings saft the Broom of Cowden-knows,
And Rosie lilts the Milking of the Ews;
There's nane like Nansie, Jenny Nettles sings;
At Turns in Maggy Lauder, Marion dings:
But when my Peggy sings, with sweeter Skill,
The Boat-man, 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.

Peg.
How eith can Lasses trow what they desire!
And roos'd by them we love, blaws up that 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.

Pat.
Wert thou a giglit Gawky like the lave,
That little better than our Nowt behave;
At nought they'll ferly;—senseless Tales believe;
Be blyth for silly Heghts, 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 excells them a',
Continue kind; and a' my Care shall be,
How to contrive what pleasing is for thee.

Peg.
Agreed;—but harken, yon's auld Aunty's Cry;
I ken they'll wonder what can make us stay.

Pat.
And let them ferly.—Now, a kindly Kiss,
Or fivescore 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.

Peg.
Sing first, syne claim your Hire.—

Pat.
—Well, I agree.

Patie
sings.
By the delicious Warmness of thy Mouth,
And rowing Eyes that smiling tell the Truth,
I guess, my Lassie, that as well as I,
You're made for Love; and why should ye deny?

Peggy
sings.
But ken ye, Lad, gin we confess o'er soon,
Ye think us cheap, and syne the Wooing's done?
The Maiden that o'er quickly tines her Power,
Like unripe Fruit, will taste but hard and sowr.

Patie
sings.
But gin they hing o'er lang upon the Tree,
Their Sweetness they may tine; and sae may ye.
Red cheeked you completely ripe appear;
And I have thol'd and woo'd a lang haff Year.

Peggy
singing, falls into Patie's Arms.
Then dinna pu' 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 Waste.
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 ye're wearied, honest Light,
Sleep, gin ye like, a Week that Night.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Now turn your Eyes beyond yon spreading Lime,
And tent a Man whase Beard seems bleech'd with Time;
An Elvand fills his Hand, his Habit mean:
Nae doubt ye'll think he has a Pedlar been.
But whisht! it is the Knight in Masquerade,
That comes hid in this Cloud to see his Lad.
Observe how pleas'd the loyal Sufferer moves
Thro' his auld Av'news, anes delightfu' Groves.
Sir WILLIAM
solus.

Exit.

SCENE II.

SYMON, GLAUD and ELSPA.
Glaud.
We anes were young our sells—I like to see
The Bairns bob round with other merrilie.
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 cleverest of them a'.

Els.
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 ga'e 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 We'an,
As ye well ken: A bonnier needna be,
Nor better,—be't she were nae Kin to me.

Sym.
Ha! Glaud, 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 my sell.

Glaud.
What Reason can ye have? There's nane, I'm sure,
Unless ye may cast 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 gi'e to Peggy that Day she's a Bride;
By and attour, gif my good Luck abide,
Ten Lambs at Spaining-time, as lang's I live,
And twa Quey Cawfs I'll yearly to them give.

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

Sym.
Or this Day eight days likely he shall learn,
That our Denial disna slight his Bairn.

Glaud.
Well, nae mair o't,—come, gie's the other Bend;
We'll drink their Healths, whatever Way it end.

Their Healths gae round.
Sym.
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 clatteran Madge, my Titty, tells sic Flaws,
When e'er our Meg her cankart Humour gaws.

Enter Jenny.
Jen.
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 o'er the Leaves, and gie's our Brows a Look;
Syne tells the oddest Tales that e'er ye heard.
His Head is gray, and lang and gray his Beard.

Sym.
Gae bring him in; we'll hear what he can say:
Name 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 there out.

Returns Jenny, bringing in Sir William; with them Patie.
Sym.
Ye're welcome, honest Carle;—here take a Seat.

S. Will.
I give ye Thanks, Goodman; I'se no be blate.

Glaud
drinks.
Come t'ye, Friend:—How far came ye the Day?

S. Will.
I pledge ye, Nibour:—E'en but little Way:
Rousted with Eild, a wee Piece Gate seems lang;
Twa Miles or three's the maist that I dow gang.

Sym.
Ye're welcome here to stay all Night with me,
And take sic Bed and Board as we can gi' ye.

S. Will.
That's kind unsought.—Well, gin ye have a Bairn
That ye like well, and wad his Fortune learn,
I shall employ the farthest of my Skill,
To spae it faithfully, be't good or ill.

Symon
pointing to Patie.
Only that Lad;—alake! I have nae mae,
Either to make me joyful now, or wae.

S. Will.
Young Man, let's see your Hand;—what gars ye sneer?

Pat.
Because your Skill's but little worth I fear.

S. Will.
Ye cut before the Point.—But, Billy, bide,
I'll wager there's a Mouse Mark on your Side.

Els.
Betooch-us-to! and well I wat that's true:
Awa, awa! the Deil's o'er grit wi' you.
Four Inch aneath his Oxter is the Mark,
Scarce ever seen since he first wore a Sark.

S. Will.
I'll tell ye mair, if this young Lad be spar'd
But a short while, he'll be a braw rich Laird.

Elsp.
A Laird!—Hear ye, Goodman! What think ye now?

Sym.
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.
Pat.
A Laird of twa good Whistles, and a Kent,
Twa Curs, my trusty Tenants, on the Bent,
Is all my great Estate—and like to be:
Sae, cunning Carle, ne'er break your Jokes on me.

Sym.
Whisht, Patie,—let the Man look o'er your Hand,
Aftimes 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.
Elsp.
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.

Elsp.
These second sighted Fowk, 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.

Sym.
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.
That Knight, in a few Days, shall bring
A Shepherd frae the Fauld,
And shall present him to his 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.

Sym.
Friend, may your Spaeing happen soon and weel;
But, faith, I'm redd you've bargain'd with the Deil,
To tell some Tales that Fowks wad secret keep:
Or do ye get them tald you in your Sleep?

S. Will.
Howe'er I get them, never fash your Beard;
Nor come I to redd Fortunes for Reward:
But I'll lay ten to ane with ony here,
That all I prophesy shall soon appear.

Sym.
You prophesying Fowks are odd kind Men!
They're here that ken, and here that disna ken,
The wimpled Meaning of your unco Tale,
Whilk soon will mak a Noise o'er Moor and Dale.

Glaud.
'Tis nae sma' Sport to hear how Sym believes,
And takes'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.

S. Will.
Whisht, doubtfu' Carle; for ere 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.
Well, 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 prove Joy to me.

S. Will.
Nae mair thro' Secrets can I sift,
Till Darkness black the Bent:
I have but anes a day that Gift;
Sae rest a while content.

Sym.
Elspa, cast on the Claith, fetch butt some Meat,
And, of your best, gar this auld Stranger eat.

S. Will.
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.

Sym.
Soon as you please I'll answer your Desire:—
And, Glaud, you'll take your Pipe beside the Fire;
We'll but gae round the Place, and soon be back,
Syne sup together, and tak our Pint, and crack.

Glaud.
I'll out a while, and see the young anes play.
My Heart's still light, abeit my Locks be gray.

Exeunt.

SCENE III.

ROGER and JENNY.
Rog.
Dear Jenny, I wad speak to ye, wad ye let;
And yet I ergh, ye're ay sae scornfu' set.

Jen.
And what would Roger say, if he could speak?
Am I oblig'd to guess what ye're to seek.

Rog.
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 Ev'n and Morn.
Ah! cou'd I loo ye less, I'd happy be;
But happier far, cou'd ye but fancy me.

Jen.
And wha kens, honest Lad, but that I may;
Ye canna say that e'er I said ye nay.

Rog.
Alake! my frighted Heart begins to fail,
When e'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 ly.

Jen.
I loo my Father, Cousin Meg I love;
But to this Day, nae Man my Mind could move:
Except my Kin, ilk Lad's alike to me;
And frae ye all I best had keep me free.

Rog.
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 rue, and pity me?

Jen.
Ye have my Pity else, to see ye set
On that whilk makes our Sweetness soon foryet.
Wow! but we're bonny, good, and every thing;
How sweet we breathe, when e'er we kiss, or sing!
But we're nae sooner Fools to give Consent,
Than we our Daffine and tint Power repent:
When prison'd in four Waws, a Wife right tame,
Altho' the first, the greatest Drudge at hame.

Rog.
That only happens, when for sake of Gear,
Ane wales a Wife, as he wad buy a Mear;
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.

Jen.
What suggar'd Words frae Woers 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.
Ths Bridegroom may rejoice, the Bride may smile;
But soon Contentions a' their Joys beguile.

Rog.
I've seen the Morning rise with fairest Light,
The Day unclouded sink in calmest Night.
I've seen the Spring rin wimpling thro' the Plain,
Increase and join the Ocean without Stain.
The Bridegroom may be blyth, the Bride may smile;
Rejoice thro' Life, and all your Fears beguile.

Jen.
Were I but sure you lang wou'd 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.

Rog.
I'm happy now! o'er happy! had my Head!—
This Gush of Pleasure's like to be my Dead.
Come to my Arms! or strike me! I'm all fir'd
With wondring 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 briss thy bonny Breasts and Lips to mine

Jen.
With equal Joy my easy Heart gi'es Way,
To own thy well try'd Love has won the Day.
Now by these warmest Kisses thou has tane,
Swear thus to love me, when by Vows made ane.

Rog.
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.

Jen.
Well, I agree:—Neist, to my Parent gae,
Get his Consent;—he'll hardly say ye nay.
Ye have what will commend ye to him well,
Auld Fowks like them that wants na Milk and Meal.

Rog.
My Faulds contain twice fifteen Forrow Nowt,
As mony Newcal in my Byers rowt;
Five Pack of Woo I can at Lammas sell,
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 heartsome House and tight,
Was still her Care, my Father's great Delight.
They left me all; which now gi'es Joy to me,
Because I can give a', my Dear, to thee:
And had I fifty times as meikle mair,
Nane but my Jenny should the samen skair.
My Love and All is yours; now had them fast,
And guide them as ye like, to gar them last.

Jen.
I'll do my best—But see wha comes this Way,
Patie and Meg;—besides, I mauna stay:
Let's steal frae ither now, and meet the Morn;
If we be seen, we'll drie a deal of Scorn.

Rog.
To where the Saugh-trees shades the Mennin-pool,
I'll frae the Hill come down, when Day grows cool:
Keep Triste, and meet me there;—there let us meet,
To kiss, and tell our Love;—there's nought sae sweet.

SCENE IV.

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' well.
Sir WILLIAM and SYMON.
S. Will.
To whom belongs this House so much decay'd?

Sym.

S. Will.
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 wise;
Since still the Secret thou'st securely seal'd,
And ne'er to him his real Birth reveal'd.

Sym.
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.

S. Will.
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.

Sym.
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 all as Punishment of their Sin,
That are within his tenth Degree of Kin:
Rins in ilk Trader's Debt, wha's sae unjust
To his ain Fam'ly, as to give him trust.

S. Will.
Such useless Branches of a Common-wealth,
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.

Sym.
To speak his Praise, the langest Simmer Day
Wad be o'er 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 whase Cause is best;
And his Decreet 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.

S. Will.
Your Tale much pleases;—my good Friend, proceed:
What Learning has he? Can he write and read?

Sym.
Baith wonder well; for, troth, I didna spare
To gi'e him at the School enough of Lair;
And he delites in Books:—He reads, and speaks
With Fowks that ken them, Latin Words and Greeks.

S. Will.
Where gets he Books to read?—and of what kind?
Tho' some give Light, some blindly lead the Blind.

Sym.
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 Shakspear, and a famous Ben,
He aften speaks, and ca's them best of Men.
How sweetly Hawthrenden and Stirling sing,
And ane ca'd Cowley, loyal to his King,
He kens fu' well, and gars their Verses ring.
I sometimes thought he made o'er great a Frase,
About fine Poems, Histories and Plays.
When I reprov'd him anes,—a Book he brings,
With this, quoth he, on Braes I crack with Kings.

S. Will.
He answer'd well; and much ye glad my Ear,
When such Accounts I of my Shepherd hear.
Reading such Books can raise a Peasant's Mind
Above a Lord's that is not thus inclin'd.

Sym.
What ken we better, that sae sindle look,
Except on rainy Sundays, on a Book;
When we a Leaf or twa haff read haff spell,
Till a' the rest sleep round, as well's our sell?

S. Will.
Well jested, Symon—But one Question more
I'll 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?

Sym.
I fear'd the warst, but kend the smallest Part,
Till late I saw him twa three times mair sweet,
With Glaud's fair Neice, than I thought right or meet:
I had my Fears; but now have nought to fear,
Since like your sell your Son will soon appear.
A Gentleman, enrich'd with all these Charms,
May bless the fairest best born Lady's Arms.

S. Will.
This Night must end his unambitious Fire,
When higher Views shall greater Thoughts inspire.
Go, Symon, bring him quickly here to me;
None but your self shall our first Meeting see.
Yonder's my Horse and Servants nigh 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.

Sym.
With how much Joy I on this Errand flee!
There's nane can know, that is not downright me.

Exit Symon.
Sir William
solus.
When the Event of Hopes successfully appears,
One happy Hour cancells the Toil of Years.
A thousand Toils are lost in Lethe's Stream,
And Cares evanish like a Morning Dream;
When wish'd for Pleasures rise like Morning Light,
The Pain that's past enhanses the Delight.
These Joys I feel that Words can ill express,
I ne'er had known without my late Distress.
But from his rustick Business and Love,
I must in haste my Patrick soon remove,
To Courts and Camps that may his Soul improve.
Like the rough Diamond, as it leaves the Mine,
Only in little Breakings shew its Light,
Till artfu' Polishing has made it shine:
Thus Education makes the Genius bright.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The Scene describ'd in former Page,
Glaud's Onset.—Enter Mause and Madge.
Maus.
Our Laird's come hame! and owns young Pate his Heir!
That's News indeed!—

Mad.
—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 Pouch he whirled 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 pawkily pretended he cou'd spae,
Yet for his Pains and Skill wad nathing ha'e.

Maus.
Then sure the Lasses, and ilk gaping Coof,
Wad rin about him, and had out their Loof.

Mad.
As fast as Flaes 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 Simmer Days slides backward in a Pool:
In short he did, for Pate, braw things fortell,
Without the Help of Conjuring or Spell.
At last, when well diverted, he withdrew,
Pow'd aff 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.

Maus.
It may be sae; wha kens? and may be no.
To lift a Love that's rooted, is great Pain;
Even Kings have tane a Queen out of the Plain:
And what has been before, may be again.

Mad.
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.

Maus.
Gif Pate forsakes her, Bauldy she may gain;
Yonder he comes, and wow but he looks fain!
Nae doubt he thinks that Peggy's now his ain.

Mad.
He get her! slaverin Doof; it sets him weil
To yoke a Plough where Patrick thought to till.
Gif I were Meg, I'd let young Master see—

Maus.
Enter Bauldy singing.

Maus.
Well, Bauldy, how gaes a'?—

Bauld.
—Faith unco right:
I hope we'll a' sleep sound but ane this Night.

Mad.
And wha's the unlucky ane, if we may ask?

Bauld.
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 be,
While Meg's in dumps, put in a Word for me.
I'll be as kind as ever Pate could prove;
Less wilful, and ay constant in my Love.

Mad.
As Neps can witness, and the Bushy Thorn,
Where mony a Time to her your Heart was sworn:
Fy! Bauldy, blush, and Vows of Love regard;
What other Lass will trow a mansworn Herd?
The Curse of Heaven hings ay aboon 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, fu' well I wate.

Bauld.
Sae gray a Gate! Mansworn! and a' the rest:
Ye leed, auld Roudes—and, in Faith, had best
Eat in your Words; else I shall gar ye stand
With a het Face afore the haly Band.

Mad.
Ye'll gar me stand! ye sheveling-gabit Brock;
Speak that again, and, trembling, dread my Rock,
And ten sharp Nails, that when my Hands are in,
Can flyp the Skin o' ye'r Cheeks out o'er your Chin.

Bauld.
I tak ye Witness, Mause, ye heard her say,
That I'm mansworn:—I winna let it gae.

Mad.
Ye're Witness to, he ca'd me bonny Names,
And should 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.
Maus.
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.
Mad.
—'Tis dafter like to thole
An Ether-cap, like him, to blaw the Coal:
It sets him well, 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 Bairns Bairns have seen.

Maus.
That's true; and Bauldy ye was far to blame,
To ca' Madge ought but her ain christen'd Name.

Bauld.
My Lugs, my Nose, and Nodle finds the same.

Mad.
Auld Roudes! Filthy Fallow; I shall auld ye.

Maus.
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.

Bauld.
In troth now, Mause, I have at Madge nae Spite;
But she abusing first, was a' the Wite
Of what has happen'd: And should therefore crave
My Pardon first, and shall Acquittance have.

Mad.
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 Deil; he's o'er lang out of Hell.

Bauldy
running off.
His Presence be about us! Curst were he
That were condemn'd for Life to live with thee.

Exit Bauldy.
Madge
laughing.
I think I've towzl'd 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.

Maus.
Ye towin'd him tightly,—I commend ye for't;
His blooding Snout gave me nae little Sport:
For this Forenoon he had that Scant of Grace,
And Breeding baith,—to tell me to my Face,
He hop'd I was a Witch, and wadna stand,
To lend him in this Case my helping Hand.

Mad.
A Witch!—How had ye Patience this to bear,
And leave him Een to see, or Lugs to hear?

Maus.
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 Lake of Pith supplie.
Thus I pat aff Revenge till it was dark,
Syne bade him come, and we should gang to wark:
I'm sure he'll keep his Triste; and I came here
To seek your Help, that we the Fool may fear.

Mad.
And special Sport we'll have, as I protest;
Ye'll be the Witch, and I shall play the Ghaist,
A Linen Sheet wond 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.

Maus.
Then let us go; for see, 'tis hard on Night,
The Westlin Cloud shines red with setting Light.

Exeunt.

SCENE II.

When Birds begin to nod upon the Bough,
And the Green Swaird grows damp with falling Dew,
While good Sir William is to rest retir'd,
The Gentle Shepherd tenderly inspir'd,
Walks through the Broom with Roger ever leel,
To meet, to comfort Meg, and tak Farewell.
Rog.
Wow! but I'm cadgie, and my Heart lowps light,
O, Mr. Patrick! ay your Thoughts were right:
Sure Gentle Fowk are farther seen than we,
That naithing ha'e to brag of Pedigree.
My Jenny now, wha brak my Heart this Morn,
Is perfect yielding,—sweet,—and nae mair Scorn.
I spake my Mind—she heard—I spake again,
She smil'd—I kiss'd—I woo'd, nor woo'd in vain.

Pat.
I'm glad to hear't—But O my Change this Day
Heaves up my Joy, and yet I'm sometimes wae.
I've found a Father, gently kind as brave,
And an Estate that lifts me 'boon the lave.
With Looks all Kindness, Words that Love confest;
He all the Father to my Soul exprest,
While close he held me to his manly Breast.
Such were the Eyes, he said, thus smil'd the Mouth
Of thy lov'd Mother, Blessing of my Youth;
Who set too soon!—And while he Praise bestow'd,
Adown his graceful Cheek a Torrent flow'd.
My new-born Joys, and this his tender Tale,
Did, mingled thus, o'er a' my Thoughts prevail:
That speechless lang, my late kend Sire I view'd,
While gushing Tears my panting Breast bedew'd.
Unusual Transports made my Head turn round,
Whilst I my self with rising Raptures found
The happy Son of ane sae much renown'd.
But he has heard!—too faithful Symon's Fear
Has brought my Love for Peggy to his Ear:
Which he forbids.—Ah! this confounds my Peace,
While thus to beat, my Heart shall sooner cease.

Rog.
How to advise ye, troth I'm at a stand:
But were't my Case, ye'd clear it up aff hand.

Pat.
Duty, and haflen Reason plead his Cause:
But what cares Love for Reason, Rules and Laws?
Still in my Heart my Shepherdess excells,
And Part of my new Happiness repells.

Rog.
Enjoy them baith.—Sir William will be won:
Your Peggy's bonny;—you're his only Son.

Pat.
She's mine by Vows, and stronger Ties of Love;
And frae these Bands nae Change my Mind shall move.
I'll wed nane else; thro' Life I will be true:
But still Obedience is a Parent's Due.

Rog.
Is not our Master and your sell 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?

Pat.
To Edinburgh straight to-morrow we advance,
To London neist, and afterwards to France,
Where I must stay some Years, and learn—to dance,
And twa three other Monky-tricks.—That done,
I come hame struting in my red-heel'd Shoon.
Then 'tis design'd, when I can well behave,
That I maun be some petted Thing's dull Slave,
For some few Bags of Cash, that I wat weel
I nae mair need nor Carts do a third Wheel.
But Peggy, dearer to me than my Breath,
Sooner than hear sic News, shall hear my Death.

Rog.
They wha have just enough, can soundly sleep;
The O'ercome only fashes Fowk to keep.—
Good Mr. Patrick, tak your ain Tale hame.

Pat.
What was my Morning Thought, at Night's the same.
The Poor and Rich but differ in the Name.
Content's the greatest Bliss we can procure
Frae 'boon the Lift.—Without it Kings are poor.

Rog.
But an Estate like your's yields braw Content,
When we but pick it scantly on the Bent:
Fine Claiths, saft Beds, sweet Houses, and red Wine,
Good Chear, and witty Friends, whene'er ye dine;
Obeysant Servants, Honour, Wealth and Ease:
Wha's no content with these, are ill to please.

Pat.
Sae Roger thinks, and thinks not far amiss;
But mony a Cloud hings hovering o'er the Bliss.
The Passions rule the Roast;—and, if they're sowr,
Like the lean Ky, will 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 o'erlaid with Ease;
While o'er the Moor the Shepherd, with less Care,
Enjoys his sober Wish, and halesome Air.

Rog.
Lord, Man! I wonder ay, and it delights
My Heart, whene'er I hearken to your Flights.
How gat ye a' that Sense, I fain wad lear,
That I may easier Disappointments bear.

Pate.
Frae Books, the Wale of Books, I gat some Skill;
These best can teach what's real good and ill.
Ne'er grudge ilk Year to ware some Stanes of Cheese,
To gain these silent Friends that ever please.

Rog.
I'll do't, and ye shall tell me which to buy:
Faith I'se ha'e Books, tho' I should sell my Ky.
But now let's hear how you're design'd to move,
Between Sir William's Will, and Peggy's Love.

Pat.
Then here it lyes;—His Will maun be obey'd;
My Vows I'll keep, and she shall be my Bride:
But I some time this last Design maun hide.
Keep you the Secret close, and leave me here;
I sent for Peggy, yonder comes my Dear.

Rog.
Pleas'd that ye trust me with the Secret, I
To wyle it frae me a' the Deils defy.

Exit Roger.
Patie
solus.
Enter Peggy.

Peg.
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, withoutten Pain, see frae the Coast
The Ship that bears his All like to be lost?
Like to be carry'd, by some Rever's Hand,
Far frae his Wishes, to some distant Land?

Pat.
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 Falshood 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 make strict Duty and true Love agree.

Peg.
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 Air 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 envy'd by the tattling Gang,
When Patie kiss'd me, when I danc'd or sang:
Nae mair, alake! we'll on the Meadow play!
And rin haff breathless round the Rucks of Hay;
As aftimes 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 sair Disease,
And warst of Ills attend my wretched Life,
If e'er to ane, but you, I be a Wife.

Pat.
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 faithful Love.
If at my Foot were Crowns and Scepters laid,
To bribe my Soul frae thee, delightful 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.

Peg.
I greet for Joy, to hear thy Words sae kind.
When Hopes were sunk, and nought but mirk Despair
Made me think Life was little worth my Care,
My Heart was like to burst; but now I see
Thy generous Thoughts will save thy Love for me.
With Patience then I'll wait each wheeling Year,
Hope Time away, till thou with Joy appear;
And all the while I'll study gentler Charms,
To make me fitter for my Traveller's Arms:
I'll gain on Uncle Glaud,—he's far frae Fool,
And will not grudge to put me thro' ilk School;
Where I may Manners learn—

Pat.
—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, lest in our Station, we offend,
We must learn Modes, to Innocence unkend;
Affect aftimes to like the thing we hate,
And drap Serenity, to keep up State:
Laugh, when we're sad; 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.

Peg.
If this is Gentry, I had rather be
What I am still—But I'll be ought with thee.

Pat.
No, no, my Peggy, I but only jest
With Gentry's Apes; for still amangst the best,
Good Manners give Integrity a Bleez,
When native Vertues join the Arts to please.

Peg.
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.

Pat.
There is nae doubt, but travelling does improve,
Yet I would shun it for thy Sake, my Love.
But soon as I've shook aff my Landwart Cast,
In foreign Cities, hame to thee I'll haste.

Peg.
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.

Pat.
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.

Peg.
Were't in my Power with better Boons to please,
I'd give the best I could with the same Ease;
Nor wad I, if thy Luck had faln to me,
Been in ae Jot less generous to thee.

Pat.
I doubt it not; but since we've little Time
To ware't on Words, wad border on a Crime:
Love's safter Meaning better is exprest,
When 'tis with Kisses on the Heart imprest.

Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Sym.
What want ye, Bauldy, at this early Hour,
While drowsy Sleep keeps a' beneath its Pow'r?
Far to the North, the scant approaching Light
Stands equal 'twixt the Morning and the Night.
What gars ye shake and glowr, and look sae wan?
Your Teeth they chitter, Hair like Bristles stand.

Baul.
O len me soon some Water, Milk or Ale,
My Head's grown giddy,—Legs with shaking fail;
I'll ne'er dare venture forth at Night my lane:
Alake! I'll never be my sell again.
I'll ne'er o'erput it! Symon! O Symon! O!

Symon gives him a Drink.
Sym.
What ails thee, Gowk!—to make sae 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.
S. Will.
How goes the Night? Does Day-light yet appear?
Symon, you're very timeously asteer.

Sym.
I'm sorry, Sir, that we've disturb'd your Rest:
But some strange thing has Bauldy's Sp'rit opprest;
He's seen some Witch, or wrestl'd with a Ghaist.

Baul.
O ay,—dear Sir, in troth 'tis very true;
And I am come to make my Plaint to you.

Sir William
smiling.
I lang to hear't—

Baul.
—Ah! Sir, the Witch ca'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 tristed, 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 Diel, I kenna whilk,
Like a dead Corse in Sheet as white as Milk,
Black Hands it had, and Face as wan as Death,
Upon me fast the Witch and it fell baith,
And gat me down; while I, like a great Fool,
Was laboured as I wont 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, haff dead with Anger, Fear and Spite,
Crap up, and fled straight frae them, Sir, to you,
Hoping your Help, to gi'e the Deil his Due.
I'm sure my Heart will ne'er gi'e o'er to dunt,
Till in a fat Tar-barrel Mause be burnt.

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

Baul.
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,
And cast her Cantraips that bring up the Deil.

Exit Bauldy.
S. Will.
Troth, Symon, Bauldy's more afraid than hurt,
The Witch and Ghaist have made themselves good Sport.
What silly Notions crowd the clouded Mind,
That is thro' want of Education blind!

Sym.
But does your Honour think there's nae sic thing
As Witches raising Diels up thro' a Ring?
Syne playing Tricks, a thousand I cou'd tell,
Cou'd never be contriv'd on this Side Hell.

S. Will.
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 thro' airy Paths to glide,
While they on Cats, or Clowns, or Broom-staffs 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 Cup-board, Chairs and Stools.
Whate'er's in Spells, or if there Witches be,
Such Whimsies seem the most absurd to me.

Sym.
'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 land in naithing but a Joke at last.

S. Will.
I'm sure it will:—But see increasing Light
Commands the Imps of Darkness down to Night;
Bid raise my Servants, and my Horse prepare,
Whilst I walk out to take the Morning Air.

Exeunt.

SCENE II.

While Peggy laces up her Bosom fair,
With a blew Snood Jenny binds up her Hair;
Glaud by his Morning Ingle takes a Beek,
The rising Sun shines motty thro' the Reek,
A Pipe his Mouth; the Lasses please his Een,
And now and than his Joke maun interveen.
Glaud.
I wish, my Bairns, it may keep fair till Night;
Ye do not use sae soon to see the Light.
Nae doubt now ye intend to mix the thrang,
To take your Leave of Patrick or he gang.
But do ye think that now when he's a Laird,
That he poor Landwart Lasses will regard?

Jen.
Tho' he's young Master now, I'm very sure
He has mair Sense than slight auld Friends, tho' poor.
But yesterday he ga'e us mony a Tug,
And kiss'd my Cousin 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 chast and frugal Life;
But now grown gentle, soon he will forsake
Sic godly Thoughts, and brag of being a Rake.

Peg.
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,
Ane 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.
They'll tempt young Things, like you, with Youdith flush'd,
Syne make ye a' their Jest, when ye're debauch'd.
Be warry then, I say, and never gi'e
Encouragement, or bourd with sic as he.

Peg.
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 my sell,
Some of them laugh at Doomsday, Sin and Hell.

Jen.
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 Gates will e'er be brought.

Peg.
Enter Madge.

Glaud.
Lend me my Staff;—Madge, lock the Outer-door,
And bring the Lasses wi' ye; I'll step before.

Exit Glaud.
Mad.
Poor Meg!—Look, Jenny, was the like e'er seen,
How bleer'd and red with greeting look her Een?
This Day her brankan Wooer takes 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-horn Spoons, and kitted Whey,
For gentler Tea, that smells like new won Hay;
To leave the Green-swaird Dance, when we gae Milk,
To rustle amang the Beauties clad in Silk.
But Meg, poor Meg! maun with the Shepherd stay,
And tak what GOD will send, in Hodden-gray.

Peg.
Dear Aunt, what need 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 Patie 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.

Mad.
A bonny Story, trowth!—But we delay:
Prin up your Aprons baith, and come away.

Exeunt.

SCENE III.

S. Will.
And was that all? Well, Bauldy, 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.

Baul.
Sir, I confess my Faut thro' a' the Steps,
And ne'er again shall be untrue to Neps.

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

Baul.
An't like your Honour, I believ'd it well;
But trowth I was e'en doilt to seek the Deil:
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
Had in my Tongue; for yonder comes the Ghaist,
And the young bonny Witch, whase rosy Cheek
Sent me, without my Wit, the Deil 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.
Is this your Daughter, Glaud?—

Glaud.
—Sir, she's my Niece;—
And yet she's not:—But I should hald my Peace.

S. Will.
This is a Contradiction: What d'ye mean?
She is, and is not! Pray thee, Glaud, explain.

Glaud.
Because I doubt, if I should make appear
What I have kept a Secret thirteen Year.

Mause.
You may reveal what I can fully clear.

S. Will.
Speak soon; I'm all Impatience!—

Pat.
—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 hopeless 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: She has past sincesyne
As a poor Orphan, and a Niece of mine.
Nor do I rue my Care about the We'an,
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.—Nathing ken I mair,
Than what I to your Honour now declare.

S. Will.
This Tale seems strange!—

Pat.
—The Tale delights my Ear;

S. Will.
Command your Joys, young Man, till Truth appear.

Maus.
That be my Task.—Now, Sir, bid all be hush;
Peggy may smile;—thou hast nae Cause to blush.
Long 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 Friend that she can claim:
He saw't at first, and with quick Eye did trace
His Sister's Beauty in her Daughter's Face.

S. Will.
Old Woman, do not rave,—prove what you say;
'Tis dangerous in Affairs like this to play.

Pat.
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 looks like a Reason want.

Omnes.
The Story's odd! we wish we heard it out.

S. Will.
Mak haste, good Woman, and resolve each Doubt.

Mause goes forward, leading Peggy to Sir William.
Maus.
Sir, view me well: Has fifteen Years so plow'd
A wrinkled Face that you have often view'd,
That here I as an unknown Stranger stand,
Who nurs'd her Mother that now holds my Hand?
Yet stronger Proofs I'll give, if you demand.

S. Will.
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.
Yes, surely thou'rt my Niece; Truth must prevail:
But no more Words, till Mause relate her Tale.

Pat.
Good Nurse, go on; nae Musick's haff sae fine,
Or can give Pleasure like these Words of thine.

Maus.
Then, it was I that sav'd her Infant-life,
Her Death being threatned by an Uncle's Wife.
The Story's lang; but I the Secret knew,
How they pursu'd, with avaritious View,
Her rich Estate, of which they're now possest:
All this to me a Confident confest.
I heard with Horror, and with trembling Dread,
They'd smoor the sakeless Orphan in her Bed!
That very Night, when all were sunk in Rest,
At Midnight Hour, the Floor I saftly prest,
And staw the sleeping Innocent away;
With whom I travel'd some few Miles e'er 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;
Afraid of being found out, I to secure
My Charge, e'en 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 sometime should about be brought.

Pat.
'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.

S. Will.
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.
Pat.
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.

Peg.
My Wishes are compleat,—my Joys arise,
While I'm haff 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 these happy Plains,
Happy while Heaven grant he on them remains.

Pat.
Be lang our Guardian, still our Master be;
We'll only crave what you shall please to gi'e:
The Estate be your's, my Peggy's ane to me.

Glaud.
I hope your Honour now will take amends
Of them that sought her Life for wicked Ends.

S. Will.
The base 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.

Peg.
To me the Views of Wealth and an Estate,
Seem light when put in Ballance with my Pate:
For his Sake only, I'll ay thankful bow
For such a Kindness, best of Men, to you.

Sym.
What double Blythness wakens up this Day!
I hope now, Sir, you'll no soon haste away.
Sall I unsadle 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 Taz, and pawky Mause's Plot.

S. Will.
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 bussy Gardners shall new Planting rear;
My Father's hearty Table you soon shall see
Restor'd, and my best Friends rejoyce with me.

Sym.
That's the best 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.

Rog.
Wha winna dance? wha will refuse to sing?
What Shepherd's Whistle winna lilt the Spring?

Baul.
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.

Mad.
Lang may he live:—And, Bauldy, learn to steek
Your Gab a wee, and think before ye speak;
And never ca' her auld that wants a Man,
Else ye may yet some Witches Fingers ban.
This Day I'll wi' the youngest of ye rant,
And brag for ay, that I was ca'd the Aunt
Of our young Lady,—my dear bonny Bairn!

Peg.
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?

Maus.
The flowing Pleasures of this happy Day
Does fully all I can require repay.

S. Will.
To faithful Symon, and, kind Glaud, to you,
And to your Heirs I give in endless Feu,
The Mailens ye possess, as justly due,
For acting like kind Fathers to the Pair,
Who have enough besides, and these can spare.
Mause, in my House in Calmness close your Days,
With nought to do, but sing your Maker's Praise.

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, thinkna Shame)
Rais'd, and maintains in him a Lover's Flame:
Lang was he dumb, at last he spake, and won,
And hopes to be our honest Uncle's Son:
Be pleas'd to speak to Glaud for his Consent,
That nane may wear a Face of Discontent.

S. Will.
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,
But that we're Dyvours that can ne'er repay?
Whate'er your Honour wills, I shall obey.
Roger, my Daughter, with my Blessing, take,
And still our Master's Right your Business make,
Please him, be faithful, and this auld gray Head
Shall nod with Quietness down amang the Dead.

Rog.
I ne'er was good a 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.

S. Will.
My Friends, I'm satisfied you'll all behave,
Each in his Station, as I'd wish or crave.
Be ever vertuous, soon or late you'll find
Reward, and Satisfaction to your Mind.
The Maze of Life sometimes looks dark and wild;
And oft when Hopes are highest, we're beguil'd.
Aft, when we stand on Brinks of dark Despair,
Some happy Turn with Joy dispells our Care.
Now all's at Rights, who sings best let me hear.

Peg.
Sings to the Tune of Corn-riggs are bonny.

Exeunt omnes.