 | The Haunted Glen |  |
SCENE II.
A Cottage.Cairney, Eps, Simon.
Sim.
Mither, I'm gaun to dee now!—It's a' o'er
wi' me now!
Eps.
And what's my dainty son gaun to dee for
now?
Sim.
Oh, it's for that Lula!—Plague on your
Lula, that I ever saw her face!—And wae be to you
for twa auld doitit bodies that ever pat it in my
head to seek her for a wife, and to fa' in love wi' her,
and court her, and then to get baith the skaith
and the scorn.—I'm gane!—I'm clean dead!—Oh,
plague on a' paughty queans! wi' their clear wily
e'en! and their curls flauffing about their dimpled
but I'll hae amends o' them and o' ye a'! dear
amends!
Eps.
Sit still, Sim.—Sit still, my dear son Sim,
and hae a wee patience.—What are ye gaun to do
wi' that muckle knife?
Sim.
I'm gaun to cut aff my head—What wad
ye hae me to do wi't?—I'm gane! clean gane! I
wadna gi'e a bawbee for my life!—But ye hae nane
to blame but yoursels!—It is weel wared! Ye
lose your son, and ye may tak up the neist ye find.
—Oh, thae women! thae women!—De'il that there
had ne'er ane o' them been born, wi' their sma'
waists, and their lang white necks, and their legs
turned and polished like fiddlepins.
Eps.
Wow, Sim, man! What for do ye speak that
gate?—Ye ken if women ne'er had been made, the
warld couldna hae been uphadden.—And whar wad
ye hae been yoursel, ye gowk?
And then they'll smile and they'll smirk!—
And they'll caper, and prim their bits o' gabs!—
And fling back their locks o' hair, that fock may
see their reid-an-white haffats—and they'll gloom ae
while, and greet anither—and pace away frae ane
on their tip-taes!—I wonder how e'er it cam into
ony anes head to mak sic creatures as women!—Or
if I had been gaun to mak them ava, I wad hae
made them something farrant like.
Eps.
Gramercy! Cairney, did you ever hear sic
a rave o' nonsense?—The poor lad's dementit.
Cair.
He's a thowless gull!—Just naething but
a muck hott!—He maks nae ill hand at a paritch
bicker or a haggies; but for a bonny lass, ye may
as weel set my tike to court her.—I hae seen the
day, but it's gane, that if I had had her a cooking—
Sim.
And wow ye hae muckle to brag o' that
way! Let ony ane look at my mither, and see what
o' the parishen!
Eps.
Alak, Simon! ye shouldna lightify the banes
that bare ye.—I dinna like to hear it—Sorrow and
eild will runkle the fairest and the bonniest; and or
ye come to my time o' day, ye'll no be sae bright o'
the lire.
Sim.
O, that I had ne'er seen the face of a woman,
or seen only sic as yours!—I hae tint mysel
athegither!—I'm daft—horn mad wi' love!—But
there will soon be an end o't!—I'll tell ye what I
think, mither—I think the women are a set o' bad
wicked creatures, and that the maist o' them will
gang an ill gate.—Paintit naethings! Limbs o' Sautan
they are!—I believe it was nae ither than him
wha gae them that fine lily whiteness to their hands
and necks, and made their cheeks sae rosy, and their
skins sae feele and saft—and then the lips and the
een!—O Lord! O Lord! I canna thole them, and
what I'll do w'ye—I'll gi'e ye a' my sheep ilka
clute, skin and birn, if ye'll just chip my head aff
wi' an axe.—Live langer I winna; for she has
guided me like a dog, like a whalp, like a messan!
Cair.
Son, hear me speak—Woo her, and woo
her like a man; and I say and swear it, that you
shall have her—But if I hear mair o' your hanging,
or drowning, ye sanna want a hand to gi'e ye a
heeze—silly, hen-heartit, white-livered gouk!—Woo
her, and woo her the way I bade ye; and if she
dares ill-treat or mock my son, I'll let her ken
whase house and hands she's in!—Yes, boy, ye sal
hae her, though I should tie her twa arms to the
bed-posts.
Sim.
I wad just do that, father—that's the only
chance I hae now—I'll stand by you.
Eps.
O fie, my dear gudeman and son, dinna
speak that way—she's a sweet gentle creature, far
woman! she's aye somebody's bairn!—It wad be a
sin and a shame to guide her ill—Mind the auld
sang—
But never overbear a maid;
For gin ye fret or fear a maid,
Ye nouther win nor wear the maid.
Ye ken, son, she is a leddy born and bred, and ye
should speak to her in a gentle and respectable
way.
Cair.
Leddy, wife!—We ken little what she is—
For a' her lear and scholarship, and thrimble-thrumbling
at the harp, she may be comed o' the gypsies,
for aught we wot.
Eps.
O fie! To speak that gate o' Lula! The
dearest creature that ever this land bred! But,
desired her.—Tell us a' that past atween ye.
Sim.
Weel, ye see, we gaed away to the wood
thegither, but she was unco sweer drawn, and was
aye gathering bits o' yerbs and chirms o' gerse,
never minding me; at length we came to a bit
green swaird, and sat down thegither, and I pat my
plaid round us baith.
Cair.
Ay—weel—that wasna sae ill.
Sim.
And when I laid it round her neck, I wad
fain hae lettin my arm lie still there, but she pat it
away sae gently that I hadna the face to offer again.
Cair.
That was sachless and silly-like!
Sim.
Then I says, “My bonny Lula,” says I—
Cair.
My bonny Lula—that was good—right that.
Sim.
“My dear heart's life and blood!” says I—
Cair.
Heart's life and blood!—O that was nonsense!
“Ye ken my mither likes ye unco weel, and
canna think ever to part wi' ye.”
Eps.
Ye said true, Simmy; ye said true! and
what did she say to that?
Sim.
She gae a bit siche, and pu'd some threads
and poukins o' woo' out o' my plaid; and when I
lookit earnestly in her face, she took a ewe-gowan
and pluckit a' the fringe aff it, bit by bit.—I didna
ken what to do, nor what to say, for I was just like
to sink down through the grund wi' perfect love—
and sae I took her hand in atween baith mine, and
squeezed it and sleekit it down, as it had been a young
kittlen—“Oh me! what will I do?” quo' I; and
then I said something that wad hae been better unsaid,
and was gaun to kiss her hand, but she wadna
even suffer that, but pu'd it frae me, and turn'd her
face half away, and I thought by the dimple o' her
cheek that the jade was laughin' at me.
Cair.
Maist likely she was, I think.
“Turn round your face to me, Lula,” quo'
l—“Turn round that bit bonny face again, for I
hae nae skeel o' speaking in at the hole o' ane's
neck.” And what think you the contrarisome shrew
said?
Eps.
Haud your tongue now, Sim, for I downa
bide to hear ye say ony ill o' her.—Ye might deserve
a' that she said, for ye ken that ye're no owre
weel bred.
Sim.
Weel, weel, mither, haud ye wi' her; ye'll
soon win quat o' poor Sim. Ye want nae better, I
find.
Eps.
Be quiet now, dear son, and tell me some
mair that past atween ye.—I ken she hasna the nature
to be uncivil to a dog, if it be civil to her.—Did
you never ask her to be your wife ava'?
Sim.
Ask her to be my wife!—I may as weel ask
the Erne Craig to be my wife; or the Moon; or the
Seven Sterns—I'll hae the same success—I hae just
on her!
Cair.
Ay, that's the way to gang to wark wi' her.
Eps.
Shame on him that says it!—Shame to you
baith!—But I dare ane o' ye to wrang her, or lay a
foul finger on her in my house!—I'll gar the blood
blind the een o' the first scurvy loun that attempts
it.
Cair.
Fich! auld ettercap! wha cares for your
brag?—And you, if you hadna been a fool and a
booby, ye might hae had her lang syne for your wife.
Sim.
For my wife!—Ah, what a thought that is!
That's a killing, murdering thought!—ane that nae
man can brook.
Cair.
Ye never wad tak my advice.
Sim.
Your advice!—Haud your tongue about
your advice—I wish I had never heard it, nor yet
made use o't.—But I'm a ruined man!—Shamed!—
Affrontit!—Scorned!—Despised!—I can never, and
(Crying.)
—Welcome, welcome! give me your hands
—Farewell, father and mother; farewell, sun and
moon, and sterns and women—this is the last o'
poor Sim!
(He puts a rope round his neck—His father pulls him up in anger—He cries out and is let fall—Scene closes.
| The Haunted Glen | |