University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A snug Thack-house, before the Door a Green;
Hens on the Midding, Ducks in Dubs are seen.
On this Side stands a Barn, on that a Byre;
A Peat-stack joins, and forms a rural Square.
The House is Glaud's;—there you may see him lean,
And to his Divot-Seat invite his Frien'.

GLAUD and SYMON.
Glaud.
Good-morrow, Nibour Symon,—come sit down,
And gie's your Cracks.—What's a' the News in Town?
They tell me ye was in the ither Day,
And sald your Crummock and her bassend Quey.
I'll warrant ye've 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.

The open Field.—A Cottage in a Glen,
An auld Wife spinning at the sunny End.—
At a small Distance, by a blasted Tree,
With falded Arms, and haff rais'd Look ye see

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.

A Green Kail-yard, a little Fount,
Where Water popilan springs;
There sits a Wife with Wrinkle-Front.
And yet she spins and sings.

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.
Hard Luck, alake! when Poverty and Eild,
Weeds out of Fashion, and a lanely Beild,
With a sma' Cast of Wiles, should in a twitch,
Gi'e ane the hatefu' Name a wrinkled Witch.
This Fool imagines, as do mony sic,
That I'm a Wretch in Compact with Auld Nick;
Because by Education I was taught
To speak and act aboon their common Thought.
Their gross Mistake shall quickly now appear;
Soon shall they ken what brought, what keeps me here;
Nane kens but me,—and if the Morn were come,
I'll tell them Tales will gar them a' sing dumb.

Exit.

SCENE IV.

Behind a Tree, upon the Plain,
Pate and his Peggy meet;
In Love, without a vicious Stain,
The bonny Lass and chearfu' Swain
Change Vows and Kisses sweet.

PATIE and PEGGY.
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.