University of Virginia Library

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.
Ye'd be as dorty in your Choice as he:
And so wad I. But whisht, here Bauldy comes.

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.