University of Virginia Library

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.