The Gentle Shepherd: A Scots Pastoral Comedy
Author(s): Ramsay, Allan
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By ALLAN RAMSAY.
The Seventh Edition with the SANGS.
Printed by ROBERT FOULIS, and ſold by him there;
at Edinburgh, by Meſſ. HAMILTON and BALFOUR.
MDCCXLIII. [Price 6d.]
The Right Honourable,
COUNTESS of EGLINTOUN.
THE love of approbation, and a deſire to
pleaſe the beſt, have ever encouraged
the Poets to finiſh their deſigns with chearfulneſs.
But, conſcious of their own inability to
oppoſe a ſtorm of ſpleen, and haughty ill naure,
it is generally an ingenious cuſtom amongſt
them to chuſe ſome honourable ſhade.
WHEREFORE I beg leave to put my Paſtoral
under your Ladyſhip's protection. If
my Patroneſs ſays, the Shepherds ſpeak as
they ought, and that there are ſeveral natural
flowers that beautify the rural wild; I ſhall
have good reaſon to think myſelf ſafe from the
aukward cenſure of ſome pretending Judges
that condemn before Examination.
I am ſure of vaſt numbers that will croud into
your Ladyſhip's Opinion, and think it their
honour to agree in their ſentiments with the
Counteſs of EGLINTOUN, whoſe Penetration,
ſuperior Wit, and ſound Judgment ſhines with
an uncommon luſtre, while accompanied with
the diviner Charms of Goodneſs and Equality
IF it were not for offending only your Ladyſhip,
here, Madam, I might give the fulleſt
liberty to my Muſe to delineate the fineſt of
Women, by drawing your Ladyſhip's Character,
and be in no hazard of being deemed a
flatterer; ſince flattery lies not in paying what
is due to Merit, but in praiſes miſplaced.
WERE I to begin with your Ladyſhip's honourable
Birth and Alliance, the field is ample,
and preſents us with numberleſs, great and
good Patriots, that have dignified the Names
of KENNEDY and MONTGOMERY.
Be that the care of the Herauld and Hiſtorian:
'Tis perſonal Merit, and the heavenly Sweetneſs
of the Fair, that inſpire the tuneful lays.
Here every Lesbia muſt be excepted, whoſe
tongues give liberty to the ſlaves, which their
eyes had made captives. Such may be flatter'd;
but your Ladyſhip juſtly claims our admiration
and profoundeſt reſpect: For whilſt you are
poſſeſt of every outward Charm in the moſt perfect
degree, the never-fading Beauties of Wiſdom
and Piety, which adorn your Ladyſhip's
Mind, command Devotion.
ALL this is very true, cries one of better
ſenſe than good nature; but what occaſion
have you to tell us the Sun ſhines, when we
have the uſe of our eyes, and feel his influence?
— Very true; but I have the liberty to
uſe the Poet's privilege, which is, To ſpeak
what every body thinks. Indeed there might be
ſome ſtrength in the reflexion, if the Idalian
regiſters were of as ſhort duration as life: But
the Bard, who fondly hopes immortality, has
a certain praiſe-worthy pleaſure, in communicating
to Poſterity the fame of diſtinguiſhed
Characters — I write this laſt ſentence with a
hand that trembles between hope and fear; but
if I ſhall prove ſo happy as to pleaſe your Ladyſhip
in the following Attempt, then all my
doubts ſhall vaniſh like a morning vapour; I
ſhall hope to be claſſed with Taſſo and Guarini,
and ſing with Ovid,
If 'tis allow'd to Poets to divine,
One half of round eternity is mine.
And moſt devoted Servant,
COUNTESS of EGLINTOUN
With the following
ACCEPT, O EGLINTOUN! the rural Lays,
That, bound to thee, thy duteous POET pays.
The Muſe, that oft has rais'd her tuneful ſtrains,
A frequent gueſt on Scotia's bliſsful plains,
That oft has ſung, her lift'ning Youth to move,
The charms of beauty, and the force of love,
Once more reſumes the ſtill ſucceſsful lay,
Delighted, thro' the verdant meads to ſtray:
O! come, invok'd, and pleas'd, with HER repair;
To breathe the balmy ſweets of purer air;
In the cool ev'ning negligently laid,
Or near the ſtream, or in the rural ſhade,
Propitious hear, and, as thou hear'ſt, approve
The Gentle Shepherd's tender tale of love.
LEARN from theſe ſcenes what warm and glowing fires,
Inflame the breaſt that real love inſpires.
Delighted read of ardors, ſighs, and tears;
All that a lover hopes, and all he fears:
Hence too, what paſſions in his boſom riſe,
What dawning gladneſs ſparkles in his eyes,
When firſt the fair one does her hate relent,
And bluſhing beauteous ſmiles the kind conſent.
Love's paſſion here in each extreme is ſhow'n,
In CHARLOT'S ſmile, or in MARIA'S frown.
WITH words like theſe, that fail'd not to engage,
Love courted Beauty in a golden age.
Pure and untaught, ſuch Nature firſt inſpir'd,
Ere yet the Fair affected phraſe deſir'd.
His ſecret thoughts were undiſguis'd with art,
His words ne'er knew to differ from his heart.
He ſpeaks his loves ſo artleſs and ſincere,
As thy Eliza might be pleas'd to hear.
HEAVEN only to the Rural State beſtows
Conqueſt o'er life, and freedom from its woes;
Secure alike from envy, and from care,
Nor rais'd by hope, nor yet depreſt by fear;
Nor want's lean hand its happineſs conſtrains,
Nor riches vexes with ill-gotten gains.
No ſecret guilt its ſtedfaſt peace deſtroys,
No wild ambition interrupts its joys.
Bleſt ſtill to ſpend the hours that heav'n has lent,
In humble goodneſs, and in calm content.
Serenely gentle, as the thoughts that roll,
Sinleſs and pure in fair Humeia's ſoul.
BUT now the Rural State theſe joys has loſt,
Even Swains no more that innocence can boaſt.
Love ſpeaks no more what beauty may believe,
Prone to betray, and practis'd to deceive.
Now Happineſs forſakes her bleſt retreat,
The peaceful dwellings where ſhe fix'd her ſeat,
The pleaſing fields the wont of old to grace,
Companion to an upright, ſober race;
When on the ſunny hill or verdant plain,
Free and familiar with the ſons of men,
To crown the pleaſures of the blameleſs
She uninvited came a welcome gueſt:
Ere yet an age, grown rich in impious arts,
Brib'd from their innocence, incautious hearts,
Then grudging hate, and ſinful pride ſucceed,
Cruel revenge, and falſe unrighteous deed;
Then dowrleſs Beauty loſt the pow'r to move;
The ruſt of lucre ſtain'd the gold of love.
Bounteous no more, and hoſpitably good,
The genial hearth firſt bluſh'd with ſtranger's blood.
The friend no more upon the friend relies,
And ſemblant Falſhood puts on Truth's diſguiſe.
The peaceful houſhold fill'd with dire alarms,
The raviſh'd virgin mourns her ſlighted charms;
The voice of impious mirth is hear'd around;
In guilt they feaſt, in guilt the bowl is crown'd.
Unpuniſh'd violence lords it o'er the plains,
And Happineſs forſakes the guilty Swains.
OH Happineſs! from human ſearch retir'd,
Where art thou to be found, by all deſir'd?
Nun ſober and devout why art thou fled!
To hide in ſhades thy meek contented head?
Virgin of aſpect mild! ah why unkind,
Fly'ſt thou diſpleas'd the commerce of mankind?
O! teach our ſteps to find the ſecret cell,
Where with thy Sire CONTENT thou lov'ſt to dwell.
Or ſay, doſt thou a duteous handmaid wait
Familiar, at the chambers of the great?
Doſt thou purſue the voice of them that call
To noiſy revel, and to midnight ball?
On the full banquet when we feaſt our ſoul,
Doſt thou inſpire the mirth, or mix the bowl?
Or with th' induſtrious Planter doſt thou talk,
Converſing freely in an evening-walk?
Say, does the Miſer e'er thy face behold,
Watchful and ſtudious of the treaſur'd gold?
Seeks Knowledge, not in vain, thy much lov'd pow'r,
Still muſing ſilent at the morning-hour?
May we thy preſence hope in war's alarms,
The Stateſman's wiſdom, or the Fair-one's charms?
IN vain our flattering hopes our ſteps beguile,
The flying good eludes the ſearcher's toil:
In vain we ſeek the city or the cell;
Alone with Virtue knows the pow'r to dwell.
Nor need mankind deſpair theſe joys to know,
The gift themſelves may on themſelves beſtow.
Soon, ſoon we might the precious bleſſing boaſt;
But many paſſions muſt the bleſſing coaſt;
Infernal malice, inly pining hate,
And envy grieving at another's ſtate.
Revenge no more muſt in our hearts remain,
Or burning luſt, or avarice of gain.
When theſe are in the human boſom nurſt,
Can peace reſide in dwellings ſo accurſt?
Unlike, O EGLINTOUN! thy happy Breaſt,
Calm and ſerene, enjoys the heavenly gueſt;
From the tumultuous rule of paſſions freed,
Pure in thy thought, and ſpotleſs in thy deed.
In virtues rich, in goodneſs unconfin'd,
Thou ſhin'ſt a fair example to thy kind;
Sincere and equal to thy neighbour's fame,
How ſwift to praiſe, how obſtinate to blame?
Bold in thy preſence baſhful Senſe appears,
And backward Merit loſes all its fears.
Supremely bleſt by Heav'n, Heav'n's richeſt Grace
Confeſt is thine, an early blooming race,
Whoſe pleaſant ſmiles ſhall guardian Wiſdom arm
Divine Inſtruction! taught of thee to charm.
What tranſports ſhall they to thy Soul impart!
(The conſcious tranſports of a Parent's heart.)
When thou behold'ſt them of each grace poſſeſt,
And fighing Youths imploring to be bleſt,
After thy Image form'd, with charms like thine,
Or in the viſit, or the dance to ſhine.
Thrice happy! who ſucceed their Mother's praiſe,
The lovely EGLINTOUNS of other days.
MEAN while peruſe the following tender Scenes,
And liſten to thy native POET'S Strains.
In ancient garb the home-bred Muſe appears,
The garb our Muſes wore in former years,
As in a glaſs reflected, here behold
How ſmiling Goodneſs look'd in days of old.
Nor bluſh to read where Beauty's praiſe is thown,
And virtuous love, the likeneſs of thy own;
While midſt the various Gifts that gracious Heav'n,
Bounteous to thee, with righteous hand has given;
Let this, O EGLINTOUN, delight thee moſt,
T' enjoy that Innocence the World has loſt.
Sir WILLIAM WORTHY.
PATIE, the Gentle Shepherd, in love with Peggy.
ROGER, a rich young Shepherd in love with Jenny.
two old Shepherds, Tenants to Sir William.
BAULDY, a Hynd engaged with Neps.
PEGGY, thought to be Claud's Neice.
JENNY, Claud's only Daughter.
MAUSE, an old Woman, ſuppoſed to be a Witch.
ELSPA, Symon's Wife.
MADGE, Claud's Siſter.
SCENE, a Shepherd's Pillage and Fields ſome few
Miles from Edinburgh.
Time of Action, within twenty four Hours.
ACT I. SCENE I.
Beneath the South-ſide of a craigy beild,
Where chryſtal ſprings the haleſome waters yield;
Twa youthful Shepherds on the gowans lay,
Tenting their Flocks ae bonny morn of May.
Poor ROGER granes till hollow ecchoes ring,
But blyther PATIE likes to laugh and ſing.
PATIE and ROGER.
SANG I. The wawking of the Faulds.
Mr Peggy is a young thing,
Juſt enter'd in her teens,
Fair as the day, and ſweet as May,
Fair as the day, and always gay.
My Peggy is a young thing,
And I'm not very auld,
Yet well I like to meet her at
The wawking of the Fauld.
My Peggy ſpeaks ſae ſweetly,
Whene'er we meet alane,
wiſh nae mair, to lay my Care,
wiſh nae mair, of a' that's rare.
My Peggy ſpeaks ſo ſweetly,
To a' the lave I'm cauld:
But ſhe gars a' my ſpirits glow
At wawking of the fauld.
My Peggy ſmiles ſae kindly,
Whene'er I whiſper love,
That I look down on a' the town,
That I look down upon a crown.
My Peggy ſmiles ſae kindly,
It makes me blyth and bauld
And naithing gi'es me ſic delight,
As wawking of the fauld.
My Peggy ſings ſae ſaftly,
When on my pipe I play;
By a' the reſt, it is confeſt,
By a' the reſt, that ſhe ſings beſt.
My Peggy ſings ſae ſaftly,
And in her ſangs are tald.
With innocence the wale of ſenſe,
At wawking of the fauld.
THIS ſunny morning, Roger, chears my blood,
And puts all nature in a jovial mood.
How hartſome is't to ſee the riſing plants,
To hear the birds chirm o'er their pleaſing rant!
How haleſome is't to ſnuff the cawler air,
And all the ſweets it bears, when void of care!
What ails thee, Roger, then? what gars thee grane?
Tell me the cauſe of thy ill-ſeaſon'd pain.
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 rowand flood,
Corbies and tods to grein for lambkin's blood:
But I, oppreſt with never ending grief,
Maun ay deſpair of lighting on relief.
The Bees ſhall loath the flow'r, and quit the hive,
The ſaughs on boggy ground ſhall ceaſe to thrive,
Ere ſcornful queans, or loſs of warldly gear,
Shall ſpill my reſt, or ever force a tear.
Sae might I ſay; but it's no eaſy done
By ane whaſe ſaul's ſae ſadly out of tune.
You have ſae faft 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.
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.
My byar tumbled; nine braw nout were ſmoor'd,
Three elf-ſhot were, yet I theſe ills endur'd:
In winter laſt my cares were very ſma',
Though ſcores of wathers periſh'd in the ſnaw,
Were your bein rooms as thinly ſtock'd as mine
Leſs you wad loſs, and leſs you wad repine.
He that has juſt enough, can ſoundly ſleep,
The o'ercome only faſhes fowk to keep.
May plenty flow upon thee for a croſs,
That thou mayſt thole the pangs of mony a loſs.
O mayſt thou dote on ſome fair paughty wench,
That ne'er will lout thy lowan drowth to quench;
Till, bris'd beneath the burden, thou cry dool,
And awn that ane may fret that is nae fool.
Sax good fat lambs, I ſauld them ilka clut
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.
Na, Patie, na! I'm nae ſick churliſh beaſt,
Some other thing lies heavier at my breaſt.
I dream'd a dreary dream this hinder night,
That gars my fleſh a' creep yet with the fright.
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.
Indeed now, Patie, ye have gueſs'd o'er true,
And there is naithing 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 bombaz'd and unko blate.
But yeſterday I met her 'yont a know;
She fled as frae as a ſhelly-coated kow;
She Bauldy loes, Bauldy that drives the car;
But gecks at me, and ſays I ſmell of tar.
But Bauldy loes not her, right well I wat;
He fighs for Neps:- Sae that may ſtand for that.
I wiſh I cou'dna loe her:- But in vain;
I ſtill maun doat, and thole her proud diſdain.
My Bawty is a cur I dearly like;
Ev'n while he fawn'd, ſhe ſtrake the poor dumb tike:
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 delite;
Yet tauntingly ſhe at her cuſin ſpeer'd,
Gif ſhe could 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.
E'en do ſae, Roger; wha can help miſluck;
Saebins ſhe be ſick a thrawn gabbet chuck?
Yonder's a craig; ſince ye have tint all hope,
Gae till't your ways, and take the lover's loup.
I needna mak ſick ſpeed my blood to ſpill;
I'll warrant death come loon enough a-will.
Daft gowk! leave aff that ſilly whinging 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 dyke I lean'd, glowring about,
I ſaw my Meg come linking o'er the lee:
I ſaw my Meg, but Meggy ſaw na me:
For yet the Sun was wading through the miſt,
And ſhe was cloſe upon me e'er ſhe wiſt.
Her coats were kiltit, and did ſweetly ſhaw
Her ſtraight bare legs that whyter were than ſnaw
Her cockernony ſnooded up fou ſleek,
Her haffet-locks hang waving on her cheek;
Her cheek ſae ruddy and her een ſa 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 ſcowr'd away, 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 dyke.
I trow, when that ſhe ſaw, within a crack,
She came with a right thieveleſs errand back;
Miſca'd me firſt, - then bad 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 glowand mouth.
While hard and faſt I held her in my grips,
My very ſaul came looping to my lips.
Sair, ſair ſhe flet wi' me 'tween ilka ſmack
But well I kend ſhe meant nae as ſhe ſpake.
SANG II. Fy gar rub her o'er with ſtrae.
Dear Roger, if your Jenny geck,
And anſwer kindneſs with a ſlight,
Seem unconcern'd at her neglect,
For women in a man delight:
But them deſpiſe who're ſoon defeat,
And with a ſimple face give way
To a repulſe - then be not blate,
Puſh bauldly on, and win the day.
When Maidens, innocently young,
Say aften what they never mean;
Ne'er mind their pretty lying tongue;
But tent the language of their een.
If theſe agree, and ſhe perſiſt
To anſwer all your love with hate,
Seek elſewhere to be better bleſt,
And let her ſigh when 'tis too late.
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 you 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 blue,
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 ravel'd doubts, and clear'd my mind.
Well, hald ye there: - And ſince ye've frankly made
A preſent to me of your braw new plaid,
My flute's be yours; and ſhe too that's ſae nice
Shall come a-will, gif ye'll take my advice.
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.
But firſt we'll tak 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 ta'en the grace drink at this well,
I'll whiſtle fine, and ſing t'ye like myſell.
ACT I. SCENE II.
A flow'ry howm between twa verdant braes,
Where Laſſes uſe to waſh and ſpread their claiths,
A trotting burnie wimpling thro' the ground,
Its channel peebles, ſhinning, ſmooth and round,
Here view twa barefoot beauties clean and clear;
Firſt pleaſe your eye, next gratify your ear,
While JENNY what ſhe wiſhes diſcommends,
And MEG with better ſenſe true love defends.
PEGGY and JENNY.
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.
Go farer up the burn to Habbie'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 fells. - 'Tis healthfou now in May,
And ſweetly cauler on ſae warm a day.
Daft laſſie, when we're naked, what'll ye ſay
Giff 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.
We're far frae ony road, and out of ſight;
The lads theyr'e feeding far beyont the height:
But tell me now, dear Jenny, (were our lane)
What gars ye plague your wooer with diſdain?
The neighbours a' tent this as well as I,
That Roger loes you, yet ye care na by.
What ails ye at him? troth between us twa;
He's wordy you the beſt day e'er ye ſaw.
I dinna like him, Peggy; there's an end:
A Herd mair ſheepiſh yet I never kend.
He kames 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 faulds his owerlay down his breaſt with care,
And few gangs 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.
Ye daſh the lad with conſtant ſlighting pride;
Hatred for love is unco ſair to bide
But ye'll repent ye, if his love grow cauld.
What like's a dorty maiden when ſhe's auld?
SANG III. Polwart on the green.
The dorty will repent,
If lover's heart grow cauld,
And nane her ſmiles will tent,
Soon as her face looks auld:
The dauted bairn thus takes the pet,
Nor eats tho' hunger crave,
Whimpers and tarrows at his meat,
And's laught at by the lave.
They jeſt it till the dinner's paſt,
Thus by its ſell abus'd,
The fool thing is oblig'd to faſt,
Or eat what they've refus'd.
Fy! Jenny, think, and dinna ſit your time.
I never thought a ſingle life a crime.
Nor I:- but love in whiſpers let's us ken,
That men were made for us, and we for men.
If Roger is my jo, he kens himſell;
For ſic a tale I ne'er 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'er he likes to tell his mind mair plain,
I'ſe tell him frankly ne'er to do't again.
They're fools that ſlav'ry like, and may be free;
The cheils may a' knit up themſelves for me.
Be doing your ways, for me I have a mind
To be as yielding as my Patie's kind.
Heh laſs! how can ye loo that rattle-ſcull,
A very deel that ay maun hae his will?
We'll ſoon hear tell what a poor fighting life
You twa will lead ſae ſoon's ye're man and wife.
SANG IV. O dear mother what ſhall I
O dear Peggy, love's beguiling,
We ought not to truſt his ſmiling,
Better far to do as I do,
Leſt a harder luck betyde you.
Laſſes when their fancy's carried,
Think of nought but to be married;
Running to a life deſtroys
Heartſome, free, and youthfu' joys.
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.
He may indeed for ten or fifteen days
Mak meikle o'ye, with an unko fraiſe,
And daut ye baith afore fouk, 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 delyte,
Ae day be dumb, and a' the neiſt he'll flyte:
And may be in his barlik-hoods ne'er ſtick
To lend his loving wife a loundring lick.
Sic courſe-ſpun thoughts as thae want pith to move
My ſettled mind, I'm o'er far gave in love.
Patie to me is dearer than my breath,
But want of him I dread no ither ſkaith.
There's nane of a' the herds that tread the green
Has ſic a ſmyle, or ſic twa glancing een.
And then he ſpeaks with ſic a taking art,
His words they thirle like muſick through 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 ſick a gate,
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.
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 gets about your ingle-ſide,
Yelping for this or that with faceous din;
To mak them brats then ye maun toil and ſpin.
Ae waen fa's ſick, ane ſcads its ſell wi' broe,
Ane breaks his ſhin, anither tines his ſhoe.
The deil gaes o'er Jock Wabſter: hame grows hell,
When Pate miſcaws ye war than tongue can tell.
SANG V. How can I be ſad on my Wedding
How ſhall I be ſad when a huſband I hae
That has better ſenſe than any of thae
Sour weak ſilly fellows, that ſtudy like fools
To ſink their ain joy, and mak their wives ſnools.
The man who is prudent ne'er lightlies his wife,
Or with dull reproaches encourages ſtrife;
He praiſes her virtues, and ne'er will abuſe
Her for a ſmall failing, but find an excuſe.
Yes, 'tis a hartſome 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?
But poortith, Peggy, is the warſt of a':
Gif o'er your heads ill chance ſhould 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 off 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, the day of payment, breaks and flees:
With glooman brow the Laird ſeeks in his rent:
'Tis no to gie, your merchant's to the bent:
His Honour manna 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 married wife.
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 Heav'n make out the reſt.
I've heard my honeſt uncle aften ſay,
That lads ſhou'd a' for wives that's virtuous 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.
Whate'er he wins, I'll guide with canny care,
And win the vogue at market, trone 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 throw the warld will ker.
And when my Pate in bairns and gear grows riſe,
He'll bleſs the day he gat me for his wife.
But what if ſome young giglet 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.
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 kindnefs 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 e'en, when he comes weary frae the hill,
I'll have a' things made ready to his will.
In winter, when he toils throw 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 tak aff,
Clean hag a-bag 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.
A diſh of married love right ſoon grows, cauld,
And dozens down to nane as fowk grow auld.
But we'll grow auld together, and ne'er find
The loſs of youth, when love grows on the mind.
Bairns and their bairns make ſure a firmer tye,
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 eaſtlen 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.
I've done, - I yield; dear laffy, I maun yield;
Your better ſenſe has fairly win the field,
With the aſſiſtance or a little fae
Lyes darn'd within my breaſt this mony a day.
SANG VI. Nanſy's to the green wood gane.
I yield, dear laſſie, you have won,
And there is nae denying,
That ſure as light flows frae the Sun
Frae love proceeds complying.
For a' that we can do or ſay
'Gainſt love, nae thinker heeds us,
They ken our boſoms lodge the fae
That by the heart-ſtrings leads us.
Alake! poor pris'ner! Jenny, that's no fair,
That ye'll not let the wee thing take the air:
Haſte, let him out, we'll tent as well's we can,
Gif he be Bauldy's or poor Roger's man.
Anither time's as good; - for ſee the Sun
Is right far up, and we're not yet begun
To freath the greath; - if canker'd Maudge our aunt
Come up the burn, ſhe'll gi'es a wicked rant.
But when we've done, I'll tell ye a' my mind,
For this ſeems true, - Nae laſs can be unkind.
End of the firſt Act.
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 byar;
peet-ſtack joins, and forms a rural ſquair.
The houſe is Glaud's; - there you may ſee him lean,
And to his divet-ſeat invite his friend.
GLAUD and SYMON.
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 baſſen'd quey.
I'll warrant you've coft a pound of cut and dry;
Lug out your box, and gie's a pipe to try.
With a' my heart: - And, tent me now, auld boy,
I've gather'd news will kittle your mind with joy.
I coud'na reſt till I came o'er the burn,
To tell you things have taken ſic a turn,
Will gar our vile oppreſſors ſtend like flaes,
And ſkulk in hidlings on the heather braes.
Fy blaw! - Ah Symmie! rattling 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 pock, be't true or fauſe let's hear.
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.
SANG VII. Cauld kale in Aberdeen.
Cauld be the rebel's caſt,
Oppreſſors baſe and bloody;
I hope we'll ſee them at the laſt
Strung a' up in a woody.
Bleſt be he of worth and ſenſe,
And ever high in ſtation,
That bravely ſtands in the defence
Of conſcience, King and nation.
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?
They that hag-raid us till our guts did grane,
Like greedy bairs, dare nae mair do't again,
And good Sir WILLIAM ſhall enjoy his ain.
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 mailins when we pat on Sunday's claiths.
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 gi's woo this year?
And ſic like kindly queſtions wad he ſpeer.
SANG VIII. Mucking of Geordy's byer.
The Laird who in riches and honour
Wad thrive, ſhould be kindly and free,
Nor rack the poor tenants, who labour
To riſe aboon poverty:
Elſe like the pack-horſe that's unfother'd
And burden'd will tumble down faint;
Thus Virtue by hardſhip is ſmother'd,
And rackers aft tine their rent.
Then wad he gar his buttler 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 Elſpith 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 wean,
Drink till they tine the gate to ſtand their lane.
I wadna 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 furlet 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 well roaſt;
And on the haggies Elſpa ſpares nae coſt.
Small are they ſhorn; and ſhe can mix fou 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 manna then refuſe to join the reſt,
Since ye're my neareſt friend that I like beſt.
Bring wi'ye all your family and then,
Whene'er you pleaſe, I'll rant wi' you again.
Spoke like your 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 e'en! Hey, Madge, come forth, d'ye hear?
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.
Spin! ſnuff:- Gae break your wheel, and burn your tow,
And ſet the meikleſt peet-ſtack in a low.
Syne dance about the bane-fire till ye die,
Since now again we'll ſoon Sir William ſee.
Blyth news indeed! - And who was't tald you o't?
What's that t'you? - Gae get my Sunday's coat;
Wale out the whiteſt of my bobit bands,
My white-ſkin hoſe, and mittans for my hands;
Then, frae their waſhing, cry the bairns in haſte,
And mak ye'r 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.
Do, honeſt Madge, and Glaud, I'll o'er the gate,
And ſee that a' be done as I wad ha't.
ACT II. 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 looks ye ſee.
BAULDY his lane.
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, - waes me, and ſhe loes Pate,
And I with Neps, by ſome unlucky fate
Made a daft vow! - O but an 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 ſare 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 weans 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 fou of prines, the deviliſh pictures melt,
The pain by fowk they repreſent is felt.
And yonders Mauſe: Ay, ay, ſhe kens fou well,
When ane like me comes running 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.
ACT II. SCENE III.
A green kail-yard, a little font,
Where water poplan ſprings,
There ſits a wife with wrinkled front,
And yet ſhe ſpins and ſings.
SANG IX. Carle and the King come
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.
HOW doe's auld honeſt lucky of the glen?
Ye look baith hale and fere at threeſcore ten.
E'en twining out a thread 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?
Enough of baith; - But ſomething that requires
Your helping hand imploys now all my cares.
My helping hand, alake! what can I do,
That underneath baith eild and poortith bow?
Ay, but you're wiſe, and wiſer far than we,
Or maiſt part of the pariſh tells a lie.
Of what kind wiſdom think ye I'm poſſeſt,
That lifts my character aboon the reſt?
The word that gangs, how ye're ſae wiſe and fell,
Yell may be tak it ill gif I ſoud tell.
What fouk ſays of me, Bauldy, let me hear;
Keep naithing up, ye naithing have to fear.
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 rooflleſs 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 wean
To a fairy turn'd, and cou'dna ſtand its lane;
When Watie wander'd ae night through the Shaw,
And tint himſell amaiſt amang the ſnaw;
When Mungo's mare 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 ye round about.
And ſae they may that mint to do ve ſkaith,
For me to wrang ye, I'll be very laith:
But when I neiſt make groats, I'll ſtrive to pleaſe
You with a furlet of them mixt with peaſe.
I thank you, lad, - now tell me your demand,
And, if I can, I'll lend my helping hand.
Then, I like Peggy, - Neps is fond of me -
Peggy likes Pate; - and Patie is 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.
I'll try my art to gar the bouls 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 groats, tak ye nae care.
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 diff'rent haviours ſpy;
There's nane ſhall ken o't there but you and I.
'Tis like I may, - but let na on what's paſt
'Tween you and me, elſe fear a kittle caſt.
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 ſmall caſt of wiles, ſhould in a twitch,
Gie 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 ken'ſt but me; - and if the morn were come,
I'll tell them tales will gar them a' ſing dumb. [exit.
ACT II. 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:
O PATIE let me gang, I manna ſtay,
We're baith cry'd hame, and Jenny ſhe's away.
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 themſelves, I judge as well as we.
Here where primroſes thickeſt paint the green,
Hard by this little burnie let us lean.
Hark how the lav'rocks chant aboon our heads,
How ſaft the weſtlin winds ſough throw the reeds.
The ſcented meadows, - birds - and healthy breeze,
For ought I ken may mair than Peggy pleaſe.
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 breaſts the fineſt flowers appear;
Thy words excel the maiſt delightfu' notes,
That warble through the merl or mavis' throtes.
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.
But Patrick for ſome wicked end may fleech,
And lambs ſhould tremble when the foxes preach.
I darena ſtay, - ye jocker, let me gang,
Anither laſs may gar you change your ſang,
Your thoughts may flit, and I may thole the wrang.
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 climb, - the ſheep to yield the fleece:
Ere ought by me be either ſaid or done,
Shall ſkaith our love, I ſwear by all aboon.
Then keep your aith: But mony lads will ſwear,
And be manſworn to twa in haf a-year.
Now I believe ye like me wonder well;
But if a fairer face your heart ſhould ſteal,
Your Meg, forſaken, bootleſs might relate
Hou ſhe was dauted anes by faithleſs Pate.
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 cou'dſt hardly gang,
Or liſp out words, I choos'd you 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 delyte
To you the raſhes green, with roots ſae whyte,
Of which, as well as my young fancy cou'd,
For thee I plet the flow'ry belt and ſnood.
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 even I met with thee.
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 could find blae berries ripe for thee.
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.
JENNY ſings ſaft the Broom of Cowdenknows;
And Roſie lilts the Milking of the Ews;
There's nane like Nanſy Jenny Nettles ſings,
At turns in Maggy Lawder Marion dings:
But when my PEGGY ſings, with ſweeter ſkill,
The Boatman, 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.
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 cares ſhall be,
How to contrive what pleaſant is for thee.
The foregoing, with a ſmall variation, was ſung at the
Acting, as follows.
SANG X. The yellow hair'd Laddie.
When firſt my dear laddie gade to the green hill,
And I at ew-milking firſt ſey'd my young ſkill,
To bear the milk-bowie, nae pain was to me,
When I at the bughting forgather' d with thee.
When corn-rigs wav'd yellow, and blue heather-bells
Bloom'd bonny on moorland and ſweet riſing fells,
Nae birns, brier or breckens gave trouble to me,
If I found the berries right ripen'd for thee.
When thou ran, or wreſtled, or putted the ſtane;
And came aff the Victor, my heart was ay fain:
Thy ilka ſport manly, gave pleaſure to me;
For nane can put, wreſtle or run ſwift as thee.
Our Jenny ſings ſaftly the Cowden Broom Knows,
And Roſie lilts ſweetly the Milking the Ews;
There's few Jenny Nettles like Nanſy can ſing,
At Throw the Wood Ladie, Beſs gars our lugs ring:
But when my dear Peggy ſings with better ſkill
The Boatman, Tweed ſide, or the Laſs of the Mill,
'Tis many times ſweeter and pleaſant to me;
For tho' they ſing nicely, they cannot like thee.
How eaſy can laſſes trow what they deſire;
And praiſes ſae kindly increaſes love's fire;
Give me ſtill this pleaſure, my ſtudy ſhall be
To make myſelf better and ſweeter for thee.
Wert thou a giglit gawky like the lave,
That little better than our nowt behave
At nought they'l 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.
Agreed; - but harken, yon's auld aunty's cry:
I ken they'll wonder what can make us lay.
And let them ferly, - now a kindly kiſs,
Or fiveſcore good anes wad not be a-miſs;
And ſyne we'll ſing the ſang with tunefu' glee,
That I made up laſt owk on you and me.
Sing firſt, ſyne claim your hire. -
- Well I agree,
SANG XI. PATIE ſings.
BY the delicious warmneſs of thy mouth,
And rowing eye that ſmiling tells the truth,
I gueſs, my laſſie, that as well as I,
You're made for love, and why ſhould ye deny?
But ken ye, Lad, gif 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.
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 half-year.
PEGGY ſinging falls into Patie's arms.
Then dinna pou 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 waiſt.
O charming armfu'! hence, ye cares, away:
I'll kiſs my treaſure all 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.
End of the ſecond
ACT III. SCENE I.
Now turn your eyes beyond yon ſpreading Lyme,
And tent a man whaſe beard ſeems bleach'd with time.
An elwand fills his hand, his habit mean;
Nae doubt ye'll think he has a pedlar been:
But whiſtt! it is the Knight in maſquerade,
That comes hid in this cloud to ſee his lad.
Obſerve how pleas'd the loyal ſufferer moves
Throw his auld av'news, anes delightfu' groves.
Sir WILLIAM ſolus.
THE Gentleman thus hid in low diſguiſe,
I'll for a ſpace, unknown delight mine eyes,
With a full view of every fertile plain,
Which once I loſt, - which now are mine again.
Yet mid'ſt my joys, ſome proſpects pain renew,
Whilſt I my once fair ſeat in ruins view.
Yonder, ah me! it deſolately ſtands
Without a roof; the gates faln from their bands;
The caſements all broke down, no chimny left,
The naked walls of tap'ſtry all bereft.
My ſtables and pavilions, broken walls!
That with each rainy blaſt decaying falls.
My gardens once adorn'd, the moſt complete,
With all that nature, all that art makes ſweet:
Where round the figur'd green and peeble walks,
The dewy flowers hung nodding on their ſtalks
But over-grown with nettles, docks and brier,
No Jaccacinths or Eglintines appear.
How do theſe ample walls to ruin yield,
Where Peach and Nect'rine branches found a bield,
And baſk'd in rays, which early did produce
Fruit fair to view, delightful in the uſe!
All round in gaps, the moſt in rubbiſh ly,
And from what ſtands the wither'd branches fly.
Theſe ſoon ſhall be repair'd; - and now my joy,
Forbids all grief, - when I'm to ſee my BOY,
My only prop, and object of my care,
Since Heav'n too ſoon call'd home his MOTHER fair.
Him, ere the rays of Reaſon clear'd his thought,
I ſecretly to faithful Symon brought,
And charg'd him ſtrictly to conceal his birth,
'Till we ſhould ſee what changing times brought forth.
Hid from himſelf, he ſtarts up by the dawn,
And ranges careleſs o'er the height and lawn,
After his fleecy charge ſerenely gay,
With other Shepherds whiſtling o'er the day.
Thrice happy life, that's from ambition free:
Remov'd from crowns and courts, how chearfully,
A quiet, contented mortal ſpends his time,
In hearty health, his ſoul unſtain'd with crime!
Or ſung as follows, SANG XII. Happy Clown.
Hid from himſelf, now by the dawn
He ſtarts as freſh as roſes blawn,
And ranges o'er the heights and lawn,
After his bleeting flocks.
Healthful, and innocently gay
He chants and whiſtles out the day;
Untaught to ſmile, and then betray,
Like courtly weathercocks.
Life happy, from ambition free
Envy and vile hypocriſie,
Where truth and love with joys agree
Unſullied with a crime:
Unmov'd with what diſturbs the Great,
In proping of their pride and ſtate;
He lives, and unafraid of fate,
Contented ſpends his time.
Now tow'rds good Symon's houſe I'll bend my way,
And ſee what makes yon gamboling to-day;
All on the green, in a fair wanton ring,
My youthful tenants gayly dance and ſing.
Exit Sir WILLIAM.
ACT III. SCENE II.
Symon's houſe, pleaſe to ſtep in,
And viſſy't round and round,
There's nought ſuperfluous to give pain,
Or coſtly to be found.
Yet all is clean: a clear peat-ingle
Glances amidſt the floor;
The green horn-ſpoons, Beech luggies mingle
On ſkelfs foregainſt the door.
While the young brood ſport on the green,
The auld anes think it beſt,
With the brown Cow to clear their een,
Snuff, crack, and take their reſt.
SYMON, GLAUD and ELSPA.
WE anes were young ourſelves, - I like to ſee
The bairns bob round with other merrily.
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'.
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 gae us ne'er vexation late or air.
I true, goodwife, if I be not miſtaen,
He ſeems to be with Peggy's beauty tane;
And troth my neice is a right dainty wean,
As ye well ken; a bonnyer needna be,
Nor better, - be't ſhe were na kin to me.
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.
What reaſon, can ye have? there's nane, I'm ſure
Unleſs ye may call 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 gie to Peggy that day ſhe's a bride;
By and attour, if my good luck abide,
Ten lambs at ſpaining time, as lang's I live,
And twa quey cawfs I'll yearly to them give.
Ye offer fair, kind Glaud, but dinna ſpeer
What may be is not fit ye yet ſhould hear.
Or this day eight days, likely he ſhall learn,
That our denial diſna ſlight his bairn.
Well, nae mair o't, - come gie's the other bend,
We'll drink their healths, whatever way it end.
(Their healths gae round.)
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.
That clatteran Madge, my Tittie, tells ſic flaws,
Whene'er our Meg her cankart humour gaws.
O! Father, there's an auld man on the green,
The felleſt Forune-teller e'er was ſeen;
He tents our loofs, and ſyne whops out a book,
Turns owre 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.
Gae bring him in, we'll hear what he can ſay,
Nane ſhall gang hungry by my houſe to day.
But for his telling fortunes, troth I fear
He kens nae mair of that than my gray mare.
Spaemen? - the truth of a' their ſaws I doubt,
For greater liars never ran thereout.
Returns Jenny, bringing in Sir William; with
Ye're welcome, honeſt carle; - here, tak a ſeat.
I give you thanks, goodman; I'ſe no be blate,
Come t'ye Friend: - How far came ye the day?
I pledge ye, nibour; - e'en but little way:
Rouſted with eild, a wie piece gate ſeems lang;
Twa miles or three's the maiſt that I dow gang.
Ye're welcome here to ſtay all night with me,
And tak ſic bed and board as we can gi'ye.
That's kind unſought. - Well, gin ye have a bairn
That ye like well, and wad his fortune learn,
I ſhall imploy the fartheſt of my ſkill
To ſpae it faithfully, be't good or ill.
SYMON pointing to Patie.
Only that lad; alake! I have na mae,
Either to mak me joyful now or wae.
Young man, let's ſee your hand, what gars you ſneer?
Becauſe you'r ſkill's but little worth, I fear.
Ye cut before the point: - But, billy, bide,
I'll wadger there's a mouſe-mark on your ſide.
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.
I'll tell ye mair, if this young lad be ſpaird
But a ſhort while, he'll be a braw rich Laird.
A Laird! - Hear ye, goodman! - what think ye now!
I dinna ken! ſtrange auld man, what art thou?
Fair fa your heart; 'tis good to bode of wealth;
Come turn the timber to Laird Patie's health.
(Patie's health gaes round.)
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.
Whiſht, Patie; - let the man look owre 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.
Preſerve's! - the man's a warlock, or poſſeſt
With ſome nae good, - or ſecond-ſight at leaſt.
Where is he now? -
- He's ſeeing a that's done
In ilka place, beneath or yont the Moon.
Theſe ſecond-ſighted fouk, 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.
He'll ſoon grow better. - Elſpa, haſte ye gae
And fill him up a taſs of uſquebae.
Sir WILL. 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 races,
"And joy ſpreads owre 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 tauld,
"For it ſhall happen true.
Friend, may your ſpaeing happen ſoon and weel;
But, faith, I'm redd you've bargain'd with the deel,
To tell ſome tales that fowks wad ſecret keep;
Or do you get them tald you in your ſleep?
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.
You propheſying fouks are odd kind men!
They're here that ken, and here that diſna ken,
The wimpled meaning of your unko tale,
Whilk ſoon will make a noiſe o'er muir and dale.
'Tis nae ſma' ſport to hear how Sym believes,
And takes't for goſpel what the ſpaeman gives,
Of flawing fortunes whilk he evens to Pate:
But what we wiſh, we trow at ony rate.
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.
Well, be't ſae, friend; I ſhall ſay naithing mair,
But I have twa ſonſy laſſes young and fair,
Plump ripe for men: I wiſh ye cou'd foreſee
Sic fortunes for them might bring joy to me.
Nae mair through ſecrets can I ſift,
Till darkneſs black the bent,
I have but anes a day that gift:
Sae reſt a while content.
Elſpa, caſt on the claith, fetch but ſome meat,
And of your beſt gar this auld ſtranger eat.
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.
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.
I'll out a while, and ſee the young-anes play:
My heart's ſtill light, albeit my locks be gray.
ACT III. SCENE III.
JENNY pretends an errand hame,
Young ROGER draps the reſt,
To whiſper out his melting flame,
And thow his laſſie's breaſt.
Behind a buſh, well hid frae ſight they meet.
See Jenny's laughing, Roger's like to greet.
ROGER and JENNY.
DEAR Jenny, I wad ſpeak t'ye, wad ye let,
And yet I ergh, ye're ay ſae ſcornfu' ſet.
And what wad Roger ſay, if he could ſpeak;
Am I oblig'd to gueſs what ye're to ſeek?
Yes, ye may gueſs, right eith for what I green,
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 even and morn.
Ah! cou'd I loe ye leſs, I'd happy be;
But happier far, cou'd ye but fancy me.
And wha kens, honeſt lad, but that I may?
Ye canna ſay that e'er I ſaid you nay.
Alake! my frighted heart begins to fail,
Whene'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.
I loe my father, cuſin Meg I love;
But to this day, nae man my mind cou'd move:
Except my kin, ilk lad's alike to me;
And frae ye all I beſt had keep me free.
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?
Ye have my pity elſe, to ſee ye ſet
On that whilk makes our ſweetneſs ſoon foryet,
Wow! but we're bonny, good, and ev'ry thing!
How ſweet we breathe, whene'er we kiſs or ſing!
But we're nae ſooner fools to give conſent,
Than we our daffin and tint power repent:
When priſon'd in four waws a wife right tame,
Altho' the firſt, the greateſt drudge at hame.
That only happen's, when for ſake of gear,
Ane wales a wife as he wou'd buy a mare:
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.
What ſuggard words frae woers lips can fa'
But girning marriage comes and ends them a'.
I've ſeen with fhining 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:
The bridegroom may rejoice, the bride may ſmile;
But ſoon contentions a' their joys beguile.
I've ſeen the morning riſe with faireſt light,
The day unclouded, ſink in calmeſt night;
I've ſeen the ſpring rin wimpling throw the plain,
Increaſe and join the ocean without ſtain:
The bridegroom may be blyth, the bride may ſmile,
Rejoice throw life, and all your fears beguile.
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.
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 fyr'd
With wond'ring love! let's kiſs till we be tyr'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.
Which may be ſung as follows, SANG XIII.
Were I aſſur'd you'll conſtant prove,
You ſhould nae mair complain,
The eaſy maid beſet with love,
Few words will quickly gain;
For I muſt own, now ſince you're free,
This too fond heart of mine
Has lang, a black-ſole true to thee,
Wiſh'd to be pair' d with thine.
I'm happy now, ah! let my head
Upon thy breaſt recline;
The pleaſure ſtrikes me near-hand dead!
Is Jenny then ſae kind? -
O let me briſs thee to my heart!
And round my arms entwine:
Delytefu' thought; we'll never part!
Come preſs thy mouth to mine.
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 haſt tane,
Swear thus to love me, when by vows made ane.
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.
SANG XIV. O'er Bogie.
Well I agree, ye're ſure of me;
Next to my father gae.
Make him content to give conſent,
He'll hardly ſay you nay:
For you have what he wad be at,
And will commend you well,
Since Parents auld think love grows cauld,
Where Bairns want milk and meal.
Shou'd he deny, I carena by,
He'd contradict in vain.
Tho' a' my kin had ſaid and ſworn,
But thee I will have nane.
Then never range, nor learn to change,
Like theſe in high degree:
And if ye prove faithful in love,
You'll find nae fault in me.
My faulds contain twice fifteen forrow nowt,
As mony newcal in my byars rowt:
Five pack of woo I can at lammas fell,
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 hartſome houſe and tight,
Was ſtill her care, my father's great delight.
They Ieft me all, which now gee's joy to me,
Becauſe I can give a', my dear, to thee:
And had I fifty times as meikle mair,
Nane but my Jenny ſhou'd the ſamen ſkair.
My love and all is yours; now had them faſt,
And guide them as ye like to gar them laſt.
I'll do my bell; - but ſee wha comes this way,
Patie and Meg, - beſides I manna ſtay;
Let's ſteal frae ither now, and meet the morn,
If we be ſeen we'll drie a deal of ſcorn.
To where the ſaugh tree ſhades the mennin-pool,
I'll frae the hill come down, when day grows cool;
Keep tryſt, and meet me there, there let us meet,
To kiſs and tell our love; - there's nought ſae ſweet.
ACT III SCENE IV.
This Scene preſents the KNIGHT and SYM
Within a galery 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 fou well.
Sir WILLIAM and SYMON.
To whom belongs this houſe ſo much decay'd?
To ane that loft it, lending gen'rous aid,
To bear the Head up, when rebellious tail
Againſt the laws of nature did prevail.
Sir William Worthy is our Maſter's name,
Wha fills us a' with joy, now HE'S COME HAME.
(Sir William draps his maſking beard,
Symon tranſported ſees
The welcome Knight with fond regard,
And graſps him round the knees.)
My Maſter! my dear Maſler! - do I breathe!
To ſee him healthy, ſtrong, and free frae ſkaith!
Return'd to chear his wiſhing tenant's ſight,
To bleſs his SON, my charge, the world's delight!
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 ill the ſecret thou'ſt ſecurely ſeal'd,
And ne'er to him his real birth reveal'd.
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 from Kings, looks baugh and blate.
And aften vain and idly ſpend their time,
'Till grown unfit for action, paſt their prime,
Hang on their friends, - which gi'es their ſauls a caſt,
That turns them downright beggars at the laſt.
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, whae's ſae unjuſt
To his ain fam'lie, as to give him truſt
Such uſeleſs branches of a Commonwealth,
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.
To ſpeak his praiſe, the langeſt ſimmer-day
Wad be owre ſhort, - could 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.
Your tale much pleaſes, - my good friend, proceed:
What learning has he? can he write and read?
Baith wonder well; for troth I didna ſpare,
To gie him at the ſchool enough of lair;
And he delytes in books: - he reads and ſpeaks,
With fowks that ken them Latin words and Greeks.
Where gets he books to read? - and of what kind?
Tho' ſome give light, ſome blindly lead the blind.
When e'er he drives our cheep 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 one Shakeſpear, and a famous Ben,
He aften ſpeaks, and ca's them beſt of men.
How ſweetly Hawthrenden and Stirling ſing,
And ane caw'd Cowley loyal to his King,
He kens fou well, and gars their verſes ring.
I ſometimes thought that he made o'er great 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.
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.
What ken we better, that ſae ſindle look,
Except on rainy Sundays on a book:
When we a leaf or twa, haf read, haf ſpell,
'Till a' the reſt ſleep round as well's our ſell?
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 no young laſſie with inviting mein,
And roſie cheek, the wonder of the green,
Engag'd his look, and caught his youthful heart?
I fear'd the warſt, but kend the ſmalleſt part,
Till late I ſaw him twa three times mair ſweet,
With Glaud's fair niece than I thought right or meet
I had my fears; but now have nought to fear,
Since like yourſelf your ſon will ſoon appear.
A Gentleman enrich'd with all theſe charms,
May bleſs the faireſt beſt born lady's arms.
This night muſt end his unambitious fire,
When higher views ſhall greater thoughts inſpire.
Go, Symon, bring him quickly here to me,
None but yourſelf 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.
With how much joy I on this errand flee,
There's nane can know that is not downright me.
Sir WILL. 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 enhances 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 kreakings ſhews its light,
Till artful poliſhing has made it ſhine:
Thus education makes the genius bright.
End of the third Act.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
The Scene deſcrib'd in former page,
Claud's onſet. - Enter Mauſe and Madge.
OUR. Laird's come hame! and owns young Pate his heir:
That's news indeed! -
- 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 poutch he whirl'd 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 naething hae.
Then ſure the laſſes, and ilk gaping coof,
Wad rin about him, and had out their loof.
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 ſummer days ſlides backward in a pool:
In ſhort he did for Pate braw things foretell,
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.
It may be ſae, wha kens? and may be no.
To lift a love that's rooted, is great pain:
Even Kings has tane a Queen out of the plain,
And what has been before may be again.
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.
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.
He get her! ſlavering doof! it ſets him well
To yoke a plough where Patrick thought to teil;
Gif I were Meg, I'd let young Maſter ſee -
Ye'd be as dorty in your choice as he.
And ſo wad I: but whiſht, here Bauldy comes.
Enter BAULDY ſinging.
JENNY ſaid to Jocky, gin ye winna tell,
Ye ſhall be the lad, I'll be the laſs my ſell;
Ye're a bonny lad, and I'm a laſſie free;
Ye're welcomer to tak me than to let me be.
I trow ſae, - Laſſes will come to at laſt,
Tho' for a while they maun their ſnaw-baws caſt.
Well, Bauldy, how gae's a'? -
- Faith unco right:
I hope we'll a' ſleep ſound but ane this night.
And wha's the unlucky ane, if we may aſk?
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.
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 advice my niece ſae gray a gate,
Nor will ſhe be advis'd, fou well I wate.
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.
Ye'll gar me ſtand! ye ſhevelling gabbit brock;
Speak that again, and, trembling, dread my rock,
And ten ſharp nails, that when my hands are in,
Can flype the ſkin o'ye'r cheeks out owre your chin.
I tak ye witneſs, Mauſe, ye heard her ſay,
That I'm manſworn, - I winna let it gae.
Ye're witneſs too, he ca'd me bonny names,
And ſhould be ſerv'd as his good breeding claims.
Ye filthy dog! -
Flies to his hair like a fury: - A ſtout battle.
- Mauſe endeavours to redd them.
Let gang your grips, fy Madge! howt, Bauldy, leen,
I wadna wiſh this tuilzie had been ſeen;
'Tis ſae daft like -
Bauldy gets out of Madge's clutches
with a bleeding noſe.
- '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 bairn's bairns have ſeen.
That's true; and, Bauldy, ye was far to blame;
To ca' Madge ought but her ain chriſten'd name.
My luggs, my noſe, and noddle finds the ſame.
Auld Roudes, filthy fallow, I ſhall auld ye.
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.
In troth now, Mauſe, I have at Madge nae ſpite:
But ſhe abuſing firſt was a' the wyte
Of what has happen'd, and ſhould therefore crave
My pardon firſt, and ſhall acquittance have.
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 loup back! - was e'er the like heard tell?
Swith tak him, deil, he's owre 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.
I think I have towzled his harigals 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.
Ye towin'd him rightly - I commend ye for't,
His blooding ſnout gae 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 wad na ſtand
To lend him in this caſe my helping hand.
A witch! - How had ye patience this to bear,
And leave him een to ſee, or lugs to hear?
Auld wither'd hands, and feeble joints like mine,
Obliges fouk reſentment to decline,
Till aft 'tis ſeen, when vigour fails, then we
With cunning, can the lake of pith ſupplie.
Thus I pat off revenge till it was dark,
Syne bad him come, and we ſhou'd 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.
And ſpecial ſport we'll have, as I proteſt;
Ye'll be the witch, and I ſhall play the ghaiſt.
A linen ſheet wound 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.
Then let us go; for ſee, 'tis hard on night;
The weſtlin cloud ſhines red with ſetting light.
ACT IV. 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.
WOW but I'm cadgie, and my heart loups light;
O! Mr. Patrick, ay your thoughts were right.
Sure gentle fouk are farer ſeen than we,
That naithing ha'e to brag of pedigree.
My Jenny now, wha brake 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 wood, nor wood in vain.
I'm glad to heart: - 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 ane 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-dorn 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,
Whil'ſt I myſelf 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 muſt ſooner ceaſe.
How to adviſe ye, troth I'm at a ſtand:
But were't my caſe, ye'd clear it up aff-hand.
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.
Or ſung as follows. SANG XV. Kirk wad let me be.
Duty and part of reaſon
Plead ſtrong on the Parent's ſide,
Which love ſuperior calls treaſon;
The ſtrongeſt muſt be obey'd:
For now tho' I'm one of the Gentry,
My conſtancy falſhood repells;
For change in my heart is no entry,
Still there my dear Peggy excells.
Enjoy them baith; - Sir William will be won:
Your Peggy's bonny, - you're his only ſon.
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, through life I will be true;
But ſtill obedience is a Parent's due.
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?
To Edinburgh ſtraight, tomorrow 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 ſtrutting 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 wate weel,
I nae mair need nor carts do a third wheel:
But Peggy, dearer to me than my breath,
Sooner than hear ſick news, ſhall hear my death.
They wha have juſt enough can ſoundly ſleep,
The o'ercome only faſhes fouk to keep. -
Good Mr. Patrick, tak your ain tale hame.
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. -
But an eſtate, like yours, yields braw content,
When we but pike 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.
Sae Roger thinks, and thinks not far amiſs,
But mony a cloud hings hovering o'er their bliſs:
The paſſions rule the road; - and , if they 're ſour,
Like the lean ky, they'll ſoon the fat devour.
The ſpleen, tint honour, and affronted pride,
Stang like the ſharpeſt goads in gentry's ſide.
The goats and gravels, and the ill diſeaſe,
Are ſrequenteſt with fowk owrelaid with eaſe;
While o'er the muir, the ſhepherd with leſs care;
Enjoys his ſober wiſh, and haleſome air.
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.
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.
I'll do't, and ye ſhall tell me which to buy:
Faith I'ſe hae 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.
Then here it lys , - 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.
Pleas'd that ye truſt me with the ſecret,
To wyle it frae me ,a' the deels defy. Exit Roger.
With what a ſtruggle muſt I now impart
My father's will to her that hads my heart!
I ken ſhe loves, and her ſaft ſoul will ſink,
While it ſtands trembling on the hated brink
Of diſappointment - Heaven, ſupport my fair,
And let her comfort claim your tender care.
Her eyes are red -
- My Peggy, why in tears?
Smile as ye wont, allow nae room for fears:
Tho' I'm nae mair a Shepherd, yet I'm thine.
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, withouten pain, ſee frae the coaſt
The ſhip that bears his All like to be loſt;
Like to be carried by ſome Rever's hand,
Far frae his wiſhes to ſome diſtant land?
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 falſhod 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.
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 hartſome 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 tatling 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 aft-times 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.
Or ſung as follows, SANG XVI. Woes my heart that
we ſhou'd ſunder.
Speak on, - ſpeak thus, and ſtill my grief,
Hold up a heart that's ſinking under
Theſe fears, that ſoon will want relief,
When Pate muſt from his Peggy ſunder,
A gentler face and ſilk attire,
A Lady rich in beauty's bloſſom,
Alake poor me! will now conſpire,
To ſteal thee from thy Peggy's boſom.
No more the Shepherd who excell'd
The reſt, whoſe wit made them to wonder,
Shall now his Peggy's praiſes tell,
Ah! I can die, but never ſunder.
Ye meadows where we often ſtray'd,
Ye banks where we were wont to wander,
Sweet ſcented rucks round which we play'd,
You'll loſe your ſweets when we're aſunder.
Again, ah! ſhall I never creep
Around the know with ſilent duty,
Kindly to watch thee while aſleep,
And wonder at thy manly beauty
Hear, Heaven, while ſolemnly I vow,
Tho' thou ſhouldſt prove a wandering lover.
Throw life to thee I ſhall prove true,
Nor be a wife to any other.
Sure Heaven approves; - and be aſſured 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 faithfu' 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.
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 gen'rous 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 throw ilk ſchool,
Where I may manners learn -
Or ſung as follows, SANG XVII. Tweed-ſide
When hope was quite ſunk in deſpair,
My heart it was going to break;
My life appear'd worthleſs my care,
But now I will ſave't for thy ſake.
Where'er my love travels by day,
Wherever he lodges by night,
With me his dear image ſhall ſtay,
And my ſoul keep him e'er in ſight.
With patience I'll wait the long year,
And ſtudy the gentleſt charms;
Hope time away till thou appear
To lock thee for ay in thoſe arms.
Whilſt thou waſt a Shepherd, I priz'd
No higher degree in this life;
But now I'll endeavour to riſe
To a height is becoming thy wife.
For beauty that's only ſkin-deep,
Muſt fade like the gowans of May,
But inwardly rooted, will keep
For ever, without a decay.
Nor age, nor the changes of life,
Can quench the fair fire of love.
If virtue's ingrain'd in the wife,
And the huſband have ſenſe to approve.
- That's wiſely ſaid,
And what your uncle wares 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;
Affeft aft-times to like the thing we hate,
And drap ſerenity to keep up ſtate:
Laugh when we're ſad, ſpeak when we've nought to
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.
If this is gentry, I had rather be
What I am ſtill; - but I'll be ought with thee.
No, no, my Peggy, I but only jeſt
With gentry's apes; for ſtill amangſt the beſt,
Good manners give integrity a bleeze,
When native virtues join the arts to pleaſe.
Since with nae hazard, and ſae ſmall expense,
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 riſque to run.
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.
With every ſetting day, and riſing morn,
I'll kneel to Heaven, and aſk thy ſate 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.
Or ſung as follows. SANG XVIII. Buſh aboon Traquair.
At ſetting day and riſing morn,
With ſoul that ſtill ſhall love thee,
I'll aſk of Heaven thy ſafe return,
With all that can improve thee.
viſit oft the Birken-buſh,
Where firſt thou kindly told me,
Sweet tales of love, and hid my bluſh,
Whilſt round thou didſt enfold me.
To all our haunts I will repair,
By Greenwood-ſhaw or Fountain;
Or where the ſummer-day I'd ſhare
With thee, upon yon mountain.
There will I tell the trees and flowers,
From thoughts unfeign'd and tender,
By vows you're mine, by love is yours
A heart which cannot wander.
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.
Wer'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 fallen to me,
Been in ae jot leſs generous to thee.
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.
End of the fourth Act
ACT V. SCENE I.
See how poor Bauldy ſtares like an poſſeſt,
And roars up Symon frae his kindly reſt:
Bare leg' d, with night-cap, and unbotton'd coat,
See the auld man comes forward to the ſot.
WHAT want ye, Bauldy, at this early hour,
While drowſy ſleep keeps a' beneath its power?
Far to the North the ſcant approaching light
Stands equal' twixt the morning and the night.
What gars ye ſhake and glowre, and look ſae wan?
Your teeth they chitter, hair like briſtles ſtand.
O len me ſoon ſome water, milk or ale,
My head's grown giddy, - legs with ſhaking ſail;
I'll never 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.
What ails thee, gowk! - to make ſae loud adoe?
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.
How goes the night? Does day-light yet appear?
Symon, your very timeously aſteer.
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 wreſtled with a ghaiſt.
O ay, - dear Sir, in troth 'tis very true,
And I am come to make my plaint to you.
Sir WILL. ſmiling.
I lang to hear't. -.
- Ah! Sir, the witch caw'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 tryſted, 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 deel, I kenna whilk,
Like a dead corſe, in ſheet as white as mi!k.
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 labour'd 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 gie the deel his due.
I'm ſure my heart will ne'er gi'e o'er to dunt,
Till in a fat tar-barrel Mauſe be brunt.
Well, Bauldy, what e'er's juſt ſhall granted be,
Let Mauſe be brought this morning down to me.
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 their cantraips that bring up the deel.
Troth, Symon, Bauldy's mair afraid than hurt,
The witch and ghaiſt have made themſelves good ſport.
What ſilly notions crowd the clouded mind,
That is throw want of education blind!
But does your Honour think there's nae ſic thing,
As witches raiſing deels up throw a ring;
Syne playing tricks? a thouſand I cou'd tell,
Cou'd never be contriv'd on this ſide hell.
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,
Aft-times like Bawty, Badrans, or a Sow;
Then with his train throw airy paths to glide,
While they on cats, or clowns, or broomſtaffs 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
What'er's in ſpells, or if there witches be,
Such whimſies ſeem the moſt abſurd to me.
'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.
I'm ſure it will; - but ſee increaſing light,
Commands the imps oſ darkneſs down to night
Bid raiſe my ſervants, and my horſe prepare,
Whilſt I walk out to take the morning air.
SANG XIX. Bonny gray-ey'd morn.
The bonny gray ey'd morning begins to peep,
And darkneſs flies before the riſing ray,
The hearty hynd ſtarts from his lazy ſleep,
To follow healthful labours of the day,
Without a guilty ſting to wrinkle his brow;
The Lark and the Linnet tend his levee,
And he joins their concert driving his plow,
From toil of grimace and pageantry free.
While fluſter'd with wine, or madden'd with
Of half an eſtate, the prey of a Main,
The drunkard and Gameſter tumble and toſs,
Wiſhing for calmneſs and ſlumber in vain.
Be my portion health and quietneſs of mind,
Plac'd at due diſtance from parties and ſtate,
Where neither ambition nor avarice blind,
Reach him who has happineſs link'd to his fate.
ACT V. SCENE II.
While Peggy laces up her boſom fair,
With a blue ſnood Jenny binds up her hair;
Gland by his morning ingle takes a beek;
The riſing Sun ſhines motty through the reek,
A pipe his mouth, the laſſes pleaſe his een,
And now and then his joke maun interveen.
I Wiſh, my bairns, it may keep fair till night,
Ye do not uſe ſo 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 you think, that now when he's a Laird,
That he poor landwart laſſes will regard?
The' he's young Maſter now, I'm very ſure,
He has mair ſenſe than ſlight auld friends tho' poor;
But yeſterday he gae us mony a tug,
And kiſs'd my cuſin there frae lug to lug.
Ay, ay, nae doubt o't, and he'll do't again;
But be advis'd, his company refrain:
Before, he, as as a Shepherd ſought a wife,
With her to live a chaſte and frugal life:
But now; grown gentle, ſoon he will forſake
Sic godly thoughts, and brag of being a rake.
A rake! what's that? - Sure if it means ought ill,
He'll never be't, elſe I have tint my ſkill.
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 mak ye a' their jeſt, when ye're debauch'd.
Be wary then, I ſay, and never gi'e
Encouragement, or board with ſic as he.
Sir William's virtuous, and of gentle blood;
And may not Patrick too like him be good?
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 doomſ-day, ſin and hell.
Watch o'er us, Father! heh, that's very odd,
Sure him that doubts a doom's-day, doubts a God.
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 he gates will e'er be brought.
The LORD forbid! - Na, he kens better things:
But here comes aunt, her face ſome ferly brings.
Haſte, haſte ye, we're a' ſent for owre the gate,
To hear and help to redd ſome odd debate
'Tween Mauſe and Bauldy, 'bout ſome witchcraft ſpell,
At Symon's houſe, the knight ſits judge himſel.
Lend me my ſtaff, - Madge, lock the outer-door,
And bring the laſſes wi'ye, I'll ſtep before.
Poor Meg! - look Jenny, was the like e'er ſeen,
Flow 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 ruſſle amang the beauties clad in ſilk.
But Meg, poor Meg! maun with the Shepherds ſtay,
And tak what God will ſend in hodden-gray.
Dear, aunt, what needs 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.
A bonny ſtory trouth! - but we delay;
Prin up your aprons baith, and come away.
ACT V. SCENE III.
Sir William fills the twa-arm'd chair,
While Symon, Roger, Glaud and Mauſe
Attend, and with loud laughter, hear
Daft Bauldy bluntly plead his cauſe
For now 'tis tell'd him that the taz
Was handled by revengfu' Madge,
Becauſe he brak good breeding's laws,
And, with his nonſenſe, rais'd their rage.
AND was that all? Well, Bauldy, ye was ſerv'd
No otherwife 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.
Sir, I confeſs my faut thro' a' the ſteps,
And ne'er again ſhall be untrue to Neps.
Thus far, Sir, he oblig'd me on the ſcore,
I trend not that they thought me ſic before.
An't like your honour, I believ'd it well;
But trowth I was e'en doilt to ſeek the deel;
Yet with your honour's leave, tho' ſhe's nae witch,
She's baith a ſlee and a revengfu -
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 roſie cheek,
Sent me, without my wit, the deel to ſeek.
Enter Madge, Peggy, and Jenny.
Sir WILL. looking at Peggy.
Whole 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 girle 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? -
- Sir, ſhe's my niece, -
And yet ſhe's not: - but I ſhould had my peace.
This is a contradiction. What d'ye mean?
She is, and is not! pray thee, Glaud, explain.
Becauſe, I doubt, if I ſhould make appear
What I have kept a ſecret thirteen year.
You may reveal what I can fully clear.
Speak ſoon, I'm all impatience! -
- So am I!
For much I hope, and hardly yet know why.
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 could they be, thought I, did thee forſake?
Wha, warſe than brutes, could leave expos'd to air
Sae much of innocence, ſae ſweetly fair,
Sae helpleſs young? for ſhe appear'd to me,
Only about twa towmonds auld to be,
I took her in my arms, the bairny ſmil'd,
With ſic a look wad made a ſavage mild.
I hid the Rory; ſtory has paſt ſinceſyne,
As a poor orphan, and a niece of mine.
Nor do I rue my care about the wean,
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, - naithing ken I mair,
Than what I to your honour now declare.
This tale ſeems ſtrange! -
- The tale delights my ear!
Command your joys; young man, till truth appear
That be my taſk; - now, Sir, bid all be huſh,
Peggy may ſmile - thou haſt no 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.
Old woman, do not rave, prove what you ſay;
'Tis dangerous in affairs like this to play.
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.
The ſtory's odd! we wiſh we heard it out.
Mak haſte, good woman, and reſolve each doubt.
Mauſe goes forward, leading
Peggy to Sir William.
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
Who nurs't her mother that now holds my hand?
Yet ſtronger proofs I'll give, if you demand.
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.
Good nurſe, go on, nae muſick's haff ſae fine,
Or can give pleaſure like theſe words of thine.
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 travell'd ſome few miles ere 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 glades your cheerful Swains.
Then fear 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.
'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.
My neice, 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 Peggie embrace,
and kneel to Sir Wiliam.
With as much joy this bleſſing I receive,
As ane wad life, that's ſinking in a wave.
Sir WILL. raiſes them.
I give you both my bleſſing; may your love
Produce a happy race, and ſtill improve.
My wiſhes are complete, - my joys ariſe,
While I'm haff dizzy with the bleſt ſurprize.
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,
Be lang our Guardian, ſtill our Maſter be,
We'll only crave what you ſhall pleaſe to gi'e:
Th' Eſtate be yours, my Peggy's ane to me.
I hope your honour now will take amends
Of them that ſought her life for wicked ends.
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.
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 thankfull bow
For ſuch a kindneſs, beſt of men, to you.
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 ping on the twa, and doat on you:
Even Bauldy the bewitch'd has quite forgot
Fell Madge's taz, and pawky Maufe's plot.
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 buſy Gardners ſhall new planting rear:
My father's hearty table you ſoon ſhall ſee
Reſtor'd, and my beſt friends rejoyce with me.
That's the beſt news I heard this twenty year;
New day breaks up, rough times begin to clear.
GOD ſave the King, and ſave Sir William lang,
T' enjoy their ain, and raiſe the Shepherd's ſang.
Wha winna dance, wha will refuſe to ſing?
What Shepherd's whiſtle winna lilt the ſpring?
I'm friends with Mauſe, - with very Madge I'm gree'd,
Altho' they ſkelpit me when woodly fleed.
I'm now fu' blyth, and frankly can forgive,
To join and ſing, Lang may Sir William live.
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 witch's fingers ban.
This day I'll with the youngeſt of ye rant,
And brag for ay that I was ca'd the aunt
Of our young Lady, - my dear bonny bairn!
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!
The flowing pleaſures of this happy day?
Does ſully all I can require repay,
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 acing 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.
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.
Gland'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.
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:
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 queitneſs down amang the dead.
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.
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 t'e'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 land on brinks of dark deſpair,
Some happy turn, with Joy, diſpells our care.
Now all's at rights, who ſings beſt, let me hear.
When you demand, I readieſt ſhould obey:
I'll ſing you ane the neweſt that I hae.
SANG XX. Corn riggs are bonny.
My Patie is a lover gay,
His mind is never muddy;
His breath is ſweeter than new hay,
His face is fair and ruddy:
His ſhape is handſome, middle ſize,
He's comely in his wawking;
The ſhining of his een ſurpriſe:
'Tis heaven to hear him tawking.
Laſl night I met him on a hawk,
Where yellow corn was growing,
There mony a kindly word he ſpake,
That ſet my heart a glowing.
He kiſſ'd, and vow'd he wad be mine,
And loo'd me beſt of ony,
That gars me like to ſing ſince ſyne,
O corn riggs are bonny.
Let Laſſes of a ſilly mind
Refuſe what maiſt they're wanting,
Since we for yielding were deſign'd,
We chaſtily ſhould be granting.
Then I'll comply and marrie PATE,
And ſyne my cockernony
He's free to touzle air or late,
Where corn riggs are bonny.
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Cite this Document
The Gentle Shepherd: A Scots Pastoral Comedy. 2022. In The Corpus of Modern Scottish Writing. Glasgow: University of Glasgow. Retrieved September 2022, from http://www.scottishcorpus.ac.uk/cmsw/document/?documentid=107.
"The Gentle Shepherd: A Scots Pastoral Comedy." The Corpus of Modern Scottish Writing. Glasgow: University of Glasgow, 2022. Web. September 2022. http://www.scottishcorpus.ac.uk/cmsw/document/?documentid=107.
The Corpus of Modern Scottish Writing, s.v., "The Gentle Shepherd: A Scots Pastoral Comedy," accessed September 2022, http://www.scottishcorpus.ac.uk/cmsw/document/?documentid=107.
If your style guide prefers a single bibliography entry for this resource, we recommend:
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The Gentle Shepherd: A Scots Pastoral Comedy
|Title||The Gentle Shepherd: A Scots Pastoral Comedy|
|Year of publication||1743|
Author information: Ramsay, Allan
|Year of birth||1684|
|Place of birth||Leadhills, Crawfordmuir, Lanarkshire, Scotland|
|Locations where resident||Edinburgh|