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THE GENTLE SHEPHERD 

ACT I. SCENE I. 

PROLOGUE.

Beneath the south-side of a craigy bield [rocky shelter],

Where crystal springs their halesome [healthy] waters yield, 

Twa [two] youthfu' [young] on the gowans [daisies] lay,

Tenting [minding] their flocks ae [one] bonny morn of May. 

Poor Roger granes [groans], 'till hollow echoes ring;

But blyther [happier] Patie likes to laugh and sing.  

PATIE and ROGER.

SANG [song] I. Tune, The waking of the Faulds [Keeping watch over the sheepfold].

PATIE.

My 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 [old],

Yet weel [well] I like to meet her at

The waking of the fauld.

My Peggy speaks sa [so] sweetly,

Whene’er we meet alane [alone],

I wish nae mair [no more] to lay my care,

I wish nae mair of a that’s rare,

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My Peggy speaks sa [so] sweetly,

To a’ [all] the lave [rest] I’m cauld [cold];

But she gars [makes] a my spirits glow,

At waking of the fauld.

My Peggy smiles sae [so] kindly,

Whene’er I whisper love,

That I look down on a’ [all] the town,

That I look down upon a crown.

My Peggy smiles sae [so] kindly,

It makes me blyth [happy] and bauld [bold],

And nathing [nothing] gi’es me sic [such] delight

As waking of the fauld.

My Peggy sings sae [so] saftly [ softly],

When on my pipe I play;

By a’ [all] the rest it is confest,

By a’ [all] the rest, that she sings best,

My Peggy sings sae [so] saftly [softly],

And in her sangs are tald [told],

Wi’ [with] innocence, the wale [best] of sense,

At waking of the fauld.

THIS sunny morning, Roger, cheers my blood,

And puts a’ [all] nature in a jovial mood.

How hartsome [encouraging] is’t to see the rising plants,

To hear the birds chirm [chirp] o’er their pleasing rants!

How halesome [wholesome] is’t to snuff the cawler [fresh] air,

And a’ [all] the sweets it bears, when void of care!

What ails thee, Roger, then? what gars [makes] thee grane [groan]?

Tell me the cause o’ [of] thy ill-season’d pain.

Roger. I’m born, O Patie, to a thrawart [crossed] fate!

I’m born to strive wi’ [with] hardships sad and great,

Tempests may cease to jaw [dash] the rowan [rolling] flood,

Corbies [ravens] and tods [foxes] to grien [long for] lambkins [lambs’] blood:

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But I, opprest wi’ [with] never-ending grief,

Maun [must] ay [continually] despair of lighting on relief.

Patie. The bees shall lothe [loath?] the flow’r, and quit the hive,

The saughs [willows] on boggie ground shall cease to thrive,

Ere scornfu’ queans [young women], or loss of wardly [worldly] gear [possessions],

Shall spill my rest, or ever force a tear.

Roger. Sae [so] might I say; but it’s no easy done

By ane [one] whase [whose] saul’s [soul’s] sae [so] sadly out of tune.

You ha’e sa [so] saft [soft] a voice, and slid [smooth] a tongue,

You are the darling of baith [both] auld [old] and young.

If I but ettle [make an attempt] at a sang, or speak,

They dit [stop up] their lugs [ears] syne [then] up their leglens [milking pails] cleek [catch];

And jeer me homeward frae [from] the loan [milking common] or bught [milking fold],

While I’m confus’d wi’ mony [many] a vexing thought.

Yet I am tall, and as well built as thee,

Nor mair [more] unlikely to a lass’s eye.

For ilka [every] sheep ye ha’e [have], I’ll number ten,

And should, as ane [one] may think, come farer ben [more in favour].

Patie. But ablins [perhaps], nibour [neighbour], ye ha’e [have] not a heart,

And downa [will not] eithly [easily] wi’ [with] your cunzie [coin] part:

If that be true what signifies your gear [possessions]?

A mind that’s scrimpit [scanty] never wants some care.

Roger. My byar [cow-house] tumbled, nine bra’ [fine] nowt [cows] were smoor’d [smothered],

Three elf-shot [betwitched] were; yet I these ills endur’d:

In winter last my cares were very sma’ [small],

Though scores of wathers [sheep] perish’d in the sna’ [snow].

Patie. Were your bien [well-stocked] rooms as thinly stock’d as mine,

Less ye wad [would] loss, and less ye wad repine.

He that has just enough can soundly sleep;

The o’ercome [surplus] only fashes [troubles] fouk [folk] to keep.

Roger. May plenty flow upon thee for a cross,

That though may’st thole [endure] the pangs of mony [many] a loss!

O, may’st though dote on some fair paughty [proud] wench,

That ne’er will lout [condescend] thy lowan [flaming] drouth [thirst] to quench;

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’Till bris’d [pressed] beneath the burthen thou cry dool [grief],

And own that ane [one] may fret that is nae [no] fool.

Patie. Sax [six] good fat lambs, I sauld [sold] them ilka [every] clute [hoof]

At the West-port, and bought a winsome [comely] flute,

Of plum-tree made, w’ [with] iv’ry [ivory] virls [rings] round,

A dainty whistle, wi’ [with] a pleasant sound;

I’ll be mair [more] canty [cheerful] wi’t [with it], and ne’er cry dool [grief],

Than you wi’ [with] a’ [all] your cash, ye dowie [sad] fool.

Roger. Na, Patie, na! I’m nae [no] sic [such] churlish beast,

Some other thing lies heavier at my breast;

I dream’d a dreary dream this hinder [past] night,

That gars [makes] my flesh a’ [all] creep yet wi’ [with] the fright.

Patie. Now, to a friend, how silly’s this pretence

To ane [one] wha [who] you and a’ [all] your secrets kens [knows]!

Daft [foolish] are your dreams, as daftly ye wad [would] hide

Your well-seen love, and dorty [conceited] Jenny’s pride:

Tak courage, Roger, me your sorrows tell,

And safely think nane [none] kens [knows] them yoursel.

Roger. Indeed now, Patie, ye ha’e [have] guess’d o’er [over] true,

And there is nothing I’ll keep up frae [from] you:

Me dorty [conceited] Jenny looks upon a-squint;

To speak but till her, I dare hardly mint [attempt].

In ilka [every] place she jeers me air [early] and late,

And gars [makes] me look bombaz’d [confused] and unco [very] blate [bashful].

But yesterday I met her ‘yount a know [hillock],

She fled as frae [from] a shelly-coated kow [goblin].

She Bauldy lo’es [loves], Bauldy that drives the car;

But gecks [mocks] at me, and says I smell of tar.

Patie. But Bauldy lo’es [loves] na [not] her, right weel [well] I wat [know];

He sighs for Neps:--sae [so] that may stand for that.

Roger. I wish I cou’d na [not] lo’e [love] her—but in vain,

I still maun [must] doat, and thole [endure] her proud disdain.

My Bawty is a cur I dearly like;

E’en while he fawn’d, she strake [struck] the poor dumb tyke!

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If I had fill’d a nook within her breast,

She wad [would] ha’e [have] shawn [shown] mair [more] kindness to my beast.

When I begin to tune my stock and horn,

Wi’ [with] a’ [all] her face she shaws [shows] a cauldrife’s [spiritless] scorn.

Last night I play’d (ye never heard sic [such] spite)

O’er Bogie was the spring, and her delyte;

Yet tauntingly she at her cousin speer’d [asked],

Giff [if] she could tell what tune I play’d, and sneer’d—

Flocks, wander where ye like, I dinna [do not] care,

I’ll break my reed, and never whistle mair [more].

Patie. E’en do sae [so], Roger, wha [who] can help misluck,

Saebiens [since] she be sic [such] a thrawn-gabbet [twisted-mouthed] chuck [chicken]?

Yonder’s a craig: since ye ha’e [have] tint [lost] all houp [hope],

Gae [go] till’t your ways [take your way], and tak the lover’s loup [leap].

Roger. I need na mak sic [such] speed my blood to spill,

I’ll warrant death come soon enough a-will [of itself].

Patie. Daft [foolish] gowk [a thoughtless fellow who harps too long on one subject]! Leave aff [off] that silly whining way,

Seem careless, there’s my hand you’ll win the day.

Hear how I serv’d my lass I lo’e as weel [well]

As ye do Jenny, and wi’ [with] heart as leel [true].

Last morning I was gay and early out,

Upon a dyke I lean’d glowring [staring] about:

I saw my Meg come linking [walking speedily] o’er the lee [open grassy plain];

I saw my Meg, but Peggy saw nae [not] me;

For yet the sun was wading through the mist,

And she was close upon me ere she wist [knew].

Her coats were kiltit [tucked up], and did sweetly shaw [show]

Her straight bare legs, that whiter were than snaw [snow];

Her cockernony [gathered hair] snooded [tied with a band] up fou [fully] sleek;

Her haffet [side of the head] locks hang waving on her cheek;

Her cheeks sae [so] ruddy, and her een [eyes] sae [so] clear;

And, O! her mouth’s like ony [any] hinny-pear [honey-pear].

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Neat, neat she was, in bustain [fustian cloth] waistcoat clean;

As she came skiffing [moving smoothly] o’er the dewy green,

Bythsome [happily], I cry’d, my bonny [beautiful] Meg come here,

I ferly [wonder] wherefore ye’re so soon asteer [up and about];

But I can guess, ye’re gawn [going] to gather dew:

She scour’d [moved rapidly] awa’, and said—What’s that to you?

Then fare ye well, Meg-dorts [Meg-proud pet], and e’ens ye like,

I careless cry’d, and lap [leaped] in o’er the dyke.

I trow [believe], when that she saw, within a crack [moment],

She came wi’ a right thieveless [unconvincing] errand back;

Misca’d [chided] me first—then bade me hound my dog

To wear [round] up three waff [wandering] ews stray’d on the bog.

I leugh [laughed]; and sae [so] did she: then wi’ [with] great haste,

I clasp’d my arms about her neck and waste;

About her yielding waste, and took a fouth [abundance]

Of sweetest kisses frae [from] her glowan [glowing] mouth.

While hard and fast I held her in my grips,

My very saul [soul] came louping [leaping] to my lips.

Sair [surely], sair she flet [did scold] wi’ [with] me ‘tween ilka [each] smack,

But weel [well] I kend [knew] she meant nae [not] as she spake [spoke].

Dear Roger, when your jo [sweetheart] puts on her gloom [frown],

Do ye sae [so] too, and never fash [trouble] your thumb.

Seem to forsak her, soon she’ll change her mood;

Gae [go] woo anither [another], and she’ll gang [go] clean wood [mad].

SANG II. Tune, Fye gar [make] rub her o’er wae stra.

Dear Roger, if your Jenny geck [mocks],

And answer kindly with a slight,

Seem unconcern’d at her neglect;

For women in a man delight:

But them despise who’re soon defate [defeated],

And wi’ [with] a simple face give way

To a repulse—then be not blate [bashful],

Push bauldly [boldly] on, and win the day.

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When maidens innocently young,

Say aften [often] what they never mean;

Ne’er mind their pretty lying tongue:

But tent [mind] the language of their een [eyes]:

If these agree, and she persist

To answer a’[all] your love wi’[with] hate,

Seek elsewhere to be better blest,

And let her sigh when ‘tis too late.

Roger. Kind Patie, now fair fa’ your honest heart,

Ye’re ay [always] sae [so] cadgy [cheerful], and ha’e sic [such] an art

To hearten ane [one]: For now as cleen’s a leek,

Ye’ve cherish’d me, since ye began to speak.

Sae [so] for your pains, I’ll mak ye a propine [gift],

(My mither, rest her saul [soul]! she made it fine)

A tartan plaid, spun of good hawslock woo’ [wool],

Scarlet and green the sets, the borders blue;

With spraings [stripes of different colours] like gowd [gold] and siller [silver], cross’d wi’ black,

I never had it yet upon my back.

Weel [well] are ye wordy [worthy] o’t [of it], wha [who] ha’e [have] sae [so] kind

Red [counseled] up my revel’d doubts, and clear’d my mind.

Patie. Weel [well], haud [hold] ye there—and since ye’ve frankly

made

To me a present of your braw [fine] new plaid,

My flute’s be yours; and she too that’s sae [so] nice,

Shall come a-will [of her own accord], gif [if] ye’ll tak my advice.

Roger. As ye advise, I’ll promise to observ’t;

But ye maun [must] keep the flute, you best deserv’t.

Now tak it out, and gie’s [give us] a bonny [pretty] spring [tune],

For I’m in tift [a mood] to hear you play and sing.

Patie. But first we’ll tak a turn up to the height,

And see gif [if] a’ [all] our flocks be feeding right;

By that time, bannocks [cakes] and a shave o’ cheese,

Will make a breakfast that a laird might please:

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Might please the daintiest gabs [mouths], were they sae [so] wise

To season meat wi’ [with] health instead of spice.

When we ha’e [have] tane [taken] the grace, drink at this well,

I’ll whistle fine, and sing t’ ye like mysel. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

PROLOGUE.

A flowerie Howm [plain] between twa [two] verdant braes [river banks],

Where lasses use to wash and spread their claiths [cloths, clothes]:

A trotting burnie [brook] whimpling [winding] through the ground,

Its channel pebbles, shining, smooth and round;

Here view twa [two] barefoot beauties clean and clear;

First please your eyes, next gratify your ear;

While Jenny what she wishes discommends,

And Meg, wi’ [with] better sense, true love defends.

PEGGY and JENNY.

Jenny. Come, Meg, let’s fa’ [fall] to wark [work] upon this green,

This shining day will bleach our linen clean;

The water clear, the lift unclouded blew,

Will mak them like a lily wet wi’ [with] dew.

Peggy. Gae [go] farer [farther] up the burn to Habbie’s How,

Where a’ [all] the sweets of spring and simmer grow;

Between twa [two] birks [birch trees], out o’er a little lin [cataract],

The water fa’s [falls] and makes a singand [singing] din;

A pool breast-deep, beneath as clear as glass,

Kisses, wi’ [with] easy whirles, the bordering grass,

We’ll end our washing, while the morning’s cool,

And when the day grows hot, we’ll to the pool,

There wash oursells—‘tis healtfu’ now in May,

And sweetly cauler [cool] on sae [so] warm a day.

Jenny. Daft [foolish] lassie, when we’re naked, what’ll ye say,

Gif [if] our twa [two] herds [shepherds] come brattling [noisily] down the brae [hillside, riverbank],

And see us sae [so]? That jeering fallow Pate,

Wad [would] taunting say, Haith lasses ye’re no [not] blate [bashful].

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Peggy. We’re far frae [from] ony [any] road, and out o’ sight;

The lads they’re feeding far beyont the height:

But tell me now, dear Jenny, (we’re our lane [alone],)

What gars [makes] ye plague your wooer wi’ [with] disdain?

The nibours [neighbours] a’ [all] tent [heed] this as well as I:

That Roger lo’es [loves] ye, yet ye care na [not] by.

What ails ye at him? Troth, between us twa [two],

He’s wordy [worthy] you the best day e’er ye saw.

Jenny. I dinna [do not] like him, Peggy, there’s an end,

A herd [shepherd] mair [more] sheepish yet I never kend [knew].

He kames [combes] his hair indeed, and goes right snug [looking very smart],

Wi’ ribbon-knots at his blew bonnet lug [ear];

Whilk [which] penslie [foppishly] he wears a thought a-jee [to one side],

And spreads his garters dic’d beneath his knee:

He faulds [folds] his o’erlay down his breast wi’ [with] care,

And few gangs [go] trigger [more handsome] to the kirk [church] or fair:

For a’ [all] that, he can neither sing nor say;

Except, How d’ ye?—or, There’s a bonny [beautiful] day.

Peggy. Ye dash the lad wi’ [with] constant slighting pride;

Hatred for love is unco [prodigiously] sair [distressing] to bide:

But ye’ll repent ye, if his love grown cauld [cold],

What like’s a dorty [proudful] maiden when she’s auld [old]?

Like dawted [indulged] wean [child], that tarrows [fusses] at its meat,

That for some feckless whim will orp [fret] and greet [weep];

The lave [rest] laugh at it till the dinner’s past,

And syne [then] the fool thing is oblig’d to fast,

Or scart [scrape] anither’s [another’s] leavings at the last.

SANG III. Tune, Polwart on the green.

The dorty[prideful] will repent,

If lover’s heart grow cauld [cold];

And nane [none] her smiles will tent [heed],

Soon as her face looks auld [old]:

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The dawted [indulged] bairn [child] thus taks the pet,

Nor eats though hunger crave;

Whimpers and tarrows [fusses] at it’s meat,

And’s laught at by the lave [rest].

They jest it till the dinner’s past,

Thus by itself abus’d,

The fool thing is oblig’d to fast,

Or eat what they’ve refus’d.

Fy! Jenny, think, and dinna [do not] sit your time.

Jenny. I never thought a single life a crime.

Peggy. Nor I—But love in whispers lets us ken [know],

That men were made for us, and we for men.

Jenny. If Roger be my jo [sweetheart], he kens [knows] himsel;

For sic [such] a tale I never heard him tell.

He glowrs [stares] and sighs, and I can guess the cause;

But wha’s [who’s] oblig’d to spell his hums and haws?

Whene’er he likes to tell his mind mair [more] plain,

I’se tell him frankly ne’er to do’ t again.

They’re fools that slav’ry [slavery] like, and may be free:

The chiels [fellows] may a’ [all] knit up themselves for me.

Peggy. Be doing your wa’s; for me I have a mind

To be as yielding as my Patie’s kind.

Jenny. Heh, lass! how can you looe [love] that rattle-skull?

A very deel [devil] that ay [always] maun [must] ha’e [have] his will.

We’ll soon hear tell what a poor fighting life

You twa [two] will lead, sae [so] soon’s ye’re man and wife.

SANG IV. Tune, O, dear mother, what shall I do.

O, dear Peggy, love’s beguiling,

We ought not to trust its smiling:

Better far to do as I do,

Lest a harder luck betide you.

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Lasses when their fancy’s carry’d,

Think of nought but to be marry’d:

Running to a life destroys

Hartsome [cheerful], free, and youthfu’[young] joys.

Peggy. I’ll rin [run] the risk, nor ha’e [have] I ony [any] fear,

But rather think ilk [each] langsome [long, lengthy, tedious] day a year.

’Till I wi’ [with] pleasure mount my bridal bed,

Where on my Patie’s breast I’ll lean my head,

There we may kiss as lang [long] as kissing’s geud [good],

And what we do, there’s nane [none] dare ca’ [call] it rude.

He’s get his will: why no? ’tis good my part

To gi’e [give] him that, and he’ll gi’e me his heart.

Jenny. He may indeed for ten or fifteen days

Mak mickle [much] o’ [of] ye wi’ [with] an unco [great] fraise [noise],

And daut [treasure] ye baith [both] afore fowk [folk] and your lane [alone];

But soon as his newfangleness is gane [gone],

He’ll look upon you as his tether-stake,

And think h’s [he’s] tint [lost] his freedom for your sake.

Instead then of lang [long] days of sweet delyte,

Ae [one] day be dumb, and a’ [all] the niest [next] he’ll flyte [scold, chide, rail];

And may be, in his barlikhoods [fits of drunken angry passion] ne’er [never] stick

To lend his loving wife a loundering [sound] lick [beating].

Peggy. Sic [such] coarse-spun thoughts as thae [those] want pith [force] to move

My settled mind; I’m o’er [over] far gane [gone] in love.

Patie to me is dearer than my breath,

But want of him I dread nae [not] other skaith [hurt],

There’s nane [none] of a’ [all] the herds [shepherds] that tread the green

Has sic [such] a smile, or sic [such] twa [two] glancing een [eyes]:

And then he speaks wi’ [with] sic [such] a taking art,

His words they thirle like music through my heart.

How blythely [happily] can he sport, and gently rave,

And jest at feckless [feeble] fears that fright the lave [rest]!

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Ilk [each] day that he’s alane [alone] upon the hill,

He reads fell [learned] books, that teach him meikle [great] skill.

He is—but what need I say that or this?

I’d spend a month to tell you what he is!

In a’ [all] he says or does, there’s sic [such] a gate [way],

The rest seem coofs [stupid fellows] compar’d wi’ [with] my dear Pate.

His better sense will lang [long] his love secure;

Ill-nature heffs [lives] in sauls [souls] that’s weak and poor.

Jenny. Hey bonny lass of Branksome! or ’t be lang [long],

Your witty Pate will put you in a sang [song].

O, it is a pleasant thing to be a bride:

Syne [then] whinging [whining] getts [children] about your ingle [fire] side,

Yelping for this or that with fashous [troublesome] din:

To mak them brats, then ye maun [must] toil and spin.

Ae [one] wean [child] fa’s [falls] sick, and scalds itsel wi’ [with] broe [broth],

Ane [one] breaks his shin, anither [another] tines [loses] his shoe.

The deil [devil] gaes [goes] o’er [over] Jock Webster; hame [home] grows hell;

When Pate miscaws [names] ye war [worse] than tongue can tell.

SANG V. Tune, How can I be sad on my, &c.

How shall I be sad when a husband I hae [have],

That has better sense than ony [any] of thae [those]

Sour, weak, silly fallows, that study like fools,

To sink their ain [own] joy, and make their wives snools [broken-spirited slaves].

The man who is prudent ne’er [never] lightlies [takes his wife lightly] his wife,

Or wi’ [with] dull reproaches encourage strife,

He praises her virtues, and ne’er will abuse

Her for a small failing, but find an excuse.

Yes, ‘tis a heartsome [cheerful] thing to be a wife,

When round the ingle-edge [fireside] young sprouts are rife.

Gif [if] I’m sae [so] happy, I shall have delight

To hear their little plaints [complaints[, and keep them right.

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Wow, Jenny! can there greater pleasure be,

Then see sic [such] wee tots toolying [quarreling] at your knee;

When a’ [all] they ettle [aim] at—their greatest wish,

Is to be made of, and obtain a kiss?

Can there be toil in tenting [minding] day and night

The like o’ [of] them, when love maks care delight?

Jenny. But poortith [poverty], Peggy, is the warst [worst] of a’ [all]:

Gif [if] o’er [over] your heads ill chance should begg’ry [beggary] draw;

But little love or canty [merry] chear [cheer] can come,

Frae [from] duddy [ragged] doublets, and a pantry toom [empty].

Your nowt [cows] may die—the spate [flood] may bear away

Frae [from] aff [off] the howms [plains] your dainty rucks [stacks] of hay—

The thick blawn [blown] wreaths [heaps] of snaw [snow], or blashy [rainy, wet, gusty] thows [thaws],

May smoor [smother] your wathers [wethers (castrated male sheep)], and may rot your ews.

A dyvour [bankrupt] buys your butter, woo [wool] and cheese,

But, on the day of payment, breaks and flees.

Wi’ [with] glooman [scowling] brow the laird seeks in his rent;

’Tis not to gie [give], your merchant’s to the bent [flees from creditors]:

His honour maunna [must not] want, he poinds [seizes] your gear [possessions];

Syne [then] driven fra [from] house and hald [where will ye steer?

Dear Meg be wise, and lead a single life:

Troth [truth], ‘tis nae [no] mows [jest] to be a married wife.

Peggy. May sic [such] ill-luck befa’ [befall] that silly she

Wha [who] has sic [such] fears, for that was never me.

Let fowk [folk] bode weel [well], and strive to do their best;

Nae [no] mair’s [more’s] required; let Heaven mak out the rest.

I’ve heard my honest uncle aften [often] say,

That lads should a’ [all] for wives that’s virtuous pray:

For the maist [most] thrifty man could never get

A weel [well] stor’d room, unless his wife wad [would] let:

Wherefore nocht [nothing] shall be wanting on my part,

To gather wealth to raise my shepherd’s heart.

Whate’er he wins, I’ll guide wi’ [with] canny care,

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And win the vogue at market, trone [tron: weighing place in the market] or fair,

For halesome [wholesome], clean, cheap, and sufficient ware.

A flock o’ lambs, cheese, butter, and some woo [wool];

Shall first be sauld [sold] to pay the laird his due.

Syne [then] a’ [all] behind’s our ain [own]—thus without fear,

Wi’ [with] love and rowth [all] we through the warld [world] will steer;

And when my Pate in bairns [children] and gear [possessions] grows rife,

He’ll bless the day he gat [got] me for a wife.

Jenny. But what if some young giglet [hussy] on the green,

Wi’ [with] dimpled cheeks, and twa [two] bewitching een [eyes],

Shou’d gar [make] your Patie think his ha’f [half] worn Meg,

And her kend [known] kisses hardly worth a feg [fig]?

Peggy. Nae [no] mair [more] of that—Dear Jenny, to be free,

There’s some men constanter in love than we;

Nor is the ferly [wonder] great, when nature kind

Has blest them wi’ [with] solidity of mind,

They’ll reason calmly, and wi’ [with] kindness smile,

When our short passions wad [would] our peace beguile;

Sae [so], whensoe’er they slight their maiks [lose their tempers] at hame [home],

’Tis ten to ane [one] their wives are maist [most] to blame.

Then I’ll employ wi’ [with] pleasure a’ [all] my art,

To keep him chearfu’ and secure his heart.

At e’en [even] when he comes weary frae [from] the hill,

I’ll ha’e [have] a’ [all] things made ready to his will;

In winter when he toils through wind and rain,

A bleezing [blazing] ingle [fire], and a clean hearth stane [stone];

And soon as he flings by his plaid and staff,

The seething pot’s be ready to take aff [off]:

Clean hag-a-bag [coarse napery] I’ll spread upon his board,

And serve him wi’ [with] the best we can afford.

Good humour, and white bigonets [linen caps] shall be

Guards to my face, to keep his love for me.

Jenny. A dish of married love right soon grows cauld [cold],

And dozens down to nane [none], as fowk [folk] grow auld [old].

page 27

Peggy. But we’ll grow auld together, and ne’er [never] find

The loss of youth, when love grows on the mind.

Bairns [children] and their bairns mak sure a firmer tye [tie],

Than aught in love the like of us can spy.

See yon twa [two] elms that grow up side by side;

Suppose them some years syne [then] bridegroom and bride;

Nearer and nearer ilka [each] year they’ve prest,

Till wide their spreading branches are increast,

And in their mixture now are fully blest.

This shields the other frae [from] the eastlen blast,

That in return defends it frae [from] the wast [west].

Sic [such] as stand single—(a state sae [so] lik’d by you!)

Beneath ilk [every] storm, frae [from] every airth [direction] maun [must] bow.

Jenny. I’ve done—I yield, dear lassie, I maun [must] yield;

Your better sense has fairly won the field,

With the assistance of a little fae [foe],

Lies darn’d within my breast this mony [many] a day.

SANG VI. Tune, Nancy’s to the green wood gane [gone].

I yield, dear lassie, ye have won,

And there is nae [no] denying,

That sure as light flows frae [from] the sun,

Frae [from] love proceeds complying;

For a’ [all] that we can do or say,

‘Gainst love, nae [no] thinker heeds us,

They ken [know] our bosoms lodge the fae [foe],

That by the heart-strings lead us.

Peggy. Alake! Poor prisoner! Jenny, that’s no fair,

That ye’ll no let the wee thing tak the air:

Haste, let him out, we’ll tent [mind] as weel’s [well as] we can,

Giff [if] he be Bauldy’s, or poor Roger’s man.

Jenny. Anither [another] time’s as good—for see the sun

Is right far up, and we’re not yet begun

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To freath the graith [froth up the soap for the wash]—if canker’d [angry] Madge, our aunt,

Come up the burn, she’ll gie’s [give us] a wicked rant:

But when we’ve done I’ll tell ye a’ [all] my mind;

For this seems true—nae [no] lass can be unkind. [Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

PROLOGUE.

A snug thack-house [thatch-house], before the door a green:

Hens on the midding [dunghill], ducks in dubs [mire] are seen.

On this side stands a barn, on that a byre:

A peet stack joins, and forms a rural square.

The house is Glaud’s—there you may see him lean,

And to his divet [turf] seat invite his friend.

GLAUD and SYMON.

Glaud.

GOOD morrow, nibour [neighbor] Symon—come, sit down,

And gies [give us] your cracks [conversation]—What’s a’ [all] the news in town?

They tell me ye was in the ither [other] day,

And sald [sold] your crummock [a cow with crooked horns], and her bassen’d [bawsant: having a white spot on the face] quey [young cow].

I’ll warrant ye’ve coft [bought] a pund [pound] o’ [of] cut and dry;

Lug out your box, and gie’s [give us] a pipe to try.

Symon. Wi’ [with] a’ [all] my heart; and tent [mind] me now, auld [old] boy,

I’ve gather’d news will kittle [tickle] your mind wi’ [with] joy:

I cou’dna [could not] rest till I came o’er the burn,

To tell you things ha’e [have] taken sic [such] a turn,

Will gar [make] our vile oppressors stand like fleas,

And skulk in hidlings [secret places] on the hether [heather] braes [hillsides].

Glaud. Fy, blaw!—Ah, Symie! Rattling chiels [fellows] ne’er [never] stand [hesitate]

To cleck [gossip] and spread the grossest lies aff-hand [off-hand],

Whilk [which] soon flies round like will-fire, far and near:

But louse your poke [bag], be’t [be it] true or false let’s hear.

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Symon. Seeing’s believing, Glaud, and I ha’e [have] seen

Hab, that abroad has wi’ [with] our master been;

Our brave good master, wha [who] right wisely fled,

And left a fair estate to save his head:

Because ye ken [know] fou [full] weel [well] he bravely chose

To shine, or set in glory wi’ [with] Montrose.

Now Cromwell’s gane [gone] to Nick [old Nick: the devil]; and ane [one] ca’d [called] Monk,

Has plaid [played] that Rumple a right slee [sly] begunk [trick];

Restor’d King CHARLES, and ilka [every] thing’s in tune’

And Habby says, we’ll see Sir William soon.

SONG VII. Tune, Cauld [cold] Kail in Aberdeen.

Could be the rebels’ cast,

Oppressors base and bloody;

I hope we’ll see them at the last,

Strong a’ [all] up in a woody [gallows].

Blest be he of worth and sense,

And ever high in station,

That bravely stands in the defence

Of conscience, king, and nation.

Glaud. That makes me blyth [happy] indeed—but dinna [do not] flaw [lie];

Tell o’er [over] your news again! and swear til’t [to it] a’ [all].

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 [home],

And his estate, say, can he eithly [easily] claim?

Symon. They that hag-rid [?] us till our guts did grane [groan],

Like greedy bears, dare nae [no] mair [more] do ’t [it] again;

And good Sir William sall [shall] enjoy his ain [own].

Glaud. And may he lang [long], for never did he stent [stretch]

Us in our thriving wi’ [with] a racket rent [excessive rent];

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Nor grumbled if ane [one] grew rich, or shor’d [threatened] to raise

Our mailens [farms] when we pat [put] on Sunday’s claiths [clothes].

Symon. Nor wad [would] he lang [long], with senseless saucy air,

Allow our lyart [grey-haired] noddles [heads] to be bare:

‘Put on your bonnet, Symon;--tak a seat—

‘How’s a’ [all] at hame [home]?—How’s Elspa?—How does Kate?

And sic [such] like kindly questions wad [would] he speer [ask].

SANG VIII. Tune, Mucking of Geordy’s byre.

The laird who in riches and honour

Wad [would] thrive, should be kindly and free;

Nor rack his poor tenants wha [who] labour,

To rise aboon [above] poverty.

Else like the pack-horse that’s unfother’d [unfed],

And burden’d will tumble down faint;

Thus virtue, by hardship is smother’d,

And rackers aft [oft] tine [lose] their rent.

Glaud. Then wad [would] he gar [make] his butler bring bedeen [immediately]

The nappy [ale] bottle ben [inside], and glasses clean,

Whilk [which] in our breast rais’d sic [such] a blythsome [happy] flame,

As gar’d [made] me mony [many] a time gae [go] dancing hame [home].

My heart’s e’en rais’d!—Dear nibour [neighbor] will ye stay,

And tak your dinner here wi’ [with] me the day?

We’ll send for Elspa too—and upo’ [upon] sight,

I’ll whistle Pate and Roger frae [from] the hight:

I’ll yoke my sled and send to the niest [next] town,

And bring a draught of ale baith [both] stout and brown;

And gar [make] our cottars [sub-tenants] a’ [all], man, wife, and wean [child],

Drink till they tine [lose] the gate [way] to stand their lane [lone].

Symon. I wadna [would not] bauk [baulk] my friend and his blyth [happy] design,

Gif [if] that it hadna [had not] first of a’ [all] been mine:

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For heer-yestreen [the night before yesternight] I brew’d a bow [measure of capacity for commodities such as grain, malt, salt] o’ [of] maut [malt]

Yestreen [yesternight] I slew twa [two] wathers [wethers—castrated male sheep] prime and fat;

A furlet [four pecks] o’ [of] good cakes my Elspa beuk [baked],

And a large ham hings [hangs] reesting [drying] i’ [in] the nook.

I saw, mysell, or I came o’er the loan [common],

The meikle [great] pat [pot] that scads [scalds] the whey put on,

A mutton bouk [bulk] to boil—and ane [one] we’ll roast;

And on the haggies Elspa spares nae [no] cost;

Sma’ [small] are they shorn; and she can mix fou [full] nice,

The gusty [tasty] ingans [onions] wi’ [with] a curn [small parcel] o’ [of] spice.

Fat are the puddings—head and feet weel [well] sung;

And we’ve invited nibours [neighbours] auld [old] and young,

To pass this afternoon wi’ [with] glee and game,

And drink our master’s health and welcome hame [home],

Ye maunna [must not] then refuse to join the rest,

Since ye’re my nearest friend that I like best:

Bring wi’ [with] you a’ [all] your family, and then,

Whene’er you please, I’ll rant [make merry] wi’ [with] you again.

Glaud. Spoke like ye’rsell, auld [old] birky [clever fellow]; never fear,

But at your banquet I sall [shall] first appear:

Faith, we shall bend the bicker [wooden dish], and look bauld [bold],

Till we forget that we are fail’d [worn] or auld [old].

Auld, said I! Troth [truth], I’m younger by a score,

Wi’ [with] this good news, than what I was before;

I’ll dance or een []! Hey, Madge! come forth, d’ ye hear?

MADGE enters.

Madge. The man’s gane [gone] gyte [mad]!—Dear Symon, welcome

here:

What wa’d [would] ye, Glaud, wi’ [with] a’ [all] this haste and din?

Ye never let a body sit to spin.

Glaud. Spin! Snuff—Gae [go] brak [break] your wheel, and burn

your tow [rope],

And set the meiklest [largest] peet-stack in a low [flame]:

page 32

Syne [then] dance about the bane-fire [bonfire] till ye dee [die],

Since now again we’ll soon Sir William see.

Madge. Byth [happy] news indeed!—And wha [who] was’t [was it] tald [told] you o’t [of it]?

Glaud. What’s that to you?—Gae [go] get my Sunday’s coat;

Wale [pick] out the whitest o’ my bobbit bands,

My white skin hose, and mittans for my hands;

Then frae [from] their washing cry the bairns [children] in haste,

And mak ye’rsels as trig [neat], head, feet, and waste,

As ye were a’ [all] to get young lads or een [even];

For we’re gawn [going] o’er to dine with Sim bedeen [immediately].

Symon. Do, honest Madge—and, Glaud, I’ll o’er [over] the

gate [way],

And see that a’ [all] be done as I wad [would] ha’e [have] ‘t [it]. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

PROLOGUE.

The open field.—A cottage in a glen,

An auld [old] wife spinning at the sunny end,

At a small distance, by a blasted tree,

With faulded [folded] arms, and ha’f-rais’d looks, ye see.

BAULDY his lane [lone].

Bauldy. What’s this!—I canna [can not] bear ‘t! ’Tis war [worse] than hell

To be sae [so] burnt wi’ [with] love, yet darna [dare not] tell!

O, Peggy! sweeter than the dawning day,

Sweeter than gowany [daisy] glens or new mawn [mown] hay;

Blyther [happier] than lambs that frisk out o’er the knows [hillocks],

Straighter than aught [anything] that in the forest grows:

Her een [eyes] the clearest blob of dew outshines;

The lily in her breast its beauty tines [loses];

Her legs, her arms, her cheeks, her mouth, her een,

Will be my dead [death], that will be shortly seen!

For Pate loes [loves] her!—waes [woe is] me! and she loes [loes] Pate;

And I wi’ [with] Neps, by some unlucky fate,

page 33

Made a daft [foolish] vow!—Oh! but ane [one] be a beast,

That maks rash aiths [oaths], till he’s afore the priest.

I darna [dare not] speak my mind, else a’ [all] the three,

But doubt, wad [would] prove ilk [each] ane my enemy.

’Tis sair [difficult] to thole [endure]—I’ll try some witchcraft art,

To break wi’ [with] ane [one], and win the other’s heart.

Here Mausy lives; a witch, that for sma’ [small] price,

Can cast her cantrips [spells], and gi’e [give] me advice;

She can o’ercast the night, and cloud the moon,

And mak the de’ils obedient to her crune [crooning].

At midnight hours o’er the kirk-yard [church-yard] she raves [roams],

And howks [digs] unchristen’d weans [children] out o’ their graves;

Boils up their livers in a warlock’s pow [skull],

Rins [runs] withershins [cross motion, or against the sun] about the hemlock low [flame];

And seven times does her prayers backward pray,

Till Plotcock comes wi’ [with] lumps o’ Lapland clay,

Mixt wi’ [with] the venom o’ black taids [toads] and snakes;

Of this unsonsy [wicked] pictures aft [oft] she makes

Of ony [any] ane [one] she hates; and gars [makes] expire

Wi’ [with] slaw [slow] and racking pains afore a fire,

Stuck fou [full] of pins; the devilish pictures melt;

The pain, but fowk [folk] they represent, is felt.

And yonder’s Mause; ay, ay, she kens [knows] fou [full] weel [well],

When ane [one] like me comes rinning [running] to the de’il,

She and her cat sit beeking [basking] in her yard;

To speak my errand, faith amaist [almost] I’m fear’d:

But I maun [must] do’t, though I should never thrive;

They gallop fast that de’ils and lasses drive. [Exit.

page 34

SCENE III.

PROLOGUE.

A green kail yard; a little fount,

Where water popland springs:

There sits a wife with wrinkled front,

And yet she spins and sings.

SANG IX. Tune, Carle an’ the King comes.

MAUSE.

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.

Na [no] mair [more] the hawkies[cows] shalt thou milk,

But change thy plaiding coat for silk,

And be a lady of that ilk,

Now, Peggy, since the king’s come.

BAULDY enters.

Bauldy. How does auld [old] honest lucky o’ the glen?

Ye look baith [both] hale [ healthy] and fere [sound] at threescore ten.

Mause. E’en twining out a thread wi’ [with] little din,

And beeking [basking] my cauld [cold] limbs afore the sun.

What brings my bairn [child] this gate [way] sae [so] air [early] at morn?

Is there nae [no] muck [manure] to lead?—to thresh nae [no] corn?

Bauldy. Enough o’ baith [both]—but something that requires

Your helping hand, employs now a’ [all] my cares.

Mause. My helping hand, alake! what can I do,

That underneath baith [both] eild [age] and poortith [poverty] bow?

Bauldy. Ay, but you’re wise, and wiser far than we,

Or maist [most] part o’ the parish tells a lie.

page 35

Mause. Of what kind wisdom think ye I’m possest,

That lifts my character aboon [above] the rest?

Bauldy. The word that gangs [goes], how ye’re so wise and fell [shrewd];

Ye’ll may be tak it ill gif [if] I shou’d tell.

Mause. What fouk [folk] say o’ me, Bauldy, let me hear.

Keep naething [nothing] up, ye naething hae [have] to fear.

Bauldy. Weel [well], since ye bid me, I shall tell ye a’ [all]

That ilka [every] ane [one] talks about you, but a flaw [lie].

When last the wind made Glaud a roofless barn;

When last the burn bore down my mither’s [mither’s] yarn;

When Brawny elf-shot [bewitched] never mair [more] came hame [home];

When Tibby kirn’d [churned] and there nae [no] butter came;

When Bessy Freetock’s chuffy-cheeked [full-faced] wean [child]

To a fairy turn’d, and cou’dna [could not] stand its lane [alone];

When Watie wander’d ae [one] night through the shaw [wood],

And tint [lost] himsell amaist [almost] amang [among] the snaw [snow];

When Mungo’s mare stood still, and swat [did sweat] wi’ [with] fright,

When he brought east the howdy [midwife] under night;

When Bawsy shot to dead upo’ the green;

And Sara tint [lost] a snood [hair band] was nae [no] mair [more] seen:

You, Lucky, gat [got] the wyte [blame] of a’ [all] fell out,

And ilk [every] ane [one] here dreads ye a’ [all] round about;

And sae [so] they may that mint [aim] to do ye skaith [harm];

For me to wrang [wrong] ye, I’ll be very laith [loath]:

But when I niest [next] mak grots [milled oats], I’ll strive to please

You wi’ [with] a furlet [four pecks] of them, mixt with pease.

Mause. I thank ye, lad—Now tell me your demand,

And, if I can, I’ll lend a helping hand.

Bauldy. Then I like Peggy—Neps is fond o’ me—

Peggy likes Pate—and Pate is bauld [bold] and slee [sly],

And loes [loves] sweet Meg.—But Neps I downa [do not] see—

Could ye turn Patie’s love to Neps, and then

Peggy’s to me.—I’d be the happiest man.

page 36

Mause. I’ll try my art to gar [make] the bowls row [roll] right;

Sae [so] gang [go] your ways, and come again at night:

’Gainst that time I’ll some simple things prepare,

Worth a’ [all] your pease and grots, tak ye nae [no] care.

Bauldy. Weel [well], Mause, I’ll come, gif [if] I the road can find;

But if ye raise the de’il, he’ll raise the wind;

Syne [then] rain and thunder, may be, when ’tis late,

Will mak the night sa [so] mirk [dark], I’ll tyne [lose] the gate [way].

We’re a’ [all] to rant [revel] in Symie’s, at a feast,

O! will ye come like Badrans [a cat], for a jest;

And there ye can our diff’rent ‘haviours spy:

There’s nane [none] shall ken [know] o’t [of it] there but you and I.

Mause. ’Tis like I may—but let na [not] on what’s past

’Tween you and me, else fear a kittle [bad] cast [fortune].

Bauldy. If I ought o’ your secrets e’er advance,

May you ride on me ilka [every] night to France. [Exit.

MAUSE her lane.

Hard luck, alake! when poverty and eild [age],

Weeds [clothes] out o’ fashion, and a lanely [lonely] bield [shelter],

Wi’ [with] a sma’ [small] cast [measure] o’ wiles, should in a twitch,

Gi’e [give] ane [one] the hatfu’ [hateful] name, A wrinkled witch.

This fool imagines, as do mony [many] sic [such],

That I’m a wretch in compact with Auld Nick;

Because, by education, I was taught

To speak and act aboon [above] their common thought.

Their gross mistake shall quickly now appear,

Soon shall they ken [know] what brought, what keeps me here.

Nane [none] kens [knows] but me; and if the morn were come,

I’ll tell them tales will gar [make] them a’ [all] sing dumb. [Exit.

page 37

SCENE IV.

PROLOGUE.

Behind a tree, upon the plain,

PATIE and his PEGGY meet;

In love without a vicious stain,

The bonny [beautiful] lass and cheerfu’ swain

Change vows and kisses sweet.

Peggy. O, Patie, let me gang [go], I maunna [must not] stay;

We’re baith [both] cry’d hame [home], and Jenny she’s away.

Patie. I’m laith [loath] to part sae [so] soon; now we’re alane [alone],

And Roger he’s awa [away] wi’ [with] Jenny gane [gone]:

They’re as content, for aught I hear or see,

To be alane [alone] themselves, I judge, as we.

Here, where primroses thickest paint the green,

Hard by this little burnie let us lean.

Hark, how the lav’rocks [larks] chant aboon [above] our heads!

How saft [soft] the westlin winds sough through the reeds!

Peggy. The scented meadows, birds, and healthy breeze,

For aught I ken [know], may mair [more] than Peggy please.

Patie. Ye wrang [wrong] me sair [sorely], to doubt my being kind,

In speaking sae [so], ye ca’ [call] me dull and blind:

Gif [if] I could fancy ought sae [so] sweet or fair

As my dear Meg, or worthy of my care.

Thy breath is sweeter than the sweetest brier,

Thy cheek and breast the finest flowers appear;

Thy words excel the maist [most] delightfu’ notes,

That warble through the merl or mavis’ throats:

Wi’ [with] thee I tent [mind] nae [no] flowers that busk [deck] the field,

Or ripest berries that our mountains yield;

The sweetest fruits that hing [hang] upon the tree,

Are far inferior to a kiss of thee.

page 38

Peggy. But Patrick for some wicked end may fleech [flatter],

And lambs should tremble when the foxes preach.

I darna [dare not] stay—ye, joker, let me gang [go],

Another lass may gar [make] ye change your sang [song];

Your thoughts may flit, and I may thole [suffer] the wrang [wrong].

Patie. Sooner a mother shall her fondness drap [drop],

And wrang [wrong] the bairn [child] 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 [harm] our love, I swear by a’ [all] aboon [above].

Peggy. Then keep your aith [oath].—But mony [many] lads will swear,

And be mansworn to twa [two] in half a-year.

Now, I believe, ye like me wonder weel [well];

But if a fairer face your heart should steal,

Your Meg, forsaken, bootless might relate,

How she was dauted [treasured] anes [once] by faithless Pate.

Patie. I’m sure I canna [can not] change, ye needna [need not] fear;

Though we’re but young, I’ve lo’ed you mony [many] a year.

I mind it weel [well], when thou cou’dst hardly gang [move],

Or lisp out words, I choos’d you frae [from] the thrang [crowd]

Of a’ [all] the bairns [children], and led thee by the hand,

Aft [oft] to the tansy-know or rashy-strand;

Thou, smiling by my side—I took delite

To pou [pull] the rashes green, wi’ [with] roots sae [so] white.

Of which, as well as my young fancy cou’d,

For thee I plet [plaited] a flow’ry belt and snood [hair band].

Peggy. When first thou gade [went] wi’ [with] shepherds to the hill,

And I to milk the ewes first try’d my skill,

To bear a leglen [milking pail] was nae [no] toil to me,

When at the bught [milking fold] at e’en [evening] I met wi’ [with] thee.

Patie. When corns grew yellow, and the hether-bells,

Bloom’d bonny [beautiful] on the moor and rising fells,

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Nae [no] birns [heathy land], or briers, or whins [gorse], ere troubled me,

Gif [if] I cou’d find blae-berries [blueberries] ripen’d for thee.

Peggy. When thou didst wrestle, run, or putt the stane [stone],

And wan [won] the day my heart was flight’ring [fluttering] fain [fond]:

At a’[all] thae [those] sports thou still gave joy to me;

For nane [none] can wrestle, run, or putt with thee.

Patie. Jenny sings saft [soft] the Broom of Cowden knows,

And Rose lilts the Milking of the Ews:

There’s nane [none] like Nancy, Jenny Nettles sings;

At turns in Maggy Lawder Marian dings [excels]:

But when my Peggy sings wi’ [with] sweeter skill,

The Boatman, or the Lass of Patie’s Mill,

It is a thousand times mair [more] sweet to me:

Though they sing weel [well], they canna [can not] sing like thee.

Peggy. How eith [easy] can lasses trow [believe] what they desire,

And roos’d [praised] by them we love, blaws [blows] up that fire:

But who loves best let time and carriage try;

Be constant, and my love shall time defy.

Be still as now, and a’ [all] my care shall be,

How to contrive what pleasant is for thee.

SANG X. Tune, The Yellow hair’d Ladie.

PEGGY.

When first my dear ladie gade [went] to the green hill,

And I at ew milking first sey’d [tried] my young skill,

To bear the milk bowie [bucket] nae [no] pain was to me,

When I at the boughting [milking fold or small pen?] forgather’d wi’ [with] thee.

PATIE.

When corn riggs wav’d yellow, and blue hether-bells

Bloom’d bonny on moorland, and sweet rising fells,

Nae[no] birns [heathy land], briers, or breckens [ferns], gave trouble to me,

If I found the berries right ripe’n’d for thee.

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PEGGY.

When thou ran or wrestled, or putted the stane [stone],

And came aff [off] the victor, my heart was ay [always] fain [fond]:

Thy ilka [every] sport manly, gave pleasure to me;

For nane [none ]can putt, wrestle, or run swift as thee.

PATIE.

Our Jenny sings saftly [softly] the Cowden-Broom-Knows,

And Rosey lilts sweetly the Milking the Ews;

There’s few Jenny Nettles like Nancy can sing,

And Thro the Wood Laddie, Bess gars [makes] our lugs [ears] ring.

But when my dear Peggy sings wi’ [with] better skill,

The Boatman, Tweed-side, or the Lass of the Mill,

’Tis mony [many] times sweeter and pleasant to me;

For though they sing nicely, they can’t sing like thee.

PEGGY.

How easy can lasses trow [believe] what they desire!

And praises sae [so] kindly increases love’s fire!

Gi’e [give] me still this pleasure, my study shall be

To mak myself better and sweeter for thee.

Patie. Wert thou a giglet [foolish girl] gawky [foolish, idle, aimless] like the lave [rest],

That little better than our nowt [cows] behave:

At naught they’ll ferly [wonder]—senseless tales believe;

Be blyth [happy] for silly heghts [promises], for trifles grieve:

Sic [such] ne’er could win my heart, that kenna [know not] how

Either to keep a prize, or yet prove true;

But thou in better sense, without a flaw [life],

As in thy beauty far excels them a’ [all];

Continue kind, and a’ [all] my care shall be,

How to contrive what pleasing is for thee.

Peggy. Agreed.—But hearken! yon’s auld [old] aunty’s cry,

I ken [know] they’ll wonder what can make us stay.

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Patie. And let them ferly [wonder].—Now, a kindly kiss,

Or fivescore good anes [ones] wad [would] na [not] be amiss;

And syne [then] we’ll sing the sang [song] wi’ [with] tunefu’ glee,

That I made up last owk [week] on you and me.

Peggy. Sing first, syne [then] claim your hire.—

Patie. –Well, I agree.

SANG XI. To its aine [own] tune.

PATIE.

By the delicious warmness of thy mouth,

And rowing[rolling] eyes that smiling tell the truth,

I guess, my lassie, that as well as I,

You’re made for love, and why should you deny?

PEGGY.

But ken [know] ye, lad, gin [if] we confess o’er soon,

Ye think us cheap, and syne [then] the wooing’s done;

The maiden that o’er quickly tines [loses] her pow’r,

Like unripe fruit, will taste but hard and sow’r.

PATIE.

But gin [if] they hing [hang] o’er lang [long] upo’ the tree,

Their sweetness they may tine [lose]; and sae [so] may ye:

Red-cheeked you completely ripe appear,

And I have thold’d [suffered] and woo’d a lang [long] haff year.

PEGGY. [Falling into Patie’s arms.]

Then dinna [do not] pu’ [pull] me; gently thus I fa’ [fall]

Into my Patie’s arms, for good and a’ [all]:

But stint [limit] your wishes to this kind embrace,

And mint [aim] nae [no] farther till we’ve got the grace.

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PATIE. [With his left hand about her waist.]

O, charming armfu’! hence, ye cares, away!

I’ll kiss my treasure a’[all] the live lang [long] day;

A’ [all] night I’ll dream my kisses o’er again,

Till that day come that ye’ll be a’ [all] my ain [own].

BOTH.

Sun, gallop down the westling skies,

Gang [go] soon so 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 [if] ye like, a week that night. [Exeunt.

ACT III. SCENE I.

PROLOGUE.

Now turn your eyes beyond yon spreading lime,

And tent [heed] a man whose beard seems bleech’d wi’ [with] time:

An elwand fills his hand, his habit mean,

Nae [no] doubt, ye’ll think he has a pedlar been.

But whisht [hush]! it is the Knight in mascurad,

That comes hid in this cloud to see his lad.

Observe how pleas’d the royal sufferer moves,

Thro’ his auld [old] av’news, anes [once] 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 ev’ry fertile plain,

Which once I lost, which now are mine again.

Yet ‘midst my joys, prospects pain renew,

Whilst I my once fair seat in ruins view.

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Yonder, ah me! it desolately stands

Without a roof, the gates fall’n from their bands;

The casements all broke down, no chimney 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 pebble walks,

The dewy flowers hung nodding on their stalks:

But overgrown with nettles, docks, and brier,

No jaccacinths or eglintines appear.

How do those ample walls to ruin yield,

Where peach and nect’rine branches found a bield [shelter],

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 lie,

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 Heaven 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 heights 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 cheerfully

A quiet, contented mortal spends his time

In hearty health, his soul unstain’d with crime!

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SANG XII. Tune, Happy Clown.

Hid from himself, now by the dawn

He starts as fresh as roses blawn [blown],

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 weather-cocks.

Life happy, from ambition free,

Envy and vile hypocrisy,

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 towards 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 gaily dance and sing.

[Exit Sir William.

SCENE II.

PROLOGUE.

’Tis Symon’s house, please to step in,

And visit round and round,

There’s nought superfluous to give pain,

Or costly to be found;

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Yet all is clean: A clear peet ingle [fire]

Glances amidst the floor;

The green horn spoons, beech luggies [wooden dishes] mingle

On skelfs [shelves] foregainst the door.

While the young brood sport on the green,

The auld [old] anes [ones] think it best,

Wi’ [with] the brown cow to clear their een [eyes],

Snuff, crack [converse], and tak their rest.

SYMON, GLAUD and ELSPA.

Glaud. We anes [once] were young oursells—I like to see

The bairns [children] bob round wi’ [with] other merrily.

Troth [truth], Symon, Patie’s grown a strapan [clever, tall, handsome] lad,

And better looks than his I never bade;

Amang [among] the lads he bears the gree [victory] awa’,

And tells his tale the cleverest o’ them a’ [all].

Elspa. Poor man! he’s a great comfort to us baith [both];

God mak him gude [good], and hide him ay [always] frae [from] skaith [harm].

He is a bairn [child], I’ll say’t, well worth our care,

That ga’e [gave] us ne’er [never] vexation, late or air [early].

Glaud. I trow [believe], guidwife [mistress of the house], if I be not mistane [mistaken],

He seems to be wi’ [with] Peggy’s beauty tane [taken];

And troth [truth] my niece is a right dainty wean [child],

As ye weel [well] ken [know]: a bonnier [more beautiful] needna [need not] be,

Nor better,--be’t she were nae [no] kin to me.

Symon. 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 he mixt wi’ the mools mysell.

Glaud. What reason can ye have? There’s nane [none], I‘m sure,

Unless ye may cast up that she’s but poor:

But gif [if[ the lassie marry to my mind,

I’ll be to her as my ain [own] Jenny kind.

Fourscore of breeding ews of my ain [own] birn [brand of ownership],

Five ky [cows] that at ae [one] milking fills a kirn [churn],

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I’ll gi’e to Peggy that day she’s a bride;

By and atour [beyond], gif [if] my good luck abide,

Ten lambs at spaining [weaning] time, as lang’s [long as] I live,

And twa [two] quey [female] cawfs [calves] I’ll yearly to them give.

Elspa. Ye offer fair, kind Glaud: but dinna [do not] speer [ask]

What may be is not fit ye yet should hear.

Symon. Or this day eight days, likely, he shall learn,

That our denial disna [does not] slight his bairn [child].

Glaud. Weel [well], nae [no] mair [more] o’t [of it]:--come, gi’es [give us] the other bend [another drink],

We’ll drink their healths, whatever way it end.

[Their healths gae round.

Symon. But will ye tell me, Glaud, by some ‘tis said,

Your niece is but a fundling [foundling], that was laid

Down at your hallon [cottage inner wall] side, ae [one] morn in May,

Right clean row’d [rolled] up, and bedded on dry hay.

Glaud. That clatteran [idle chatterer], Madge, my titty [sister], tells sic [such] flaws [lies],

Whene’er our Meg her cankart [angy] humour gaws [galls].

JENNY enters.

Jenny. O, father! there’s an auld [old] man on the green,

The fellest [most learned] fortune-teller e’er was seen:

He tents [examines] our loofs [palms], and syne [then] whops [whips] out a book,

Turns’ o’er the leaves, and gi’es [gives] our brows a look:

Syne [then] tells the oddest tales that e’er ye heard;

His head is grey, and lang [long] and grey his beard.

Symon. Gae [go] bring him in; we’ll hear what he can say,

Nane [none] shall gang [go] hungry by my house to day. [Exit Jen.

But for his telling fortunes, troth [truth], I fear,

He kens [knows] nae [no] mair [more] o’ that than my grey mare.

Glaud. Spae-men [prophets]! The truth of a’ [all] their saws I doubt;

For greater liars never ran thereout.

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JENNY returns, bringing in SIR WILLIAM; with them PATIE.

Symon. Ye’re welcome, honest carle [old man]—here, tak a seat.

Sir William. I gi’e [give] ye thanks, goodman, I’se no be blate [bashful].

Glaud. [Drinks.] Come, t’ ye, friend.—How far came ye

the day.

Sir William. I pledge ye, nibour [neighbor], e’en but little way:

Rousted with eild [age], a wee piece gate [way] seems lang [long],

Twa [two] miles or three’s the maist [most] that I dow [am able to] gang [go].

Symon. Ye’re welcome here to stay a’ [all] night wi’ [with] me,

And tak sic [such] bed and board as we can gi’e [give].

Sir William. That’s kind unsought—Weel [well], gin [if] ye ha’e [have] a

bairn [child]

That ye like weel [well], and wad [would] his fortune learn,

I shall employ the farthest of my skill

To spae [foretell] it faithfully, be’t [be it] good or ill.

Symon. [Pointing to Patie.] Only that lad—alack! I hae [nave]

nae [no] mae [more],

Either to mak me joyfu’ now or wae [sorrowful].

Sir William. Young man, let’s see your hand—what gars [makes]

ye sneer?

Patie. Because your skill’s but little worth I fear.

Sir William. Ye cut before the point—but, billy [brother], bide;

I’ll wager there’s a mouse mark on your side.

Elspa. Betouch us—too! And weel [well] I wat [know] that’s true;

Awa, awa! the deel’s [devil’s] o’er grit [familiar] wi’ [with] you.

Four inch aneath [beneath] his oxter [armpit] is the mark,

Scarce eve seen since he first wore a sark [shirt].

Sir William. I’ll tell ye mair [more]; if this young lad be spar’d

But a short while, he’ll be a braw [fine] rich laird.

Elspa. A laird!—Hear ye, goodman—what think ye now?

Symon. I dinna [do not] ken [know]. Strange auldman [oldman]! what art thou?

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Fair fa’ your heart, ‘tis good to bode of wealth;

Come, turn the timmer [pass round a bowl of liquor, to drink, to toast] to laird Patie’s health.

[Patie’s health gaes round.

Patie. A laird of twa [two] good whistles and a kent [long staff],

Twa [two] curs, my trusty tenants on the bent [open field],

Is a’ [all] my great estate—and like to be:

Sae [so], cunning carle [old man], ne’er pass your jokes on me.

Symon. Whisht [hush], Patie,--let the man look o’er your

hand,

Aft-times [oft-times] as broken a ship has come to land.

[Sir William looks a little at Patie’s hand, then counter-

feits falling into a trance, while they endeavour to lay

him right.

Elspa. Preserve’s!—the man’s a warlock, or possest

Wi’ some nae [no] good, or second sight, at least:

Where is he now?—

Glaud.—He’s seeing a’ [all] that’s done

In ilka [every] place, beneath or yont [beyond] the moon.

Elspa. Thae [those] second-sighted fowk [folk] (His peace be here!)

See things far aff [off], and things to come, as clear

As I can see my thumb—Wow! can he tell

(Speer [inquire] 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 [one] that raves.

Symon. He’ll soon grow better—Elspa, haste ye, gae [go]

And fill him up a tass [little dram-cup] of usquebae [whiskey].

Sir William starts up and speaks.

‘A Knight that for a Lion fought,

‘Against a herd of bears,

‘Was to long toil and trouble brought,

‘In which some thousands shares.

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‘But now again the Lion rares [roars],

‘And joy spreads o’er the plain;

‘The Lion has defeat the bears,

‘The Knight returns again.

‘That Knight in a few days shall bring

‘A shepherd frae [from] the fauld [sheepfold],

‘And shall present him to his King,

‘A subject true and bauld [bold]:

‘He Mr. Patrick shall be call’d;

‘All you that hear me now,

‘May well believe what I have tald [told],

‘For it shall happen true.’

Symon. Friend, may your spaeing [foretelling] happen soon and weel [well],

But, faith, I’m redd [apprehensive] you’ve bargain’d wi’ the deel [devil],

To tell some tales that fowks [folks] wad [would] secret keep;

Or do you get them tald [told] you in your sleep?

Sir William. Howe’er I get them, never fash [trouble] your beard;

Nor come I to read fortunes for reward:

But I’ll lay ten to ane [one] wi’ [with] ony [any] here,

That all I prophesy shall soon appear.

Symon. You prophesying fowk [folk] are odd kind men!

They’re here that ken [know], and here that disna [does not] ken [know]

The whimpled [winding] meaning o’ your unco [strange] tale,

Whilk [which] soon will mak a noise o’er moor and dale.

Glaud. It’s nae [no] sma’ [small] sport to hear how Sym believes,

And taks ‘t for gospel what the spae-man [prophet] gi’es [gives]

Of flawing [flowing] fortunes, whilk [which] he evens to Pate:

But what we wish, we trow [believe] at ony [any] rate.

Sir William. Whist [hush]! Doubtfu’ carle [old man]; for ere the sun

Has driven twice down to the sea,

What I have said, ye shall see done

In part, or nae [no] mair [more] credit me.

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Glaud. Weel [well] be’t sae [so], friend, I shall say naithing [nothing] mair [more];

But I’ve twa [two] sonsy [sweet, happy, fortunate] lasses, young and fair,

Plump ripe for men: I wish you could foresee

Sic [such] fortunes for them, might prove joy to me.

Sir William. Nae [no] mair [more] through secrets I can sift

Till darkness black the bent [open field]:

I ha’e [have] but anes [once] a day that gift;

Sae [so] rest a while content.

Symon. Elspa, cast on the claith [coth], fetch butt some meat,

And o’ your best gar [make] this auld [old] stranger eat.

Sir William. 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.

Symon. Soon as you please I’ll answer your desire:

And, Glaud, you’ll tak your pipe beside the fire:

We’ll but gae [go] round the place, and soon be back,

Syne [then] sup together, and tak our pint, and crack [converse].

Glaud. I’ll out a space, and see the young anes [ones] play;

My heart’s still light, albeit my locks be gray. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

PROLOGUE.

Jenny pretends an errand hame [home];

Young Roger draps [drops] the rest,

To whisper out his melting flame,

And thaw his lassie’s breast.

Behind a bush, weel [well] hid frae [from] sight, they meet:

See, Jenny’s laughing; Roger’s like to greet [weep].

Poor shepherd!

ROGER and JENNY.

Roger. Dear Jenny, I wad [would] speak t’ ye, wad [would] ye let;

And yet I ergh [hesitate], ye’re aye [always] sae [so] scornfu’ set.

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Jenny. And what wad [would] Roger say, if he cou’d speak?

Am I obliged to guess what ye’re to seek?

Roger. Yes, ye may guess right eith [easy] for what I grien [long for],

Baith [both] by my service, sighs, and langing [longing] een [eyes].

And I maun [must] out wi’ t [with it], though I risk your scorn;

Ye’re never frae [from] my thoughts baith [both] e’en [evening] and morn.

Ah! could I lo’e thee less I’d happy be:

But happier far, could you but fancy me.

Jenny. And who kens [knows], honest lad, but that I may?

Ye canna [can not] say that e’er I said ye nay.

Roger. Alake! my frighted heart begins to fail,

Whene’er I mint [attempt] to tell you out my tale,

For fear some tighter [shapelier, tidier] lad, mair [more] rich than I,

Has won your love, and near your heart may lie.

Jenny. I lo’e my father, cousin Meg I love;

But to this day, nae [no] man my heart could move:

Except my kin, ilk [each] lad’s alike to me;

And frae [from] ye a’ [all] I best had keep me free.

Roger. How lang [long], dear Jenny?—sayna [say not] that again;

What pleasure can ye tak in giving pain?

I’m glad, however, that ye yet stand free;

Wha [who] kens [knows] but ye may rue and pity me?

Jenny. Ye have my pity else, to see you set

On that whilk [which] maks our sweetness soon forget;

Wow! but we’re bonny [beautiful], good and every thing;

How sweet we breathe, whene’er we kiss or sing!

But we’re nae [no] sooner fools to gi’e [give] consent,

Than we our daffin [folly] and tint [lost] pow’r repent:

When prison’d in four wa’s [walls], a wife right tame,

Although the first, the greatest drudge at hame [home].

Roger. That only happens, when, for sake o’ [of] gear [property],

Ane [one] wales [chooses] a wife, as he wad [would] buy a mare:

Or when dull parents, bairns [children] together bind

Of different tempers, than can ne’er prove kind.

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But love, true downright love, engages me,

Though thou should scorn—still to delight in thee.

Jenny. What sugar’d words frae [from] wooer’s lips can fa’ [fall]

But girning [snarling] marriage comes and ends them a’ [all].

I’ve seen, wi’ [with] shining fair, the morning rise,

And soon the sleety clouds mirk [darken] a’ [all] the skies;

I’ve seen the siller [silver] spring a while rin [run] clear,

And soon in mossy puddles disappear:

The bridgegroom may rejoice, the bride may smile:

But soon contentions a’ [all] their joys beguile.

Roger. I’ve seen the morning rise wi’ [with] fairest light,

The day unclouded, sink in calmest night;

I’ve seen the spring rin [run] whimpling [winding] through the plain,

Increase, and join the ocean without stain:

The bridegroom may be blyth [happy], the bride may smile;

Rejoice through life, and a’ [all] your fears beguile.

Jenny. Were I but sure ye lang [long] would love maintain,

The fewest words my easy heart could gain:

For I maun [must] own, since now at last you’re free,

Although 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.

Roger. I’m happy now! o’er happy! haud [hold], my head!

This gust of pleasure’s like to be my dead [death].

Come to my arms! or strike me! I’m a’ [all] fir’d

Wi’ [with] wond’ring love! let’s kiss till we be tir’d.

Kiss, kiss! we’ll kiss the sun and stars away,

And ferly [wonder] at the quick return o’ day.

O, Jenny! let my arms about thee twine,

And briss [press] thy bonny [beautiful] breasts and lips to mine. [They embrace.

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SANG XIII. Tune, Leith-wynd.

JENNY.

Were I assur’d you’d constant prove,

You should nae [no] mair [more] complain;

The easy maid beset with love,

Few words will quickly gain:

For I must own, now since ye’re free,

This too fond heart of mine

Has lang [long], a black-sole true to thee,

Wish’d to be pair’d with thine.

ROGER.

I’m happy now, ah! let my head

Upon thy breast recline!

The pleasure strikes me near-hand dead,

Is Jenny then sae [so] kind?

O, let me briss [press] thee to my heart!

And round my arms entwine;

Delightfu’ thought! we’ll never part:

Come, press thy mouth to mine.

Jenny. Wi’ [with] equal joy my easy heart gi’es [gives] way,

To own thy weel-try’d [well-tried] love has won the day.

Now by the warmest kisses thou hast tane [taken],

Swear thus to love me, when by vows made ane [one].

Roger. I swear by fifty thousand yet to come,

Or may the first ane [one] strike me deaf and dumb,

There shall not be a kindlier dawted [fondled] wife,

If ye agree wi’ [with] me to lead your life.

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SANG XIV. Tune, O’er Boggie.

JENNY.

Weel [well], I agree, ye’re sure of me:

Next to my father gae [go];

Mak him content to gie [give] consent,

He’ll hardly say ye nay [no];

For ye ha’e [have] what he wad [would] be at,

And will commend you weel [well],

Since parents auld [old] thinks love grows cauld [cold],

When bairns [children] want milk and meal.

Should he deny, I care na [not] by,

He’d contradict in vain:

Tho’ a’ [all] my kin had said and sworn,

But thee, I will ha’e [have] nane [none].

Then never range, nor learn to change,

Like those in high degree:

And if ye prove faithful in love,

You’ll find nae [no] fault in me.

Roger. My faulds [sheepfolds] contain twice fifteen forrow [reserve] nowt [cows],

As mony [many] newcal [newly calved] in my byars [cow-stalls] rowt [bellowing]:

Five pack of woo’ [wool] I can at Lammas sell,

Shorn frae [from] my bob-tail’d bleeters [sheep] on the fell;

Gude [good] twenty pair o’ blankets for our bed,

Wi’ [with] meikle [great] care, my thrifty mither [mother] made:

Ilk [every] thing that maks a hartsome [cheerful] house and tight [tidy],

Was still her care, my father’s great delight.

They left me a’ [all]; which now gi’es joy to me,

Because I can gi’e a’, my dear, to thee:

And had I fifty times as meikle [much] mair [more],

Nane [none] but my Jenny should the samen [same] skair [share].

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My love and a’ [all] is yours; now haud [hold] them fast,

And guide them as ye like, to gar [make] them last.

Jenny. I’ll do my best.—But see wha [who] comes this way,

Patie and Meg:--besides, I maunna [must not] stay:

Let’s steal frae [from] ither [one another] now, and meet the morn:

If we be seen, we’ll drie [endure] a deal o’ scorn.

Roger. To where the saugh-tree [willow-tree] shades the mennin-pool,

I’ll frae [from] the hill come down, when day grows cool:

Keep triste, and meet me there;--there let us meet,

To kiss, and tell our love:--there’s nought sae [so] sweet.

SCENE IV.

PROLOGUE.

This scene presents the Knight and Sym,

Within a gallery of the place,

Where a’ [all] looks ruinous and grim;

Nor has the Baron shown his face:

But joking wi’ [with] his shepherd leel [loyal, faithful, trusty],

Aft [oft] speers [asks] the gate [way] he kens [knows] fu’ [full] weel [well].

Sir WILLIAM and SYMON.

Sir William. To whom belongs this house so much decay’d?

Symon. To ane [one] that lost 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,

Whilk [which] fills us a’ with joy, now He’s come hame [home].

(Sir William draps [drops] his masking beard:

Symon transported sees

The welcome Knight, with fond regard,

And grasps him round the knees.)

My master! my dear master!—do I breathe

To see him healthy, strong, and free frae [from] skaith [harm]!

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Return’d to cheer his wishing tenant’s sight,

To bless his son, my charge, the world’s delight!

Sir William. 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 still the secret thou’st securely seal’d,

And ne’er to him his real birth reveal’d.

Symon. The due obedience to your strict command

Was the first lock:--niest [next], my ain [own] judgment fand [found]

Out reasons plenty: since, without estate,

A youth, tho’ sprung frae [from] kings, looks baugh [bashful, timid, foolish] and blate [sheepish].

Sir William. And aften [often] vain and idly spend their time,

Till grown unfit for action, past their prime,

Hang on their friends: which gi’es [gives] their sauls [souls] a cast,

That turns them downright beggars at the last.

Symon. Now, weel [well] I wat [know], sir, ye ha’e [have] spoken true;

For there’s laird Kytie’s son, that lov’d by few:

His father steght [squandered] his fortune in his wame [womb],

And left his heir nought but a gentle name:

He gangs [goes] about sornan [sponging] frae [from] place to place,

As scrimp [scant] of manners as of sense and grace:

Oppressing a’ [all], as punishment of their sin,

That are within his tenth degree o’ kin;

Rins [runs] in ilka [every] trader’s debt, wha’s [who is] sae [so] unjust

To his ain [own] family as to gi’e [give] him trust.

Sir William. Such useless branches of a commonwealth,

Should be lopt off, to give a state mair [more] 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.

Symon. To speak his praise, the langest [longest] simmer-day [summer-day]

Wad [would] be o’er short—cou’d I them right display.

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In word and deed he can sae [so] weel [well] behave,

That out o’ sight he rins [runs] before the lave [rest];

And when there’s e’er a quarrel or contest,

Patrick’s made judge to tell whase [whose] cause is best;

And his decreet stands good—he’ll gar [make] it stand;

Wha [who] dares to grumble finds his correcting hand;

Wi’ [with] a firm look, and a commanding way,

He gars [makes] the proudest o’ our herds [shepherds] obey.

Sir William. Your tale much pleases—my good friend,

proceed;

What learning has he, can he write and read?

Symon. Baith [both] wonder weel [well]: for troth [truth], I didna [did not] spare

To gi’e [give] him at the school enough o’ lair [education];

And he delytes in books—he reads and speaks

With fouks [folks] that ken [know] them, Latin words and Greeks.

Sir William. Where gets he books to read—and o’ what

kind?

Though some give light, some blindly lead the blind.

Symon. Whene’er he drives our sheep to Edinburgh port,

He buys some books of history, sangs [songs], or sport:

Nor does he want o’ them a routh [plenty] at will,

And carries ae [one] a pouchfu’ to the hill.

About ane [one] Shakspere and a famous Ben,

He aftens [often] speaks, and ca’s [calls] them best o’ men.

How sweetly Hawthornden and Stirling sings,

And ane [one] ca’d [called] Cowley, loyal to his king,

He kens [knows] fu’ [full] weel [well], and gars [makes] their verses ring.

I sometimes thought he made o’er great a phrase,

About fine poems, histories, and plays.

When I reprov’d him anes [once]—a book he brings,

Wi’ [with] this, quoth he, on braes [hillsides] I crack [converse] wi’ kings.

Sir William. He answer’d well; and much ye glad my ear,

When such accounts I of my shepherd hear;

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Reading such books can raise a peasant’s mind

Above a lord’s, that is not thus inclin’d.

Symon. What ken [know] we better, that sae [so] sindle [seldom] look,

Except on rainy Sundays, on a book;

When we a leaf or twa [two] haff [half] read, haff spell,

Tell a’ [all] the rest sleep round, as weel’s [well as] our sell [self].

Sir William. Well jested, Symon; but one question more

I’ll only ask you now, and then give o’er;

The youth’s arriv’d the age when little loves

Flighter around young hearts, like cooing doves;

Has nae [no] young lassie with inviting mien,

And rosie cheeks, the wonder of the green,

Engag’d his look, and caught his youthfu’ [youthful] heart?

Symon. I fear’d the warst [worst], but kend [knew] the sma’est [smallest] part;

Till late I saw him twa-three [two-three] times mair [more] sweet,

With Glaud’s fair neice [sic], then I thought right or meet:

I had my fears, but now have nought to fear,

Since like yoursell your son will soon appear;

A gentleman, enrich’d wi’ [with] a’ [all] these charms,

May bless the fairest, best-born lady’s arms.

Sir William. 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.

Symon. Wi’ [with] how much joy I on this errand flee,

There’s nane [none] can ken [know], that is not downright me. [Exit.

Sir William. [Solus] When the event of hope successfully

appears,

One happy hour cancels the toil of years?

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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 rustic business and love,

I must in haste my Patrick soon remove,

To courts and camps that may his soul improve.

Like the rough di’mond, as it leaves the mine;

Only in little breakings shews its light.

Till artful polishing has made it shine;

Thus education makes the genius bright.

SANG XV. Tune, What ye was I met yestreen [yesternight].

Now from rusticity and love,

Whose flames but over-lowly burn,

My gentle shepherd must be drove,

His soul must take another turn:

As the rough diamond from the mine,

In breakings only shews its light,

Till polishing has made it shine,

Thus learning makes the genius bright. [Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

PROLOGUE.

The scene describ’d in former page.

Bauldy’s onset—enter Mause and Madge.

Madge.

OUR laird’s come hame [home]! and owns young Pate his heir!

Mause. That’s news indeed!—

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Madge. –As true as ye stand there,

As they were dancing a’ [all] in Symon’s yard,

Sir William, like a warlock wi’ [with] a beard

Five nives in length, and white as driven snaw [snow],

Amang [among] us came, cry’d, Ha’d [hold] ye merry a’ [all];

We ferly’d [wondered] meikle [greatly] at his unco [strange] look,

Whilk [which] frae [from] his pouch he whirled forth a book.

As we stood round about him on the green,

He view’d us a’ [all], but fix’d on Pate his een [eye];

Then pawkylie [slyly] pretended he cou’d spae [tell fortunes],

Yet for his pains and skill wad [would] naething [nothing] hae [have].

Mause. Then sure the lasses, and ilk [every] gaping coof [stupid fellow],

Wad [would] rin [run] about him, and ha’d [hold] out their loof [palm].

Madge. As fast as flaes skip to the tate [taste] o’ woo [wool],

Whilk [which] slee [sly] Tod-lawrie hauds [holds] witho’t his mou’ [mouth],

When, he to drown them, and his hips to cool,

In simmer days slides backward in a pool:

In short he did for Pate braw [fine] things foretel,

Without the help of conjuring or spell.

At last, when weel [well] diverted, he withdrew,

Pu’d [pulled] of his beard to Symon, Symon knew

His welcome master; round his knees he gat,

Hang at his coat, and syne [then] for blytheness [happiness] grat [wept].

Patrick was sent for—happy lad is he!

Symon tald Elspa, Elspa tald it me.

Ye’ll hear out a’ [all] the secret story soon,

And troth [truth] ’t is e’en right odd when a’ [all] is done;

To think how Symon ne’er afore wad [would] tell,

Na, no sae [so] meikle [much] as to Pate himsell:

Our Meg, poor thing, alake! has lost her jo [sweetheart].

Mause. It may be sae [so] wha [who] kens [knows], and may be no.

To lift a love that’s rooted is great pain;

Ev’n kings ha’e [have] tane [taken] a queen out o’ the plain,

And what has been before may be again.

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Madge. Sic [such] nonsense! love tak root, but tocher-good [marriage portion],

’Tween a herd’s [shepherd’s] bairn [child], and ane [one] o’ gentle blood!

Sic [such] fashions in king Bruce’s days might be;

But siccan [such] ferlies [wonders] now we never see.

Mause. Gif [if] Pate forsaks her, Bauldy she may gain,

Yonder he comes, and vow but he looks fain [joyful]!

Nae [no] doubt he thinks that Peggy’s now his ain [own].

Madge. He get her! slavering doof! it sets him weel [well]

To yoke a plaugh [plough] where Patrick thought to teel [till, as in soil]!

Gif [if] I were Meg, I’d let young master see—

Mause. Ye’d be as dorty [proud] in your choice as he;

And so wad [would] I, but whist [hush]! here Bauldy comes.

BAULDY enters, singing.

Jocky said to Jenny: Jenny wilt thou do’t,

Ne’er a fit, quoth Jenny, for my tocher-good [marriage portion]:

For my tocher-good, I winna [will not] marry thee,

E’en’s ye like, quoth Jocky, ye may let me be.

Madge. Weel [well] liltet [sang] Bauldy, that’s a dainty sang [song].

Bauldy. I’ll gi’e [give] ye ‘t [it] a’ [all], ‘tis better than its lang [long].

[Sings again.

I hae [have] gowd [gold] and gear [possessions], I hae land enough,

I hae seven good owsen [oxen] ganging [going] in a pleugh [plough];

Ganging in a pleugh, and linkan [walking speedily] o’er the lee [untilled ground],

And gin [if] ye winna [will not] tak me, I can let ye be.

I hae a good ha’ [hall] house, a barn and a byre [cow-stall],

A peetstack ’fore the door, we’ll make a rantin fire;

I’ll make a ranting fire, and merry shall we be,

And gin ye winna tak me, I can let ye be.

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Jenny said to Jocky, gin ye winna tell,

Ye shall be the lad, I’ll be the lass mysell;

Ye’re a bonny lad, and I’m a lassie free;

Ye’re welcomer to tak me, than to let me be.

I trow [believe] sae [so]—lasses will come too at last,

Tho’ for a while they maun [must] their snaw [snow] baws [balls] cast.

Mause. Weel [well], Bauldy, how gaes [goes] a’ [all]?—

Bauldy. –Faith, unco [very] right:

I hope we’ll a’ [all] sleep sound, but ane [one], this night.

Madge. And wha’s [who’s] the unlucky ane [one], if we may ask?

Bauldy. To find out that is nae [no] difficult task:

Poor bonny [beautiful] Peggy, wha [who] maun [must] think nae [no] mair [more]

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 wilfu’, and ay [always] constant in my love.

Madge. As Neps can witness, and the bushy thorn,

Where mony [many] a time to her your heart was sworn:

Fy, Bauldy, blush, and vows of love regard;

What other lass will trow [believe] a mansworn [herd [shepherd]?

The curse of Heaven hings [hangs] ay [always] aboon [above] their heads;

That’s ever guilty of sic [such] sinfu’ deeds.

I’ll ne’er advise my niece say [such] gray [disastrous] a gate [course],

Nor will she be advis’d, fu’ [full] weel [well] I wate [know].

Bauldy. Sae [so] gray a gate! mansworn! and a’ [all] the rest!

Ye lee’d [lied], auld [old] roudes [—and in faith had best

Eat in your words, else I shall gar [make] ye stand

Wi’ a het [hot] face afore the haly-band [kirk elders].

Madge. Ye’ll gar me stand! ye sheveling [shaven] gabit-brock [badger’s food],

Speak that again, and trembling dread my rock,

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And ten sharp nails; that when my hands are in,

Can flype [peel] the skin o’ ye’r cheeks out o’er your chin.

Bauldy. I tak ye witness, Mause, ye heard her say

That I’m mansworn—I winna [will not] let it gae [go].

Madge. Ye’re witness too, he ca’d [called] me bonny [fine] 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 red [separate] them.

Mause. Let gang [go] your grips; fy, Madge! Howt [fy], Bauldy,

leen [lay off];

I wadna [would not] wish this tulzie [quarrel] had been seen;

’Tis sae [so] daft [foolish] like—

[Bauldy gets out of Madge’s clutches with a bleed-

ing nose.

Madge. –’Tis dafter [more foolish] like to thole [suffer]

An ether-cap [like him to blaw [blow] the coal.

It sets him weel [well] wi’ [with] vile unscrapit [foul-mouthed, abusive, uncivil] tongue,

To cast up whether I be auld [old] or young;

They’re aulder [older] yet than I have married been, [there are older women than I that have still been married and seen grandchildren before they died]

And, or they died, their bairns [children’s] bairns [children] have seen.

Mause. That’s true; and Bauldy ye was far to blame,

To ca’ [call] Madge out [anything] but her ain [own] christen’d name.

Bauldy. My lugs [ears], my nose, and noddle [head] finds the same.

Madge. Auld [old] roudes! filthy fallow [fellow], I shall auld [old] ye.

Mause. Howt [fy] no!—ye’ll e’en [even] be friends wi’ [with] honest

Bauldy:

Come, come, shake hands, this maun [must] nae [no] farder [farther] gae [go];

Ye maun [must] forgi’e ‘m [him]: I see the lad looks wae [sorrowful].

Bauldy. In troth [truth] now, Mause, I ha’e [have] at Madge nae [no] spite,

But she abusing first, was a’ [all] the wyte [blame]

Of what has happen’d, and should therefore crave

My pardon first, and shall acquittance have.

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Madge. I crave your pardon!—Gallows-face, gae [go] greet [weep],

And own your faut [fault] to her that ye wad [would] cheat.

Gae [go] or be blasted in your health and gear [goods],

’Till ye learn to perform as weel [well] as swear.

Vow [Gosh] and loup [leap] back!—was e’er he like heard tell!

Swith [quick] tak him deel [devil], he’s o’er [over] lang [long] out o’ hell.

Bauldy. [Running off.] His presence be about us!

Curst were he,

That were condemn’d for life to live with thee.

[Exit Bauldy.

Madge. [Laughing.] I think I have towzled [rumpled] his harigalds [entrails]

a wee [bit];

He’ll no soon grein [long] to tell his love to me.

He’s but a rascal that wad [would] mint [aim] to serve

A lassie sae [so], he does but ill deserve.

Mause. Ye towz’d him tightly [tidily]—I commend ye for ‘t,

His bleeding snout gae [gave] me nae [no] little sport;

For this forenoon he had that scant of grace,

And breeding baith [both]—to tell me to my face,

He hop’d I was a witch, and wadna [would not] stand [hesitate],

To lend him in this case my helping hand.

Madge. A witch!—how had ye patience this to bear?

And leave him eens [eyes] to see, or lugs [ears] to hear?

Mause. Auld [old] wither’d hands, and feeble joints like mine

Obliges fowk [people] resentment to decline,

’Till aft [oft] ‘t is seen, when vigour fails, then we

With cunning can the lack of pith [strength] supplie:

Thus I put aff [off] revenge ‘till it was dark,

Syne [then] bade him come, and we should gang [go] to wark [work]:

I’m sure he’ll keep his tryst [appointment]; and I came here

To seek your help, that we the fool may fear.

Madge. And special sport we’ll hae [have] as I protest;

Ye’ll be the witch, and I shall play the ghaist [ghost];

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A linen sheet wound round me like ane [one] dead,

I’ll cawk [chalk] my face, and grane [groan], and shake my head.

We’ll fleg [fright] him sae [so], he’ll mint [aim] nae [no] mair [more] to gang [go]

A conjuring, to do a lassie wrang [wrong].

Mause. Then let us gae [go]; for see its hard on night,

The westling clouds shine red wi’ [with] setting light. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

PROLOGUE.

When birds begin to nod upon the bough,

And the green swaird [grass] grows damp wi’ [with] falling dew;

While good Sir William is to rest retir’d,

The Gentle Shepherd, tenderly inspir’d,

Walks thro’ the broom wi’ [with] Roger ever leel [loyal],

To meet, to comfort Meg, and tak fareweel.

PATIE and ROGER enter.

Roger. Wow! But I’m cadgie [cheerful], and my heart loups [leaps] light;

O, Mr. Patrick! ay your thoughts were right:

Sure gentle fowk [people] are farer seen than we,

That naething [nothing] ha’e [have] to brag of pedigree.

My Jenny now, wha [who] brak [break] my heart this morn,

Is perfect yielding—sweet—and nae [no] mair [more] scorn;

I spake [spoke] my mind—she heard—I spake again,

She smil’d—I kiss’d—I woo’d, nor woo’d in vain.

Patie. I’m glad to hear ‘t.—But, O! my change this day

Heaves up my joy, and yet I’m sometimes wae [sorrowful].

I’ve found a father, gently kind as brave,

And an estate that lifts me ‘boon [above] the lave [rest].

Wi’ [with] looks a’ [all] kindness, words that love confest,

He a’ [all] the father to my soul exprest,

While close he held me to his manly breast.

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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 gracefu’ cheeks a torrent flow’d.

My new-born joys, and this his tender tale,

Did, mingled thus, o’er a’ [all] my thoughts prevail;

That speechless lang [long], my late kend [known] sire I view’d,

While gushing tears my panting breast bedew’d;

Unusual transports made my head turn round,

Whilst I myself wi’ [with] rising raptures found,

The happy son of ane [one] so much renown’d.

But he has heard!—too faithful Symon’s fear,

Has brought my love for Peggy to his ear:

Which he forbids;--ah! This confounds my peace,

While thus to beat, my heart shall sooner cease.

Roger. How to advise ye, troth [truth], I’m at a stand;

But wer’t [were it] my case, ye’d clear it up aff [off] hand.

Patie. Duty, and haflen [partly] reason plead his cause,

But love rebels against all bounding laws;

Fixt in my heart my shepherdess excels,

And part of my new happiness repels.

SANG XVI. Tune, Kirk wad [would] let me be.

Duty and part of reason,

Plead strong on the parent’s side,

Which love so superior calls treason,

The strongest must be obey’d:

For now, though I’m ane [one] of the gentry,

My constancy falsehood repels;

For change in my heart has no entry;

Still there my dear Peggy excels.

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Roger. Enjoy them baith [both]. Sir William will be won;

Your Peggy’s bonny [beautiful]—you’re his only son.

Patie. She’s mine by vows, and stronger ties of love,

And frae [from] these bands nae [no] change my mind shall move;

I’ll wed nane [none] else, through life I will be true;

But still obedience is a parent’s due.

Roger. Is not our master and yoursell to stay

Amang [among] us here?—or are ye gawn [going] away

To London court, or ither [other] far aff [off] parts,

To leave your ain [own] poor us wi’ [with] broken hearts?

Patie. To Edinburgh straight to-morrow we advance,

To London niest [next], and afterwards to France;

Where I must stay some years, and learn—to dance,

And twa [two] three ither [other] monkey-tricks: that done,

I come hame [home] strutting in my red-heel’d shoon [shoes].

Then ‘tis design’d, when I can weel [well] behave,

That I maun [must] be some petted thing’s dull slave,

For some few bags of cash, that I wat [know] weel [well]

I nae [no] mair [more] need nor carts do a third wheel;

But Peggy, dearer to me than my breath,

Sooner than hear sic [such] news shall hear my death.

Roger. They wha [who] ha’e [have] just enough can soundly sleep,

The o’er-come [surplus] only fashes [troubles] fauk [people] to keep.—

Good Maister Patrick tak your ain [own] tale hame [home].

Patie. 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 [from] ‘boon [above] the lift [sky]—without it kings are poor,

Roger. But an estate like yours yields braw [fine] content,

When we but pick it scantily on the bent [open field]:

Fine claiths [clothes], saft [soft] beds, sweet houses, sparkling wine,

Rich fare, and witty friends, whene’er ye dine;

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Submissive servants, honour, wealth, and ease;

Wha’s [who is] no [not] content wi’ [with] thae [those] are ill to please.

Patie. Sae [so] Roger thinks, and thinks nae [not] far amiss,

But mony [many] a cloud hings [hangs] hov’ring o’er the bliss:

The passions rule the roast [roost]—and if they’re sour,

Like the lean ky [cows] they’ll soon the fat devour.

The spleen, tint [lost] honour, and affronted pride,

Stang [sting] like the sharpest goads in gentry’s side.

The gout, and gravel, and the ill disease,

Are frequentest wi’ [with] fowk [people] o’er-laid wi’ ease;

While o’er the moor the shepherd wi’ less care,

Enjoys his sober wish and halesome [wholesome] air.

Roger. Lord, man! I wonder ay [always], and it delights

My heart, whene’er I hearken to your flights:

How gat [got] ye a’ [all] this sense, I fain [gladly] wad [would] lear [learn],

That I may easier disappointments bear?

Patie. Frae [from] books, the wale [best] of books, I gat [got] some skill,

Thae [those] best can teach what’s real good and ill;

Ne’er grudge ilk [each] year to ware [lay out, dispose of] some stanes [stones] of cheese,

To gain those silent friends that ever please.

Roger. I’ll do ‘t, and ye shall tell me whilk [which] to buy;

Faith I’se hae [have] books, tho’ I shou’d sell my ky [cows];

But now let’s hear how you’re design’d to move,

Between Sir William’s will and Peggy’s love.

Patie. Then here it lies—his will maun [must] be obey’d,

My vows I’ll keep, and she shall be my bride;

But I sometime this last design maun [must] hide.

Keep you the secret close, and leave me here;

I sent for Peggy—yonder comes my dear.

Roger. Pleas’d that ye trust me wi’ [with] the secret, I

To wyle it frae [from] me a’ [all] the de’ils defy. [Exit.

Patie. [Solus.] Wi’ [with] what a struggle maun [must] I now impart,

My father’s will to her that hauds [holds] my heart;

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I ken [know[ she lo’es, and her saft [soft] saul [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!

PEGGY enters.

--My Peggy, why in tears?

Smile as ye wont, allow nae [no] room for fears,

Tho’ I’m nae mair [more] a shepherd, yet I’m thine.

Peggy. I darena [dare not] think sae [so] high—I now repine

At the unhappy chance that made na [not] me

A gentle match, or still a herd [shepherd] kept thee.

Wha [who] can withoutten pain see frae [from] the coast,

The ship that bears his all like to be lost!

Like to be carried by some rover’s hand,

Far frae [from] his wishes, to some distant land.

Patie. Ne’er quarrel fate, whilst it wi’ [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 falsehood hate: come kiss thy cares away;

I ken [know] to love as weel [well] as to obey:

Sir William’s gen’rous; leave the task to me,

To mak strict duty and true love agree.

Peggy. 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 wi’ [with] nice air swims round in silk attire:

Then I! poor me! wi’ sighs may ban my fate,

When the young laird’s nae [no] mair [more] my handsome Pate.

Nae mair again to hear sweet tales exprest,

By the blythe [happy] shepherd that excell’d the rest:

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Nae mair be envy’d by the tattling gang,

When Patie kiss’d me, when I danc’d or sang;

Nae mair, alake! we’ll on the meadow play,

And rin [run] half breathless round the rucks [stacks] of hay;

As aft [oft] times I ha’e fled frae [from] thee right fain [fond],

And fawn [fallen] on purpose that I might be tane [taken]:

Nae mair around the foggy know [hillock] I’ll creep,

To watch and stare upon thee while asleep.

But hear my vow—‘twill help to gi’e me ease—

May sudden death, or deadly sair [sore] disease,

And warst [worst] of ills attend my wretched life,

If e’er to ane [one] but you I be a wife.

SANG XVII. Tune, 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 aften [often] stray’d,

Ye banks where we were wont to wander;

Sweet-scented rucks [stacks] round which we play’d,

You’ll lose your sweets when we’re asunder.

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Again, ah! Shall I never creep

Around the know [hillock] wi’ [with] silent duty,

Kindly to watch thee while asleep,

And wonder at thy manly beauty!

Hear, Heaven, while solemnly I vow,

Tho’ thou shou’d prove a wand’ring lover,

Thro’ life to thee I shall prove true,

Nor be a wife to any other.

Patie. Sure Heaven approves—and be assur’d of me,

I’ll ne’er gang [go] back o’ what I’ve sworn to thee;

And time, tho’ time maun [must] 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 feet were crowns and scepters laid,

To bribe my soul fra [from] thee, delightfu’ maid;

For thee I’d soon leave these inferior things,

To sic [such] as hae [have] the patience to be kings.—

Wherefore that tear? believe and calm thy mind.

Peggy. I greet [weep] for joy, to hear thy words sae [so] kind;

When hopes were sunk, and nought but mirk [dark] 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:

Wi’ [with] patience then, I’ll wait each wheeling year,

Hope time away, till thou wi’ [with] joy appear;

And a’ [all] the while I’ll study gentler charms,

To make me fitter for my trav’ller’s arms;

I’ll gain on uncle Glaud—he’s far frae [from] fool,

And will not grudge to put me thro’ ilk [every] school,

Where I may manners learn.—

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SANG XVIII. Tune, 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,

Wi’ [with] me his dear image shall stay;

And my soul keep him ever in sight.

Wi’ patience I’ll wait the long year,

And study the gentlest charms;

Hope time away till thou appear,

To lock thee far [for] ay [ever] in these 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 that’s becoming thy wife.

For beauty, that’s only skin deep,

Must fade like the gowans [daisies] in 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 hae [has] sense to approve.

Patie. –That’s wisely said:

And what he wares [expends] that way shall be weel [well] paid.

Tho’, without a’ [all] the little helps of art,

Thy native sweet might gain a prince’s heart.

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Yet now, lest in our station we offend,

We must learn modes to innocence unkend [unknown];

Affect aft-times [oft-times] to like the thing we hate,

And drap [drop] serenity, to keep up state:

Laugh when we’re sad, speak when we’ve nought to say,

And for the fashion, when we’re blyth [happy] seem wae [sorrowful]:

Pay compliments to them we aft [oft] ha’e [have] scorn’d,

Then scandalize them when their backs are turn’d.

Peggy. If this is gentry, I had rather be

What I am still—But I’ll be ought wi’ [with] thee.

Patie. Na, na, my Peggy, I but only jest

Wi’ [with] gentry’s apes: for still amangst [amongst] the best

Gude [good] manners gi’e integrity a bleeze [blaze],

When native virtues join the arts to please.

Peggy. Since wi’ [with] na [no] hazard, and sae [so] sma’ [small] expence,

My lad frae [from] books can gather siccan [such] sense;

Then why, ah! why shou’d the tempestuous sea

Endanger thy dear life, and frighten me?

Sir William’s cruel, that wad [would] force his son,

For watna-whats, sae [so] great a risk to run.

Patie. There is nae [no] doubt but trav’lling does improve;

Yet I wou’d shun it for thy sake, my love,

But soon as I’ve shook aff [off] my landart [country, rustic] cast

In foreign cities, hame [home] to thee I’ll haste.

Peggy. Wi’ [with] ev’ry setting day and rising morn,

I’ll kneel to Heaven, and ask thy safe return;

Under that tree, and on the suckler [clover] brae [hillside, riverbank],

Where aft [oft] we wont, when bairns [children], to rin [run] and play;

And to the hissel-shaw [hazel-wood], where first ye vow’d

Ye wad [would] be mine, and I as aithly [easily] trow’d [believed];

I’ll aften [often] gang [go], and tell the trees and flow’rs,

Wi’ [with] joy, that they’ll bear witness I am yours.

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SANG XIX. Tune, Bush aboon [above] Traquair.

At setting day and rising morn,

Wi’ [with] soul that still shall love thee,

I’ll ask of heaven thy safe return,

Wi’ a’ [all] that can improve thee.

I’ll visit aft [oft] the birken [birch] bush,

Where first thou kindly tald [told] me

Sweet tales of love, and hid my blush,

Whilst round thou didst infald [enfold] me.

To a’ our haunts I will repair,

To greenwood-shaw or fountain:

Or where the simmer day I’d share

Wi’ thee upon yon mountain.

There will I tell the trees and flow’rs,

From thoughts unfeign’d and tender:

By vows ye’re mind, my love is yours,

A heart which cannot wander.

Patie. My dear, allow me fra [from] thy temples fair,

A shining ringlet of thy flowing hair;

Which, as a sample of each lovely charm,

I’ll aften [often] kiss and wear about my arms.

Peggy. Were’t in my power wi’ better boons to please,

I’d gi’e the best I cou’d wi’ the same ease;

Nor wad [would] I, if thy luck had fall’n to me,

Been in ae [one] jot less generous to thee.

Patie. I doubt it not; but since we’ve little time,

To ware’t [spend it] on words, wad [would] border on a crime,

Love’s safter [softer] meaning better is exprest,

When ’tis with kisses on the heart imprest. [Exeunt.

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ACT V. SCENE I.

PROLOGUE.

See how poor Bauldy starts like ane [one] possest,

And roars up Symon frae [from] his kindly rest:

Bare legg’d, wi’ [with] night-cap, and unbutton’d coat,

See the auld [old] man comes forward to the sot.

SYMON and BAULDY.

Symon. WHAT want ye, Bauldy, at this early hour,

While drowsy sleep keeps a’ [all] beneath its power!

Far to the North the scant approaching light,

Stands equal ‘twixt the morning and the night.

What gars [makes] ye shake, and glower [stare], and look sae [so] wan?

Your teeth they chatter, hair like bristles stand.

Bauldy. O len me soon some water, milk, or ale,

My head’s grown giddy—legs wi’ shaking fail:

I’ll ne’er dare venture forth at night my lane [lone]:

Alake! I’ll never be mysell again.

I’ll ne’er o’erput it: Symon! Oh, Symon! O!

[Symon gives him a drink.

Symon. What ails thee, gowk [fool] to mak so loud ado.

You’ve wak’d Sir William, he has left his bed:

Ae [one] comes, I fear, ill pleas’d; I hear his tread.

Sir WILLIAM enters.

Sir William. How goes the night? Does day-light yet

appear?

Symon, you’re very timeously asteer [up and about].

Symon. I’m sorry, sir, that we’ve disturb’d your rest,

But some strange thing has Bauldy’s spirit opprest,

He’s seen some witch, or westled wi’ [with] a ghaist [ghost].

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Bauldy. O! ay—sir, in truth, ‘tis very true,

And I am come to mak my plaint to you.

Sir William. [Smiling.] I lang [long] to hear’t.—

Bauldy. –Ah! sir, the witch ca’d [called] Mause,

That wins [dwells] aboon [above] the mill amang [among] the haws [hawthorns],

First promis’d that sh’d [she would] help me wi’ [with] her art,

To gain a bonny [beautiful] thrawart [contrary] lassie’s heart;

As she had trysted [appointed], I met wi’ [with] er [her] this night,

But may nae [no] friend o’ mine get sic [such] a fright!

For the curs’d hag, instead o’ doing me good,

(The very thought o’t ’s [of it is] like to freeze my blood!)

Rais’d up a ghaist [ghost], or de’il [devil], I kenna [know not] whilk [which],

Like a dead corse [body of a living being] in sheet as white as milk;

Black hands it had, and face as wan as death;

Upon me fast the witch and it fell baith [both],

And gat [got] me down, while I like a great fool,

Was labour’d as I wont to be at school.

My heart out o’ its hool [husk] was like to loup [leap],

I pithless [weak] grew wi’ [with] fear, and had nae [no] hope;

Till wi’ an elrich [wild, hideous] laugh they vanish’d quite;

Syne [then] I, haff [half] dead with anger, fear, and spite,

Crap [crept] up, and fled straight frae [from] them, sir, to you,

Hoping you’ll help to gi’e [give] the de’il his due.

I’m sure my heart will ne’er gi’e o’er to dunt [thump],

Till in a fat tar barrel Mause be burnt.

Sir William. Well, Bauldy, whate’er’s just shall granted be;

Let Mause be brought this morning down to me.

Bauldy. Thanks to your honour, soon shall I obey;

But first I’ll Roger raise, and twa [two] three mae [more],

To catch her fast, e’er she get leave to squeel,

And cast her cantraips [spells], that bring up the de’il. [Exit.

Sir William. Troth, Symon, Bauldy’s more afraid than hurt,

The witch and ghaist [ghost] have made themselves good sport.

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What silly notions crow the clouded mind,

That is through want of education blind!

Symon. But does your honour think there’s nae [no] sic [such] thing,

As witches raising de’ils up thro’ a ring;

Syne [since] playing tricks, a thousand I cou’d tell,

Cou’d never be contriv’d on this side hell.

Sir William. 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 loup [leap]

O’er braes [hillsides, riverbanks] and bogs wi’ [with] candles in his dowp [arse, bottom of an eggshell];

Appearing sometimes like a black horn’s cow,

Aft-times [oft-times] like Bawty, Badrans, or a sow;

Then with his train thro’ airy paths to glide,

While they on cats or clowns, or broomstaffs ride!

Or in an egg-shell skim out o’er the main,

To drink their leader’s health in France or Spain:

Then aft [oft] by night, bumbaze [confuse] hard-hearted fools,

By tumbling down their cup-boards, chairs, and stools.

Whate’er’s in spells, or if there witches be,

Such whimsies seem the most absurd to me.

Symon. ’Tis true enough, we ne’er heard that a witch

Had either meikle [much] sense, or yet was rich;

But Mause, tho’ poor, is a sagacious wife,

And lives a quiet and very honest life;

That gars [makes] me think this hobble-show [confused racket] that’s past,

Will end in naething but a joke at last.

Sir William. I’m sure it will; but see increasing light,

Commands the imps of darkness down to night;

Bid raise my servants, and my horse prepare,

While I walk out to take the morning air.

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SANG XX. Tune, Bonny [beautiful] grey ey’d morn.

The bonny grey-ey’d morn begins to peep,

And darkness flies before the rising ray:

The hearty hind starts from his lazy sleep,

To follow healthfu’ 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 loss,

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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

PROLOGUE.

While Peggy laces up her bosom fair,

Wi’ [with] a blue snood [hair band] Jenny binds up her hair;

Glaud by his morning ingle [fire] takes a beek [bask],

The rising sun shines motty [containing motes] thro’ the reek [smoke];

A pipe his mouth, the lasses please his een [eyes]

And now and then his joke maun [must] intervene.

GLAUD, PEGGY, and JENNY.

Glaud. I wish, my bairns [children], it may keep fair till night,

Ye didna [did not] use sae [so] soon to see the light;

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Nae [no] doubt, now, ye intend to mix the thrang [throng],

To tak your leave of Patrick or he gang [going];

But do ye think, that now when he’s a laird,

That he poor landwart [country] lasses will regard?

Jenny. Tho’ he’s young master now, I’m very sure,

He has mair [more] sense than slight auld [old] friends, tho’ poor:

But yesterday he ga’e us mony [many] a tug,

And kiss’d my cousin there frae [from] lug [ear] to lug [ear].

Glaud. Ay, ay, nae [no] doubt o’t [of it], and he’ll do ’t again:

But, be advis’d, his company refrain;

Before, he as a shepherd, sought a wife,

Wi’ [with] her to lead a chaste and frugal life;

But now grown gentle, soon he will forsake

Sic [such] godly thoughts, and brag of being a rake.

Peggy. A rake! what’s that?—sure if it means ought ill,

He’ll never be ’t, else I ha’e tint [lost] my skill.

Glaud. Daft [foolish] lassie, ye ken [know] nought of the affair,

Ane [one] young and good, and gentle’s unco [very] rare;

A rake’s a graceless spark, that thinks nae [no] shame

To do what like of us thinks sin to name:

Sic [such] are sae [so] void of shame, they’ll never stap [stop],

To brag how aften [often] they ha’e had the clap;

They’ll tempt young things, like you, with youdith [youthfulness] flush’d,

Syne [then] mak ye a’ [all] their jest when ye’re debauch’d.

Be wary then, I say, and never gi’e

Encouragement, or board wi’ [with] sic [such] as he.

Peggy. Sir William’s virtuous, and o’ gentle blood;

And may not Patrick too like him be good?

Glaud. That’s true, and mony [many] gentry may than he,

As they are wiser, better are than we;

But thinner sawn; they’re sae [so] puft up wi’ pride,

There’s mony o’ them mocks ilk [each] haly [holy] guide,

That shaws [shows] the gate to Heaven—I’ve heard mysell,

Some of them laugh at doomsday, sin, and hell.

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Jenny. Watch o’er us, father! heh! that’s very odd,

Sure him that doubts a doomsday, doubts a God!

Glaud. 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 sic [such] gaits [ways] will e’er be brought.

Peggy. The lord forbid! na, he kens [knows] better things:

But here comes aunt; her face some ferly [wonder] brings.

MADGE enters.

Madge. Haste, haste ye, we’re a’ [all] sent for o’er the gate [way],

To hear, and help to red [unravel] some odd debate,

’Tween Mause and Bauldy, ’bout some witchcraft spell

At Symon’s house, the knight sits judge himsell.

Glaud. Lend me my staff—Madge, lock the outer door,

And bring the lasses wi’ ye; I’ll step before. [Exit.

Madge. Poor Meg!—Look, Jenny, was the like e’er seen?

How blear’d and red with greeting [weeping] look her een [eyes]!

This day her brankan [prancing, capering] wooer taks his horse,

To strut a gentle spark at Edinburgh cross;

To change his kent [long staff], cut fra [from] the branchy plain,

For a nice sword, and glancing headed cane;

To leave his ram-horn spoons and kitted [packed in a vessel] whey,

For gentler tea, that smells like new-won hay;

To leave the green-swaird dance, when we gae [go] milk,

To rustle amang [among] the beauties clad in silk.

But Meg, poor Meg! maun [must] wi’ the shepherds stay,

And tak what God will send in hodden-gray [grey, coarse homespun].

Peggy. Dear aunt, what need ye fash [trouble] us w’ [with] your scorn?

It’s na [not] my faut [fault] that I’m nae [not] gentler born.

Gif [if] I the daughter of some laird had been,

I ne’er had notic’d Patie on the green;

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Now since he rises, why shou’d I repine?

If he’s made for anither [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.

Madge. A bonny [fine] story, trowth [indeed]!—But we delay;

Prin [pin] up your aprons baith [both], and come away. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

PROLOGUE.

Sir William fills the twa-arm’d [two-armed] chair,

While Symon, Roger, Glaud and Mause,

Attend, and wi’ [with] loud laughter hear

Daft [foolish] Bauldy bluntly plead his cause:

For now ’tis tell’d him that the taz [scourge]

Was handled by revengfu’ Madge,

Because he brak [broke] good breeding’s laws,

And wi’ [with] his nonsense rais’d their rage.

Sir WILLIAM, PATIE, ROGER, SYMON, GLAUD,

BAULDY, and MAUSE.

Sir William. And was that all?—Weel [well], Bauldy, ye was

serv’d

No otherwise 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.

Bauldy. Sir, I confess my faut [fault] thro’ a’ [all] the steps,

And ne’er again shall be untrue to Neps.

Mause. Thus far, sir, he oblig’d me on the score,

I kend [knew] na [not] that they thought me sic [such] before.

Bauldy. An’t like your honour I believe’d it weel [well];

But trowth [indeed] I was e’en doil’t [crazy] to seek the de’il.

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Yet, wi’ [with] your honour’s leave, tho’ she’s nae [no] witch,

She’s baith [both] a slee [sly] and a revengefu’—

And that my some place finds:--but I had best

Haud [hold] in my tongue; for yonder comes the ghaist [ghost],

And the young bonny [beautiful] witch, whase [whose] rosie cheek,

Sent me, without my wit, the de’il to seek.

MADGE, PEGGY, and JENNY enter.

Sir William. [Looking at Peggy.] Whose daughter’s she

that wears th’ Aurora [goddess of the dawn] gown,

With face so fair, and locks a lovely brown?

How sparkling are her eyes!—What’s this I find?

The girl 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?

Glaud. --Sir, she’s my niece--

And yet she’s not—but I shou’d haud [hold] my peace.

Sir William. This is a contradiction—What d’ye mean?

She is, and is not!—Pray thee, Glaud, explain.

Glaud. Because I doubt, if I should make appear

What I ha’ [have] kept a secret thirteen year—

Mause. You may reveal what I can fully clear.

Sir William. Speak soon; I’m all impatience!—

Patie. –So am I!

For much I hope, and hardly yet know why.

Glaud. Then, since my master orders, I obey—

This bonny [beautiful] foundling, ae [one] clear morn of May,

Close by the lee-side of my door, I found,

All sweet and clean, and carefully hapt [wrapped] round,

In infant-weeds [infant-clothes], of rich and gentle make.

What cou’d they be, thought I, did thee forsake?

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Wha [who], warse [worse] than brutes, could leave expos’d to air

Sae [so] much o’ [of] innocence, sae [so] sweetly fair,

Sae [so] helpless young? for she appear’d to me,

Only about twa [two] towmonds [years] auld [old] to be.

I took her in my arms; the bairnie [little child] smil’d

Wi’ [with] sic [such] a look, wad [would] made a savage mild.

I hid the story, she has pass’d since syne [then]

As a poor orphan, and a niece of mine:

Nor do I rue my care about the wean [child],

For she’s weel [well] worth the pains that I ha’e [have] tane [taken]

Ye see she’ bonny [beautiful]; I can swear she’s good,

And am right sure she’s come o’ [of] gentle blood;

Of whom I kenna [know not]—naething [nothing] ken [know] I mair [more],

Than what I to your honour now declare.

Sir William. This tale seems strange!—

Patie. –The tale delights mine ear!

Sir William. Command your joys, young man, till truth

appear.

Mause. That be my task—Now, sir, bid a’ [all] be hush:

Peggy may smile—Thou hast nae [no] cause to blush.

Lang [long] ha’e [have] I wish’d see the happy day,

That I might safely to the truth gi’e way;

That I might now Sir William Worthy name,

The best and nearest friend that she can claim.

He saw ’t at first, and wi’ [with] quick eye did trace,

His sister’s beauty in her daughter’s face.

Sir William. Old woman, do not rave; prove what you say;

’Tis dangerous in affairs like this to play.

Patie. What reason, sir, can an old woman have

To tell a lie, when she’s so near her grave?

But how, or why, it should be truth, I grant,

I every thing that looks like reason want.

Omnes. The story’s odd! we wish to hear it out.

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Sir William. Make haste, good woman, and resolve each

doubt,

[Mause goes forward, leading Peggy to Sir William.

Mause. Sir, view me weel [well]—Has fifteen years so plow’d

A wrinkled face that you ha’e [have] aften [often] view’d,

That here I as an unknown stranger stand,

Who nurs’d her mother that now holds my hand!

Yet stronger proofs I’ll gie if you demand.

Sir William. 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.

Sir William. Yes, surely, thou ’rt my niece; truth must

prevail:

But no more words till Mause relates her tale.

Patie. Good nurse, gae [go] on; nae [no] music’s haff [half] sae [so] fine,

Or can gi’e pleasure like these words of thine.

Mause. Then it was I that sav’d her infant life,

Her death being threaten’d by an uncle’ wife.

The story’s lang [long]; but I the secret knew,

How they pursu’d, wi’ [with] avaricious view,

Her rich estate, of which they’re now possest;

All this to me a confident confest.

I heard wi’ [with] horror, and wi’ trembling dread,

They’d smother the sakeless orphan in her bed!

That very night, when a’ [all] were sunk in rest,

At midnight hour the floor I saftly [softly] prest,

And staw [did steal] 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 needfu’ plenty glads your cheerfu’ swains.

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Afraid 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 shou’d happen to her, might be by.

Here honest Glaud himself, and Symon may,

Remember weel [well] how I that very day,

Frae [from] Roger’s father took my little crove [cottage].

Glaud. [With tears of joy stealing down his beard.]

I weel [well] remember ’t: Lord reward your love!

Lang [long] ha’e I wish’d for this; for aft [oft] I thought,

Sic [such] knowledge some time shou’d about be brought.

Patie. ’T is now a crime to doubt—my joys are full,

Wi’ [with] due obedience to my parent’s will.

Sir, wi’ [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.

Sir William. My niece! 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 Peggy embrace, and kneel to Sir William.

Patie. Wi’ [with] as much joy this blessing I receive,

As ane [one] wad [would] life, that’s sinking in a wave.

Sir William. [Raising them.] I give you both my bless-

ing: may your love

Produce a happy race, and still improve.

Peggy. My wishes are complete—my joys arise,

Whilst I’m haff [haff] dizzy with the blest surprise;

And am I then a match for my ain [own] lad,

That for me so much generous kindness had?

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Lang [long] may Sir William bless the happy plains,

Happy, while Heaven grant he on them remains.

Patie. Be lang [long] our guardian, still our master be,

We’ll only crave what you shall please to gi’e [give];

Th’ [the] estate be your’s my Peggy’s ane [one] to me.

Glaud. I hope your honour now will tak amends

Of them that sought her life for wicked ends.

Sir William. The base unnat’ral 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.

Peggy. To me the views of wealth, and an estate

Seem light, when put in balance wi’ [with] my Pate:

For his sake only, I’ll ay [ever] thankfu’ bow

For such a kindness, best of men, to you.

Symon. What double blythness [happiness] wakens up this day!

I hope now, sir you’ll no [not] soon haste away.

Shall I unsaddle your horse, and gar [make] prepare

A dinner for ye of hale country fare?

See how much joy unwrinkles every brow,

Our looks hing [hang] on the twa [two], and doat on you:

Even Bauldy the bewitch’d, has quite forgot

Fell Madge’s taz [scourge], and pawky [witty] Mause’s plot

Sir William. 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 gard’ners shall new planting rear:

My father’s hearty table you soon shall see

Restor’d, and my best friends rejoice with me.

Symon. That’s the best news I heard this twenty year;

New day breaks up, rough times begin to clear.

Glaud. God save the king, and save Sir William lang [long],

T’ enjoy their ane [one], and raise the shepherd’s sang [song].

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Roger. Wha [who] winna [will not] dance? wha will refuse to sing?

What shepherd’s whistle winna lilt the spring?

Bauldy. I’m friends wi’ Mause—wi’ very Madge I’m

gree’d,

Altho’ they skelpit [thrashed] me when woodly [madly] fleid [fled]:

I’m now fu’ [fully] blyth [happy], and frankly can forgive,

To join and sing, Lang may Sir William live.

Madge. Lang may he live:--and, Bauldy, learn to steek [shut]

Your gab [mouth] a wee [little], and think before ye speak;

And never ca’ [call] her auld [old] that wants a man,

Else ye may yet some witch’s fingers ban.

This day I’ll wi’ [with] the youngest o’ ye rant.

And brag for ay [always] that I was ca’d [called] the aunt

Of our young lady—my dear bonny [beautiful] bairn [child]!

Peggy. Nae [no] other name I’ll ever for you learn—

And, my good nurse, how shall I gratefu’ be

For a’ [all] thy matchless kindness done for me?

Mause. The flowing pleasures of this happy day

Does fully all I can require repay.

Sir William. To faithful Symon, and kind Glaud, to you,

And to your heirs, I give an endless feu [fixed tenure],

The mailens [farms] ye possess, as justly due,

For acting 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 [nothing] to do but sing your Maker’s praise.

Omnes. The Lord of Heaven return your honour’s love,

Confirm your joys, and a’ [all] your blessings roove [rivet].

Patie. [Presenting Roger to Sir William.] Sir, here’s my

trusty friend, that always shar’d

My bosom secrets, ere I was a laird;

Glaud’s daughter, Janet, (Jenny, think nae [no] shame)

Rais’d, and maintains in him a lover’s flame:

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Lang [long] was he dumb; at last he spake [spoke] and won,

And hopes to be our honest uncle’s son;

Be pleas’d to speak to Glaud for his consent,

That nane [none] may wear a face of discontent.

Sir William. 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.

Glaud. You croud your bounties, sir; what can we say,

But that we’re dyvours [debtors] that can ne’er repay!

What’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 faithfu’, and this auld [old] grey head

Shall nod with quietness down amang [among] the dead.

Roger. I ne’er was good at speaking a’ [all] my days,

Or ever loo’d [looked] to mak o’er [over] great a fraise [noise];

But for my master, father, and my wife,

I will employ the cares of a’ [all] my life.

Sir William. My friends, I’m satisfy’d you’ll all behave,

Each in his station, as I’d wish or crave.

Be ever virtuous; soon or late ye’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.

Oft when we stand on brinks of dark despair,

Some happy turn, with joy, dispels our care.

Now all’s at rights, who sings best, let me hear.

Peggy. When you demand, I readiest should obey;

I’ll sing you ane [one], the newest that I ha’e [have].

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SANG XXI. Tune, Corn riggs are bonny [beautiful].

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 walking;

The shining of his een [eyes] surprize,

’Tis heaven to hear him talking.

Last night I met him on a bawk [unploughed ridge of land],

Where yellow corn was growing,

There mony [many] a kindly word he spoke,

That set my heart a glowing.

He kiss’d and vow’d he wad [would] be mine,

And loo’d [loved] me best of ony [any],

That gars [makes] me like to sing sinsyne [since that time],

Of corn-riggs are bonny.

Let lasses of a silly mind

Refuse what maist [most] they’re wanting,

Since we for yielding are design’d,

We chastly should be granting.

Then I’ll comply, and marry Pate,

And syne [then] my cockernony [the gathering of a woman’s hair when it is wrapt or snooded];

He’s free to towzel [dishevel, rumple], air [early] or late,

Where corn-riggs are bonny.

[Exeunt omnes.