PEGGY. Ye dash the lad with constant slighting pride; Hatred for love is unco sair to bide. But ye'll repent ye, if his love grow cauld. What likes a dorty maiden when she's auld? Like dawted wean, that tarrows at its meat, That for some feckless whim will orp and greet: The lave laugh at it till the dinner's past, And syne the fool thing is obliged to fast, Or scart anither's leavings at the last. Fy, Jenny, think, and dinna sit your time! SANG III. TUNE. Polwart on the Green.' The dorty will repent, If lover's heart grow cauld; And nane her smiles will tent, Soon as her face looks auld. The dawted bairn thus takes the pet, They jest it till the dinner's past, The fool thing is obliged to fast, JENNY. I never thought a single life a crime ! PEGGY. Nor I but love in whispers lets us ken, That men were made for us, and we for men. JENNY. If Roger is my jo, he kens himsell, He glowrs and sighs, and I can guess the cause; PEGGY. Be doing your ways! for me, I have a mind To be as yielding as my Patie's kind. JENNY. Heh! lass, how can ye looe that rattle-skull ? A very deil that ay maun have his will. We'll soon hear tell what a poor fechting life You twa will lead, sae soon's ye're man and wife! PEGGY. I'll rin the risk; nor have I ony fear, But rather think ilk langsome day a year, Till I with pleasure mount my bridal-bed, Where on my Patie's breast I'll lean my head. There we may kiss as lang as kissing 's good, And what we do there 's nane dare call it rude. He's get his will; why no? 't is good my part To give him that, and he'll give me his heart. JENNY. He may indeed, for ten or fifteen days, Mak muckle o' ye, with an unco fraise, And daut you baith afore fowk and your lane; But soon as your newfangleness is gane, He'll look upon you as his tether-stake, And think he's tint his freedom for your sake; Instead then of lang days of sweet delyte, Ae day be dumb, and a' the neist he'll flyte; And may be, in his barlickhoods, ne'er stick To lend his loving wife a loundering lick. SANG IV. TUNE.O dear mother, what shall I do?' Lest a harder luck betide you. Heartsome, free, and youthfu' joys. PEGGY. Sic coarse-spun thoughts as thae want pith to move But want of him I dread nae other skaith. His words they thirle like music through my heart. He reads fell books that teach him meikle skill. SANG V. TUNE.How can I be sad on my wedding-day?' How shall I be sad when a husband I hae, JENNY. Hey, 'bonny lass of Branksome!' or 't be lang, Your witty Pate will put you in a sang! Yes, 't is a heartsome thing to be a wife, To hear their little plaints, and keep them right. JENNY. -- But poortith, Peggy, is the warst of a'! Gif o'er your heads ill chance should begg'ry draw, But little love or canty cheer can come Frae duddy doublets, and a pantry toom. Your nowt may die; the spate may bear away Frae aff the howns your dainty rucks of hay; The thick-blawn wreaths of snaw, or blashy thows, May smoor your wathers, and may rot your ewes ; A dyvour buys your butter, woo, and cheese, But or the day of payment breaks and flees; With glooman brow the laird seeks in his rent, "T is no to gie, your merchant 's to the bent; His honour maunna want, he poinds your gear; Syne driven frae house and hald, where will ye Dear Meg, be wise, and lead a single life; [steer?Troth, 't is nae mows to be a married wife! PEGGY. May sic ill luck befa' that silly she Wha has sic fears, for that was never me! Let fowk bode weel, and strive to do their best ; Nae mair's required, let Heaven make out the rest. JENNY. But what if some young giglet on the green, With dimpled cheeks, and twa bewitching een, Should gar your Patie think his half-worn Meg, And her kend kisses, hardly worth a feg? PEGGY. Nae mair of that! - Dear Jenny, to be free, There's some men constanter in love than we. Nor is the ferly great, when nature kind Has blest them with solidity of mind; They'll reason calmly, and with kindness smile, When our short passions wad our peace beguile. Sae, whensoe'er they slight their maiks at hame, "T is ten to ane their wives are maist to blame. Then I'll employ with pleasure a' my art To keep him cheerfu', and secure his heart. At e'en, when he comes weary frae the hill, I'll have a' things made ready to his will. In winter, when he toils thro' wind and rain, A bleezing ingle, and a clean hearth-stane; And soon as he flings by his plaid and staff, The seething pot's be ready to take aff; Clean hag-abag I'll spread upon his board, And serve him with the best we can afford. Good-humour and white bigonets shall be Guards to my face, to keep his love for me. JENNY. A dish of married love right soon grows cauld, And dosens down to nane as fowk grow auld. PEGGY. But we'll grow auld together, and ne'er find The loss of youth, when love grows on the mind. Bairns, and their bairns, make sure a firmer tye, Than aught in love the like of us can spy. See yon twa elms, that grow up side by side, Suppose them some years syne bridegroom and bride; Nearer and nearer ilka year they've prest, Till wide their spreading branches are increased, And in their mixture now are fully blest; This shields the other frae the castlin blast; That in return defends it frae the west. Sic as stand single, a state sae liked by you, Beneath ilk storm frae every airt maun bo.7. PEGGY. Alake, poor pris'ner! Jenny, that's no fair, That ye'll no let the wie thing take the air. Haste, let him out! we'll tent as well's we can, Gif ye be Bauldy's, or poor Roger's man. JENNY. Anither time's as good; for see the sun Is right far up, and we're no yet begun To freath the graith: if cankered Madge, our aunt, Come up the burn, she'll gie's a wicked rant. But when we've done, I'll tell you a' my mind; For this seems true-nae lass can be unkind. ACT II.-SCENE I. PROLOGUE. A snug thack house; before the door a green; GLAUD AND SYMON. GLAUD. Good-morrow, nibour Symon !— Come, sit down, And gie's your cracks.-What 's a' the news in town? They tell me ye was in the ither day, And sauld your Crummock, and her bassand quey. I'll warrant ye've coft a pound of cut and dry; Lug out your box, and gie's a pipe to try. SYMON. With a' my heart!— And tent me now, auld boy, I've gathered news will kittle your mind with joy. I cou'dna rest till I came o'er the burn, To tell ye things have taken sic a turn Will gar our vile oppressors stend like flaes, And skulk in hidlings on the hether braes. GLAUD. Fy, blaw!-Ah ! Symie, rattling chiels ne'er stand To cleck, and spread the grossest lies aff-hand; Whilk soon flies round, like wild-fire, far and near. But loose your poke, be 't true or fause let's hear. SYMON. Seeing 's believing, Glaud; and I have seen Hab, that abroad has with our master been; Our brave good master, wha right wisely fled, And left a fair estate to save his head; Because, ye ken fou well, he bravely chose To shine or set in glory with Montrose ;1 Now Cromwell's gane to Nick, and ane ca'd Monk Has played the Rumple a right slee begunk, Restored King Charles, and ilka thing's in tune; And Habby says, we'll see Sir William soon. GLAUD. That makes me blyth indeed! But dinna flaw; Tell o'er your news again, and swear till 't a'. 1To stand his liege's friend with great Montrose.' Ed. of 1808. Then wad he gar his butler bring bedeen The nappy bottle ben, and glasses clean, Whilk in our breast raised sic a blythsome flame, As gart me mony a time gae dancing hame. My heart's e'en raised! - Dear nibour, will ye stay, And tak your dinner here with me the day? We'll send for Elspath too; and upo' sight I'll whistle Pate and Roger frae the height. I'll yoke my sled, and send to the neist town, And bring a draught of ale baith stout and brown; And gar our cottars a', man, wife, and wean, Drink 'till they tine the gate to stand their lane. SYMON. I wadna bauk my friend his blyth design, Fat are the puddings; heads and feet well sung; Since ye 're my nearest friend that I like best. SCENE II. PROLOGUE. The open field. A cottage in a glen; BAULDY HIS LANE. What's this?—I canna bear 't!-'t is waur than To be sae burnt with love, yet darna tell! [hell, O Peggy sweeter than the dawning day; Sweeter than gowany glens or new-mawn hay; Blyther than lambs that frisk out o'er the knows.; Straighter than aught that in the forest grows ; Her een the clearest blob of dew outshines; The lily in her breast its beauty tines; Her legs, her arms, her cheeks, her mouth, her een, Will be my dead, that will be shortly seen! For Pate looes her, waes me! - and she looes Pate; And I with Neps, by some unlucky fate, SCENE III. PROLOGUE. A green kail-yard: a little fount, Where water poplin springs; There sits a wife with wrinkled front, And yet she spins and sings. SANG IX. TUNE. Carle, an the king come.' MAUSE. Peggy, now the king's come! Peggy, now the king's come! [Exit.] Thou may dance, and I shall sing, Peggy, since the king's come! Nae mair the hawkies shalt thou milk, But change thy plaiden-coat for silk, And be a lady of that ilk, Now, Peggy, since the king's come. ENTER BAULDY. BAULDY. How does auld honest lucky of the glen? Ye look baith hale and fair at threescore-ten. MAUSE. E'en twining out a thread with little din, And beeking my cauld limbs afore the sun. What brings my bairn this gate sae air at morn? Is there nae muck to lead? to thresh nae corn? BAULDY. Enough of baith: but something that requires Your helping hand employs now all my cares. MAUSE. My helping hand! alake, what can I do, That underneith baith eild and poortith bow? BAULDY. Ay, but you're wise, and wiser far than we; Or maist part of the parish tells a lie. MAUSE. Of what kind wisdom think ye I'm possest, That lifts my character aboon the rest? BAULDY. The word that gangs, how ye 're sae wise and fell, Ye'll may be tak it ill gif I should tell. MAUSE. What folks say of me, Bauldy, let me hear; Keep naething up, ye naething have to fear. BAULDY. Well, since ye bid me, I shall tell ye a' You, lucky, gat the wyte of a' fell out; 1The powers attributed to witches, by the hinds and shepherds of Scotland, are admirably described and preserved by Ramsay. The clownish character, under the name of Bauldy, he has exhibited as a foil to set off his hero, and to expose the superstitious credulity and passions from whence these fancies originate. Bauldy is drawn, with great fidelity, from real life.' Now since the royal Charles and right's restored, [Exit.] 1 In the edition of 1808, Mause's soliloquy is given thus: 'Hard luck, alake! when poverty and eild, Weeds out of fashion, and a lanely beild, With a sma' cast of wiles, should, in a twitch, Gie ane the hatefu' name, A wrinkled witch! |