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DRAMATIS

PERSON Æ.

M E N.

Sir William Worthy.

Patie, the Gentle Shepherd, in love with Peggy.
Roger, a rich young Shepherd, in love with Jenny.
Symon and Glaud, two old Shepherds, Tenants to
Sir William.

Bauldy, a Hind, engaged with Neps.

WOMEN.

Peggy, thought to be Glaud's Niece.
Fenny, Glaud's only Daughter.

Maufe, an old Woman supposed to be a Witch.
Elpa, Symon's Wife.

Madge, Glaud's Sifter.

SCENE, a Shepherd's Village and Fields fome few Miles from Edinburgh.

Time of Action, within Twenty Hours.

First Act begins at Eight in the Morning.
Second Act begins at Eleven in the Forenoon.
Third Act begins at Four in the Afternoon.
Fourth Act begins at Nine o'Clock at Night.
Fifth Act begins by Day-light next Morning.

THE

THE

GENTLE SHEPHERD.

ACT

I.

PROLOGUE to the SCENE.

Beneath the fouth fide of a craigy bield,
Where chryftal Springs their halefome waters yield,
Twa youthfu" Thepherds in the gowans lay,
Tenting their flocks ae bonny morn of May.
Poor Roger granes, till hollow echoes ring;
But blither Patie likes to laugh and fing.

Patie and Roger.

SANG I. Tune, The waking of the faulds.

PATIE.

Y Peggy is a young thing,

M'Juft enter'd in her teens,

Fair as the day, and sweet as May,
Fair as the day, and always gay.
My Peggy is a young thing,
And I'm not very auld,
Yet weel I like to meet her at.
The waking of the fauld.

My Peggy fpeaks fae fweetly,
Whene'er we meet alane, f
I wish nae mair to lay my care,
I wish nae mair of a' that's rare.
My Peggy fpeaks fae fweetly,
To a' the lave I'm cauld;
But the gars a' my fpirits glow
At waking of the fauld.

B

My

My Peggy fmiles fae kindly,
Whene'er I whisper love,

That I look down on a' the town,
That I look down upon a crown.
My Peggy fmiles fae kindly,
It makes me blyth and bauld,
And nathing gi'es me fic delight,
As waking of the fauld.

My Peggy fings fae faftly,
When on my pipe I play;
By a' the reft, it is confefs'd,
By a' the reft, that the fings beft.
My Peggy fings fae faftly,
And in her fangs are tald,
Wi' innocence, the wale of fenfe,
At waking of the fauld.

This funny morning, Roger, chears my blood,
And puts a' nature in a jovial mood.

How hartfom is't to fee the rifing plants,
To hear the birds chirm o'er their pleafing rants!
How halefome is't to snuff the cawler air,
And a' the fweets it bears when void of care!
What ails thee, Roger, then? What gars thee grane?
Tell me the caufe of thy ill feafon'd pain.

Roger. I'm born, Oh, Patie! to a thrawart fate;
I'm born to ftrive wi' hardships fad and great.
Tempests may ceafe to jaw the rowan flood,
Corbies and tods to grane for lambkins blood:
But I, opprefs'd with never-ending grief,
Maun ay despair of lighting on relief.

Patie. The bees fhall loath the flower, and quit the hive,
The faughs on boggie ground fhall cease to thrive,
Ere fcornfu' queans, or lofs of warldly geer,

Shall fpill my reft, or ever force a tear.

Roger. Sae might I fay; but it's no easy done
By ane whafe faul's fae fadly out of tune.
You hae fae faft a voice, and flid a tongue,
You are the darling of baith auld and young.
If I but ettle at a fang, or speak,

They dit their lugs, fyne up their leglens cleek ;

And

And jeer me hameward frae the lone or bught,
While I'm confus'd with mony a vexing thought.
Yet I am tall, and as well built as thee,

Nor mair unlikely to a lafs's eye.

For ilka fheep ye hae, I'll number ten,
And fhould, as ane may think, come farer ben.
Patie. But, ablins, nibour, ye hae not a heart,
And downa eithly wi' your cunzie part.
If that be true, what fignifies your gear?
A mind that's fcrimpit never wants fome care.
Roger. My byar tumbled, nine braw nowt were fmoor'd,
Three elf-fhot were, yet I these ills endur'd:

In winter laft my cares were very

fma',

Tho' fcores of wathers perifli'd in the fnaw.

Patie. Were your bien rooms as thinly stock'd as mine, Lefs ye wad lots, and lefs ye wad repine. He that has just enough can foundly fleep: The o'ercome only fashes fowk to keep.

Roger. May plenty flow upon thee for a crofs;
That thou may'it thole the pangs of mony a lofs,
Oh, may'st thou doat on fome fair paughty wench,
That ne'er will lowt thy lowan drowth to quench;
"Till, bris'd beneath the burden, thou cry dool,
And awn that ane may fret that is nae fool!

Pație. Sax good fat lambs, I fauld them ilka clute
At the Weft-port, and bought a winfome flute,
Of plum-tree made, wi' iv'ry virles round;
A dainty whistle, with a pleasant found:
I'll be mair canty wi't, and ne'er cry dool!
Than you wi' a' your cafh, ye dowie fool.
Roger. Na, Patie, na, I'm nae fic churlish beaft,
Some other thing lies heavier at my breast:
I dream'd a dreary dream this hinder night,
That gars my flesh a' creep yet with the fright.

Patie. Now, to a friend, how filly's this pretence,
To ane wha you and a' your fecrets kens.
Daft are your dreams, as daftly wad ye hide
Your weel-feen love, and dorty Jenny's pride:
Tak courage, Roger, me your forrows tell,
And fafely think nane kens them but yourfel.

Roger. Indeed, now, Patie, you hae guefs'd o'er true;
And there is naithing I'll keep up frae you..
B 2

Me

Me dorty Jenny looks upon afquint;
To speak but till her I dare hardly mint.
In ilka place the jeers me air and late,
And gars me look bombaz'd, and unco' blate.
But yesterday I met her 'yont a know,
She fled as frae a fhelly-coated kow.

She Bauldy loes, Bauldy, that drives the car,
But gecks at me, and fays I fmell of tar.

Patie. But Bauldy loes not her, right well I wat,
He fighs for Neps; fae that may ftand for that.
Roger. I wish I cou'd nae loo her-but in vain ;
I ftill maun doat, and thole her proud disdain.
My Bawty is a cur I dearly like;

Ev'n while he fawn'd the frack the poor dumb Tyke:
If I had fill'd a nook within her breast,

She wad ha' fhawn mair kindness to my beast.
When I begin to tune my stock and horn,
Wi' a' her face the fhaws a cauldrife fcorn.
Laft night I play'd-(ye never heard fic fpite)
O'er Bogie was the fpring, and her delyte :
Yet tauntingly fhe at her coufin fpear'd,
Gif she could tell what tune I play'd, and sneer'd—
Flocks, wander where ye like, I dinna care,
I'll break my reed, and never whistle mair.

Patie. E'en do fae, Roger, wha can help mifluck,
Saebeins the be fic a thrawn-gabit chuck?
Yonder's a craig, fince ye have tint all houp,
Gae till't your ways, and take the lover's loup.
Roger. I need na mak such speed my blood to spill,

I warrant Death come foon enough a-will.

Patie. Daft gowk! leave aff that filly, whingeing way; Seem careless, there's my hand ye'll win the day. Hear how I ferv'd my lafs, I love as weel

As

ye do Jenny, and with heart as leel.
Laft morning I was gay, and early out,
Upon a dyke I lean'd, glow'ring about.
I faw my Meg come linkan o'er the lee;
I faw my Meg, but Peggy faw nae me:
For yet the fun was wading through the mist,
And fhe was close upon me ere the wift.
Her coats were kiltit, and did fweetly fhaw
Her straight bare legs, that whiter were than fnaw;

Her

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