Nor grumbled if ane grew rich, or fhor'd to raise,
Our mailens, when we pat on Sunday's claiths.
Symon. Nor wad he lang, with fenfelefs faucy air,
Allow our lyart noddles to be bare.
Put on your bonnet, Symon-tak a seat—
"How's a' at hame,-How's Elfpa -How does Kate?How fells black cattle?-What gi'es woo this year And fic like kindly questions wad he fpeer.
SANG VIII. Tune, Mucking of Geordy's byre.
The laird who in riches and honour
Wad thrive, fhould be kindly and free,
Nor rack his poor tenants wha labour
To rife aboon poverty:
Elfe, lik the pack-horfe that's unfother'd
And burthen'd, will tumble down faint,
Thus virtue by hardship is fmother'd
And rackers aft tine their rent.
Glaud. Then wad he gar his butler bring bedeen
The nappy bottle ben, and glaffes clean,
Whilk in our breast rais'd fic a blythsome flame,
As gar'd me mony a time gae dancing hame.
My heart e'en rais'd! -Dear nibour, will ye ftay,
And tak your dinner here with me the day.
We'll fend for Elfpa too-and upo' fight,
I'll whistle Pate and Roger frae the height.
I'll yoke my fled, and fend to the neist town,
And bring a draught of ale baith ftout and brown,
And gar our cottars a', man, wife, and wean,
Drink till they tine the gate to ftand their lane.
Symon. I wadna baulk my friend his blyth defign,
Gif that it had na first of a' been mine:
For here-yeftreen I brew'd a bow of maut,
Veftreen I flew two wathers prime and fat;
A furlet of good cakes my Elfpa beuk,
And a large ham hings reefting in the nook.
I faw my fell, or I came o'er the loan,
Our meikle pat, that fca'ds the whey, put on,
A mutton bouk to boil;-and ane we'll roast,
And on the haggies Elspa spares nae cost.
Sma' are they fhorn; and she can mix fou nice
The gufty ingans with a curn of spice,
Fat are the puddings,-heads and feet weel fung;
And we've invited nibours auld and young,
To pass this afternoon with glee and game,
And drink our master's health and welcome hame.
Ye mauna then refuse to join the rest,
Since ye're my nearest friend that I like best.
Bring wi' ye a' your family, and then,
Whene'er you pleafe, I'll rant wi' you again.
Glaud. Spoke like ye'rfell. Auld Birky, never fear
But at your banquet Í fhall first appear:
Faith, we fhall bend the bicker, and look bauld,
Till we forget that we are fail'd or auld,
Auld, faid I-Troth, I'm younger by a score,
Wi' you good news than what I was before.
I'll dance or e'en! Hey, Madge, come forth, d'ye hear?
Enter Madge.
Madge. The man's gain gyte! Dear Symon, welcome
What wad ye, Glaud, with a' this hafte and din?
Ye never let a body fit to fpin.
Glaud. Spin? Stuff!-Ġae break your wheel, and burn
And fet the meikleft peet-ftack in a low:
Syne dance about the bane-fire till ye dee,
Since now again we'll foon Sir William fee.
Madge. Blyth news indeed.--And wha waft told you o't? Glaud. What's that to you?-gae get my Sunday's bobbit bands;
Wale out the whitest of
My whyt skin hofe, and mittens for my hands;
Then frae their washin cry the bairns in haste,
And make ye'rfells as trig, head, feet, and waist,
As ye were a' to get young lads or e'en;
For we're gawn o'er to dine wi' Sym bedeen.
Symon. Do, honeft Madge-and, Glaud, I'll o'er the
And fee that a' be done as I wad hae't.
The open field--a cottage in a glen,
As auld wife fpinning at the funny end.—
At a fma' diftance, by a blafted tree,
With falded arms, and ha'f rais'd looks, ye fee.
Bauldy. What this!-I canna bear't! 'Tis war than
To be fae brunt with love, yet darna tell!
Oh, Peggy, fweeter than the dawning day,
Sweeter than gowany glens or new-mawn hay:
Blyther than lambs that frifk out-o'er the knows,
Straighter than aught that in the foreft grows;
Her een the cleareft blob of dew outlines ;
The lily in her breast its beauty tinęs.
Her legs, her arms, her cheeks, her mouth, her een,
Will be my dead, that will be fhortly feen!
For Pate looes her-waes me! and the looes Pate,
And I with Neps, by fome unlucky fate,
Made a daft vow!-Oh, but ane be a beast,
That makes rafh aiths till he's afore the priest!
I darna fpeak my mind, elfe a' the three,
But doubt, wad prove ilk ane my enemy,
'Tis fair to thole;-I'll try fome witchcraft art,
To brak wi' ane, and win the other's heart.
Here Maufy lives, a witch, that for fma' price
Can caft her cantraips, and gi'e me advice.
She can o'ercaft the night, and cloud the moon,
And make the deels obedient to her crune.
At midnight hours, o'er the kirk-yard fhe raves,
And howks uncriften'd weans out of their graves;
Boils up
their livers in a warlock's pow;
Rins witherfhins about the humlock low;
And feven times does her prayers backward pray,
Till Plotcock comes with lumps of Lapland clay,
Mixt wi' the venom of black taids and fnakes:
Of this, unfonfy pictures aft fhe makes
Of ony ane the hates ;--and gars expire
With flaw and racking pains afore a fire,
Stuck fou of prins; the dev'lish pictures melt,
The pain by fowk they reprefent is felt.
And yonder's Maufe; ay, ay, fhe kens fou weel,
When ane like me comes rinning to the deel.
She and her cat fit beeking in her yard,
To speak my errand, faith, amaist I'm fear'd:
But I maun do't, though I fhould never thrive ;
They gallop faft, that deels and laffes drive.
A green keil yard, a little fount,
Where water poplin fprings,
There fits a wife with wrinkled front,
And yet fhe fpins and fings.
SANG IX. Tune, Carle, an' the king come.
Mause. Peggy, now the king's come,
Peggy, now the king's come,
Thou may dance, and I fhall fing,
Peggy, fince the king's come:
Nae mair the hawkies fhalt thou milk,
But change thy plaiding-coat for filk,
And be a lady of that ilk,
Now, Peggy, fince the king's come.
Bauldy. How does auld honeft lucky of the glen?
Ye look baith hale and fere at threefcore ten.
Maufe. E'en twining out a thread with little din,
And beeking my cauld limbs before the fun.
What brings my bairn this gait fae air at morn?
Is there nae muck to lead,-to thresh, nae corn?
Bauldy. Enough of baith-but fomething that requires
Your helping hand, employs now all my cares.
Maufe. My helping hand, alake? what can I do,
That underneith beith eild and poortith bow?
Bauldy. Ay, but you're wife, and wiser far than we,
Or maist part of the parifh tells a lie.
Maufe. Of what kind wisdom think ye I'm poffeft, That lifts my character aboon the rest ?
Bauldy. The word that gangs, how ye're fae wife and Ye'll may be tak it ill gif I fhou'd tell.
Maufe. What fowk fay of me, Bauldy, let me hear; Keep naithing up, ye naithing hae to fear.
Bauldy. Well, fince ye bid me, I fhall tell you a'
That ilk ane talks about you, but a flaw.
When last the wind made Glaud a rooflefs barn,
When last the burn bore down my mither's yarn,
When Brawny elf-fhot never mair came hame;
When Tibby kirn'd and there nae butter came;
When Beffy Freetock's chuffy-cheeked wean
To a fairy turn'd, and cou'd na stand its lane ;
When Wattie wander'd ae night thro' the shaw,
And tint himsel amaist amang the fnaw;
When Mungo's mare ftood ftill, and fwat wi' fright,
When he brought eaft the Howdy under night.
When Bawfy shot to dead upon the green,
And Sara tint a fnood was nae mair feen:
You, Lucky, gat the wyte of a' fell out,
And ilk ane here dreads ye a' round about;
And fae they may that mint to do ye skaith;
For me to wrang ye, I'll be very laith;
But when I neist make grots, I'll strive to please
You wi' a furlet of them mixt wi' pease.
Maufe. I thank ye, lad-now tell me your demand,
And, if I can, I'll lend my helping hand.
Bauldy. Then-I like Peggy-Neps is fond of me
Peggy likes Pate ;-and Patie's bauld and flee,
And looes fweet Meg-But Neps I downa fee-
Cou'd ye turn Patie's love to Neps, and than
Peggy's to me-
e—I'd be the happiest man.
Maufe. I'll try my art to gar the bowls row right, Sae gang your ways, and come again at night; 'Gainst that time I'll fome fimple things prepare, Worth all your pease and grots: take ye nae care. Bauldy. Well, Maufe, I'll come, gif I the road can find ; But if ye raise the Deel, he'll raife the wind; Syne rain and thunder, may be, when 'tis late, Will make the night fae mirk, I'll tine the gait. We're a' to rant in Symie's at a feast, Oh, will ye come like badrans for a jeft; And there ye can our different haviours fpy; There's nane fhall ken o't there but you and I.
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