Now turn your eyes beyond yon fpreading lyme,

And tent a man whofe beard feems bleech'd with time ;
An elwan fills his hand, his habit mean,
Nae doubt ye'll think he has a pedlar been:
But whifht, it is the knight in masquerad,
That comes hid in this cloud to fee his lad.
Obferve how pleas'd the loyal fuff'rer moves
Throw his auld av'nues, anes delightfu' groves.

T

Sir William folus.

HE gentleman thus hid in low difguife,

I'll for a fpace, unknown, delight mine eyes
With a full view of ev'ry fertile plain,

Which once I loft,--which now are mine again.
Yet, 'midit my joys, fome profpects pain renew,
Whilft I my once fair feat in ruins view.
Yonder, ah me! it defolately ftands,

Without a roof, the gates fall'n from their bands;
The cafements all broke down, no chimney left,
The naked walls of tap'itry all bereft.
My stables and pavilions, broken walls!
That with each rainy blaft decaying falls:
My gardens once adorn'd the most complete,
With all that nature, all that art makes sweet;
Where round the figur'd green and peeble walks
The dewy flow'rs hung nodding on their ftalks:
But overgrown with nettles, docks and brier,
No Jaccacinths or Eglantines appear.
How fail'd and broke's the rifing ample fhade,
Where peach and nect'rine trees their branches spread,
Baking in rays, and early did produce
Fruit fair to view, delightful in the ufe;
All round in gaps, the walls in ruin lie,
And from what ftands the wither'd branches fly.
These foon fhall be repair'd ;-and now my joy
Forbids all grief,-when I'm to see my boy,

D

My

My only prop, and object of my care,

Since Heav'n, too foon, call'd home his mother fair:
Him, ere the rays of reafon clear'd his thought,
I fecretly to faithful Symon brought,

And charg'd him ftrictly to conceal his birth,
Till we fhou'd fee what changing times brought forth.
Hid from himself, he starts up by the dawn,
And ranges carelefs o'er the height and lawn
After his fleecy charge, ferenely gay,

With other fhepherds whistling o'er the day.
Thrice happy life! that's from ambition free,
Remov'd from crowns and courts, how cheerfully
A calm contented mortal spends his time
In hearty health, his foul unftain'd with crime.

SANG XII. Tune, Happy clown.

Hid from himself, now, by the dawn
He starts as frefli as roses blawn
And ranges o'er the heights and lawn,
After his bleating flocks.
Healthful, and innocently gay,
He chants and whistles out the day,
Untaught to fimile, and then betray,
Like courtly weathercocks.

Life happy, from ambition free,
Envy and vile hypocrify,

When truth and love with joys agree,

Unfully'd with a crime.

Unmov'd with what disturbs the great,
In propping of their pride and state,
He lives, and un-afraid of fate,
Contented spends his time.

Now tow'rds good Symon's houfe I'll bend my way,
And fee what makes yon gamboling to-day.
All on the green, in a fair wanton ring,
My youthful tenants gayly dance and fing.

[Exit Sir William.

SCENE

SCENE II.

PROLOGUE.

'Tis Symon's houfe, pleafe to fep in,
And villy't round and round,
There's nought fuperfluous to give pain,
Or coftly to be found:

Yet all is clean; a clear peet ingle
Glances amidst the floor;

The green born spoons, beech luggies mingle
On fkelfs foregainft the door.

While the young brood sport on the
The auld anes think it beft,

green,

With the brown cow to clear their een,

Snuff, crack, and tak their reft.

Symon, Glaud, and Elfpa.

Glaud. We anes were young ourfels-I like to fee
The bairns bob round wi' other merrily.
Troth, Symon, Patie's grown a ftrapan lad,
And better looks than his I never bade:

Amang our lads he bears the gree awa',
And tells his take the clev'rest of them a'.

Elpa. Poor man !-he's a great comfort to us baith;
God mak him good, and hide him ay frae fkaith:
He is a bairn, I'll fay't, weel worth our care,
That gae us ne'er vexation late or air.

Glaud. I trow, good wife, if I be not mista’en,
He feems to be with Peggy's beauty ta'en;
And troth my niece is a right dainty wean,
As ye weel ken; a bonnyer needna be,
Nor better-be't fhe were nae 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 reafons I'll no tell,

;

I'd rather be mix'd with the mools mysel.

Glaud. What reason can ye hae? There's nane, l'a

Unless ye may caft up that he's but poor: ·
But gif the laffie marry to my mind,
I'll be to her as my ane Jenny kind;
Fourfcore of breeding ewes of my ane birn,
Five ky that at ae milking fill a kirn,

D 2

[fure,

I'll

I'll gie to Peggy that day fhe's a bride;
By and attour, if my good luck abide,
Ten lambs, at fpaining time, as lang's I live,
And twa quey cawfs I'll yearly to them give.
Elfpa. Ye offer fair, kind Glaud; but dinna fpeer
What, may be, is not fit ye yet should hear.
Symon. Or this day eight days, likely, he fhall learn
That our denial difna flight his bairn.

Glaud. Weel, nae mair o't-come, gie's the other bend; We'll drink their healths, whatever way

it end. [Their healths gae round. Symon. But will ye tell me, Glaud-by fome 'tis said, Your niece is but a fundling, that was laid

Down at your hallon fide, ae morn in May,
Right clean row'd up, and bedded on dry hay.

Glaud. That clatteran, Madge, my titty, tells fic flaws,
Whene'er our Meg her cankart humour gaws.
Enter Jeany.

Jenny. Oh, father, there's an auld man on the green, The felleft fortune-teller e'er was feen;

He tents our loofs, and fyne whops out a book,
Turns owre the leaves, and gies our brows a look ;
Syne tells the oddeft tales that e'er ye heard:
His head is grey, and lang and grey his beard.
Symon. Gae bring him in; we'll hear what he can fay
Fane fhall gang hungry by my house this day.

But for his telling fortunes, troth, I fear,
He kens nae mair o' that than my grey mare.

[Exit Jenny.

Glaud. Spae-men! the truth of a' their faws I doubt; For greater liars never ran there out.

Re-enter Jenny, bringing Sir William: with them Patie.
Symon. Ye're welcome, honeft carle-Here, tak a seat.
Sir Will. I give ye thanks, good man, Ife be no blate.
Glaud. [Drinks.] Come, t'ye, friend-How far cam
ye the day?

Sir Will. I pledge ye, nibour-e'en but little way:
Roufted with eild, a wie piece gate feems lang;
Twa miles, or three's the maift that I dow gang.
Symon. Ye're welcome here to stay a' night wi'me,
And tak fic bed and bord as we can gie.

Sir Will. That's kind, unfought. Weel, gin ye have a That ye like weel, and wad his fortune learn,

I fhall employ the fartheft o' my skill

To fpae it faithfully, be't good or ill.

[bairn

Symon. [Pointing to Patie.] Only that lad-alack, I hae nae mae !.

Either to mak me joyfu' now, or wae.

Sir Will. Young man, let's fee your ye fneer?

hand-What gars

Patie. Because your skill's but little worth, I fear. Sir Will. Ye cut before the point-but, billy, bide; I'll wager there's a mouse-mark on your fide.

Elpa. Beteech us to! and weel I wat that's true; Awa, awa, the deel's owre grit wi' you.

Four inch aneath his oxter is the mark,

Scarce ever seen fince first he wore a fark.

Sir Will. I'll tell ye mair: if this young lad be fpar'd But a fhort while, he'll be a braw rich laird.

Elfpa. Alaird! Hear ye, good man? What think ye now? Symon. I dinna ken. Strange auld man, what art thou? Fair fa' your heart; 'tis good to bode o' wealth: Come, turn the timmer to laird Patie's health.

[Patie's health gaes round. Patie. A laird o' twa good whiftles, and a kent,

Twa curs my trusty tenants on the bent,

Is a' my great eftate-and like to be;

Sae, cunning carle, ne'er break your jokes on me.

Symon. Whifht, Patie, let the man look owre your hand : Aft-times as broken a fhip has come to land.

[Sir William looks a little at Patie's hand, then counterfeits. falling into a trance, while they endeavour to lay him right.]

Elpa. Preferv's!-the man's a warlock, or poffefs'd With fome nae good, or fecond-fight at least.

Whar is he now?

Glaud.

He's seeing a' that's done

In ilka place beneath or yont the moon.

Elpa. Thefe fecond-fighted fowk, his peace be here! See things far aff, and things to come, as clear As I can fee my thumb-wow! can he tell (Speer at him foon as he comes to himsel) D 3

How