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How foon we'll fee Sir William. Whisht! he heaves,
And speaks out broken words, like ane that raves.
Symon. He'll foon grow better-Elspa, haste ye, gae,
And fill him up a tafs of ufquebae.

Sir Will. [farts up and speaks.]
A knight that for a lion fought,
Against a herd of bears,

Was to lang toil and trouble brought,
In which fome thousands fhares.
But now again the lion rears,

And fpreads joy o'er the plain;
The lion has defeat the bears,
The knight returns again.

That knight, in a few days, fhall bring
A fhepherd frae the fauld;
And fhall present him to his king,

A fubject true and bauld.

He matter Patrick fhall be call'd

All

you that hear me now,

May weel believe what I have tald,

For it fall happen true.

Symon. Friend, may your fpaeing happen foon and weel; But, faith, I'm redd you've bargain'd with the deel, To tell fome tales that fowks wad fecret keep:

Or do you get them tald you in your sleep?

Sir Will. Howe'er I get them, never fash your beard; Nor come I to redd fortunes for reward:

Bet I'll lay ten to ane wi' ony here,

That a' I prophefy will foon appear.

Symon. You prophefying fowk are odd kind men ; They're here that ken, and here that dina ken

The wimpled meaning o' your unco tale,

Whilk foon will mak a noife o'er moor and dale.

Glaud. 'Tis nae fma' sport to hear how Sym believes, And takes't for gofpel what the fpae-man gives Of flawing fortunes whilk he evens to Pate:

But what we wish we trow at ony rate.

Sir Will. Whifht, doubtfu' carle! for ere the fun
Has driven twice down to the fea,
What I have faid, ye fhall fee done
In part, or nae mair credit me.

Glaud,

Glaud. Weel, be't fae, friend; I fhall fay naithing mair, But I've twa fonfy laffes young and fair, Plump, ripe for men: I wish ye cou'd foresee Sic fortunes for them might bring joy to me. Sir Will. Nae mair thro' fecrets can I fift, Till darkness black the bent:

I have but anes a day that gift;

Sae reft a while content.

Symon. Elfpa, caft on the claith, fetch butt some meat, And of your best gar this auld stranger eat.

Sir Will. Delay a while your hofpitable care,
I'd rather enjoy this ev'ning 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 defire-
And, Glaud, you'll tak your pipe beside the fire;
We'll but gae round the place, and foon be back,
Syne fup together, and tak our pint, and crack.

Glaud. I'll out a while, and fee the young anes play, My heart's still light, albeit my locks be grey.

SCENE III.

PROLOGUE.

Jenny pretends an errand hame,

Young Roger draps the reft,

To whisper out his melting flame,

And thow his lafie's breaft.

[Exeunt.

Behind a bush, weel hid frae fight, they meet:
See, Jenny's laughing, Roger's like to greet.

Roger and Jenny.

Poor Shepherd!

Roger. Dear Jenny, I wad fpeak t'ye, wad ye let; And yet I ergh ye're ay fae fcornfu' fet.

Jenny. And what wad Roger fay, if he could speak?

Am I oblig'd to guess what ye're to feek?

Roger. Yes, ye may guefs right eith for what I grein, Baith by my service, fighs, and langing een;

And I maun out wi't, tho' I risk your fcorn.

Ye're never frae my thoughts baith ev'n and morn.
Ah, cou'd I loo ye lefs, I'd happy be!

But happier far, cou'd ye but fancy me.

4

Jenny.

Jenny. And wha kens, honeft lad, but that I may?
Ye canna fay that e'er I faid ye nay.

Roger. Alake, my frighted heart begins to fail,
Whene'er I mint to tell ye out my tale!
For fear fome tighter lad, mair rich than I,
Has won your love, and near your heart may lie.
Jenny. I loo my father, coufin Meg I love;
But, to this day, nae man my heart cou'd move.
Except my kin, ilk lad's alike to me;

And frae ye a' I best had keep me free.

Roger. How lang, dear Jenny ?-Say na that again; What pleasure can ye tak in giving pain? I'm glad, however, that ye yet stand free. Wha kens but ye may rew, and pity me? Jenny. Ye have my pity elfe, to see you fet On that whilk maks our sweetness foon forget. Wow, but we're bonny, good, and ev'ry thing! How sweet we breathe, whene'er we kifs or fing! But we're nae fooner fools to gie consent, Than we our daffin, and tint pow'r repent: When prifon'd in four wa's, a wife, right tame, Altho' the first the greatest drudge at hame.

Roger. That only happens, when, for fake o' gear,
Ane wales a wife as he wad buy a mare :
Or when dull parents bairns together bind,
Of diff'rent tempers that can ne'er prove kind.
But love, true downright love, engages me
(Tho' you fhou'd fcorn) ftill to delight in thee
Jenny. What fugar'd words frae wooer's lips can fa'!
But girning marriage comes, and ends them a'.
I've feen with fhining fair, the morning rife,
And foon the fleety clouds mirk a' the skies;
I've seen the filler fpring a while rin clear,
And foon in moffy puddles difappear.

The bridegroom may rejoice, the bride may fmile;
But foon contentions a' their joys beguile.

Roger. I've feen the morning rife with faireft light,
The day, unclouded, fink in calmeft night.
I've feen the fpring rin wimpling throw the plain,
Increase, and join the ocean, without stain.
The bridegroom may be blyth, the bride may fmile;
Rejoice thro' life, and a' your fears beguile.

SANG

Jenny.

Roger.

SANG XIII. Tune, Lieth-Wynd.

Were I affur'd you'll conftant prove,

You should nae mair complain;

The eafy maid, befet with love,
Few words will quickly gain;
For I must own, now, fince you're free,
This too fond heart of mine
Has lang, a black-fole true to thee,
Wish'd to be pair'd with thine.

I'm happy now; ah, let my head
Upon thy breaft recline!

The pleasure strikes me near hand dead—
Is Jenny then fae kind?

Oh, let me brifs thee to my heart,

And round my arms entwine!

Delyteful thought! We'll never part!
Come, prefs thy mouth to mine.

Jenny. Were I but fure you lang wou'd love maintain,
The feweft words my eafy heart could gain;
For I maun own, fince now at laft you're free,
Altho' I jok'd, I lov'd your company;

And ever had a warmnefs in my breast,

That made ye dearer to me than the rest.

Roger. I'm happy now! o'er happy! ha'd my head!This guth of pleasure's like to be my dead. Come to my arms-or strike me-I'm a' fir'd Wi' wond'ring love-Let's kifs till we be tir'd. Kifs, kifs! we'll kifs the fun and starns away, And ferly at the quick return o' day. Oh, Jenny, let my arms about thee twine, And brifs thý bonny breasts and lips to mine. [They embrace. Jenny. With equal joy my eafy heart gives way, To own thy weel-try'd love has won the day. Now, by thae warmest kiffes thou hast ta'en, Swear thus to love me, when by vows made ane. Roger. Ifwear by fifty thousand yet to come, Or may the firft ane ftrike me deaf and dumb, There shall not be a kindlier dawted wife, you agree wi me to lead your life.

If

Jenny

Jenny. Weel, I agree-neist to my parent gae,
Get his confent; he'll hardly say ye nay;

Ye ha'e what will commend him to ye weel;
Auld fowks, like them, that want nae milk and meal.

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SANG XIV. Tune, O'er Bogie.

Weel, I agree, ye're fure of me;
Neift to my father gae :

Mak him content to gi'e confent,
He'll hardly fay ye nay:
For ye have what he wad be at,
And will commend you weel;
Since parents auld, think love grows cauld,
When bairns want milk and meal.

Should he deny, I care na-by,

He'd contradict in vain ;

Tho' a' my kin had said and fworn,
But thee, I will ha'e nane.

Then never range, nor learn to change,

Like thofe in high degree:

And if ye prove faithful in love,

You'll find nae fault in me.

Roger. My faulds contain twice fifteen forrow nowt,

As mony newcal in my byers rowt:

Five pack of woo' I can at Lammas fell,

Shorn frae my bob-tail'd bleeters on the fell:
Gude twenty pair o' blankets for our bed,
Wi' meikle care my thrifty mither made.
Ilk thing that maks a heartsome house and tight,
Was ftill her care, my father's great delight.
They left me a'; which now gi'es joy to me,
Because I can gi'e a', my dear, to thee;
And had I fifty times as meikle mair,
Nane but my Jenny fhou'd the famen skair.
My love and a' is yours; now ha'd them faft,
And guide them as ye like, to gar them laft.

Jenny. I'll do my beft-But fee wha comes this
Patie and Meg-befides, I mauna stay.
Let's fteal frae ither now, and meet the morn;
If we be feen, we'll drie a deal o' fcorn.

way,

Roger

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