How foon we'll fee Sir William. Whisht! he heaves, Sir Will. [farts up and speaks.] Was to lang toil and trouble brought, And fpreads joy o'er the plain; That knight, in a few days, fhall bring 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 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, 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: 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. But happier far, cou'd ye but fancy me. 4 Jenny. Jenny. And wha kens, honeft lad, but that I may? Roger. Alake, my frighted heart begins to fail, 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, The bridegroom may rejoice, the bride may fmile; Roger. I've feen the morning rife with faireft light, 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, I'm happy now; ah, let my head The pleasure strikes me near hand dead— Oh, let me brifs thee to my heart, And round my arms entwine! Delyteful thought! We'll never part! Jenny. Were I but fure you lang wou'd love maintain, 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, Ye ha'e what will commend him to ye weel; SANG XIV. Tune, O'er Bogie. Weel, I agree, ye're fure of me; Mak him content to gi'e confent, Should he deny, I care na-by, He'd contradict in vain ; Tho' a' my kin had said and fworn, 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: Jenny. I'll do my beft-But fee wha comes this way, Roger |