Roger. Towhere thefaugh-tree fhades the mennin-pool, I'll frae the hill come down, when day grows cool: Keep trifte, and meet me there; there let us meet, To kifs, and tell our love; there's nought fae fweet
This fcene prefents the knight and Sym,
Within a gallery of the place.
Where a' looks ruinous and grim;
Nor has the baron fhewn his face;
But, joking wi' his Shepherd leel,
Aft fpeers the gate be kens fu' weel.
Sir William and Simon.
Sir Will. To whom belongs this houfe, fo much decay'd?
Sym. To ane that loft it, lending gen'rous aid
To bear the head up, when rebellious tail
Against the laws of nature did prevail.
Sir William Worthy is our master's name,
Whilk fills us a' wi' joy, now he's come hame.
[Sir William draps his masking beard;
Symon, tranfported, fees
The welcome knight, with fond regard,
And clafps him round the knees.
My mafter! my dear master !-Do I breathe
To fee him healthy, ftrong, and free frae skaith;
Return'd to chear his wishing tenants' fight,
To blefs his fon, my charge, the warld's delight?
Sir Will. Rife, faithful Symon, in my arms enjoy
A place, thy due, kind guardian of my boy;
I came to view thy care in this disguise,
And am confirm'd thy conduct has been wife;
Since still the fecret thou'it fecurely feal'd,
And ne'er to him his real birth reveal'd.
Symon. The due obedience to your ftrict command
Was the first lock-neift my ane judgment fand
Out reafons plenty-fince, without estate,
A youth, tho'fprung frae kings, looks bauch and blate.
Sir Will. And aften vain and idly fpend their time,
Till grown unfit for action, paft their prime;
Hang on their friends, which gi'es their fauls a caft,
That turns them downright beggars at the last.
Symon. Now, weel I wat, Sir, ye ha'e spoken true;: For there's Laird Kytie's fon, that's loo'd by few. His father fteght his fortune in his wame, And left his heir nought but a gentle name: He gangs about fornan frae place to place, As fcrimp of manners as of fenfe and grace, Oppreffing a' as punishment o' their fin, That are within his tenth degree o' kin : Rins in ilk trader's debt, wha's fae unjust To his ane fam❜ly as to gi'e him trust.
Sir Will. Such useless branches of a common-wealth
Should be lopt off, to gi'e the state mair health.
Unworthy bare reflection-Symon, run
O'er all your obfervations on my fon;
A parent's fondnefs eas'ly finds excufe;
But do not, with indulgence, truth abuse.
Symon. To fpeak his praife, the langeft fimmer day
Wad be o'er fhort, cou'd I them right difplay.
In word and deed he can fae weel behave,
That out o' fight he rins afore the lave;
And when there's e'er a quarrel or contest,
Patrick's made judge to tell whase cause is best,
And his decreet ftands good-he'll gar it stand:
Wha dares to grumble finds his correcting hand:
Wi' a firm look, and a commanding way,
He gars the proudest o' our herds obey.
Sir Will. Your tale much pleafeth-my good friend, proceed :
What learning has he? Can he write and read ?
Syman. Baith wonder weel; for, troth, I didna spare
To gi'e him, at the fchool, enough o' lair;
And he delytes in books-he reads and fpeaks,
Wi' fowks that ken them, Latin words and Greeks.
Sir Will. Where gets he books to read, and of what kind?
Tho' fome give light, fome blindly lead the blind.
Symon. Whene'er he drives our fheep t' Edenburgh port,
He buys fome books of hift'ry, fangs, or fport:
Nor does he want o' them that rowth at will,
And carries ay a pouchfu' to the hill.
About ane Shakespear, and a famous Ben,
He aften fpeaks, and ca's them best o' men.
How fweetly Hawthornden and Stirling fing,
And ane ca'd Cowley, loyal to his king,
He ken's fu' weel, and gars the verses ring.
I fometimes thought, he made o'er great a phrase
About fine poems, hiftories and plays.
When I reprov'd him anes-a book he brings,
Wi' this, quoth he, on braes I crack wi' kings.
Sir Will. He anfwer'd well; and much ye glad my ear, When fuch accounts I of my fhepherd hear:
Reading fuch books can raife a peafant's mind
Above a lord's, that is not thus inclin'd.
Symon. What ken we better, that fae findle look,
Except on rainy Sundays, on a book?
When we a leaf or twa haf read, haf spell,
'Till a' the reft fleep round as weel's our fell.
Sir Will. Well jefted, Symon-but one question more
I'll only afk ye now, and then give o'er.
The youth's arriv'd the age, when little loves
Flighter around young hearts, like cooing doves;
Has nae young laffie, wi' inviting mein
And rofie cheeks, the wonder of the green,
Engag'd his look, and caught his youthfu' heart?
Symon. I fear'd the warft, but ken'd the fma'est part;
(Till late I faw him twa three times mair fweet
With Glaud's fair niece) than I thought right or meet.
I had my fears; but now have nought to fear,
Syn, like yourfel, your fon will foon appear.
A gentleman enrich'd wi' a' these charms,
May blefs the faireft, beft-born lady's arms.
Sir Will. This night muft end his unambitious fire,
When higher views fhall greater thoughts inspire.
Go, Symon, bring him quickly here to me,
None but yourself shall our first meeting fee.
Yonder's my horfe and fervants nigh at hand,
They come juft at the time I
gave command
Straight in my own apparel I'll go dress ;
Now ye the fecret may to all confefs.
Symon. Wi' how much joy I on this errand flee, There's nane can know that is not down-right me.
Sir Wil. Whene'er th' event of hope's fuccefs appears,
One happy hour cancels the toil of years.
A thousand toils are loft in Lethe's stream,
And cares evanish like a morning dream;
When wifh'd-for pleasures rife like morning light,
The pain that's past, enhances the delight.
Thefe joys I feel, that words can ill exprefs,
I ne'er had known, without my late distress.
But from his ruftic bufinefs and love,
I muft, in haste, my Patrick foon remove,
To courts and camps, that may his foul improve.
Like the rough di'mond, as it leaves the mine,
Only in little breakings fhews its light,
Till artful polishing has made it shine :
Thus education makes the genius bright.
SANG XV. Tune, What ye wha I met yeftreen.
Now from rufticity, and love,
Whofe flames but over-lowly burn,
My gentle fhepherd must be drove,
His foul must take another turn:
As the rough di'mond, from the mine,
In breakings only fhews its light,
Till polishing has made it fhine.
Thus learning makes the genius bright.
END of the THIRD ACT.
The feene defcrib'd in former Page.
Glaud's onfet-Enter Maufe and Madge..
UR Laird's come hame, and owns young Pate his
Naufe. That's news indeed!
As true as ye ftand there.
As they were dancing a' in Symon's yard,
Sir William, like a warlock, wi' a beard
Five nives in length, and white as driven fnaw,
Amang us came, cry'd, Ha'd ve merry a’.
We ferly'd mickle at his unco look,
While frae his pouch, he whirled forth a book.
As we ftood round about him on the green,
He view'd us a', but fix'd on Pate his een;
Then pawkylie pretended he cou'd fpae,
Yet for his pains and fkill wad naithing hae.
Maufe. Then fure the laffes, and ilk gaping coof,
Wad rin about him, and ha'd out their loof.
Madge. As faft as fleas fkip to the tate of woo,
Whilk flee Tod Lawrie ha'ds without his mow,
When he, to drown them, and his hips to cool,
In fummer days flides backward in a pool :
In short, he did for Pate braw things foretel,
Without the help of conjuring or Ipell;
At last, when weel diverted, he withdrew,
Pou'd aff his beard to Symon, Symon knew
His welcome mafter; round his knees he gat,
Hang at his coat, and fyne for blythnefs grat.
Patrick was fent for-happy lad is he !
Symon tald Elfpa, Elfpa tald it me,
Ye'll hear out a' the secret story foon;
And troth it's c'en right odd when a' is done,
To think how Symon ne'er afore wad tell,
Na, no, fae meikle as to Pate himfel.
Our Meg, poor thing, alake! has loft her jo,
Maufe. It may be fae; wha kens, and
To lift a love that's rooted, is great pain:
Even kings have tane a queen out of the plain,
And what has been before may be again.
Madge. Sic nonfenfe! Love tak root bot tocher-good, 'Tween a herd's bairn, and ane of gentle blood!
Sic fashions in king Bruce's days might be ;
But ficcan ferlies now we never fee.
Maufe. Gif Pate forfakes her, Bauldy fhe may gain, Yonder he comes, and wow! but he looks fain, Nae doubt he thinks that Peggy's now his ain.
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