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Then 'tis defign'd, when I can weel behave,
That I maun be fome petted thing's dull flave,
For fome few bags of cash, that, I wat weel,
I nae mair need nor carts do a third wheel :
But Peggy, dearer to me than my breath,
Sooner than hear fic news, fhall hear my
death.
Roger." They wha have juft enough can foundly
fleep,

The owrecome only fashes fowk to keep.".
Good, Mr. Patrick, tak your ain tale hame.

Patie. What was my morning thought at night's the fame:

The poor and rich but differ in the name,
Content's the greatest blifs we can procure
Frae boon the lift-without it kings are poor.

Roger. But an eftate like yours yields braw content, When we but pike it.fcantly on the bent:

Fine claiths, faft beds, fweet houfes, fparkling wine,
Rich fare, and witty friends whene'er ye dine,
Submiffive fervants, honour, wealth, and ease,
Wha's no content with these is ill to pleafe.

Patie. Sae Roger thinks, and thinks not far amifs,
But mony a cloud hings hov'ring o'er their blifs :
The paffions rule the roaft-and if they're four,
Like the lean ky, they'll foon the fat devour :
The spleen, tint honour, and affronted pride,
Stang, like the fharpest goads, in gentry's fide,
The gouts, and gravels, and the ill disease,
Are frequenteft with foulk o'erlaid with ease,
While o'er the moor, the fhepherd wi' less care,
Enjoys his fober wish, and halefome air.

Roger. Lord, man, I wonder ay, and it delights
My heart, whene'er I hearken to your flights.
How gat ye a' that fenfe I fain wad lear,

That I may eafier difappointments bear.

Patic. Frae books, the wale of books, I gat fome skill,

Thae beft can teach what's real good and ill:

Ne'er grudge ilk year to ware fome ftanes of cheese,
To gain these filent friends that ever please.

Roger. I'll do't, and ye fall tell me whilk to buy:
Faith 'fe ha' books, tho' I shou'd sell my ky :

But

-1

}

But now let's hear how you're defign'd to move,
Between Sir William's will, and Peggy's love.
Pat. Then here it lies: his will maun be obey'd;
My vows I'll keep, and fhe fhall be my bride :
But I fome time this laft defign maun hide.
Keep you the fecret clofe, and leave me here;
I fent for Peggy.-Yonder comes my dear.
Rog. Pleas'd that ye truft me wi' the secret, I,
To wyle it frae me, a' the de'ils defy. [Exit Roger.
Patie. [Solus.] Wi' what a struggle maun I now impart
My father's will to her that hads my heart!
I ken fhe looes; and her faft faul will fink,
While it stands trembling on the hated brink
Of difappointment. Heav'n, fupport my fair,
And let her comfort claim your tender care.-
Her eyes are red!.

Enter Peggy.
My Peggy, why in tears?

Smile as ye wont, allow nae room for fears:
Though I'm nae mair a fhepherd, yet I'm thine.
Peg. I dare na think fae high: I now repine
At the unhappy chance, that made nae me
A gentle match, or still a herd kept thee.
What can, withouten pain, fee frae the coast
The fhip that bears his all like to be loft?
Like to be carry'd, by some rever's hand,
Far frae his wishes, to fome distant land?

Pat. Ne'er quarrel fate, whilft it wi' me remains
To raife thee up, or ftill attend these plains.
My father has forbid our loves, I own:
But love's fuperior to a parent's frown.
I falfehood hate: come, kifs thy cares away;

I ken to love, as weel as to obey.

Sir William's generous; leave the task to me,

To mak ftrict duty and true love agree.

Peg. Speak on!-speak ever thus, and ftill my grief: But fhort I dare to hope the fond relief.

New thoughts a gentler face will foon inspire,
That wi' nice air fwims round in filk attire ;

Then I, poor me!-wi' fighs may ban my fate,

When the young laird's nae mair my hartfome Pate;

Nac

Nae mair again to hear fweet tales expreft,
By the blyth fhepherd that excell'd the reft:
Nae mair be envy'd by the tattling gang,
When Patie kifs'd me, when I danc'd or fang.
Nae mair, alake! we'll on the meadow play,
And rin ha'f breathlefs round the rucks of hay;
As aft-times I have fled from thee right fain,
And fa'n on purpose, that I might be ta'en.
Nae mair around the Foggy-know I'll creep,
To watch and ftare upon thee while asleep.
but hear my vow-'twill help to gi'e me eafe;
May fudden death, or deadly fair disease,
And warft of ills, attend my wretched life,
If e'er to ane, but you, I be a wife!

SANG XVII. Woes my heart that we shou'd funder.
Speak on,-speak thus, and ftill my grief,
Hold up a heart that's finking under
These fears, that foon will want relief,
When Pate muft from his Peggy funder:
A gentler face, and filk attire,

A lady rich, in beauty's bloffom,
Alake, poor me! will now confpire,

To steal thee from thy Peggy's bofom.

No more the fhepherd who excell'd

The reft, whofe wit made them to wonder, Shall now his Peggy's praises tell:

Ah, I can die, but never funder. Ye meadows where we aften stray'd,

Ye banks where we were wont to wander,
Sweet-fcented rucks round which we play'd,
You'll lofe your fweets when we're afunder.

Again, ah! fhall I never creep
Around the know wi' filent duty,
Kindly to watch thee while afleep,

And wonder at thy manly beauty?
Hear, heav'n, while folemnly I vow,
Though thou should prove a wand'ring lover,
Through life to thee I fhall prove true,
Nor be a wife to any other.

Pai.

Pat. Sure heav'n approves-and be affur'd o' me,
I'll near gang back o' what I've fworn to thee:
And time, though time maun interpose a while,
And I maun leave my Peggy and this ifle;
Yet time, nor distance, nor the fairest face,
If there's a fairer, e'er fhall fill thy place.
I'd hate my rifing fortune, fhou'd it move
The fair foundation of our faithfu' love.
If at my feet were crowns and fceptres laid,
To bribe my foul frae thee, delightfu' maid!
For thee I'd foon leave these inferiour things,
To fic as ha'e the patience to be kings.-

Wherefore that tear? Believe, and calm thy mind.
Peg. I greet for joy, to hear thy words fae kind.
When hopes were funk, and nought but mirk defpair
Made me think life was little worth my care,
My heart was like to burst; but now I fee
Thy gen'rous thoughts will fave thy love for me.
Wi' patience, then, I'll wait each wheeling year,
Hope time away, till thou with joy appear;
And a' the while l'il ftudy gentler charms,
To mak me fitter for my trav'ller's arms:
I'll gain on uncle Glaud;-he's far frae fool,
And will not grudge to put me through ilk school;
Where I may manners learn.-

SANG XVIII. Tweed-fide..

When hope was quite funk in defpair,
My heart it was going to break;
My life appear'd worthlefs my care,
But now I will fave't for thy fake.
Where'er my love travels by day,
Wherever he lodges by night,
With me his dear image shall stay,
And my foul keep him e'er in fight.
With patience I'll wait the lang year,
And study the gentleft charms;
Hope time away, till thou appear
To lock thee for ay in thofe arms.

Whilft

Whilst thou was a fhepherd, I priz'd

No higher degree in this life;
But now I'll endeavour to rife

To a height that's becoming thy wife.
For beauty, that's only fkin deep,
Muft fade, like the gowans in May ;
But inwardly rooted will keep

For ever, without a decay.
Nor age, nor the changes of life,
Can quench the fair fire of love,

If virtue's ingrain'd in the wife,

And the hufband ha'e fenfe to approve.

Pat. That's wifely faid;

And what he wares that way shall be weel paid.
Though, without a' the little helps of art,
Thy native fweets might gain a prince's heart:
Yet now, left in our station we offend,

We must learn modes to innocence unken'd,
Affect a times to like the thing we hate,

And drap ferenity, to keep up ftate:

Laugh, whan we're fad; fpeak, whan we've nought to fay;

And, for the fashion, whan we're blyth, seem wae ;
Pay compliments to them we aft ha'e fcorn'd,

Then fcandalize them when their backs are turn'd.
Peg. If this is gentry, I had rather be
What I am still ;-but I'll be ought wi' thee.
Pat. Na, na, my Peggy, I but only jeft
Wi' gentry's apes; for fill amangft the best
Gude manners gi'e integrity a bleez,
When native virtues join the arts to pleafe.

Peg. Since wi' nae hazard, and fae fma' expence,
My lad frae books can gather ficcan sense;
Then why, ah! why fhould the tempeftuous fea
Endanger thy dear life, and frighten me?

Sir William's cruel, that wad force his fon,
For watna-whats, fae great a risk to run.

Pat. There is nae doubt but travelling does improve;
Yet I would fun it for thy fake, my love.
But foon as I've fhook off my landart caft
In foreign cities, hame to thee I'll haste.
F

P

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