Peg. Wi' ev'ry fetting day, and rifing morn,
I'll kneel to heav'n, and afk thy fafe return.
Under that tree, and on the fuckler brae,
Where aft we wont, when bairns, to rin and play;
And to the hiffel-fhaw, where first ye vow'd
Ye wad be mine, and I as eithly trow'd,
I'll aften gang, and tell the trees and flow'rs,
Wi' joy, that they'll bear witness I am yours.
SANG XIX. Bush aboon Traquair.
At fetting day, and rifing morn,
Wi' foul that ftill fhall love thee,
I'll afk of heav'n thy fafe return,
Wi' a' that can improve thee.
I'll visit aft the Birken-bush,
Where first thou kindly tald me
Sweet tales of love, and hid my blush
Whilft round thou didst infald me.
To a' our haunts I will repair,
To greenwood-fhaw or fountain,
Or where the fimmer-day I'd fhare
Wi' thee upon yon mountain.
There will I tell the trees and flow'rs,
From thoughts unfeign'd and tender,
By vows you're mine, by love is yours
A heart which cannot wander.
Pat. My dear, allow me, frae thy temples fair, A fhining ringlet of thy flowing hair;
Which, as a fample of each lovely charm,
I'll aften kifs and wear about my arm.
Peg. Were't in my pow'r wi' better boons to please,
I'd gi'e the best I cou'd wi' the fame ease;
Nor wad I, if thy luck had fall'n to me,
Been in ae jot lefs generous to thee.
Pat. I doubt it not; but fince we've little time,
To ware't on words wad border on a crime:
Love's fafter meaning better is exprest,
When it's with kiffes on the heart impreft.
END of the FOURTH ACT.
See how poor Bauldy ftares like ane possest,
And roars up Symon frae his kindly reft.
Bare-leg'd, wi' night-cap, and unbutton'd coat,
See, the auld man comes forward to the fot.
HAT want ye, Bauldy, at this early hour, While drowsy fleep keeps a' beneath its pow'r? Far to the north the fcant approaching light Stands equal 'twixt the morning and the night. What gars ye fhake and glowr, and look fae wan? Your teeth they chitter," hair like bristles stand.
Baul. O len me foon fome water, milk, or ale;
My head's grown giddy,-legs wi' fhaking fail;
I'll ne'er dare venture forth at night my lane:
Alake! I'll never be myfel again.
I'll ne'er o'erput it! Symon! Oh, Symon! Oh!
Symon gives him a drink.
Sym. What ails thee, gowk! to mak fae loud ado?
You've wak'd Sir William; he has left his bed;
He comes, I fear, ill-pleas'd: I hear his tred.
Sir W. How goes the night? Does day-light yet apSymon, you're very timeoutly afteer. [pear? Sym. I'm forry, Sir, that we've disturb'd your reft; But fome ftrange thing has Bauldy's fp'rit oppreft; He's feen fome witch, or wrestled wi' a ghaift.
Baul. Oh, ay,-dear Sir, in troth it's very true; And I am come to mak my plaint to you.
Ah, Sir! the witch ca'd Mause,
That wins aboon the mill amang the haws,
First promis'd that fhe'd help me, wi' her art,
To gain a bonny thrawart laffie's heart.
As he had tryfted, I met wi'er this night;
But may nae friend o' mine get fic a fright!
For the curs'd hag, instead o' doing me good,
(The very thought o't's like to freeze my blood!)
Rais'd up a ghaift, or deel, I kenna whilk,
Like a dead corfe, in fheet as white as milk:
Black hands it had, and face as wan as death.
Upon me fast the witch and it fell baith,
And gat me down; while I, like a great fool,
Was labour'd as I won't to be at school.
My heart out o' its hool was like to loup;
I pithlefs grew wi' fear, and had nae hope,
Till, wi an elritch laugh, they vanifh'd quite s
Syne I, haff dead wi' anger, fear, and spite,
Crap up, and fled ftraight frae them, Sir, to you,
Hoping your help to gi'e the deel his due.
I'm fure my heart will ne'er gi'e o'er to dunt,
Till in a fat tar-barrel Maufe be brunt.
Sir W. Well, Bauldy, whate'er's just fhall granted be;
Let Mause be brought this morning down to me,
Baul. Thanks to your honour; foon fhall I obey:
But first I'll Roger raife, and twa three mae,
To catch her faft, ere the get leave to fqueel,
And caft her cantraips that bring up the deel.
Sir W. Troth, Symon, Bauldy's more afraid than
The witch and ghaitt have made themfelves good fport..
What filly notions crowd the clouded mind
That is, through want of education, blind!
Syn. But does your honour think there's nae fic thing,
As witches raifing deels up through a ring,
Syne playing tricks? a thoufand I cou'd tell,
Cou'd never be contriv'd on this fide hell.
Sir W. Such as, the devil's dancing in a moor
Amongst a few old women craz'd and poor,
Who are rejoic'd to fee him frisk and lowp
O'er braes and bogs, wi' candles in his dowp;
Appearing fometimes like a black-horn'd cow,
Aft-times like Bawty, Badrans, or a fow:
Then wi' his train through airy paths to glide,
While they on cats, or clowns, or broom-ftaffs ride;
Or in an egg-fhell fkim out o'er the main,
To drink their leader's health in France or Spain:
Then aft by night bumbaze hard-hearted fools,
By tumbling down their cup-boards, chairs, and ftools:
Whate'er's in fpells, or if there witches be,
Such whimfies feem the most abfurd to me.
Sym. It's true enough, we ne'er heard that a witch
Had either meikle fenfe, or yet was rich :
But, Maufe, though poor, is a fagacious wife,
And lives a quiet and very honeft life;
That gars me think this hoblefhew that's past
Will land in nothing but a joke at laft.
Sir W. I'm fure it will: but fee, increafing light
Commands the imps of darkness down to night;
Bid raise my fervants, and my horse prepare,
Whilft I walk out to take the morning air.
SANG XX..Bonny grey-ey'd morn.
The bonny-grey-ey'd morn begins to peep,
And darknefs flies before the rifing ray:
The hearty hynd ftarts from his lazy fleep,
To follow healthful labours of the day.
Without a guilty fting to wrinkle his brow;
The lark and the linnet 'tend his levee,
And he joins their concert driving his plow,
From toil of grimace and, pageantry free.
While fluster'd with wine, or madden'd with lofs
Of half an estate, the prey of a main,
The drunkard and gamefter tumble and tofs,
Wifhing for calmnefs and flumber in vain.
Be my portion health and quietness of mind,
Plac'd at due diftance from parties and state,
Where neither ambition nor avarice blind
Reach him who has happiness link'd to his fate.
While Peggy laces up her bofom fair,
Wi a blew fnood Jenny binds up her hair:
Glaud by his morning ingle taks a beek,
The rifing fun fhines motty thro' the reek;
Apipe bis mouth, the laffes pleafe bis een,
And now and then his joke maun interveen.
Gland. I wish, my bairns, it may keep fair till night; Ye dinna ufe fae foon to fee the light.
Nae doubt, now, ye intend to mix the thrang,
To tak your leave of Patrick or he gang.
But do you think, that now, whan he's a laird,
That he poor lannward laffes will regard ?
Jen. Tho' he's young mafter now, I'm very fure He has mair fenfe than flight auld friends, tho' poor. But yesterday he ga'e us mony a tug,
And kifs'd my coufin there frae lug to lug.
Glaud. Ay, ay, nae doubt o't, and he'll do't again; But be advis'd, his company refrain:
Before, he as a fhepherd fought a wife,
Wi' her to live a chafte and frugal life;
But now grown gentle, foon he will forfake
Sic godly thoughts, and brag of being a rake.
Peg. A rake!-what's that?--Sure if it means ought He'll never be't; elfe I ha'e tint my fkill.
Glaud. Daft laffie, ye ken nought of the affair;
Ane young and good and gentle's unco rare.
A rake's a gracelefs fpark, that thinks nae fhame
To do what like of us thinks fin to name:
Sic are fae void of fhame, they'll never flap
To brag how aften they have had the clap.
They'll tempt young things, like you, wi' youdith
Aufh'd,
Syne mak ye a' their jeft, when ye're debauch'd.
Be wary then, I fay; and never gi'e
Encouragement, or bour'd wi' fic as he.
Peg. Sir William's virtuous, and of gentle blood;
And may not Patrick too, like him, be good?
Glaud, That's true; and mony gentry mae than be,
As they are wifer, better are than we;
But thinner fawn: they're fae puft up wi' pride,
There's mony of them mocks ilk haly guide,
That fhaws the gate to heav'n.-I've heard myfell,
Some o' them laugh at doomsday, fin, and hell.
Jen. Watch o'er us, father! heh! that's
very
Sure him that doubts a doomsday, doubts a God.
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