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PEGGY.

Ye dash the lad with constant slighting pride; Hatred for love is unco sair to bide. But ye'll repent ye, if his love grow cauld. What likes a dorty maiden when she's auld? Like dawted wean, that tarrows at its meat, That for some feckless whim will orp and greet: The lave laugh at it till the dinner's past, And syne the fool thing is obliged to fast, Or scart anither's leavings at the last. Fy, Jenny, think, and dinna sit your time!

SANG III.

TUNE. Polwart on the Green.'

The dorty will repent,

If lover's heart grow cauld; And nane her smiles will tent,

Soon as her face looks auld.

The dawted bairn thus takes the pet,
Nor eats though hunger crave;
Whimpers and tarrows at its meat,
And 's laught at by the lave.

They jest it till the dinner's past,
Thus by itself abused,

The fool thing is obliged to fast,
Or eat what they've refused.

JENNY.

I never thought a single life a crime !

PEGGY.

Nor I but love in whispers lets us ken, That men were made for us, and we for men.

JENNY.

If Roger is my jo, he kens himsell,
For sic a tale I never heard him tell.

He glowrs and sighs, and I can guess the cause;
But wha's obliged to spell his hums and haws?
Whene'er he likes to tell his mind mair plain,
I'se tell him frankly ne'er to do 't again.
They're fools that slav'ry like, and may be free;
The chiels may a' knit up themselves for me!

PEGGY.

Be doing your ways! for me, I have a mind To be as yielding as my Patie's kind.

JENNY.

Heh! lass, how can ye looe that rattle-skull ? A very deil that ay maun have his will. We'll soon hear tell what a poor fechting life You twa will lead, sae soon's ye're man and wife!

PEGGY.

I'll rin the risk; nor have I ony fear, But rather think ilk langsome day a year, Till I with pleasure mount my bridal-bed, Where on my Patie's breast I'll lean my head. There we may kiss as lang as kissing 's good, And what we do there 's nane dare call it rude.

He's get his will; why no? 't is good my part To give him that, and he'll give me his heart.

JENNY.

He may indeed, for ten or fifteen days, Mak muckle o' ye, with an unco fraise, And daut you baith afore fowk and your lane; But soon as your newfangleness is gane, He'll look upon you as his tether-stake, And think he's tint his freedom for your sake; Instead then of lang days of sweet delyte, Ae day be dumb, and a' the neist he'll flyte; And may be, in his barlickhoods, ne'er stick To lend his loving wife a loundering lick.

SANG IV.

TUNE.O dear mother, what shall I do?'
O dear Peggy, love's beguiling,
We ought not to trust his smiling;
Better far to do as I do,

Lest a harder luck betide you.
Lasses, when their fancy's carried,
Think of naught but to be married;
Running to a life destroys

Heartsome, free, and youthfu' joys.

PEGGY.

Sic coarse-spun thoughts as thae want pith to move
My settled mind; I'm o'er far gane in love.
Patie to me is dearer than my breath;

But want of him I dread nae other skaith.
There's nane of a' the herds that tread the green
Has sic a smile, or sic twa glancing een.
And then he speaks with sic a taking art,

His words they thirle like music through my heart.
How blythly can he sport, and gently rave,
And jest at feckless fears that fright the lave!
Ilk day that he's alane upon the hill,

He reads fell books that teach him meikle skill.
He is but what need I say that or this?
I'd spend a month to tell you what he is!
In a' he says or does there's sic a gate,
The rest seem coofs compared with my dear Pate ;
His better sense will lang his love secure ;
Ill-nature heffs in sauls that 's weak and
poor.

SANG V.

TUNE.How can I be sad on my wedding-day?'

How shall I be sad when a husband I hae,
That has better sense than ony of thae
Sour, weak, silly fellows, that study, like fools,
To sink their ain joy, and make their wives snools!
The man who is prudent ne'er lightlies his wife,
Or with dull reproaches encourages strife;
He praises her virtue, and ne'er will abuse
Her for a small failing, but find an excuse.

JENNY.

Hey, 'bonny lass of Branksome!' or 't be lang, Your witty Pate will put you in a sang!

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Yes, 't is a heartsome thing to be a wife,
When round the ingle-edge young sprouts are rife.
Gif I'm sae happy, I shall have delight

To hear their little plaints, and keep them right.
Wow, Jenny! can there greater pleasure be,
Than see sic wee tots toolying at your knee;
When a' they ettle at, their greatest wish,
Is to be made of, and obtain a kiss?
Can there be toil in tenting day and night
The like of them, when love makes care delight?

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JENNY.

--

But poortith, Peggy, is the warst of a'! Gif o'er your heads ill chance should begg'ry draw, But little love or canty cheer can come Frae duddy doublets, and a pantry toom. Your nowt may die; the spate may bear away Frae aff the howns your dainty rucks of hay; The thick-blawn wreaths of snaw, or blashy thows, May smoor your wathers, and may rot your ewes ; A dyvour buys your butter, woo, and cheese, But or the day of payment breaks and flees; With glooman brow the laird seeks in his rent, "T is no to gie, your merchant 's to the bent; His honour maunna want, he poinds your gear; Syne driven frae house and hald, where will ye Dear Meg, be wise, and lead a single life; [steer?Troth, 't is nae mows to be a married wife!

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PEGGY.

May sic ill luck befa' that silly she

Wha has sic fears, for that was never me!

Let fowk bode weel, and strive to do their best ;

Nae mair's required, let Heaven make out the rest.
I've heard my honest uncle aften say
That lads should a' for wives that's virtuous pray;
For the maist thrifty man could never get
A well-stored room unless his wife wad let:
Wherefore nocht shall be wanting on my part
To gather wealth to raise my shepherd's heart.
Whate'er he wins, I'll guide with canny care,
And win the vogue at market, tron, or fair,
For halesome, clean, cheap, and sufficient ware.
A flock of lambs, cheese, butter, and some woo,
Shall first be sald to pay the laird his due ;
Syne a' behin's our ain. Thus without fear,
With love and rowth we thro' the warld will steer;
And when my Pate in bairns and gear grows rife,
He'll bless the day he gat me for his wife.

JENNY.

But what if some young giglet on the green, With dimpled cheeks, and twa bewitching een,

Should gar your Patie think his half-worn Meg, And her kend kisses, hardly worth a feg?

PEGGY.

Nae mair of that! - Dear Jenny, to be free, There's some men constanter in love than we. Nor is the ferly great, when nature kind Has blest them with solidity of mind; They'll reason calmly, and with kindness smile, When our short passions wad our peace beguile. Sae, whensoe'er they slight their maiks at hame, "T is ten to ane their wives are maist to blame. Then I'll employ with pleasure a' my art To keep him cheerfu', and secure his heart. At e'en, when he comes weary frae the hill, I'll have a' things made ready to his will. In winter, when he toils thro' wind and rain, A bleezing ingle, and a clean hearth-stane; And soon as he flings by his plaid and staff, The seething pot's be ready to take aff; Clean hag-abag I'll spread upon his board, And serve him with the best we can afford. Good-humour and white bigonets shall be Guards to my face, to keep his love for me.

JENNY.

A dish of married love right soon grows cauld, And dosens down to nane as fowk grow auld.

PEGGY.

But we'll grow auld together, and ne'er find The loss of youth, when love grows on the mind. Bairns, and their bairns, make sure a firmer tye, Than aught in love the like of us can spy. See yon twa elms, that grow up side by side, Suppose them some years syne bridegroom and bride; Nearer and nearer ilka year they've prest, Till wide their spreading branches are increased, And in their mixture now are fully blest; This shields the other frae the castlin blast; That in return defends it frae the west. Sic as stand single, a state sae liked by you, Beneath ilk storm frae every airt maun bo.7.

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PEGGY.

Alake, poor pris'ner! Jenny, that's no fair, That ye'll no let the wie thing take the air. Haste, let him out! we'll tent as well's we can, Gif ye be Bauldy's, or poor Roger's man.

JENNY.

Anither time's as good; for see the sun Is right far up, and we're no yet begun To freath the graith: if cankered Madge, our aunt, Come up the burn, she'll gie's a wicked rant. But when we've done, I'll tell you a' my mind; For this seems true-nae lass can be unkind.

ACT II.-SCENE I.

PROLOGUE.

A snug thack house; before the door a green;
Hens on the midding, ducks in dubs are seen;
On this side stands a barn, on that a byre;
A peet stack joins, and forms a rural square.
The house is Glaud's: there you may see him lean,
And to his divot seat invite his frien'.

GLAUD AND SYMON. GLAUD.

Good-morrow, nibour Symon !— Come, sit down, And gie's your cracks.-What 's a' the news in town? They tell me ye was in the ither day,

And sauld your Crummock, and her bassand quey. I'll warrant ye've coft a pound of cut and dry; Lug out your box, and gie's a pipe to try.

SYMON.

With a' my heart!— And tent me now, auld boy, I've gathered news will kittle your mind with joy. I cou'dna rest till I came o'er the burn, To tell ye things have taken sic a turn Will gar our vile oppressors stend like flaes, And skulk in hidlings on the hether braes.

GLAUD.

Fy, blaw!-Ah ! Symie, rattling chiels ne'er stand To cleck, and spread the grossest lies aff-hand; Whilk soon flies round, like wild-fire, far and near. But loose your poke, be 't true or fause let's hear.

SYMON.

Seeing 's believing, Glaud; and I have seen Hab, that abroad has with our master been; Our brave good master, wha right wisely fled, And left a fair estate to save his head; Because, ye ken fou well, he bravely chose To shine or set in glory with Montrose ;1 Now Cromwell's gane to Nick, and ane ca'd Monk Has played the Rumple a right slee begunk, Restored King Charles, and ilka thing's in tune; And Habby says, we'll see Sir William soon.

GLAUD.

That makes me blyth indeed! But dinna flaw; Tell o'er your news again, and swear till 't a'.

1To stand his liege's friend with great Montrose.' Ed. of 1808.

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Then wad he gar his butler bring bedeen The nappy bottle ben, and glasses clean, Whilk in our breast raised sic a blythsome flame, As gart me mony a time gae dancing hame. My heart's e'en raised! - Dear nibour, will ye stay, And tak your dinner here with me the day? We'll send for Elspath too; and upo' sight I'll whistle Pate and Roger frae the height. I'll yoke my sled, and send to the neist town, And bring a draught of ale baith stout and brown; And gar our cottars a', man, wife, and wean, Drink 'till they tine the gate to stand their lane.

SYMON.

I wadna bauk my friend his blyth design,
Gif that it hadna first of a' been mine :
For here yestreen I brewed a bow of maut;
Yestreen I slew twa wethers prime and fat;
A furlet of good cakes my Elspa beuk,
And a large ham hings reesting in the nook ;
I saw mysell, or I came o'er the loan,
Our meikle pot, that scads the whey, put on,
A mutton-bouk to boil, and ane we'll roast;
And on the haggies Elspa spares nae cost;
Small are they shorn, and she can mix fou nice
The gusty ingans with a curn of spice;

Fat are the puddings; heads and feet well sung;
And we've invited nibours auld and young,
To pass this afternoon with glee and game,
And drink our master's health and welcome hame :
Ye mauna then refuse to join the rest,

Since ye 're my nearest friend that I like best.
Bring wi' ye all your family; and then,
Whene'er you please, I'll rant wi' you again.

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SCENE II.

PROLOGUE.

The open field. A cottage in a glen;
An auld wife spirming at the sunny end.
At a small distance, by a blasted tree,
With faided arms and half-raised look, ye see

BAULDY HIS LANE.

What's this?—I canna bear 't!-'t is waur than To be sae burnt with love, yet darna tell! [hell, O Peggy sweeter than the dawning day; Sweeter than gowany glens or new-mawn hay; Blyther than lambs that frisk out o'er the knows.; Straighter than aught that in the forest grows ; Her een the clearest blob of dew outshines; The lily in her breast its beauty tines;

Her legs, her arms, her cheeks, her mouth, her een, Will be my dead, that will be shortly seen!

For Pate looes her,

waes me! - and she looes Pate;

And I with Neps, by some unlucky fate,
Made a daft vow. 0, but ane be a beast,
That makes rash aiths till he's afore the priest !
I darna speak my mind, else a' the three,
But doubt, wad prove ilk ane my enemy.
"T is sair to thole; I'll try some witchcraft art,
To break with ane, and win the other's heart.
Here Mausy lives, a witch that for sma' price
Can cast her cantraips, and gi'e me advice.
She can o'ercast the night, and cloud the moon,
And mak the deils obedient to her crune;
At midnight hours, o'er the kirk-yard she raves,
And howks unchristened weans out of their graves;
Boils up their livers in a warlock's pow;
Rins withershins about the hemlock low;
And seven times does her prayers backwards pray,
Till Plotcock comes with lumps of Lapland clay,
Mixt with the venom of black taids and snakes:
Of this unsonsy pictures aft she makes
Of ony ane she hates, and gars expire
With slow and racking pains afore a fire,
Stuck fu' of pins; the devilish pictures melt;
The pain by fowk they represent is felt.
And yonder's Mause: ay, ay, she kens fu' weel,
When ane like me comes rinning to the deil !
She and her cat sit beeking in her yard:
To speak my errand, faith, amaist I'm feared!.
But I maun do 't, tho' I should never thrive :
They gallop fast that deils and lasses drive.

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SCENE III.

PROLOGUE.

A green kail-yard: a little fount, Where water poplin springs; There sits a wife with wrinkled front, And yet she spins and sings.

SANG IX.

TUNE. Carle, an the king come.'

MAUSE.

Peggy, now the king's come!

Peggy, now the king's come!

[Exit.]

Thou may dance, and I shall sing, Peggy, since the king's come!

Nae mair the hawkies shalt thou milk, But change thy plaiden-coat for silk, And be a lady of that ilk,

Now, Peggy, since the king's come.

ENTER BAULDY.

BAULDY.

How does auld honest lucky of the glen? Ye look baith hale and fair at threescore-ten.

MAUSE.

E'en twining out a thread with little din, And beeking my cauld limbs afore the sun. What brings my bairn this gate sae air at morn? Is there nae muck to lead? to thresh nae corn?

BAULDY.

Enough of baith: but something that requires Your helping hand employs now all my cares.

MAUSE.

My helping hand! alake, what can I do, That underneith baith eild and poortith bow?

BAULDY.

Ay, but you're wise, and wiser far than we; Or maist part of the parish tells a lie.

MAUSE.

Of what kind wisdom think ye I'm possest, That lifts my character aboon the rest?

BAULDY.

The word that gangs, how ye 're sae wise and fell, Ye'll may be tak it ill gif I should tell.

MAUSE.

What folks say of me, Bauldy, let me hear; Keep naething up, ye naething have to fear.

BAULDY.

Well, since ye bid me, I shall tell ye a'
That ilk ane talks about you, but a flaw.
When last the wind made Glaud a roofless barn;
When last the burn bore down my mither's yarn ;
When Brawny, elf-shot, never mair came hame;
When Tibby kirn'd, and there nae butter came;
When Bessy Freetock's chuffy-cheeked wean
To a fairy turned, and cou'dna stand its lane;
When Wattie wandered ae night thro' the shaw,
And tint himsell amaist amang the snaw;
When Mungo's mare stood still and swat wi' fright,
When he brought east the howdy under night;
When Bawsy shot to dead upon the green;
And Sara tint a snood was nae mair seen;

You, lucky, gat the wyte of a' fell out;
And ilka ane here dreads ye round about,
And say they may that mint to do ye skaith!1
For me to wrang ye I'll be very laith;

1The powers attributed to witches, by the hinds and shepherds of Scotland, are admirably described and preserved by Ramsay. The clownish character, under the name of Bauldy, he has exhibited as a foil to set off his hero, and to expose the superstitious credulity and passions from whence these fancies originate. Bauldy is drawn, with great fidelity, from real life.'

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Now since the royal Charles and right's restored,
A shepherdess is daughter to a lord.
The bonny foundling that's brought up by Glaud,
Wha has an uncle's care on her bestowed, —
Her infant-life I saved, when a false friend
Bowed to the usurper, and her death designed,
To establish him and his in all these plains
That by right heritage to her pertains.
She's now in her sweet bloom, has blood and charms
Of too much value for a shepherd's arms.
None know't but me !-And if the morn were come,
I'll tell them tales will gar them a' sing dumb.1

[Exit.]

1 In the edition of 1808, Mause's soliloquy is given thus: 'Hard luck, alake! when poverty and eild, Weeds out of fashion, and a lanely beild, With a sma' cast of wiles, should, in a twitch, Gie ane the hatefu' name, A wrinkled witch!

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