Chapter V: Preface (4)

_Jen._ Hey! bonny lass of Branksome, or't be lang,
Your witty Pate will put you in a sang.
O! 'tis a pleasant thing to be a bride;
Syne whindging getts about your ingle-side,
Yelping for this or that with fasheous din,
To mak them brats then ye maun toil and spin.
Ae we'an fa's sick, ane scads it sell wi' broe,
Ane breaks his shin, anither tynes his shoe;
The Deel gaes o'er John Wobster, hame grows hell,
When Pate misca's ye war than tongue can tell.

_Peg._ Yes, 'tis 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?

_Jen._ But poortith, Peggy, is the warst of a',
Gif o'er your heads ill chance should beggary draw:
But little love, or canty chear can come,
Frae duddy doublets, and a pantry toom.
Your nowt may die--the spate may bear away
Frae aff the howms your dainty rucks of hay.--
The thick blawn wreaths of snaw, or blashy thows,
May smoor your wathers, and may rot your ews.
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:
'Tis no to gi'e; your merchant's to the bent;
His Honour mauna want, he poinds your gear:
Syne, driven frae house and hald, where will ye steer?
Dear Meg, be wise, and live a single life;
Troth 'tis nae mows to be a marry'd wife.

_Peg._ May sic ill luck befa' that silly she,
Wha has sic fears; for that was never me.
Let fowk bode well, and strive to do their best;
Nae mair's requir'd, let Heaven make out the rest.
I've heard my honest uncle aften say,
That lads shou'd a' for wives that's vertuous pray:
For the maist thrifty man you'd never get
A well stor'd room, unless his wife wad let:
Wherefore nocht shall be wanting on my part,
To gather wealth to raise my Shepherd's heart.
What e'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' behind'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.

_Jen._ But what if some young giglit on the green,
With dimpled cheeks, and twa bewitching een,
Shou'd gar your Patie think his haff-worn Meg,
And her kend kisses, hardly worth a feg?

_Peg._ 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,
'Tis ten to ane the wives are maist to blame.
Then I'll employ with pleasure a' my art
To keep him chearfu', and secure his heart.
At even, 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 hagabag 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.

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

_Peg._ But we'll grow auld togither, and ne'er find
The loss of youth, when love grows on the mind.
Bairns, and their bairns, make sure a firmer ty,
Than ought 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 increast, }
And in their mixture now are fully blest. }
This shields the other frae the eastlin blast,
That in return defends it frae the west.
Sic as stand single,--a state sae lik'd by you!
Beneath ilk storm, frae every airth, maun bow.

_Jen._ I've done,--I yield, dear lassie, I maun yield,
Your better sense has fairly won the field,
With the assistance of a little fae
Lyes darn'd within my breast this mony a day.

SANG VI.--_Tune_, Nansy's to the green-wood gane.

_I yield, dear lassie, you have won,
And there is nae denying,
That sure as light flows frae the sun,
Frae love proceeds complying.
For a' that we can do or say
'Gainst love, nae thinker heeds us,
They ken our bosoms lodge the fae
That by the heartstrings leads us._

_Peg._ Alake! poor prisoner! Jenny, that's no fair,
That ye'll no let the wee thing tak the air:
Haste, let him out, we'll tent as well's we can,
Gif he be Bauldy's or poor Roger's man.

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

[_Exeunt._

_End of the_ FIRST ACT.

ACT SECOND.

_SCENE I._

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 peat-stack joins, and forms a rural square.
The house is Gland'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 sald your Crummock and her bassend quey.
I'll warrant ye've coft a pund of cut and dry;
Lug out your box, and gie's a pipe to try.

_Sym._ With a' my heart;--and tent me now, auld boy,
I've gather'd 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, ratling chiels ne'er stand
To cleck and spread the grossest lies aff hand,
Whilk soon flies round like will-fire far and near:
But loose your poke, be't true or fause, let's hear.

_Sym._ 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 stand his liege's friend with great Montrose.
Now Cromwell's gane to Nick; and ane ca'd Monk
Has play'd the Rumple a right slee begunk,
Restor'd 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';
And saw ye Hab! and what did Halbert say?
They have been e'en a dreary time away.
Now God be thanked that our laird's come hame;
And his estate, say, can he eithly claim?

_Sym._ They that hag-raid us till our guts did grane, }
Like greedy bairs, dare nae mair do't again; }
And good Sir William sall enjoy his ain. }

SANG VII.--_Tune_, Cauld kail in Aberdeen.

_Cauld be the rebels cast,
Oppressors base and bloody,
I hope we'll see them at the last
Strung a' up in a woody.
Blest be he of worth and sense,
And ever high his station,
That bravely stands in the defence
Of conscience, king and nation._

_Glaud._ And may he lang; for never did he stent
Us in our thriving, with a racket rent:
Nor grumbl'd, if ane grew rich; or shor'd to raise
Our mailens, when we pat on Sunday's claiths.

_Sym._ Nor wad he lang, with senseless saucy air,
Allow our lyart noddles to be bare.
"Put on your bonnet, Symon;--tak a seat.--
How's all at hame?--How's Elspa? How does Kate?
How sells black cattle?--What gi'es woo this year?"
And sic like kindly questions wad he speer.

SANG VIII.--_Tune_, Mucking of Geordy's byar.

_The laird wha in riches and honour
Wad thrive, should be kindly and free,
Nor rack the poor tenants wha labour
To rise aboon poverty:
Else like the pack-horse that's unfother'd,
And burden'd, will tumble down faint:
Thus virtue by hardship is smother'd,
And rackers aft tine their rent._

_Glaud._ Then wad he gar his Butler bring bedeen
The nappy bottle ben, and glasses clean,
Whilk in our breast rais'd sic a blythsome flame,
As gart me mony a time gae dancing hame.
My heart's e'en rais'd! 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 we'an,
Drink till they tine the gate to stand their lane.

_Sym._ I wad na bauk my friend his blyth design,
Gif that it hadna first of a' been mine:
For heer-yestreen I brew'd a bow of maut,
Yestreen I slew twa wathers prime and fat;
A firlot of good cakes my Elspa beuk,
And a large ham hings reesting in the nook:
I saw my sell, 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;
Sma' are they shorn, and she can mix fu' 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 a' your family, and then,
When e'er you please, I'll rant wi' you again.

_Glaud._ Spoke like ye'r sell, auld-birky, never fear
But at your banquet I shall first appear.
Faith we shall bend the bicker, and look bauld,
Till we forget that we are fail'd or auld.
Auld, said I!--troth I'm younger be a score,
With your good news, than what I was before.
I'll dance or e'en! Hey! Madge, come forth: D'ye hear?

_Enter_ MADGE.

_Mad._ The man's gane gyte! Dear Symon, welcome here.
What wad ye, Glaud, with a' this haste and din?
Ye never let a body sit to spin.

_Glaud._ Spin! snuff--Gae break your wheel, and burn your tow,
And set the meiklest peat-stack in a low;
Syne dance about the bane-fire till ye die,
Since now again we'll soon Sir William see.

_Mad._ Blyth news indeed! And wha was't tald you o't?

_Glaud._ What's that to you?--Gae get my Sunday's coat;
Wale out the whitest of my bobbit bands,
My white-skin hose, and mittons for my hands;
Then frae their washing, cry the bairns in haste,
And make yoursells as trig, head, feet, and waist,
As ye were a' to get young lads or e'en;
For we're gaun o'er to dine with Sym bedeen.

_Sym._ Do, honest Madge:--And, Glaud, I'll o'er the gate,
And see that a' be done as I wad hae't. [_Exeunt._

_ACT II.--SCENE II._

The open field.--A cottage in a glen,
An auld wife spinning at the sunny end.--
At a small distance, by a blasted tree,
With falded arms, and haff rais'd look, ye see
BAULDY his lane.

BAULDY.

What's this!--I canna bear't! 'tis war than hell,
To be sae burnt with love, yet darna tell!
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 ought that in the forest grows:
Her een the clearest blob of dew outshines;
The lilly 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 loes her,--waes me! and she loes Pate;
And I with Neps, by some unlucky fate,
Made a daft vow:--O but ane be a beast
That makes rash aiths till he's afore the priest!
I dare na speak my mind, else a' the three,
But doubt, wad prove ilk ane my enemy.
'Tis 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 cantrips, and give 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-yards she raves,
And howks unchristen'd we'ans 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 backward 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 slaw and racking pains afore a fire;
Stuck fu' of prins, the devilish pictures melt,
The pain, by fowk they represent, is felt.
And yonder's Mause: Ay, ay, she kens fu' well,
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 fear'd:
But I maun do't, tho' I should never thrive;
They gallop fast that deils and lasses drive. [_Exit._

_ACT II.--SCENE III._

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

SANG IX.--_Tune_, Carle an the King come.

MAUSE sings.

Peggy, _now the King's come_,
Peggy, _now the King's come_;
_Thou may dance, and I shall sing,_
Peggy, _since the King's come.
Nae mair the hawkies shalt thou milk,
But change thy plaiding-coat for silk,
And be a lady of that ilk,
Now,_ Peggy, _since the King's come._

_Enter_ BAULDY.

_Baul._ How does auld honest lucky of the glen?
Ye look baith hale and fere at threescore ten.

_Mause._ E'en twining out a threed 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?

_Baul._ 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 underneath baith eild and poortith bow?

_Baul._ Ay, but ye'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?

_Bauld._ The word that gangs, how ye're sae wise and fell,
Ye'll may be take it ill gif I shou'd tell.

_Mause._ What fowk says of me, Bauldy, let me hear;
Keep nathing up, ye nathing have to fear.

_Baul._ 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 we'an
To a fairy turn'd, and cou'd na stand its lane;
When Watie wander'd ae night thro' the shaw,
And tint himsell amaist amang the snaw;
When Mungo's mear stood still, and swat with 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 you round about.
And sae they may that mint to do ye skaith:
For me to wrang ye, I'll be very laith;
But when I neist make grots, I'll strive to please
You with a firlot of them mixt with pease.

_Mause._ I thank ye, lad;--now tell me your demand,
And, if I can, I'll lend my helping hand.

_Baul._ Then, I like Peggy,--Neps is fond of me;-- }
Peggy likes Pate,--and Patie's bauld and slee, }
And loes sweet Meg.--But Neps I downa see.-- }
Cou'd ye turn Patie's love to Neps, and than
Peggy's to me,--I'd be the happiest man.

_Mause._ I'll try my art to gar the bowls row right;
Sae gang your ways, and come again at night;
'Gainst that time I'll some simple things prepare,
Worth all your pease and grots; tak ye nae care.

_Baul._ Well, Mause, I'll come, gif I the road can find:
But if ye raise the deil, he'll raise the wind;
Syne rain and thunder may be, when 'tis late,
Will make the night sae rough, I'll tine the gate.
We're a' to rant in Symie's at a feast,
O! will ye come like badrans, for a jest?
And there ye can our different 'haviours spy:
There's nane shall ken o't there but you and I.

_Mause._ 'Tis like I may,--but let na on what's past
'Tween you and me, else fear a kittle cast.

_Baul._ If I ought of your secrets e'er advance,
May ye ride on me ilka night to France.

[_Exit_ BAULDY.

MAUSE _her lane_.

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,
Gi'e ane the hatefu' name a wrinkled Witch.
This fool imagines, as do mony sic,
That I'm a wretch in compact with Auld Nick;
Because by education I was taught
To speak and act aboon their common thought.
Their gross mistake shall quickly now appear;
Soon shall they ken what brought, what keeps me here;
Nane kens but me,--and if the morn were come,
I'll tell them tales will gar them a' sing dumb. [_Exit._

_ACT II.--SCENE IV._

Behind a tree, upon the plain,
Pate and his Peggy meet;
In love, without a vicious stain,
The bonny lass and chearfu' swain
Change vows and kisses sweet.

PATIE _and_ PEGGY.

_Peggy._

O Patie, let me gang, I mauna stay,
We're baith cry'd hame, and Jenny she's away.

_Pat._ I'm laith to part sae soon; now we're alane,
And Roger he's awa with Jenny gane:
They're as content, for ought I hear or see,
To be alane themsells, I judge, as we.
Here, where primroses thickest paint the green,
Hard by this little burnie let us lean.
Hark how the lavrocks chant aboon our heads!
How saft the westlin winds sough thro' the reeds.

_Peg._ The scented meadows,--birds,--and healthy breeze,
For ought I ken, may mair than Peggy please.

_Pat._ Ye wrang me sair, to doubt my being kind;
In speaking sae, ye ca' me dull and blind,
Gif I cou'd fancy ought's sae sweet or fair
As my dear Meg, or worthy of my care.
Thy breath is sweeter than the sweetest brier;
Thy cheek and breast the finest flowers appear.
Thy words excel the maist delightfu' notes,
That warble through the merl or mavis' throats.
With thee I tent nae flowers that busk the field,
Or ripest berries that our mountains yield.
The sweetest fruits that hing upon the tree,
Are far inferior to a kiss of thee.

_Peg._ But Patrick, for some wicked end, may fleech,
And lambs should tremble when the foxes preach.
I dare na stay--ye joker, let me gang, }
Anither lass may gar ye change your sang; }
Your thoughts may flit, and I may thole the wrang. }

_Pat._ Sooner a mother shall her fondness drap,
And wrang the bairn sits smiling on her lap;
The sun shall change, the moon to change shall cease,
The gaits to clim,--the sheep to yield the fleece,
Ere ought by me be either said or done,
Shall skaith our love; I swear by all aboon.

_Peg._ Then keep your aith:--But mony lads will swear,
And be mansworn to twa in haff a year.
Now I believe ye like me wonder well;
But if a fairer face your heart shou'd steal,
Your Meg forsaken, bootless might relate,
How she was dauted anes by faithless Pate.

_Pat._ I'm sure I canna change, ye needna fear;
Tho' we're but young, I've loo'd you mony a year.
I mind it well, when thou cou'd'st hardly gang,
Or lisp out words, I choos'd ye frae the thrang
Of a' the bairns, and led thee by the hand,
Aft to the Tansy-know or Rashy-strand.
Thou smiling by my side,--I took delite,
To pu' the rashes green, with roots sae white,
Of which, as well as my young fancy cou'd,
For thee I plet the flowry belt and snood.

_Peg._ When first thou gade with shepherds to the hill,
And I to milk the ews first try'd my skill;
To bear a leglen was nae toil to me,
When at the bught at e'en I met with thee.

_Pat._ When corns grew yellow, and the hether-bells
Bloom'd bonny on the moor and rising fells,
Nae birns, or briers, or whins e'er troubled me,
Gif I cou'd find blae berries ripe for thee.

_Peg._ When thou didst wrestle, run, or putt the stane,
And wan the day, my heart was flightering fain:
At all these sports thou still gave joy to me;
For nane can wrestle, run, or putt with thee.

_Pat._ Jenny sings saft the _Broom of Cowden-knows_,
And Rosie lilts the _Milking of the Ews_;
There's nane like Nansie, _Jenny Nettles_ sings;
At turns in _Maggy Lauder_ Marion dings:
But when my Peggy sings, with sweeter skill,
The _Boat-man_, or the _Lass of Patie's Mill_;
It is a thousand times mair sweet to me:
Tho' they sing well, they canna sing like thee.

_Peg._ How eith can lasses trow what they desire!
And roos'd by them we love, blaws up that fire:
But wha loves best, let time and carriage try;
Be constant, and my love shall time defy.
Be still as now, and a' my care shall be,
How to contrive what pleasant is for thee.

_The foregoing, with a small variation, was sung at the acting, as follows._

SANG X.--_Tune_, The Yellow-hair'd Laddie.

PEGGY.

_When first my dear laddie gade to the green hill,
And I at ew-milking first sey'd my young skill,
To bear the milk-bowie, nae pain was to me,
When I at the bughting forgather'd with thee._

PATIE.

_When corn-riggs wav'd yellow, and blue hether-bells
Bloom'd bonny on moorland and sweet rising fells,
Nae birns, briers, or breckens gave trouble to me,
If I found the berries right ripen'd for thee._

PEGGY.

_When thou ran, or wrestled, or putted the stane,
And came aff the victor, my heart was ay fain;
Thy ilka sport manly gave pleasure to me;
For nane can putt, wrestle, or run swift as thee._

PATIE.

_Our_ Jenny _sings saftly the_ Cowden Broom-knows,
_And_ Rosie _lilts sweetly the_ Milking the Ews;
_There's few_ Jenny Nettles _like_ Nansie _can sing;
At_ Throw the Wood Laddie, Bess _gars our lugs ring.
But when my dear_ Peggy _sings with better skill,
The_ Boat-man, Tweed-side, _or the_ Lass of the Mill,
_'Tis many times sweeter and pleasing to me;
For tho' they sing nicely, they cannot like thee._

PEGGY.

_How easy can lasses trow what they desire!
And praises sae kindly encreases love's fire:
Give me still this pleasure, my study shall be,
To make myself better and sweeter for thee._

_Pat._ Wert thou a giglit gawky like the lave,
That little better than our nowt behave;
At nought they'll ferly;--senseless tales believe;
Be blyth for silly heghts, for trifles grieve:--
Sic ne'er you'd win my heart, that kenna how,
Either to keep a prize, or yet prove true.
But thou, in better sense, without a flaw,
As in thy beauty, far excels them a',
Continue kind; and a' my care shall be,
How to contrive what pleasing is for thee.

_Peg._ Agreed;--but harken! yon's auld aunty's cry;
I ken they'll wonder what can make us stay.

_Pat._ And let them ferly.--Now, a kindly kiss,
Or five score good anes wad not be amiss;
And syne we'll sing the sang with tunefu' glee,
That I made up last owk on you and me.

_Peg._ Sing first, syne claim your hire.--

_Pat._----Well, I agree.

SANG XI.--To its own Tune.

PATIE sings.

_By the delicious warmness of thy mouth,
And rowing eyes that smiling tell the truth,_
_I guess, my lassie, that as well as I,
You're made for love; and why should ye deny?_

PEGGY sings.

_But ken ye, lad, gin we confess o'er soon,
Ye think us cheap, and syne the wooing's done?
The maiden that o'er quickly tines her power,
Like unripe fruit, will taste but hard and sowr._

PATIE sings.

_But gin they hing o'er lang upon the tree,
Their sweetness they may tine; and sae may ye.
Red checked you completely ripe appear;
And I have thol'd and woo'd a lang haff year._

PEGGY singing, falls into PATIE'S arms.

_Then dinna pu' me, gently thus I fa'
Into my_ Patie's _arms, for good and a'.
But stint your wishes to this kind embrace;
And mint nae farther till we've got the grace._

PATIE, with his left hand about her waste.

_O charming armfu'! hence ye cares away!
I'll kiss my treasure a' the live-lang day;
All night I'll dream my kisses o'er again,
Till that day come that ye'll be a' my ain._

Sung by both.

_Sun, gallop down the westlin skies,
Gang soon to bed, and quickly rise;
O lash your steeds, post time away,
And haste about our bridal day:
And if ye're wearied, honest light,
Sleep, gin ye like, a week that night._

[_Exeunt._

End of the SECOND ACT.

ACT THIRD.

_SCENE I._

Now turn your eyes beyond yon spreading lime,
And tent a man whase beard seems bleech'd with time;
An elvand fills his hand, his habit mean:
Nae doubt ye'll think he has a pedlar been.
But whisht! it is the knight in masquerade,
That comes hid in this cloud to see his lad.
Observe how pleas'd the loyal sufferer moves
Thro' his auld av'news, anes delightfu' groves.

SIR WILLIAM _solus_.

The gentleman thus hid in low disguise,
I'll for a space unknown delight mine eyes,
With a full view of every fertile plain,
Which once I lost,--which now are mine again.
Yet 'midst my joys, some prospects pain renew,
Whilst I my once fair seat in ruins view.
Yonder, ah me! it desolately stands,
Without a roof; the gates faln from their bands;
The casements all broke down; no chimney left;
The naked walls of tap'stry all bereft:
My stables and pavilions, broken walls!
That with each rainy blast decaying falls:
My gardens, once adorn'd the most compleat,
With all that nature, all that art makes sweet;
Where, round the figur'd green, and peeble walks,
The dewy flowers hung nodding on their stalks:
But, overgrown with nettles, docks and brier,
No jaccacinths or eglintines appear.
How do those ample walls to ruin yield,
Where peach and nect'rine branches found a beild,
And bask'd in rays, which early did produce
Fruit fair to view, delightfu' in the use!
All round in gaps, the most in rubbish ly,
And from what stands the wither'd branches fly.
These soon shall be repair'd:--And now my joy
Forbids all grief,--when I'm to see my Boy,
My only prop, and object of my care,
Since Heaven too soon call'd hame his Mother fair.
Him, ere the rays of reason clear'd his thought,
I secretly to faithful Symon brought,
And charg'd him strictly to conceal his birth,
'Till we should see what changing times brought forth.
Hid from himself, he starts up by the dawn,
And ranges careless o'er the height and lawn,
After his fleecy charge, serenely gay,
With other shepherds whistling o'er the day.
Thrice happy life! that's from ambition free;
Remov'd from crowns and courts, how chearfully
A quiet contented mortal spends his time
In hearty health, his soul unstain'd with crime!

_Or sung as follows._

SANG XII.--_Tune_, Happy Clown.

_Hid from himself, now by the dawn,
He starts as fresh as roses blawn;
And ranges o'er the heights and lawn,
After his bleeting flocks.
Healthful, and innocently gay,
He chants and whistles out the day;
Untaught to smile, and then betray,
Like courtly weathercocks._

_Life happy, from ambition free,
Envy, and vile hypocrisie,
Where truth and love with joy agree,
Unsully'd with a crime:
Unmov'd with what disturbs the great,
In propping of their pride and state,
He lives, and unafraid of fate,
Contented spends his time._

Now tow'rds good Symon's house I'll bend my way,
And see what makes yon gamboling to day,
All on the green, in a fair wanton ring,
My youthful tenants gayly dance and sing. [_Exit._

_ACT III.--SCENE II._

'Tis Symon's house, please to step in,
And vissy't round and round;
There's nought superfluous to give pain,
Or costly to be found.
Yet all is clean: a clear peat-ingle
Glances amidst the floor;
The green-horn spoons, beech-luggies mingle,
On skelfs foregainst the door.
While the young brood sport on the green,
The auld anes think it best,
With the Brown Cow to clear their een,
Snuff, crack, and take their rest.

SYMON, GLAUD, _and_ ELSPA.

_Glaud._

We anes were young our sells--I like to see
The bairns bob round with other merrilie.
Troth, Symon, Patie's grown a strapan lad,
And better looks than his I never bade.
Amang our lads, he bears the gree awa',
And tells his tale the cleverest of them a'.

_Els._ Poor man!--he's a great comfort to us baith:
God mak him good, and hide him ay frae skaith.
He is a bairn, I'll say't, well worth our care,
That ga'e us ne'er vexation late or air.

_Glaud._ I trow, goodwife, if I be not mistane, }
He seems to be with Peggy's beauty tane, }
And troth, my niece is a right dainty we'an, }
As ye well ken: a bonnier needna be,
Nor better,--be't she were nae kin to me.

_Sym._ Ha! Glaud, I doubt that ne'er will be a match
My Patie's wild, and will be ill to catch:
And or he were, for reasons I'll no tell,
I'd rather be mixt with the mools my sell.

_Glaud._ What reason can ye have? There's nane, I'm sure,
Unless ye may cast up that she's but poor:
But gif the lassie marry to my mind,
I'll be to her as my ain Jenny kind.
Fourscore of breeding ews of my ain birn,
Five ky that at ae milking fills a kirn,
I'll gi'e to Peggy that day she's a bride;
By and attour, gif my good luck abide,
Ten lambs at spaining-time, as lang's I live,
And twa quey cawfs I'll yearly to them give.

_Els._ Ye offer fair, kind Glaud; but dinna speer
What may be is not fit ye yet should hear.

_Sym._ Or this day eight days likely he shall learn,
That our denial disna slight his bairn.

_Glaud._ Well, nae mair o't,--come, gie's the other bend;
We'll drink their healths, whatever way it end.

[_Their healths gae round._

_Sym._ But will ye tell me, Glaud,--by some 'tis said,
Your niece is but a Fundling that was laid
Down at your hallon-side, ae morn in May,
Right clean row'd up, and bedded on dry hay?

_Glaud._ That clatteran Madge, my titty, tells sic flaws,
When e'er our Meg her cankart humour gaws.

_Enter_ JENNY.

_Jen._ O father! there's an auld man on the green,
The fellest fortune-teller e'er was seen:
He tents our loofs, and syne whops out a book,
Turns o'er the leaves, and gie's our brows a look;
Syne tells the oddest tales that e'er ye heard.
His head is gray, and lang and gray his beard.

_Sym._ Gae bring him in; we'll hear what he can say:
Nane shall gang hungry by my house to day.

[_Exit_ JENNY.

But for his telling fortunes, troth I fear,
He kens nae mair of that than my gray mare.

_Glaud._ Spae-men! the truth of a' their saws I doubt;
For greater liars never ran there out.

_Returns_ JENNY, _bringing in_ SIR WILLIAM; _with them_ PATIE.

_Sym._ Ye're welcome, honest carle;--here take a seat.

_Sir Will._ I give ye thanks, Goodman; I'se no be blate.

_Glaud._ [_drinks._] Come t'ye, friend:--How far came ye the day?

_Sir Will._ I pledge ye, nibour:--E'en but little way:
Rousted with eild, a wee piece gate seems lang;
Twa miles or three's the maist that I dow gang.

_Sym._ Ye're welcome here to stay all night with me,
And take sic bed and board as we can gi' ye.

_Sir Will._ That's kind unsought.--Well, gin ye have a bairn
That ye like well, and wad his fortune learn,
I shall employ the farthest of my skill,
To spae it faithfully, be't good or ill.

_Sym._ [_pointing to Patie._] Only that lad;--alake! I have nae mae,
Either to make me joyful now, or wae.

_Sir Will._ Young man, let's see your hand;--what gars ye sneer?

_Pat._ Because your skill's but little worth I fear.

_Sir Will._ Ye cut before the point.--But, billy, bide,
I'll wager there's a mouse mark on your side.

_Els._ Betooch-us-to! and well I wat that's true:
Awa, awa! the deil's o'er grit wi' you.
Four inch aneath his oxter is the mark,
Scarce ever seen since he first wore a sark.

_Sir Will._ I'll tell ye mair, if this young lad be spar'd
But a short while, he'll be a braw rich laird.

_Els._ A laird! Hear ye, Goodman!--what think ye now?

_Sym._ I dinna ken: Strange auld man! What art thou?
Fair fa' your heart; 'tis good to bode of wealth:
Come turn the timmer to laird Patie's health.

[PATIE'S _health gaes round_.

_Pat._ A laird of twa good whistles, and a kent,
Twa curs, my trusty tenants, on the bent,
Is all my great estate--and like to be:
Sae, cunning carle, ne'er break your jokes on me.

_Sym._ Whisht, Patie,--let the man look o'er your hand,
Aftimes as broken a ship has come to land.

[SIR WILLIAM _looks a little at_ PATIE'S _hand, then counterfeits falling into a trance, while they endeavour to lay him right_.]

_Els._ Preserve's!--the man's a warlock, or possest
With some nae good,--or second sight, at least:
Where is he now?----

_Glaud._ ----He's seeing a' that's done
In ilka place, beneath or yont the moon.

_Els._ These second sighted fowk, his peace be here!
See things far aff, and things to come, as clear
As I can see my thumb.--Wow, can he tell
(Speer at him, soon as he comes to himsell)
How soon we'll see Sir William? Whisht, he heaves,
And speaks out broken words like ane that raves.

_Sym._ He'll soon grow better;--Elspa, haste ye, gae,
And fill him up a tass of Usquebae.

_Sir_ WILLIAM _starts up, and speaks_.

A Knight that for a _Lyon_ fought,
Against a herd of bears,
Was to lang toil and trouble brought,
In which some thousands shares.

But now again the _Lyon_ rares,
And joy spreads o'er the plain:
The _Lyon_ has defeat the bears,
The Knight returns again.

That Knight, in a few days, shall bring
A Shepherd frae the fauld,
And shall present him to his King,
A subject true and bauld.

He Mr. Patrick shall be call'd:
All you that hear me now,
May well believe what I have tald;
For it shall happen true.

_Sym._ Friend, may your spaeing happen soon and weel;
But, faith, I'm redd you've bargain'd with the deil,
To tell some tales that fowks wad secret keep:
Or do ye 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:
But I'll lay ten to ane with ony here,
That all I prophesy shall soon appear.

_Sym._ You prophesying fowks are odd kind men!
They're here that ken, and here that disna ken,
The wimpled meaning of your unco tale,
Whilk soon will mak a noise o'er moor and dale.

_Glaud._ 'Tis nae sma' sport to hear how Sym believes,
And takes't for gospel what the spae-man gives
Of flawing fortunes, whilk he evens to Pate:
But what we wish, we trow at ony rate.

_Sir Will._ Whisht, doubtfu' carle: for ere the sun
Has driven twice down to the sea,
What I have said ye shall see done
In part, or nae mair credit me.

_Glaud._ Well, be't sae, friend, I shall say nathing mair;
But I've twa sonsy lasses young and fair,
Plump ripe for men: I wish ye cou'd foresee
Sic fortunes for them might prove joy to me.

_Sir Will._ Nae mair thro' secrets can I sift,
Till darkness black the bent:
I have but anes a day that gift;
Sae rest a while content.

_Sym._ Elspa, cast on the claith, fetch butt some meat,
And, of your best, gar this auld stranger eat.

_Sir Will._ Delay a while your hospitable care;
I'd rather enjoy this evening calm and fair,
Around yon ruin'd tower, to fetch a walk
With you, kind friend, to have some private talk.

_Sym._ Soon as you please I'll answer your desire:--
And, Glaud, you'll take your pipe beside the fire;
We'll but gae round the Place, and soon be back,
Syne sup together, and tak our pint, and crack.

_Glaud._ I'll out a while, and see the young anes play.
My heart's still light, abeit my locks be gray.

[_Exeunt._

_ACT III.--SCENE III._

Jenny pretends an errand hame,
Young Roger draps the rest,
To whisper out his melting flame,
And thow his lassie's breast..
Behind a bush, well hid frae sight, they meet:
See Jenny's laughing; Roger's like to greet.
Poor Shepherd!

ROGER _and_ JENNY.

_Roger._

Dear Jenny, I wad speak to ye, wad ye let;
And yet I ergh, ye're ay sae scornfu' set.

_Jen._ And what would Roger say, if he could speak?
Am I oblig'd to guess what ye're to seek?

_Rog._ Yes, ye may guess right eith for what I grein,
Baith by my service, sighs, and langing een.
And I maun out wi't, tho' I risk your scorn;
Ye're never frae my thoughts baith ev'n and morn.
Ah! cou'd I loo ye less, I'd happy be;
But happier far, cou'd ye but fancy me.

_Jen._ And wha kens, honest lad, but that I may;
Ye canna say that e'er I said ye nay.

_Rog._ Alake! my frighted heart begins to fail,
When e'er I mint to tell ye out my tale,
For fear some tighter lad, mair rich than I,
Has win your love, and near your heart may ly.

_Jen._ I loo my father, cousin Meg I love;
But to this day, nae man my mind could move:
Except my kin, ilk lad's alike to me;
And frae ye all I best had keep me free.

_Rog._ How lang, dear Jenny?--Sayna that again;
What pleasure can ye tak in giving pain?
I'm glad, however, that ye yet stand free:
Wha kens but ye may rue, and pity me?

_Jen._ Ye have my pity else, to see ye set
On that whilk makes our sweetness soon forget.
Wow! but we're bonny, good, and every thing;
How sweet we breathe, whene'er we kiss, or sing!
But we're nae sooner fools to give consent,
Than we our daffine and tint power repent:
When prison'd in four waws, a wife right tame,
Altho' the first, the greatest drudge at hame.

_Rog._ That only happens, when for sake of gear,
Ane wales a wife, as he wad buy a mear;
Or when dull parents bairns together bind
Of different tempers, that can ne'er prove kind.
But love, true downright love, engages me,
Tho' thou should scorn,--still to delight in thee.

_Jen._ What suggar'd words frae wooers lips can fa'!
But girning marriage comes and ends them a'.
I've seen with shining fair the morning rise,
And soon the sleety clouds mirk a' the skies.
I've seen the silver spring a while rin clear,
And soon in mossy puddles disappear.
The bridegroom may rejoice, the bride may smile;
But soon contentions a' their joys beguile.

_Rog._ I've seen the morning rise with fairest light,
The day unclouded sink in calmest night.
I've seen the spring rin wimpling thro' the plain,
Increase and join the ocean without stain.
The bridegroom may be blyth, the bride may smile;
Rejoice thro' life, and all your fears beguile.

_Jen._ Were I but sure you lang wou'd love maintain,
The fewest words my easy heart could gain:
For I maun own, since now at last you're free,
Altho' I jok'd, I lov'd your company;
And ever had a warmness in my breast,
That made ye dearer to me than the rest.

_Rog._ I'm happy now! o'er happy! had my head!--
This gush of pleasure's like to be my dead.
Come to my arms! or strike me! I'm all fir'd
With wondring love! let's kiss till we be tir'd.
Kiss, kiss! we'll kiss the sun and starns away,
And ferly at the quick return of day!
O Jenny! let my arms about thee twine,
And briss thy bonny breasts and lips to mine.

_Which may be sung as follows._

SANG XIII.--_Tune_, Leith Wynd.

JENNY.

_Were I assur'd you'd constant prove,
You should nae mair complain;
The easy maid, beset with love,
Few words will quickly gain:
For I must own, now since you're free,
This too fond heart of mine
Has lang, a black-sole true to thee,
Wish'd to be pair'd with thine._

ROGER.

_I'm happy now; ah! let my head
Upon thy breast recline;
The pleasure strikes me near-hand dead;
Is_ Jenny _then sae kind?----
O! let me briss thee to my heart,
And round my arms entwine:
Delytfu' thought! we'll never part:
Come press thy lips to mine._

_Jen._ With equal joy my easy heart gi'es way,
To own thy well try'd love has won the day.
Now by these warmest kisses thou has tane,
Swear thus to love me, when by vows made ane.

_Rog._ I swear by fifty thousand yet to come,
Or may the first ane strike me deaf and dumb,
There shall not be a kindlier dawted wife,
If you agree with me to lead your life.

_Jen._ Well, I agree:--Neist, to my parent gae,
Get his consent,--he'll hardly say ye nay.
Ye have what will commend ye to him well,
Auld fowks, like them, that wants na milk and meal.

SANG XIV.--_Tune_, O'er Bogie.

_Well, I agree, ye're sure of me;
Next to my father gae:
Make him content to give consent,
He'll hardly say you nay:
For you have what he wad be at,
And will commend you well,
Since parents auld think love grows cauld,
Where bairns want milk and meal._

_Shou'd he deny, I care na by,
He'd contradict in vain;
Tho' a' my kin had said and sworn,
But thee I will have nane.
Then never range, nor learn to change,
Like those in high degree;
And if ye prove faithful in love,
You'll find nae faut in me._

_Rog._ My faulds contain twice fifteen forrow nowt,
As mony newcal in my byars rowt;
Five pack of woo I can at Lammas sell,
Shorn frae my bob-tail'd bleeters on the fell:
Good twenty pair of blankets for our bed,
With meikle care, my thrifty mither made.
Ilk thing that makes a heartsome house and tight,
Was still her care, my father's great delight.
They left me all; which now gie's joy to me,
Because I can give a', my dear, to thee:
And had I fifty times as meikle mair,
Nane but my Jenny should the samen skair.
My love and all is yours; now had them fast,
And guide them as ye like, to gar them last.

_Jen._ I'll do my best.--But see wha comes this way,
Patie and Meg;--besides, I mauna stay:
Let's steal frae ither now, and meet the morn;
If we be seen, we'll drie a deal of scorn.

_Rog._ To where the saugh-trees shades the mennin-pool,
I'll frae the hill come down, when day grows cool:
Keep triste, and meet me there;--there let us meet,
To kiss, and tell our love;--there's nought sae sweet.

_ACT III--SCENE IV._

This scene presents the Knight and Sym
Within a Gallery of the Place,
Where all looks ruinous and grim;
Nor has the Baron shown his face,
But joking with his shepherd leel,
Aft speers the gate he kens fu' well.

SIR WILLIAM _and_ SYMON.

_Sir William._

To whom belongs this house so much decay'd?

_Sym._ To ane that lost it, lending generous 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 all with joy, now _He's come hame_.

(_Sir William draps his masking beard,
Symon transported sees
The welcome Knight, with fond regard,
And grasps him round the knees._)

My master! my dear master!--do I breathe,
To see him healthy, strong, and free frae skaith;
Return'd to chear his wishing tenants sight,
To bless his son, my charge, the world's delight!

_Sir Will._ Rise, 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 wise;
Since still the secret thou'st securely seal'd,
And ne'er to him his real birth reveal'd.

_Sym._ The due obedience to your strict command
Was the first lock;--neist, my ain judgment fand
Out reasons plenty: since, without estate,
A youth, tho' sprung frae kings, looks baugh and blate.

_Sir Will._ And aften vain and idly spend their time,
'Till grown unfit for action, past their prime,
Hang on their friends--which gi'es their sauls a cast,
That turns them downright beggars at the last.

_Sym._ Now well I wat, Sir, ye have spoken true;
For there's laird Kytie's son, that's loo'd by few:
His father steght his fortune in his wame,
And left his heir nought but a gentle name.
He gangs about sornan frae place to place,
As scrimp of manners, as of sense and grace;
Oppressing all as punishment of their sin,
That are within his tenth degree of kin:
Rins in ilk trader's debt, wha's sae unjust
To his ain fam'ly, as to give him trust.

_Sir Will._ Such useless branches of a common-wealth,
Should be lopt off, to give a state mair health.
Unworthy bare reflection.--Symon, run
O'er all your observations on my son;
A parent's fondness easily finds excuse:
But do not with indulgence truth abuse.

_Sym._ To speak his praise, the langest simmer day
Wad be o'er short,--cou'd I them right display.
In word and deed he can sae well behave,
That out of sight he runs before 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 stands good;--he'll gar it stand:
Wha dares to grumble, finds his correcting hand;
With a firm look, and a commanding way,
He gars the proudest of our herds obey.

_Sir Will._ Your tale much pleases;--my good friend, proceed:
What learning has he? Can he write and read?

_Sym._ Baith wonder well; for, troth, I didna spare
To gi'e him at the school enough of lair;
And he delites in books:--He reads, and speaks
With fowks that ken them, Latin words and Greeks.

_Sir Will._ Where gets he books to read?--and of what kind?
Tho' some give light, some blindly lead the blind.

_Sym._ Whene'er he drives our sheep to Edinburgh port,
He buys some books of history, sangs or sport:
Nor does he want of them a rowth at will,
And carries ay a poutchfu' to the hill.
About ane Shakspear, and a famous Ben,
He aften speaks, and ca's them best of men.
How sweetly Hawthrenden and Stirling sing, }
And ane ca'd Cowley, loyal to his king, }
He kens fu' well, and gars their verses ring. }
I sometimes thought he made o'er great a frase,
About fine poems, histories and plays.
When I reprov'd him anes,--a book he brings,
With this, quoth he, on braes I crack with kings.

_Sir Will._ He answer'd well; and much ye glad my ear,
When such accounts I of my shepherd hear.
Reading such books can raise a peasant's mind
Above a lord's that is not thus inclin'd.

_Sym._ What ken we better, that sae sindle look,
Except on rainy Sundays, on a book;
When we a leaf or twa haff read haff spell,
'Till a' the rest sleep round as well's our sell?

_Sir Will._ Well jested, Symon:--But one question more
I'll only ask 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 lassie, with inviting mien,
And rosy cheek, the wonder of the green,
Engag'd his look, and caught his youthfu' heart?

_Sym._ I fear'd the warst, but kend the smallest part,
'Till late I saw him twa three times mair sweet,
With Glaud's fair Neice, than I thought right or meet:
I had my fears; but now have nought to fear,
Since like your sell your son will soon appear.
A gentleman, enrich'd with all these charms,
May bless the fairest best born lady's arms.

_Sir Will._ This night must end his unambitious fire,
When higher views shall greater thoughts inspire.
Go, Symon, bring him quickly here to me;
None but your self shall our first meeting see.
Yonder's my horse and servants nigh at hand,
They come just at the time I gave command;
Straight in my own apparel I'll go dress:
Now ye the secret may to all confess.

_Sym._ With how much joy I on this errand flee!
There's nane can know, that is not downright me.

[_Exit_ SYMON.

_Sir_ WILLIAM _solus_.

When the event of hopes successfully appears,
One happy hour cancells the toil of years.
A thousand toils are lost in Lethe's stream,
And cares evanish like a morning dream:
When wish'd for pleasures rise like morning light,
The pain that's past enhances the delight.
These joys I feel that words can ill express,
I ne'er had known without my late distress.
But from his rustick business and love, }
I must in haste my Patrick soon remove, }
To courts and camps that may his soul improve. }
Like the rough diamond, as it leaves the mine,
Only in little breakings shews its light,
Till artfu' polishing has made it shine:
Thus education makes the genius bright.

_Or sung as follows._

SANG XV.--_Tune_, Wat ye wha I met Yestreen.

_Now from rusticity and love,
Whose flames but over lowly burn,
My gentle shepherd must be drove,
His soul must take another turn:
As the rough diamond from the mine,
In breakings only shews its light,
Till polishing has made it shine:
Thus learning makes the genius bright._ [_Exit_

End of the THIRD ACT.

ACT FOURTH.

_SCENE I._

The scene describ'd in former page,
Gland's onstead,--Enter _Mause_ and _Madge._

MAUSE _and_ MADGE.

_Mause._

Our laird's come hame! and owns young Pate his heir!
That's news indeed!----

_Mad._----As true as ye stand there.
As they were dancing all in Symon's yard,
Sir William, like a warlock, with a beard
Live nives in length, and white as driven snaw,
Amang us came, cry'd, _Had ye merry a'_.
We ferly'd meikle at his unco look,
While frae his pouch he whirled forth a book.
As we stood round about him on the green,
He view'd us a', but fix'd on Pate his een;
Then pawkily pretended he cou'd spae,
Yet for his pains and skill wad nathing ha'e.

_Mause._ Then sure the lasses, and ilk gaping coof,
Wad rin about him, and had out their loof.

_Mad._ As fast as flaes skip to the tate of woo,
Whilk slee Tod Lawrie hads without his mow,
When he to drown them, and his hips to cool,
In simmer days slides backward in a pool:
In short he did, for Pate, braw things fortell,
Without the help of conjuring or spell.
At last, when well diverted, he withdrew,
Pow'd aff his beard to Symon, Symon knew
His welcome master;--round his knees he gat,
Hang at his coat, and syne for blythness grat.
Patrick was sent for;--happy lad is he!
Symon tald Elspa, Elspa tald it me.
Ye'll hear out a' the secret story soon;
And troth 'tis e'en right odd when a' is done,
To think how Symon ne'er afore wad tell,
Na, no sae meikle as to Pate himsell.
Our Meg, poor thing, alake! has lost her jo.

_Mause._ It may be sae; wha kens? and may be no.
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. }