Part 8

_Jen._ 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 oblig'd 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 slavery like, and may be free: The cheils may a' knit up themsells for me.

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

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

_Peg._ 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? 'Tis good my part To give him that; and he'll give me his heart.

_Jen._ He may indeed, for ten or fifteen days, Mak meikle o' ye, with an unco fraise, And daut ye baith afore fowk and your lane: But soon as his 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 delite, Ae day be dumb, and a' the neist he'll flite: 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 betyde you. Lasses, when their fancy's carry'd, Think of nought but to be marry'd: Running to a life destroys Heartsome, free, and youthfu' joys._

_Peg._ Sic coarse-spun thoughts as thae want pith to move My settl'd 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 musick thro' 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 gait, The rest seem coofs compar'd with my dear Pate. His better sense will lang his love secure: Ill-nature heffs in sauls are 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 fallows, 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 virtues, and ne'er will abuse Her for a small failing, but find an excuse._

_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.