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?