But short I dare to hope the fond relief.
New thoughts a gentler face will soon inspire,
That with nice air swims round in silk attire:
Then I, poor me!--with sighs may ban my fate,
When the young laird's nae mair my heartsome Pate:
Nae mair again to hear sweet tales exprest,
By the blyth shepherd that excell'd the rest:
Nae mair be envy'd by the tattling gang,
When Patie kiss'd me, when I danc'd or sang:
Nae mair, alake! we'll on the meadow play!
And rin haff breathless round the rucks of hay;
As aftimes I have fled from thee right fain,
And fawn on purpose, that I might be tane.
Nae mair around the Foggy-know I'll creep,
To watch and stare upon thee, while asleep.
But hear my vow--'twill help to give me ease;
May sudden death, or deadly sair disease,
And warst of ills attend my wretched life,
If ere to ane, but you, I be a wife.
_Or sung as follows._
SANG XVII.--_Tune_, Wae's my heart that we should sunder.
_Speak on,--speak thus, and still my grief,
Hold up a heart that's sinking under
These fears, that soon will want relief,
When_ Pate _must from his_ Peggy _sunder.
A gentler face, and silk attire,
A lady rich in beauty's blossom,
Alake poor me! will now conspire
To steal thee from thy_ Peggy's _bosom._
_No more the shepherd, who excell'd
The rest, whose wit made them to wonder,
Shall now his_ Peggy's _praises tell:
Ah! I can die, but never sunder.
Ye meadows where we often stray'd,
Ye banks where we were wont to wander,
Sweet-scented rucks, round which we play'd,
You'll lose your sweets when we're asunder._
_Again, ah! shall I never creep
Around the Know with silent duty,
Kindly to watch thee, while asleep,
And wonder at thy manly beauty?
Hear, Heaven, while solemnly I vow,
Tho' thou shouldst prove a wand'ring lover,
Thro' life to thee I shall prove true,
Nor be a wife to any other_
_Pat._ Sure Heaven approves--and be assur'd of me,
I'll ne'er gang back of what I've sworn to thee:
And time, tho' time maun interpose a while,
And I maun leave my Peggy and this isle;
Yet time, nor distance, nor the fairest face,
If there's a fairer, e'er shall fill thy place.
I'd hate my rising fortune, should it move
The fair foundation of our faithful love.
If at my foot were crowns and scepters laid,
To bribe my soul frae thee, delightful maid;
For thee I'd soon leave these inferior things
To sic as have the patience to be kings.
Wherefore that tear? Believe, and calm thy mind.
_Peg._ I greet for joy, to hear thy words sae kind.
When hopes were sunk, and nought but mirk despair
Made me think life was little worth my care,
My heart was like to burst; but now I see
Thy generous thoughts will save thy love for me.
With patience then I'll wait each wheeling year,
Hope time away, till thou with joy appear;
And all the while I'll study gentler charms,
To make me fitter for my traveller's arms:
I'll gain on uncle Glaud,--he's far frae fool,
And will not grudge to put me thro' ilk school;
Where I may manners learn----
_Or sung as follows._
SANG XVIII.--_Tune_, Tweedside.
_When hope was quite sunk in despair,
My heart it was going to break;
My life appear'd worthless my care,
But now I will save't for thy sake.
Where'er my love travels by day,
Wherever he lodges by night,
With me his dear image shall stay,
And my soul keep him ever in sight._
_With patience I'll wait the long year,
And study the gentlest charms;
Hope time away till thou appear,
To lock thee for ay in those arms.
Whilst thou was a shepherd, I priz'd
No higher degree in this life;
But now I'll endeavour to rise
To a height is becoming thy wife._
_For beauty that's only skin-deep,
Must fade like the gowans of May,
But inwardly rooted, will keep
For ever, without a decay.
Nor age, nor the changes of life,
Can quench the fair fire of love,
If virtue's ingrain'd in the wife,
And the husband have sense to approve._
_Pat._ ----That's wisely said,
And what he wares that way shall be well paid.
Tho' without a' the little helps of art,
Thy native sweets might gain a prince's heart:
Yet now, lest in our station, we offend,
We must learn modes, to innocence unkend;
Affect aftimes to like the thing we hate,
And drap serenity, to keep up state:
Laugh, when we're sad; speak, when we've nought to say;
And, for the fashion, when we're blyth, seem wae:
Pay compliments to them we aft have scorn'd;
Then scandalize them, when their backs are turn'd.
_Peg._ If this is gentry, I had rather be
What I am still;--But I'll be ought with thee.
_Pat._ No, no, my Peggy, I but only jest
With gentry's apes; for still amangst the best,
Good manners give integrity a bleez,
When native vertues join the arts to please.
_Peg._ Since with nae hazard, and sae small expence,
My lad frae books can gather siccan sense;
Then why, ah! why should the tempestuous sea,
Endanger thy dear life, and frighten me?
Sir William's cruel, that wad force his son,
For watna-whats, sae great a risk to run.
_Pat._ There is nae doubt, but travelling does improve,
Yet I would shun it for thy sake, my love.
But soon as I've shook aff my landwart cast,
In foreign cities, hame to thee I'll haste.
_Peg._ With every setting day, and rising morn,
I'll kneel to Heaven, and ask thy safe return.
Under that tree, and on the Suckler Brae,
Where aft we wont, when bairns, to run and play;
And to the Hissel-shaw where first ye vow'd
Ye wad be mine, and I as eithly trow'd,
I'll aften gang, and tell the trees and flowers,
With joy, that they'll bear witness I am yours.
_Or sung as follows._
SANG XIX.--_Tune_, Bush aboon Traquair.
_At setting day, and rising morn,
With soul that still shall love thee,
I'll ask of Heaven thy safe return,
With all that can improve thee.
I'll visit aft the Birken Bush,
Where first thou kindly told me
Sweet tales of love, and hid my blush,
Whilst round thou didst enfold me._
_To all our haunts I will repair,
By Greenwood-shaw or fountain;
Or where the summer-day I'd share
With thee upon yon mountain.
There will I tell the trees and flowers,
From thoughts unfeign'd and tender,
By vows you're mine, by love is yours
A heart which cannot wander._
_Pat._ My dear, allow me, frae thy temples fair,
A shining ringlet of thy flowing hair;
Which, as a sample of each lovely charm,
I'll aften kiss, and wear about my arm.
_Peg._ Were't in my power with better boons to please,
I'd give the best I could with the same ease;
Nor wad I, if thy luck had faln to me,
Been in ae jot less generous to thee.
_Pat._ I doubt it not; but since we've little time,
To ware't on words, wad border on a crime:
Love's safter meaning better is exprest,
When 'tis with kisses on the heart imprest. [_Exeunt._
End of the FOURTH ACT.
ACT FIFTH.
_SCENE I._
See how poor Bauldy stares like ane possest,
And roars up Symon frae his kindly rest.
Bare-leg'd, with night-cap, and unbutton'd coat,
See, the auld man comes forward to the sot.
SYMON _and_ BAULDY.
_Symon._
What want ye, Bauldy, at this early hour,
While drowsy sleep keeps a' beneath its pow'r?
Far to the north, the scant approaching light
Stands equal 'twixt the morning and the night.
What gars ye shake and glowr, and look sae wan?
Your teeth they chitter, hair like bristles stand.
_Baul._ O len me soon some water, milk or ale,
My head's grown giddy,--legs with shaking fail;
I'll ne'er dare venture forth at night my lane:
Alake! I'll never be mysell again.
I'll ne'er o'erput it! Symon! O Symon! O!
[_Symon gives him a drink._
_Sym._ What ails thee, gowk!--to make sae loud ado?
You've wak'd Sir William, he has left his bed;
He comes, I fear ill pleas'd: I hear his tred.
_Enter_ SIR WILLIAM.
_Sir Will._ How goes the night? Does day-light yet appear?
Symon, you're very timeously asteer.
_Sym._ I'm sorry, Sir, that we've disturb'd your rest: }
But some strange thing has Bauldy's sp'rit opprest; }
He's seen some witch, or wrestl'd with a ghaist. }
_Baul._ O ay,--dear Sir, in troth 'tis very true;
And I am come to make my plaint to you.
_Sir Will._ [_smiling._] I lang to hear't----
_Baul._ ----Ah! Sir, the witch ca'd Mause,
That wins aboon the mill amang the haws,
First promis'd that she'd help me with her art,
To gain a bonny thrawart lassie's heart.
As she had tristed, I met wi'er this night;
But may nae friend of mine get sic a fright!
For the curs'd hag, instead of doing me good,
(The very thought o't's like to freeze my blood!)
Rais'd up a ghaist or deil, I kenna whilk,
Like a dead corse in sheet as white as milk;
Black hands it had, and face as wan as death,
Upon me fast the Witch and it fell baith,
And gat me down; while I, like a great fool,
Was laboured as I wont to be at school.
My heart out of its hool was like to lowp;
I pithless grew with fear, and had nae hope,
Till, with an elritch laugh, they vanish'd quite:
Sync I, haff dead with anger, fear and spite,
Crap up, and fled straight frae them, Sir, to you,
Hoping your help, to gi'e the deil his due.
I'm sure my heart will ne'er gi'e o'er to dunt,
Till in a fat tar-barrel Mause be burnt.
_Sir Will._ Well, Bauldy, whate'er's just shall granted be;
Let Mause be brought this morning down to me.
_Baul._ Thanks to your Honour; soon shall I obey:
But first I'll Roger raise, and twa three mae,
To catch her fast, or she get leave to squeel,
And cast her cantraips that bring up the deil.
[_Exit_ BAULDY.
_Sir Will._ Troth, Symon, Bauldy's more afraid than hurt,
The witch and ghaist have made themselves good sport.
What silly notions crowd the clouded mind,
That is thro' want of education blind!
_Sym._ But does your Honour think there's nae sic thing
As witches raising deils up thro' a ring?
Syne playing tricks, a thousand I cou'd tell,
Cou'd never be contriv'd on this side hell.
_Sir Will._ Such as the devil's dancing in a moor,
Amongst a few old women craz'd and poor,
Who are rejoic'd to see him frisk and lowp
O'er braes and bogs, with candles in his dowp;
Appearing sometimes like a black-horn'd cow,
Aftimes like Bawty, Badrans, or a Sow:
Then with his train thro' airy paths to glide,
While they on cats, or clowns, or broom-staffs ride;
Or in the egg-shell skim out o'er the main,
To drink their leader's health in France or Spain:
Then aft by night, bumbaze hare-hearted fools,
By tumbling down their cup-board, chairs and stools.
Whate'er's in spells, or if there witches be,
Such whimsies seem the most absurd to me.
_Sym._ 'Tis true enough, we ne'er heard that a witch
Had either meikle sense, or yet was rich.
But Mause, tho' poor, is a sagacious wife,
And lives a quiet and very honest life;
That gars me think this hobleshew that's past
Will land in naithing but a joke at last.
_Sir Will._ I'm sure it will:--But see increasing light
Commands the imps of darkness down to night;
Bid raise my servants, and my horse prepare,
Whilst I walk out to take the morning air.
SANG XX.--_Tune_, Bonny grey-ey'd morn.
_The bonny grey-ey'd morn begins to peep,
And darkness flies before the rising ray;
The hearty hind starts from his lazy sleep,
To follow healthful labours of the day:
Without a guilty sting to wrinkle his brow,
The lark and the linnet tend his levee,
And he joins their concert, driving his plow,
From toil of grimace and pageantry free._
_While fluster'd with wine, or madden'd with loss
Of half an estate, the prey of a main,
The drunkard and gamester tumble and toss,
Wishing for calmness and slumber in vain.
Be my portion health, and quietness of mind,
Plac'd at due distance from parties and state;
Where neither ambition, nor avarice blind,
Reach him who has happiness link'd to his fate._
[_Exeunt._
_ACT V.--SCENE II._
While Peggy laces up her bosom fair,
With a blew snood Jenny binds up her hair;
Glaud, by his morning ingle takes a beek,
The rising sun shines motty thro' the reek,
A pipe his mouth; the lasses please his een,
And now and than his joke maun interveen.
GLAUD, JENNY _and_ PEGGY.
_Glaud._
I Wish, my bairns, it may keep fair till night;
Ye do not use sae soon to see the light.
Nae doubt now ye intend to mix the thrang,
To take your leave of Patrick or he gang.
But do ye think that now when he's a laird,
That he poor landwart lasses will regard?
_Jen._ Tho' he's young Master now, I'm very sure
He has mair sense than slight auld friends, tho' poor.
But yesterday he ga'e us mony a tug,
And kiss'd my cousin there frae lug to lug.
_Glaud._ Ay, ay, nae doubt o't, and he'll do't again;
But, be advis'd, his company refrain:
Before, he as a shepherd, sought a wife,
With her to live a chast and frugal life;
But now grown gentle, soon he will forsake
Sic godly thoughts, and brag of being a rake.
_Peg._ A rake! what's that?--Sure if it means ought ill,
He'll never be't, else I have tint my skill.
_Glaud._ Daft lassie, ye ken nought of the affair,
Ane young and good and gentle's unco rare.
A rake's a graceless spark, that thinks nae shame,
To do what like of us thinks sin to name:
Sic are sae void of shame, they'll never stap
To brag how aften they have had the clap.
They'll tempt young things, like you, with youdith flush'd,
Syne make ye a' their jest, when ye're debauched.
Be warry then, I say, and never gi'e
Encouragement, or bourd with sic as he.
_Peg._ Sir William's vertuous, and of gentle blood;
And may not Patrick too, like him, be good?
_Glaud._ That's true, and mony gentry mae than he,
As they are wiser, better are than we;
But thinner sawn: They're sae puft up with pride,
There's mony of them mocks ilk haly guide,
That shaws the gate to Heaven.--I've heard mysell,
Some of them laugh at doomsday, sin and hell.
_Jen._ Watch o'er us, father! heh! that's very odd;
Sure him that doubts a doomsday, doubts a God.
_Glaud._ Doubt! why, they neither doubt, nor judge, nor think,
Nor hope, nor fear; but curse, debauch and drink;
But I'm no saying this, as if I thought
That Patrick to sic gates will e'er be brought.
_Peg._ The Lord forbid! Na, he kens better things:
But here comes aunt; her face some ferly brings.
_Enter_ MADGE.
_Mad._ Haste, haste ye; we're a' sent for o'er the gate,
To hear, and help to redd some odd debate
'Tween Mause and Bauldy, 'bout some witchcraft spell,
At Symon's house: The Knight sits judge himsell.
_Glaud._ Lend me my staff;--Madge, lock the outer-door,
And bring the lasses wi' ye; I'll step before.
[_Exit_ GLAUD.
_Mad._ Poor Meg!--Look, Jenny, was the like e'er seen,
How bleer'd and red with greeting look her een?
This day her brankan wooer takes his horse,
To strute a gentle spark at Edinburgh cross;
To change his kent, cut frae the branchy plain,
For a nice sword, and glancing headed cane;
To leave his ram-horn spoons, and kitted whey,
For gentler tea, that smells like new won hay;
To leave the green-swaird dance, when we gae milk,
To rustle amang the beauties clad in silk.
But Meg, poor Meg! maun with the shepherd stay,
And tak what God will send, in hodden-gray.
_Peg._ Dear aunt, what need ye fash us wi' your scorn?
That's no my faut that I'm nae gentler born.
Gif I the daughter of some laird had been,
I ne'er had notic'd Patie on the green:
Now since he rises, why should I repine?
If he's made for another, he'll ne'er be mine:
And then, the like has been, if the decree
Designs him mine, I yet his wife may be.
_Mad._ A bonny story, trowth!--But we delay:
Prin up your aprons baith, and come away. [_Exeunt._
_ACT V.--SCENE III._
Sir William fills the twa-arm'd chair,
While Symon, Roger, Glaud and Mause,
Attend, and with loud laughter hear
Daft Bauldy bluntly plead his cause:
For now 'tis tell'd him that the taz
Was handled by revengefu' Madge,
Because he brak good breeding's laws,
And with his nonsense rais'd their rage.
SIR WILLIAM, PATIE, ROGER, SYMON, GLAUD, BAULDY _and_ MAUSE.
_Sir William._
And was that all?--Well, Bauldy, ye was serv'd
No otherwise than what ye well deserv'd.
Was it so small a matter, to defame,
And thus abuse an honest woman's name?
Besides your going about to have betray'd
By perjury an innocent young maid.
_Baul._ Sir, I confess my faut thro' a' the steps,
And ne'er again shall be untrue to Neps.
_Mause._ Thus far, Sir, he oblig'd me on the score;
I kend not that they thought me sic before.
_Baul._ An't like your Honour, I believ'd it well;
But trowth I was e'en doilt to seek the deil:
Yet, with your Honour's leave, tho' she's nae Witch,
She's baith a slee and a revengefu'----
And that my _Some-place_ finds;--but I had best
Had in my tongue; for yonder comes the _Ghaist_,
And the young bonny _Witch_, whase rosy cheek
Sent me, without my wit, the deil to seek.
_Enter_ MADGE, PEGGY _and_ JENNY.
_Sir Will._ [_looking at Peggy._] Whose daughter's she
that wears th' Aurora gown,
With face so fair, and locks a lovely brown?
How sparkling are her eyes! What's this! I find
The girl brings all my sister to my mind.
Such were the features once adorn'd a face,
Which death too soon depriv'd of sweetest grace.
Is this your daughter, Glaud?----
_Glaud._ ----Sir, she's my niece;--
And yet she's not:--but I should hald my peace.
_Sir Will._ This is a contradiction: What d'ye mean?
She is, and is not! Pray thee, Glaud, explain.
_Glaud._ Because I doubt, if I should make appear }
What I have kept a secret thirteen year. }
_Mause._ You may reveal what I can fully clear. }
_Sir Will._ Speak soon; I'm all impatience!--
_Pat._ ----So am I!
For much I hope, and hardly yet know why.
_Glaud._ Then, since my master orders, I obey.
This Bonny Fundling, ae clear morn of May,
Close by the lee-side of my door I found,
All sweet and clean, and carefully hapt round,
In infant-weeds of rich and gentle make.
What cou'd they be, thought I, did thee forsake?
Wha, warse than brutes, cou'd leave expos'd to air
Sae much of innocence sae sweetly fair,
Sae helpless young? for she appear'd to me
Only about twa towmands auld to be.
I took her in my arms, the bairnie smil'd
With sic a look wad made a savage mild.
I hid the story: She has pass'd sincesyne
As a poor orphan, and a niece of mine.
Nor do I rue my care about the we'an,
For she's well worth the pains that I have tane.
Ye see she's bonny, I can swear she's good,
And am right sure she's come of gentle blood:
Of whom I kenna.--Nathing ken I mair,
Than what I to your Honour now declare.
_Sir Will._ This tale seems strange!----
_Pat._ ----The tale delights my ear:
_Sir Will._ Command your joys, young man, till truth appear.
_Mause._ That be my task.--Now, Sir, bid all be hush:
Peggy may smile;--thou hast nae cause to blush.
Long have I wish'd to see this happy day,
That I might safely to the truth give way;
That I may now Sir William Worthy name,
The best and nearest friend that she can claim:
He saw't at first, and with quick eye did trace
His sister's beauty in her daughter's face.
_Sir Will._ Old woman, do not rave,--prove what you say;
'Tis dangerous in affairs like this to play.
_Pat._ What reason, Sir, can an old woman have
To tell a lie, when she's sae near her grave?
But how, or why, it should be truth, I grant,
I every thing looks like a reason want.
_Omnes._ The story's odd! we wish we heard it out.
_Sir Will._ Mak haste, good woman, and resolve each doubt.
[_Mause goes forward, leading Peggy to Sir William._]
_Mause._ Sir, view me well: Has fifteen years so plow'd
A wrinkled face that you have often view'd,
That here I as an unknown stranger stand, }
Who nurs'd her mother that now holds my hand? }
Yet stronger proofs I'll give, if you demand. }
_Sir Will._ Ha! honest nurse, where were my eyes before?
I know thy faithfulness, and need no more:
Yet, from the lab'rinth to lead out my mind,
Say, to expose her who was so unkind?
[_Sir William embraces Peggy, and makes her sit by him._]
Yes, surely thou'rt my niece; truth must prevail:
But no more words, till Mause relate her tale.
_Pat._ Good nurse, go on; nae musick's haff sae fine,
Or can give pleasure like these words of thine.
_Mause._ Then, it was I that sav'd her infant-life,
Her death being threatned by an uncle's wife.
The story's lang; but I the secret knew,
How they pursu'd, with avaritious view,
Her rich estate, of which they're now possest:
All this to me a confident confest.
I heard with horror, and with trembling dread,
They'd smoor the sakeless orphan in her bed!
That very night, when all were sunk in rest,
At midnight hour, the floor I saftly prest,
And staw the sleeping innocent away;
With whom I travel'd some few miles ere day:
All day I hid me,--when the day was done,
I kept my journey, lighted by the moon,
Till eastward fifty miles I reach'd these plains,
Where needful plenty glads your chearful swains;
Afraid of being found out, I to secure
My Charge, e'en laid her at this shepherd's door,
And took a neighbouring cottage here, that I,
Whate'er should happen to her, might be by.
Here honest Glaud himsell, and Symon may
Remember well, how I that very day
Frae Roger's father took my little crove.
_Glaud._ [_with tears of joy happing down his beard._]
I well remember't. Lord reward your love:
Lang have I wish'd for this; for aft I thought,
Sic knowledge sometime should about be brought.
_Pat._ 'Tis now a crime to doubt,--my joys are full,
With due obedience to my parent's will.
Sir, with paternal love survey her charms,
And blame me not for rushing to her arms.
She's mine by vows; and would, tho' still unknown,
Have been my wife, when I my vows durst own.
_Sir Will._ My niece! my daughter! welcome to my care,
Sweet image of thy mother good and fair,
Equal with Patrick: Now my greatest aim
Shall be, to aid your joys, and well match'd flame.
My boy, receive her from your father's hand,
With as good will as either would demand.
[_Patie and Peggy embrace, and kneel to Sir William._]
_Pat._ With as much joy this blessing I receive,
As ane wad life, that's sinking in a wave.
_Sir Will._ [_raises them._] I give you both my blessing: may your
love
Produce a happy race, and still improve.
_Peg._ My wishes are compleat,--my joys arise,
While I'm haff dizzy with the blest surprise.
And am I then a match for my ain lad,
That for me so much generous kindness had?
Lang may Sir William bless these happy plains,
Happy while Heaven grant he on them remains.
_Pat._ Be lang our guardian, still our Master be; }
We'll only crave what you shall please to gi'e: }
The estate be your's, my Peggy's ane to me. }
_Glaud._ I hope your Honour now will take amends
Of them that sought her life for wicked ends.
_Sir Will._ The base unnatural villain soon shall know,
That eyes above watch the affairs below.
I'll strip him soon of all to her pertains,
And make him reimburse his ill got gains.
_Peg._ To me the views of wealth and an estate,
Seem light when put in ballance with my Pate:
For his sake only, I'll ay thankful bow
For such a kindness, _best of men_, to you.
_Sym._ What double blythness wakens up this day!
I hope now, Sir, you'll no soon haste away.
Sall I unsadle your horse, and gar prepare
A dinner for ye of hale country fare?
See how much joy unwrinkles every brow;
Our looks hing on the twa, and doat on you:
Even Bauldy the bewitch'd has quite forgot
Fell Madge's taz, and pawky Mause's plot.
_Sir Will._ Kindly old man, remain with you this day!
I never from these fields again will stray:
Masons and wrights shall soon my house repair,
And bussy gardners shall new planting rear:
My father's hearty table you soon shall see
Restor'd, and my best friends rejoice with me.
_Sym._ That's the best news I heard this twenty year;
New day breaks up, rough times begin to clear.
_Glaud._ God save the King, and save Sir William lang,
To enjoy their ain, and raise the shepherd's sang.
_Rog._ Wha winna dance? wha will refuse to sing?
What shepherd's whistle winna lilt the spring?
_Baul._ I'm friends with Mause,--with very Madge I'm 'greed,
Altho' they skelpit me when woodly fleid:
I'm now fu' blyth, and frankly can forgive,
To join and sing, "Lang may Sir William live."
_Mad._ Lang may he live:--And, Bauldy, learn to steek
Your gab a wee, and think before ye speak;
And never ca' her auld that wants a man,
Else ye may yet some witches' fingers ban.
This day I'll wi' the youngest of ye rant,
And brag for ay, that I was ca'd the aunt
Of our young lady,--my dear bonny bairn!
_Peg._ No other name I'll ever for you learn.--
And, my good nurse, how shall I gratefu' be,
For a' thy matchless kindness done for me?
_Mause._ The flowing pleasures of this happy day
Does fully all I can require repay.
_Sir Will._ To faithful Symon, and, kind Glaud, to you, }
And to your heirs I give in endless feu, }
The mailens ye possess, as justly due, }
For acting like kind fathers to the pair,
Who have enough besides, and these can spare.
Mause, in my house in calmness close your days,
With nought to do, but sing your Maker's praise.
_Omnes._ The Lord of Heaven return your Honour's love,
Confirm your joys, and a' your blessings roove.
_Patie_, [_presenting Roger to Sir William._] Sir, here's my trusty
friend, that always shar'd
My bosom-secrets, ere I was a laird;
Glaud's daughter Janet (Jenny, thinkna shame)
Rais'd, and maintains in him a lover's flame:
Lang was he dumb, at last he spake, and won,
And hopes to be our honest uncle's son:
Be pleas'd to speak to Glaud for his consent,
That nane may wear a face of discontent.
_Sir Will._ My son's demand is fair,--
Glaud, let me crave, That trusty
Roger may your daughter have,
With frank consent; and while he does remain
Upon these fields, I make him chamberlain.