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O Patie ! let me gang ; I mauna stay ; We're baith cryed hame, and Jenny she's away.
I'm laith to part sae soon! Now we're alane ; And Roger he's away with Jenny gane ; They ’re as content, for aught I hear or see, To be alane themselves, I judge, as we. Here, where primroses thickest paint the green, Hard by this little burnie let us lean. Hark how the lav'rocks chant aboon our heads ; How saft the westlin winds sough through the reeds !
I'm sure I canna change ; ye needna fear, Though we're but young, I've looed ye mony a year. I mind it weel, when thou could'st hardly gang, Or lisp out words, I choosed thee 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 delight To pou the rashes green, with roots sae white, Of which, as well as my young fancy cou'd, For thee I plet the flow'ry belt and snood.
When first thou gade with shepherds to the hill, And I to milk the ewes first tryed my skill, To bear a leglin was nae toil to me, When at the bught at e'en I met with thee.
The scented meadows, birds, and healthy breeze, For aught I ken, may mair than Peggy please.
When corns grew yellow, and the heatherbells Bloomed bonny on the moor and rising fells, Nae birns, or briers, or whins e'er troubled me, Gif I could find blae-berries ripe for thee.
Ye wrang me sair, to doubt my being kind ! In speaking sae, ye ca' me dull and blind, Gif I cou'd fancy aught's sae sweet or fair As my sweet Meg, or worthy of my care. Thy breath is sweeter than the sweetest brier ; Thy cheek and breast the finest flow'rs appear ; Thy words excel the maist delightfu' notes That warble through the merle 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.
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.
PEGGY. But Patrick for some wicked end may fleech ; And lambs should tremble when the foxes preach. I darna stay ; ye joker, let me gang ; Or swear ye'll never 'tempt to do me wrang.1
Jenny sings saft the ‘Broom of Cowdenknows ;' And Rosie lilts the 'Milking of the Ewes ;' There's nane like Nancy · Jenny Nettles' sings ; At turns in Maggy Lawder' Marion dings; But when my Peggy sings, with sweeter skill, "The Boatman,' 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!
Sooner a mother shall her fondness drap, And wrang the bairn sits smiling in her lap; The sun shall change, the moon to change shall cease; The gaits to climb, the sheep to yield the fleece, Ere aught by me be either said or doon, Shall do thee wrang! - I swear by all aboon !
PEGGY How eith can lasses trow what we desire ! And, rees'd by them we love, blaws up the 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.
TUNE. -'Winter was cauld, and my claithing was thin.
This fool imagines, --- as do many sic,
I'll tell them tales will gar them a' sing dumb.' 1 The edition of 1808 reads :
I darena stay ; ye joker, let me gang ;
When first my dear laddie gade to the green hill,
When thou ran, or wrestled or putted the stane,
But gin they hing o'er lang upon the tree,
Our Jenny sings saftly the “Cowden broom knows;' And Rosie lilts swiftly the Milking the Ewes ;' There's few 'Jenny Nettles' like Nancy can sing ; At Throw the wood, laddie,' Bess gars our lugs ring;
PEGGY (falling 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 waist). 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'
But when my dear Peggy sings, with better skill, « The Boatman,' “Tweed-side,' or 'The Lass of the 'T is mony times sweeter and pleasing to me; (Mill,' For though they sing nicely, they canna like thee!
SUNG BY BOTI.
And let them ferly ! - Now a kindly kiss, Or fivescore 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.
Sing first ; syne claim your hyre.
Well, I agree !
SIR WILLIAM solus. The gentleman thus hid in low disguise, I'll for a space, unknown, delight mine eyes With a full view of ev'ry fertile plain, Which once I lost, which now are mine again. Yet, 'midst my joy, some prospects pain renew, Whilst I my once fair seat in ruins view. Yonder, ah me! it desolately stands, – Without a roof; the gates fall’n from their bands; The casements all broke down ; no chimney left ; The naked walls of tapestry all bereft. My stables and pavilions, broken walls, That with each rainy blast decaying falls ; My gardens once adorned the most complete, With all that nature, all that art makes sweet ; Where round the figured green and pebble-walks The dewy flow'rs hung nodding on their stalks ;
To its awn tune.
By the delicious warmness of thy mouth,
guess, my lassie, that, as well as I, Ye're made for love, and why should ye deny ?
But overgrown with nettles, docks, and brier,
'T is Symon's house, please to step in,
And visy 't round and round ; spread,
There's naught superfluous to give pain, Basking in rays, and early did produce
Or costly to be found.
Yet, all is clean ; a clear peat ingle Fruit fair to view, delightful to the use.
Glances amidst the floor ; All round in gaps the walls in ruin lye,
The green horn-spoons, beech-luggies mingle,
On skelfs forgainst the door. And from what stands the withered branches fly.
While the young brood sport on the green, These soon shall be repaired :— and now my joy
The auld anes think it best
With the brown cow to clear their een,
Snuff, crack, and take their rest.
SYMON, GLAUD, AND ELSPA.
We anes were young oursells !- I like to see And charged him strictly to conceal his birth,
The bairns bob round with other merrylie. Till we should see what changing times brought Troth, Symon, Patie's grown a strapan lad, forth.
And better looks than his I never bade! Hid from himself, he starts up by the dawn,
Amang our lads he bears the gree awa',
And tells his tale the clev'rest of them a'.
Poor man! he's a great comfort to us baith. Removed from crowns, and courts, how cheerfully,
God make him good, and hide him aye frae skaith ! A calm, contented mortal spends his time,
He is a bairn, - I'll say't, — well-worth our care, In hearty health, his soul unstained with crime ! That gao us ne'er vexation late or air.
I trow, good wife, if I be not mistane,
ye well ken ; a bonnyer needna be,
TUNE. — Happy Clown.'
After his bleating flocks.
Like courtly weathercocks.
Life happy, from ambition free,
Unsullied with a crime :
Contented spends his time,
Ha, Glaud, I doubt that ne'er will be a match !
Now tow'rds good Symon's house I 'll bend my way,
[Exit.] 1 The edition of 1808 reads here :
No jaccacinths or eglantines appear.
Or this day eight days, likely, he shall learn, That our denial disna slight his bairn.
We'll nao mair o't? - Come, gies the other bend, We'll drink their healths, whatever may it end.
[Their healths gae round.]
That's kind unsought!-Well, gin ye have a bairn That ye like well, and wad his fortune learn, I shall employ the furthest of my skill To spae it faithfully, be't good or ill.
SYMON (pointing to Patie). Only that lad.
Alack! I have nae mae, Either to make me joyful now or wae.
He'll soon grow better. – Elspa, haste ye, gae And fill him up a tass of usquebæ.
SIR WILLIAM (starts up and speaks).
Against a herd of bears,
In which some thousands shares :
And joy spreads o'er the plain;
The knight returns again.
A shepherd frae the fauld,
A subject true and bauld ;
Young man, let's see your hand. - What gars yo
Because your skill's but little worth, I fear.
Ye cut before the point !- But, billy, bide, I'll wager there's a mouse-mark on your side.
Howe'er I get them never fash your beard ;
Dear Jenny, I wad speak t'ye, wad ye let ; Nor come I to redd fortunes for reward ;
And yet I ergh, ye 're ay sae scornfu' set.
And what would Roger say, if he could speak ?
Am I obliged to guess what ye’re to seek?
Yes, ye may guess right eith for what I grein, The wimpled meaning of your unco tale,
Baith by my service, sighs, and langing een ; Whilk soon will mak a noise o'er moor and dale.
And I maun out wi't, tho' I risk your scorn,
Ye're never frae my thoughts baith e'en and moru.
And wha kens, honest lad, but that I may ?
Ye canna say that e'er I said ye nay.
Alake ! my frighted heart begins to fail,
Whene'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 lie. Well, bo't sae, friend !-- I shall say nathing mair. But I've twa sonsy lasses, young and fair,
I looo my father, cousin Meg I love ; Plump, ripe for men : I wish ye cou'd foresee
But to this day nae man my heart cou'd move. Sic fortunes for them might bring joy to me.
Except my kin, ilk lad 's alike to me,
And frae ye a' I best had keep me free.
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 mo?
Ye have my pity else, to see you set
On that whilk makes our sweetness soon forget. Delay a while your hospitable care ;
Wow ! but we're bonny, good, and everything! I'd rather enjoy this evening calm and fair,
How sweet we breathe whene'er we kiss or sing ! Around yon ruined tower to fetch a walk,
But we're nae sooner fools to give consent, With you, kind friend, to have some private talk. Than we our daffin and tint power repent ;
When prisoned in four wa's, a wife right tame, Soon as you please I'll answer your desire :
Altho' the first, the greatest drudge at hame.
That only happens when for sake of gear
Ane wales a wife, as he would buy a mare ;
Or when dull parents bairns together bind I'll out a while, and see the young anes play ; Of different tempers, that can ne'er prove kind ; My heart's still light, albeit my locks be gray. But love, true downright love, engages me,
[Ereunt. ] | Tho' thou should scorn, still to delight in thee.