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 gla.s.ses 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 pa.s.s 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 h.e.l.l, 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 Plotc.o.c.k 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 la.s.ses 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 poort.i.th 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 b.u.t.ter 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.