ALLAN EAMSAY. 101

" Harmonious pipe, how I envye thy bliss, worth." During the poet's latter years much When to with kiss! press'd Sylphia's lips gentle of his time was spent at Pennycuik House, and And when her tender fingers round thee move at his death its master erected at his beautiful In soft embrace, I listen and approve seat an obelisk to Those melting notes, which soothe my soul to love. family Ramsay's memory. Embalm'd with odours from her breath that flow, Sir John by his second wife had seven sons Fou music when she's to yield your pleased blow; and six daughters. One of the former was And thus at once the fair charming lovely the author of the well-known work on Naval Delights with sounds, with sweets perfumes the air. Tactics, and father of the eccentric Lord Go, happy pipe, and ever mindful be Eldin, To court the charming Sylphia for me; one of Scotland's most eminent lawyers. Sir Tell all I feel you cannot tell too much John died at Pennycuik, October 4, 1755. Repeat my love at each soft melting touch; His extremely humorous and popular song of Since I to her my liberty resign, Take thou the care to tune her heart to mine." "The Miller" first appeared in the second volume of Yair's Charmer, published at Edin- It was to this lady that Allan Ramsay, in burgh four years before Sir John's death; and " 1726, dedicated his Gentle Shepherd." The since that date it has been included in almost baronet was one of Ramsay's warmest friends, all collections of Scottish song. The first verse " who admired his genius and knew his belongs to an older and an anonymous hand.

THE MILLER.

Merry may the maid be A good fat sow, a sleeky cow That marries the miller, Was standin' in the byre; For foul day and fair day While lazy puss with mealy mou' He's till her fire. aye bringing ; Was playing at the Has aye a penny in his purse Good are mither For dinner and for supper; signs these, my says, And bids me tak' the miller, And gin she please, a good fat cheese, For foul and fair And lumps of yellow butter. day day till her He's aye bringing ; When Jamie first did woo me, For meal and malt she does na want, I speir'd what was his calling; Nor anything that's dainty; Fair maid, says he, come and see, And noo and then a keckling hen Ye're welcome to my dwalling: To lay her eggs in plenty. Though I was shy, yet I cou'd spy In winter when the wind and rain The truth of what he told me, Blaws o'er the house and And that his house was warm and couth, byre, sits beside a clean hearth stane And room in it to hold me. He Before a rousing fire, Behind the door a bag of meal, With nut-brown ale he lilts his tale, And in the kist was plenty Which rows him o'er fu' happy: Of good hard cakes his mither bakes, Who'd be a king a petty thing, And bannocks were na scanty; When a miller lives so happy]

ALLAN EAMSAY.

BORN 1686 DIED 1757.

ALLAN RAMSAY, the restorer of Scottish by the father's side from the Ramsays of Dal- poetry, was born Oct. 15, 1686, in the village housie, a genealogy of which he speaks in one Leadhills, Lanarkshire. He was descended of his pieces with conscious pride: 102 ALLAN KAMSAY.

" Dalhousie, of an auld descent were in which found " they composed, shape they My chief, my stouj>e, and ornament ! a ready sale, the citizens being in the habit His father, John Ramsay, was superintendent of sending their children with a penny for of Lord Hopetoun's mines at Leadhills; and "Allan Ramsay's last piece." In 1720 he his mother, Alice Bowel's, was the daughter opened a subscription for a collection of his of a gentleman of Derbyshire, who had been poems in a quarto volume, and the liberal invited to Leadhills to assist by his skill in manner in which it was immediately filled up the introduction of some improvements in the by "all who were either eminent or fair in art of mining. Allan, while yet an infant, Scotland" affords a striking proof of the esteem lost his fathei; who died at the early age of in which the whilom wig-maker was now held. twenty-five. His mother soon after married The volume, which cleared him 400 guineas, a Mr. Crichton, a small landholder in Lanark- closed with an address by the author to his shire. He was sent to the village school, book after the manner of Horace, in which he where he acquired learning enough, as he tells thus boldly speaks of his hopes: us, to read Horace "faintly in the original." ' ' Gae spread my fame, In the year 1700 he lost his mother, and his And fix me an immortal name ; was not in that step-father long discovering Ages to come shall thee revive, he was old enough to take care of himself. And gar thee with new honours live. The future I He took Allan to Edinburgh, and apprenticed critics, foresee, Shall have their notes on notes on thee him to a an which ; wig-maker, occupation The wits unborn shall beauties find most of his are anxious to biographers very That never entered in my mind." distinguish from a barber. The vocation of a " skull-thacker," as Ramsay humorously calls In 1724 the poet published the first volume collection of it, would appear not to have been so uncon- of the Tea-table Miscellany, a genial as his biographers would have us songs Scottish and English, which was speedily believe, as it is certain that he did not abandon followed by a second; a third volume appeared it when his apprenticeship ceased, but followed in 1727, and a fourth after another interval. it for many years after. In the parish registers This publication acquired him more profit he is called a wig-maker down to 1716. Four than lasting fame, passing through no less years previous to this he married Christian than twelve editions in a few years. This was

Ross, a writer's daughter, with whom he lived followed by "The Evergreen : being a Collection most happily for a period of thirty years. of Scots Poems, wrote by the Ingenious before The earliest of his poems which can now be 1600," in two volumes. This work did him " traced is an epistle addressed in 1712 To the even less credit as an editor than the Tea- Most Happy Members of the Easy Club," a table Miscellany had done. Lord Hailes says convivial society, of which in 1715 he was with truth that he took great liberty with appointed poet-laureate; but it was soon after the originals, omitting some stanzas and add- others at the same time broken up by the Rebellion. In 1716 Ramsay ing ; modernizing published an edition of James I.'s poem of the versification, and varying the ancient "Christ's Kirk on the Green," with a second manner of spelling. Ramsay availed himself canto by himself, to which, two years after, of the opportunity of concealment afforded by he added a third. The wit, fancy, and perfect this publication to give expression in a poem mastery of the Scottish language which his of pretended antiquity, and with a feigned additions to the king's poem displayed, greatly signature, to those Jacobite feelings which extended his reputation as a poet. Abandon- prudence led him to conceal. It was called ing his original occupation, he entered upon "The Vision," and said to be "compylit in the more congenial business of bookselling. Latin be a most lernit clerk in tyme of our His first shop was "at the sign of the Mercury, hairship and opression, anno 1300, and trans- " opposite to Niddry's Wynd, Edinburgh. Here latit in 1524." The pretended subject was the he appears to have represented the threefold "history of the Scots' sufferings by the character of author, editor, and bookseller. unworthy condescension of Baliol to Edward I. His poems were printed on single sheets as of England till they recovered their indepen- DRAM SAY* ALLAN KAMSAY. 103

dence by the conduct and valour of the Great Chronicle of Scottish Poetry, by whose exe- Bruce." For the period of Edward I. substi- cutors it was sold in 1806, and has since that tute that of George I., and for "the Great time been broken up and disposed of by auction. " Bruce" the Pretender, and the object of the Here," says one of Ramsay's biographers, " poem will stand revealed. "The Vision" is he sold and lent books to a late period of a production of great power; in it the genius his life; here the wits of Edinburgh used to of Scotland is drawn with a touch of the old meet for their amusement and for information; heroic muse: and here Gay, a congenial poet ("a little man with a Mr. "Great daring darted frae his e'e, pleasant tye wig," says Tytler), A braidsword shogled at his thie, was wont to look out upon the Exchange in

Ou his left arm a ; targe Edinburgh, to know persons and ascertain A filled his shining spear right hand, characters." Allan was now a famous and In stalwart make in bane and bravvnd, prosperous man. His society was courted Of just proportions large ; by A various rainbow-coloured plaid the nobility and literati of Edinburgh, and he Ower his left he threw spaul ; was on familiar terms with contemporary poets Doun his braid back, frae his white head, the Hamiltons of Bangour and Gilbertfield, The silver wimplers grew. and others. His afterwards a dis- Amazed I gazed Gay, son, To see, led at his command, tinguished painter, he sent to Rome for in- A and stampant rampant struction in his profession. Fierce lion in his hand." About this time the bard appeared with Ramsay's next publication at once estab- another volume of poems, followed in 1730 by " lished his reputation upon an enduring foun- his Thirty Fables/' undoubtedly the best of dation. The "Gentle Shepherd," a pastoral his minor productions. Among them is "The comedy in five acts, the best poem of its kind, Monk and the Miller's Wife," a story which, perhaps,in any language, was published in 1725. though previously told by Dunbar, "would of Its success was immediate and unprecedented; itself," as it has been remarked, "be Ram- " edition followed edition, and in a few years say's passport to immortality as a poet. With it was known to every admirer of poetry in these he seems to have concluded his poetic Great Britain, and was a fireside companion labours, presenting in this another instance of of almost every cottager in Scotland. The his characteristic prudence. In a letter to his popularity of Gay's "Beggar's Opera" induced friend Smibert the painter he says, "I e'en Ramsay to print a new edition of the "Gentle gave over in good time, before the coolness of Shepherd," with songs interspersed, adapted fancy that attends advanced years should to Scottish airs, and these it has ever since make me risk the reputation I had acquired." retained. The original manuscript of the An edition of his poems was published in Lon- "Gentle Shepherd" was recently purchased for don in 1731, and another appeared in London thirty-one guineas by William Chambers of in 1733. Three years later his passion for the Glenormiston. The text varies in many in- drama and his enterprising spirit prompted stances from that of the printed copies, and him to erect a new theatre; but in the follow- presents some curious readings. Ramsay, like ing year, 1737, the act for licensing the stage Burns, was a careful corrector, but not always was passed, and the magistrates ordered the with equal taste or judgment. It is to be house to be shut up. By this speculation he hoped that Mr. Chambers will publish this lost considerably, and it is remarked by his first draft as a literary and national object of biographers that this was the only unfortunate interest. project in which he ever engaged. In 1726 Ramsay removed to a house in the In 1743 the poet lost his wife, who was High Street, and instead of Mercury adopted buried in the Grayfriars' Churchyard; but his for his sign the heads of Ben Jonson and Drum- three daughters, grown to womanhood, in mond of Hawthornden. Here Ramsay collected some measure supplied her place. It appears the first circulating library opened in Scotland. to have been about this period, and with the After his death it passed into the hands of view of relinquishing business, which still James Sibbald, editor of the well-known went on prosperously, that he erected a house 104 ALLAN EAMSAY. on the north side of Castle Hill, where he is one of the "green and sunny spots" in the of his in might spend remainder days dig- literary biography. He was one of the poets site with to nified retirement. The was selected whom, in a pecuniary point of view, poetry the taste of a poet and the judgment of a had been really a blessing, and who could com- painter. It commanded a view probably not bine poetic pursuits with those of an ordinary surpassed in Scotland, or indeed in Europe, business. He possessed that turn of mind the Forth the which it is extending from the mouth of on Hume says more happy to possess east to the Grampians on the west, and stretch- than to be born to an estate of ten thousand a ing away across the green hills of Fifeshire to year a disposition always to see the favour-

' ' the north embracing every variety of beauty, able side of things. The merits of the Gentle of elegance, and of grandeur. The view is Shepherd" are of the highest order, and will now intercepted by the houses of the new carry Ramsay's name down through the com- town. The situation did more credit to the ing centuries. It was his hope that he might " poet's taste than the octagon-shaped house be classed with Tasso and Guarini," and the which he built and called Ramsay Lodge, and station is one which posterity has not denied which, from its peculiar form, was compared to the Edinburgh bookseller. Ramsay thought by some of the wags of the city to a goose-pie. highly of his "Fables," which are little, if at The poet complaining one day of this to Lord all, inferior to his comedy, evincing great skill Elibank, his lordship gayly remarked, that in story-telling, and abounding in point and now seeing him in it he thought it an exceed- humour. As a song-writer he has many supe- ingly apt comparison! Fantastic though the riors, although some of his lyrics are justly house was, Ramsay spent the last twelve years admired, and enjoy a great degree of popu- of his life in it, except when he was abroad larity. "Bessie Bell and Mary Gray" and with his friends, in a state of philosophic ease the "Yellow-haired Laddie" are both beauti- which few literary men are able to attain. ful productions; "Lochaber no more" is a He seems, however, not to have abandoned his strain of manly feeling and unaffected pathos; business until 1755, an event which he did not and the "Lass of Patie's Mill" an exquisite long survive. An epistle which he wrote this composition. A noble marble statue of Ram- year, "full of wise saws and modern instances," say, at whose lamp Burns lighted his brilliant gives his determination on the subject, and a torch, has been erected in Princes Street Gar- more graphic picture of himself than could be dens, Edinburgh, near those of his brother drawn by any other person : poets Sir Walter Scott and John Wilson. " The readers of this sketch of Ramsay, next to Tho' born to no ae inch of ground, Burns the most national of I keep my conscience white and sound; distinguished poet And though I ne'er was a rich keeper, Scotland, may be interested in knowing that To make that I live the up cheaper; the poet's son Allan attained considerable emi- By this ae knack I've made a shift nence as an artist, and in 1767 was appointed To drive ambitious care adrift; to the and He And now in years and sense grown auld. portrait-painter king queen. In ease I like my limbs to fauld. corresponded with Voltaire and Rousseau, both Debts I and to be abhor, plan of whom he visited when abroad; and his From shackling trade and dangers free; letters are said to have been elegant and witty. That I may, loosed frae care and strife, in "remarks Allan With calmness view the edge of life; "Ramsay, short, Cunning- And when a full ripe age shall crave, ham, "led the life of an elegant accomplished Slide into " easily my grave; man of the world and public favourite. He Now seventy years are o'er my head, was frequently of Dr. Johnson's parties, who And thirty more may lay me dead." said of him, "You will not find a man in Ramsay died at Edinburgh, January 7, 1757, whose conversation there is more instruction, in the seventy-third year of his age. He was more information and elegance, than in Ram- buried by the side of his wife, and with him say's." He died in 1784. John Ramsay, a for a time was buried Scottish poetry, there son of the painter, and grandson of the poet, not being a single poet in Scotland to sing a entered the British army, and rose to the rank requiem over the grave of the bard whose life of major-general. ALLAN RAMSAY. 105

THE GENTLE SHEPHERD. 1

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

SIR WILLIAM WORTHY. PEGGY, thought to be Glaud's niece. PATIE, the Gentle Shepherd, in love with Peggy. JENNY, Glaud's only daughter. R( H ; KR, a rick young Shepherd, in love with Jenny. MAUSE, an old woman, supposed to be a Witch. SYMON, \ ELSPA, Symon's wife. twQ M Sfiepherdg tenants to Sir William. GLAUD, ) MADGE, Glaud's sister. BAULDY, a Hind, engaged with Neps.

SCENE. A Shepherd's Village and Fields, some few miles from Edinburgh. Time of action within twenty-four hours.

My Peggy smiles sae kindly, ACT FIRST. SCENE I. It mak's me blyth an' bauld, An' naething gie's me sic delight Beneath the south side of a craigy bield, As wawking o' the fauld. Where crystal springs their halesome waters yield, Twa youthfu' on the shepherds gowans lay, sae Tenting their flocks ae bonnie morn of May. My Peggy sings saftly on I Poor Roger granes, till hollow echoes ring; When my pipe play, But blyther Patie likes to laugh an' sing. By a' the rest it is confest, By a' the rest, that she sings best. PATIE and KOGER. My Peggy sings sae saftly, SANG I. An' in her sangs are tauld, " Wi' the wale o' Tune The wawking o' the faulds." innocence, sense, At wawking o' the fauld. Patie.

My Peggy is a young thing, Pat. This sunny morn, Roger, cheers my blood, Just entered in her teens, An' puts a' nature in a jovial mood. Fair as an' 'tis the day, sweet as May, How heartsome to see the rising plants ! Fair as the day, an' always gay. To hear the birds chirm o'er their pleasing rants! My Peggy is a young thing, How halesome it's to snuff the cauler air, An' I'm no very auld, An' a' the sweets it bears, when void o' care! Yet weel I like to meet her What ails thee, Roger, then? what gars thee grane? At the wawking o' the fauld. Tell me the cause o' thy ill-seasoned pain.

Rog. I'm born, Patie, to a thrawart fate ! sae My Peggy speaks sweetly I'm born to strive wi' hardships sad an' great. Whene'er we meet alane, Tempests may cease to jaw the rowin' flood, I wish nae mair to lay my care, Corbies an' tods to grien for lambkins' blood; I wish nae mair o' a' that's rare. But I, opprest wi' never-ending grief, sae My Peggy speaks sweetly, Maun ay despair o' lighting on relief. To a' the lave I'm cauld, Pat. The bees shall loth the flower, an' quit But she a' gars my spirits glow, the hive, At o' the fauld. wawking The saughs on boggy ground shall cease to thrive, Ere scornfu' or loss o' gear, smiles queans, warldly My Peggy sae kindly 1 Shah spill my rest, or ever force a tear. Whene'er I whisper love, Rog. Sae might I say; but it's no easy done That I look down on a' the town, By ane whase saul's sae sadly out o' tune. That I look down upon a crown. You ha'e sae saft a voice, and slid a tongue, That the o' baith auld an' 1 you're darling young. Burns, with somewhat too much extravagance, pro- If I but ettle at a sang, or speak, nounced the "Gentle "the most Shepherd" glorious dit their their ever They lugs, syne up leglens cleek; poem written;" and Professor Wilson has said, An' jeer me hameward frae the lone or bught, "Theocritus was a pleasant pastoral, and 'Sicilia' sees While I'm confused wi' mony a vexing thought. him among the stars. But all his dear idyls together are ' Yet I am tall, an' as well built as thee, not equal in worth to the single Gentle Shepherd."' Nor mair to a lass's e'e. Thomas Campbell remarked, "Like the poetry of Tasso unlikely ' For ilka I'll number and Ariosto, that of the Gentle Shepherd* is engraven sheep ye ha'e, ten, on the memory of its native country. Its verses have An' should, as ane may think, come farer ben. passed into proverbs, and it continues to be the delight Pat. But aiblins, neibour, ye ha'e not a heart, and solace of the peasantry whom it describes." ED. An' downie eithly wi' your cunzie part. 106 ALLAN RAMSAY.

If that be true, what signifies your gear? Pat. E'en do sae, Roger; wha can help misluck, A mind that's scrimpit never wants some care. Saebiens she be sic a thrawn-gabbit chuck ? Roy. My byre tumbled, nine braw nowt were Yonder's a craig; since ye ha'e tint a' houp, smoored, Gae till't your ways, an' tak' the lover's loup. elf-shot I ills I sic Three were, yet these endured: Rog. need na mak' speed my blood to spill, In winter last my cares were very sma', I'll warrant death come soon eneugh a-will. Though scores o' wathers perished in the snaw. Pat. Daft gowk! leave aff that silly whinging Pat. Were your bien rooms as thinly stock'd way; as mine, Seem careless, there's my hand ye'll win the day. Less you wad loss, and less you wad repine. Hear how I serv'd my lass I lo'e as weel He that has just enough can soundly sleep: As ye do Jenny, an' wi' heart as leal. The o'ercome only fashes fouk to keep. Last morning I was gye an' early out, Rog. May plenty flow upon thee for a cross, Upon a dyke I lean'd glow'ring about; That thou may'st thole the pangs o' mony a loss! I saw my Meg come linkin' o'er the lee; may'st thou dote on some fair paughty wench, I saw my Meg, but Meggy saw no me; That ne'er will lowt thy lowan drowth to quench, For yet the sun was wading through the mist, Till, bris'd beneath the burden, thou cry dool, An' she was closs upon me ere she wist. An' own that ane may fret that is nae fool ! Her coats were kiltit, an' did sweetly shaw Pat. Sax good fat lambs, I said them ilka clute Her straight bare legs, that whiter were than snaw. At the "West-port, an' bought a winsome flute, Her cockernony snooded up fu' sleek, 0' plum-tree made, wi' ivory virls round; Her haffet-locks hang wavin' on her cheek; A dainty whistle, wi' a pleasant sound: Her cheeks sae ruddy, an' her een sae clear; I'll be mair cantie wi't, an' ne'er cry dool, An' oh! her mouth's like ony hinny pear. Than you, wi' a' your cash, ye dowie fool ! Neat, neat she was, in bustine waistcoat clean, Rog. Na, Patie, na! I'm nae sic churlish beast, As she came skiffin' o'er the dewy green. Some other thing lies heavier at my breast: Blythsome, I cried, "My bonny Meg, come here, 1 dream'd a dreary dream this hinder night, I ferly wherefore ye 're sae soon asteer; That gars my flesh a' creep yet wi' the fright. But I can guess, ye're gawn to gather dew." '* Pat. Now, to a friend, how silly's this pretence, She scoured awa, an' said, "What's that to you ? 1 ' To ane wha you an' a' your secrets kens ! Than fare ye weel, Meg Dorts, an' e'en's ye like," Daft are your dreams, as daftly wad ye hide I careless cried, an' lap in o'er the dyke. Your weel-seen love, and dorty Jenny's pride: I trow, when that she saw, within a crack, Tak' courage, Roger, me your sorrows tell, She came wi' a right thieveless errand back; An' think safely nane kens them but yoursel. Misca'd me first, then bade me hound my dog, Rog. Indeed now, Patie, ye hae guessed owre To wear up three waff ewes strayed on the bog. true, I leugh, an sae did she: then wi' great haste An' there is naething I'll keep up frae you; I clasp'd my arms about her neck an' waist; Me dorty Jenny looks upon asquint, About her yielding waist, an' took a fouth To speak but till her I dare hardly mint. 0' sweetest kisses frae her glowing mouth. In ilka place she jeers me air an' late, While hard an' fast I held her in my grips, An' look an' gars me bombazed, unco blate. My very saul came lowping to my lips. But yesterday I met her yont a knowe, Sair, sair she flate wi' me 'tween ilka smack, She fled as frae a shelly-coated cow: But weel I ken'd she meant no as she spak'. She Bauldy lo'es, Bauldy that drives the car, Dear Roger, when your joe puts on her gloom, But geeks at me, an' says I smell o' tar. Do ye sae too, an' never fash your thumb. Pat. But Bauldy loes no her, right weel I wat; Seem to forsake her, soon she'll change her mood;.

He sighs for Neps : sae that may stand for that. Gae woo anither, an' she'll gang clean wood. Rog. I wish I cou'dna lo'e her but, in vain, SANG II. I still maun do't, an' thole her proud disdain. is a cur I " My Bawty dearly like, Tune Fy gar rub her o'er wi' strae." E'en while f strak the he awn'd, she poor dumb tyke ; If I had filled a nook within her breast, Dear Roger, if your Jenny geek, She wad ha'e shawn mair kindness to my beast. An' answer kindness wi' a slight, When I begin to tune my stock an' horn, Seem unconcern'd at her neglect; Wi' a' her face she shaws a cauldrife scorn. For women in a man delight, wha's soon Last night I p.nyed (ye never heard sic spite), But them despise defeat, " face O'er Bogie" was the spring, an' her delyte; An' wi' a simple gi'es way nae Yet, tauntingly, she at her cousin speer'd, To a repulse; then be blate, win the Gif she could tell what tune I play'd, an' sneer'd. Push bauldly on, an' day. Flocks, wander where ye like, I dinna care, When maidens, innocently young, never mean. I'll break my reed, an' never whistle mair. Say aften what they ALLAN KAMSAY. 107

Ne'er mind their pretty lying tongue, There wash oursels it's healthfu' now in May, But tent the language o' their een: An' sweetly cauler on sae warm a day. If these agree, an' she persist Jen. Daft lassie, when we're naked, what'll ye To answer a' your love wi' hate, say, Seek elsewhere to be better blest, Gif our twa herds come brattling down the brae, An' let her sigh when it's too late. An* see us sae? that jeering fallow Pate Wad taunting say, Haith, lasses, ye're no blate. Kind Patie, now fair-fa' honest heart, Rog. your Peg. We're far frae ony road, an' out o' sight; Ye're sae an' ha'e sic an' art ay cadgy, The lads they're feeding far beyont the height. To hearten ane: for now, as clean's a leek, But tell me now, dear Jenny (we're our lane), Ye've cherished me since to ye began speak. What gars ye plague your wooer wi' disdain ? for I'll make a Sae, your pains, you propine The neibours a' tent this as weel as I,

rest her saul ! she made it (My mither, fine); That Roger lo'es ye, yet ye carena by. A tartan of hawslock plaid, spun good woo', What ails ye at him? Troth, between us twa, Scarlet an' the the borders blue: green sets, He's worthy you the best day e'er ye saw. Wi' like an' siller crossed wi' spraings gowd black; Jen. I dinna like him, Peggy, there's an end; I never had it back. yet upon my A herd mair sheepish yet I never ken'd. Weel are wha ha'e sae kind you wordy o't, He kaims his hair, indeed, an' gaes right snug, Redd ravell'd an' clear'd mind. up my doubts, my Wi' ribbon knots at his blue bonnet lug, Pat. Weel, haud there an' since ye ye've Whilk pensylie he wears a-thought a-jee, made frankly An' spreads his gartens diced beneath his knee; To me a o' braw new present your plaid, He falds his o'erlay down his breast wi' care, flute be an' she too that's sae nice, My yours; An' few gang trigger to the kirk or fair; Shall come o-will, tak' advice. gif ye'll my For a' that, he can neither sing nor say, As I'll to Rog. ye advise, promise observ't; Except, How d'ye ? or, There's a bonny day. But maun the best deserv't. ye keep flute, ye Peg. Ye dash the lad wi' constant slighting Now tak' it an' a out, gie's bonny spring; pride, For I'm in tift to hear an' you play sing. Hatred for love is unco sair to bide; Pat. But first we'll tak' a turn to the up height, But ye'll repent ye, if his love grow cauld: An' see a' our flocks be gif feeding right; What like's a dorty maiden when she's auld ? that time an' a shave o' By bannocks, cheese, Like dawted wean, that tarrows at its meat, Will mak' a breakfast that a laird might please; That for some feckless whim will orp an' greet: the daintiest were sae Might please gabs, they The lave laugh at it, till the dinner's past; wise An' syne the fool thing is obliged to fast, To season meat wi' instead o' health, spice. Or scart anither's leavings at the last. When we ha'e tane the grace-drink at the well, I'll whistle fine, and sing t'ye like mysel. [Exeunt. SANG III.

Tune "Polwart on the green." SCENE II. The dorty will repent, A flowrie howm, between twa verdant braes, If lovers' hearts grow cauld; Where lasses use to wash an' their claiths spread ; An' nane her smiles will tent, A trotting burnie wimpling through the ground, Soon as her face looks auld. Its channel peebles, shining, smooth, an' round :

Here view twa barefoot beauties, clean an' clear ; tak's First please your eye, next gratify your ear : The dawted bairn thus the pet, While Jenny what she wishes discommends, Nor eats, though hunger crave; An' Meg, wi' better sense, true love defends. Whimpers an' tarrows at its meat, PEGGY and JENNY. An's laught at by the lave.

Jen. Come, Meg, let's fa' to wark upon this They jest it till the dinner's past; green, Thus, by itself abused, This shining day will bleach our linen clean; The fool thing is obliged to fast, The water's clear, the lift unclouded blue, Or eat what they've refused. Will mak' them like a lily wet wi' dew. Peg. Gae farder up the burn to Habbie's How, F7! Jenny, think, an' dinna sit your time. Where a* the sweets o' spring an' summer grow: Jen. I never thocht a single life a crime. Between twa birks, out o'er a little lin, Peg. Nor I: but love in whispers lets us ken, The water fa's an' mak's a singin* din; That men were made for us, an' we for men. A pool breast-deep, beneath as clear as glass, Jen. If Roger is my joe, he kens himsel, Kisses, wi' easy whirls, the bordering grass. For sic a tale I never heard him tell. We'll end our washing while the morning's cool, He glow'rs an' sighs, an' I can guess the cause; And when the day grows het, we'll to the pool, But wha's obliged to spell his hums an' haws ? 108 ALLAN RAMSAY.

Whene'er he likes to tell his mair mind plain, SANG V. I'se tell him frankly ne'er to do't again. " Tune How can I be sad on ray wedding-day?" They're fools that slavery like, an' may be free; shall I be The chiels may a' knit up themsels for me. How sad when a husband I ha'e, Peg. Be doing your wa's; for me, I ha'e a mind That has better sense than ony of thae Sour weak that To be as yielding as my Patie's kind. silly fellows, study, like fools, To sink their ain Jen. Hech, lass ! how can ye lo'e that rattle- joy, and mak' their wives skull? snools. who is A very deil, that ay maun ha'e his will; The man prudent ne'er lightlies his wife, wi' dull We'll soon hear tell, what a poor fechting life Or reproaches encourages strife; You twa will lead, sae soon's ye're man an' wife. He praises her virtues, and ne'er will abuse for a Peg. I'll rin the risk, nor ha'e I ony fear, Her sma' failing, but find an excuse. But rather think ilk langsome day a year, Jen. Till I wi' pleasure mount my bridal-bed, Hey, bonny lass o' BranJcsome! or*t be lang, Where on my Patie's breast I'll lean my head. Your witty Pate will put you in a sang. 'tis a There we may kiss as lang as kissing's gude, pleasant thing to be a bride; An' what we do, there's nane dar ca' it rude. Syne whinging getts about your ingle-side, He's get his will: why no? it's good my part Yelping for this or that wi' fasheous din: To gi'e him that, an' he'll gi'e me his heart. To mak' them braws then ye maun toil an' spin. Jen. He may indeed, for ten or fifteen days, Ae wean fa's sick, ane scads itsel wi' broe, Mak' meikle o' ye, wi' an unco fraise, Ane breaks his shin, anither tines his shoe; Deil o'er An' daut ye baith afore fouk an' your lane; The goes Jock Walster, hame grows hell, But soon as his newfangleness is gane, An' Pate misca's ye waur than tongue can tell. He'll look upon you as his tether-stake, Peg. Yes, it's a hartsome thing to be a wife, An' think he's tint his freedom for your sake. When round the ingle-edge young sprouts are Instead then o' lang days o' sweet delight, rife. Ae day be dumb, an' a' the neist he'll flyte: Gif I'm sae happy, I shall ha'e delight An' may be, in his barlickhoods, ne'er stick To hear their little plaints, an' keep them right. To lend his loving wife a loundering lick. Wow! Jenny, can there greater pleasure be, Than see sic wee tots toolying at your knee; SANG IV. When a' they ettle at their greatest wish, " Is to be made an' obtain a kiss? Tune O, dear mither, what shall I do P' o', Can there be toil in tenting day an' night dear love's 0, Peggy, beguiling, The like o' them, when love mak's care delight ? We not to trust his ought smiling; Jen. But poortith, Peggy, is the warst o' a', Better far to do as I do, Gif o'er your heads ill-chance should begg'ry Lest a harder luck betide you. draw; Lasses when their fancy's carried, But little love or canty cheer can come

Think of but to be : nought married Frae duddy doublets, an' a pantry toom. to a Running life, destroys Your nowt may die; the spate may bear away an' Hartsome, free, youthfu' joys. Frae aff the howms your dainty rucks o' hay; The thick-blawn wreaths o' snaw, or blashy thows, Peg. Sic coarse-spun thoughts as thae want May smoor your wethers, an' may rot your ewes; pith to move A dyvour buys your butter, woo', an' cheese, My settled mind; I'm o'er far gane in love. But, or the day o' payment, breaks, an' flees: Patie to me is dearer than my breath, Wi' glooman brow, the laird seeks in his rent; But o' want him I dread nae other skaith. It's not to gi'e; your merchant's to the bent; There's nane o' a* the herds that tread the green His honour mauna want; he poinds your gear: Has sic a smile, or sic twa glancing een: Syne, driven frae house an' hald, where will ye An' then he speaks wi' sic a taking art, steer? His words they thirl like music through my heart. Dear Meg, be wise, an' live a single life; How blythely can he sport, an' gently rave, Troth, it's nae mows to be a married wife. An' at jest feckless fears that fright the lave ! Peg. May sic ill luck befa' that silly she Ilk day that he's alane upon the hill, Wha has sic fears, for that was never me. He reads fell books, that teach him meikle skill. Let fouk bode weel, an' strive to do their best; He is but what need I that or this ? mair's let Heaven mak' out the say Nae required ; I'd spend a month to tell ye what he is ! rest. In a* he says or does, there's sic a gate, I've heard my honest uncle aften say, The rest seem coofs compared wi' my dear Pate. That lads should a' for wives that's virtuous pray; His better sense will lang his love secure; For the maist thrifty man could never get Ill-nature hefts in sauls that's weak an' poor. A weel-stored room, unless his wife wad let: ALLAN KAMSAY. 109

Wherefore, nocht shall be wanting on my part SANG VI. To gather wealth to raise my shepherd's heart: " Tune Nancy's to the green-wood gane." Whate'er he wins, I'll guide wi' canny care, An' win the vogue at market, trone, or fair, I yield, dear lassie, ye ha'e won, For halesome, clean, cheap, an' sufficient ware. An' there is nae denying, A flock o' lambs, cheese, butter, and some woo', That sure as light flows frae the sun, Shall first be sell'd, to pay the laird his due; Frae love proceeds complying. Syne a' behint's our ain. Thus, without fear, For a' that we can do or say Wi' love an' rowth, we through the warld will 'Gainst love, uae thinker heeds us; steer; They ken our bosoms lodge the fae An' when my Pate in bairns an' gear grows rife, That by the heart-strings leads us. He'll bless the day he gat me for his wife. Jen. But what if some young giglet on the Peg. Alake, poor pris'ner! Jenny, that's no green, fair; Wi' dimpled cheeks, an' twa bewitching een, That you'll no let the wee thing tak' the air: Shou'd gar your Patie think his half-worn Meg, Haste, let him out; we'll tent as weel's we can, An' her ken'd kisses, hardly worth a feg ? Gif he be Bauldy's or poor Roger's man. Peg. Nae mair of that. Dear Jenny, to be Jen. Anither time's as good; for see the sun free, Is right far up, an' we're not yet begun There's some men constanter in love than we: To freath the graith; if canker'd Madge, our Nor is the ferly great, when nature kind aunt, Has blest them wi' solidity of mind. Come up the burn, she'll gie's a wicked rant: They'll reason calmly, an' wi' kindness smile, But when we've done, I'll tell ye a' my mind; When our short passions wad our peace beguile. For this seems true, nae lass can be unkind. Sae, whensoe'er they slight their maiks at name, [Exeunt. It's ten to ane the wives are maist to blame. Then I'll wi' a' art employ pleasure my ACT SECOND. -SCENE I. To keep him cheerfu', an' secure his heart.

thack before the : At e'en, when he comes weary frae the hill, A snug house, door a green Hens on the ducks in dubs are seen. I'll ha'e a' things made ready to his will. midding, On this side stands a barn, on that a byre ; In winter, when he toils wind an' through rain, A peat-stack joins, an' forms a rural square. A. an' a clean bleezing ingle, hearth-stane; The house is Glaud's : there you may see him lean, An' soon as he flings by his plaid an' staff, An' to his divot-seat invite his frien'.

The seething pats be ready to tak' aff : GLAUD and SYMON. Clean hag-a-bag I'll spread upon his board, An' serve him wi' the best we can afford. Olaud. Good-morrow, neibour Symon: come, Good humour an' white bigonets shall be sit down, Guards to my face, to keep his love for me. An' gie's your cracks. What's a' the news in Jen. A dish o' married love right soon grows town? cauld, They tell me ye was in the ither day, An' dosens down to nane, as fouk grow auld. An' said your Crummock, an' her bassen'd quey. Peg. But we'll grow auld thegither, an' ne'er I'll warrant ye've coft a pund o' cut an' dry: find Lug out your box, an' gie's a pipe to try. The loss of youth, when love grows on the mind. Sym. Wi' a' my heart; an' tent me now, auld Bairns and their bairns mak' sure a firmer tye, boy, Than aught in love the like o' us can spy. I've gathered news will kittle your mind wi' joy. See yon twa elms, that grow up side by side, I cou'dna rest till I cam' o'er the burn, Suppose them some years syne bridegroom an' To tell ye things ha'e taken sic a turn, bride; Will gar our vile oppressors stend like flaes, Nearer an' nearer ilka year they've prest, An' skulk in hidlings on the hether braes.

Till wide their spreading branches are increased, Glaud. Fy, blaw ! Ah, Symie! rattling chiels An' in their mixture now are fully blest. ne'er stand This shields the other frae the eastlin blast, To cleck an' spread the grossest lies aff-hand, That in return defends it frae the wast. Whilk soon flies round, like will-fire, far an' near: Sic as be't true or fause let's hear. stand single (a state sae liked by you !) But loose your poke, Beneath ilk storm, frae every airt maun bow. Sym. Seeing's believing, Glaud; an' I have seen Jen. I've done I yield, dear lassie, I maun Hab, that abroad has wi' our master been; yield; Our brave good master, wha right wisely fled, Your better sense has fairly won the field, An' left a fair estate to save his head: With the assistance of a little fae Because ye ken fu' weel he bravely chose Lies darned within my breast this mony a day. To stand his liege's friend wi' great Montrose. 110 ALLAN KAMSAY.

Now Cromwell's gane to Nick; an' ane ca'd Monk We'll send for Elspa too an' upo' sight, Has played the Rumple a right slee begunk, I'll whistle Pate an' Roger frae the height: Restored King Charles, an' ilka thing's in tune; I'll yoke my sled, an' send to the niest town, An' Habby says we'll see Sir William soon. An' bring a draught o' ale baith stout an* brown; Glaud. That mak's me blyth indeed! but An' gar our cottars a', man, wife, an' wean, dinna flaw: Drink till they tine the gate to stand their Tell o'er your news again, an' swear till't a'. lane. An' saw ye Hab? an' what did Halbert say? Sym. I wad'na bauk my friend his blyth design They ha'e been e'en a dreary time away. Gif that it had'na first of a' been mine; Now God be thanket that our laird's come hame. For ere yestreen I brewed a bow o' maut, An' his estate, say, can he eithly claim ? Yestreen I slew twa weathers prime an' fat; Sym. They that hag-rid us till our guts did A furlet o' guid cakes my Elspa beuk, grane, An' a large ham hings reesting in the neuk: Like greedy bairs, dare nae mair do't again; I saw mysel', or I came o'er the loan, An' good Sir William sail enjoy his ain. Our meikle pat, that scads the whey, put on, A mutton bouk to boil, an' ane we'll roast; SANG vn. An' on the haggles Elspa spares nae cost; Tune" Cauld kail in Aberdeen." Sma' are they shorn, an' she can mix fu' nice The gusty ingans wi' a curn o' spice: Cauld be the rebels cast, Fat are the heads an' feet weel 1 puddings, sung ; base an' Oppressors bloody; An' we've invited neibours, auld an' young, I we'll see them at the last hope To pass this afternoon wi' glee an' game, Strang a' up in a woody. An' drink our master's health an' welcome hame. Blest be he of worth an' sense, Ye mauna then refuse to join the rest, An' ever in high station, Since ye're my nearest friend that I like best: That stands in the defence bravely Bring wi' you a' your family; an' then, Of conscience, an' nation. king, Whene'er you please, I'll rant' wi' you again. Glaud. Spoke like yoursel, auld birky; never for did Glaud. An' may he lang; never he fear, stent But at your banquet I sail first appear: in our wi' a racket Us thriving rent; Faith, we sail bend the bicker, an' look bauld, if or Nor grumbl'd ane grew rich, shor'd to raise Till we forget that we are failed or auld. Our when we on claise. mailens, pat Sunday Auld, said I ! Troth I'm younger be a score, Sym. Nor wad he lang, wi' senseless, saucy air, Wi' your good news, than what I was before. Allow our lyart noddles to be bare. I'll dance or e'en! come " Hey, Madge, forth, Put on tak' a seat. your bonnet, Symon; d'ye hear ? How's a' at hame? How's Elspa? How does Kate? Enter MADGE. How sells black cattle? What gie's woo' this year?"- Madge. The man's gane gyte! Dear Symon, An' sic-like kindly questions wad he speir. welcome here. What wad ye, Glaud, wi' a' this haste an' din ? SANG vin. Ye never let a body sit to spin. " Glaud. snuff! Gae break Tune Mucking o' Geordy's byre." Spin! your wheel, an' burn your tow, The laird wha in riches an' honour An' set the meiklest peat-stack in a low; Wad thrive, should be kindly an' free, Syne dance about the bane-fire till ye die, Nor rack his poor tenants, wha labour Since now again we'll soon Sir William see. To rise aboon poverty: Madge. Blythe news indeed! An' wha was't Else, like the pack-horse that's unfothered tald you o't ? An' burdened, will tumble down faint: Glaud. What's that to you? Gae get my Thus virtue by hardship is smothered, Sundays' coat; An* rackers aft tine their rent. Wale out the whitest o' my bobit bands, My white-skin hose, an' mittins for my hands; Glaud. Then wad he gar his butler bring bedeen Syne frae their washing cry the bairns in haste, The nappy bottle ben, an' glasses clean, An' mak' yoursels as trig, head, feet, an' waist, Whilk in our breast raised sic a blythsome flame, As ye were a' to get young lads or e'en; As gart me mony a time gae dancing hame. For we're gaun o'er to dine wi' Sym bedeen. I'll My heart's e'en raised ! Dear neibour, will ye Sym. Do, honest Madge: an', Glaud, o'er stay, the gate, An' tak' your dinner here wi' me the day? An' see that a' be done as I wad hae't. [Exeunt. ALLAN KAMSAY. Ill

Nae mair the hawkies shalt thou SCENE II. milk, But change thy plaiden coat for silk, The field. A cottage in a open glen, An' be a lady o' that ilk, An auld wife spinning at the sunny en'. Now, Peggy, since the king's come. At a sma' distance, by a bloated tree, \\i' faulded arms, an' hauf-rais'd looks, ye see Enter BAULDY. BAULDY Ids lane. Baul. How does auld honest lucky o' the glen ? What's this! I canna bear't! 'Tis war than hell Ye look baith hale an' fere at threescore ten. Mause. E'en out a To be sae brunt wi' love, yet dar'na tell! twining thread wi' little din, An' cauld limbs Peggy, sweeter than the dawning day, becking my afore the sun. What bairn this sae Sweeter than gowany glens, or new-mawn hay; brings my gate air at morn ? Is there nae muck to lead? to nae Blyther than lambs that frisk out o'er the knowes; thresh, corn ? Baul. o' Straughter than aught that in the forest grows: Eneugh baith But something that Her een the clearest blob o' dew outshines; requires Your now a' cares. The lily in her breast its beauty tines; helping hand, employs my Mause. hand! alake! what I Her legs, her arms, her cheeks, her mouth, her een, My helping can do, That underneath baith eild an' Will be my dead, that will be shortly seen! poortith bow? Baul. but an' wiser For Pate lo'es her, wae's me! an' she lo'es Pate; Aye, ye're wise, far than we, Or maist o' the tells a lie. An' I wi' Neps, by some unlucky fate, part parish Mause. 0' what kind Made a daft vow: 0, but ane be a beast, wisdom think ye I'm That mak's rash aiths till he's afore the priest! That lifts character aboon the rest ? 1 dar'na speak my mind, else a' the three, my Baul. The word that how sae But doubt, wad prove ilk ane my enemy. gangs, ye're wise an' fell, It's sair to thole; I'll try some witchcraft art, Ye'll tak' it ill I should tell. To break wi' ane, an' win the other's heart. maybe gif Mause. What fouk o' let me Here Mausy lives, a witch, that for sma' price say me, Bauldy, hear; Can cast her cantrips, an' gi'e me advice: Keep naething ha'e to fear. She can o'ercast the night, an' cloud the moon, up, ye naething Baul. An' mak' the deils obedient to her crune: Weel, since ye bid me, I shall tell ye a' That ilk ane tauks about but a flaw. At midnight hours, o'er the kirkyard she raves, ye, An' When last the wind made Glaud a roofless howks unchristened weans out o' their graves; barn, When last the burn bore down mither's Boils up their livers in a warlock's pow: my yarn; When elf-shot never mair came Rins withershins about the hemlock low; Brawny hame; An' seven When Tibby kirned, an' there nae butter times does her prayers backward pray, came; Till Plotcock wi' When Bessy Freetock's chuffy-cheeked wean comes lumps o' Lapland clay, To a Mixt wi' the venom o' black taids an' snakes: fairy turned, an' cou'dna stan' its lane; When Wattie wandered ae 0' this, unsonsy pictures aft she makes night through the shaw, 0' ony ane she hates, an' gars expire An' tint himsel amaist the Wi' slaw an' racking pains afore a fire: amang snaw; When mare stood an' swat wi' Stuck fu' o' prins, the devilish pictures melt; Mungo's still, The pain, by fouk they represent, is felt. fright, When he east the under An' yonder's Mause; ay, ay, she kens fu' weel brought howdy night; When shot to dead the When ane like me comes rinning to the deil. Bawsy upon green, An' Sara tint a snood was nae mair seen: She an' her cat sit becking in her yard; You, the o' a' fell To speak my errand, faith, amaist I'm fear'd: lucky, gat wyte out, But I maun An' ilk ane here dreads you, a' round about: do't, though I should never thrive; An' sae that mean to do They gallop fast that deils an' lasses drive. they may you skaith; For me to I'll be laith: [Exit. wrang you, very But when I niest mak' groats, I'll strive to please SCENE III. You wi' a furlet o' them, mixt wi' pease. A green a little I kail-yard ; fount, Mause. thank ye, lad. Now tell me your Where water poplin springs : demand, There sits a wife wi' wrinkled front, An', if I can, I'll lend hand. An' yet she spins an' sings. my helping Baul. Then, I like Peggy. Neps is fond o' me. SANG IX. Peggy likes Pate; an' Pate is bauld an' slee, An' lo'es sweet Meg. But Neps I downa see. Tune" Carle, an' the king come." Uou'd ye turn Patie's love to Neps, an' then Peggy, now the to I'd king's come, Peggy's me, be the happiest man ! now the Peggy, king's come; Mause. I'll try my art to gar the bowls row Thou shalt an' I dance, shall sing, right;

> now the come. king's Sae gang your ways, an' come again at night; 112 ALLAN RAMSAY.

'Gainst that time I'll some simple things prepare Thy breath is sweeter than the sweetest briar, Worth a' your pease an' groats; tak' ye nae care. Thy cheek an' breast the finest flowers appear. Baul. Weel, Mause, I'll come, gif I the road Thy words excel the maist delightfu' notes, can find; That warble through the merl or mavis' throats. But if ye raise the deil, he'll raise the wind; Wi' thee I tent nae flowers that busk the field, Syne rain an' thunder, may be, when it's late, Or ripest berries that our mountains yield. Will mak' the night sae mirk, I'll tyne the gate. The sweetest fruits, that hing upon the tree, We're a' to rant in Symie's at a feast; Are far inferior to a kiss o' thee. will ye come, like Badrans, for a jest ? Peg. But Patrick for some wicked end may An' there ye can our different 'haviours spy: fleech, There's nane shall Hen o't there but you an' I. An' lambs should tremble when the foxes preach. Mause. It's like I may; but let nae on what's I dar'na stay; ye joker, let me gang; past Anither lass may gar you change your sang; 'Tween you an' me, else fear a kittle cast. Your thoughts may flit, an' I may thole the wrang. Baul. If I aught o' yo\ir secrets e'er advance, Pat. Sooner a mother shall her fondness drap, May ye ride on me ilka night to France. An' wrang the bairn sits smiling on her lap, [Exit BAULDY. The sun shall change, the moon to change shall

MAUSE her lane. The gaits to clim, the sheep to yield their fleece, Ere aught by me be either said or done, Hard luck, alake! when poverty an' eild, Shall skaith our love; I swear by a' aboon. Weeds out o' fashion, an' a lanely beild, Then aith. But lads Wi' a sma' cast o' wiles, should, in a twitch, Peg. keep your mony will Gi'e ane the hatefu' name, A wrinkled mtch. swear, An' be mansworn to twa in hauf a year. This fool imagines, as do mony sic, Now I believe like me wonder That I'm a wretch in compact wi' Auld Nick; ye weel; But if a fairer face heart shou'd Because by education I was taught your steal, Your Meg, forsaken, bootless relate, To speak an' act aboon their common thought. might How she was dawted anes faithless Pate. Their gross mistake shall quickly now appear; by Pat. I'm sure I canna change; needna fear; Soon shall they ken what brought, what keeps ye we're but I've lo'ed a me here; Though young, you mony Nane kens but me; an' if the morn were come, year. I mind it weel, when thou cou'dst hardly gang, I'll tell them tales will gar them a' sing dumb. Or lisp out words, I choos'd ye frae the thrang [Exit. 0' a' the bairns, an' led thee by the hand SCENE IV. Aft to the tansy knowe, or rashy strand, Thou smiling by my side: I took delight Behind a tree upon the plain, To pou the rashes green, wi' roots sae white; Pate and his Peggy meet ; as weel as In love, without a vicious stain, 0' which, my young fancy cou'd, The bonny lass an" cheerfu' swain For thee I plet the flowery belt an' snood. vows an' kisses sweet. Change Peg. When first thou gade wi' shepherds to the PATIE and PEGGY. hill, An' I to milk the ewes first tried my skill; Peg. Patie, let me gang, I mauna stay; To bear a leglen was nae toil to me, We're baith cry'd hame, an' Jenny she's away. When at the bught at e'en I met wi' thee. Pat. I'm laith to part sae soon, now we're Pat. When corns grew yellow, an' the heather alane, bells An' he's wi' Roger awa Jenny gane; Bloomed bonny on the muir, an' rising fells, They're as content, for aught I hear or see, Nae birns, or briers, or whins, e'er troubled me, To be alane themsels, I judge, as we. Gif I could find blae berries ripe for thee. Here, where primroses thickest paint the green, Peg. When thou didst wrestle, run, or putt the Hard by this little burnie let us lean. stane, Hark, how the lav'rocks chant aboon our heads, An' wan the day, my heart was flight'ring fain: How saft the westlin winds sough through the At a' these sports, thou still ga'e joy to me; reeds! For nane can wrestle, run, or putt wi' thee. Peg. The scented meadows, birds, an' healthy Pat. Jenny sings saft the Broom o' Cowden- breeze, knowes, For aught I ken, may mair than Peggy please. An' Rosie lilts the Milking o' the Ewes; Pat. Ye me sair to doubt kind There's like Nettle wrang my being ; nane Nancy Jenny sings; In speaking sae, ye ca' me dull an' blind; At turns in Mayyy Lander Marion dings, I Gif cou'd fancy aught's sae sweet or fair But when my Peggy sings, wi' sweeter skill, As my dear Meg, or worthy o' my care. The Boatman, or the Lass o' Patie's Mill, ALLAN EAMSAY. 113

It is a thousand times mair sweet to me: Pat. An' let them ferly. Now a kindly kiss, Though they sing weel, they canna sing like thee. Or five-score guid anus \vadna be amiss; Peg. How eith can lasses trow what thoy desire! An' syne we'll sing the sang wi' tunefu' glee, An', roosed by them we love, blaws up that tire: That I made up last owk on you an' me. But wha lo'es best, let time an' carriage try; Peg. Sing first, syne claim your hire. Be constant, an' my love shall time defy. Pat. Weel, I agree. Be still as now, an' a' my care shall be, SANG XI. How to contrive what pleasant is for thee. By the delicious warmness of thy mouth, SANG X. An' rowing een, that smiling tell the truth, I Tune "The yellow hair'd laddie." guess, my lassie, that, as weel as I, You're made for love, an' why should ye deny?

Peggy. When first my dear laddie gaed to the green hill, But ken An' I at ewe-milking first sey'd my young skill, ye, lad, gin we confess o'er soon, To bear the milk-bowio nae pain was to me, Ye think us cheap, an' syne the wooing's done: When I at the bughting foregathered wi' thee. The maiden that o'er quickly tines her power, Like unripe fruit, will taste but hard an' sour. Patie. Patie. When corn-riggs waved yellow, an' blue heather- bells But gin they hing o'er lang upon the tree, Their Bloomed bonny on muirland, an' sweet rising fells, sweetness they may tine; an' sae may ye. Nae birns, briers, or breckens ga'e trouble to me, Red-cheeked, ye completely ripe appear, Gif I found the berries right ripened for thee. An' I ha'e tholed an' wooed a lang half-year.

Peggy- Peggy (singing, fa's into Patie's arms). When thou ran, or wrestled, or putted the stane, Then dinna pu' me, gently thus I fa' An' cam' aff the victor, my heart was aye fain; Into my Patie's arms, for good an' a'. Thy ilka sport manly ga'e pleasure to me; But stint your wishes to this kind embrace, For nane can putt, wrestle, or run swift as thee. An' mint nae fairer till we've got the grace.

Patie. 1 Patie (in his left hand about her waist). Our Jenny sings saftly the Cowden-broom-fcnowes, charming armfu'! hence, ye cares, away! An' Rosie lilts sweetly the Milking t/ie Ewes; I'll kiss my treasure a' the live-lang day; There's few Jenny Nettles like can sing; Nancy A' night I'll dream my kisses o'er again, At Thro' the Wood, Laddie, Bess gars our lugs Till that day come that ye'll be a' my ain ring; Sung by loth. But when my dear Peggy sings, wi' better skill, Sun, down the westlin The Boatman, Tweedside or the Lass of the Mill, gallop skies, soon to bed, an' rise; It's mony times sweeter, an' pleasing to me; Gang quickly O lash your steeds, post time For though they sing nicely, they cannot like thee. away, An' haste about our bridal day! Peggy. An' if ye're wearied, honest light, How can lasses Sleep, gin like, a week that easy trow what they desire ! ye night. An' praises sae kindly increases love's fire: [Exeunt. Gi'e me still this pleasure, my study shall be, To mak' mysel better, an' sweeter for thee. ACT THIRD. SCENE I. Pa. Were thou a giglet gawky like the lave, Now turn your eyes beyond yon spreading lime, That little better than our nowt behave; An* tent a man whase beard seems bleach'd wi' time; At senseless tales naught they'll ferly, believe, An elwand fills his hand, his habit mean ; Be blyth for silly heghts, for trifles grieve; Nae doubt ye'll think he has a pedlar been. But whisht! it is the in Sic ne'er cou'd win my heart, that kenna how knight masquerade, That comes, hid in this cloud, to fee his lad. Either to a or keep prize, yet prove true; Observe how pleas'd the loyal suflTrer moves But in thou, better sense without a flaw, Through his auld av'uues, ance delighfu' grov- s. As in thy beauty, far excels them a'. SIR WILLIAM solus. Continue kind, an' a' my care shall be, How to contrive what pleasing is for thee. The gentleman, thus hid in low disguise, Peg. Agreed. But hearken! yon's auld aunty's I'll for a space, unknown, delight mine eyes cry, With a full view of every fertile plain, I ken they'll wonder what can mak' us stay. Which once I lost which now are mine again, 8 114 ALLAN EAMSAY.

Yet, 'midst my joy, some prospects pain renew, All on the green, in a fair wanton ring, Whilst I my once fair seat in ruins view. My youthful tenants gaily dance and sing.

Yonder, ah me ! it desolately stands [JRxit. Without a roof, the gates fallen from their bands! The casements all broke down; no chimney left; SCENE II. The naked walls of tap'stry all bereft. It's Symon's house, please to step in, stables and broken My pavilions, walls, An' vissy't round an" round; That with each rainy blast decaying falls; There's nought superfluous to gi'e pain, Or to found. My gardens, once adorned the most complete, costly be Yet a' is clean: a clear peat ingle With all that nature, all that art made sweet; Glances amidst the floor; Where, round the figured green and pebble walks, The green horn spoons, beech luggies mingle The dewy flowers hung nodding on their stalks; On skelfs foregainst the door. While the young brood sport on the green, But, overgrown with nettles, docks, and brier, The auld anes think it No or best, jaccacinths eglantines appear. Wi' the brown cow to clear their een, How do those ample walls to ruin yield, Snuff, crack, an' tak' their rest. Where peach and nec'trine branches found abield, And basked in rays which early did produce SYMON, GLAUD, and ELSPA. Fruit fair to view, delightful in the use! Gland. anes were oursels. I like to All round in gaps, the most in rubbish lie, We young see And from what stands the withered branches fly. The bairns bob round wi' other These soon shall be repaired; and now my joy merrylie. Patie's a Forbids all grief, when I'm to see my boy; Troth, Symon, grown strapan lad, An' better looks than his I never My only prop, and object of my care, bade; Since Heaven too soon called home his mother Amang our lads he bears the gree awa', fair: An' tells his tale the clev'rest o' them a'.

Him, ere the rays of reason cleared his thought, Elspa. Poor man ! he's a great comfort to us I secretly to faithful Symon brought, baith; And charged him strictly to conceal his birth, God mak' him gude, an' hide him aye frae skaith. Till we should see what changing times brought He is a bairn, I'll say't, weel worth our care, forth. That ga'e us ne'er vexation late or air. Hid from himself, he starts up by the dawn, Glaud. I trow, gudewife, if I be not mista'en, And ranges careless o'er the height and lawn He seems to be wi' Peggy's beauty ta'en. After his fleecy charge, serenely gay, An' troth, my niece is a right dainty wean, With other shepherds whistling o'er the day. As ye weel ken: a bonnier needna be,

Thrice happy life ! that's from ambition free; Nor better, be't she were nae kin to me.

Removed from crowns and courts, how cheerfully Sym. Ha, Glaud ! I doubt that ne'er will be a A calm contented mortal spends his time, match;

In his soul unstained with crime ! Patie's an' will be ill to catch hearty health, My wild, ; An' or he for reasons I'll no SANG XII. were, tell, " I'd rather be mixt wi' the mools mysel. Tune Happy clown." Glaud. What reason can ye ha'e? There's Hid from now the dawn himself, by nane, I'm sure, He starts as fresh as roses blown; Unless ye may cast up that she's but poor: And o'er the and lawn ranges heights But gif the lassie marry to my mind, After his flocks. bleating I'll be to her as my ain Jenny kind. Healthful and innocently gay, Fourscore o' breeding ewes o' my ain birn, He chants and whistles out the day; Five kye that at ae milking fills a kirn, to and then Untaught smile, betray, I'll gi'e to Peggy that day she's a bride; Like weather-cocks. courtly By an' attour, gif my gude luck abide, Ten lambs at spaining-time as lang's I live, Life happy, from ambition free, An' twa quey cawfs, I'll yearly to them give. Envy, and vile hypocrisy, offer kind Glaud but dinna Elspa. Ye fair, ; Where truth and love with joys agree, Unsullied with a crime: speer What may be is nae fit ye yet should hear. Unmoved with what disturbs the great, Sym. Or this day aught-days, likely, he shall In propping of their pride and state, learn He lives, and, unafraid of fate, That our denial disna slight his bairn. Contented spends his time. Glaud. Weel, nae mair o't; come, gie's the Now tow'rds good Symon's house I'll bend my other bend; way, We'll drink their healths, whatever way it end. And see what makes yon gamboling to-day; \TJieir heaWis gae round. ALLAN EAMSAY. 115

Sym. But, will ye tell me, Glaud, by some 'tis Kir Wil. I'll tell yo mair: if this young lad be said, spar'd Your niece is but a fundling, that was laid But a short while, he'll be a braw rich laird. Down at your hallen-side ae morn in May, Elspa. A laird! hear ye, gudeman what think Right clean rowed up, an* bedded on dry hay i ye now?

G In, >d. That clatterin' Madge, my titty, tells Sym. I dinna ken ! Strange auld man, what sic flaws, artthou? Whene'er our Meg her cankered humour gaws. Fair fa" your heart, it's gude to bode o' wealth; Come, turn the timmer to laird Patie's health. Enter JENNY. [PATIE'S health goes round. Jen. father, there's an' auld man on the Pat. A laird o' twa gude whistles an' a kent, green, Twa curs, my trusty tenants on the bent, The fellest fortune-teller e'er was seen: Is a' my great estate an' like to be: He tents our loofs, an' syne whups out a book, Sae, cunning carle, ne'er break your jokes on me. o'er the an' our brows a look let o'er Turns leaves, gie's ; Sym. Whisht, Patie, the man look your Syne tells the oddest tales that e'er ye heard: hand, His head is gray, an' lang an' gray his beard. Aft-times as broken a ship has come to land. Sym. Gae bring him in, we'll hear what he can [SiR WILLIAM looks a little at PATIE'S hand, say; then counterfeits falling into a trance, while Xane shall gae hungry by my house the day. tfoy endeavour to lay him right. [Exit JENNY. his I But for telling fortunes, troth, fear, Elspa. Preserve's ! the man's a warlock, or He kens nae mair o' that than my gray mare. Glaud. Spae-men ! the truth o' a' their saws I Wi' some nae good, or second sight at least:

doubt; Where is he now '( For greater liars never ran thereout. Glaud. He's seeing a' that's done In ilka place, beneath or yont the moon. JENNY in SIR with returns, bringing WILLIAM; Elspa. These second-sighted fouk (his peace t/iem PATIE. be here !) See far aff, an' to come, as clear Sym. Ye're welcome, honest carle; here tak' a things things seat. As I can see my thumb. Wow ! can he tell Sir Wil. I gTe ye thanks, gudeman, I'se no be (Speer at him, soon as he comes to himsel), blate. How soon we'll see Sir William? Whisht, he

; Glaud [drinks]. Come, here's t ye, friend. heaves, An' out broken like ane that raves. How far came ye the day ? speaks words, He'll soon better. haste Sir Wil. I pledge ye, neibour: e'en but little Sym. grow Elspa, ye, way; gae Rousted wi' eild, a wee piece gate seems lang; An' fill him up a tass o' usquebse. Twa mile or three's the maist that I dow gang. Sym. Ye're welcome here to stay a' night wi' SIR WILLIAM starts up, and speaks. me, A that for a Lion An' tak' sic bed an' board as we can gi'e. Knight, fought, a herd of Sir Wil. That's kind unsought. Weel, gin ye Against bears, ha'e a bairn Was to lang toil and trouble brought, In which some thousands shares. That ye like weel, an' wad his fortune learn, But now the Lion I shall employ the farthest o' my skill again rares, And o'er the To spae it faithfully, be't good or ill. joy spreads plain: The Lion has defeat the Sym. [pointing to PATIE]. Only that lad: bears, The returns alake ! I ha'e nae mae, Knight again. That in a few shall Either to mak' me joyfu' now, or wae. Knight, days, bririg frae the Sir Wil. Young man, let's see your hand; A shepherd fauld, And shall him to his what gars ye sneer? present King, true and bauld. Pat. Because your skill's b\it little worth, I fear. A subject He Mr. Patrick shall be call'd: Sir Wil. Ye cut before the point, but, billy, All that hear me bide, you now, well believe what I have I'll wager there's a mouse-mark on your side. May tald, For it shall true. Ehpa. Betouch-us-too ! an' weel I wat that's happen true; soon Awa, awa ! the deil's o'er grit wi' you; Sym. Friend, may your spaeing happen

Four inch aneath his oxter is the mark, an' weel ; Scarce ever seen since he first wore a sark. But, faith, I'm redd you've bargained wi' the deil, ALLAN RAMSAY.

To tell some tales that fouks wad secret keep; Rog. Yes, ye may guess right eith for what I Or, do you get them tald you in your sleep ? grien, Sir WiL Howe'er I get them, never fash your Baith by my service, sighs, and langing een. beard, An' I maun out wi't, though I risk your scorn: Nor come I to read fortunes for reward; Ye're never frae my thoughts, baith e'en an' morn. But I'll lay ten to ane wi' ony here, Ah! cou'd I lo'e ye less, I'd happy be; That all I prophesy shall soon appear. But happier far, cou'd ye but fancy me. Sym. You prophesying fouks are odd kind men! Jen. And wha kens, honest lad, but what 1 may.* They're here that ken, an' here that disna ken, Ye canna say that e'er I said you nay. The wimpled meaning o' your unco tale, Rog. Alake! my frightened heart begins to fail, Whilk soon will mak' a noise o'er muir an' dale. Whene'er I mint to tell ye out my tale, Glaud. It's nae sma' sport to hear how Sym For fear some tighter lad, mair rich than I, believes, Has win your love, an' near your heart may lie. An' tak'st for gospel what the spaeman gives Jen. I lo'e my father, cousin Meg I love; 0' flawing fortunes, whilk he evens to Pate: But to this day nae man my mind could move: But what we wish we trow at ony rate. Except my kin, ilk lad's alike to me;

! doubtfu' carle for ere the An' frae a' I best had me free. Sir WiL Whisht ; ye keep sun Rog. How lang, dear Jenny ? sayna that again ;

Has driven twice down to the sea, What pleasure can ye tak' in giving pain '{ What I have said, ye shall see done I'm glad, however, that ye yet stand free; In part, or nae mair credit me. Wha kens but ye may rue, an' pity me ? Gland. Weel, be't sae, friend; I shall say Jen. Ye ha'e my pity else, to see you set naething mair; On that whilk mak's our sweetness soon forget. But I've twa sonsie lasses, young an' fair, Wow ! but we're bonny, gude, an' every thing; Plump ripe for men: I wish ye cou'd foresee How sweet we breathe whene'er we kiss or sing ! Sic fortunes for them, might prove joy to me. But we're nae sooner fools to gi'e consent, Sir \Vil. Nae mair through secrets can I sift Than we our daffin an' tint power repent; Till darkness black the bent: When prisoned in four wa's, a wife right tame, I ha'e but ance a day that gift; Although the first, the greatest drudge at hame. Sae rest a while content. Rog. That only happens when, for sake o' gear, Sym. Elspa, cast on the claith, fetch butt some Ane wales a wife as he wad buy a mare; meat, Or when dull parents bairns together bind An' o' your best gar this auld stranger eat. 0' different tempers, that can ne'er prove kind. Sir Wil. Delay a while your hospitable care; But love, true downright love, engages me I'd rather enjoy this evening, calm an' fair, (Though thou shou'dst scorn) still to delight in Around yon ruined tower, to fetch a walk thee. Wi' you, kind friend, to have some private talk. Jen. What sugar'd words frae wooers' lips can Sym. Soon as you please I'll answer your fa'! desire: But girning marriage comes an' ends them a'. An', Glaud, you'll tak' your pipe beside the fire; I've seen, wi' shining fair, the morning rise, We'll but gae round the place, an' soon be back, An' soon the sleety clouds mirk a' the skies. Syne sup together, an' tak' our pint, and crack. I've seen the siller spring a while rin clear, Glaud. I'll out a while, an' see the young anes An' soon in mossy puddles disappear! play; The bridegroom may rejoice, the bride may smile; My heart's still light, albeit my locks be gray. But soon contentions a' their joys beguile. [Exeunt. Rog. I've seen the morning rise wi' fairest light, The day unclouded, sink in calmest night. SCENE III. I've seen the spring rin wimpling through the plain, an errand Jenny pretends hame; Increase, an' join the ocean without stain; Young Roger draps the rest, The bridegroom be blyth, the bride may To whisper out his melting flame, may An' thow his lass's breast. smile; Behind a bush, weel hid frae sight, they meet. Rejoice through life, an' a' your fears beguile. See, Jenny's laughing; Roger's like to greet. Jen. Were I but sure ye lang wad love maintain, Poor Shepherd! The fewest words my easy heart cou'd gain : since now at last ROGER and JENNY. For I maun own, you're free, Although I joked, I lo'ed your company; in Hot/. Dear Jenny, I wad speak t'ye, wad ye let; An' ever had a warmness my breast, rest. An' yet I ergh, ye'iie aye sae scornfu' set. That made ye dearer to me than the

Jen. An' what wad\Roger say, if he cou'd speak? Rog. I'm happy now ! o'er happy ! haud my head 1 Am I obliged to guesS what ye're to seek ? This gush o' pleasure's like to be my dead. ALLAN RAMSAY. 117

Come to my arms! or strike me! I'm a' fired Rog. My faulds contain twice fifteen Borrow Wi' wond'ring love! let's kiss till we be tired. nowt, Kiss, kiss! we'll kiss the sun an' starns away, As mony newcal in my byres rout; An' ferly at the quick return o' day! Five packs o' woo' I can at Lammas sell, frae Jenny! let my arms about thee twiiu-, Shorn my bob-tail bleaters on the fell; An' briss thy bonny breasts an' lips to mine. Gude twenty pair o' blankets for our bed, Wi' meikle care, my thrifty mither made. SANG XIII. Ilk thing that mak's a heartsome house an' tighi 11 " Tune Leith Wynd Was still her care, my father's great delight. left me whilk now to ii They a', gi'es joy me, Jen //. Because I can gi'e a', my dear, to thee: Were I assured you'd constant prove, An' had I fifty times as meikle mair, You should nae mair complain; Nane but my Jenny should the samen skair. The easy maid beset wi' love, My love an' a' is yours; now haud them fast, Few words will quickly gain: An' guide them as ye like, to gar them last. For I must own, now since free, you're Jen. I'll do my best. But see wha comes this way This too fond heart o' mine Patie an' Meg: besides, I mauna stay. Has a black-sole true to lang thee, Let's steal frae ither now, an meet the morn; Wished to be wi' thine. paired If we be seen we'll drie a deal o' scorn. Roger. Rog. To where the saugh-tree shades the men- I'm happy now, ah! let my head nin-pool, I'll frae the hill come when cool. Upon thy breast recline; down, day grows an' meet me there: there let us The pleasure strikes me near-hand dead; Keep tryst, meet, To kiss an' tell our love; there's sae sweet! Is Jenny then sae kind ! nought let me briss thee to my heart ! [Exeunt. An' round arms entwine: my SCENE IV. Delightfu' thought ! we'll never part; Come, press thy mouth to mine. This scene presents the Knight and Sym. Uithin a gall'ry o' the place, Jen. Wi' equal joy my easy heart gi'es way, Where a' looks ruinous an' grim; Nor has the baron shawn his To own thy weel-tried love has won the day. face, But joking wi' his shepherd leal, time warmest kisses thou hast Now, by tane, Aft speers the gate he kens fu' weel. Swear thus to lo'e me, when by vows made ane. Rog. I swear by fifty thousand yet to come. SIB WILLIAM and SYMON. Or the first ane strike me deaf an' dumb, may Sir Wit. To whom belongs this house so much There sail not be a kindlier dawted wife, decayed ? If ye agree wi' me to lead your life. Sym. To ane that lost it, lending generous aid Jen. Weel I niest to agree: my parent gae, To bear the head up, when rebellious tail Get his consent; he'll hardly say ye nay. Against the laws o' nature did prevail. Ye ha'e what will commend to him weel, ye Sir William Worthy is our master's name, Auld folks, like them, that want milk an' meal. aye Whilk fills us a' wi' joy now he's come hame. SANG XIV. (Sir William draps his masking beard; " Tune O'er Bogie." Simon, transported, sees The welcome knight, wi' fond reffinl, Weel, I agree, ye're sure o' me; An' grasps him round the knees.) Niest to my father gae; master! dear master! Do I breathe Mak' him content to gi'e consent, My my

To see him an' free frae skaith ! He'll hardly say ye nay: healthy, strong, Returned to cheer his tenants' ! For ye ha'e what he wad be at, wishing sight To bless his the warld's ! And will commend ye weel, son, my charge, delight SirWil. in arms Since parents auld think love grows cauld, Rise, faithfulSymon; my enjoy When bairns want milk an' meal. A place thy due, kind guardian of my boy: I came to view thy care in this disguise, Should he deny, I carena by, And am confirmed thy conduct has been wise: He'd contradict in vain; Since still the secret thou'st securely sealed, Though a' my kin had said an' sworn, And ne'er to him his real birth revealed. But thee I will ha'e nane. Sym. The due obedience to your strict command Then never range, nor learn to change, Was the first lock; niest my ain judgment fand Like those in high degree; Out reasons plenty; since, without estate, An' if you prove faithfu' in love, A youth, though sprung frae kings, looks bauch You'll find nae fau't in me. an' blute 118 ALLAN RAMSAY.

Sir Wil. often vain and >'// ]\'il. And idly spend their He answered well; and much ye glad time, my ear, Till, grown unfit for action, past their prime, When such accounts I of my shepherd hear. Hang on their friends, which gives their souls a Reading such books can raise a peasant's mind cast Above a lord's that is not thus inclined. That turns them downright beggars at the last. Sym. What ken we better, that sae sindle look, I Sym. Now, weel wat, sir, ye ha'e spoken true; Except on rainy Sundays, on a book ? For there's laird that's lo'ed Kyttie's son, by few. When we a leaf or twa half read, half spell, His father steght his fortune in his wame, Till a' the rest sleep round, as weel's oursel. An' left his heir nought but a gentle name. Sir Wil. Well jested, Symon. But one ques- He gangs about, sornan frae place to place, tion more As scrimpt o' manners as o' sense an' grace: I'll only ask ye now, and then give o'fcr. Oppressing a', as punishment o' their sin, The youth's arrived the age when little loves That are within his tenth degree o' kin; Flighter around young hearts, like cooing doves: Rins in ilka trader's sae debt, wha's unjust Has nae young lassie, with inviting mien To his ain to family as gi'e him trust. And rosy cheeks, the wonder o' the green, Sir Wil. Such useless branches of a common- Engaged his look, an' caught his youthful heart ? wealth Sym. I feared the warst, but kend the sma'est Should be lopt off, to give a state more health, part, Unworthy bare reflection. Symon, run Till late I saw him twa three times mair sweet O'er all observations on son: your my Wi' Glaud's fair niece, than I thought right or A parent's fondness easily finds excuse, meet. But do with truth abuse. not, indulgence, I had my fears, but now ha'e nought to fear, To his the Sym. speak praise, langest simmer Since, like yoursel, your son will soon appear. day A gentleman, enrich'd wi' a' thae charms, be o'er could I Wad short, them right display. May bless the fairest, best-born lady's arms. In word an' deed he can sae weel behave, Sir Wil. This night must end his unambitious That out o' sight he rins afore the lave; fire, An' when there's or ony quarrel contest, When higher views shall greater thoughts inspire. Patrick's made judge, to tell whase cause is best; Go, Symon, bring him quickly here to me; An' his stands he'll it decreet gude: gar stand; None but yourself shall our first meeting see. Wha dares to grumble finds his correcting hand. Yonder's my horse and servants nigh at hand; Wi' firm an' a look, a commanding way, They come just at the time I gave command. the o' our He gars proudest herds obey. Straight in my own apparel I'll go dress: Sir Wil. Your tale much pleases. My good Now ye the secret may to all confess. friend, proceed. Sym. Wi' how much joy I on this errand flee, What learning has he ? Can he write and read ? There's nane can ken that is no downright me. Baith I Sym. wonder weel; for, troth, didna [Exit SYMON. spare SIR WILLIAM solus. To gi'e him, at the school, eneugh o' lair; An' he delights in books. He reads an' speaks, Whene'er the event of hope's success appears, Wi' fouks that ken them, Latin words an' Greeks. One happy hour cancels the toil of years; Sir^Vil. Where gets he books to read? and of A thousand toils are lost in Lethe's stream, what kind ? And cares evanish like a morning dream; Though some give light, some blindly lead the When wished-for pleasures rise like morning blind. light, Sym. Whene'er he drives our sheep to Edin- The pain that's past enhances the delight. burgh port, These joys I feel, that words can ill express, He buys some books o' history, sangs, or sport: I ne'er had known, without my late distress. Nor does he want o' them a rowth at will, But from his rustic business and love, An' carries ay a poutchfu' to the hill. I must, in haste, my Patrick soon remove, About ane Shakspere, an' a famous Ben, To courts and camps that may his soul improve. He aften speaks, an' ca's them best o' men. Like the rough diamond, as it leaves the mine, How sweetly Hawthornden an' Stirling sing; Only in little breakings shows its light, An' ane ca'd Cowley, loyal to his king, Till artful polishing has made it shine: He kens fu' weel, an' gars their verses ring. Thus education makes the genius bright. I sometimes he made ower a thought great phrase SANG XV. About fine an' poems, histories, plays: " " Tune Wat ye wha I met yestreen? When I reproved him ance, a book he brings, "Wi' this," quoth he, "on braes I crack wi' Now from rusticity and love, kings." Whose flames but over lowly burn, ALLAN KAMSAY. 119

My Gentle Shepherd must be drove, Madge. He get her! slaverin' doof ! it sets him His soul must take another turn. weel As the rough diamond from the mine, To yoke a pleugh where Patrick thought to teel. In breaking's only shows its light, Gif I were Meg, I'd let young master see Till polishing IKIS made it shine, Mause. Ye'd be as dorty in your choice as he; Thus learning makes the genius bright. An' sae wad I. But, whisht! here Bauldy comes. [Exit. //<

SANG XVI. ACT FOURTH. SCENE I.

Jocky said to Jenny, Jenny, wilt thou do't '< The scene described in former page, Ne'er a for tocher (i laud's < >n -ict. Enter Mause au' Madge. fit, quo' Jenny, my gude. For my tocher gude, I winna marry thee. MAUSE and MADGE. E'en's ye like, quo' Jocky, I can let ye be.

M

Yonder he comes, an' wow but he looks fain ! rest! Nae doubt he thinks that Peggy's now his am. Ye lied, auld roudes! an', in faith, had best 120 ALLAN EAMSAY.

Eat in your words; else I shall gar ye stand, Mause. Ye towin'd him tightly. I commend Wi' a het face, afore the haly band. ye for't; Madge. Ye'll gar me stand! ye shevelling-gabbit His blooding snout ga'e me nae little sport: brock! For this forenoon he had that scant o' grace, Speak that again, an', trembling, dread my rock, An' breeding baith, to tell me to my face, An' ten sharp nails, that, when my hands are in, He hoped I was a witch, an' wadna stand Can flyp the skin o' yer cheeks out o'er yer chin. To lend him, in this case, my helping hand.

Baul. I tak' ye witness, Mause, ye heard her Madge. A witch ! how had ye patience this to say bear, That I'm mansworn. I winna let it gae. An' leave him een to see, or lugs to hear? Madge. Ye're witness, too, he ca'd me bonny Mause. Auld withered hands, an' feeble joints names, like mine, An' should be served as his glide breeding claims. Obliges fouk resentment to decline; Ye filthy dog! Till aft it's seen, when vigour fails, then we [Flees to his hair like a fury. A stout battle. Wi' cunning can the lake o' pith supplie. MAUSE endeavours to redd them. Thus I pat aff revenge till it was dark, Mause. Let gang your grips ! Fy, Madge ! howt, Syne bade him come, an' we should gang to wark. Bauldy, leen ! I'm sure he'll keep his tryst; an' I cam' here I wadna wish this tulzie had been seen, To seek your help, that we the fool may fear. It's sae daft-like. Madge. An' special sport we'll ha'e, as I protest; [BAULDY gets out of MADGE'S clutches with a Ye'll be the witch, an' I sail play the ghaist. bleeding nose. A linen sheet wound round me, like ane dead, Madge. It's dafter like to thole I'll cawk my face, an' grane, an' shake my head. An ether-cap like him to blaw the coal. We'll fleg him sae, he'll mint nae mair to gang It sets him weel, \vi' vile unscrapit tongue, A conjuring, to do a lassie wrang. To cast up whether I be auld or young; Mause. Then let us gae; for see, it's hard on They're aulder yet than I ha'e married been, night, An', or they died, their bairns' bairns ha'e seen. The westlin clouds shine red wi' setting light. Mause. That's true; an', Bauldy, ye was far [Exeunt. to blame, To ca' but her ain christened name. Madge aught SCENE II. Baul. My lugs, my nose, an' noddle find the When birds begin to nod upon the bough, An' the green swaird grows damp wi' falling dew, Madge. Auld roudes! filthy fallow, I sail While gude Sir William is to rest retired, auld ! ye The Gentle Shepherd, tenderly inspired, Mause. Howt, no! ye'll e'en be friends wi' Walks through the broom wi' Roger ever leal, honest Bauldy. To meet, to comfort Meg, an' tak' fareweel. shake this maun nae farder Come, come, hands; PATIE and ROGER. gae. Ye maun forgi'e'm; I see the lad looks wae. Rog. Wow but I'm cadgie, an' my heart loups

Baul. In troth now, Mause, I ha'e at Madge light !

nae spite; Oh, Maister Patrick ! ay, your thoughts were right. But she abusing first was a' the wyte Sure gentle fouk are farder seen than we, 0' what has happened, an' should therefore crave That naething ha'e to brag o' pedigree. My pardon first, an' shall acquittance have. My Jenny now, wha brak' my heart this morn, Madge. I crave your pardon ! gallows-face, gae Is perfect yielding, sweet, an' nae mair scorn. greet, I spak' my mind; she heard. I spak' again; An' own your faut to her that ye wad cheat; She smiled. I kissed, I wooed, nor wooed in vain.

Gae, or be blasted in your health an' gear, Pat. I'm glad to hear't. But oh ! my change Till ye learn to perform as weel as swear. this day Vow, an' loup back! was e'er the like heard tell? Heaves up my joy, an' yet I'm sometimes wae. Swith, tak' him, deil; he's o'er lang out o' hell! I've found a father gently kind as brave, lave. Baul. [running off]. His presence be about us! An' an estate that lifts me 'boon the curst were he Wi' looks a' kindness, words that love confest, That were condemned for life to live wi' thee. He a' the father to my soul exprest, [Exit BAULDY. While close he held me to his manly breast. Madge [laughing], I think I've towzed his hari- "Such were the eyes," he said, "thus smiled the galds a wee; mouth He'll no soon grien to tell his love to me. Of thy loved mother, blessing of my youth, He's but a rascal, that wad mint to serve Who set too soon!" An' while he praise bestowed, A lassie sae; he does but ill deserve. Adown his gracefu' cheeks a torrent flowed. ALLAN RAMSAY. 121

new-born .My joys, an' this his tender tale, Content's the greatest bliss we can procure Did, mingled thus, o'er a' Frae 'boon the lift without it my thoughts prevail; ; kings are poor. That late ken'd sire I viewed. speechless lang, my Roy. But an estate like yours yields braw con- While gushing tears my panting breast bedewed tent, Unusual transports made my head turn round, When we but pick it scantly on the bent: Whilst 1 mysel', wi' rising raptures, found Fine claiths, saft beds, sweet houses, an' red wine, The happy son o' ane sae mueh renowned. Gude cheer, an' witty frien's, whene'er ye dine; But he has heard! Too faithful Symon's fear Obeysant servants, honour, wealth, an' ease, 1 las brought my love for Peggy to his ear, Wha's no content wi' thae are ill to please. Which he forbids. Ah! this confounds my peace, Pat. Sae Roger thinks, an' thinks no far amiss; While thus to beat, my heart shall sooner cease. But mony a cloud hings hov'ring o'er the bliss. to The rule the if /,'"//. How advise ye, troth, I'm at a stand; passions roast; an', they're sour, But were't my case, ye'd clear it up aff hand. Like the lean kye, will soon the fat devour. l'

Like to be carried by some reiver's haii'l, Pat. Sure Heaven approves; an' be assured his Far frae wishes, to some distant land ! o' me, Pat. Ne'er quarrel Fate, whilst it wi' me I'll ne'er gang back o' what I've sworn to thee: remains An' time, though time maun interpose a while, To raise thee up, or still attend thae plains. An' I maun leave my Peggy an' this isle; father has forbid our I My loves, own; Yet time, nor distance, nor the fairest face, But love's to a frown. superior parent's If there's a fairer, e'er shall fill thy place. I falsehood hate: kiss cares come, thy away; I'd hate my rising fortune, should it move I ken to love as weel as to obey. The fair foundation o' our faithfu' love. Sir William's gen'rous; leave the task to me, If at my feet were crowns an' sceptres laid, To mak' strict duty an' true love agree. To bribe saul my frae thee, delightfu' maid ! Peg. Speak on ! speak ever thus, an' still my For thee I'd soon leave thae inferior things, grief; To sic as ha'e the patience to be kings. But short I daur to hope the fond relief. Wherefore that tear ? Believe, an' calm thy mind. New thoughts a face will soon gentler inspire, Peg. I greet for joy to hear thy words sae kind. That wi' nice air swims round in silk attire; When hopes were sunk, an' nought but mirk Then me ! wi' ban I, poor sighs may my fate, despair When the young laird's nae mair heartsome my Made me think life was little worth my care, Pate; My heart was like to burst; but now I see Nae mair to hear sweet tales again exprest, Thy generous thoughts will save thy love for me. the that excelled the By blythe shepherd rest; Wi' patience, then, I'll wait ilk wheeling year, Nae mair be envied the by tattling gang, Hope time away, till thou wi' joy appear; When Patie kissed I or me, when danced sang. An' a' the while I'll study gentler charms, Nae mair, alake ! we'll on the meadow play, To mak' me fitter for my traveller's arms: An' rin haff breathless round the rucks o' hay; I'll gain on uncle Glaud; he's far frae fool, As aft-times I ha'e fled frae thee right fain, An' will not grudge to put me through ilk school, An' fa'n on purpose, that I might be ta'en. Where I may manners learn. Nae mair around the foggy knowe I'll creep, SANG XIX. To watch an' stare upon thee while asleep. But hear my vow, 'twill help to gi'e me ease: Tune "Tweed-side." May sudden death, or deadly sair disease, When hope was quite sunk in despair, An' warst o' ills attend my wretched life, My heart it was going to break; If e'er to ane, but you, I be a wife ! My life appeared worthless my care, SANG XVIII. But now I will save't for thy sake. " Tune Wae's my heart that we should sunder." Where'er my love travels by day, Wherever he lodges by night, Speak on, speak thus, an' still my grief, Wi' me his dear image shall stay, Haud up a heart that's sinking under An' my saul keep him ever in sight. Thae fears, that soon will want relief, When Pate maun frae his sunder: Peggy Wi' patience I'll wait the lang year, A gentler face, an' silk attire, An' study the gentlest o' charms; A lady rich, in beauty's blossom, Hope time away, till thou appear, me ! will now Alake, poor conspire To lock thee for aye in these arms. To steal thee frae bosom. thy Peggy's Whilst thou wast a shepherd, I prized Nae in this Nae mair the shepherd, wha excelled higher degree life; But now I'll endeavour to rise The rest, whase wit made them to wonder, To a that's wife. Shall now his Peggy's praises tell : height becoming thy

Ah ! I can die, but never sunder. For beauty, that's only skin deep, Ye meadows where we aften strayed, Must fade like the gowans in May; Ye banks where we were wont to wander, But inwardly rooted, will keep Sweet-scented rucks round which we play'd, For ever without a decay. You'll lose your sweets when we're asunder. Nor age, nor the changes o' life, fire o' Again, ah ! shall I never creep Can quench the fair love, Around the knowe wi' silent duty, If virtue's ingrained in the wife, Kindly to watch thee while asleep, An' the husband has sense to approve. An' wonder at thy manly beauty ? Hear, Heaven, while solemnly I vow, Pat. That's wisely said; Though thou shouldst prove a wandering lover, An' what he wares that way shall be weel paid. Through life to thee I shall prove true, Though, without a' the little helps o' art, Nor be a wife to any other ! Thy native sweets might gain a prince's heart, ALLAN EAMSAY. 123

Yet now, lest in our station we offend, Peg. Were't in my power, wi' better boons to We must learn modes to innocence unkend; please, Affect at times to like the thing we hate, I'd gi'e the best I could wi' the same ease; An' drap serenity to keep up state; Nor wad I, if thy luck had fa'en to me, Laugh when we're sad, speak when we've nought Been in ae jot less generous to thee. to say, Pat. I doubt it no; but since we've little time, An', for the fashion, when we're blythe, seem To ware't on words wad border on a crime: Love's safter meaning better is exprest, Pay compliments to them we aft ha'e scorned, When it's wi' kisses on the heart imprest. Then scandalize them when their backs are turned. [Exeunt. Peg. If this is gentry, I wad rather be What I am still; but I'll be aught wi' thee. I Pat. Nae, nae, my Peggy, but only jest ACT FIFTH. SCENE I. Wi' gentry's apes; for still, amangst the best,

Good manners gi'e integrity a bleeze, See how poor Bauldy stares, like ane possest, When native virtues join the arts to please. An' roars up Syrnou frae his kindly rest: Bare-legg'd, wi' night-cap, an' unbuttoned coat, /'//. Since wi' nae hazard, an' sae sma' expense, bee, the auld man comes forward to the got. My lad frae books can gather siccan sense, Then ah! should the sea why, why tempestuous SYMON and BAULDY. -Endanger thy dear life, an' frighten me? Sir William's cruel, that wad force his son, Sym. What want ye, Bauldy, at this early For watna-whats, sae great a risk to run. hour, Pat. There is nae doubt but travelling does While drowsy sleep keeps a' beneath it's power? improve; Far to the north the scant approaching light Yet I wad shun it for thy sake, my love. Stan's equal 'twixt the morning an' the night. But soon as I've shook aff my landart cast What gars ye shake, an' glow'r, an' look sae wan? In foreign cities, hame to thee I'll haste. Your teeth they chitter, hair like bristles stan'. Peg. Wi' every setting day an' rising morn, Baul. len' me soon some water, milk, or ale! I'll kneel to Heaven, an' ask thy safe return. My head's grown dizzy, legs wi' shaking fail; I'll Under that tree, an' on the Suckler brae, ne'er dare venture out at night my lane !

Where aft we wont, when bairns, to rin an' play; Alake ! I'll never be mysel again !

to first I'll ne'er ! ! An' the Hissel-shaw, where ye vowed o'erput it, Symon Oh, Symon Oh ! Ye wad be an' I as mine, eithly trowed, [SYMON gives him a drink. I'll aften gang, an' tell the trees an' flowers, Sym. What ails thee, gowk ! to mak' sae loud Wi' joy, that they'll bear witness I am yours. ado? You've waked Sir he has left his bed. SANG XX. William; He comes, I fear, ill-pleased: I hear his tread. " Tune Bush aboon Traquair." Enter SIR WILLIAM. At setting day, an' rising morn, Wi' saul that still shall love thee, Sir Wil. How goes the night? Does daylight I'll ask o' Heaven thy safe return, yet appear ? Wi' a' that can improve thee. Symon, you're very timeously asteer. I'll visit aft the birken I'm sir, that we've disturbed bush, Sym. sorry? your Where first thou kindly tald me rest; Sweet tales o' love, an' hid my blush, But some strange thing has Bauldy's sp'rit op- Whilst round thou didst infald me. prest: He's seen some witch, or warsled wi' a ghaist. To a' our haunts I will repair, Baul. ay, dear sir, in troth it's very true, To greenwood, shaw, or fountain; An' I am come to mak' my plaint to you. Or where the I'd simmer-day share Sir Wil. [smiling']. I lang to hear't. Wi' thee upon yon mountain. Baul. Ah, sir! the witch ca'd Mause, There will I tell the trees an' flowers, That wins aboon the mill amang the haws, Frae an' thoughts unfeigned tender, First promised that she'd help me, wi' her art, By vows your mine, by love is yours To gain a bonny thrawart lassie's heart. heart that cannot A wander. As she had trysted, I met wi' her this night;

But may nae friend o' mine get sic a fright ! Pat. My dear, allow me, frae thy temples fair, For the curst hag, instead o' doing me gude, A o' o't's like to freeze bluid shining ringlet thy flowing hair, (The very thought my !) Which, as a sample o' each lovely charm, Raised up a ghaist, or deil, I kenna whilk, I'll aften kiss, an' wear about my arm. Like a dead corse, in sheet as white as milk; 124 ALLAN KAMSAY.

Black hands it an' face as wan as death. had, SANG XXI. Upon me fast the witch an' it fell baith, Tune 'Bonny gray-ey'd morn." An' gat me down; while I, like a great fool, Was laboured as I used to be at school. The bonny gray-eyed morn begins to peep, heart out o' its hool was like to loup, My And darkness flies before the rising r:iy: I pithless grew wi' fear, an' had nae houp, The hearty hynd starts from his lazy sleep, Till wi' an elritch vanished laugh they quite; To follow healthful labours of the day; haff dead wi' an' Syne I, anger, fear, spite, Without a guilty sting to wrinkle his brow, an' fled frae them, sir, to Crap up, straught you, The lark and the linnet tend his levee, help to gi'e the deil his due. Houping your And he joins their concert driving his plough, I'm sure heart will ne'er o'er to dunt, my gi'e From toil of grimace and pageantry free. Till in a fat tar-barrel Mause be brunt.

Sir Wil. Well, Bauldy, whate'er's just shall While flustered with wine, or maddened with loss be. granted Of half an estate, the prey of a main, Let Mause be this down to me. brought morning The drunkard and gamester tumble and toss, to soon shall I BauL Thanks your honour, Wishing for calmness and slumber in vain. obey; Be my portion health and quietness of mind, But first I'll an' twa three Roger raise, mae, Placed at a due distance from parties and state, To catch her ere she leave to first, get squeal, Where neither ambition, nor avarice blind, An' cast her that the deil. cantrips bring up Reach him who has happiness linked to his fate. [Exit. [Exeunt. Sir Wil. Troth, Symon, Bauldy's more afraid than hurt; SCENE II. The witch and ghaist have made themselves good While Peggy laces up her bosom fair, sport. Wi' a blue snood Jenny binds up her hair : What silly notions crowd the clouded mind, Glaud, by his morning ingle, tak's a beek, The is ! rising sun shines the reek That through want of education blind motty through ; A his the lasses Sym. But does your honour think there's nae pipe mouth, please his een, An' now an' then his joke maun intervene. sic thing, As witches deils a raising up through ring, GLAUD, JENNY, and PEGGY. Syne playing tricks ? A thousand I could tell, Could never be contrived on this side hell. Glaiid. I wish, my bairns, it may keep fair till Sir Wil. Such as the devil's dancing in a muir, night; Amongst a few old women, crazed and poor, Ye dinna use sae soon to see the light. Who are rejoiced to see him frisk and loup Nae doubt, now, ye intend to mix the thrang, O'er braes and bogs, with candles in his dowp; To tak' your leave o' Patrick or he gang. Appearing sometimes like a black-horned cow, But do ye think, that now, when he's a laird, Aft-times like bawty, bawdrans, or a sow. That he poor landwart lasses will regard ? Then with his train through airy paths to glide, Jen. Though he's young master now, I'm very While they on cats, or clowns, or broom-staffs sure ride; He has mair sense than slight auld friends, Or in an egg-shell skim out o'er the main, though poor. To drink their leader's health in France or Spain; But yesterday, he ga'e us mony a tug, Then oft, by night, bumbaze hard-hearted fools, An' kissed my cousin there frae lug to lug. By tumbling down their cupboards, chairs, and Glaud. Ay, ay, nae doubt o't, an' he'll do't stools. again; Whate'er's in spells, or if there witches be, But be advised, his company refrain: Such whimsies seem the most absurd to me. Before, he as a shepherd sought a wife, Sym. It's true eneugh, we ne'er heard that a Wi' her to live a chaste an' frugal life; witch But now, grown gentle, soon he will forsake Had either meikle sense, or yet was rich; Sic godly thoughts, an' brag o' being a rake. But Mause, though poor, is a sagacious wife, Peg. A rake! what's that? Sure, if it means An' lives a an' quiet very honest life. aught ill, That gars me think this hobbleshew that's past, He'll never be't, else I ha'e tint my skill. Will in end naething but a joke at last. Glaud. Daft lassie, ye ken nought o' the affair; Sir Wil. I'm sure it will. But see, increasing Ane young, an' gude, an' gentle's unco rare. light A rake's a graceless spark, that thinks nae shame Commands the imps of darkness down to night. To do what like o' us thinks sin to name. Bid raise my servants, and my horse prepare, Be wary then, I say, an' never gi'e Whilst I walk out to take the morning air. Encouragement, or bourd wi' sic as he. ALLAN EAMSAY. 125

Ptg. Sir William's virtuous, an' o' gentle blood; An' may no Patrick, too, like him, be good? SCENE III. Gland. That's true; an' mony gentry mae than Sir William fills the twa-armed chair, he, While Symon, Roger, (Uuud, an' Mause better are than \ve, As they are wiser, Atti-ml, an' wi' loud laughter ln-:ir But thinner sawn: they're sae puft up wi' pride, Daft Bauldy bluntly plead his cauee: For n.w it's tolled him that the tawa There's mony o' them mocks ilk haly ^uide, W:i* handled by revengfu' Madge, That shaws the to heaven. I've heard gate mysel Because he brak gude-breeding's laws, hell. Some o' them laugh at doomsday, sin, an' An' wi' his nonsense raised their rage. Jen. Watch o'er us, father! heh! that's very odd; Sir WILLIAM, PATIE, ROGER, SYMON, GLAUD, suiv, him that doubts a doomsday, doubts a God! BAULDY, and MAUSE. ('In 'id. Doubt! why, they neither doubt, nor Sir Wil. And was that all ? Well, judge, nor think, Bauldy, ye was served Nor h >pe, nor fear; but curse, debauch, an' No otherwise than what ye well deserved. drink : Was it so small a matter, to defame But I'm no saying this, as if I thought

i And thus abuse an honest woman's name ? That Patrick to sic gates will e'er be brought. ! Besides your going about to have betrayed, /'>;/. The Lord forbid! Nae, he kens better , By perjury, an innocent young maid. things. Baul. Sir, I confess faut, through a' the But here comes aunt: her face some ferly brings. my steps, Enter MADGE. An' ne'er again shall be untrue to Neps. Mause. Thus far, sir, he obliged me, on the Haste, haste ye; we're a' sent for o'er score, the gate, I ken'd na that they thought me sic before. To hear, an' help to redd some odd debate Baul. An't like your honour, I believed itweel; Tween Mause an' Bauldy, 'bout some witchcraft But, troth, I was e'en doilt to seek the deil. spell, Yet, wi' your honour's leave, though she's nae At Symon's house: the knight sits judge himsel. witch, Glaud. Lend me staff. lock the slee an' my Madge, She's baith a a revengefu' , outer door, An' that my some-place finds. But I had best An' bring the lasses wi' ye: I'll step before. Haud in my tongue, for yonder comes the ghaist, [Exit GLAUD. An' the young bonny witch, whase rosy cheek Madge. Poor Meg! Look, Jenny, was the like Sent me, without my wit, the deil to seek. e'er seen ? Enter MADGE, PEGGY, and JENNY. How bleared an' red wi' greeting look her een! This day her brankan wooer tak's his horse, Sir Wil. [holing at PEGGY.] Whose daughter's To strut a gentle spark at Edinburgh cross; she, that wears th' aurora gown, To change his kent, cut frae the branchy plane, With face so fair, and locks a lovely brown ? For a nice sword an' glancing-headed cane; How sparkling are her eyes! What's this I find?

To leave his ram-horn spoons, an' kitted whey, The girl brings all my sister to my mind ! For gentler tea, that smells like new-won hay; Such were the features once adorned a face, To leave the green-sward dance, whan we gae Which death too soon deprived of sweetest milk, grace. To rustle 'mang the beauties clad in silk. Is this your daughter, Glaud ? But Meg, poor Meg ! maun wi* the shepherds Glaud. Sir, she's my niece; stay, An' yet she's not: but I should haud my peace. An' tak what God will send, in hodden-gray. Sir Wil. This is a contradiction. What d'ye Peg. Dear aunt, what need ye fash us wi' your mean? scorn ? She is, and is not ! Pray thee, Glaud, explain. It's no my faut that I'm nae gentler born. G/aud. Because I doubt, if I should mak' appear Gif I the daughter o' some laird had been, What I ha'e kept a secret thirteen year I ne'er had noticed Patie on the green. M'// WiL Speak soon I'm all impatience ! If he's made for another, he'll ne'er be mine; Pat. Sae am I ! An' then, the like has been, if the decree For much I hope, an' hardly yet ken why. l)t simis him mine, I yet his wife may be. Glaud. Then, since my master orders, I obey : M'l'ffic. A bonny story, troth! But we delay: This bonny foundling, ae clear morn o' May, Prin up your aprons baith, an' come away. Close by the lee-side o' my door I found, [Exeunt. A' sweet, an' clean, an' carefully hapt round 126 ALLAN KAMSAY.

In infant weeds, o' rich an' gentle make. Mause. Then it was I that saved her infant life, What could they be, thought I, did thee forsake? Her death being threatened by an uncle's wife. Wha, warse than brutes, could leave exposed to The story's lang; but I the secret knew, air How they pursued, wi' avaricious view, Sae much o' innocence, sae sweetly fair, Her rich estate, o' which they're now possest: Sae helpless young ? for she appeared to me All this to me a confidant confest. Only about twa towmonds auld to be. I heard wi' horror, an' wi' trembling dread, I took her in my arms; the bairnie smiled They'd smoor the sakeless orphan in her bed. Wi' sic a look, wad made a savage mild. That very night, when all were sunk in rest, I hid the story. She has passed sinsyne At midnight hour the floor I saftly prest, As a poor orphan, an' a niece o' mine: An' staw the sleeping innocent away, Nor do I rue my care about the wean, Wi' whom I travelled some few miles ere day. For she's weel worth the pains that I ha'e ta'en. A' day I hid me. Whan the day was done, Ye see she's bonny; I can swear she's gude, I kept my journey, lighted by the moon, An' am right sure she's come o' gentle bluid; Till eastward fifty miles I reached these phn'iih, 0' wham I kenua. Naething I ken mair, Where needfu' plenty glads your cheerfu' swains. Than what I to your honour now declare. Afraid of being found out, I, to secure

Sir Wil. This tale seems strange ! My charge, e'en laid her at this shepherd's door, Pal. The tale delights my ear ! An' took a neighbouring cottage here, that T, Sir Wil. Command your joys, young man, till Whate'er should happen to her, might be by. truth appear. Here honest Glaud himsel, an' Symon, may Mause. That be my task. Now, sir, bid a' be Remember weel how I that very day hush : Frae Roger's father took my little cruve. Peggy may smile; thou hast nae cause to blush. Glaud. [m' tears ofjoy happing down his beard.]

ha'e I wished to see this I weel remember't. Lord reward love ! Lang ; happy day, your That I might safely to the truth gi'e way; Lang ha'e I wished for this; for aft I thought That I may now Sir William Worthy name, Sic knowledge some time should about be brought. The best an' nearest friend that she can claim. Pat. It's now a crime to doubt: my joys are full, He saw't at first, an' wi' quick eye did trace Wi' due obedience to my parent's will. His sister's beauty in her daughter's face. Sir, wi' paternal love, survey her charms, Sir Wil. Old woman, do not rave; prove what An' blame me not for rushing to her arms. say: She's mine vows an' wad still unknown you by ; , though , It's dangerous in affairs like this to play. Ha'e been my wife, when I my vows durst own. Pat. can an auld have What reason, sir, woman Sir Wil. My niece, my daughter! welcome to To tell a when she's sae near her ? lie, grave my care, But or it should be I of how, why, truth, grant, Sweet image thy mother, good and fair ! I that looks like reason want. every thing Equal with Patrick. Now my greatest aim

Omnes. ! The story's odd We wish we heard Shall be to aid your joys and well-matched flame. it out. My boy, receive her from your father's hand, Sir Wil. Make haste, good woman, and resolve With as good will as either would demand. each doubt. [PATIE and PEGGY embrace, and /// to [MAUSE goes forward, leading PEGGY to SIR WILLIAM. WILLIAM. Sm Pat. Wi' as much joy this blessing I receive, weel: has fifteen sae Mause. Sir, view me years As ane wad life that's sinking in a wave. ploughed Sir Wil. [raises them.] I give you both my bless- A wrinkled that ha'e aften face, you viewed, ing. May your love That here as an unknown I, stranger, stand, Produce a happy race, and still improve. Wha nursed her mother that now hauds hand? my Peg. My wishes are complete; my joys axise, Yet I'll if demand. stronger proofs gi'e, you While I'm haff dizzy wi' the blest surprise. Sir Wil. Ha! honest where were nurse, my An' am I then a match for my ain lad, before ? eyes That for me so much generous kindness had ? I know and need no thy faithfulness, more; Lang may Sir William bless thae happy plains, Yet, from the labyrinth to lead out my mind, Happy while Heaven grant he on them remains! to ? Say, expose her, who was so unkind Pat. Be lang our guardian, still our master be; WILLIAM embraces and makes her [SiR PEGGY, We'll only crave what you shall please to gi'e: sit him. by The estate be yours, my Peggy's ane to me. Yes, surely, thou'rt my niece; truth must prevail. Glaud. I hope your honour now will tak' amends But no till more words, Mause relate her tale. 0' them that sought her life for wicked ends. Pat. Gude nurse, gae on; nae music's haff sae Sir Wil. The base unnatural villain soon shall fine, know Or can gi'e pleasure like thae words o' thine. That eyes above watch the affairs below. ALLAN RAMSAY. 127

to SIR I'll strip him soon of all to her pertains, [PATIE, presenting ROGER WILLIAM. And make him reimburse his ill-got gains. Pat. Sir, here's my trusty friend, that always

/'- '/. To me the views o' wealth an' an estate shared

wi' Pate: 1 Seem light, when put in balance my My bosom secrets, ere was a laird:

For his sake only I'll aye thankfu' bow, Glaud's daughter, Janet (Jenny, think nae shaiiK ) For sic a kindness, best o' men, to you. Raised, an' maintains in him a lover's tluim-. Sym. What double blytheness wakens up this Lang was he dumb; at last he spak' an' won, uncle's son. day I An' hopes to be our honest I hope now, sir, you'll no soon haste away. Be pleased to speak to Glaud for his consent, Shall I unsaddle your horse, an' gar prepare That nane may wear a face o' discontent. A dinner for ye o' hale country fare ? Sir Wil. My son's demand is fair. Glaud, let See how much joy unwrinkles every brow; me crave Our looks hing on the twa, an' doat on you. That trusty Roger may your daughter have, E'en Bauldy, the bewitched, has quite forgot With frank consent; and, while he does remain Fell Madge's taws, an' pawky Mause's plot. Upon these fields, I make him chamberlain. Sir Wil. Kindly old man! remain with you QlaiuL. You crowd your bounties, sir. What this day ? can we say,

I never from these fields again will stray. But that we're dyvours that can ne'er repay . Masons and wrights my house shall soon repair, Whate'er your honour wills, I sail obey. And busy gardeners shall new planting rear. Roger, my daughter, wi' a blessing, tak', My father's hearty table you soon shall see An' still our master's right your business mak'. Restored, and my best friends rejoice with me. Please him, be faithfu', an' this auld gray head Sym. That's the best news I heard this twenty Sail nod wi' quietness down amang the dead. year! Rog. I ne'er was gude o' speaking a' my days, New day breaks up, rough times begin to clear. Or ever lo'ed to mak' owre great a fraise; Glaud. save the an' save Sir William God King, But for my master, father, an' my wife, lang, I will employ the cares o' a' my life. T' their an' raise the enjoy ain, shepherds' sang. Sir Wil. My friends, I'm satisfied you'll all Rog. Wha winna dance ? Wha will refuse to behave, sing? Each in his station, as I'd wish or crave. What whistle winna lilt the ? shepherd's spring Be ever virtuous, soon or late you'll find Baul. I'm friends wi' Mause wi' very Madge Reward, an' satisfaction to your mind. I'm 'greed, The maze of life sometimes looks dark an' wild: me when fleid: Although they skelpit woodly And oft when hopes are highest we're beguiled. I'm now fu' blythe, an' frankly can forgive, Oft when we stand on brinks of dark " despair, To an' Sir William live !" join sing, Lang may Some happy turn, with joy, dispels our care.

he live ! learn Madge. Lang may An', Bauldy, Now, all's at right, who sings best let me hear. to steek Peg. When you demand, I readiest should an' think before Your gab awee, ye speak; obey: An' never ca* her auld that want's a man, I'll sing you ane, the newest that I ha'e. Else ye may yet some witch's fingers ban. This day I'll wi' the youngest o' ye rant, SANG XXII. An' brag for aye that I was ca'd the aunt Tune "Coru-riggs are bonny." O' our young lady, my dear bonny bairn ! Peg. Nae ither name I'll ever for you learn. My Patie is a lover gay, An', my gude nurse, how shall I gratefu' be His mind is never muddy; a' kindness for For thy matchless done me? His breath is sweeter than new hay, Mause. The flowing pleasures o' this happy His face is fair an' ruddy. day His shape is handsome, middle size: Does fully a' I can require repay. He's comely in his walking; s'/V Wil. faithful kind To Symon, and, Glaud, The shining o' his een surprise; to you, It's heaven to hear him talking. An' to your heirs, I give, in endless feu, The mailens ye possess, as justly due, Last night I met him on a bauk, For acting like kind fathers to the pair, Whare yellow corn was growing; Who have enough besides, and these can spare. There mony a kindly word he spak', 'l.-mse, in my house, in calmness, close your days, That set my heart a-glowing. With nought to do but sing your Maker's praise. He kissed an' vowed he wad be mine, Omiccx. The Lord o' Heaven return your hon- An' lo'ed me best o' ony; our's love, That gars me like to sing sinsyne,

I'onfirm your joys, an' a' your blessings roove ! corn-riggs are bonny ! 12S ALLAN EAMSAY.

Let lasses o' a silly mind In brief there, with grief there, Refuse what maist they're wanting; I dotter'd owre on sleep. Since we for yielding1 were designed, We chastely should be granting. Here Somnus in his silent hand Then I'll an' comply, marry Pate, Held all my senses at command, An' syne cockernony, my While I forgot my care; He's free to touzle air or late, The mildest meed of mortal wights, "Where corn-riggs are bonny. Who pass in peace the private nights, [Exeunt omnes. That, waking, finds it rare; So in soft slumbers did I lie, But not my wakerife mind, Which still stood watch, and could espy THE VISION. A man with aspect kind, Right auld-like, and bauld-like, With beard Bedown the bents of Banquo brae, three-quarters scant, Sae and My lane I wandered waif and wae, brave-like, grave-like, He seem'd to be a sanct. Musing our main mischance; Ho\v by the foes we are undone, 1 Great daring darted frae his eye, That stole the sacred stane frae Scone, A broadsword at his And led us sic a dance: shogled thigh, On his left arm a While England's Edwards take our towers, targe; A shining spear fill'd his right hand, And Scotland first obeys; Of stalwart make in bone and braun, Rude ruffians ransack royal bowers, Of just proportions large; And Baliol homage pays; A various rainbow- coloured Through feidom, our freedom plaid Owre his left spaul he threw, Is blotted with this score, Down his braid back, frae his white What Romans', or no man's, head, The silver Pith could e'er do before. wimplers grew; Amazed, I gazed, To led at The air grew rough with bousteous thuds, see, command, A and Bauld Boreas branglit outthrow the clouds, strampant rampant Fierce lion in his Maist like a drunken wight; hand, The thunder crack'd, and flauchts did rift AVhich held a thistle in his Frae the black vizard of the lift; paw, round his collar I The forest shook with fright: And grav'd saw Nae birds aboon their wing exten', This poesy, pat and plain : They dought not bide the blast: "Nemo me impune lacess Ilk beast bedeen bang'd to their den, Et." In Scots, "Nane shall oppress with Until the storm was past: Me, unpunished pain!" Ilk creature in nature Still shaking, I durst naething say, Till with kind That had a spunk of sense, he, accent, In need then, with speed then, Said, "Fere! Let not thy heart affray, " I to hear Methought cried, IN DEFENCE!" come thy plaint; Thy groaning, and moaning, Hath reach'd mine To see a morn in May sae ill, lately ear; I deem'd dame Nature was gane will Debar then, afar then, fear. To roar with reckless reil; All eiriness or Wherefore to put me out of pain, " And sconce my scap and shanks frae rain, For I am one of a high station, I bore me to a biel, The warden of this ancient nation, " Up a high craig that hungit alaft, And cannot do thee wrang. Out owre a canny cave, I vizyt him then round about, A curious crove of nature's craft, Syne, with a resolution stout, Which to me shelter gave; Speir'd, where had he been sae lang? There vexed, perplexed, Quoth he, "Although I some forsook, I lean'd me down to weep; Because they did me slight, To hills and glens I me betook, 1 This stone is preserved in Westminster Abbey. To them that loves my right; ALLAN RAMSAY. 129

Whose minds yet, inclines yet, Gif it's not in his pith, what then 1 To dam the rapid spate, Rest but a while content; Devising, and prizing, Not fearful, but cheerful, Freedom at ony rate. And wait the will of fate, Which minds to, designs to, "Our traitor peers their tyrants treat, Renew your ancient state. \Vlio gibe them, and their substance eat, And on their honour stamp. "I ken some mair than ye do all They, puir degenerates, bend their backs, Of what shall afterward befall The victor, Longshanks, proudly cracks In mair auspicious times; He has blawn out our lamp. For often, far above the moon, While true men, sair complaining, tell We watching beings do convene, With sobs their silent grief, Frae round earth's utmost climes; How Baliol their rights did sell, Where every warden represents With small hope of relief. Clearly his nation's case, Regretting, and fretting, Gif famine, pest, or sword torments, Aye at his cursed plot, Or villains high in place, Who rammed, and crammed, Who keep aye, and heap aye, That bargain down their throat. Up to themselves great store, By rundging, and spunging, "Brave gentry swear, and burghers ban; The leal laborious poor." Revenge is muttered by each clan That's to the nation true. "Say then," said I, "at your high state, The cloisters come to cun the evil, Learn' d ye aught of auld Scotland's fate, Mailpayers wish it to the devil, Gif e'er she'll be hersell?" With its contriving crew. With smile celest, quoth he, "I can; The hardy would with hearty wills But it's not fit a mortal man Upon dire vengeance fall; Should ken all I can tell : The feckless fret owre heughs and hills, But part to thee I may unfold, And echo answers all; And thou mayst safely ken, Repeating, and greeting, When Scottish peers slight Saxon gold, With mony a sair alace, And turn true-hearted men; For blasting, and casting, When knavery, and slavery, Our honour in disgrace!" Are equally despis'd, And loyalty, and royalty, " Wae's me!" quoth I, "our case is bad; Universally are priz'd, And mony of us are gane mad, Sin' this disgraceful paction. "When all your trade is at a stand, We're fell'd and harried now by force, And cunyie clean forsakes the land, And hardly help for't, that's yet worse, Which will be very soon; We are sae forfairn wi' faction. Will priests without their stipends preach? Then has he not good cause to grumble, For naught will lawyers causes stretch? That's forc'd to be a slave ? Faith! that's na easy done! Oppression does the judgment jumble, All this, and mair, maun come to pass And gars a wise man rave. To clear your glamour'd sight, May chains then, and pains then, And Scotland maun be made an ass Infernal be their hire, To set her judgment right. Who dang us, and flang us, They'll jade her, and blad her, " Into this ugsome mire! Until she break her tether; Though auld she is, yet bauld she is, Then he, with bauld forbidding look, And tough like barked leather. And stately air, did me rebuke, For being of sprite sae mean. "But mony a corpse shall breathless lie, Said he, "It's far beneath a Scot And wae shall mony a widow cry, To use weak curses, when his lot Or all run right again; May sometime sour his spleen. O'er Cheviot, prancing proudly north, He rather should, mair like a man, The foes shall take the field near Forth, Some brave design attempt, And think the day their ain. 130 ALLAN RAMSAY.

But burns that day shall run with blood And Cupid (Love's wee winged child) Of them that now oppress, Falls down and fyles his feathers; Their carcases be corbies' food When Pan forgets to tune his reed, By thousands on the grass. And flings it careless by; A king then, shall reign then, And Hermes, wing'd at heels and head, Of wise renown and brave, Can neither stand nor lie: Whose puissance, and sapience, When staggering, and swaggering, Shall right restore and save." They stoiter home to sleep; While sentries, and entries, Immortal watches "The view of freedom's sweet!" quoth I, keep. "0 say, great tenant of the sky, How near's that happy time?" "Thus we took in the high brown liquor, "We ken things but by circumstance; And bang'd about the nectar bicker; " Nae mair," quoth he, I may advance, But ever with this odds Lest I commit a crime." We ne'er in drink our judgments drench, " Whate'er ye please, gae on," quoth I, Nor scour about to seek a wench, " I shall not fash ye more, Like these auld bawdy gods; Say how and where ye met, and why, But frankly at each other ask As ye did hint before." What's proper we should know, With air then, sae fair then, How each one has performed the task That glanc'd like rays of glory, Assigned to him below. Sae god-like and odd-like, Our minds, then, sae kind then, He thus resumed his story. Are fixed upon our care, Aye noting, and plotting, "Frae the sun's rising to his set, What tends to their weelfare. All the prime rate of wardens met, In solemn bright array, "Gothus and Vandal baith look'd bluff, With vehicles of ether clear, While Gallus sneered and took a snuff, Such as we on when we put appear Which made Almaine to stare; To souls row'd in clay; up Latinus bade him nothing fear, There in a wide and splendid hall, But lend his hand to holy weir, Reared with up shining beams, And of cow'd crowns tak' care. Whose roof-trees were of rainbows all, Batavius, with his puddock-face, And paved with starry gleams, ' Looking asquint, cried, Pish ! That prinkled, and twinkled, Your monks are void of sense or grace, Brightly beyond compare, I had lever fight for fish; Much and named. famed, Your school-men are fool-men, The Castle in the Air. Carv'd out for dull debates, Decoying, and destroying, "In midst of which a table stood, Baith monarchies and states.' A spacious oval red as blood, Made of afire-flaucht; " with Around the walls were Iberius, gurly nod, dazzling drawn, ' 1 Cried, Hogan, yes, we ken your god, With rays by a celestial haun, It's herrings ye adore !' Full many a curious draught. Heptarchus, as he used to be, Inferior beings flew in haste, Cannot with his ain thoughts agree, Without guide or director, But varies back and fore. Millions of miles, through the wild waste, One while he says it is not right To bring in bowls of nectar. A monarch to resist ; Then roundly, and soundly, Next breath all will We drank like Roman royal power slight, gods, And When Jove does rove passive homage jest. sae, sae, He and That Mars and Bacchus nods. hitches, fitches, Between the hie and hoc, Aye geeing, and fleeing, "When Phoebus' head turns light as cork, Round like a weather-cock. And Neptune leans upon his fork, And limping Vulcan blethers; When Pluto glowers as he were wild, 1 A name of contempt for the Dutch. ALLAN RAMSAY. 131 " I still support my precedence With that my hand, methought, he shook, Aboon them all, for sword and sense, And wished 1 happiness might brook Though I have lain right lown; To eild by night and day; Which was because I bore a grudge Syne, quicker than an arrow's flight, At some fool Scots who liked to drudge He mounted upwards frae my sight, To princes not their own. Straight to the Milky AVay. Some thanes their tenants pyk'd and squeez'd My mind him followed through the skies, And purs'd up all their rent. Until the briny stream Syne wallop'd to far courts, and bleez'd For joy ran trickling frae mine eyes, Till riggs and shaws were spent. And wak'd me frae my dream. Syne byndging, and whyndging, Then peeping, half sleeping, When thus reduced to howps, Frae furth my rural bield, They dander, and wander, It eased me, and pleased me, About, puir lick- ma-dowps! To see and smell the field. " But now it's time for me to draw For Flora, in her clean array, sword My shining against club-law, New washen with a shower of May, And lion roar; gar my Looked full sweet and fair; He shall or sic a lang gie sound, While her clear husband frae above, The echo shall be heard around Shed down his rays of genial love, frae shore to shore. Europe, Her sweets perfum'd the air. Then let them all their gather strength, The winds were hush'd, the welkin clear'd, And strive to work fall my ; The glooming clouds were fled, at the Though numerous, yet length And all as saft and gay appear'd I will o'ercome them all ; ane shed As Elysian ; And raise and blaze yet, yet, Whilk heezed, and bleezed, bravery and renown, My My heart with sic a fire, and placing, By gracing, As raises these praises, the Scottish crown. Aright That do to heaven aspire. " When my brave Bruce the same shall weir Upon his royal head, full cleir The diadem will shine; Then shall sair your oppression cease, LOCHABER NO MORE. 1 His interest yours he will not fleece, Nor leave you e'er incline: Farewell to Lochaber, and farewell my Jean, Though millions to his purse be lent, Where heartsome with thee I've mony day been; You'll ne'er the puirer be, For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more, But rather while it's richer, spent "We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more. Within the Scottish sea. These tears that I shed they are a' for my dear, The field shall then, yield then, And no for the dangers attending on wear; To honest husbands' wealth; Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore, Good laws then, shall cause then, Maybe to return to Lochaber no more. A sickly state have health." Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind, While thus he talk'd methought there came They'll ne'er make a tempest like that in my A wonder-fair ethereal dame, mind; And to our warden said of thunder on louder waves " Though loudest roar, Great Caledon! I come in search That's naething like leaving my love on the shore. Of frae the you high starry arch, To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pain'd; The council wants aid. your By ease that's inglorious no fame can be gain'd; Frae every quarter of the sky, And beauty and love's the reward of the brave, As swift us whirlwind, And I must deserve it before I can crave. With spirits' speed the chieftains hie; Some is great thing designed. i The Lass of Patie's Mill, the Yellow-hair'd Laddie, Owre mountains, by fountains, Farewell to Lochaber, and some others, must be allowed And round each fairy ring, equal to any, and even superior, in point of pastoral I've chased ye: haste ye, simplicity, to most lyric productions either iii the They talk about your'king!" Scottish or any other language. Joseph Ritson. 132 ALLAN RAMSAY.

Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my excuse; Since honour commands me, how can I refuse ? THE LASS OF PATIE'S MILL. 1 Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee, And without thy favour I'd better not be. The lass of Patie's Mill, I gae then, my lass, to win honour and fame, So bonny, blythe, and gay, And if I should luck to come gloriously hame, In spite of all my skill, I'll bring a heart to thee with love running o'er, She stole heart And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more. my away. When tedding of the hay, Bareheaded on the green, Love 'midst her locks did play, And wanton'd in her een. THE LAST TIME I CAME O'ER THE MOOR. Her arms, white, round, and smooth, Breasts rising in their dawn, The last time I came o'er the moor To age it would give youth I left my love behind me; To press them with his hand. Ye powers! what pain do I endure, Thro' all my spirits ran When soft ideas mind me! An ecstacy of bliss, Soon as the ruddy morn displayed When I such sweetness fan' The beaming day ensuing, Wrapt in a balmy kiss. I met betimes my lovely maid, In fit retreats for wooing. Without the help of art, Like flowers that grace the wild, Beneath the cooling shade we lay, She did her sweets impart, Gazing and chastely sporting; Whene'er she spoke or smil'd. We kissed and promised time away, Her looks they were so mild, Till night spread her dark curtain. Free from affected pride, I pitied all beneath the skies, She me to love beguil'd; E'en kings, when she was nigh me; I wish'd her for my bride. In raptures I beheld her eyes, Which could but ill deny me. had I all the wealth Hopetoun's high mountains fill, Should I be called where cannons roar, Insur'd lang life and health, Where mortal steel And at will may wound me; pleasure my ; I'd Or cast upon some foreign shore, promise and fulfil, Where dangers may surround me; That none but bonny she, Yet hopes again to see my love, The lass of Patie's Mill, To feast on glowing kisses, Should share the same with me. Shall make my cares at distance move, In prospect of such blisses.

In all my soul there's not one place BESSIE BELL AND MARY GRAY. To let a rival enter; Since she excels in every grace, Bessie Bell and Mary Gray, In her love shall centre. my They are twa bonnie lasses, Sooner the seas shall cease to flow, They bigged a bow'r on yon burn brae, Their waves the Alps shall cover, And theeked it ower wi' rashes. On Greenland ice shall roses grow, Before I cease to love her. 1 Burns in a letter to Mr. Thompson gives the follow- ing history of the song. He says that Allan Ramsay The next time I go o'er the moor, was residing at Loudoun Castle, being on a visit to the She shall a lover find me; Earl of Loudoun, and one forenoon riding or walking out together, they passed a sweet romantic on And that my faith is firm and pure, spot Irvine water, still called Patie's Mill, where a bonnie Though I left her behind me: " ass was tedding hay bareheaded on the green." The Then Hymen's sacred bonds shall chain earl observed to Allan that it would be a fine theme for heart to her fair My bosom; a song. Ramsay took the hint, and lingering behind while does There, my being remain, he composed the first sketch of the Lass of Patie's Mill, My love more fresh shall blossom. which he produced that day at dinner. ROBEET CRAWFORD. 133

Fair Bessy Bell I lo'ed yestreen, And thought I ne'er could alter, THE YELLOW-HAIR'D LADDIE. But Mary Gray's twa pawky ecu, In when the sweet They gar my fancy falter. April, primroses paint plain, And summer approaching rejoiceth the swain, The laddie would oftentimes Now Bessy's hair's like a lint tap; yellow-hair'd go To woods and where She smiles like a May morning, deep glens the hawthorn- trees When Phoebus starts frae Thetis' lap, grow. The hills wi' rays adorning: There, under the shade of an old sacred thorn, White is her neck, saft is her hand, With freedom he sung his loves, evening and Her waist and feet's fu' genty, morn: Wi' ilka she can grace command, He sung with so soft and enchanting a sound, Her wow! lips, they're dainty. That sylvans and fairies, unseen, danced around.

And locks are like the " Mary's craw, The shepherd thus sung: Though young Maddie Her een like diamonds glances; be fair, She's sae clean redd and aye up, Draw, Her beauty is dash'd with a scornful proud air; kills whene'er She she dances: But Susie was handsome, and sweetly could sing; Blythe as a kid, wi' wit at will, Her breath's like the breezes perfumed in the She blooming, tight, and tall is; spring. And guides her airs sae gracefu' still, "That Maddie, in all the gay bloom of her youth, Jove! she's like thy Pallas. Like the moon, was inconstant, and never spoke truth; Dear Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, But Susie was faithful, good-humour'd, and free, Ye unco sair oppress us, And fair as the goddess that sprung from the sea. Our fancies jee between ye twa, Ye are sic bonnie lasses: "That mamma's fine daughter, with all her great Waes for baith I canna me, get, dower, To ane law we're stented by ; Was awkwardly airy, and frequently sour." Then I'll draw and take cuts, my fate, Then sighing, he wished, would but parents agree, be wi' ane And contented. The witty sweet Susie his mistress might be.

EOBEET CEAWFOED.

BORN 1690 DIED 1733.

ROBERT CRAWFORD, author of the beautiful Auchinames family. He was on terms of pastoral ballad of "Tweedside," was born about intimacy with Allan Ramsay and William the year 1690. He was a cadet of the family of Hamilton of Bangour. He assisted the former Drumsoy, and is sometimes called William in "the glory or the shame" of composing new Crawford of Auchinames, a mistake in part songs for many old Scottish melodies, which arising from Lord Woodhouselee misapplying appeared in Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, an expression in one of Hamilton of Bangour's published in the year 1724, and is one of the letters regarding a Will Crawford. His father, "ingenious young gentlemen" of whom the Patrick Crawford (or Crawfurd), was twice editor speaks as contributors to his Miscellany. married, first to a daughter of a Gordon of Crawford is said to have been a remarkably Turnberry, by whom he had two sons Thomas, handsome man, and to have spent many years and Robert the poet; second to Jean, daughter in Paris. Mr. Ramsay of Ochtertyre, in a of Crawford of Auchinames, in Renfrewshire, letter to Dr. Blacklock, dated Oct. 27, 1787, by whom he had a large family. Hence the says: "You may tell Mr. Burns when you see mistake of making the poet belong to the him that Colonel Edmonston told me t'other