ACTI. SCENE I.
Beneath the South-fide of a craigy beild,
Where chryftal Springs the halefome waters yield,
Twa youthful Shepherds on the gowans lay,
Tenting their Flocks ae bonny morn of May.
Poor ROGER granes till bollow ecchoes ring,
But blyther PATIE likes to laugh and fing.
PATIE and ROGER.
SANG I. The wawking of the Faulds.
Mr Peggy is a young thing,
Just enter'd in her teens,
Fair as the day, and fweet as May,
Fair as the day, and always gay.
My Peggy is a young thing,
And I'm not very auld,
Yet well I like to meet her at
The wawking of the Fauld.
B
My Peggy peaks fae fweetly,
Whene'er we meet alane,
I wish nae mair, to lay my Care,
I wish nae mair, of a' that's rare.
My Peggy Speaks fo fweetly,
To a' the lave I'm cauld:
But fhe gars a' my spirits glow
At wawking of the fauld.
My Peggy fmiles fae kindly,
Whene'er I whisper love,
That I look down on a' the town,
That I look down upon a crown.
My Peggy fmiles fae kindly,
It makes me blyth and bauld;
And naithing gives me fic delight,
As wawking of the fauld.
My Peggy fings fae faftly,
When on my pipe I play; TO
By a' the reft, it is confeft,
By a' the reft, that he fings beft.
My Peggy fings fae faftly,
And in her fangs are tald,
With innocence the wale of fenfe,
At wawking of the fauld.
HIS funny morning, Roger, chears my blood,
And puts all nature in a jovial mood.
How hartfome is't to fee the rifing plants,
To hear the birds chirm o'er their pleafing rants! How halefome is't to fnuff the cawler air,
And all the fweets it bears, when void of care!
What ails thee, Roger, then? what gars thee grane?
Tell me the cause of thy ill-feafon'd pain.
I'm born, O Patie! to a thrawart fate;
I'm born to strive with hardships fad and great.
Tempeft may ceafe to jaw the rowand flood,
Corbies and tods to grein for lambkin's blood:
But I, oppreft with never ending grief,
Maun ay despair of lighting on relief.
The Bees fhall loath the flow'r, and quit the hive,
The faughs on boggy ground fhall cease to thrive,
Ere fcornful queans, or lofs of warldly gear,
Shall fpill my reft, or ever force a tear.v
Sae might I fay; but it's no eafy done
By ane whase faul's fae fadly out of tune.
You have fae faft a voice, and flid a tongue,
You are the darling of baith auld and young.
If I but ettle at a fang, or speak,
They dit their lugs, fyne up their leglens cleek,
And jeer me hameward frae the loan or bught,
While I'm confus'd with mony a vexing thought.
Yet I am tall, and as well built as thee,
Nor mair unlikely to a lass's
For ilka fheep ye have, I'll number ten,
And should, as ane may think, come farer ben.
But ablins, nibour, ye have not a heart,
And downa eithly wi' your cunzie part.
If that be true, what fignifies your gear?
A mind that's fcrimpit never wants fome care.
B 2
My byar tumbled, nine braw nout were fmoord,
Three elf-fhot were, yet I thefe ills endur?d: A
In winter last my cares were very sma",
Though scores of wathers perish'd in the fnaw,
Were your bein rooms as thinly flock'd as mine,
Lefs you wad lofs, and lefs you wad repine.
He that has just enough, can foundly sleep,
The o'ercome only fashes fowk to keep.
ROGER. :
May plenty flow upon thee for a cross,
That thou mayft thole the pangs of mony a loss.
O mayft thou dote on fome fair paughty wench,
That ne'er will lout thy lowan drowth to quench;
Till, bris'd beneath the burden, thou cry dool,
And awn that ane may fret that is nae fool.
PATIE.
Sax good fat lambs, I fauld them ilka clut
At the Weft-port, and bought a winfome flute,
Of plum-tree made, with iv'ry virles round,
A dainty whistle with a pleasant found:
I'll be mair canty wi't, and ne'er cry dool,
Than you with all your cafh, ye dowie fool.
ROGER.
Na, Patie, na! I'm nae fick churlish beaft,
Some other thing lies heavier at my breaft
I dream'd a dreary dream this hinder night,
That gars my flesh a' creep yet with the fright.
PATIE.
Now to a friend, how filly's this pretence,
To ane wha you and a' your fecrets kens!
Daft are your dreams, as daftly wad
ye hide
Your well-feen love, and dorty Jenny's pride.
Take courage, Roger, me your forrows tell,
And fafely think nane kens them but
Indeed now, Patie, ye have guess'd o'er true,
And there is naithing I'll keep up frae you.
Me dorty Jenny looks upon a fquint;
To speak but till her I dare hardly mint.
In ilka place, fhe jeers me air and late,
And gars me look.bombaz'd and unko blate.
But yesterday I met her 'yont a know ;:'
She fled as frae as a fhelly-coated kow;
She Bauldy loes, Bauldy that drives the car;
But gecks at me, and fays I smell of tar.
PATIE.
But Bauldy loes not her, right well I wat;
He fighs for Neps: Sae that may stand for that.
ROGER.
I wish I cou'dna loe her: --- But in vain;
I ftill maun doat, and thole her proud difdain.
My Bawty is a cur I dearly like;
Ev'n while he fawn'd, fhe ftrake the poor dumb tike:
If I had fill'd a nook within her breaft,
She wad have shawn mair kindness to my beast.
When I begin to tune my stock and horn,
With a' her face fhe fhaws a cauîrife fcorn.
Laft night I play'd, (ye never heard fic fpite)
O'er Bogie was the fpring, and her delite;
Yet tauntingly fhe at her cufin fpeer'd,
Gif she could tell what tune I play'd, and fneer'd.
Flocks, wander where ye like; I dinna care;
I'll break my reed, and never whiftle mair.
E'en do fae, Roger; wha can help misluck, Saebins fhe be fick a thrawn gabbet chuck? Yonder's a craig; finçe ye have tint all hope, Gae till't your ways, and take the lover's loup. ROGER.
I needna mak fick fpeed my blood to spill;
I'll warrant death come foon enough a-will.
PATIE.
Daft gowk! leave aff that filly whinging way :
Seem careless, there's my hand ye'll win the day.
Hear how I ferv'd my lafs. I love as well
As ye do Jenny, and with heart as leel.
Laft morning I was gay and early out,
Upon a dyke I lean'd, glowring about,
I faw my Meg come linking o'er the lee:
I faw my Meg, but Meggy faw na me:
|