Classic Poem

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Sir W ILLIAM solus.

T HE gentleman thus hid in low disguise,
I 'll for a space, unknown, delight mine eyes
With a full view of ev'ry fertile plain,
Which once I lost, which now are mine again.
Yet, 'midst my joy, some prospects pain renew,
Whilst I my once fair seat in ruins view.
Yonder, ah me! it desolately stands,
Without a roof, the gates fall'n from their bands;
The casements all broke down, no chimney left,
The naked walls of tapestry all bereft.
My stables and pavilions, broken walls,
That with each rainy blast decaying falls:
My gardens once adorn'd the most complete,
With all that nature, all that art makes sweet;
Where round the figur'd green and pebble walks,
The dewy flow'rs hung nodding on their stalks;
But overgrown with nettles, docks, and brier,
No hyacinths or eglantines appear.
Here fail'd and broke 's the rising ample shade,
Where peach and nect'rine trees their branches spread,
Basking in rays, and early did produce
Fruit fair to view, delightful to the use.
All round in gaps the walls in ruin lye,
And from what stands the wither'd branches fly.
These soon shall be repair'd: — and now my joy
Forbids all grief, when I 'm to see my boy,
My only prop, and object of my care,
Since heav'n too soon call'd home his mother fair:
Him, ere the rays of reason clear'd his thought,
I secretly to faithful Symon brought,
And charg'd him strictly to conceal his birth,
Till we should see what changing times brought forth.
Hid from himself, he starts up by the dawn,
And ranges careless o'er the height and lawn,
After his fleecy charge serenely gay,
With other shepherds whistling o'er the day.
Thrice happy life! that 's from ambition free,
Remov'd from crowns, and courts, how cheerfully,
A calm, contented mortal spends his time,
In health, his soul unstain'd with crime!

SANG XII.

Tune — " Happy Clown. "

Hid from himself, now by the dawn
He starts as fresh as roses blawn,
And ranges o'er the heights and lawn,
After his bleating flocks.

Healthful, and innocently gay,
He chaunts and whistles out the day;
Untaught to smile and then betray,
Like courtly weathercocks.

Life happy, from ambition free,
Envy, and vile hypocrisy,
When truth and love with joy agree,
Unsully'd with a crime:

Unmov'd with what disturbs the great,
In propping of their pride and state,
He lives, and, unafraid of fate,
Contented spends his time.

Now tow'rds good Symon's house I'll bend my way,
And see what makes yon gamboling to-day;
All on the green in a fair wanton ring,
My youthful tenants gaily dance and sing.

SCENE II.

S YMON , G LAUD , and E LSPA .

GLAUD .

We anes were young oursells. — I like to see
The bairns bob round with other merrylie.
Troth, Symon, Patie 's grown a strapan lad,
And better looks than his I never bade;
Amang our lads he bears the gree awa',
And tells his tale the clev'rest of them a'.

ELSPA .

Poor man! he 's a great comfort to us baith;
God make him good, and hide him ay frae skaith;
He is a bairn, I 'll say 't, well worth our care,
That gae us ne'er vexation late or air.

GLAUD .

I trow, good wife, if I be not mistane,
He seems to be with Peggy's beauty tane,
And troth my niece is a right dainty wean,
As ye well ken; a bonnyer needna be,
Nor better, be 't she were nae kin to me.

SYMON .

Ha, Glaud, I doubt that ne'er will be a match,
My Patie 's wild, and will be ill to catch;
And or he were, for reasons I 'll not tell,
I 'd rather be mixt with the mools mysell.

GLAUD .

What reasons can ye have? — there 's nane, I 'm sure,
Unless ye may cast up that she 's but poor:
But gif the lassie marry to my mind,
I 'll be to her as my ain Jenny kind:
Fourscore of breeding ewes of my ain birn,
Five kye that at ae milking fills a kirn,
I 'll gie to Peggy that day she 's a bride;
By and attour, if my good luck abide,
Ten lambs at spaining time as lang 's I live,
And twa quey cawfs I 'll yearly to them give.

ELSPA .

Ye offer fair, kind Glaud, but dinna speer
What may be is not fit ye yet should hear.

SYMON .

Or this day eight days likely he shall learn,
That our denial disna slight his bairn.

GLAUD .

We 'll nae mair o't: — come, gi's the other bend,
We 'll drink their healths, whatever way it end.

[Their healths gae round.]

SYMON .

But will ye tell me, Glaud? — by some 'tis said,
Your niece is but a fundling, that was laid
Down at your hallon-side ae morn in May,
Right clean row'd up, and bedded on dry hay.

GLAUD .

That clattern Madge, my titty, tells sic flaws,
Whene'er our Meg her cankart humour gaws.

Enter J ENNY .

O father, there 's an auld man on the green,
The fellest fortune-teller e'er was seen;
He tents our loofs, and syne whops out a book,
Turns owre the leaves, and gies our brows a look;
Syne tells the oddest tales that e'er ye heard.
His head is grey, and lang and grey his beard,

SYMON .

Gae bring him in, we 'll hear what he can say,
Nane shall gang hungry by my house to-day.
[Exit J ENNY .
But for his telling fortunes, troth, I fear
He kens nae mair of that than my grey mare.

GLAUD .

Spae-men! the truth of a' their saws I doubt,
For greater liars never ran thereout.
Re-enter J ENNY , bringing in Sir W ILLIAM ; P ATIE following.

SYMON .

Ye 're welcome, honest carle: — here tak a seat.

SIR WILLIAM .

I give thee thanks, good man, Ise no be blate.

GLAUD

(Drinks).

Come, t' ye, friend. — How far came ye the day?

SIR WILLIAM .

I pledge ye, nibour. — E'en but little way:
Rousted with eild, a wie piece gate seems lang;
Twa miles or three 's the maist that I do gang.

SYMON .

Ye 're welcome here to stay all night with me,
And tak sic bed and board as we can gi'e.

SIR WILLIAM .

That 's kind unsought. — Well, gin ye have a bairn
That ye like well, and wad his fortune learn,
I shall employ the farthest of my skill
To spae it faithfully, be 't good or ill.

SYMON

(Pointing to P ATIE ).

Only that lad. — Alack! I have nae mae,
Either to make me joyful now or wae.

SIR WILLIAM .

Young man, let 's see your hand. — What gars ye sneer?

PATIE .

Because your skill 's but little worth, I fear.

SIR WILLIAM .

Ye cut before the point: — but, billy, bide,
I 'll wager there 's a mouse-mark on your side.

ELSPA .

Betootch-us-to! and well I wat that 's true:
Awa! awa! the deel 's owre girt wi' you.
Four inch aneath his oxter is the mark,
Scarce ever seen since he first wore a sark.

SIR WILLIAM .

I 'll tell ye meir: if this young lad be spair'd
But a short while, he 'll be a braw rich laird.

ELSPA .

A laird! — Hear ye, goodman, what think ye now?

SYMON .

I dinna ken. — Strange auld man, what art thou?
Fair fa' your heart, 'tis good to bode of wealth. —
Come, turn the timmer to laird Patie's health.

[P ATIE 's health gaes round.]

PATIE .

A laird of twa good whistles and a kent,
Twa curs, my trusty tenants on the bent,
Is all my great estate, and like to be;
Sae, cunning carle, ne'er break your jokes on me.

SYMON .

Whisht, Patie, let the man look ow'r your hand;
Aftymes as broken a ship has come to land.
[Sir W ILLIAM looks a little at P ATIE 's hand, then counterfeits falling into a trance, — While they endeavour to lay him right:]

ELSPA .

Preserve 's! — the man 's a warlock, or possest
With some nae good, or second-sight at least.
Where is he now?

GLAUD .

He 's seeing a' that 's done
In ilka place beneath or yont the moon.

ELSPA .

These second-sighted fowks (his peace be here!)
See things far aff, and things to come, as clear,
As I can see my thumb. — Wow! can he tell
(Speer at him soon as he comes to himsell)
How soon we 'll see Sir William? — Whisht, he heaves,
And speaks out broken words like ane that raves.

SYMON .

He 'll soon grow better. — Elspa, haste ye, gae
And fill him up a tass of usquebae.

SIR WILLIAM .

(Starts up and speaks).

A knight that for a lion fought
Against a herd of bears,
Was to lang toil and trouble brought,
In which some thousands shares:
But now again the lion rares,
And joy spreads o'er the plain;
The lion has defeat the bears,
The knight returns again.

The knight in a few days shall bring
A shepherd frae the fauld,
And shall present him to the king,
A subject true and bauld;
He Mr. Patrick shall be call'd: —
All you that hear me now
May well believe what I have tald,
For it shall happen true.

SYMON .

Friend, may your spaeing happen soon and well:
But, faith, I 'm redd you 've bargain'd with the deel,
To tell some tales that fowks wad secret keep;
Or do you get them tald you in your sleep?

SIR WILLIAM .

Howe'er I get them never fash your beard;
Nor come I to redd fortunes for reward:
But I 'll lay ten to ane with ony here,
That all I prophesy shall soon appear.
SYMON .

You prophesying fowks are odd kind men! —
They 're here that ken, and here that disna ken
The wimpled meaning of your unko tale,
Whilk soon will mak a noise o'er moor and dale.
GLAUD .

'Tis nae sma' sport to hear how Sym believes,
And taks 't for gospel what the spae-man gives
Of flawing fortunes, whilk he evens to Pate:
But what we wish we trow at ony rate.
SIR WILLIAM .

Whisht, doubtfu' carle; for ere the sun
Has driven twice down to the sea,
What I have said ye shall see done
In part, or nae mair credit me.
GLAUD .

Well, be 't sae, friend; — I shall say nathing mair: —
But I 've twa sonsy lasses, young and fair,
Plump, ripe for men: I wish ye cou'd foresee
Sic fortunes for them might bring joy to me.
SIR WILLIAM .

Nae mair thro' secrets can I sift,
Till darkness black the bent;
I have but anes a day that gift,
Sae rest a while content.
SYMON .

Elspa, cast on the claith, fetch butt some meat,
And of your best gar this auld stranger eat.
SIR WILLIAM .

Delay a while your hospitable care;
I 'd rather enjoy this evening calm and fair,
Around yon ruin'd tower to fetch a walk,
With you, kind friend, to have some private talk.
SYMON .

Soon as you please I 'll answer your desire: —
And, Glaud, you 'll tak your pipe beside the fire:
We 'll but gae round the place, and soon be back,
Syne sup together, and tak our pint and crack.
GLAUD .

I 'll out a space, and see the young anes play;
My heart 's still light, albeit my locks be grey.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

R OGER and J ENNY .

ROGER .

Dear Jenny, I wad speak t' ye, wad ye let; —
And yet I ergh, ye 'r ay sae scornfu' set.

JENNY .

And what wad Roger say, if he cou'd speak?
Am I oblig'd to guess what ye 'r to seek?

ROGER .

Yes, ye may guess right eith for what I grein,
Baith by my service, sighs, and langing een:
And I maun out wi't, tho' I risk your scorn,
Ye 're never frae my thoughts baith ev'n and morn.
Ah! cou'd I loo ye less, I 'd happy be;
But happier far, cou'd ye but fancy me.

JENNY .

And wha kens, honest lad, but that I may?
Ye canna say that e'er I said ye nay.

ROGER .

Alake! my frighted heart begins to fail,
Whene'er I mint to tell ye out my tale,
For fear some tighter lad, mair rich than I,
Has win your love, and near your heart may lie.

JENNY .

I loo my father, cousin Meg I love;
But to this day nae man my heart cou'd move:
Except my kin, ilk lad 's alyke to me,
And frae ye a' I best had keep me free.

ROGER .

How lang, dear Jenny? — sayna that again;
What pleasure can ye tak in giving pain?
I 'm glad however that ye yet stand free;
Wha kens but ye may rue, and pity me?

JENNY .

Ye have my pity else, to see you set
On that whilk makes our sweetness soon forget:
Wow! but we 're bonny, good, and every thing!
How sweet we breathe whene'er we kiss or sing!
But we 're nae sooner fools to give consent,
Than we our daffin and tint power repent:
When prison'd in four waws, a wife right tame,
Altho' the first, the greatest drudge at hame.

ROGER .

That only happens, when for sake of gear
Ane wales a wife, as he wad buy a mare:
Or when dull parents bairns together bind
Of different tempers, that can ne'er prove kind:
But love, true downright love, engages me
(Tho' thou should scorn) still to delight in thee.

JENNY .

What sugar'd words frae wooers lips can fa'!
But girning marriage comes and ends them a'.
I 've seen with shining fair the morning rise,
And soon the sleety clouds mirk a' the skies;
I 've seen the silver spring a while rin clear,
And soon in mossy puddles disappear;
The bridegroom may rejoice, the bride may smile,
But soon contentions a' their joys beguile.

ROGER .

I 've seen the morning rise with fairest light,
The day unclouded sink in calmest night:
I 've seen the spring rin wimpling throw the plain,
Increase and join the ocean without stain;
The bridegroom may be blyth, the bride may smile,
Rejoice throw life, and all your fears beguile.

SANG XIII.

JENNY .

Were I assur'd you 'll constant prove,
You should nae mair complain;
The easy maid, beset with love,
Few words will quickly gain:
For I must own now, since you 're free,
This too fond heart of mine
Has lang, a black-sole true to thee,
Wish'd to be pair'd with thine.

ROGER .

I 'm happy now; ah! let my head
Upon thy breast recline:
The pleasure strikes me near-hand dead; —
Is Jenny then sae kind? —
O let me briz thee to my heart,
And round my arms entwine:
Delytfu' thought! we 'll never part:
Come, press thy mouth to mine.

JENNY .

Were I but sure ye lang wou'd love maintain,
The fewest words my easy heart cou'd gain;
For I man own, since now at last you 're free,
Altho' I jok'd, I lov'd your company;
And ever had a warmness in my breast,
That made ye dearer to me than the rest.

ROGER .

I 'm happy now! o'er happy! — had my head! —
This gush of pleasure 's like to be my deid. —
Come to my arms! — or strike me! — I 'm all fir'd
With wond'ring love! — let 's kiss till we be tir'd:
Kiss, kiss; — we 'll kiss the sun and starns away,
And ferly at the quick return of day.
O Jenny! let my arms about thee twine,
And briz thy bonny breasts and lips to mine.

JENNY .

With equal joy my safter heart does yield,
To own thy well-try'd love has won the field.
Now by these warmest kisses thou hast tane,
Swear thus to love me when by vows made ane.

ROGER .

I swear by fifty thousand yet to come,
Or may the first ane strike me deaf and dumb,
There shall not be a kindlier dawted wife,
If you agree with me to lead your life.

JENNY .

Well, I agree: — neist to my parent gae,
Get his consent, he 'll hardly say ye nae;
Ye have what will commend ye to him well,
Auld fowks like them that want na milk and meal.

SANG XIV.

JENNY .

Well, I agree, ye 're sure of me;
Next to my father gae;
Make him content to give consent;
He 'll hardly say ye nae:
For ye have what he wad be at,
And will commend you weel,
Since parents auld think love grows cauld,
Where bairns want milk and meal.

Should he deny, I care na by,
He 'd contradict in vain:
Tho' a' my kin had said and sworn,
But thee I will have nane.
Then never range, nor learn to change,
Like these in high degree;
And if you faithful prove in love,
You 'll find nae fault in me.

ROGER .

My faulds contain twice fifteen farrow nowt;
As mony newcal in my byers rowt;
Five pack of woo I can at Lammas sell,
Shorn frae my bob-tail'd bleeters on the fell:
Good twenty pair of blankets for our bed,
With meikle care my thrifty mither made:
Ilk thing that makes a hartsome house and tight,
Was still her care, my father's great delight.
They left me all, which now gi'es joy to me,
Because I can give a', my dear, to thee:
And had I fifty times as meikle mair,
Nane but my Jenny shou'd the samen skair:
My love and all is yours; now had them fast,
And guide them as ye like to gar them last.

JENNY .

I 'll do my best: — but see wha gangs this way,
Patie and Meg: — besides, I mana stay:
Let 's steal frae ither now, and meet the morn;
If we be seen, we 'll dree a deal of scorn.

ROGER .

To where the saugh-tree shades the menin pool,
I 'll frae the hill come down when day grows cool:
Keep tryst, and meet me there: there let us meet,
To kiss and tell our loves; there 's nought sae sweet.
[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Sir W ILLIAM and S YMON .

SIR WILLIAM .

To whom belongs this house so much decay'd?

SYMON .

To ane that lost it, lending gen'rous aid
To bear the head up, when rebellious tail,
Against the laws of nature, did prevail.
Sir William Worthy is our master's name,
Wha fills us all with joy, now he 's come hame.
My master! my dear master! — do I breathe,
To see him healthy, strong, and free frae skaith,
Return'd to cheer his wishing tenants' sight;
To bless his son, my charge, the world's delight?

SIR WILLIAM .

Rise, faithful Symon, in my arms enjoy
A place thy due, kind guardian of my boy,
I came to view thy care in this disguise,
And am confirm'd thy conduct has been wise;
Since still the secret thou 'st securely seal'd,
And ne'er to him his real birth reveal'd.

SYMON .

The due obedience to your strict command
Was the first lock; neist my ain judgment fand
Out reasons plenty; since, without estate,
A youth, tho' sprung frae kings, looks baugh and blate.

SIR WILLIAM .

And aften vain and idly spend their time,
Till grown unfit for action, past their prime,
Hang on their friends; which gi'es their sauls a cast,
That turns them downright beggars at the last.

SYMON .

Now well I wat, Sir, you have spoken true;
For there 's laird Kytie's son, that 's loo'd by few;
His father steght his fortune in his wame,
And left his heir nought but a gentle name.
He gangs about sornan frae place to place,
As scrimpt of manners as of sense and grace;
Oppressing a', as punishment o' their sin,
That are within his tenth degree of kin:
Rins in ilk trader's debt wha 's sae unjust
To his ain family as to gi'e him trust.

SIR WILLIAM .

Such useless branches of a commonwealth
Should be lopt off, to give a state mair health: —
Unworthy bare reflection. — Symon, run
O'er all your observations on my son:
A parent's fondness easily finds excuse;
But do not with indulgence truth abuse.

SYMON .

To speak his praise, the langest simmer day
Wad be owre short, could I them right display.
In word and deed he can sae well behave,
That out of sight he rins before the lave;
And when there 's e'er a quarrel or contest,
Patrick 's made judge, to tell whase cause is best;
And his decree stands good — he 'll gar it stand;
Wha dares to grumble finds his correcting hand;
With a firm look, and a commanding way,
He gars the proudest of our herds obey.

SIR WILLIAM .

Your tale much pleases: — my good friend, proceed: —
What learning has he? — can he write and read?

SYMON .

Baith wonder well; for, troth, I didna spare
To gi'e him at the school enough of lear;
And he delights in books; he reads and speaks,
With fowks that ken them, Latin words and Greeks.

SIR WILLIAM .

Where gets he books to read, and of what kind? —
Tho' some give light, some blindly lead the blind.

SYMON .

Whene'er he drives our sheep to Edinburgh Port,
He buys some books of history, sangs, or sport:
Nor does he want of them a rowth at will,
And carries ay a poutchfu' to the hill.
About ane Shakespar and a famous Ben
He aften speaks, and ca's them best of men.
How sweetly Hawthornden and Stirling sing,
And ane caw'd Cowley, loyal to his king,
He kens fou well, and gars their verses ring.
I sometimes thought that he made o'er great fraze
About fine poems, histories, and plays:
When I reprov'd him anes, a book he brings; —
" With this, " quoth he, " on braes I crack with
" kings. "

SIR WILLIAM .

He answer'd well; and much ye glad my ear,
When such accounts I of my shepherd hear:
Reading such books can raise a peasant's mind
Above a lord's that is not thus inclin'd.

SYMON .

What ken we better, that sae findle look,
Except on rainy Sundays, on a book?
When we a leaf or twa haf read, haf spell,
Till a' the rest sleep round as weel 's oursell.

SIR WILLIAM .

Well jested, Symon. — But one question more
I 'll only ask ye now, and then give o'er.
The youth 's arriv'd the age when little loves
Flighter around young hearts like cooing doves:
Has nae young lassie with inviting mien
And rosy cheek, the wonder of the green,
Engag'd his look, and caught his youthfu' heart?

SYMON .

I fear'd the warst, but ken'd the smallest part;
Till late I saw him twa three times mair sweet
With Glaud's fair niece than I thought right or meet,
I had my fears, but now have nought to fear,
Since like yourself your son will soon appear;
A gentleman, enrich'd with all these charms,
May bless the fairest best-born lady's arms.

SIR WILLIAM .

This night must end his unambitious fire,
When higher views shall greater thoughts inspire.
Go, Symon, bring him quickly here to me;
None but yourself shall our first meeting see.
Yonder 's my horse and servant nigh at hand;
They come just at the time I gave command:
Straight in my own apparel I 'll go dress;
Now ye the secret may to all confess.

SYMON .

With how much joy I on this errand flee,
There 's nane can know that is not downright me.
[Exit.

Sir W ILLIAM solus.

Whene'er th' event of hope's success appears,
One happy hour cancels the toil of years:
A thousand toils are lost in Lethe's stream,
And cares evanish like a morning dream;
When wish'd-for pleasures rise like morning light,
The pain that 's past enhances the delight.
These joys I feel, that words can ill express,
I ne'er had known, without my late distress.
But from his rustic business and love
I must in haste my Patrick soon remove
To courts and camps that may his soul improve.
Like the rough diamond, as it leaves the mine,
Only in little breakings shews its light,
Till artful polishing has made it shine;
Thus education makes the genius bright.

SANG XV.

Tune — " Wat ye wha I met yestreen? "

Now from rusticity and love,
Whose flames but over lowly burn,
My gentle shepherd must be drove,
His soul must take another turn:
As the rough diamond from the mine,
In breakings only shews its light,
Till polishing has made it shine;
Thus learning makes the genius bright.
[Exit.