The Gentle Shepherd: A Pastoral Comedy Part 15

SANG XI.--To its own Tune.

PATIE sings.

_By the delicious warmness of thy mouth, And rowing eyes that smiling tell the truth,_ _I guess, my la.s.sie, that as well as I, You're made for love; and why should ye deny?_

PEGGY sings.

_But ken ye, lad, gin we confess o'er soon, Ye think us cheap, and syne the wooing's done?

The maiden that o'er quickly tines her power, Like unripe fruit, will taste but hard and sowr._

PATIE sings.

_But gin they hing o'er lang upon the tree, Their sweetness they may tine; and sae may ye.

Red checked you completely ripe appear; And I have thol'd and woo'd a lang haff year._

PEGGY singing, falls into PATIE'S arms.

_Then dinna pu' me, gently thus I fa'

Into my_ Patie's _arms, for good and a'.

But stint your wishes to this kind embrace; And mint nae farther till we've got the grace._

PATIE, with his left hand about her waste.

_O charming armfu'! hence ye cares away!

I'll kiss my treasure a' the live-lang day; All night I'll dream my kisses o'er again, Till that day come that ye'll be a' my ain._

Sung by both.

_Sun, gallop down the westlin skies, Gang soon to bed, and quickly rise; O lash your steeds, post time away, And haste about our bridal day: And if ye're wearied, honest light, Sleep, gin ye like, a week that night._

[_Exeunt._

End of the SECOND ACT.

ACT THIRD.

_SCENE I._

Now turn your eyes beyond yon spreading lime, And tent a man whase beard seems bleech'd with time; An elvand fills his hand, his habit mean: Nae doubt ye'll think he has a pedlar been.

But whisht! it is the knight in masquerade, That comes hid in this cloud to see his lad.

Observe how pleas'd the loyal sufferer moves Thro' his auld av'news, anes delightfu' groves.

SIR WILLIAM _solus_.

The gentleman thus hid in low disguise, I'll for a s.p.a.ce unknown delight mine eyes, With a full view of every fertile plain, Which once I lost,--which now are mine again.

Yet 'midst my joys, some prospects pain renew, Whilst I my once fair seat in ruins view.

Yonder, ah me! it desolately stands, Without a roof; the gates faln from their bands; The cas.e.m.e.nts all broke down; no chimney left; The naked walls of tap'stry all bereft: My stables and pavilions, broken walls!

That with each rainy blast decaying falls: My gardens, once adorn'd the most compleat, With all that nature, all that art makes sweet; Where, round the figur'd green, and peeble walks, The dewy flowers hung nodding on their stalks: But, overgrown with nettles, docks and brier, No jaccacinths or eglintines appear.

How do those ample walls to ruin yield, Where peach and nect'rine branches found a beild, And bask'd in rays, which early did produce Fruit fair to view, delightfu' in the use!

All round in gaps, the most in rubbish ly, 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 Heaven too soon call'd hame 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 chearfully A quiet contented mortal spends his time In hearty health, his soul unstain'd with crime!

_Or sung as follows._

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 bleeting flocks.

Healthful, and innocently gay, He chants and whistles out the day; Untaught to smile, and then betray, Like courtly weatherc.o.c.ks._

_Life happy, from ambition free, Envy, and vile hypocrisie, Where 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 gayly dance and sing. [_Exit._

_ACT III.--SCENE II._

'Tis Symon's house, please to step in, And vissy't round and round; There's nought superfluous to give pain, Or costly to be found.

Yet all is clean: a clear peat-ingle Glances amidst the floor; The green-horn spoons, beech-luggies mingle, On skelfs foregainst the door.

While the young brood sport on the green, The auld anes think it best, With the Brown Cow to clear their een, Snuff, crack, and take their rest.

SYMON, GLAUD, _and_ ELSPA.

_Glaud._

We anes were young our sells--I like to see The bairns bob round with other merrilie.

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 cleverest of them a'.

_Els._ Poor man!--he's a great comfort to us baith: G.o.d mak him good, and hide him ay frae skaith.

He is a bairn, I'll say't, well worth our care, That ga'e us ne'er vexation late or air.

_Glaud._ I trow, goodwife, if I be not mistane, } He seems to be with Peggy's beauty tane, } And troth, my niece is a right dainty we'an, } As ye well ken: a bonnier needna be, Nor better,--be't she were nae kin to me.

_Sym._ 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 no tell, I'd rather be mixt with the mools my sell.

_Glaud._ What reason can ye have? There's nane, I'm sure, Unless ye may cast up that she's but poor: But gif the la.s.sie marry to my mind, I'll be to her as my ain Jenny kind.

Fourscore of breeding ews of my ain birn, Five ky that at ae milking fills a kirn, I'll gi'e to Peggy that day she's a bride; By and attour, gif my good luck abide, Ten lambs at spaining-time, as lang's I live, And twa quey cawfs I'll yearly to them give.

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