Part 107 (2/2)

How blithely can he sport, and gently rave, And jest at little fears that fright the lave.

Ilk day that he's alane upon the hill, He reads feil[17] books that teach him meikle skill; He is--but what need I say that or this, I'd spend a month to tell you what he is!

In a' he says or does there's sic a gate, The rest seem coofs compared with my dear Pate; His better sense will lang his love secure: Ill-nature hefts in sauls are weak and poor.

_Jenny._ Hey, 'bonnyla.s.s of Branksome!' or't be lang, Your witty Pate will put you in a sang.

Oh, 'tis a pleasant thing to be a bride!

Syne whinging gets about your ingle-side, Yelping for this or that with fasheous[18] din: To mak them brats then ye maun toil and spin.

Ae wean fa's sick, and scads itself wi' brue,[19]

Ane breaks his s.h.i.+n, anither tines his shoe: The 'Deil gaes o'er John Wabster:'[20] hame grows h.e.l.l, When Pate misca's ye waur than tongue can tell.

_Peggy._ Yes, it's a heartsome thing to be a wife, When round the ingle-edge young sprouts are rife.

Gif I'm sae happy, I shall have delight To hear their little plaints, and keep them right.

Wow, Jenny! can there greater pleasure be, Than see sic wee tots toolying at your knee; When a' they ettle at, their greatest wish, Is to be made of, and obtain a kiss?

Can there be toil in tenting day and night The like of them, when loves makes care delight?

_Jenny_. But poort.i.th, Peggy, is the warst of a', Gif o'er your heads ill chance should beggary draw: There little love or canty cheer can come Frae duddy doublets, and a pantry toom.[21]

Your nowt may die; the speat[22] may bear away Frae aff the howms your dainty rucks of hay; The thick-blawn wreaths of snaw, or blashy thows, May smoor your wethers, and may rot your ewes; A dyvour[23] buys your b.u.t.ter, woo', and cheese, But, or the day of payment, breaks and flees; With gloomin' brow the laird seeks in his rent, 'Tis no to gie, your merchant's to the bent; His honour maunna want, he poinds your gear; Syne driven frae house and hald, where will ye steer?-- Dear Meg, be wise, and lead a single life; Troth, it's nae mows[24] to be a married wife.

_Peggy_. May sic ill luck befa' that silly she, Wha has sic fears, for that was never me.

Let fowk bode weel, and strive to do their best; Nae mair's required--let Heaven make out the rest.

I've heard my honest uncle aften say, That lads should a' for wives that's vertuous pray; For the maist thrifty man could never get A well-stored room, unless his wife wad let: Wherefore nocht shall be wanting on my part To gather wealth to raise my shepherd's heart.

Whate'er he wins, I'll guide with canny care, And win the vogue at market, tron, or fair, For healsome, clean, cheap, and sufficient ware.

A flock of lambs, cheese, b.u.t.ter, and some woo', Shall first be sald to pay the laird his due; Syne a' behind's our ain.--Thus without fear, With love and rowth[25] we through the warld will steer; And when my Pate in bairns and gear grows rife, He'll bless the day he gat me for his wife.

_Jenny_. But what if some young giglet on the green, With dimpled cheeks, and twa bewitching een, Should gar your Patie think his half-worn Meg, And her kenn'd kisses, hardly worth a feg?

_Peggy_. Nae mair of that:--dear Jenny, to be free, There's some men constanter in love than we: Nor is the ferly great, when Nature kind Has blest them with solidity of mind; They'll reason calmly, and with kindness smile, When our short pa.s.sions wad our peace beguile: Sae, whensoe'er they slight their maiks[26]at hame, 'Tis ten to ane their wives are maist to blame.

Then I'll employ with pleasure a' my art To keep him cheerfu', and secure his heart.

At even, when he comes weary frae the hill, I'll have a' things made ready to his will: In winter, when he toils through wind and rain, A bleezing ingle, and a clean hearth-stane: And soon as he flings by his plaid and staff, The seething-pot's be ready to take aff; Clean hag-abag[27] I'll spread upon his board, And serve him with the best we can afford: Good-humour and white bigonets[28] shall be Guards to my face, to keep his love for me.

_Jenny_. A dish of married love right soon grows cauld, And dozins[29] down to nane, as fowk grow auld.

_Peggy_. But we'll grow auld together, and ne'er find The loss of youth, when love grows on the mind.

Bairns and their bairns make sure a firmer tie, Than aught in love the like of us can spy.

See yon twa elms that grow up side by side, Suppose them some years syne bridegroom and bride; Nearer and nearer ilka year they've pressed, Till wide their spreading branches are increased, And in their mixture now are fully blessed: This s.h.i.+elds the other frae the eastlin' blast; That in return defends it frae the wast.

Sic as stand single, (a state sae liked by you,) Beneath ilk storm frae every airt[30] maun bow.

_Jenny_. I've done,--I yield, dear la.s.sie; I maun yield, Your better sense has fairly won the field.

With the a.s.sistance of a little fae Lies dern'd within my breast this mony a day.

_Peggy_. Alake, poor pris'ner!--Jenny, that's no fair, That ye'll no let the wee thing take the air: Haste, let him out; we'll tent as well's we can, Gif he be Bauldy's, or poor Roger's man.

_Jenny_. Anither time's as good; for see the sun Is right far up, and we're not yet begun To freath the graith: if canker'd Madge, our aunt, Come up the burn, she'll gie's a wicked rant; But when we've done, I'll tell you a' my mind; For this seems true--nae la.s.s can be unkind.

[_Exeunt_.

[1] Howm: holm.

[2] Claes: clothes.

<script>