Ne'er quarrel fate, whilst it with me remains, To raise thee up, or still attend these plains. My father has forbid our loves, I own: But love's superior to a parent's frown. I falshood hate: Come, kiss thy cares away; I ken to love, as well as to obey. Sir William's generous; leave the task to me, To make strict duty and true love agree. PEGGY. Speak on!--speak ever thus, and still my grief; But short I dare to hope the fond relief. New thoughts a gentler face will soon inspire, That with nice air swims round in silk attire: Then I, poor me!--with sighs may ban my fate, When the young laird's nae mair my heartsome Pate: Nae mair again to hear sweet tales exprest, By the blyth shepherd that excell'd the rest: Nae mair be envy'd by the tattling gang, When Patie kiss'd me, when I danc'd or sang: Nae mair, alake! we'll on the meadow play! And rin haff breathless round the rucks of hay; As aftimes I have fled from thee right fain, And fawn on purpose, that I might be tane. Nae mair around the Foggy-know I'll creep, To watch and stare upon thee, while asleep. But hear my vow--'twill help to give me ease; May sudden death, or deadly sair disease, And warst of ills attend my wretched life, If e'er to ane but you, I be a wife. PATIE. Sure Heaven approves--and be assur'd of me, I'll ne'er gang back of what I've sworn to thee: And time, tho' time maun interpose a while, And I maun leave my Peggy and this isle; Yet time, nor distance, nor the fairest face, If there's a fairer, e'er shall fill thy place. I'd hate my rising fortune, &c.---- With similar fervent assurances of the constancy of his affection, _Patie_ prevails in calming the agitation of _Peggy's_ mind, and banishing her fears. She declares she will patiently await the happy period of his return, soothing the long interval with prayers for his welfare, and sedulous endeavours to improve and accomplish her mind, that she may be the more worthy of his affection. The scene concludes with an effusion of her heart in a sentiment of inimitable tenderness and beauty: With every setting day, and rising morn, I'll kneel to Heaven, and ask thy safe return. Under that tree, and on the Suckler Brae, Where aft we wont, when bairns, to run and play; And to the Hissel-shaw where first ye vow'd Ye wad be mine, and I as eithly trow'd, I'll aften gang, and tell the trees and flowers, With joy, that they'll bear witness I am yours. _Act 4, Scene 2._ To a passion at once so pure, so delicate, so fervent, and so disinterested in its object, with what propriety may we apply that beautiful apostrophe of _Burns_, in his _Cottar's Saturday Night_!