_Peg._ 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 passions wad our peace beguile. Sae, whensoe'er they slight their maiks at hame, 'Tis ten to ane the wives are maist to blame. Then I'll employ with pleasure a' my art To keep him chearfu', 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 thro' 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 hagabag I'll spread upon his board, And serve him with the best we can afford. Good humour and white bigonets shall be Guards to my face, to keep his love for me. _Jen._ A dish of married love right soon grows cauld, And dosens down to nane, as fowk grow auld. _Peg._ But we'll grow auld togither, and ne'er find The loss of youth, when love grows on the mind. Bairns, and their bairns, make sure a firmer ty, Than ought 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 prest, } 'Till wide their spreading branches are increast, } And in their mixture now are fully blest. } This shields the other frae the eastlin blast, That in return defends it frae the west. Sic as stand single,--a state sae lik'd by you! Beneath ilk storm, frae every airth, maun bow. _Jen._ I've done,--I yield, dear lassie, I maun yield, Your better sense has fairly won the field, With the assistance of a little fae Lyes darn'd within my breast this mony a day. SANG VI.--_Tune_, Nansy's to the green-wood gane. _I yield, dear lassie, you have won, And there is nae denying, That sure as light flows frae the sun, Frae love proceeds complying. For a' that we can do or say 'Gainst love, nae thinker heeds us, They ken our bosoms lodge the fae That by the heartstrings leads us._ _Peg._ Alake! poor prisoner! Jenny, that's no fair, That ye'll no let the wee thing tak the air: Haste, let him out, we'll tent as well's we can, Gif he be Bauldy's or poor Roger's man. _Jen._ Anither time's as good,--for see the sun Is right far up, and we're no 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 ye a' my mind; For this seems true,--nae lass can be unkind. [_Exeunt._ _End of the_ FIRST ACT. ACT SECOND. _SCENE I._