_The laird wha in riches and honour Wad thrive, should be kindly and free, Nor rack the poor tenants wha labour To rise aboon poverty: Else like the pack-horse that's unfother'd, And burden'd, will tumble down faint: Thus virtue by hardship is smother'd, And rackers aft tine their rent._ _Glaud._ Then wad he gar his Butler bring bedeen The nappy bottle ben, and glasses clean, Whilk in our breast rais'd sic a blythsome flame, As gart me mony a time gae dancing hame. My heart's e'en rais'd! Dear nibour, will ye stay, And tak your dinner here with me the day? We'll send for Elspath too--and upo' sight, I'll whistle Pate and Roger frae the height: I'll yoke my sled, and send to the neist town, And bring a draught of ale baith stout and brown, And gar our cottars a', man, wife and we'an, Drink till they tine the gate to stand their lane. _Sym._ I wad na bauk my friend his blyth design, Gif that it hadna first of a' been mine: For heer-yestreen I brew'd a bow of maut, Yestreen I slew twa wathers prime and fat; A firlot of good cakes my Elspa beuk, And a large ham hings reesting in the nook: I saw my sell, or I came o'er the loan, Our meikle pot that scads the whey put on, A mutton-bouk to boil:--And ane we'll roast; And on the haggies Elspa spares nae cost; Sma' are they shorn, and she can mix fu' nice The gusty ingans with a curn of spice: Fat are the puddings,--heads and feet well sung. And we've invited nibours auld and young, To pass this afternoon with glee and game, And drink our Master's health and welcome-hame. Ye mauna then refuse to join the rest, Since ye're my nearest friend that I like best. Bring wi'ye a' your family, and then, When e'er you please, I'll rant wi' you again. _Glaud._ Spoke like ye'r sell, auld-birky, never fear But at your banquet I shall first appear. Faith we shall bend the bicker, and look bauld, Till we forget that we are fail'd or auld. Auld, said I!--troth I'm younger be a score, With your good news, than what I was before. I'll dance or e'en! Hey! Madge, come forth: D'ye hear? _Enter_ MADGE. _Mad._ The man's gane gyte! Dear Symon, welcome here. What wad ye, Glaud, with a' this haste and din? Ye never let a body sit to spin. _Glaud._ Spin! snuff--Gae break your wheel, and burn your tow, And set the meiklest peat-stack in a low; Syne dance about the bane-fire till ye die, Since now again we'll soon Sir William see. _Mad._ Blyth news indeed! And wha was't tald you o't?