_Rog._ _They wha have just enough, can soundly sleep; The o'ercome only fashes fowk to keep._---- Good Mr. Patrick, tak your ain tale hame. } _Pat._ What was my morning thought, at night's the same. } The poor and rich but differ in the name. } Content's the greatest bliss we can procure Frae 'boon the lift.--Without it kings are poor. _Rog._ But an estate like your's yields braw content, When we but pick it scantly on the bent: Fine claiths, saft beds, sweet houses, and red wine, Good chear, and witty friends, whene'er ye dine; Obeysant servants, honour, wealth and ease: Wha's no content with these, are ill to please. _Pat._ Sae Roger thinks, and thinks not far amiss; But mony a cloud hings hovering o'er the bliss. The passions rule the roast,--and, if they're sowr, Like the lean ky, will soon the fat devour. The spleen, tint honour, and affronted pride, Stang like the sharpest goads in gentry's side. The gouts and gravels, and the ill disease, Are frequentest with fowk o'erlaid with ease; While o'er the moor the shepherd, with less care, Enjoys his sober wish, and halesome air. _Rog._ Lord, man! I wonder ay, and it delights My heart, whene'er I hearken to your flights. How gat ye a' that sense, I fain wad lear, That I may easier disappointments bear? _Pat._ Frae books, the wale of books, I gat some skill; These best can teach what's real good and ill. Ne'er grudge ilk year to ware some stanes of cheese, To gain these silent friends that ever please. _Rog._ I'll do't, and ye shall tell me which to buy: Faith I'se ha'e books, tho' I should sell my ky. But now let's hear how you're design'd to move, Between Sir William's will, and Peggy's love? _Pat._ Then here it lyes;--His will maun be obey'd; } My vows I'll keep, and she shall be my bride: } But I some time this last design maun hide. } Keep you the secret close, and leave me here; I sent for Peggy, yonder comes my dear. _Rog._ Pleas'd that ye trust me with the secret, I To wyle it frae me a' the deils defy. [_Exit_ ROGER. _Pat._ [_solus._] With what a struggle must I now impart My father's will to her that hads my heart! I ken she loves, and her saft saul will sink, While it stands trembling on the hated brink Of disappointment.--Heaven! support my fair, And let her comfort claim your tender care. Her eyes are red!---- _Enter_ PEGGY. ----My Peggy, why in tears? Smile as ye wont, allow nae room for fears: Tho' I'm nae mair a shepherd, yet I'm thine.