_Peg._ I dare not think sae high: I now repine At the unhappy chance, that made not me A gentle match, or still a herd kept thee. Wha can, withoutten pain, see frae the coast The ship that bears his all like to be lost? Like to be carry'd, by some rever's hand, Far frae his wishes, to some distant land? _Pat._ 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. _Peg._ 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 ere to ane, but you, I be a wife. _Or sung as follows._ SANG XVII.--_Tune_, Wae's my heart that we should sunder. _Speak on,--speak thus, and still my grief, Hold up a heart that's sinking under These fears, that soon will want relief, When_ Pate _must from his_ Peggy _sunder. A gentler face, and silk attire, A lady rich in beauty's blossom, Alake poor me! will now conspire To steal thee from thy_ Peggy's _bosom._ _No more the shepherd, who excell'd The rest, whose wit made them to wonder, Shall now his_ Peggy's _praises tell: Ah! I can die, but never sunder. Ye meadows where we often stray'd, Ye banks where we were wont to wander, Sweet-scented rucks, round which we play'd, You'll lose your sweets when we're asunder._ _Again, ah! shall I never creep Around the Know with silent duty, Kindly to watch thee, while asleep, And wonder at thy manly beauty? Hear, Heaven, while solemnly I vow, Tho' thou shouldst prove a wand'ring lover, Thro' life to thee I shall prove true, Nor be a wife to any other_