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" Scribttur tibi forma" indubia, " ei situs agri." 

" First please your eye, then gratify your ear." 

Gent. S/itp. Act I. Sc. 2. Prol. 



Printed by Abernethy Sf Walker, 






hw i--' * 








View, and Description of New-Hall House 399 

the 'Spital oj New Hall. . . . 456" 

w Symon's House. ..... 486" 

Comedy of riiz gektle shepherd 499 


No 1. Authentic Life of David Allan, the Scots Hogavth. 6l9 
2. Poems by, and to, Alexander Pennccuik of New Hall, 

M. D., referred to in the Work, viz. 

To my Friend in town, inviting him to the country. 6ol 
The Author's Answer to his brother James Pennccuik, 

Esq. advocate 632 

Elegy on the death of the elder Alexander Pennccuik 

of New H^ill, the author's father 635 

Inscriptio-njor Hamilton of Coldcoat's picture. . . 636 
The Lintoun Cabal, or Jovial Smith's invitation to his 

dub 637 

letter in verse from William Clerk, Esq. advocate; 6'40 

Dr Penneciiik's answer 6'4.1 

Pastoral Elegy on Douglas of Dornock 64? 


No 2. Verses to the Author, hy Alexander PcncooJc; of Edin- 
burgh 643 

3. Poems by Allan Ramsay, referred to in the Work, viz. 

Verses on the xoonderful preservation of' Mr David Bruce. 645 

Ode, to Mr Forbes of New Hall. -. 6aQ 

Epistle, to the Honourable Duncan Forbes of Culloden, 

Lord Advocate. ... * 648 

Ode, to the memory of Mrs Forbes, late Lady New Hall. 653 
Address, to the Honourable President Duncan Forbes 

of' Culloden 655 

' 4. Poem by the Reverend Mr Bradfute, entitled, A Morn- 
ing JValk at New Hall in Mid Lothian. . . . 650 
. > 5. Original Poems on the Natural Scenary of The Gentle 
Shepherd, viz. 

The Mansion. . 663 

The Meteor . 672 

The Harbour Craig 6/8 

The Hermitage. ~. 689 

The Bathing Hut in Habbys How 702 

Peggy's Myll below the Carlyng's Loupis 706 

The Car lops Green, or Equality Realized. . . . 723 

6. Popular Poems on the Scenary, viz. 

Verses, by James Thomson, of Kinleith 742 

On the Wu^h'mg Green, and Habbie's How ; by James 

Forrest, of the Carlops. 74i 

Prologue to The Geidlc Shepherd, acted at Roger's 

Rig, in 1807; by the same 747 

Lines, after sct'i. g (he place on Glencross water, that 
some incons'd; nUv, or wrong-headed people, call 

Habbie's Hov ; by the same 748 

Additional Ame-iotis, and Pro(f, of the Original Sce- 
nary 750 

Glossary 753 







Act 3. Seem 1. 


" Now turn your eyes beyond yon spreading lime, 
*' An' tent a man whase beard seems bleach'd wi' time ; 
" An elwand tills his hand, his habit mean; 
" Nae doubt ye'll think he has a pedlar been. 
" But whisht ! it is the knight in mascurad 
" That comes, hid in his cloud, to see his lad. 
" Observe how pleas'd the loyal suff 'rer moves , 
" Thro' his auld av'uues, ance delightfu' groves." 

Sir William, solus. 
" The gentleman, thus hid in low disguise, 
" I'll for a space, unknown, delight mine eyes 
" With a full view of every fertile plain, 
" Which once I lost, which now are mine again. 
" Yet, 'midst my joy, some prospects pain renew, 
" Whilst I my once fair seat in ruins view. 
" Yonder, ah me, it desolately stiuids." 

Vol. IL 


Act 3. Scene 4. 


This scene presents the Knight an' Sym, 

" Within a gall'ry o' the place, 
^ Where a' looks ruinous an' grim ; 

" Nor has the baron shawn his face, 
^* But joking wi' his shepherd leel, 

" Aft speers the gate he kens fu' weel. 

Sir William and Symon. 

*' Sir W. To whom belongs this house^ so much decay'd ? 
* Sym. To ane that lost it, lending generous aid 
*' To bear the head up, when rebellious tail 
** Against the laws o' nature did prevail. 
" Sir William Worthy is our master's name, 
" Whilk fills us a' wi' joy, now he's come hame." 

Act 6. Sceite 3. and last. 


*' SiK WiL. (to Si/77jon.) Kindly old maa! remain with 
you this day ! 
" I never from these fields again will stray : 
" Masons and wrights my house shall soon repair, 
" And busy gard'ners shall new planting rear." 

JN ew-Hall House is situated on the south-western 
confine of Edinburghshire j nine Scots, and twelve 


English miles from the metropolis ; at the head of 
the valley of Mid-Lothian ; near the foot of the 
Pentland Hills j and, on the north bank of the North 
Esk, which runs in its deep romantic woody glen, 
behind the building. 

In front, rises the smooth green wester hill of 
Spittal, beyond the highway from Edinburgh to 
Carlops, Dumfries, and, branching off, to Leadhills ; 
with the farmsteads of Friartown, and Patie's Hill, on 
heights, advancing from the mountain, on the north, 
and west, and the New House in the middle, likewise 
on the other more elevated side of the public road. 
After skirting the opposite descent of this hill to the 
north-west, the Esk rushes, from behind it, through 
the bridge under the highway, at the north end of 
the glen and village of Carlops, about a mile above 
the house - separating the Turnip and Patie*s Hills, 
and, for several miles, both upwards and downwards, 
Peebles-shire from that of Edinburgh, and, as may 
be seen by consulting the mafi, the lands of Carlops, 
from those of Spittal, and New Hall. After falling 
into the pool at Habbie's How, which contains the 
only cascade in its whole course, it waters the Wash- 
ing Green behind the house, passes the " Craigy 
Bield," " Claud's Onstead," and the Marfield Loch 
below it, and presses on, eastward, to Brunstoune, 
Pcnaccuik, Old Woodhouselce, Roslin, the wild, 

C c 


and grotesque habitation of Hawthornden, Melville 
Castle, and Dalkeith, where it is joined by the South 
Esk, from Arniston, Dalhousie, Newbattle, &c. on 
its way to Inveresk, Musselburgh, and tl^e frith of 
the Forth. Over the glen ^o the south of east, be- 
yond the Washing Green, and between and the 
Harlaw Muir, appears " Syinon^s House,'* on the 
height. A part of it is seen, past the south gable 
of New-Hall House, in the view from the west, con- 
nected with this description. 

Besides the glen of the Esk, within a mile to the east 
of south, there are three others, with each its distinct 
character, and rivulet, all running parallel to it, and 
uniting their streams, in succession, below the Har- 
bour Craig, before their confluence into the Esk, at 
the httle haugh, on the other side of the " Craigy 
Bield," about a quarter of a mile distan,f; from the 
house. From the principal glen runs up, towards the 
wester hill of Spittal, a deep dingle, or ravine, called 
the Fairies' Den, close by the north-east gable of the 
building, between and the present garden, with the east 
garden below, atthefootof theravine. Itpoints, down- 
ward, directly over to " Symon's House ; ' ' and through 
it descends a rivulet, making several beautiful cascades, 
before it enters the Washing Green by the Washing 
House. The waterfalls, one of which is the Fairies' 
Lin, issue a constant, whispering noise, from its dark, 


and romantic bottom, through the high, and close, 
and wildly growing trees, with which it is, now, 
filled. On the other, south-west, side of the prison, 
chapel, and chapel-yard, adjacent to the house ; from 
the head of the " howm," at the Squirrel's Haugh, 
climbs up to the lawn, in the direction of the Spital 
Hill, another dell or ravine, dry and wooded, be- 
tween and the rustic Hut, Mary's Lin, and Bower, to 
the right of, and the obelisk almost directly behind, 
the stand from whence the drawing of the view was 
taken. To the left, beyond the garden and enclo- 
sures on the other side of the eastern ravine, descends 
Monk's Burn. 

This Seat is celebrated, for having been the pro- 
perty of one of our Scotlsh poets ; and the favourite 
place of residence of another : for having given his 
title to the former ; and affording scenary, and cha- 
racters, to the most distinguished production of the 

At a very early period, an abbey or monastery, 
over an extensive territory, seems to have occupied 
the present site of New-Hall House. 

In a letter to the proprietor, from the late Mr 
Tytler, editor of King James's Poems, &c. of date 
.3 1st October 1791, from which an extract is pub- 
C c 2 


lished in the Afifiendix to the seventeenth volume of 
the Statistical History, he says, " In my infancy, 
when I staid at New Hall, the chapel was in ruins, 
but the remains of the four walls were seen, and the 
east gable, with a pointed arched window, was pret- 
ty entire. On the west was a small piece of ground, 
which was called the Chapel Yard, on the north side 
of which was a broad grass-walk, shaded with a 
double row of fine old spreading beeches. I remem- 
ber to have heard Mr Forbes say, that New Hall 
was a religious house. The lands of Spittal were 
hospital-lands, probably endowed for sustaining the 
hospital, under the care and management of the re- 
ligious foundation of New Hall." In the Life of 
Sir John Clerk of Pennecuik, in the Scots Magazine 
for June 1802, apparently written by his youngest 
son, it is mentioned, that " the former name of the 
parish of Pennycuik was that of St Kentigern or 
Mungo, the same to whom the cathedral church of 
Glasgow was dedicated. A religious house, or hos- 
pital, near the site of the present iV^-zc; Hall^ endow- 
ed with considerable landed property, is supposed to 
have held most of the surrounding district." 

As the monasteries of Glenluce, Dundrcnnan, 
New Abbey, Melross, Kelso, Newbattle, and Culross, 
founded by Malcolm M'Duff Earl of Fife, in which 
St Kentigern was a monk, belonged to the order of 


Cistercians, who were extremely rich, through the 
religious profuseness of King, or, as he is commonly 
called Saint David, and others*, the convent, where the 
house of New Hall now stands, was probably of the 
same fraternity, and, with the adjoining county of 
Peebles, within the diocese of the Archbishop of 
Glasgow. This religious order was founded in the 
eleventh century, by St Robert, a Benedictine. Their 
habit is a white robe in the nature of a cassock, with 
a black scapulary and hood, and is girt with a wool- 
len girdle. They became so powerful, that they go- 
verned the greatest part of Europe, both in spirituals, 
and temporals. The Monk's Rig, northward, with the 
font-stone on its brow, and the top of the cross, for- 
merly erected on its edge, lying at the bottom of the 
hill, which likewise served as a land-mark, at the 
side of the Monk's Road, is in view, commanding all 
the country to the south, and still ascertains the tract 
which the friars followed in passing to, and from, 
Edinburgh, or Queensferry, Besides being a recep- 
tacle for the sick, and aged, under the monastery ; 
the 'Spital was a Jiospitium, or inn, and the Monk's 
Road with its crosses, accommodations, and guides 
for friars, and other travellers, in journeying from 
one cloister to another. The weary and benighted 
passenger is, still, considered as having a right to 
shelter at the 'Spital House, and one of the outbuild- 
ings, with some straw, is generally allotted for that 
C c 3 


purpose. Monasteries were the stages, and Inns of 
those days ; and their situations were always well 
chosen. Mr Addison's observations on the cloisters 
of Italy, might, once, have been applied, with equal 
propriety, to our own. Says he, slily, 

*' One seldom finds, in Italy, a spot of ground 
more agreeable than ordinary, that is not covered 
with a convent." 

No writings, on the conveyance of this place, exist, 
prior to the year 1 529 ; when it was in the possession 
of a family of the name of Crichtoune, said to have 
been the ancestors of the Earls of Dumfries. Its ho- 
spital, or 'spital, remained undissolved, till the refor- 
mation from Popery in 1560 or 1567. On being 
secularized, alienated, and becoming a lay fee, it had 
got the name of the new hall-house of its lands ; pro- 
bably, in consequence of a new mansion, or hall- 
house, having been reared, on the site of the decay- 
ed convent, where the old hall, in which the courts 
for the tenants had been held, formerly stood. The 
word hall. Is of Saxon origin. The hall-house, and 
the hall-rig, or leading ridge among the reapers, are, 
still, the usual marks of distinction, retained among 
the Lothian shepherds and farmers, with regard to a 
house of this description, and the objects connected 
with it. 


While Inhabited by the Crichtounes, the house of 
New Hall was in the form of an irregular castle. 
With its appendages, it covered the whole breadth 
of the point on which it stands ; and likewise extend- 
ed a considerable way, northward, up the brink of 
the eastern ravine, on the edge of which, besides se- 
veral foundations, are still left two of its vaults, un- 
der the bottom of a round tower they had once sup- 
ported. The ground-floor in the front half of the 
present building, made a part of one of its principal 
towers. It occupies the entire length of the body 
of the house. It is arched above, with slits widen- 
ing inwards for defence, and its wall is so strong as, 
in one place, to have a closet cut out of its thickness. 
On the north-east slope of the ravine, at its lower 
extremity where it opens into the Washing Green, was 
the east garden ; still marked out by the easier wall, 
and some of the fruit-trees. To the south-west, on 
a shoulder of the point, was the prison, still remem- 
bered to have been used for refractory colliers, with 
the chapel, and chapel-yard as described by Mr Ty- 
tler. From the south-west gable of the present dou- 
ble house, seen in the view, which looks up the glen 
of tJie Esk, a walk still remains, retiring round this 
protruding part of the point, encircling the chapel 
and chapcl-yard, and forming, on the hither side of 
an old lime-tree, a noble terrace looking over the 
head of the " howm," to the mineral well near the 


hermitage at the bottom of the Squirrel's Haugh. 
Following, from the lime-tree, the verge of the wes- 
tern ravine on the south side of the chapel-garden, 
the walk crosses the upper end of it next the lawn 
with the obelisk upon it, and, from thence, winding 
upwards with the brink of the glen, having the lawn 
between and the Spital Hill on the right, it passes 
the rustic Hut, to the wooden bridge at Mary's Lin, 
seen in the representation of that water-fall. It, then, 
leads to the site of the Bower, where it terminates, 
and looks over the flat portion of the bank to " Hab- 
bie's" House, and " How," and to the prominence 
opposite to it. A flowering shrub, here and. there, 
dropt since, enriches its border as it proceeds, south- 
westward, all the way to the bower, which seems to 
have been built, and the walk formed to it from the 
castle, in the time of the Crichtounes. 

In the year 1646, the castle, and grounds of New 
Hall, firofier, belonged to Alexander Pennecuik, the 
representative of the Pennecuiks of that Ilk, or of 
Pennecuik, the adjacent estate, which, in the reign 
of Malcolm Canmore, if not before then, had been 
originally the property of his ancestors, and had gi- 
ven them the surname which was still retained. In 
his elegy, among his son's poems, " Upon the Death 
of Alexander Pennecuik of New Hall, sometime 
chirurgeon ,to General Bannicr in the Swedish wars, 


and since chirurgeon-general to the auxiliary Scots 
army in England,'* now reprinted in the Afifiendix, 
several particulars, with regard to him, are preserved. 
Among these, it is mentioned that he had passed the 
age of ninety when he died ; and that 

** From old forbeirs much worth he did inherit, 
" A gentleman by birth, and more by merit." 

In the Life of Sir John Clerk of Pennecuik, in the 
Scots Magazine for June 1802, it is observed, that, 
" an ancient family of the name of Pennecuik, one 
of which, a physician, and a poet of inferior merit, 
was proprietor of New Hall, in the year 1646, ap- 
pears to have been the first that gained a personal 
appellation, in the manner of the barons of the ninth 
and tenth centuries, from the spot of ground proper- 
ly so called. The time when the Pennecuiks of that 
Jlk were obliged to alienate their paternal estate is 
unknown." As his son, likewise, relates, in his 
" Description of Twceddale," after the purchase of 
New Hall, he acquired the estate of Romanno in 
Tweeddale, or Peebles-shire, a few miles south from 
it, on the other side of West Linton, by marrying 
the only child of the proprietor, a descendant of the 
Murrays of Philiphaugh, in Selkirkshire, where 
Montrose was defeated, into which family it had al- 
so come by marriage, from the original proprietors, 
the Romannos of that ///. 


From him, New Hall, and likewise Romanno, de- 
scended to his son Alexander Pennecuik, M. D., au- 
thor of a volume published in the year 1715, con- 
taining " A Geographical, Historical Description of 
Tweeddale," which is commended for its accuracy, 
and is noticed by Archbishop Nicolson in his " Sco- 
tish Historical Library,'* as the joint work of him, 
and Mr Forbes 5 and a number of " Poems," chief- 
ly humorous. He was, besides, an able physician, 
an excellent botanist, and beloved as a friend, and 
pleasant, facetious companion. See his Life^ in the 
Scots Magazine, for 1806, and this year 1807. 

With him commenced the connection of New 
Hall, with the pastoral comedy of The Gentle Shefi-, 

He is said, with much probability, as reported by 
the editor of " Ancient Scotish Poems," published 
in 1786, to have given Ramsay the filot of his dra- 
ma. His intimacy with Mr Forbes, and the other 
circumstantial proofs, in support of this tradition, 
have been enumerated in the Life of Ramsay prefix- 
ed to these illustrations of his scenary ; and they are 
farther strengthened, by Dr Pennecuik's descent, 
from the family of Philiphaugh where Montrose was 
surprised and defeated, and from whence he fled, by 
Traquair, to Peebles not far from Romannc- On 


examination, that of Ramsay's " Knight, Sir William 
Worthy," is, evidently, no other than the embellish- 
ed history of one of ** the most eminent of the gen- 
try," alluded to by Dr Pennecuik, in page seventh 
of his, and Mr Forbes*s Description of Tweeddale ; 
who had fought under Montrose at Philiphaugh, 
had accompanied him to Peebles, and from thence 
had fled with him to the continent ; communicated 
by this intelligent physician and poet, and, by the 
advice of their joint friend Mr Forbes, adopted and 
heightened by Ramsay as the basis of his fable. To 
suppose that the history of Sir William Purves of 
Fulford or New Woodhouselee, was in the contem- 
plation of Ramsay, who had no connection with 
him, or his family, or place, is contradicted by the 
poet himself; since it appears, that. Sir William 
Purves neither fought under " Montrose,'* nor did 
he go " abroad." This completely " unauthorised 
assertion," thrust into the edition 1800 of Ramsay's 
works, is equally unwarranted, and preposterous. 
But the tradition repeated by the editor of " Ancient 
Scotish Poems," 1786, that Dr Pennecuik gave him 
the filot, is both consistent with authenticated facts, 
and the fable itself. 

Act 2. Scene 1 . 

" Symon. Sccing's bcliuving Glaml ; an' I have seen 
'' Hab, that, abroad, has wi' our niastcr been ; 


** Our brave good master, wha right wisely ^f^, 
' An' left a fair estate to save his head : 
" Because, ye ken fu* weel, he bravely chose 
" To stand his Liege's friend wi' great Montrose.^'' 

It, likewise, exactly tallies with his own note, sub- 
joined to the first scene of the comedy in the quarto 
of 1728, in reference to Mr Forbes, and his distin- 
guished friends and " literati," who resorted to New 
Hall, in which he mentions, that, he had " carried 
the pastoral the length of five acts at the desire of 
some persons of distinction." The " unauthorised 
assertion" as to Sir William Purves, in the late edi- 
tion of his works, must either have arisen from a to- 
tal ignorance, as to the history of that respectable 
character; or, from a reprehensible inattention, to 
its irreconcileable discrepancy with that of " Sir 
William Worthy." 

Dr Pennecuik had two daughters, but no sons. 
In 1702, he gave the elder in marriage to Mr Oli- 
phant of Lanton, now Dalmahoy, advocate, on the 
other, north, side of the Pentland Hills, in Mid-Lo- 
thian ; and along with her the estate of New Hall. 
To Mr Farquharson of Kirktown of Boyne in A- 
berdeenshire, who had married the other, he left 
Romanno, now the property of Mr Kennedy. He 
had a younger brother, of the name of James, a 
liicmber of the Faciiltv of Advocates, to whom one 


of his " Poems," reprinted in the Jfijiendix^ is ad- 
dressed. He himself was born A. D. 1652 ; after a 
long, happy, and useful life, died A. D. 1722, at the 
age of seventy ; and was buried, with his father, in 
the church of Newlands. The plants, about New 
Hall, which he takes notice of in his and Mr Forbes's 
Description of Tweeddale, will be prefixed to the 
list annexed to this illustration. 

In 1703, before the timet)f the Union, which hap- 
pened on the 1st O. S. of May 1707, New Hall was 
purchased by Sir David Forbes, Knight, a member of the 
Faculty of Advocates, and a lawyer of eminence, from 
Mr Oliphant, the son-in-law of Dr Pennecuik, who re- 
sided at his other seat of Romanno, in its neighbour- 
hood. Sir David Forbes is said to have been knighted 
for his services, in promoting the Union. He was bro- 
ther to Duncan Forbes of Culloden ; and uncle to the 
celebrated Duncan Forbes of Culloden, afterwards 
Lord President of the Court of Session, whose sta- 
tue, in marble, is in the great hall of the Parliament 
House, and whose portrait is in the Advocates' Li- 
brary, under it. He married Catharine, sister to the 
first Sir John Clerk of Pennecuik, and, by him, 
grandmother to Sir David Rae of Eskgrove, the late 
Lord Justice-Clerk; a second sister being married 
to Mr Aikman of Cairney, the painter's father; and 
a third to Mr Brown of Dolphington. 


Sir David Forbes was equally distinguished for 
his taste, as for his legal, and political knowledge. 
He pulled down the greatest part of the old decay- 
ed castle J and, leaving one of its principal towers, 
to the height of its second, arched, floor, he erected 
behind, and upon it, the present double house, with 
the two projecting wings, as it is represented in the 
preceding view. The remain of the tower, consti- 
tutes the front half of the ground floor ; and a long 
room, or gallery, occupied the whole space, from 
gable to gable, immediately over it. In those days, 
the superior style of its architecture, and finishings ; 
the tapestries, and pictures, with which its apart- 
ments were hung ; the height of its ceilings ; the 
large staircase, with the painting of Ganymede car- 
rying off by Jupiter's eagle, on its roof; and its long 
gallery, called the Great Room at New Hall, were 
much admired by the neighbouring gentry, and were 
the frequent topics of their conversations. From 
the outsides of the wings, walls were carried to a 
considerable distance in front, at the extremities of 
which were two pavilion-roofed pigeon houses, con- 
nected, across, by a handsome iron rail, with a gate, 
in the middle, ornamented on each side by the ap- 
propriate stone busts of Pan and Pastora, cut by an 
Italian, sent for, and employed, by the Duke of Ha- 


iTiilton. The last written of Dr Pennecuik's poems, 
composed in 1715, is entitled, 

" Pan and Past or a, to the Shepherds asleep ;' 

at the time that he and Mr Forbes were, jointly, en- 
gaged in publishing the Description of Tweeddale. 
On the north-east side of the court formed by the 
walls and rails, along the western edge of that ra- 
vine, extended, the stables and other offices, in the 
middle of which was the round tower over the vaults, 
a part of the former convent or castle, a portion of 
which still exists ; beyond the low trees behind the 
left, outstretched, hand of the figure, in the engra- 
ving. On the south-west side of the court, between 
the large tree, to the right, in the filate, and the 
nearest wing, was the chapel-yard, with its pond, 
and the broad grass walk and row of beeches, as 
mentioned by Mr Tytler in his letter, on this side of 
it ; the prison, and chapel, Hkewise noticed by him, at 
the other, south, corner, on the brink of the glen of the 
Esk which passes behind the house; and on the outside 
of this garden wall, to the south-west, the western ra- 
vine, running up from the head of the " howm," or 
Washing Green. The site of the wood beyond the 
large tree, was, then, occupied by the chapel garden ; 
and no trees were to be seen rising from the glen, be- 
tween and Symon's farmstead, behind the house, or 
in the eastern ravine, on the other side of the farther 


wing. At the bottom of the eastef ravine was the 
caster garden, the ruined wall of which, with some 
of its fruit-trees within it, is still standing. Of the 
same width with the space between the outsides of 
the pigeon houses, and from them, extended, in 
front, an avenue, up to the public road, about half 
a mile distant, pointing to that end of the wester 
hill, where, with, almost, an equal arch, and the 
same brightness of unbroken verdure, the, farther, 
easter hill of 'Spital, on the other side of the 'Spital 
House, passes behind it, and dips from the view. 
Part of the south-west side of this avenue appears 
behind the figure, in the filate. Where it begins, 
between the figure and the house, stood the nearest 
pavilion, with the chapel-yard on the right. At 
some distance from the pigeon houses, this was 
crossed, at right angles, by another avenue, stretch- 
ing north-east and south-west, many of the trees of 
which are also alive. Behind the house, as seen in 
the view, was a small level green, surrounded by a 
terrace walk, supported by a strong wall, from its 
connection with the old castle, called by the country 
people the Fortification ; the walk terminating, to the 
east, in an arbour, beneath which are some very old 
laburnums, bird-cherries, and elder, or bower-trees. 
The terrace looks over the Washing Green, and the 
valley of the Harbour Craig, to " Symon's House'* on 
the height, from which the round tower was in full 


view, up the eastern ravine. Tlie south-west gable 
of the house, with the little green spreading round 
it, points its windows, represented in the engraving, 
up the glen, to the prominence at the entrance into 
Habbie's How. The positions of the objects around 
the house in the time of Sir David Forbes, will be 
more fully understood by consulting the ?}iafi, which 
was copied from an old one, taken before many of 
them were removal. 

In ornamenting his house, and, according to the 
fashions of his time, giving it suitable appendages, 
Sir David Forbes was assisted by his eldest son John 
Forbes, Esq. advocate ; who inherited, with his fa- 
ther's literaiy talents, the same elegance of taste, and 
delight in its gratification. The bodily, as well as 
mental, powers of Mr Forbes, seem to have been al- 
so remarkable. It is related of him, that he once 
walked from Edinburgh to Glasgow, forty-four Eng- 
lish miles, and, after returning on foot the same 
day, danced at a ball in the evening. Several years 
before his father's death, he appears to have received 
from him the management of his affairs, and to 
have acted as landlord in the family. In his " Ode 
to Mr Forbes," Ramsay addresses him thus. 

" Be gratefu' to the guiding powers, 
" An' blythely spend your easy hours. 



" O canny F ! tutor time, 

" An' live as lang's ye're in your prime ; 

" That ill-bred death has nae regard 

" To king, or cottar, or a laird ; 

" As soon a castle he'll attack, 

" As waus o' divots roof'd wi' thack." 

In his Glossary, the following is his own explana- 
tion of the word " canny." *' Kanny, or Canny, 
fortunate ; also, wary ; one who manages his af- 
fairs discreetly." In the Ode, it seems to be ap- 
plied in both senses. 

Sir David Forbes, and his son, were Hkewise aid- 
ed in their improvements, by their accomplished, and 
distinguished relatives, and guests. Duncan Forbes 
of Culloden, afterwards Lord President, was his 
own nephew ; Sir John Clerk of Pennecuik, after- 
wards a Baron of Exchequer, was the nephew of his 
lady, as also his brother Mr William Clerk, advo- 
cate, the poetical correspondent of Dr Pennecuik : 
Mr Aikman the painter, the friend of Ramsay, Mal- 
let, and Thomson, was likewise the nephew of Lady 
Forbes. Their son Mr Forbes, was the associate of 
Dr Pennecuik in his " Description of Tweeddale ;" 
and the patron of Ramsay ; who was also patroni- 
zed by his cousins Duncan Forbes, Sir John Clerk, 
and Mr Aikman ; whilst Duncan Forbes, and Mr 
Aikman, were the chief supports of Thomson, the 


excellent author of The Seasons. At this time, 
Ramsay was a frequent visitor at New Hall ; and, 
from the most unexceptionable testimony, it appears, 
every summer, often for six weeks together. It 
is not surprising, that, amidst such an assemblage of 
distinction, talent, and taste, he should court invita- 
tion by compliment, and be desirous of the opinions, 
advice, and assistance, of such company, in his pur- 
suit after literary fame. 

That Ramsay composed the Gentle Shepherd in 
particular, from its commencement, under the direc- 
tion and sanction of this society at New Hall, is con- 
firmed by the testimony of Mr Tytler, in his edition 
of King James's poems. " While I passed my in- 
fancy," says he, " at New Hall near Pcntland Hills, 
where the scenes of this pastoral jioem were laid, the 
seat of Mr Forbes, and the resort of many of the li- 
terati at that time, I well remember to have heard 
Ramsay recite as his own production different scenes 
of the Gentle Shepherd, and particularly the two 
first, before it was printed." " P. S. The above 
Note was shown to Sir James Clerk, and had his ap- 
probation." Sir James was the second son of Baron 
Sir John Clerk, nephew to Sir David Forbes. When 
Ramsay recited the '^ first'' scene " before it was 
printed," nmst have been in the year 1716, or 1717 ; 
as it was published, in a single sheet, about 1718. 

Dd 2 

420 ftew-HALt HOUS^. 

Conformably to this account, of -his then resorting 
to New Hall, is the story, still handed about in the 
district, and related in the description of the " Craigy 
Bield^^ as to the circumstance, at one of Ramsay's 
visits, that occasioned his choice of " The wauking 
of the faulds," for the " tune'' of the " Sang 1.," 
by v^hich the dialogue is introduced. 

In 1715, the " Description of Tweeddale," by 
Dr Pennecuik and Mr Forbes, was printed ; so that 
its former proprietor must have been one " of many 
of the literati" mentioned in the above quotation. 
The tradition, that he gave Ramsay the p,lot of his 
comedy, which is repeated in the preface to Ancient 
Scotish Poems, accords with this : And Ramsay him- 
self, in consonance with all these coincidences, and 
with his being in the practice of reciting^ to these 
" literati,^' " particularly the two first before they 
were printed," besides other " different scenes" of 
the pastoral as he proceeded with it, acknowledges, 
in his note, subjoined to \S\q first scene, in his quarto 
of 1728, that, he had " carried the pastoral the 
length of five acts at the desire of some persons of 
distinction ;" evidently alluding to those distinguish- 
ed " literati^' to whom, as it advanced, he used to 
" recite''' it, at their place of " resort^' " where the 
scenes of this fiastoral fioem were laid.'* 


Ramsay was not remiss, in making a grateful re- 
turn for the attentions, advice, and assistance he re- 
ceived from Sir David Forbes, and his distinguished 
iiterary friends. Two of his poems, reprinted in the 
Afifiendix, are addressed to the illustrious, patriotic, 
and picjus Duncan Forbes. Another is written to 
Sir John Clerk. Mr Aikman is complimented with 
two more. Malloch, afterwards Mallet, has one as- 
signed to hnn ; and Gay is also kept his friend, by a 
poetical epistle 

. " frae edge o* Pentland height, 

" Where fawns and fairies tak deh'ght, 
" An' revel &' the live-lang night 

" O'er glens and braes." 

His regard for Mr Forbes, was published in his Ode 
to him, the same year, 1721, in which appeared his 
first quarto volume, containing the introductory scene 
of his comedy : And he lamented the death of Mrs 
Forbes, by an Elegy in 1728, the year in which his 
second quarto issued from the press, with the first 
scene reprinted as part of his drama, after, as he in- 
forms the reader in his note, he had " carried the 
pastoral the length of five acts at the desire of some 
persons of distinction.'* 

The last poem he published, was, " The Address 
of Allan Ramsay," " To the Honourable Duncan 



Forbes of Culloden, Lord President of the Session," 
&c. on the suppression of his playhouse in 1737. 
The refined taste of this distinguished lawyer, and 
judge, is conspicuous in his own writings ; in which^ 
the Christian, the scholar, and the gentleman are u- 
nited. In these, the just thoughts, clearly, ajid libe- 
rally conceived, are gracefully and eloquently ar- 
ranged, and correctly expressed, in easy, unaffected, 
rich, and musical language, in elegance, and melo- 
dy, far above the diction of his day in Scotland, and, 
if some of his periods were shortened, almost equal 
in purity, and beauty, to the style of his contempo- 
rary Addison, unrivalled, even in England, to this 

To Sir David Forbes, the oldest of the family 
with whom he was acquainted, and the proprietor 
of what may be called the birth-place and nursery 
of the pastoral, he acknowledged his obligations, it 
would seem, by complimenting his worth, aifabihty, 
taste, and manners, under the character of " Sir 
William Worthy," whose history, it is said, Dr Pcn- 
neculk furnished him with ; and by laying the sce- 
nary of it, at, and around his country seat. The 
following Is evidently a portrait, taken from .the 


Act 2. Scene 1. 

Glaud, and Symon. 

^. ! , . ' i -.' .'',, . !' 
D I A L O G U E , {near the middle. ) 

" Sym. They that hag-rid us till our guts did grane, 
** Like greedy bears, dare nae mair do't again, 
" An* good Sir William sail enjoy his ain. 

" Glaud. An' may he lang ; for never did he stent 
" Us in our thriving, wi' a racked rent ; 
*' Nor grumbl'd if ane grew rich ; or shor'd to raise 
" Our mailens, when we pat on Sunday's claise. 

" Sym. Nor wad he lang, wi' senseless saucy air, 
" Allow our lyart noddles to be bare. 
" Put on your bonnet, Symon ; tak a seat. 
*' How's a' at hame ? How's Elspa ? How does Kate ? 
*' How sells black cattle ? What gies woo this year ?" 
" An' sic-like kindly questions wad he spier. 

" Glaud. Then wad he gar his butler bring bedeen 
* The nappy bottle ben, an' glasses clean ; 
" Whilk in our breast rais'd sic a blythesome flame, 
*' As gart me mony a time gae dancing hame." 

That this portrait was taken from Sir David Forbes, 
and was intended to give an acceptable representa- 
tion of his benevolence, condescension, mode of ad- 
dress, and hospitality, is ascertained from the addi- 
tion of his taste, and the enumeration of the indivi- 
dual objects, which owed their existence to him, and 
D d4 


by which his seat was distinguished. In the third 
act, Sir WilHam Worthy laments the ruinous condi- 
tion of the very particulars that most peculiarly cha- 
racterized, and marked out, the decorations, on which 
Sir David Forbes had bestowed so much time, atten- 
tion, and expence. The lime-tree near the chapel 
yard, and the avenues, in the plural number, are 
introduced into the prologue. 

Act 2. Scene 1. 


** Now turn your eyes beyond yon spreading //W, 

" An' tent a man whase beard seems bleach'd wi' time ; 

*' An elwand fills his hand, his habit mean ; 

" Nac doubt ye'Il think he has a pedlar been. 

" But whisht ! It is the Knight, in mascurad, 

*' That comes, hid in his cloud, to see his lad. 

" Observe how pleas'd the loyal sufF'rer moves 

*' Thro' his auld av''niicsf ance delightfu' groves." 

The offices, and pigeon-houses, and gardens, also in 
the plural number, in the vicinity of the lime-tree, 
and the avenues, are likewise inserted in " the 
Knight's** solitary exclamations, that follow, on ta- 
king a survey of the neglected objects around his 


Sir. William, solus. 
SOLILOQUY, (war the middle.) 
* My stables, and pavilions j broken walls, 
** That with each rainy blast decaying falls : 
" My gardens, once adorn'd the most complete, 
" With all that nature, all that art makes sweet, &c. 
" But overgrown with nettles, docks, and briar, 
<* No jaccacinths or eglantines appear." 

In the same soliloquy, even the tapestries, which en- 
riched the sides of the principal rooms, are taken 
notice of, and " the Knight in mascurad" is made 
to feel regret at the sight, among the other dilapida- 
tions from his absence, of 

" The naked walls of tapestry all bereft." 

The characteristic form of the double house erected 
by Sir David Forbes, Knight, in contradistinction to 
a tower, is marked with the most legible industry, 
and care, by the frequent, intelligible, repetition of 
the word house, where tower would have been equal- 
ly, if not more musical, and suitable to the measure 
of the verse. In Act 5. Scene 3. Sir William Wor- 
thy says, 

" Masons and wrights my house shall soon repair j" 

and again, a little farther on, 

" Mause in my Jion';'' in c:\Imncss close your days :" 


In Act 3. Scene 4. he asks Symon, at the beginning 
of the dialogue, 

*' Sir Wil.^To whom belongs this house so much decay'd V* 

And, in the firologue, the mention of its gallery, or 
long room, at once, settles its figure, and points out 
the house alluded to. 

Act 3. Scene 4. 


" This scene presents the Knight, an' Sym, 
" Within a gaWry of the place," &c. 

The only Hne in which the word tower occurs in the 
comedy, is at the end of the second scene in this act, 
obviously, in reference to the round " ruined tower" 
over the vaults, at the head of the eastern ravine, 
which, before it was planted with trees, was in full 
view, up its hollow, from Symon's farmstead, about 
half a mile distant. The word " baron" is applied 
to " the Knight," in the prologue to Act 3. Scene 4. 
as the proprietor of a barony, not as a title, but 
merely from its suiting the verse, and is, according- 
ly, introduced nowhere else. On examining the 
filan, and the i-icw of New-Hall Hot/se, it will be ob- 
vious, that, before the wood in the ravine, and glen, 
on the other side, and behind it, was planted, the 


round " ruined tower," of which the base still ex- 
ists, over the vaults, north from the house, must 
have terminated the vista, up the ravine, from Sy- 
mon's farmstead, and attracted notice, agreeably to 
the use made of it, at the end of the dialogue, in Act 
3. Scene 2. 

" Sym. Elspa, cast on the claith, fetch butt some meat 
** An' o' your best gar this auld stranger eat. 

Sir Will. Delay a while your hospitable care ; 
" I'd rather enjoy this evening calm an' fair, 
" Around ^on ruined tower, to fetch a walk 
Wi' you, kind friend, to have some private talk." 

From the vieiv, it is equally apparent, that, before 
the growth of the trees in the glen, which, now, 
conceal the lower part of it, the farmstead, seen 
past its south corner, must have been in full pro- 
spect, from the arbour, tcrrace-waik, level green, 
lime-tree, chapel yard, &c. about New-Hall House, 
in conformity to the conclusion of Sir William Wor- 
thy's soliloquy, which occupies the whole of the im- 
mediately preceding scene, in the same act, 3. Af- 
ter having surveyed the situation of his mansion and 
its appendages, and finished his reflections upon them; 
happening to cast his eyes towards Symon's farm- 
stead, he, at last, says to himself, in consonance with 
its real conspicuousncss from New-Hall House, 


** Now tow'rds good Symon's house I'll bend my way, 
" And see what makes yon gamboling to-day ; 
" AH on the green in a fair wanton ring, 
*' My youthful tenants gayly dance and sing. 

{Exit Sir William." 

The introduction of the objects about his house, 
so particularly, and exactly enumerated, was evident- 
ly a flattering return, for the countenance, approba- 
tion, and encouragement of the Knight, and his son 
Mr Forbes, without which, with that of their distin- 
guished friends, perhaps, this inimitable pastoral 
might never have been either begun, or " carried 
on ;" and if, as is presum'eable, the name " Worthy" 
was given to his " Knight,", in compliment to Sir 
David Forbes, " William " has, undoubtedly, been 
placed before it, merely from its being preferable ta 
any other Christian name, owing to the alliterative 
melody of its sound. 

Sir David Forbes died in 1725 j the same year 
in which his nephew, Duncan Forbes of Culloden, 
was appointed King's Advocate, who named his^ 
son Mr Forbes to be one of his deputes ; and in 
which the Gentle Shcjtherd, by itself, was first pub- 
lished complete, before it appeared in the quarto of 


After the death of his father, Mr Forbes added to 
liis improvements on the house, and place. He in- 
creased the number of paintings, and finished with 
tapestry, in a superior style, one of the principal 
bed-rooms, which still remains, the arras excepted, 
as he left it. Being the room in which Duncan 
Forbes used to sleep when Lord Advocate, it then 
got the name, by which it is yet distinguished, of 
The Advocate's Room. One of its windows, look- 
ing up the glen from the south-west gable, on the 
second floor of the house, appears in the engraving 
of it. Mr Tytler's apartment, pointed out by him- 
self, was in the middle of the garret story behind, 
and its windows, from the back pediment, face, over 
the Washing Green in the glen, toward Symon's farm- 
stead. Mr Forbes likewise multiplied the inclosures 
west, north, north-east, and eastward, between and 
the hills, and Monk's Burn ; defended them by an 
earthen mound, fronted with stone on the outside ; 
sheltered them with belts of planting, hedge-rows, 
and hedges ; and improved them by culture. They 
got the name of the Family Parks. The three on 
the outside, to the north-east, still keep the appella- 
tions he gave them, of the nether, and upper, Cum- 
berland Parks, and Meadow, in commemoration of 
the Duke of Cumberland's victory over Prince 
Charles Edward at Culloden, in 1746. Contiguous 
to the south side of the nether Cumberland Park, is- 


the President's Park, between and Pennecuik's j and 
to that of the upper, and below the meadow, is Ram- 
say's Park, on the south side of which is Forbes's. 
Between the Family Parks, and Monk's Burn, stood 
the old tower, designed, in the title-deeds of the estate, 
" the fortahce of Coaltown." Its site is, now, with- 
in a field called the Coaltown Tower Park, and is 
marked by the superior fertility of the spot. Below 
the nether Cumberland, the President's, and Penne- 
cuik's, on the other side of the eastern ravine, to- 
wards the Esk, lay, as it is yet named, the Green Brae 

These ameliorations of Mr Forbes, are rendered 
important, by their giving birth, in this country, to 
one of the greatest improvements in agriculture ; 
and it is highly curious, and remarkable, to find this 
originating from the same quarter, in which the 
finest poem in the Scotish language was produced, 
where the allusions to the " peat-stack," and the 
" clear peat-ingle," are so conspicuous, and appro- 

West from Xew-IIai.l House, about three 
hundred yards back from the stand where the draw- 
ing for the view was taken, is a small field, now 
planted, chiefly with spruce firs, and Scots pines. 
Its soil is fieat, in most places, of from three, to four, 


feet, in depth. It is, now, established, that potatoes 
raised in lazy-beds, are the great introductory means 
of improving Peat Moss ; a national object of so much 
consequence, and which, especially of late, has ex- 
cited so much attention, and public encouragement. 

In his most excellent Essay on Peat, in the second 
volume of the Transactions of the Highland Society, 
the Reverend Dr Walker gives the following account 
of the important, and successful introduction of this 
discovery, into Scotland. 

" Pla7its to be cultivated on a Peat Soil.''' 

" The fiotatoe forms one of the most useful, and 
profitable crops, that can be raised in pure peat- 
earth. Though this was long known in Ireland, the 
first trial of the kind in this country, so far as is 
known, was made in the year 1750, at New Hall in 
Mid-Lothian. The experiment was made on an in- 
closure of about four acres, consisting of such soft 
wet peat-soil, as to be incapable to bear a horse, and 
which had formerly been ploughed by men. Ha- 
ving Iain some years in grass, it was planted in lazy- 
beds with potatoes, and chiefly indeed with a design 
to have it more perfectly drained, by means of the 
trenches. The crop turned out so abundant, both 
in the size and the quantity of the roots, as to be a 
matter of surprise to all the neighbourhood. One 


gentleman on seeing the crop raised, who had a 
small estate, but of great extent in mossy land, be- 
came persuaded that it was more valuable, by a hun- 
dred a year, than what he supposed. Soon after 
that, the success of potatoes on a peat-soil came to 
be known and experienced in many parts of the 
country, and especially in the Highlands. It is a 
practice now established and followed by the most 
skilful cultivators of peat-moss, and it is certainly 
one of the most effectual means of reclaiming that 
infertile soil. Beside the profit of the crop, the 
trenches of the lazy-beds form the most useful 
drains : and the spade labour in the soft peat-earth, 
is comparatively very inconsiderable. But, though 
moss is capable of affording potatoes of the best qua- 
lity, yet, where there is a demand for the large coarse 
varieties of potatoe, improperly called yams, they are 
very eligible. They are plants of a more vigorous 
growth, both in the root and in the stem, and though 
inferior in quality, are sometimes more profitable 
than the finer sorts of potatoe." In another part of 
the Essajj, this polite and intelligent naturalist, writes 
thus. " The fittest crop to be taken at first upon 
a moss of this kind" (deep and that cannot be float- 
ed off by water) " and at the first moving of the 
surface, is certainly a crop of potatoes in lazy-beds." 
He, then, recommends laying lime on the surface, to 
be harrowed in with oats, after the ground is prepa- 


l-ed for them ; In every case, supposing the peat-bog 
to have been previously drained. It has, hkewise, 
been lately discovered at New Hall, that carrots, that 
most profitable crop, also grow luxuriantly on pure 
peat-earth, freed from water. 

After all that has been attempted, and written, on 
this important topic, no permanently profitable im- 
provements seem, yet, to have been made, where the 
peat cannot be floated off a rich bottom by water, as at 
Blair Drummond near Stirling ; unless the subsoil, to 
be incorporated with it, can be brought without much 
difficulty, within the reach of the plough, or, In fa- 
vourable situations for lime, and especially clay 
marie, within that of the spade by means of the lazy- 
bed culture as at New Hall. At the end of the A- 
gricultural Survey of Peeblesshire, published by 
subscription, a flattering account Is given, in compli- 
ment to its proprietor, to whom the book Is dedica- 
ted, of the attempts made at Whim, about four miles 
south-east from New Hall, to reclaim the dismal 
flow-mosses about it, twenty feet deep. It proves, 
, that, there, by means of drains, floods, lazy-bed po- 
tatoes, and lime, at last, a whole inch square of surface 
mould was obtained, from each pulverized, and re- 
duced square yard of peat ! This profitable, and precious 
return, being, thus, in many places, gained, the read- 



er is, in the end, however, poetically informed, thar^. 
still, about the house, the visitors* ears are " saluted 
with the wild notes of the plover, the curlew, the 
grouse, and other moss birds j" and, without being 
able to discover any other motive for writing the ac- 
count, but to discourage, and deter others from fol- 
lowing this example, he, finally, finds it confessed, 
that, " upon the whole, when the expence of cul- 
tivation is compared to the return of profit, it would 
appear that the cultivatiDn of fiow-moss in this coun- 
ty" (Tweeddale) " is an undertaking unsuitable to 
a farmer upon any length of lease ; unsuitable even 
to a proprietor, except with the indispensable view of 
hiding a nuisance in a policy *." 

* This strange Agricultural Survey is, most unexpectedly, 
swelled into a volume, by a motley, uncouth, hotch-pot, of deep- 
ly philosophical, juridical, critical, political, ecclesiastical, anti-ja- 
cobinical, cynical, chymical, and comical matter ; with many pro- 
foundly learned notes explaining the text, notes explanatory of 
these, again explained by foot-notes, all still farther explained, 
by numberless references, from one to another ; and the whole 
is elucidated, and enriched, with various improvements in spelling, 
and grammar, and with many new, and beautiful phrases and 
words, no where else to be found ; such as, " Enclosures yzrr se,'" 
* acclamations simple," " appels nominal," " passivities," " ma- 
nipulations," " moral excitements," ' unreasonings," " sava- 
gisms," with the history, and use, of " fmll-Ting^'' and " draiU' 
I'lng,''^ Sec. See, &c. 


Within these ten years, another improvement in 
agriculture, introduced by the present proprietor, on 
the important object of rotation^ has taken its rise at 
New Hall. By means of it, the point aimed at as 
the summit of excellence in agriculture, as in horti- 
culture which ought to be the farmer's guide, is, to 
render the ground, after being freed from superflu- 
ous moisture, in the highest degree clean, and firo^ 
ducthe ; so as to obtain the greatest and most pro- 

" Then mount the clerks, and in one lazy tone, 

" Through the long, heavy, tiresome page, draivl on." 


In a foot-note, yz. 331, to explain note D. explanatory of the text, 
and referring to note C, is given the following elegant, and co- 
mical story ; with which, as a specimen of the style, mode of rea- 
soning, and kind of humour, to be found in this curious composif 
it shall be dismissed, for the perusal of such subscribers as think 
they have got a good bargain, whose taste it suits. " A clergyman 
of myacquaintaiice obtained, through succession, some old houses at 
Edinburgh West-port; they were occupied as low bawdy-houses ; 
and he gave a liouse to a crook-backed barber, for collecting the 
other rents. It was not the intermediation of the barber tha!t 
made tlie other occupiers wliores ; it was their being whores that 
occasioned the intermediation of the barber, as tacksman of, or 
factor upon, the whole." 

Pray, could this intcrmediatory, " crook-backed," " bawdy- 
liouse," " barber ;" this shaver, and pimp, for in both capacities 
he must have been a blab, have been a descendant of Midas's fa 
mous barlicr, who, unable to keep the secret, whispered into a 
hole, tluit liis employer had the ears of an ass ? To use the word^ 

E e 2 


fitable returns, with the least possible expenditure, of 
ti7ne, labour, and manure : In other words, as far as 
it is practicable, to enable the soil, by means of the 
plants, and their succession, introduced into it, to re- 
cruit, mellow, clean, and manure itself. The 'New Hall 
rotation, with this view, is as follows. \st, oats, on one 
ploughing, or plit 2<f, fiease, immediately after one 
plit, sown rather thicker than usual, to choak the weeds, 
and mellow and enrich the land, harrowed in with 
about forty bolls of slacked lime each acre, previous- 
ly spread over the fallow on one cross plit be- 
fore winter, harrowed in spring' till the weeds and 
roots are killed, '3d, jiotatoes, in drills well dunged j 

of Horace, in one of his Satires., this clergyman's tenants would 
be, thus, 

" Omnibus et lippis notum et tonsoribus." 

" Truewit. Is't possible ! Who is his agent i' the business? 

" Clerimont, Marry! a barber ! one Cutl/.-ard : An honest fellow : 
One that tells Dau/i/iine all, here." 

" Morose. How should you arrive at the knowledge of so much ? 

" Truewit. Why, did you ever hope. Sir, committing the secrecy of 
it to a barber, that less than the whole town should know it ! You might 
as well ha' told it to the conduit or the bake-house or the infantry, that 
follow the court ; and with more security ! Could your gravitie forget su 
old, and noted a remnant, as, lijijiis et tonsoribus notum /" 

Ben Jonsox's Silent U-^ofnan- 


cleaned by harrowing along the ridges when the 
plants become visible ; paring, and earthing them up, 
as they advance ; and puIHng with the hand such 
weeds as the harrows have missed, and the potatoes' 

shoots have been unable to smother after a cross 

plit before winter, and another half liming in the spring 
of forty bolls /i^r acre, 4//?, turnifis, on one-bout ridges; 
slightly dunged, or, if much has been given to the 
potatoes, without manure ; when the soil, requires it, 
and such is at hand, peat-earth being mixed with the 
lime for dung ; the drills drawn in a different direc- 
tion from those of the potatoes preceded by one 

plit, the ground being now clean, tender, rich, and 
in the highest garden-like condition without the loss 
of a year's fallow, and with as little labour and ma- 
nure as possible, 5th^ bear, and grass-seeds ge- 
nerally, an abundant crop of, Gtli, hay followed 

by clean, and nourishing, 1th, pasture, the best se- 
curity for a plentiful return, when again ploughed up 
for, \st, oats. 

Sfiring tares, which have the same effect upon the 
soil, are sown on a part of the field under jiease ; 
and are as valuable, though less so than winter tares, 
for horses in summer green, as the straw of fiease is 
tlie following spring. Winter tares are sown in Au- 
gust, on a part of the tiirnifi field, for use next June 
and July ; before sowing red clo-ver, with some rijf, 
E e 3 


the beginning of August,, to be cut green the suc- 
ceeding summer, after the winter, and before the 
spring tares. The turnifis having completely de- 
stroyed all weeds whatever, Jtax occupies a part of 
the field in bear, with which it is equally suitable a- 
long with grass-seeds. 

It will be obvious, to every farmer, that this rota-^ 
tion is not contrived for a low lying, warm, strong, 
barley, wheat, and bean, country ; but for a more 
elevated, and lighter, bear, fiotatoe, and turnip,, soil. 
Yet, what a happy change has not the introduction 
of these roots, directly, and consequently, effected 
on the face of Britain, and the quantity of its ali- 
mentary produce, in those parts of it where industry, 
food, plenty, and its attendant, population, were 
most wanted! 

Potatoes were introduced from Ireland, into Gallo- 
way. They were not known before 1720; nor cuU. 
tivated in the fields with the plough, in Scotland, till 
about the year 1760, as Dr Walker, in his Essay on 
Peat, relates. Now, they constitute one of the most 
wholesome, and important articles, on which the 
great body of the people subsist ; and, since the ex- 
periment by Mr Forbes at New Hall, the chief mean 
of reclaiming, and rendering productive the most in- 
fertile of soils, by which a large proportion of the 


surface of the island is covered. In the Statistical 
Account of the parish of Kirkliston, the celebrated 
John Earl of Stair, is said, whilst residing on his 
estate of Newliston, in West Lothian or Linlithgow- 
shire, between the years 1 720, and 1 740, to have been 
the first in Scotland that raised tnrnijis, and cabbages, 
in the open fields, with the plough, in Scotland. The 
turnip was only a garden plant, even in England, 
till the reign of George the First ; when, according 
to Kent's Agricultural Report of Norfolk, the prac- 
tice of cultivating it in the field was introduced, from 
Hanover, into Norfolk, by Viscount Townshend, 
the present Marquis's grandfather. This explains 
the following allusion in Pope's Imitations of Horace 
B. 2. Ep. 2., which, at the same time that it authen- 
ticates the fact, shows how much attention the no- 
velty attracted at the time. 

" Talk what you will of Taste, my friend, you'll find, 

" Two of a face, as soon as of a mind. 

" Why, of two brothers, rich, and restless, one 

" Plows, burns, manures, and toils from sun to sun ; 

" The other slights, for women, sports, and wines, 

" All To'wnshend's Uirnijis, and all Grosvenor's mines." 

Mr Forbes died about the year 1748, or 17^0 j 
and, as a proof of the delight he received from the 
prosecution of his improvements, elegant, as v/ell as 

E e4 


useful, it is still repeated in the district, that,, whilst 
labouring under his last illness, and unable to walk, 
he desired the servants to carry him out to the court 
in front of the house, that he might superintend the 
hanging of an ornamented iron gate, he had or- 
dered for the middle of the rail between the two pa- 

On the death of Mr Forbes, as the Harlaw Muir, 
re-added to it by Dr Pennecuik, had been before, 
the properties of Carlops and 'Spital, were disjoin- 
ed from that of New Hall ; but are now again uni- 
ted to it, with the arable part of the Harlaw 
Muir. An enriched obelisk, behind the stand 
from which the drawing for the engraving of New- 
JIall House was taken, has been raised, somewhat 
to the south of west, on the highest part of the lawn, 
betwixt and Mary's Bower ; and a rustic Hut, south- 
westward, near It, crowning a bold point, between 
the glen, and the edge of the walk leading from the 
house to the bower. The obelisk, and the hut, have 
been already mentioned. The obelisk was erected 
in the year 1794, by Robert Brown, Esq. the pre- 
sent proprietor, his eldest daughter's son, and his 
ward, to the memory of Thomas Uunmore, Esq. of 
Kelvlnslde, near Glasgow ; younger brother to Wil- 
liam Dunmore Craufurd, Esq. of Possll, Hkewlse In 


its neighbourhood ; and father to Robert Dunmore, 
Esq. of Kelvinside, and of Ballindalloch, and Bal- 
likinrain, in Stirlingshire, who is so often, and so 
honourably noticed in the Statistical History. The 
enclosures, and pleasure grounds, towards the road, 
and hills in front ; and the plantations, have been 
much extended, both down to the lake ; and up to- 
wards the village of Carlops, beyond the site of 
Ramsay's Tower, looking down upon the Esk, be- 
tween the farmsteads of Patie's Hill, and Roger's 


A square of offices, at the head of a large garden, 
have been substituted for the old stables, pavilions, 
and gardens. They lie on the other side of the eas- 
tern ravine, on, and above the remains of the east 
garden ; and between and the field, declining to the 
Esk, opposite to Symon's House, and reaching to- 
wards Monk's Burn, called the Green Brae Park. 

A considerable addition to the house behind, with 
buttresses, pinnacles, and pointed windows, in the 
gothic chapel taste, from a design of the present 
proprietor'.-, was built in the year 1795, which ap- 
pears ii"" th/' view oi the Washing Green. The body 
or uw Iious;:, aiul the projecting wings remain. The 
pain;Iiig, of Gj.nyij^iode carrying off by Jupiter's 
eagle, on iti. roof, has been pulled down 5 but, other- 


wise, the staircase is unaltered. The old finishing is, 
yet, entire in the Advocate's room ; the spaces that 
had been formerly -covered with tapestry, being filled 
up with wooden pannels, similar to those on the other 
sides. The busts of Pan and Pastora are still to be 
seen ; and the paintings, with which the apartments, 
and staircase, were hung by Sir David and Mr For- 
bes, are supplied by a collection of about four hun- 
dred, among which are the following. 

Our Saviour, in tapestry, from his likeness cut on an 
emerald by the order of Tiberius Csesar, (many generations 
in the possession of a very ancient family in Aberdeenshire.) 
The twelve Coesars, a set, said to havebeen copied at Rome, 
by Sir Antliony Vandijck Raphael and Perugino, after Ra- 
phael, by David Allan ^ the Scots Hogarth. An Artist by 
Lanfranc Fiamingo, the sculptor, by Francis Hals. Jac- 
ques Denys the painter, taking a sketch on paper, by the same. 
Cardinal Beaton, with fair hair and complexion, from his 
portrait in the Vatican. MaryQueen of Scots. John Knox, 
George Buchanan The Elector Palatine King of Bo- 
hemia, son-in-law to King James the Sixth of Scotland, 

by Cornelius Janssen A whole length of Alexander Baker, 

surgeon to the same King James, by Sir P. P. Rubens 

King Charles the First, on a dun horse, after Vandijck 

Charles the Second, by Sir Peter Lclij James the Se- 
cond. A whole length of the old Pretender, in the Ar- 
chers' uniform, by Richard Waitt, of Edinburgh, 1715. 
Prince Charles, his son, by Tocquet, (engraved by IVille.J 
And his other son the Cardinal Duke of York, the last of the 
royal Stuart family, who died this year 1807, at Rome, in the 
J>2d year of his age. King Charles the Twelfth of Sweden, 


(engraved). The Duke of Marlborough, by Sir Godfrey 

Kneller John Earl of Stair, half length, with a dog, by tlie 

same. A half length, also the size of life,' of a young man 
in armour, with a white silk mantle and large wig, by Sir 
Peter Lely. Vandyck's portrait of Rich Earl of .Warwick, 
at Taymouth, copied by Milhr The Marquis of Mon- 
trose. General Monk. Old Van Tromp. Young Van 

Tromp. De Ruyter And Admiral Hein ; (these four 

were presented by a Dutch, to a British admiral, and were 
long in the family of the latter.) Lord Anson. Sir Charles 
Wager. Hugo Grotius. A whole length of Mr Windham, 
of Felbrigg in Norfolk, by Hogarth. President Forbes, by 
Ramsatj. Miss Janet Ramsay, by///^ satnCf her brother. Mrs 
Webb, ''by Sir Joshua Reynolds , (engraved.) Lord Kennet, 
by Martin. Mr Dunmore of Kelvinside and Ballindalloch, 
with a pointer dog, by Cochrane. The present proprietor of 
New Hall, in a lawyer's gown, by Raeburn A family 
picture, including the same, in a plaid, with a white dog, 
by Geddt's. Chaucer. Ben Jonson Otway, by Mary 
JBeal Pope, when fourteen years of age. Prior Allan 
Ramsay the poet, the original family picture, by Smihert. 
An old Lady, by Denner. A boy with a dog, by J. R. Hu- 
her. An elderly Gentleman, in a red Vandyck dress, in 
crayons, by Cotes. An old woman's head, by Rubens. A 
boy's head, with curly hair, by Vandych. A young Gentle- 
man in armour, with a white silk sash and long flowing hair, 

by Jamesoue, the Scots Vandyck A head, with a hat on, 

by the same. A girl's head, with a fur tippet round her 
r.eck, by Gavin Hamilton. R. Foulis, giving directions to 
a painter in his Academy in Glasgow College, by David 
Allafi. An old friar's head, with a white beard, taken 
in Italy, by ihe same. A blind man, of Edinburgh, led 

by a boy, by ihc same Crihee the taylor, dealer in old 

shoes, broker, w.-A picti;rc pimp, the son of an Aber- 
:;ccn app;:n;an, iioiilcally represented in the character cf a 


connoisseur criticising a picture, by Saxon The honest old 

Edinburgh Eggrnan, its companion, by the samcy &c. 

Historical Pictures, Battle Pieces, Conversations^ 
Animals, 8^c. 

The Day of Judgment, by Simon Vouet David present- 
ing to Saul the head of Goliah, by Carlo Maratti Moses 

and the Burning Bush, by Gerard Lairesse^ the Dutch Ra- 
phael. The consecration of the temple of Solomon, by P. 
Verhech Judith's head, by Giiido Reniy (in his first man- 
ner.) The Virgin and Child, with John the Baptist and 
his Mother, and a lamb in the middle of the picture, by 
Louis Boullongfie, the young. The Virgin and Child, by Ru- 
bens. The Circumcision, a sketcih on pannel, by the same. 
The Circumcision, from 2 picture of Bassan's in Italy, by 
John Moir ^The dead body of our Saviour in the lap of the 
Virgin, by Vandych^ (engraved by Lucas Vostennan.J Mary 
Magdalene, by Guidot (in his first manner.) The blind lead- 
ing the blind into a ditch, (a curious old picture.) Saint 
John explaining a text in the Scriptures to Saint Peter, by 
Michael Angela da Caravaggioy from the Vatican, where a 
copy of it is preserved in mosaic work. Saint Paul reading 
the Scriptures, by Rembrandt, in his smooth manner, (etched 
by himself.) The martyrdom of Saint Bartholomew, by 

Parmigiano The martyrdom of a bishop, &c, by Trevisani. 

An old priest, by Cornelius Bischoj) The royal hermit, 

by Spagnoletto. The royal hermit, by Gucrcino da Cento.* 
A hermit reading in a cave, before a crucifix and scull, by 
Jacob Mere, (a sketch.) A philosopher reading, by Z). Te- 

niers, the old A philosopher reading, v,-ith his hand on a 

scull, hyjohn Matsys The apotheosisof Prince Octavlus,or 

" the Angel and Child," by the Rev. William Peters, (engra- 
ved by Dickinson. J The inside of a Convent, by Egbert Hem* 
shrch, the old, (from the collection of Mr D. Daulby, of 
I^ivcrpool, author of the Jjifc of Rembrandt and the Cita- 


logue of his Works.) The Grecian daughter keeping her 
father alive by suckling him in prison, by Guercino. The 
Cane, or the Conspiracy discovered, a criminal trial, by 
Touiigi after Egbert Hemskerck, the old. A philosopher in 
his study, by Vatider Myn A miser, by the same, (engra- 
ved.) An old man playing on a guitar, and his wife listen- 
ing, by F. Jllieris, tlie old A physician's study and labora- 
tory, with a lady consulting him, and a patient getting a tooth 

drawn in' a back shop, by P. Verbeck A poultry-woman 

at her stand, by Mctzzu. A man drinking in a confection- 
er's shop, and the shop-man showing him a squirrel, by 
Godfrdd Cibalt. An old woman dressing a little girl's brui- 
sed forehead, by h\ Bol Boors feasting, drinking, smok- 
ing, and dancing to a fiddle, by Egbert Hefnskerck, the c/d. 
A fidler playing, and boors behind drinking and singing, by 
Ostadc. The inside of a cottage j two men smoking, a wo- 
man with a pitcher, and a little girl squatted at the wall be- 
hind, by the same. The sacking of a village, by D. Tejiiersy 
the oldy (engraved.) A man in a red cap with his foot on 
a stool, smoking, and an old man behind, by tJie same. An 
old fifer playing, by the same. The inside of an armory ; 
kettle drums, coats of mail, helmets, standards, cannons, 
&c, by the same. A mill grinding old men young, &c, by 
D. TefiicrSy the young. A man smoking before a fire of 
sticks, with a pitcher at his side, and an old man behind, by 
the same t (from the collection of Sir JosJrua Reynolds.) The 
sense of Smelling, or Rustick Cleanliness, by Amlretu Both, 

(engraved.) A fisherman dressing perches, by Brouiver 

Three boors and a woman drinking, with a man smoking 
before a fire, by the same An old man leaning over a cot- 
tage door, listening to some children singing and playing In 
concert, by the same A cobler, by the same. A rat-catch- 
er, by the same. The examination and chastisement of a 
school, within the vaults of a ruin, by R. Van Trcycn. The 
head of an old man, with a light beard, in a greenith bon- 
net, and reddish fur-cloak, by G, B. CustsgHonc ; of an old 


woman, in a rufF, and greenish fur cloak, by the sanie.-^ 
Madness, a young woman chained in bedlam, by i2. K. 
Piiiey (engraved by Dickinson.) Idiotry, a young woman 

with a blanket about her in bedlam, by the same The shade 

of Agandecca appearing to Fingal in a dream, as described 
by Ossian in the fourth book of Fingal^ a moonlight, by 
Alexander Runciman. The three witches appearing to 
Macbeth and Banquo, by the same, from Shakespeare. 
Cadmus receiving instructions from Minerva, after having 
killed the dragon, about the raising other men, and the 
founding of Thebes, by the same, from Ovid. Yarico 
bringing presents to Inkle in her cave, from the Spectator, 
by G. Morland. Callimachus taking the hint for the capi- 
tal of the Corinthian pillar, by Angelica Kauffman A fe- 
male fortune-teller reading a servant girl's fortune from the 
inside of a tea-cup, by Hogarth. Jupiter visiting Antiope, 
with her two children asleep on the floor and her maid at 
her head, by the saine. Nymphs bathing, a shepherd, cow, 

and sheep, by Diderich A man with a flask in his arm 

drinking from a wine glass, by candle-light, by Sir John 
Medi7m. Venus chastising Cupid, hy the same. Diana and 

Endymion, by the same A servant girl reading a ballad by 

candle-light, by IVright of Derby. The musical family, by 
Jacques Jordacns^ (engraved.) An allegorical picture ; J!^~ 
neas landing in Italy, assisted by the Naiads of the Tiber, 
by Nicolo Poussin. Juno, Argus and Mercury, by Agostino 
Caracci. Venus descending to lament over Adonis, by 

Francesco Alhano. Glaucus and Scylla, by the same Pan 

and Syrinx, by Liica Giordano, (from t;;e collection of the 
late Duke of Cumberland.) Neptune and Amphitrite, by 
Ruhvis Venus, Adonis, and Cupids, in a beautiful land- 
scape, by Caspar Poussin. Venus and Cupids grieving over 
the dead body of Adonis, by Sir P. LcJy Perseus loosen- 
ing Andromeda from the rock, after having killed the sea 
monster, and left Pegasus to tlie care of the surrounding 
Cupids, by Cuylcnlurg A landscape, by the same, (comp;'.- 


Jiion to the former.) Flora in a chariot, attended by Cu- 
pid and Zephyrus, by Francis Boucher, the Anacreon of 
Painting/ Flora, with a lapful of fruit and flowers, admi- 
ring a festoon of flowers round a piece of architecture, with 
a garden and greenhouse behind, by Van Pas. ^The triumph 
of Silenus, mounted on his ass braying, attended by Satyrs, 
and preceded by Dryads, by Filippo Laura. Silenus, drink- 
ing from a cup held by a Satyr, by Jacob More, (a sketch, 
bought from his sister.) Pan teaching Apollo to play upon 
the pastoral pipe. Musicians at a table in a garden, with a 
lady and gentleman dancing a minuet, by Maihijs Neveu. 
A lady and gentleman dancing, and otjicrs seated and con- 
versing, in a garden, by Nickolas Lancret. A drawing, in red 
chalk, of Cupids pulling and gathering grapes ; from a book of 
Raphael's designs for the arabesque ornnments for the Vati- 
can, by David Allan ^ (got from his widow.) A sortie and 
battle under the walls of a fortified town, with a white 
horse en the fore ground struggling to get up and dis- 
engage himself from his rider who is killed, by Bourguigncn 
or Borgogncnc Four battle pieces, by J. G. Kuyp (a 
set.) A battle between the Christians, and Turks, by the 
same. A robbery, by the same. Travellers on horseback 
stopping at an alehouse door, by the same. Other two bat- 
tle pieces. The troops of Twceddale, and the Forest or 
Selkirkshire, convened by royal authority in May 1685, as 
described in Dr Ptnnccuik's Poems, oval, on the roof of 
the room called PennccuiFs Parlour, by Alexander Carse. 

Two Hawking pieces by T. Qiieesiirt Partridges, gun, 

flowers, &c. a garden scene, by ,/. B. Weejiinx, the old.- 
Hyp and Hye, two favourite pointers, gun, buzzard and 
game, by Lewis. Partridge, chafllnch, swallows, &c. by 
Ifilliam Ferguson. Goldfnjch, bulfinch, titmouse, 8:c. by 
the same. A hare caught by a wire, by Elmer. Several 
other pieces of game, and fish, by the same. A cocking 
spaniel, by Lc-re. Swans, herons, & Roland Saver//. 
A calf in a cart and the cow following it, by Bourgeois 

448 nw-hall house. 

A sow and pigs, by T. Hand. Head of an Egyptian as^, 
by Morland, Goats, a sheep, and a dog, by Philip Roos or 
Rosa of Tivoli, (one of his finished pictures.) Two dead 
drakes, a basket with eggs and vegetables, &c. by G. Smitzs. 
A little lion-dog, ink-bottle, pen, sealing wax, &c. on a 
table. A mouse and trap, goldfinches, canary birds, &c. 
(the companion to the former.) Several poultry pieces, &c. 

Landy Sea, and River Scenes ; Floxoer, and Fruit 
Pieces, 8^c. 
An old mill, rugged rocks, rapid stream, robbeif on 
horseback, shepherds, millers, &c. by Salvator Rosa^ with 
his initials, on close inspection, to be found on an upright 
stone on which a shepherd is leaning, in the middle of 

the picture The bay and city of Leghorn, with two ships 

entering the bay, a pillar and the celebrated statue 
in the port of Leghorn on the foreground, by the sajne. 
Among the figures, are introduced two of his Robbers, 
and some others etched by himself, (from the collection of 
D. Daulby, Esq. of Liverpool.) The inside of the port of 
Leghorn, with the statue and a number of figures, by B. 
CagHnri. A wild rocky scene, with a cascade, the Sybil's 
temple at Tivoli, shepherds, sheep, goat, and dog, hy Rosa 
ofTivoli. A thunder storm, cattle, figures, a horse getting 
up terrified after being knocked down, leaving his rider 
killed by the lightning, by Tcwvesta. View through a 
rock, by Martlrelli A high waterfall, in the style of Sal- 
vator l-losa, with shepherds sitting and lying on a bar.k un- 
der a group of trees tending cattle and sheep, byyf. Vander 

Cabel Shepherds driving cattle and sheep, amidst groups 

of trees, with a river, a ruined abbey, and a town, in the 
distance, by the same. VKiYxTp baptizing the Eunuch, in a 
landscape, by D. Tenjers^ the young ; one of his past::isy 
in imitation of Waterloo and Weeninx. Morning , a 
shepherd and shepherdess driving cattle over a still rivulet, 
whilst another shepherdess is pulling Ou" her stockings to 


join them, by Claude Lorraine, (etched by himself.) Even- 
ing ; a shepherd and shepherdess returning with cattle 
from pasture, the shepherd resting and playing on a pipe, 
with a group of trees hanging over the figures from a per- 
pendicular rock, beyond a cascade on the left, and on the 
right a river with a wooden bridge over it between and the 
distant hills, by the same, (etched by himself.) Two views 
with high architecture, and beggars, and thieves lousing 
themselves, limping, gambling, and skulking among, and 
about the ruins, by Pately the French Claude A strong 
gale i a passage through a wood, with a rivulet, and planks 
over it on which a woman is crossing v/ith a pitcher on her 
head, the figure copied from Raphael, and a dog lapping 
water, on the foreground ; a bay of the sea with a sloop 
sailing up it, and a castle on the shore, between and distant 
hills, in the evening : the landscape by JoJuiy and the figures 

by Andrew Both A land storm, and other two views, by 

Caspar Poussin. A calm scene on a broad. placid river ; two 
fishermen placing a net from a boat in the middle, a tower 
on the right, tyle-roofed houses beyond a man rowing a boat 
en the left, a wooded height supporting a ruined castle and 
backed by a high steep hill, with sloops, in the distance, by 
John Van Goi/en A Dutch canal and street, with a row of 
trees shading it, most laboriously finished, by G Toorenhurgh. 
A Dutch canal by moonlight, by Arnold Vander Neer. 
' Cascade and town at Tivoli, with a man on horseback 
driving cattle on tiie foreground, by G. Bassan. Another 
view at Tivoli ; cattle, shepherd and dog, near the river, be- 
tween and a bridge of two arclies, with an old castle on a 
rocky wooded eminence beyond it, by the same (companion 
to the former ) A windmill, rustic figures, and distant 
prospect, by Brueghel. A large cluirch rising from water, 
with dressed figures on the foreground, by the same (com- 
panion to the former.) Architecture, with two figures 
conversing on a stair, a man seated fishing on the fore- 
groun.i, John the Baptist administering baptism in th 


450 'NEW-HALL HOUSl:^ 

middle, and a distant view of fishermen, &c. by the seini^, 
Inside of a wood with large trees, Hagar and Ishmael j- 

a very small picture in a great style, by 'Adrian Stalbemt 

Two landscapes, with low cascades ; a large tower in the 
pne, and a spruce- fir wood In the other ; by W. Van BemmeL 
A landscapcj by V. Willige Town on a rock, backed by 
two conic hills, by Adrian Van Diest. ^^Fwo cows, men con- 
versing on a height, on the foreground, between and a piece 
of water, with a group of trees on the left, hythe same. A ri- 
ver bending round a bold wooded prominence at sunset, af- 
ter Van Neist, by WiUiam Cochrane of' Glasgow. A man 
drawing a net on the foreground, a cascade, wooden bridge, 
a castle on a hill seen over them, and the view of a rich 

country on the right, by F. Groost Two views in Venice, 

by Canaletti. Two upright landscapes, by Rathbofie. The 
moon behind a tower ; a house on fire at night ; (com- 
panion to the former) , and a small landscape ; by Pether. 
Portrait of London Bridge, by Marlow. A winter scene 
on a river, with eel-catchers on the foreground, by De 
Koning. A sea-piece in a gale, with sailoi^s rowing a lady 
and gentleman in a boat on the foreground, (companion to 
the former), hy the same^ in 1800. Two upright landscnpcs 
with figures, by Sir John M^edina. A moonlight, with a low 
cascade, by De la Cour. Two views, by J. Norrie, one of 
them dated 1731. An old tree hung with ivy on the fore- 
ground, a cave on the right, a white modern mansion with a 
town under a shower of rain beyond it, without figures, hy Ja- 
cob More, the Scots Claude. A sea-port, witli a higli tower 
on the foreground, by the same A land storm, with figures 
s'^''ugg^''"g against it, a portraitof the amphitheatre of Vero- 
na, of the temple of Concord, and of the temple of Vesta. 
Landscapes, by Paid Sandbt/, Barret, Callander. A 
woman entering a cavern, by Morland View on the North 
Esk above Roslin by Cheap Cooper Habbie's How at New 
Hall, by Alex. Nasmyth ; and James Stevenson, ^c. A sea- 
piece in a calm ; a man of war firing a gun, a sloop aground, a 


woman selling fish, and a man giving orders from the end of a 
pier on the left, by W. Fandervelde, the young. Sloops, large 
ship in the distance, in a calm, with a tower near the fore- 
ground on the right, by thesanie^ and Van Goyejt, A calm; a 
large ship in the middle, two sloops close together on the 
right, and two men on the foreground, by P. Monamy.^^ 
Sloops in a calm, with a rocky point running into the sea, 
by Anderson. A sloop in a calm, with boats lying on the 
beach, by the same (companion to the former) Ships, gal- 
leys, and a fortified sea-port town, in black and white, on 
pannel, by Gibovmeester A storm, with a galley founder- 
ing at sea, by Backhuysen A tempest ; the wreck of a ship 
driving among breakers, on a beach between rocks, and two 
sailors carrying out a corpse, near a third with a man in a 
faint on his back ; trees, rent, broken, and sticking out 
from the precipice on the right, amidst crags and bushes, 
bending from the wind, under a ruined abbey ; and, at 
some distance, a lanterned light-house towering on the 
summit of a promontory, above the spray, rising around 
the shattereti sliip, in the middle of the picture, by Rich-' 
ard WiLscn, the English Claude. Three sailors drawing 
a boat ashore, near steep rocks, in a storm, by Morland, 
A sloop wrecked on a bold coast, and a boat with 
sailors having a drowned corpse on board on the fore- 
ground, by A. Carse. A variety of flower, and fruit pieces, 
by J. D. de Heein, J. Baptist Monnoi/er, Rachel Ruischt 
and others ; which are not particularised, from the appre- 
hension, that in the opinion of many, although nwmbers 
have been already omitted, tiic preceding catalogue may 
still seem too much extended. To readers of taste, and 
amateurs in the elegant art to which it relates, even the 
imperfect, and curtailed information it contains, may, how- 
ever, he deemed both useful, and agreeable. 

y f 2 


In describing the house of New Hall in reference 
to the Gentle Shep-herd, it may be thought not un- 
suiting to endeavour to restore that connection which 
Sir David and Mr Forbes maintained within it, be- 
tween the sister arts of poetry, and painting : In il- 
lustrating Ramsay's scenary, by pictures, and expla- 
nations ; it appears natural to associate his imita- 
tions from the objects around the mansion, with the 
more direct imitations under its roof: And the pre- 
ceding partial enumeration may, perhaps, not be un- 
welcome to such as can relish paintings, as well as 
poetry, and think that the former are produced to be 
known, and seen, as well as the latter to be publish- 
ed, and read, or money to be circulated. A mind 
regardless of what its organs present to it ; and in- 
sensible to the charms of disposition, harmony, ef- 
fect, elegance, expression, colouring, richness, ten- 
derness, and, above all, of nature, and truth, in the 
representation of the objects themselves, by the pen- 
cil ; must be blind to the beauties of the same less 
obvious properties, in the descriptions of them, by 
the pen. Whatever it may affect ; from the want of 
images previously collected, and combined, from 
nature, and the exhibition of selected nature in paint- 
ings, to which it can hiive recourse for application ; 
it can neither sec, nor feel, the excellencies of a de- 
scription. The allusions are not understood, feebly 
perceived, misunderstood, and lost ; there is no- 


ching to work upon, lay hold of, or recall. Such 
images as can be forced into recollection, must be sha- 
dowy, weak, and confused ; corresponding to the 
bluntness of the former impressions to be acted up- 
on. So unprepared, and dull a spirit, can receive 
but a small portion of pleasure from the most exqui- 
site piece of poetic painting, that ever was selected, 
and borrowed from nature ; compared with one 
alive to her effects, with a taste improved by attend- 
ing to the judicious choice and display of these by 
the pencil, and with a treasure of images thus col- 
lected, and stored up, in the memory, for subsequent 
use, and appHcation, from which its proprietor may 
receive delight, and to which others may have re- 
course, through the medium of sympathy, from the 
security of finding something to impress, and agitate. 
The obligations, between painting, and poetry, are 
important, and reciprocal : Their connection seems 
to be so intimate, that a taste for the one, is requi- 
site, for the full comprehension and enjoyment of the 
other's beauties ; and it can hardly exist in purity, 
and perfection, without a passion for both. Allan 
Ramsay the poet, and writer of songs, was the father 
pf Allan Ramsay the painter. 



Plants taken notice of in the neighbourliood of New Hall, and 
the North Esk, by Dr Pennecuik ; and mentioned in his, and 
Mr Forbes's, Description of the Shire of Tnveeddale. 

Chamamorui Rubus fAaw^fworttj Mountain bramble ; cloud- 
berry ; or knout-berry. Grows on the top, of Fairlyhope Hill 
above Carlops Bridge. Also on the summit of Carlops Hill. 

Chamarubus Rubus saxatilis Stone bramble. 

Rubus idteuSf fructu rubra Rubus idteus Rasp-berry. 

Digitalis, flore albo Ti\g\t'a\h purpttrea, fl. albo Fox glove. 

Pedicularisy fiore albo Pedicularis syhatica, fl. pallido Wood 

Trachelium maJuSfbelgarum CvLTnpanviiatrachelium Greater nettle-r 
leaved bell-flower. 

Lonchitis minor Blechnum boreale Rough spleen-wort. 

These six groiu on the banhs of the Esk, between Carlops Bridge, 
and New-Hall House. 

Virga aurea Solidago virga-aurea Golden rod, or wound-wort. 

Grows on the woody rocks of the point from the Harlazu Muir 

on which Simon's House stands, opposite to Monk's Haugh. 
Filicula monlana, florida, perelegans ; seu Adianihum album, flori- 

dum, Raii Ptcris crispa Stone fern. Grows near Gla.ud''s 

Onsljad, at the foot of Monk's Burn. 

Plants found about New-Hall House, in 1S06, last year. 

Artemisia vulgaris, Miigwort. Grows near the house, 

Chasrophyllum sj/lvestre, Wild chervil. Ditto. 
(3) Scandix odorala, Sweet cicelv. or myrrh. Ditto, 



TTie foUoiving grow in the Green Brae Park, lying on the east side 
of the present garden, between and MonPs Burn. The soil is a 
light y gravelly loam ; and it has been about sixty years in paslurf 
previous to this 12th March 1807. 

Trifolium medium, 

Euphrasia ojidnalis, 

Linum catharticum, 
(3) Gentiana campestrisy 
(2) Satyrium viride, 

Agrimonia eupatoria. 

Digitalis purpurea. 

Teucrium scorodonia, 
Carex binervisp 
Salix aquatica. 

Zigzag trefoil. 

Eye-bright. * 

Purging flax. 

Field gentian. 

Frog satyrion. 

Agrimony. Among whins, See, 

Fox glove. Ditto. 

Wood sage. Ditto. 

Green-ribbed carex. Ditto. 

Water sallow. Fcry Hie 

Salix aurita ; but different from it. Ditto, 

Polygala vulgaris, 
Blechnum boreale, 
AXrdi flexuosa, 
Stellaria graminea, 
Scabiosa succisa, 
(3) Rub us idaus, 

Juncus articulatus, 
Aira caspitosa. 

Milk wort. Among whins. Sec. 
Rough spleen wort. Ditto. 
Waved mountain hair-grass. Do. 
Lesser stitch wort. Ditto. 
Devil's-bit scabious. Ditta. 
Rasp-berry. Ditto. 
Jointed rush. 
Turfy hair-grass, &c. 

For an instance of the uncommon fattening quali*. 
ty of the pasture on this field, see Stat. Ace. of Scot- 
lajid,, vol. xvii. Afifiendix. Other plants behind the 
house, and elsewhere, are particularised, in the se- 
veral lists at the ends of the other descriptions. 




Northward " hence. 

" On the slow rising of a fertile hill, 

" A virtuous" chief " of honourable race, 

** Hath founded and endow'd a hallow'd mansion 

" To pure devotion's purposes assign'd. 

** No sound disturbs the quiet of the place, 

** Save of the bleating flocks and lowing herds, 

" And the sweet murmurs of the trilling stream, 

*' That flows sweet-winding thro' the vale beneath ; 

" No objects intercept the gazer's eye, 

*' But the neat cots of neighb'ring villagers, 

*' Whose lowly roofs afford a pleasing scene 

" Of modest resignation and content. 

*' There piety, enamour'd of the spot, 

" Resides ; there she inspires her holy fervour^ 

** Mild, not austere ; such piety, as looks 

" With soft compassion upon human frailty, 

" And sooths the pilgrim-sinner to embrace 

*' Repentant peace beneath her holy roof"' 

Henry II. ; or The Fall of Rosamond' 

X HE prefixed view is taken from the south-west, 
opposite to the front of New-Hall House, in the hol- 
low between the ridge called Bellcant and the bot- 
tom of the wester 'Spital Hill. The wester, on this 
side of the Hospital, and the easter hill, beyond it. 


ascend on the left of the point from whence the 
drawing was taken; and the 'Spital House looks 
to the right, south-eastward, having its back to the 
concavity above it where the hills meet ; the 'Spital 
Burn, produced, and fed by them, running in a 
small, but rapid and sparkling stream past its eastern 
gable. To the right of the stand is New-Hall House, 
on the Esk, at some distance below the public road : 
Behind the station, below Bellcant likewise, is the 
New House at the upper side of the highway : And 
about half a mile beyond this Inn, on its eminence, 
south-westward, elevated above the turnpike, look- 
ing over it, the Wood Brae, and the Esk, to the Girt 
Hill, is the farmstead of Patie's Hill, between and the 
Carlops village, hills, and lands. 

The Esk, the name of which is derived from the 
Gaelic word uisge, or, which approaches nearer it, 
ease, both signifying wafer, rises on the other side of 
the wester *Spital Hill, at a place called Esk Head, 
near the bottom of the eastern declivity of the Har- 
per Rig or easter Cairn Hill. When a stream first is- 
sues from its fountain-head, or spring-well, in the low 
lands where the Scoto-Saxon language is spoken, it is 
called a wcll-stratid ; when it has run so long as to 
produce an acclivity on each side, a sykc ; lower down 
a burn, adopted from the Gaelic ; then a ivatcr ; 
if the distance from the sea is sufficient to enable it 


to attain that size from the contributions of well- 
strands, sykes, burns, and waters ; next a river; and, 
finally, it frequently spreads itself into an estuary or 
frith, gradually incorporating with, and widening in- 
to the sea, where its mouth opens not directly into 
it. The words syke and rill, and burn and rivulet 
or brook, are synonima ; but the term water, thus 
applied, is much wanted in the Anglo-Saxon, as 
there is no word south of the Tweed, to express that 
size of a stream, so very common, between a rivulet 
and a river^ The stream at Glencross between and 
Edinburgh, at the middle of its length, is of this sizej 
and is invariably called the water of Glencross, or, 
farther up, Logan water, from Logan estate, and man- 
sion, on its banks, to which it belongs. 

The North EsJc, says Dr Pennecuik, in his and 
Mr Forbes's Descrifition of Tweeddale, " hath its 
rise, as is commonly thought, at a place called the 
Boar Stone ; but rather, being the farthest course, 
from the easter Cairn Hill, and marcheth Tweeddale 
and Lothian nearly four miles." The first object he 
notices upon it, is " an house called Esk Head, near 
the top of a black, but barren mountain," Harper 
Rig, or easter Cairn Hill, " with a park and a sort of a 
little garden, with a stone and lime dike built with- 
in these few years," previous to 1715, " by the de- 
ceased Mr William Thomson, writer to the Signet j a 


wild and remarkable habitation, hard to come by, 
black and barren, in view of the mansion of no other 
mortal." About a mile down, on the east side of 
the stream, in Mid Lothian, are the ruins of the back 
I *Spital of New Hall. " A mile and a half below this 
place," Esk Head, " is Fairlyhofie, an old hunting 
house, belonging to the ancient family of Br aid ^"^ 
near Edinburgh. Braid was long the seat of a fami- 
ly of the name of Brown. Among the Scots Acts 
William and Mary, the " Act for raising a Sufifily 
offered to their Majesties June 7. 1690," appoints 
Andrew Brown of Braid to be one of the commis- 
sioners " for the shire of Edinburgh.'''' Fairly- 
hope, as may be seen from the prefixed mafi^ is in 
Peebles-shire. " Half a mile under Fairlyhope," 
adds Dr Pennecuik, " is the Carlofi Bridge, upon 
the high Biggar road, marching Lothian and Tweed- 
dale. Then Carlojis itself," &c. Descrifi. of the 
Shire of Tweeddale, fi. 9. 

Between the Carlofis Bridge, and the station from 
whence the preceding view was taken, appears the 
farmstead of Patie's Hill, near the point of a ridge 
issuing eastward from the hill. 

In the year 1 80 1 , on digging for a foundation to, and 
levelling the floor of the present new dwelling-house 
to this larmery, four Hags with a cover were laid open, 


inclosing an urn, of coarse glazed yellowish-brown 
earthen ware, with two ears to lift it by, having the 
rude representation of a man's face on each of them. 
The urn contained ashes ; and near it were found 
two iron spurs of an uncommon form, almost con- 
sumed by rust. In the garden, afterwards, was disr. 
covered another tomb of five flags, without any urn, 
or any remains of bones. Adjacent to the farmstead 
and garden, were the foundations of some old houses, 
on the point of the rocky elevated ridge, of which 
no account remains. One of the ornamented handles 
of the urn, with the fragments of the two spurs, are 
preserved in New-Hall House ; but no tradition 
whatever exists concerning the manner in which they 
came there. The tombs, and spurs, were, evidently, 
but a few relics of those antiquities which had cover- 
ed the eminence, and had been demoHshed, or re- 
moved, or applied towards the erection of the houses, 
when they were built, of which the foundations re^ 
mained in the year 1801. 

It may not be altogether uninteresting, to throw 
out some observations with regard to the probable 
origin, and history, of these unexpected relics. 

, "Whether the Britons came, to the southern parts 
of our island, from Gaul ; the Scots, through Ire-^ 
land, to the western districts of Caledonia, from 


Spain J or the Picts to the northern, and eastern di- 
visions of it, through Norway, from Dacia, the 
country of the Goths, on the Euxine, the Dniester, 
and the Danube ; is of Httle moment : since the 
Runic, Teutonic, or Gothic, and other Germans, as 
well as the Celts, and more southern tribes of Gaul 
including Spain, all sprang from the same Scythian 
savage people, instigated or allured from their de- 
sarts, forming the north of Europe, to emigrate 
south or west, as occurrences and motives directed 
their choice, and carrying along with them, in the 
resemblances of their languages and manners, suffi- 
cient evidences of their common origin. 

Although it is admitted that the Picts, from Scan* 
dinavia, after landing in Caithness, fixing their capi- 
tal near Invcrncf^s, and then at Abernethy, spread to 
the Humber in England ; where proofs to the con- 
trary are defective, the natural supposition is, that 
Great Britain, and through it Ireland, were, at first, 
peopled from the nearest land on the continent, and 
were, of course, indebted to Gaul for inhabitants. 
The uniformity of customs, and usages, common to 
the Britons to the south, and the Caledonians, com- 
prehending the Scots, on the west, and the Picts on 
the east, to the nonh of the forts of Agric(;I i, fol- 
lowed by the Vv-all of Antorilpus, between the rivers 
Forth and Clyde, shows their joint descent j and, as 


to these, in nothing more obviously than in the dis* 
posal of their dead. In this particular, they all agreed. 
Notwithstanding of their numbers, indiscriminately, 
every where existing ; and that so many of them 
have been dissected ; the most microscopic antiqua- 
rian, unassisted by historic or traditional facts, is, 
yet, unable with certainty to decide, merely from the 
materials or structure of the fabric, whether it was a 
Briton, a Scot, a Pict, or even a Dane, that has been 
entombed under any of those striking, though rude, 
monumental mounts, of earth, and sepulchral cairns 
of stone, which have been violated to gratify curio- 
sity, after having, in many instances, been raised, 
with much labour, by the united efforts of a multi- 
tude of hands. 

From Csesar, and Tacitus, we learn, that, both 
the Gauls, and the Germans, burned their dead : 
the former, with a degree of pomp, in proportion 
to their means, equal to that still practised in the 
east ; every thing that was dear to the deceased, of- 
ten even to his slaves and followers, being sacrificed 
at the funeral pyre, and consumed with the body : 
The latter, with few ceremonies, only, that, of some, 
the corpses were burned with a particular kind of 
wood, and that all had their arms, and at times a 
horse thrown Into the blazing pile with their remains. 
Agreeably to these facts, among those numberless 


tumuli, and cairns, scattered over every part of Scot- 
land, it appears, from its Statistical History, that 
those which have been opened, whether in its south- 
ern, western, eastern, or northern parishes, . contain 
proofs of its having been, in common, the practice 
of the Britons, Scots, and Picts, likewise, to burn 
their dead, and to deposite whatever was most prized 
by them whilst in life, especially their arms, along 
with their relics. 

Among the ancient, Celto-Gallic, Scots, we find, 
from the poems of Ossian, that it was the custom to 
bury the favourite dog near his master. If they can 
be at all relied on as evidences of facts, there, the 
practice of burning, seems to have given way to the 
present mode of interring the dead, before the days 
of that celebrated bard. 

" By the dark-rolling waves of Lego they raised the hero's 
tomb. Luath, at a distance, Hes. The song of bards rose over 
the dead." 

T/ie Death of CiithuUln. 

By adhering, as much as possible, to general sen- 
timents, the most guarded caution Is observed, 
throughout these poems, in scarcely ever touching 
on religion, and manners. Here, however, unfortu- 
nately, the cloven foot Is visible. For several centu- 
ries after the arrival of Odin from the Caspian shore. 


who lived in the, time of Pompey, the Gothic na- 
tions, and his worshippers in general, as introduced 
by him, raised funeral piles and reduced the dead 
bodies to ashes, which were collected into an urn, 
and deposited under a little mount of earth. This 
was called the j^ge of Fire ; and was the era in which 
Ossian and his heroes lived. It was not till long af- 
ter this that the first practice returned, of merely 
laying the dead body, together with the arms, &c. 
under a heap of earth and stones, called the Age of 
Hills. See Mallet's Northern Antiquities. 

This custom of burning their dead, the Germans 
and Gauls had from the east, in common with the 
Greeks and Romans. It was introduced by Odin. 
Independent of the intercourse of the descendants of 
the Gauls, and Germans, the Britons, and Caledo- 
nians, with the Romans, they seem, from the same 
quarter, to have adopted their mode of collecting the 
ashes into an urn, which they surrounded with a chest 
of flags, to defend it from the pressure of the earth, 
or stones, forming the tumulus or cairn, within which 
it was to be inclosed. This accession of the Reman 
practice to their own, though, here, they had no oc- 
casion to adopt any new custom, farther coincides 
with the remark made by Mr Gibbon, that, " the 
east was less docile than the west to the voice of its 
victorious preceptors. This obvious dilfercnce," says 


he, " marked the two portions of the empire with a 
distinction of colours, which, though it was in some 
degree concealed during the meridian splendour of 
prosperity, became gradually more visible, as the 
shades of night descended upon the Roman world. 
The western countries were civilized by the same 
hands which subdued them." Vol. i. C. 2. This, 
also, accounts for the discovery of urns, in situations 
where the ashes contained in them seem, from other 
circumstances, not to have been those of Romans, 
but either of Britons or Caledonians ; independent 
of the tumulus, or cairn, with which, in imitation of 
the natives, those strangers appear, frequently, to 
have protected the remains of their countrymen. 

The sepulchral cairns may have been used in rear- 
ing the structures, of which the foundations were 
left, at the eastern extremity of the ridge of Patie^s 
Hill ; but, it is not likely that any were ever collect- 
ed over the empty case of flags, or that containing 
the urn, dug up where the present farmstead stands ; 
as they were buried in the solid earth, and, from the 
spurs found in their neighbourhood, seem rather to 
have been inhumed there by the Romans, than by 
the Britons or Picts. The foundations were those of 
a former steading, built some centuries back, of 
which the tradition is lost. A little way below it, 
between and the Esk, were the remains of a kihi for 



drying corn, when querns, or hand-mills, for grind- 
ing it were used. The houses, and tillage connect- 
ed with them, necessarily levelled,^ and obliterated all 
vestiges of any entrenchments, or military works ; 
but, many additional reasons tefid to show that this 
was once the site of a Roman staticn^ or redoubt. 

It occupies a place in that division of the island 
inhabited by the Meatse or Mid-landers, a British or 
Celtic race according to some, and, by others, said 
to be a Pictish tribe ; but, probably, a mixture of 
both. Of course, it lies between the forts of Agri- 
eola, in the track of the wall afterwards built by 
LoUius Urbicus in the reign of Antoninus Pius, now 
called Graham's Dike from a native of that name 
having crossed it, and the Picts wall of Hadrian ; 
and it is not far distant from the former. It is only 
a few miles from the great Roman road on the west, 
called, from Vitellianus its superintendant, Watling 
Street, as it passes near Carstairs, at Castledykes, 
and then Carluke, on its way from Lugballum or 
Carlisle, to the pretenture of Antoninus at Caer- 
muirs, near Camelon, and from thence to Stirling. 
On the east, at a yet shorter distance, was the station 
at Mavisbank, near Laswade, where the Romans 
passed the North Esk, in marching from the south 
to Cramond, (Cacr Almond, the Camp on the Al- 
mond,) which is but a little way farther from it on 


the north. It is still nearer the Roman camp on the 
Lyne, to the south : and, to the east of south, not 
two miles distant, is what Gordon, in his " Itinera- 
rium Septentrionale,'* calls a Roman Camp, on the 
farm of Upper Whitefield, between New Hall and 
Romanno. Opposite to it, on the south-east, rises 
an eminence from the brink of the Esk, forming that 
bank of the stream, and the site of Ramsay's Tower, 
called the Girt Hill ; near the summit of which, to 
the north, several terraces are still visible. On the 
south side of Girt Hill is the farmstead of Roger's 
Rig ; with the round eminence and its terraces, be- 
tween it, and Patie's Hill, that looks down upon the 
Wood Brae and the turnpike road, over the Esk, 

Immediately adjoining to Patic^s Hill, on the south- 
west, south, and south-east, bounded by the Esk, are 
the lands and hill of Carlo fu ; which, like Carlisle, 
Carstairs, Carluke, Carmuirs, and Caralmond or 
Cramond, from their vicinity to other Roman works, 
seem to have been indebted to it for their name, pre- 
vious to the later and popular derivation of the word, 
adopted by Ramsay, as best suited to the stoiy, and 
scenary of his comedy. It is in allusion to this learn- 
ed origin of the name, that Dr Walker, in the Sta- 
tistical Account of the parish of Glencross, spells it 
" CacrlipSj" instead of Carlops, as is commonly done. 



Nimmo, In his History of Stirlingshire, observes, 
that, " The ancient Britons usually distinguished the 
places where Roman camps had been by the name of 
Caer, that word signifying in their language, a forti- 
fied place or castle ; so a village and some farm 
houses in this neighbourhood," of Camelon near 
Falkirk, " still go by the name of Caermuirs. Those 
places which have the word Car, or Caer affixed to 
their names, are generally in the neighbourhood of 
Roman camps, or some other work of that people. 
Few of them are found northward of the wall of An- 
toninus, the boundaryof the Roman dominion; where- 
as, south of it, they are frequent, as Carlisle, Caerlave- 
rock, Carnwath, Carstairs, &c. all of which are situa- 
ted near a Roman camp, or causeway, or wall, or the 
vestiges of some other Roman work." This deriva- 
tion of the word Car or Caer in the language of the 
ancient Britons, from the military operations about 
the place, is likewise supported by the Gaelic, in 
which the term Dun is nearly synonymous to Caer. 
The latter signifies a castle or fortified place ; Dun 
means in the Gaelic a castle, a fortified hill, a fort, 
fastness, strength ; and from the middle of the Car- 
lops Dean rises Dun-Kaim. Caime is the Gaelic 
word for crookedness, and seems to express the great- 
er irregularity of its shape, compared with the two 
cones, at its extremities, named the Little Turnip, 
and the Peaked Craig. 


Patie's Hill is on the south side of the wall of 
Antoninus, not far from it ; and is only parted by 
the Esk from the hill and lands of Carlops, on which 
are the Girt Hill, and Dun-Kaim. It is, likewise, well 
adapted for one of the Roman castra stativa,with a cas- 
tellum, an exploratory camp, or fort of observation, 
on the extremity of its ridge. The hill to the north- 
west, west, south-west, south, and south-east, behind, 
and in front, with the Esk in all these directions 
washing its base, is precipitous and inaccessible : It 
has a high, dry, south exposure, well supplied with 
water : On the east likewise the ridge is steep, over- 
looking a small rapid rocky stream : And it com- 
piands a view of all the valley of Mid-Lothian and 
the Esk, at the head of which it rises, including the 
station near Laswade, down to the Frith of the Forth 
eastward ; the camps at Whitefield, and Romanno, 
with the course of the Lyne, southwards, to the 
neighbourhood of the Roman camp there ; and the 
hill of Tinto, beyond the great Roman road and the 
river Clyde, with its large druidical cairn on its sum- 
mit, terminating the vista through the Carlops Dean 
to the south-west. 

These circumstances seem sufficiently to account 
for the discovery of the urns, &c. on this eminence, 
from its having been once the site of a Roman station. 
It is now occupied by the farmstead of Patie's Hill , 

G g 3 


round which the crook, and the plough, are substi- 
tuted for the spear, and the sword, and 

** Jam seges est, ubi Troja fuit." 

The wester Spltal Hill, ascending on the left from 
the point whence the preceding view was taken, is 
the most verdant, smooth, and beautiful, of all the 
Pentland range. Near the bottom of this hill, be- 
hind, are the foundations of some buildings, marked 
in the tnafi, called in old writings the Back 'Sfiital, 
seemingly, once, accommodations for travellers pass- 
ing north, or south, by that side of the hills. Above 
them, at the influx of the Doit Burn ; between and 
Esk-head, the Harper Rig, and the Boar Stane com- 
manding the whole track of the Forth from Inch 
Keith upwards ; is a small valley with some little 
green mounts rising out of it. From this valley, the 
Esk, skirting the base of the hill all the way, hurries 
on between and Fairlyhope, to the Carlops Bridge. 
East from the stand, at the north-east end of Bellcant, 
on the right, a part of which is seen in the 'view, is 
the farmstead of Friartown, 

North-north-eastward, embosomed, and almost hid 
frorri this side by a beautiful and venerable group of 
old ash and plane trees, looking across and down the 
valley of Mid-Lothian and the Esk, on the hither edge 
of its burn descending from between its hills, is snug- 

THE 'spitAl of new-hall, 471 

ly and comfortably seated the Fore 'Spital House, 
with the ring of trees sheltering its walled-in garden 
and buildings, as it appears in the engraving. The 
back of the Hospital itself, appears past the upper end 
of the group of trees encircling its garden in the 
middle of the filate. The hospital was reduced and mo- 
dernized about sixty years ago ; but, one of its of- 
fices is still covered with an arched stone roof, and 
has all the marks of great antiquity. The offices 
seen through the trees defend the farther side of its 
garden ; and, on the left, swelling from the burn 
beyond it, rises with a steep acclivity skreening it 
from the north, the protrusion from its easter hill 
called the nether Dod Rig, with the stell on its sum- 
mit, as it is represented in the view, between and the 
source of the Monks' Burn, 

Below the 'Spital, and at the foot of the Dod Rig, 
in the angle between the *Spital and the Monks* 
Burn, which latter stream bounds the easter hill on 
the east, lies a fertile piece of ground, pointed out 
in tlie niaji, called the Glebe Croft. It is hid in the 
jilate by the foreground on the right. From the other 
side of the Monks' Burn, opposite to it, rises the 
Monks' Rig, the highest part of which appears in the 
engraving beyond the Dod Rig, over the lower extre- 
mity of the principal gr(5up of trees. At the farther 
baseof the Dod Rig, is the "rocky dingle," mentioned 



in the description of the Monks' Burn, from which, 
upwards, to its source, the burn separates the easter 
'Spital Hill from the Monks' Rig ; and, downwards, 
ripples along to its waterfall immediately above the 
influx of the 'Spital Burn near the turnpike gate on 
the highway from Edinburgh to the Carlops, on the 
east side of St Robert's Croft, about a mile above 
the " Lins of Monks' Burn," and its confluence with 
the Esk, at the Monks' Haugh. 

Along the east side of the summit of the Monks' 
Rig, seen in the view, ascends from the Monks' Burn, 
leading north-east, an old deserted way-worn track, 
pointing to Edinburgh, and at the farther extremity of 
the height branching off northward to Queensferry, 
called Monk's Road, properly the Monks' Road. 
At its side, on the hither brow of the ridge, appears, 
in full prospect, its fount stone ; commanding all the 
south country, from New Hall and the 'Spital down 
the Lyne, towards the Tweed. On the one edge are 
two excavations for a person's knees, and on the op- 
posite rim of the trough is a socket, formerly occu- 
pied by a cross, the ornamented top of which is still 
lying at the bottom of the Rig. Besides being a re- 
ceptacle for the sick, and the superannuated ; the 
'Spital, as a hospitium or inn, with its road, fonts, 
and crosses, which also served as land-marks, was an 
accommodation for travellers passing from one mo- 


nastery to another, convents being the original and on- 
ly inns of those days ; the Back 'Spital suiting such as 
journeyed by the north-west side of its hills. In con- 
firmation of this, the weary and benighted traveller 
is, still, considered as having a right to shelter and 
protection at the Fore 'Spital, and one of the out- 
houses, with some straw, is generally allotted for that 
purpose. It is also remarkable that there should, 
yet, be an inn on these lands, on the edge of the 
present highway near the old road and New Hall, 
called the New House, though now a very old one, 
to distinguish it from the 'Spitals, in lieu of which it 
had been built, a little distance south from Friartown, 
and St Robert's Croft. 

The fertile inclined plain of the wester 'Spital 
Hill, at the head of which the 'Spital House stands, 
after passing between Bellcant on the right, and the 
Monks' Burn and Rig on the left, expands eastward, 
with the 'Spital Burn meandering through it, from the 
Hospital to the embouchure of the burn at the ham- 
let of the Monks' Burn about the turnpike gate; and 
includes the Glebe and St Robert's Crofts, flanked 
by the elevated farmstead of Friartown on the south, 
and the Monks' Rig on the north. Up this beauti- 
ful opening, the rising sun shoots the first rays of his 
cheering light full on the cluster of trees, and the 
Hospital ; leaving, as in the prefixed engraving, the 


hinder part of Bellcant still enveloped in shade, on 
the foreground ; and the dark hills, in the distance, 
shrouded in the mists of the night, yet lingering unr* 
dispelled, to contrast, aggrandize, and reheve, his 
luminous effects on the brilliantly favoured group in 
the middle of the picture. It is surprising to find 
, so few of the most distinguished painters acquainted 
with, or sensible of, the powers of the claro-obscu- 
ro, when they are, thus, so often, and strikingly ex- 
emplified in nature. Had it been studied by Raphael, 
and Michael Angelo, no person would have publish- 
ed the tameness of their compositions at first sight, 
by inquiring for their works after having been con- 
ducted through the Vatican, 

Ramsay adopted the popular, and poetical tradi- 
tion as to the witch at Carlops. Among the hinds 
and shepherds of the district, with regard to the pre- 
ceding objects likewise, the common account, that 
they were named from General Monk, has, also, as 
was shown in the descriptions of Mause's Cottage, 
and Glaud's Onstead, been followed by him. In the 
same manner as with regard to the hill, burn, and 
lands of Carlops, in their neighbourhood, south-west- 
ward ; Monk's Rig, Burn, and Haugh, according to 
the usual way of naming them, have acquired, too, 
a popular and later derivation for theiv names, tlian 
the original one now traced from the Cistercian monks 


of New Hall and its Hospital. Here the military foU 
lowed, as in the former they preceded, the religious oc- 
currences that gave rise to them. In both cases, Ram- 
say has, obviously, used, in his popular pastoral, the 
more recent ones, from their not only bang most 
generally, and best known ; but, also, from their 
being Suitable to his sites, and to his plot. 

N. N. E. from the point of view in the filate, hid 
by the Dod Rig with the stell upon it, ascending 
from the ridge formed by the united hills of easter 
Spital and the Monks' Rig, rises the most singular 
mountain of all the Pentland range, called the Scald 
Law or Hill. Its summit is divided into two tops j its 
Helicon, and Cytheron ; one of which is h^her, and 
sharper than the other. These appear over the 
Monks' Rig, from the front of New-Hall House. 
The word Scald, according to Torfseus, agnified a 
smoother and polisher of language. 

The German Scalds, originally from Iceland, were 
highly honoured in the north of Europe; and of 
course Jn Scandinavia, the mother-country of the 
Picts. They even " boasted of a power of disturb- 
ing the repose of the dead, and of dragging them in 
spite of their teeth out of their gloomy abodes, by 
force of certain songs which they knew how to com- 
pose." " Rogvald Earl of the Orkney Islands pass- 


ed for a very able poet j he boasts himself, in a song 
of his which is still extant, that he knew how to 
compose verses on all subjects." The Pentland Frith 
separates the Orkneys, from Caithness. " King Reg- 
ner was no less distinguished for his skill in poetry, 
than in war and navigation. Many of his poems 
were long preserved in the north, and may be found 
inserted in the history of his life : and it is well 
known that he died no less like a poet than a hero/' 
Regner Lodbrog was king of Denmark, " Harold 
Harfagre placed the Scalds at his feasts, above all 
the other officers of his court.'* " A prince or il- 
lustrious warrior oftentimes exposed his life with so 
much intrepidity, only to be praised by his Scald, 
who was both the witness and judge of his bravery." 
" Olave king of Norway placing three of them one 
day around him in battle, cried out with spirit, " You 
shall not relate what you have only heard, but what 
you are eye-witnesses of yourselves." The same 
poets usually sung their verses themselves at solemn 
festivals, and in great assemblies, to the sound of thq 
flute or harpJ*^ See Northern jinti^uities, v. i. c. 7. 
and 13. 

Across the hollow at the head of Glencross or 
Logan Water, here named the Kitchen Burn ; be- 
hind the easter 'Spital Hill adjoining to the Scald Law ; 
on the west, about a mile distant from the latter. 


without any Intervening object, towers to a point 
above Esk-head at the back of the wester 'Spital 
Hill, Har/ier Rig, in Tweeddale; said by Captain 
Armstrong to be the highest of the Pentlandsj and its 
cairn eighteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. 

The Har/i, properly so called, is a German instru- 
ment of music, and, as well as the Scalds., of Cim- 
bric origin, like the Picts. It was, however, of equal 
importance among the Bards of the Britons, Welsh, 
and Scots, who first occupied the southern ajid western 
portions of this island from Gaul ; as it was among 
the Scalds of the Picts on the north and east, from 
Germany and Scandinavia. Like their mode of se- 
pulture, it shows the common root of all these tribes. 

We learn from Ossian, that, " Beneath his own 
tree, at intervals, each bard sat down with his harp." 
The Galic bard even addresses the harp of Cona, 
at the opening of the fifth book of Temora, as the 
genius of the song Itself. " Thou dweller between 
the shields that hang on high, in Ossian's hall ! De- 
scend from thy place, O harp, and let me hear thy 
voice ! Son of Alpin, strike the string. Thou must 
awake the soul of the bard. The murmur of Lora's 
stream has rolled the tale awav. I stand in the cloud 
of years. Few are its openings tovfards the past ; 
and when the vision comes, it is but dim and dark. 


I hear thee, harp of Selma ! my soul returns like a 
breeze, which the sun brings back to the vale, where 
dwelt the lazy mist." 

The bards formed a class of the order of the 
Druids, who were, among the Celtic tribes of Gaul, 
from time immemorial, in rank as well as influence, 
the most distinguished, and chief members of the 
state. The druids, strictly so called, were often like- 
wise bards. " Beneath the moss-covered rock of 
Lona, near his own loud stream ; grey in his locks 
of age, dwells Clonmal king of harps.'* Ossian. 
Tern. B. 7. The following is. the translator's note 
upon this passage. " Claon-mal, crooked eye-bi'ow. 
From the retired life of this person, is insinuated, 
that he was of the order of the druids ; which sup- 
position is not at all invalidated by the appellation of 
ki7ig of harps, here bestowed on him ; for all agree 
that the bards were of the number of the druids ori- 

The" Druids, and their religion, like almost every 
thing else, may be traced to Persia ; and from that 
of the magi. The word in Galic Draoitheachd, sig- 
nifies both the druidical worship and sacrifice, and 
magic, sorcery, enchantment. In reference to drui- 
dism, Pliny in his Natural History, Lib. 30. f. 1. 
writes, conformably to this, thus : " Sed quid ego 


hsec commemorem in arte oceanum quoque trans- 
gressa, et ad naturae inane pervecta ? Britannia hodie- 
que earn attonite celebrat tantis ceremohiis, ut de- 
disse Persis videri possit." The druids delivered 
their mysterious doctrines in verses, entrusted entire- 
ly to memory ; and of which, as a part of their edu- 
cation, their pupils were usually taught, it is said, to 
repeat twenty-four thousand. They were the oracles, 
prophets, priests, lawgivers, judges, physicians, poets, 
and teachers, of the Gauls j as their bards, like the 
German scalds, were more peculiarly their poets, 
musicians, and historians or annalists. The druids 
communicated their knowledge and precepts also in 
verse ; and often sang, in the characters of bards, 

** The battles of heroes ; and the heaving bosoms of love." 

Eastward from the Scald Law, or Poet's Hill, and 
connected with it, is the heathy conical Black Hill, 
of the farm of Eastside ; which is seen to great ad- 
vantage in the distance, over the Monks' Rig, in the 
middle of the viczv now endeavoured to be described. 
It likewise, with equal beauty of outline, terminates 
the view of Claudes Onstead. To the north of east 
from the Scald Law, beyond the Black Hill, is the 
hill of Carncthic, with its cairn, more elevated than 
that of the Black Hill of Eastside, by which it is hid 
from behind Bellcanr, the site from whence the 
drawing for the engraving was taken. Its name seems 


to be derived from the Galic words carn^ a heap of 
stones, or cairn ; and aith a hill, or aitheach gigan- 
tic. Its cam is seventeen hundred feet above the sur- 
face of the sea ; and, ahhough its altitude may not 
be so great as that of Harper Rig,, and Dr Walker 
should be wrong in calling it the highest of the 
Pentlands ; it is, undoubtedly, the largest and most 
gigantic. The finest in shape, and next to it io ele- 
vation, is the pyramidal Black Hill j whilst the Car- 
lops Hill, and, yet more, those of the 'Spital, are dis- 
tinguished by their pastoral smoothness, and verdure, 
from all the rest of the range. 

To the south-west, beyond Harper Rig, the Ro- 
man road, and the river Clyde, rises Tinto ; with its 
earn two thousand four hundred feet above the sea. 
Teinnem the Galic means fire; and tokh land, ground, 
territory, or torn a hill. To the south, near the 
junction of the LTyne with the Tweed above Peebles, 
is Mdden ; from mcall a hill, and tcimie fire ; also 
crowned with a earn. And, in full view' of the Scald 
Law, over the valley of the North, and the highest 
part of the South Esk, the nearest hill to the south- 
cast, about ten miles distant, is Dimdraoiih ; from 
dun a hill, and draoith a druid ; the Druid'' s Hill, 
ascending two thousand one hundred feet. The, 
Black Hill, Carnethie, Harper Rig, wester Cairn 
Hill, Tinto, Melden, and Dundraoith, almost com- 


pleting a circle round the Spitals and the Scald Law, 
are marked, each of them, by a large heap of stones, 
or cairn, upon its summit. 

These large pyramidical piles of small stones, or 
earns, seem to have been collected by the Celtic 
Gauls, or Britons and Scots ; if druidism was un- 
known to the Germans, and of course to the Picts. 
They must have been produced, in consequence of 
their druids having chosen the summits of these, and 
other mountains, where Galic Britons and Scots re- 
sided, for their places of worship. Each of these 
hills has a most commanding prospect, over an ex- 
tensive tract of country; and all are seen, as striking 
objects, to a vast distance, in almost every direction. 
This was what the druids had chiefly in contempla- 
tion, in the choice of these sites ; and the selections, 
with the names they gave rise to, preserving the pur- 
poses to which the hills were applied, account for 
the manner in which such prodigious, and, apparent- 
ly, unaccountable, and useless, piles of small stones 
have been raised on such heights, where the mate- 
rials must have been carried so great a distance up 
the steep sides of the mountains from below. From 
the mode in which they were conveyed, they rhust 
have increased imperceptibly, and naturally, to their 
present magnitudes ; without any sensible labour, 
and exertion. 



The religion of the druids is acknowledged to have 
been coeval with that of the magi of Persia, brach- 
mans of India, and chaldees of. Babylon and As- 
syria ; all, from their resemblance to it in their ge- 
nuine state, sprung from the reli_gion of Noah and 
the antediluvians. The magi worshipped the Deity 
in the semblance of fire : They abominated the ado- 
ration of images : And held that there were two 
principles ; one the cause of all good, and the other 
the source of all evil. Wherever the Celtic tribes, 
or posterity of Japhet migrated, they carried this re- 
ligion with them. It accordingly was of equal extent 
with the dominion of the Gauls ; reaching from the 
Danube to the Atlantic, and from the Mediterranean 
to the Baltic sea. 

The places where the druids performed their re- 
ligious rites, were fenced round in a circular, and 
sometimes in an oblong, form ; with stones of as 
large a size as possible to strike awe ; guarded by 
druids, to prevent intrusion into their mysteries. 
These spots were called Clachans. The word clach- 
an, literally, signifies stones ; and is still the Galic 
term for a place of worship. Near the centre of 
these circles were stones, sometimes of an immense 
size, as a kind of altars, called crombeachs or clach' 
s'leachda* ; and when stones of striking dimensions 
could not be got, they took a large oblong flag, and 


supported it with pillars. Altars were often erected 
within a consecrated spot of ground, the sanctity of 
which rendered every thing it contained completely 
secure from violation, without any circles. On the 
altars were at first offered cakes of flour, milk, eggs, 
herbs, and simples ; afterwards noxious animals, as 
the bear, boar, or wolf; and finally, at times, it is 
said, human victims. The circles seem, likewise, to 
have been used by the druids both in their characters 
of priests, and judges, as courts of justice. Part of a 
clachan still remains on the edge of the road from 
Edinburgh, opposite to Rullion Green, near the base, 
eastward, of Carnethie Hill j and on the same length- 
ened ridge, or root, from that of Turnhouse, with 
the field of battle. 

The sole object of the druidical worship was the 
Supreme Being. He was adored, under the name 
of Be'il, or Be'al^ a contraction for Bea'uil^ which 
signifies the life of every thing, or the source of all be- 
ing ; whose good designs, they believed, were op- 
posed to a demon they called Aibhist'er, a word 
still used in Galic to denote the devil. The sun, in 
Galic grian, yihich. me^ms fire, was held to be the 
symbol, or emblem of the Supreme Being, or of 
Be^il, the life of every thing. 

H h 2 


The two chief festivals of the druids were the 
Be'il'tin, or fire of Be'il^ which is still the Galic 
name for Whitsunday ; and the Sa??ih'-in, or fire of 
fieace, on Hallow-eve, the eve of the last day of Octo- 
ber O. S. or of the day preceding Martinmas N. S. 

All the druidical festivals, of which the Be'il-tin, 
and the Samk*-in were the greatest, were celebrated 
on heaps of stones, which the natives called Cams, 
Fairs and rejoicings on these days, the remains of 
the druidical festivals, are still held in many places 
of Scotland ; and the poem of King James the First, 
named Feblis to the Play, gives a humorous repre- 
sentation of that at Beltin in Peebles. " The custom 
still remains amongst the herds and young people to 
kindle fires on the high grounds, in honour of Bel- 
tan ;" and a similar practice is preserved at Hallow- 
een. See the Statistical Accounts of Loudoun, Lo' 
gierait, Callander, Peebles, &c. and Smitli's Galic 

At the periodical returns of the festivals, among 
the professors of druidism, the Galic Britons, Welsh, 
and Scots, their priests gave the signals by kindling 
fires on their earns, for their commencement with 
religious ceremonies ; and evei*y worshipper, on o- 
beying the summons of his district, carried a stone 
along with him to the summit of the mountain, to be 


added to the earn. The dimensions of the cams are 
in proportion to the time the spots have been used 
by the druids, and the populousness of their neigh- 
bourhoods. If every attendant at our Christian 
churches, was, each returning Sunday, to carry a 
stone with him, though easily transported, and of no 
great size, to be laid in the middle of the church-yard ; 
the number, and magnitude of the cairns, over the 
country, would soon show what the most trifling 
efforts can accomplish, when, thus, regularly, and 
unremittingly continued, by a number of hands. 

Besides these druidical cairns ; during the same pe- 
riods, on the plains were constructed the sefiulchral 
cairns formerly noticed ; the clachans ; crombeacks ; 
and the carrthadh, or erect pillar monumental stone, 
to mark out a hero's grave, or perpetuate a remark- 
able event, such as the Kel or Camus Stane, at Co- 
miston, between Edinburgh and the Pentlands. 

At the same time that the names of the hills help 
to ascertain the history of their cairns ; those of the 
other objects in this district being derived from the 
British or Welsh, the Scots or Galic, the Pictish or 
Cimbric, the Roman or Latin, and the Saxon, show 
the changes and mixture of inhabitants which, at 
different periods, have, here, taken place, from its 
central situation. That of the Scald Law seems to 
Hh 3 

486 symon's house. 

have arisen, from the intercourse between the Picts, 
and the Romans, stationed about Patie's Hill, who 
may have advised them to name this forked height, 
in the middle of the Pentlands, the Scald or Poet's 
Hill, from its resemblance to that of Parnassus. 

On the summit of the easter Spital Hill, where no 
kind of tree could now be reared, or even kept alive 
for any time, about sixteen hundred feet above the 
sea, in a peat-moss, the trunk of one of a consider- 
able size has been laid open, in the course of digging 
out the surface for fuel ; and a Uttle way down both 
the easter and wester hills of the *Spitals, are hme- 
springs. The lands of the 'Spitals were long disr 
joined from, but are now again annexed to those of 
the New Hall, and the Carlops. 

symon's house, 

Jet 3. Scene 1. 

Sir William solus. 

SOLILOQUY, (af the end,) 
** Now tow'rds good Symon's house I'll bend my way, 
** And see what makes yon gamboling to-day ; 
" All on the green in a fair wanton ring, 
f* My youthful tenants gaylie dance and sing. 


symon's house. 4S7 

Scene 2. 


V 'Tis Symon's house, please to step ia, 

*' An' vissy't round and round ; 
** There's nought superfl'ous to give pain, 

" Or costly to be found. 
" Yet all is clean : a clear peat ingle 

" Glances amidst the floor : 
** The green horn spoons, beech luggies mingle 

"On skelfs forgainst the door. 
** While the young brood sport on the green, 

** The auld anes think it best, 
" With the brown cow to clear their een, 

" SnufF, crack, and tak their rest." 

Act 3. Scene 1 . 


** See how poor Bauldy stares like ane possest, 
** And roars up Symon frae his kindly rest : 
*' Bare-legg'd, with night-cap, and unbutton'd coat, 
*' See, the auld man comes forward to the sot." 

Scene 3. and last. 


' Sir William fills the twa arm'd chair, 
*' While Symon, Glaud, and Mause 

" Attend, and with loud laughter hear 
^' Daft JBauldy bluntly plead his cause ; 


488 symon's house. 

** For now it's tell'd him that the tawz 

Was handled by revengefu' Madge, 
*' Because he brak good breeding's laws, 

* And with his nonsense rais*d their rage.'* 

Oymon's House, as it is seen over the Esk, in the 
prefixed engraving, from the north-east end of the 
Marfield Loch, is the first object that presents itself, 
on coming from Edinburgh with the design of ma- 
king a regular tour through the scenes, in nature; 
and it is the last that falls to be illustrated, when the 
order is followed according to which they succeed 
each other, and appear, in the pastoral comedy itself. 

Though last, it is, however, not least. As well as 
that of Symon, it is the abode of the hero of the 
poem, Patie ; than whom, 

** A gentler shepherd flocks did never feed 
*' On Albion's hills, nor sung to oaten reed.'* 

Drummond of HawthornderC s Pastoral Elegy. 

The chief and leading characters in the drama, are 
its guests ; and the most important incidents of the 
plot are transacted under its roof. The rural feast 
on account of Sir William Worthy's return, is given 
by Symon, who first heard of it from Hab ; and the 
rejoicings, and gambolings, are held within it, and 
on its green. Symon, its tenant, is Sir William's 


host ; his trusty favourite ; and Patie*s guardian. 
After taking a solitary survey of his " once fair 
seat," it is the first place on his arrival, to which the 
knight in disguise bends his way *' to see his boy," 
" his lad," his " prop," his only child : and here he 
resides with him, and Symon, till he publishes Pa- 
tie's parentage ; discover*s Peggy's birth ; reconciles 
Bauldy to Neps ;. rewards honest Mause, and faith- 
ful Symon and Glaud ; fixes the wedding of Roger ' 
and Jenny ; marries his son Patie, to Peggy his niece ; 
makes all around him contented and happy ; and the 
story is concluded. 

On the edge of the ravine, called the Fairies' Den, 
between and the present garden, on the north side of 
New-Hall House, over the two vaults, as mentioned 
in the description of New-Hall House, is the remain 
of a round tower that formed a part of the ancient con- 
vent, or castle that succeeded it. Before most of this 
ruined tower was taken down, about twenty years ago, 
it was of a considerable elevation, and, when it was 
destitute of trees, formed a conspicuous and attractive 
object up the ravine from Symon' s farmstead. In allu- 
sion to this circumstance, while in Symox's Housr, 
and before he makes himself known, in answer to this 
confidential shepherd's hospitable offer of refresh- 
ment. Sir William Worthy replies, in 

490 symon's house. 

Act 3. Scene 2. 


" Sym. Elspa, cast on the claith, fetch butt some meat, 
" And, of your best, gar this auld stranger eat. 

".Sir. Wil. Delay a while your hospitable care, 
< I'd rather enjoy this evening calm and fair 
" Around ^on ruin*d to'wer, to fetch a walk 
*' With you kind friend, to have some private talk.*' 

The local position of the farmstead^ in sight of 
New-Hall House, likewise coincides with the conclu- 
ding lines of the soliloquy which occupies the whole 
preceding scene. After examining his place, and la- 
menting the ruinous condition in which he found the 
house, offices, and gardens; the sight of Symon's 
House, from his mansion^ and the view of the " gam- 
boling " on its green, gives a check to the knight's 
reflections, and produces a desire to partake in the 
festivity of his social tenants. Says he to himself, 
on observing the farmstead and the bustle about it, in 

Act 3. Scene 1. 

Sir William solus. 

SOLILOQUY, (a/ the end.) 
" Now tow'rds good Simon's house I'll bend my way, 
" And see what makes yon gamboling to-day ; 
*' All on the green in a fair wanton ring, 
" My youthful tenants gaylie dance and sing." 

{^Exit Sir William. 

symon's house. 491 

Peat^ the species of fuel, supplied by the Harlaw 
Muir, of which, in the time of Sir David Forbes, and 
Allan Ramsay, Symon's House was the farmstead, 
is, also, from its being peculiar to the vicinity of the 
ufifier division of the Pentland Hills, and this district, 
again, appropriately, and characteristically specified, in 
the delightful description of the inside oi Syrnon^s House 
prefixed to this illustration ; as it was formerly, in the 
rural picture of the outside of Claud's Onstead, and the 
subsequent dialogue. Before Sir William Worthy 
reaches it, from his mansion, the following engaging 
representation is given, of the comfortable house where 
his son was left, and resided, whilst he was "abroad," 
after being defeated with " Montrose ; ' ' and into which 
he himself was, now, to be received, after his arrival in 
Britain with Charles the Second at the Restoration, 
on his return to his estate and his heir. For propriety, 
and truth, no piece of poetic painting can exceed it. 

Jet 3. Scene 2. 


** It's Simmon's house ; please to step in, 

** And vissy't round and round ; 
*' There's nought superfl'ous to give pain, 

** Or costly to be found. 
*' Yet all is clean : a clezr peat ingle 

*' Glances amidst the floor : 
" The green horn spoons, beech higgies mingle 

" On skclfs foregainst the door. 

492 symon's house. 

<* While the young brood sport on the green, 

" The auld anes think it best, 
" With the brown cow to clear their een, 

* Snuff, crack, an' tak their rest." 

Mr David Allan's representation, of the inside of Sy- 
mon*s House, after the arrival of Sir WiUiam Wor- 
thy ; with the knight foretelling Patie's fortune, and 
pointing to the " mouse-mark " on his side ; and of 
the effects of his predictions on all the company, but 
especially on Elspa, Symon's wife; is Scottish pasto- 
ral nature itself, and does full justice to his author, 
and honour to his own congenial talents. 

North, within three hundred yards of the site from 
which the view of Symon's House was taken, stands 
the new Marjield farmstead ; and, about the same 
distance, beyond it, is the remain of the old tenement, 
built when timber in its neighbourhood was so scarce 
that the cross spars of its roof were supported by a 
row of rough stone arches, called stone couples, 
springing at equal distances from the side-walls be- 
tween the corresponding gables. Apparently from 
the same cause, one of the out-houses of the Fore 
'Spital is covered with a solid arch of stone, with- 
out any opening whatever, from the one end 
to the other. Farther on, in the same direction, ri- 
ses the central, and most picturesque group of all 
the Pentland chain, formed by the Broad Law, the 

symon's house. 493 

Scald Law, the Black Hill, Carnethie, and Turn- 
house Hill, retiring in perspective, and skirted by the 

road to Edinburgh. Behind, near half a mile off, 

to the north-east, in that direction, terminating the 
Marfield farm, and the natural scenary of the Gentle 
Shepherd, is the Cow Craig, marked in the map. For 
the old tenement in the middle of the farm, Ramsay 
has substituted the "onstead'* and cottages, on its 
southern extremity, at the foot of the 'Monks' Burn, 
as being a more pastoral, and picturesque habitation 
for honest Glaud, and his two fair shepherdesses. 

Within a hundred yards eastward, on the left, is 
the glen of the North Esk ; with the Marfield Lint 
Mill and Quarry on this side of the water ; and the 
Harlaw Muir on the other, stretching several miles 
north-east, and south-west, behind the point from it, 
on which Symon's House stands. 

To the south-west, in front, is the Marfield Loch, 
with the glen of the Esk, containing the Marfield 
Wood, between it and the point from the Harlaw 
Muir, on the highest part of which is situated Sv- 
mon's House, re-built about thirty yards farther 
west, and from the moor, than the old foundations. 
The loch is always of the same depth, although it 
has no visible supply or outlet. It is full of perches, 
with some pikes, and trouts ; and its banks, on the 

494 symon's house. 

east, south, and west are bounded by the glen of the 
Esk, in which there are plenty of, trouts. Beyond 
the farmstead, forming the farther west side of the 
point, is the valley of the Harbour Craig, with the 
glens and bums of the Harbour Craig and Carlops 
entering the other side of it, and the rock itself, 
above them, fronting towards the farmstead. The 
west gable of the building, as in the engraving, points 
up the Carlops Burn, to the Carlops Hill hi the dis- 

Westward, between and this end of the Carlops 
Hill, where, at the village of the Carlops, the Esk 
issues from behind the Pentlands, is ^he site of New- 
Hall House. Half-way nearer, opposite to the extre- 
mity of the point from the Harlaw Muir, at the mouth 
of the Monks' Burn, and the head of the Monks* 
Haugh, with the Esk, and the " plain " or " loan," 
between it and Syjion's House, is Claud's Onstead 
in the bottom of the glen. 

And on the north-west, to the right, is the Monks* 
Burn, with the Monks* Rig on this side of its source ; 
and the 'S/iitals, and 'Sfiital Hills, opposite to New 
Hall, on the other side of the burn. Terminating 
these heights j westward is Patie's Hill, a part of which 
is seen in the view, with the deep ravine beyond it, 
hollowed by the Esk in penetrating the Pentlands, 

symon's house. 495 

from its head at Harfier Rig behind them. The Esk 
separates Patie*s, from the Carlops Hill more remote 
in the distance ; these mountains forming its banks, 
and the two sides of the ravine. Patie's Hill, the 
'Spitals, New-Hall House, Glaud's Onstead, and the 
Marfield Loch, are in Edinburgh-shire or Mid-Lo- 
thian J and the Carlops Hill, village, and lands, and 
Symon's House, with the Harlaw Muir, are in 
Peebles-shire or Tweeddale. 

Several years ago, the yawl of one of the picke- 
roons, or pirates, of the West Indies, had been pick- 
ed up, in the gulf of Mexico, by a vessel from thence 
to Clyde ; and, being entirely built of cedar, was 
sent, as a curiosity, to the proprietor of the lake. 
Being repaired and painted at Leith, it was launched 
into the loch, and gives it life and spirit. 

When, from the eastern ex-remity, the glare of a 
summer noon is mellowed by the mildness of the 
evening, before his retiring beams are intercepted by 
the wester 'Spital Hill ; when the fish begin to leap, 
and the boat, with its broad ensign streaming at its 
stern, shoots along the bright surface, o floats, sta- 
tionary, and at rest on the smooth bosom of the lake; 
when, on this site, and at this time, the sun gets 
behind Svmon's House, on the height beyond the 
Esk, between it and the Harbour Craig, and throvs^s 



his warm empurpling rays on the Carlops Hill in the 
offskip, to the right of the farmstead, the whole 
forms as enchanting a pastoral picture as the pencil 

can select. 

Plants found in the vicinity of the Marfield Loch ; on t^e 
^arm ; and in the Wood, on the North Bank of the Esk. 

On the Marfield Farm. 

(3) Avena strlgosoy Black or gray oat ; 

The kind cultivated in the north of Scotland, and the Islands. 

Melica ccerulea. Purple melic-grass. 

Juncus campestris var. (5, 

Eriophorum vaginatum, Hare*s-tail rush. 

angustifolium. Common narrow cotton-rush. 

( 1 ) polystachion, Broad-leaved cotton-rush. 

Polypodium vulgare. Common polypody, 

(1) Vaccinium oxycoccos, Cran-berry. 

Lichen ranglferinus. Rein-deer lichen. 

This is the food of the rein-deer, in Lapland. 

Scirpus caspitosus. 
Erica vulgaris, 



Tormentilla ojicinalis. 
Sphagnum lat folium, 
Carex vesicaria, 
(3) Narthccium ossifragum, 
Empetrum nigrum. 

Scaly-stalked club-rush. 
Common heath. 

Bell-heather, or fine-leaved heath. 
Rinze-heather, or cross-leaved 

Tormentil, or Septfoil. 

Short-spiked bladder carex. 
Lancashire asphodel. 
Black-berried heath. 

symon's house. 497 

Holcus lanatuSf Meadow soft-grass; 

There is much hay made of this in meadows. 
Holcus avenaceust Oat-like soft-grass ; 

This is cultivated for fodder in Sweden. 
Glechoma hederaceOf Ground ivy. 

Viola tricolor^ Wild pansy. 

i - . I luteot Yellow mountain pansy, &c. 

About the LocB. 

Comarum palustre. Marsh cinqiiefoil. 

Achillea millefoHay var. ru- 

brai Yarrow, or milfoil. 

Epilobium ^fl/aj//*^, Round-stalked marsh willow- 

Galium palustrCf White water bed-straw. 

Ranunculus^amffi/iJ, Lesser spearwort. 

The leaves of this plant form a ready, and sudden vomit, 
(2) Vioh. palustris^ Marsh violet. 

Hieracium pilosellay Mouse-ear hawk-weed. 

Myriophyllum spicatum^ Spiked water-milfoil. 
Juncus bufoniusy Toad rush. 

Menyanthes trifoliata. Buck-bean, or bog-bean. 

Bunium^fjcMOjuTK, Eartn-nut, orar-nut. Onthe banks. 

(2) GnaphaHum r^c/ttiB, Upright wood cud-weed. Do. 

Pinus rubra, Scots fir or pine. Ditto, self- 

sown, rising, from the dry gravelly soil} through the green 
^wardf in great numbers, &c. 

In the Wood. 

(2) Agaricus deliciosus. 

(2) Phallus impxid.cus. In wet summers, in the fr-wood very fetid. 
Agaricus integer. 

- fascicularis. 




Common juniper bush. 

Sweet willow. 

Marsh arrow-grass. On the banks 
of the Esk. 

Marsh louse-wort. On ditto, &c. 
Also oaks elms planes ashes mountain ashes birches 
hazles willows geens alders bird cherries thorns, &c. &c. 
among the pines firs and larches. 

Juniperus communisf 
Salix Jientar.dra, 
Triglochin Jialuslre, 

Pedicularis Jialustris, 









The love of approbation, and a desire to please the 
best, have ever encouraged the Poets to Jinish their 
designs with cheerfulness. But, conscious of their 
own inability to oppose a storm of spleen and haughty 
ill-nature, it is generally an ingenious custom amongst 
them to choose some honourable shade. 

Wherefore I beg leave to put my Pastoral under 
your Ladyship's protection. If my Patroness says, 
the Shepherds speak as they ought, and that there are 
several natural flowers that beaut fy the rural zvild, 
I shall have good reason to think niysclf saje jrom 
the aickicard censure of some pretending judges, that 
condemn hcjore e.vamination. 

I am yure of vast numbers iiurt will crowd into 
your Ladys'.up's opinion, and think it ihtir honour 
to agree in their scrilimcnts with the Ccuntcss of 



Eglintoun, whose penetration, superior wit, and sound 
judgment, shiyie with an uncommon lustre, while ac- 
companied with the divine charms of goodness and ex 
quality of mind. 

If it were not for offending only your Ladyship, 
here, Madam, I might give thejullest liberty to my 
Muse to delineate the fnest of women, by drawing 
your Ladyships character, and be in no hazard of 
being deemed a flatterer, since flattery lies not in 
paying tvhat is due to merit, but in praises misplaced. 

Were I to begin with your Ladyship's honourable . 
birth and alliance, tliefleldis ample, and presents us 
with numberless great and good patriots, that have 
dignified the names of Keimedy and Montgomery : 
be that the care of the herald and historian. It is 
personal merit, and the heavenly stveetness of the 
fair, that inspire the tuneful lays. Here every Les- 
bia must be excepted, whose tongues give liberty to 
the slaves, tvhich their eyes had made captives; such 
may be flattered : but your Ladyship Justly claims 
our admiration and profoundest respect ; for whilst 
you are possessed of every outivard charm, in the 
most perfect degree, the neverfading beauties of 
wisdom and piety, which adorn your Ladyship's mind, 
commaiul devotion. 


" All this is *cery true,'" cries one of better sense 
than good nature ; " but wJiat occasion have you to 
tell us the sun shines, xvhen we have the use of our 
eyes, and feel his influence f Very true, but I have 
the liberty to use the poefs privilege, ivhich is, " To 
speak what every body thinks.'^ Indeed, there might 
be some strength in the reflection, if the Idalian re- 
gisters were of as short duration as life ; but the 
bard, who fondly hopes immortality, has a cei^tain 
praise-zvorthy pleasure in communicatijig to posteri- 
ty the fame of distinguished characters. I write 
this last sentence with a hand that trembles between 
hope and fear. But if I shall prove so happy as to 
please your Ladyship, in thejollowing attempt, then 
all my doubts shall vanish like a morning vapour ; 
I shall hope to be classed zcith Tasso and Guarini, 
and sing zcith Ovid, 

*' If 'tis allowed to pods to divine, 
" One half of round Elerniti^ is mine." 


Your Ladyship's most obedient, and 
most dexotcd servant, 

B U R G H , "^ 


EniNBURGH, "i 

.', J72.3. S 

I i 4 





x\.ccEPT,,0 Eglintoun ! the rural lays, 
That, bound to thee, thy poet humbly pays. 
The Muse, that oft has raised her tuneful strains, 
A frequent guest on Scotia's blissful plains ; 
That oft has sung, her listening youth to move. 
The charms of beauty, and the force of love ; 
Qnce more resumes the still successful lay. 
Delighted through the verdant meads to stray. 
O ! come, invoked ! and pleased, with her repair 
To breathe the balmy sweets of purer air ; 
In the cool evening, negligently laid. 
Or near the stream, or in the rural shade, 
Propitious hear, and, as thou hear'st, approve 
The Gentle Shepherd's tender tale of love. 

Instructed from these scenes, what glowing fires 
Inflame the breast that real love inspires ! 
The fair shall read of ardours, sighs, and tears, 
All that a lover hopes, and all he fears : 


Hence, too, what passons in his bosom rise ! 
What dawning gladness sparkles in his eyes ! 
When iirst the fair one, piteous of hiS fate, 
Cured of her scorn, and vanquished of her hate, 
With wilhng nnnd, is bounteous co relent, 
And blushing, beauteous, smiles the kind consent! 
Love's passion here, in each extreme, is shown, 
In Charlotte's smile, or in Maria's frown. 

With words like these, that failed not to engage, 
Love courted Beauty in a golden age ; 
Pure, and untaught, such Nature hist inspired, 
Ere yet the fair affected phrase desired. 
His secret thoughts were undisguised with art, 
His words ne'er knew to differ from his heart : 
He speaks his love so artless and sincere. 
As thy Eliza might be pleased to hear. 

Heaven only to the rural state bestows 
Conquest o'er life, and freedom from its woes : 
Secure alike from envy and from care, 
Nor raised b}^ hope, nor yet depressed by fear : 
Nor Want's lean hand its happmess constrams, 
N(^r riches torture with iil-iiotten jiains. 
No secret guilt its stedfast peace destroys, 
No wild ambition interrupts its joys. 
Blest still to spend the ]i;)iir.s that Heaven has lent, 
In humble goodness, and in cairn content : 


Serenely gentle, as the thoughts that roll, 
Sniiess .and pure, in fair Humeia's soul. 

But now the rural state these joys has lost ; 
Even swains no more that innocence can boast : 
Love speaks no more what beauty may believe, 
Prone to betray, and practised to deceive. 
Is ow haj^piness forsakes her blest retreat, 
1 he peaceful dwelling where she fixed her seat ; 
Tlie pleasnig fields she wont of old to grace. 
Companion to an upright sober race. 
When on the sunny hill, or verdant plain, 
Free and familiar with the sons of men, 
To crown the pleasures of the blameless feast, 
She uninvited came, a welcome guest ; 
Ere yet an age, grown rich in impious arts, 
Bribed from their innocence uncautious hearts : 
Ihen grudging hate, and sinful pride succeed, 
Cruel revenge, and false unrighteous deed ; 
Then doweriess beauty lost the power to move ; 
The rust of lucre stained the gold of love : 
Bounteous no more, and hospitably good, 
The genial hearth first blushed with strangers' blood: 
The friend no more upon the friend relies. 
And semblant fahchood puts on truth's disguise : 
The peaceful household filled with dire alarms ; 
The ravislied virgin mourns her slighted chamis : 


The voice of impious mirth is heard around, 
In guilt they feast, in guilt the bowl is crowned : 
Unpunished violence lords it o'er the plains, 
And happiness forsakes the guilty swains. 

Oh ! Happiness, from human search retired, 
Where art thou to be found, by all desired ? 
Nun ! sober and devout, why art thou fled. 
To hide in shades thy meek contented head ? 
Virgin ! of aspect mild, ah ! why, unkind, 
Fly'st thou, displeased, the commerce of mankind? 
O ! teach our steps to find the secret cell, 
Where, with thy sire Content, thou lov'st to dwell. 
Or, say, dost thou a duteous handmaid wait 
Familiar at the chambers of the great ? ^ 
Dost thou pursue the voice of them that call 
To noisy revel, and to midnight bail ? 
O'er the full banquet, when we feast our soul, 
Dost thou inspire the mirth, or mix the bowl ? 
Or, with the industrious planter dost thou talk, 
Conversino- freelv in an evenino- w^alk ? 
Say, does the miser e er thy face behold, 
Watchful and studious of the treasured "'old ? 
Seeks Knowledge, not in vaiii, thy nuich-loved 

Still musing silent at the morning hour? 
May we tliy presence hope in war's alarms. 
In Stair's \\isdoni, or in Erskine's charms- 


In vain our flattering hopes our steps beguile, 
The flying good eludes the searcher's toil : 
In vain we seek the city or the cell, 
Alone with virtue knows the power to dwell : 
K or need mankind despair these joys to know. 
The gift themselves may on themselves bestow : 
Soon, soon we might the precious blessing boast, 
But many passions must the blessing cost; 
Infernal malice, inly pining hate, 
And envy, grieving at another's state ; 
Revenge no more must in our hearts remain, 
Or burning lust, or avarice of gain. 

When these are in the human bosom nursed, 
Can peace reside in dwellings so accursed ? 
Unlike, O Eglintoun ! thy happy breast. 
Calm and serene, enjoys the heavenly guest ; 
From the tumultuous rule of passions freed. 
Pure in thy thought, and spotless in thy deed : 
In virtues rich, in goodness unconfined, 
Thou shin'st a fair example to thy kind; 
Sincere and equal to thy neighbour's name, 
How swift to praise ! how guiltless to defame ! 
Bold in thy presence Bashfulncss appears, 
And backward Merit loses all its fears. 
Supremely blest by Heaven, Heaven's richest grace 
Confessed is thine an early blooming race ; 


Whose pleasing smiles shall guardian Wisdom arm, 
Divine Instruction I taught of thee to charm : 
What transports shall they to thy soul impart 
(The conscious transports of a parent's heart), 
When thou hehold'st them of each grace possest, 
And sighing youths imploring to be blest ! 
After thy image formed, with charms like thine, 
Or in the visit, or the dance, to shine : 
Thrice happ^' ! who succeed their mother's praise, 
The lovely Eglintouns of other days. 

Meanwhile, peruse the folloAvmg tender scenes, 
And listen to thy native poet's strains : 
In ancient garb the home-bred Muse appears, 
The garb our Muses wore in former years. 
As in a glass reflected, here behold 
How smiling Goodness looked in days of old : 
Nor blush to read, where Beauty's praise is shown, 
Or virtuous Love, the likeness of thy own ; 
While 'midst the various gifts that gracious Heaven 
To thee, in whom it is well pleasetl, has given ; 
Let this, O Eglintoun, delight thee most, 
T' enjoy that innocence the world has lost. 

W. IL 



1 HE nipping frosts, an' driving snaw, 

Are o'er the hills an' far awa' ; 

Bauld Boreas sleeps, the Zephyrs blaw. 

An' ilka thing 
Sae dainty, youthfu', gay, an' braw 

Invites to sing. 

Then let's begin by creek o' day ; 
Kind Muse, skiff to the bent away, 
To try anes mair the landart lay, 

Wi' a' thy speed. 
Since Burchet awns that thou can play 

Upo' the reed. 

Ancs, anes again, beneath some tree, 
Exert thy skill an' nat'ral glee. 
To him wha has sae courteously, 

To weaker sight, 
Set these rude sonnets *, sung by me, 

In truest light. 

* Having doKf me tlie honour of turnlug some of my pa toral 
poems into English justly and elegantly. 


In truest light may a' that's fine 
In his fair character still shine ; 
Sma' need he has o' sangs like mine, 

To beet his name ; 
For frae the north to southern line, 

Wide gangs his fame. 

His fame, which ever shall abide, 
While liist'ries tell o' tyrants' pride, 
Who vainly strave upon the tide 

T' invade these lands, 
Wliere Britain's royal fleet doth ride, 

Which still commands. 

These doughty actions frae his pen * 
Our age, an' those to come, shall ken 
How stubborn navies did contend 

Upon the waves ; 
How free-born Britons fought like men, 

Their faes like slaves. 

Sae far inscribing, sir, to you. 
This country sang, my fancy flew. 
Keen your just merit to pursue; 

But all ! I fear, 
In gicing praises that are due, 

I grate your ear. 

* His valu:ible Naval History. 


Yet tent a poet's zealous prayer ; 
May powers aboon, wi' kindly care, 
Grant you a lang an' muckle skair 

O' a' that's good, 
Till unto langest life an' mair 

You've healthfu' stood! 

May never care your blessings sour. 

An' may the Muses, ilka hour, 

Improve your mind, an' haunt your bower !- 

I'm but a callan ; 
Yet may I please you, while I'm your 

Devoted Allan. 


Sir William Worthy. 

Patie, the Gentle Shephei^d, in love mth "Peggy. 

Roger, a rich young Shepherd, in lorn with Jenny. 

^' "" ' VTzvoold Shepherds, Tenants toSirWilVmm. 
Glaud, j 

Bauldy, a Hynd, engaged zvith Neps. 

Peggy, thought to be Gland's Niece. 

Jexny, Gland's only Daughter. 

Mause, a7i old JVoman, supposed to be a JVitch. 

Elspa, Symon's fVife. 

Madge, Gland's Sister. 

SCENE A Shepherd^' Village and Fields, some 
fezv miles from Edinburgh. 

Time of Action within twenty-fonr honrs. 




Beneath the south side of a craigy bield. 
Where crystal springs the balesome waters yield, 
Twa youthfu' shepherds on the gowans lay. 
Tenting their flocks ae bonny morn of May. 
Poor Roger granes, till hollow echoes ring. 
But blyther Patie likes to laugh and sing. 

Patie and Roger. 


I'une " The Wawking of the Faulds/ 


<JWy Peggy is a young thing. 
Just entered in her teens, 
Fair as the day, and sxveet as May, 
Fair as the day, and ahcays 'gay. 
My Peggy is a young thing. 

And Fm not xery auld. 
Yet well I like to meet her at 
The xvaxvking of the f auld. 


My Peggy speaks sae sxccetly 
Whene'er zee meet alatie, 
I wish nae mair to lay my care, 
I xvisk nae mair of a thafs rare ; 
My Peggy speaks sae ^ceetly, 

To d the lave-Fm cauld, 
But she gars a my spirits glozc, 
At wazvking of thcfauld. 

, My Peggy smiles sae kindly 
JVheneer I xvhisper love, 
That I look dmvn on a the tozvn, 
That I look dozvn upon a crmvn. 
My Peggy smiles sue kindly, 

It makes me hlyth and bauld, 
And naething gies me sic delight 
As zcaxcking of thefauld. 

My Peggy sings sae saftly 
When on my pipe I play. 
By a the rest it is confest. 
By ' tlte rest, that she sings best. 
My Peggy sings sae saftly, 

And in her sangs are tauld, 
IVith innocence, the zcale of sense, 
At zcazcking ofthefaidcl. 


Pat. This sunny morning, Roger, cheers my blood, 
And puts all nature in a jovial mood. 
How heartsome is't to see the rising plants ! 
To hear the birds chirm o'er their pleasing rants! 
How halesome is't to snuff the cauler air. 
And all the sweets it bears, when void of care ! 
What ails thee, Roger, then ? what gars thee grane ? 
Tell me the cause of thy ill-seasoned pain. 

Rog. I'm born, O Patie, to a thrawart fate ! 
I'm born to strive with hardships sad and grea|:. 
Tempests may cease to jaw the rowan flood. 
Corbies and tods to grein for lambkins blood j 
But I, opprest wi' never-ending grief. 
Maun ay despair of lighting on relief. 

Fat. The bees shall lothe the flower, and quit the 
The saughs on boggy ground shall cease to thrive. 
Ere scornful queans, or loss of warldly gear. 
Shall spill my rest, or ever force a tear. 

Rog. Sae might I say. ; but it's no easy done 
By ane vi-hase saul's sae sadly out of tune. 
You have sae saft a voice, and slid a tongue. 
You arc the darling of baith auld and young. 
If I but ettle at a sang, or speak. 
They dit their lugs, syne up their leglens deck ; 
And jeer me hameward frae the lone or bught. 
While I'm confused with mony a vexing thought. 



Yet I am tall, and as well built as thee, 

Nor mair unlikely to a lass's eye. 

For ilka sheep ye have, Fll number ten. 

And should, as ane may think, come farer ben. * 

Pat. But aiblins, nibour, ye have not a heart. 
And downie eithly wi' your cunzie part. 
If that be true, what signifies your gear ? 
A mind that's scrimpit never wants some care. 

Rog. My byar tumbled, nine braw nowt were 
Three elf-shot were, yet I these ills endured : 
In winter last my cares were very sma% 
Though scores of wathers perished in the snaw. 

Pat. Were your bein rooms as thinly stock'd as 
Less you wad loss, and less ye wad repine. 
He that has just enough can soundly sleep : 
The overcome only fashes fouk to keep. 

Rog. May plenty flow upon thee for a cross, 
That thou may'st thole the pangs of mony a loss ! 
O may'st thou doat on some fair paughty wench. 
That ne'er will lowt thy lowan drowth to quench. 
Till, bris'd beneath the burden, thou cry dool. 
And awn that ane may fret that is nae fool ! 

Pat. Sax good fat lambs, I said them ilka clute 
At the West-Port, and bought a winsome flute. 
Of plum-tree made, with ivory virls round ; 
A dainty whistle, with a pleasant sound : 


I'll be mair canty wi't, and ne'er cry dool, 
Than you, with all your cash, ye dowie fool ! 

Rog. Na, Patie, na ! I'm nae sic churlish beast, 
Some other thing lies heavier at my breast : 
I dreamed a dreary dream this hinder night, 
That gars my flesh a' creep yet with the fright. 

Pat. Now, to a friend, how silly's this pretence. 
To ane wha you and a' your secrets kens ! 
Daft are your dreams, as daftly wad ye hide 
Your weel-seen love, and dorty Jenny^s pride: 
Tak courage, Roger, me your sorrows tell. 
And safely think nane kens them but yoursell. 

Rog. Indeed now, Patie, ye have guessed owre true. 
And there is naething I'll keep up frae you ; 
Me dorty Jenny looks upon asquint. 
To speak but till her I dare hardly mint. 
In ilka place she jeers me air and late. 
And gars me look bombazed, and unco blate. 
But yesterday I met her yont a knowe. 
She fled as frae a shelly-coated kow : 
She Bauldy loes, Bauldy that drives the car. 
But geeks at me, and says I smell of tar. 

Pat. But Bauldy loes not her, right well I wat ; 
He sighs for Neps : sae that may stand for that. 

Rog. I wish I cou'dna loe her but, in vain, 
I still maun doat, and thole her proud disdain. 
My Bawty is a cur I dearly like, 
Even while he fawn'd, slic r.trak the poor dumb tyke ; 



If I had filled a nook within her breast. 

She wad have shawn mair kindness to my beast. 

When I begin to tune my stock and horn. 

With a' her face she shaws a cauldrife scorn. 

Last night I played, (ye never heard sic spite,) 

O'er Bogie was the spring, and her delyte ; 

Yet, tauntingly, she at her cousin speered, 

Gif she could tell what tune I played, and sneered. 

Flocks, wander where ye like, I dinna care, 

ril break my reed, and never whistle mair. 

Pat. E'en do sae, Roger ; wha can help mlsluck, 
Saeheins she be sic a thrawn-gabbit chuck ? 
Yonder's a craig ; since ye have tint all houp, 
Gae tiirt your ways, and tak the lover's loup. 

Rog. I needna mak sic speed my blood to spill, 
I'll warrant death come soon eneugh a-will. 

Pat. Daft gowk ! leave aff that silly whinging way ; 
Seem careless, there's my hand ye'll win the day. 
Hear how I served my lass I loe as weel 
As ye do Jenny, and with heart as leel : 
Last morning I was gay and early out. 
Upon a dike I leaned glowring about ; 
I saw my Meg come linking o'er the lee; 
I saw my Meg, but Meggy saw nae me ; 
For yet the sun was wading through the mist. 
And she was close upon me ere she wist : 
Her coats were kiltit, and did sweetly shaw 
Her straight bare legs, that whiter were than snaw. 


Her cockernony snooded up fu' sl^ek. 
Her hafl'et4ocks hang waving on her cheek ; 
Her cheek sae ruddy, and her een sae clear j 
And oh ! her mouth's hke ony hinny pear. 
Neat, neat she was, in busline waistcoat clean, 
As she came skifEng o'er the dewy green. : 
Blythsome, I cried, ''' My bonny Meg, come here, 
I ferly wherefore yere sae soon asteer j 
But I can guess, ye*re gawn to gather dew :" 
She scoured awa, and said, " What's that to you ?" 
*' Then fare ye weel, Meg Dorts, and e'en's ye like," 
I careless cried, and lap in o'er the dike. 
I trt)w, when that she saw, within a crack. 
She came with a right thieveless errand back ; 
Misca'd me first, then bad me hound my dog, 
To wear up three wafF ewes strayed on the bog. 
I leugh, and sae did she : then with great haste 
I clasped my arms about her neck and waist ; 
About her yielding waist, and took a fouth 
Of sweetest kisses frae her glowing mouth. 
While hard and fast I held her in my grips, 
jMy very saul came lowping to my lips. 
Sair, sair she flet wi' me 'tween ilka smack. 
But well I kend she meant nae as she spak. 
Dear Roger, when your joe puts on her gloom. 
Do ye sae too, and never fash your thumb. 
Seem to forsake her, soon she'll chaiu;o her mood : 
Gae woo anithcr, and she'll gang clQim Vvood. 


SANG 11. 

Time " Fy gar rub her o'er wi' strae." 

Dear Roger, if your Jenny geek, 

And answer kindness zvith a slight. 
Seem unconcerned at her neglect, 

Fur women in a man delight ; 
But them despise whore soon defeat^ 

And with a simple face give way 
To a repulse ; then be not Mate, 

Push bauldly on, and win the day. 

When maidens, innocently young. 

Say aften xvhat they never mean, 
Neer mind their pretty lying tongue, 

But tent the language qf their een : 
If these agree:, and she persist 

To ansiver all your love zvith hate, 
Seek clsciihere to be better blest, 

yind let her sigh zvhe?i 'tis too late. 

Rog. Kind Patie, now fair fa* your honest hearty 
Ye*re ay sae cadgy, and have sic an art 
To hearten ane : For now, as clean's a leek, 
Ye*ve cherished me since ye began to speak. 
Sae, for your pains, I'll make you a propine, 
(My mother, rest her saul 1 she made it fine j) 


A tartan plaid, spun of good hawslock woo. 
Scarlet and green the sets, the borders blue : 
With spraings like gowd and siller crossed wi' black; 
I never had it yet upon my back. 
Well are you wordy o't, wha have sae kind 
Redd up my raveird doubts, and clear'd my mind. 

Pat. Well, ha'd ye there and since ye' ve frank- 
ly made 
A present to me of your braw new plaid. 
My flute's be yours ; and she too that's sae nice. 
Shall come a-will, gif ye'U take my advice. 

Rog. As ye advise, I'll promise to observ't ; 
But ye maun keep the flute, ye best deserv't. 
Now tak it out, and gie's a bonny spring ; 
For I'm in tift to hear you play and sing. 

Pat. But first we'll tak a turn up to the height. 
And see gif all our flocks be feeding right ; 
By that time bannocks, and a shave of chtese. 
Will make a breakfast that a laird might please ; 
Might please the daintiest gabs, were they sae wise 
To season meat with health, instead of spice. 
When we have tane the grace-drink at this well, 
I'll whistle fine, and sing t'ye like myb^ll. 





A flowrie howm between twa verdant braes, 
Where lasses use to wash and spread their claiths ; 
A trotting burnie wimpHng through the ground, 
Its channel peebles, shining, smooth, and round : 
Here view twa barefoot beauties, clean and clear ; 
First please your eye, next gratify your ear : 
While Jenny what she wishes discommends. 
And Meg, with better sense, true love defends. 

Peggy ^w J Jenny. 

Jen. Come, Meg, let*s fa' to wark upon this green. 
The shining day will bleach our linen clean ; 
The water's clear, the lift unclouded blue. 
Will make them like a lily wet with dew. 

^cg. Gae farer up the burn to Habbie*s How, 
Where a the sweets of spring and simmer grow : 
Between twa birks, out o'er a Httle lin. 
The water fa's and maks a singand din ; 
A pool breast-deep, beneath as clear as glass. 
Kisses, with easy whirls, the bordering grass. 
We'll end our washing while the morning's cool, 
And when the day grows het, we 11 to the pool. 
There wash oursells 'tis healthfu' now in May, 
And sweetly cauler on sae warm a day. 


Jen. Daft lassie, when we're naked, what'U ye say, 
Gif our twa herds come brattling down the brae. 
And see us sae ? that jeering fallow Pate 
Wad taunting say, Haith, lasses, ye*re no blate. 

Peg. We're far frae ony road, and out of sight ; 
The lads they're feeding far beyont the height. 
But tell me now, dear Jenny, (we're our lane,) 
What gars ye plague your wooer with disdain ? 
The nibours a' tent this as weel as I, 
That Roger loes ye, yet ye carena by. 
What ails ye at him ? Troth, between us twa. 
He's wordy you the best day e'er ye saw. 

Jen. I dinna like him, Peggy, there's an end ; 
A herd mair sheepish yet I never kend. 
He kaims his hair, indeed, and gaes right snug. 
With ribbon knots at his blue bonnet lug, 
Whilk pensylie he wears a-thought a-jee, 
And spreads, his garters diced beneath his knee ; 
He falds his o'erlay down his breast with care. 
And few gangs trigger to the kirk or fair j 
For a' that, he can neither sing nor say. 
Except, Hq-w d'lfc ? or. There's a uoiuiii daij. 

Peg. Ye dash the lad with constant slighting pride, 
Hatred for love is unco sair to bide ; 
But ye'll repent ye, if his love grow cauld : 
What like's a dorty maiden when she s aiild ? 
Like dawted wean, that tarrows at its meat, 
That for some feckless whim will orp and greet : 


The lave laugh at it, till the dinner's past j 
And syne the fool thing is obliged to fast. 
Or scart anither's leavings at the last. . 


Tune '' Polwart on the Green." 

The dorty will repent, 

If lovers hearts grow cauld ; 

And nane her smiles will tent, 
Soon as her face looks auld. 

The daxvted bairn that tak's the pet, 
JSJ^or eats, though hunger crave ; 

Whimpers and tarraws at its meat, 
Alls laught at by the lave. 

They jest it till the dinners past ; 

Thus, by itself abused. 
The fool thing is obliged to fast, 

Or eat zvhat they've refused. 

Fy ! Jenny, think, and dinna sit your time. 

Jen. I never thought a single Hfe a crime. 

Peg. Nor I : ^but love in whispers lets us ken. 
That men were made for us, and we for men. 

Jen. If Roger is my jo- :, hi kens himsell. 
For sic a tale I never heard him tell. 



He glowrs and sighs, and I can guess the cause ; 
But wha*s obliged to spell his hums and haws ? 
Whene'er he likes to tell his mind mair plain, 
Fse tell him frankly ne'er to do't again. 
They're fools that slavery like, and may be free ; 
The chiels may a' knit up themsels for me. 

Peg. Be doing your ways ; for me, I have a mind 
To be as yielding as my Patie's kind. 

Jen. Heh, lass ! how can ye love that rattle-skull ? 
A very deil, that ay maun have his will ; 
We'll soon hear tell, what a poor fechting life 
You twa will lead, sae soon's ye're man and wife. 

Peg. I'll rin the risk, nor have I ony fear. 
But rather think ilk langsome day a year. 
Till I with pleasure mount my bridal-bed, 
Where on my Patie's breast I'll lean my head. 
There we may kiss as lang as kissing's gude. 
And what we do, there's nane dare call it rude. 
He's get his will : Why no ? 'tis good my part 
To give him that, and he'll give me his heart. 

Jen. He may indeed, for ten or fifteen days, 
Make meikle o' ye, with an unco fraise, 
And daut ye baith afore fouk and your lane ; 
But soon as his newfangleness is gane. 
He'll look upon you as his tether-stake. 
And think he's tint his freedom for your sake. 
Instead then of lang days of sweet dclyte, 
Ae day be dumb, and a' the neist he 11 liyte : 


And may be, in his barlickhoods, ne'er stick 
To lend liis loving wife a loundering lick. 


Tiaie-^' O, dear mither, what shall I do?" 

O, dear Peggy, loves beguiUng, 
JVe ought not to trust his smiling ; 
Better far to do as I do, 
Lest a harder duck betide you. 
Lasses xvhen their fancy s carried, 
Think of nocht but to be married: 
llumung to a life destroys 
Heart some, free, and youthfii joys. 

Peg. Sic coarse-spun thoughts as thae want pith 
to move 
My settled mind ; I'm o'er far gane in love. 
Patie to me is dearer than my breath, 
But want of him I dread no other skaith. 
There's nane of a' the herds that tread the green 
H'aS sic a smile, or sic twa glancing een: 
And then he speaks with sic a taking art. 
His words they thirl like music through my heart. 
How blythly can he sport, and gently rave. 
And jest at feckless fears that fright the lave ! 
Ilk day that he's alane upon the hill 
He reads fell books, that teach him meikle skill j 


He is ^but what need I say that or this ? 

rd spend a month to tell you what he is ! 

In a* he says or does, there's sic a gate. 

The rest seem coofs compared with my dear Pate. 

His better sense will lang his love secure ; 

Ill-nature heffs in sauls that's weak and poor. * 


Tune " How can I be sad on my wedding-day ?" 

Haw shall I be sad when a husband I hae, 
That has better sense than ony of thae 
Sour weak silly Jellmvs, that study, like fools. 
To sink their ainjoy, and make their wives snools. 
The man who is prudent neer lightlies his wfe, 
Or with dull reproaches encourages strife ; 
He praises her virtues, and ne'er zvill abuse 
Her for a small failing, butfnd an excuse. 

Jen. Hey, bonny lass of Branksome! or't be lang. 
Your witty Pate will put you in a sang. 
O 'tis a pleasant thing to be a bride ; 
Syne whinging getts about your ingle-side. 
Yelping for this or that with fasheous din : 
To mak them brats then ye maun toil and spin. 
Ae wean fa's sick, ane scads itsell wi' broe, 
Ane breaks his shin, anither tines his shoe j 



The Deil gaes oer John JVobster, hame grows hell, 
When Pate misca's ye waur than tongue can tell. 

Pe^. Yes, 'tis a heartsome thing to be a wife, 
When round the ingle-edge young sprouts are rife.. 
Gif I'm sae happy, I shall have delight 
To hear their little plaints, and keep them right. 
Wow ! Jenny, can there greater pleasure be, - 
Than see sic wee tpts toolying at your knee j 
When a' they ettle at their greatest wish. 
Is to be made of, and obtain a kiss ? 
Can there be toil in tenting day and night 
The like of them, when love makes care delight ? 

Jen. But poortith, Peggy, is the warst of a', 
Gif o'er your heads ill-chance should beggary draw j 
But little love or canty cheer can come 
Frae duddy doublets, and a pantry 'toom. 
Your nowt may die ; the spate may bear away 
Frae aff the howms your dainty rucks of hay 
The thick-blawn wreaths of snaw, or blashy thows. 
May smoor your wathers, and may rot your ewes, 
A dyvour buys your butter, woo, and cheese. 
But, or the day of payment, breaks, and flees : 
With glooman brow, the laird seeks in his rent j 
'Tis no to gie ; your merchant's to the bent : 
His honour mauna want ; he poinds your gear : 
Syne, driven frae house and hald, where will ye steer? 
Dear Meg, be wis?, and live a single Hfe j 
Troth, 'tis nae mows to be a married wife. 



Peg. May sic ill luck befa* that silly she 
Wha has sic fears, for that was never me. 
Let fouk bode well, and strive to do their best ; 
Nae mair*s required ; let Heaven make out the rest. 
Tve heard my honest uncle aften say. 
That lads should a' for wives that's virtuous pray ; 
For the maist thrifty man could never get 
A well-stored room, unless his wife wad let : 
Wherefore, nocht shall be wanting on my part 
To gather wealth to raise my shepherd's heart : 
Whate*er he wins, Til guide with canny care. 
And win the vogue at market, trone, or fair. 
For halesome, clean, cheap, and sufficient ware. 
A flock of lambs, cheese, butter, and some woo, 
Shall first be said, to pay the laird his due ; 
Syne a' behind's our ain. Thus, without fear. 
With love and rowth, we thro' the warld will steer j 
And when my Pate in bairns and gear grows rife, 
He'll bless the day he gat me for his wife. 

Je/i. But what if some young giglet on the green. 
With dimpled cheeks, and twa bewitching een, 
Should gar your Patie think his half-worn Meg, 
And her kend kisses hardly worth a feg ? 

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, 

LI 2 


They'll reason calmly, and with kindness smile. 
When our short passions wad our peace beguile. 
Sae, whensoever they slight their maiks at hame, 
'Tis ten to ane the wives are maist to blame. 
Then Til employ with pleasure a* my art 
To keep him cheerful, aild secure his heart. 
At e'en, when he comes weary frae the hill, 
I'll have a' things made ready to his will. 
In winter, when he toils through 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 tak aiF: 
Clean hag-a-bag 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. 

Jai A dish of married Idve right soon grows cauld. 
And dpsens down to nane, as fouk grow auld. 

Pt . But we'll grow auld together, and ne'er find 
The loss of youth, when love grows on the mind. 
Bairns and their bairns make sure a firmer tie. 
Than aught 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 prcst. 
Till wide their spreading branches are increased. 
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 liked 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 
Lies darned within my breat this mony a day. 


Tune " Nancy's to the green-wood gane." 

I yield, dear lassie, you hae won, 

And there is nae denying, 
That sure as light flows frae the sun, 

Frae love proceeds complying. ' 
For a that zve can do or say 

'Gai?2st love, nae thinker heeds us ; 
They ken our bosoms lodge the fae 

That by the heart-strings leads us. 

Peg. Alake, poor prisoner ! Jenny, that's no fair; 
That ye'U no let the wee thing take 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 

L 13 


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. 



A snug thack house, before the door a green : 
Hens on the midding, ducks in dubs are seen. 
On this side stands a bacn, on that a byre : 
A peat-stack joins, and forms a rural square. 
The house is Glaud's There you may see him lean, 
And to his divbt-seat invite his friend. 

Glaud and Symon. 

Glaiid. Cjtood-mohrow, nibour Symon; come, 

sit down, 
And gie's your cracks. What's a' the news in town ? 
They tell me ye was in the ither day. 
And said your Crummock, and her bassen'd quey. 
rii warrant ye've coft a pund of cut and dry ; 
Lug out your box, and gie's a pipe to try. , 

ISyvL With a' my heart ; and tent me now, auld 

I've gathered news will kittle your mind with joy, 
I cou dna rest till I came o'er the burn. 
To tell ye things have taken sic a turn, 
Will gar our vile oppressors stend like flaes. 
And skulk in hidlings on the nether braes. 

Ll4 ' 


Gland. Fy, blaw ! Ah, Symie ! rattling chiels 
ne'er stand 
To deck and spread the grossest lies afF-hand, 
Whill^ soon flies round, like will-fire, far and near : 
But loose your poke, be't true or fause let's hear. 

Sym. Seeing's believing, Glaud ; and I have seen 
Hab, that abroad has with our master been j 
Our brave good master, wha right wisely fled. 
And left a fair estate to save his head : 
Because ye ken fu' weel he bravely chose 
To stand his liege's friend with great Montrose. 
Now Cromwell's gane to Nick ; and ane ca'd Monk 
Has played the Rumple a right slee begunk. 
Restored King Charles, and ilka thing's in tune ; 
And Habby says, we'll see Sir William soon. 

Glaud. That makes me blyth indeed ! but dinm 
aw : 
Tell o'er your news again, and swear till't a'. 
And saw ye Hab ! and what did Halbert say ? 
They have been e'en a dreary time away. 
Now God be thanked that our laird's come hame ; 
And his estate, say, can he eithly claim ? 

Sym. They that hag-raid us till our guts didgrane. 
Like greedy bairs, dare nae mair do't again. 
And good Sir William sail enjoy his ain. 



Tune " Caukl kail in Aberdeen." 

Cauld be the rebels cast, 

Ojjpressoi^s base and bloody ; 
I hope we'll see them at the, last 

Strung d- up in a zvoody. 
Blest be he oj worth and sense. 

And ever high his station, 
That bravely stands in the defence 

Of conscience, king, and nation. 

Glaud. And may he lang 5 for never did he stent 
Us in our thriving with a racket rent ; 
Nor grumbled if ane grew rich, or shored to raise 
Our mailens, when we pat on Sunday's claiths. 

Sym. Nor wad he lang, with senseless saucy air. 
Allow our lyart noddles to be bare. 
" Put on your bonnet, Symon ; tak a seat. 
" How's all at hame .^ How's Elspa ? How does 

Kate ? 
" How sells black cattle ? What gies woo this 

year ?" 
And sic-like kindly questions wad he speer. 



Tune Mucking of Geordy's byre." 

The laird who in riches and honour 

Wad thrive^ should be kindly andfree^ 
Nor rajok the poor tenants, who lahour 

To rise aboou po-verty : 
Eilse, like the pack-horse thafs unfathered 

Afid burdened, will tumble dcmnjaint : 
Thus "virtue by hardship is smothered, 

And r ackers ajt tine their rent. 

Glaud. Then wad he gar his butler bring bedeen 
The nappy bottle ben, and glasses clean, 
Whilk in our breast raised sic a blythsome flame. 
As gaft me mony a time gae dancing hame. 
My heart's e'en raised 1 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 wean. 
Drink till they tine the gate to stand their lane. 

Sjjm. I wadna bauk my friend his blyth design 
Gif that it hadna first of a' been mine : 
For here yestreen I brewed a bow of m.aut. 
Yestreen I slew twa wathers prime and fat ; 


A furlet of good cakes my Elspa beuk, 

And a large ham hings reesting in the neuk : 

I saw mysell, 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 : 

Small are they shorn, and she can mix fou 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, 

'j^'o 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 all your family ; and then. 

Whene'er you please, I'll rant wi' you again. 

GUiud. Spoke like ye'r sell, auld birky ; never fear. 
But at your banquet I sail first appear : 
Faith, we shall bend the bicker, and look bauld. 
Till we forget that we are failed 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 j d'ye 
hear ? 

Enter Madge. 
JSIadge. The man s gane gyte ! Dear Symon, wel- 
come 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, 

Madge. Blythe news indeed ! and wha was't tald 
you o*t ? 

Glaud. What's that to you ? Gae get my Sunday's 
coat ; 
Wale out the whitest of my bobbit bands. 
My white-skin hose, and mittans for my hands ; 
Then frae their washing, cry the bairns in haste. 
And mak yoursells as trig, head, feet, and waste. 
As ye were a' to get young lads or e'en j 
For we're gaun o'er to dine with Sym bedeen. 

Sym. Do, honest Madge : and, Glaud, I'll o'er 
the gate. 
And see that a' be done as I wad hae't. \_Ea:eimt. 



The open field. A cottage in a glen, 

An auld wife spinning at the sunny end. 

At a small distance, by a blasted tree. 

With falded arms, and hafF rais'd look, ye see 

Bauldy his lane. 
What's this! I canna bear*t! 'tis waur than hell. 
To be sae burnt with love, yet darna tell ! 

Peggy, sweeter than the dawning day. 
Sweeter than gowany glens, or new maun hay ; 
Blyther than lambs that frisk out o'er the knows ; 
Straighter than aught that in the forest grows : 
Her een the clearest blob of dew outshines ; 
The lily in her breast its beauty tines : 

Her legs, her arms, her cheeks, her mouth, her een. 
Will be my dead, that will be shortly seen ! 
For Pate loes her, waes me ! and she loes Pate ; 
And I with Neps, by some unlucky fate. 
Made a daft vow : O, but ane be a beast. 
That makes rash aiths till he's afore the priest I 

1 dare na speak my mind, else a' the three, 
But doubt, wad prove ilk ane my enemy : 
'Tis sair to thole ; I'll try some witchcraft art, 
To break with ane, and win the other's heart. 


Here Mausy lives, a witch, that for sma' price 

Can cast her cantraips, and give, me advice : 

She can o'ercast the night, and cloud the moon, - 

And mak the deils obedient to her crune : 

At midnight hours, o*er the kirk-yards she raves. 

And howks unchristened weans out of their graves j 

Boils up their livers in a warlock's pow : 

Rins withershins about the hemlock low ; 

And seven times does her prayers backward pray. 

Till Plotcock comes with lumps of Lapland clay, 

Mixt with the venom of black taids and snakes : 

Of this, ui)sonsy pictures aft she makes 

Of ony ane she hates, and gars expire 

With slaw and racking pains afore a fire : 

Stuck fu' of prins, the devilish pictures melt; 

The pain, by fouk they represent, is felt. 

And yonder's Mause ; ay, ay, she kens fu' well. 

When ane like me comes rinning to the deil. 

She and her cat sit beeking in her yard ; 

To speak my errand, faith, amaist Vm fear'd : 

But I maun dot, though I should never thrive j 

They gallop fast that deils and lasses drive. [^Ej'it. 



A green kail-yard ; a little fount 
Where water poplan springs : 
There sits a wife with wrinkled front, 
, And yet she spins and sings. 

Ma USE. 

Tune " Carle, an the King come." 

Peggy i now the kings come, 

Peggy, 71010 the kings come ; 
Thou may dance, and I shall sing, 

Peggy, since the kitig's come. 
Nae mair the hankies shalt thou milk, 

But change ihy plaiden coat for silk, 
And be a lady of that ilk, 

Nozo, Peggy, since the king's come. 

Enter Bauldy. 

Bauldy. How does auld honest lucky of the glenr 
Ye look baith hale and fair at threescore ten. 

Jllause. E'en twining out a thread with little din, 
And beeking my cauld limbs afore the sun. 
What brings my bairn this gate sae air at morn ? 
Is there nae muck to lead ? ^^to .thresh, nae corn? 


Bauldy. Enough of baith but something that re- 
Your helping hand, employs now all my cares. 

Mause. My helping hand ! alake ! what can I do. 
That underneath baith eild and poortith bow ? 

Bauldy. Ay, but you're wise, and wiser far than we. 
Or maist part of the parish tells a lie. 

Mau^e. Of what kind wisdom think ye I*m possest. 
That lifts my character aboon the rest ? 

Baiddy. The word that gangs, how ye're sae wise 
and fell, 
Ye'U may be tak it ill ^if I should tell. 

Maust. What fouk say of me, Bauldy, let me hear; 
Keep naething up, ye naething have to fear. 

'Bauldy. Well, since ye bid me, I shall tell ye a* 
That ilk ane talks about you, but a flaw. 
When last the wind made Glaud a roofless barn ; 
When last the burn bore down my mither's yarn ; 
When Brawny elf-shot never mair came hame ; 
When Tibby kirned, and there nae butter came ; 
When Bessy Freetock's chuffy-cheeked wean 
To a fairy turned, and cou'dna stand its lane ; 
When Wattie wandered ae night through the shaw. 
And tint himsell amaist amang the snaw ; 
When Mungo's mare stood still, and swat with fright. 
When he brought east the howdy under night j 
When Bawsy, shot to dead upon the green, 
And Sara tint a snood was nae mair seen : 


You, lucky, gat the wyte of a* fell out, 

And ilka ane here dreads you round about : 

And sae they may that mint to do ye skaith j 

For me to wrang ye, Til be very laith : 

But when I neist make grots, I'll strive to please 

You with a furlet of them, mixt with pease. 

Manse. I thank ye, lad. Now tell me your demand. 
And, if I can, I'll lend my helping hand. 

Bauldij. Then, I like Peggy. Neps is fond of ^ 
Peggy likes Pate ; and Patie's bauld and slee. 
And loes sweet Meg. But Neps I downa see. ^ 
Cou'd ye turn Patie's love to Neps, and than 
Peggy's to me, Fd be the happiest man ! 

Mause. Fll try my art to gar the bowls row right j 
Sae gang your ways, and come again at night ; 
'Gainst that time Fll some simple things prepare. 
Worth all your pease and grots ; tak ye nae care. 

Baiddi/. Well, Mause, Fll come, gif I the road 
can find j 
But if ye raise the deil, he'll raise the wind ; 
Syne rain and thunder, may be, when 'tis late. 
Will make the night sae rough, Fll tine the gate. 
We're a' to rant in Symie's at a feast ; 
O will ye come, like badrans, for a jest ? 
And there ye can our different 'haviours spy : 
There's nane shall ken o't there but you and I. 

M m 


Mause. , 'Tis like I may but let na on what's past 
'Twe'en yau and me, else fear a kittle cast. 

Bauldy. If I ought of your secrets e'er advance. 
May ye ride on me ilka night to France. 

\_Exit Bauldy. 

Mause her lane. 
Hard luck, alake ! when poverty and eild. 
Weeds out of fashion, and a lanely beild, 
"With a sma* cast of wiles, should, in a twitch, 
Gie ane the hatefu' name, A ztTink/ed witch. 
This fool imagines, as do mony sic. 
That I'm a wretch in compact with Auld Nick j 
Because by education I was taught 
To speak and act aboon their common thought. 
Their gross mistake shall quickly now appear ; 
Soon shall they ken what brought, what keeps me 

here ; 
Nane kens but me ; and if the morn were come, 
I'll tell them tales will gar them a' sing dumb. 




Behind a tree upon the plain. 

Pate and his Peggy meet ; 
In love, without a vicious stain, 
The bonny lass and cheerfu' swain 

Change vows and kisses sweet. 

Patie and Peggy. 

Peg. O Patie, let me gang, I mauna stay; 
We're baith cry'd hame, and Jenny she's away. 

Pat. I'm laith to part sae soon; now we*re alane. 
And Roger he's awa with Jenny gane ; 
They're as content, for ought I hear or see. 
To be alane themselves, I judge, as we. 
Here, where primroses thickest paint the green. 
Hard by this little burnie let us lean. 
Hark, how the lav'rocks chant aboon our heads. 
How saft the westlin winds sough thro' the reeds ! 

Peg. The scented meadows, birds, and healthy 
For ought I ken, may mair than Peggy please. 

Pat. Ye wrang me sair, to doubt my being kind ; 
In speaking sae, ye ca' me dull and blind ; 
Gif I cou'd fancy ought's sae sweet or fair 
As my dear Meg, or worthy of my care. 
M m 2 



Thy breath is sweeter than the sweetest brier. 
Thy cheek and breast the finest flowers appear ; 
Thy words excel the maist delightfu' notes, 
That warble through the merl or mavis' throats. 
With thee I tent nae flowers that busk the field. 
Or ripest berries that our mountains yield. 
The sweetest fruits, that hing upon the tree, 
, Are far inferior to a kiss of thee. 

Peg. But Patrick for some wicked end may fleech. 
And lambs should tremble when the foxes preach. 
I darena stay f ye joker, let me gang ; 
Anither lass may gar ye change your sang ; 
Your thoughts may flit, and I may thole the wrang. 

Pat: Sooner a mother shall her fondness drap. 
And wrang the bairn sits smiling on her lap. 
The sun shall change, the moon to change shall cease, 
The gaits to climb, the sheep to yield their fleece, 
Ere ought by me be either said or done. 
Shall skaith our love ; I swear by all aboon. 

Peg. Then keep your aith. But mony lads will 
And be mansworn to twa in haff^ a year. 
Now I believe ye like me wonder well ; 
But if a fairer face your heart shou'd steal. 
Your Meg, forsaken, bootless might relate. 
How she was dawted anes by faithless Pate. 

Pat. I'm sure I canna change ; ye needna fear ; 
Though we're but young, I've loed you mony a year. 


I mind it Wv 11, when thou couMst hardly gang. 

Or lisp out words, I choos'd ye frae the thrang 

Of a' the bairns, and led thee by the hand 

Aft to the tansy knowe, or rashy str^d. 

Thou smiling by my side : I took delyte 

To pou the rashes green, with roots sae white ; 

Of whichj as well as my young fancy cou'd, *.- 

For thee I plet the flowery belt and snood. 

Peg. When first thou gade with shepherds to the 
And I to milk the ewes first tried mv skill ; 
To bear a leglen was nae toil to me. 
When at the bught at e'en I met with thee. 

Pat. When corns grew yellow, and the hether-bells 
Bloom'd bonny on the moor and rising fells, 
Nae birns, or briers, or whins, e*er troubled me, 
Gif I cou'd find blae berries ripe for thee. 

Peg. When thou didst wrestle, run, or putt the 
And wan the day, my heart was flightering fain : 
At all these sports thou still gave joy to me ; 
For nane can wrestle, run, or putt with thee. 

Pat. Jenny sings saft the Broom (j Coxcdenkuou'S, 
And Rosie lilts the MilVing of the Kxees ; 
There's nane like Nancy Jeurn/ ^Ntltlcs sings ; 
At turns in JlJaggj/ Lauder, Marion dings : 
But when my Peggy sings, with sweeter skill. 
The Boatman, or the J. ass of Paik's Mill, 
M m 3 


It is a thousand times mair sweet to me ; 
Though they sing well, they canna sing like thee. 

Peg. How eith can lasses trow what they desire ! 
And, roosed by them we love, blaws up that fire : 
But wha loes best, let time and carriage try j 
Be constant, and my love shall time defy. 
Be still as now ; and a' my care shall be. 
How to contrive what pleasant is for thee. 

3ANG X, 

Tune'' The Yellow-hair'd Laddie," 

' Peggy. 
JVhenJirst my dear laddie gade to the green hilly 
And I at etve-milking first seyd my yoitng skill. 
To bear the milk-bozcie nae pain was to me, 
JVhen I at the bughting forgathered with thee. 

JVhen coim-rigs waved yelUmr, and blue hether-belh, 
Bloomed bonny on moorland, and sweet rising fells, 
Nae birns, briers, or breckens, gave trouble to me, 
If I found the berries right ripened J or thee. 

When thou ran or wrestled, or putted the stane. 
And came aff the victor, my heart was ay fain ; 


Thy ilka sport manly gave pleasure to me ; 

For nane can putt, wrestle, or run szvijt, as thee. 

Our Jenny sings softly the Cowden-broom-knows, 
And Rosie lilts sweetly the Milking the Ewes ; 
There's Jew Jenny Nettles like Nancy can sing ; 
<^^Thro' the Wood, Laddie, Bess gars our lugs ring: 

But zvhen viy dear Pe^gy sings xvith better skill, 
The Boatman, Tweedside, or the Lass of the Mill, 
'Tis mony times siceeter and pleasing to me ; 
For though they sing nicely, they cajinot like thee. 

How easy can lasses troxv xchat they desire ? 
And praises sae kindly increases loves J ire: 
Give J7ie still this pleasure, my study shall be, 
To nmke myself better, and szveeterjor thee. 

Pat. Wert thou a giglet gawky like the lave, 
That little better than our nowt behave ; 
At nought they'll ferly, senseless tales believe; 
Be blyth for silly heghts, for trifles grieve : 
Sic ne'er cou'd win my heart, that kenna how, 
Either to keep a prize, or yet prove true ; 
But thou, in better sense without a flaw, 
As in thy beauty, far excels them a' ; 


Continue kind, and a' my care shall be, 
How to contrive what pleasing is for thee. 

Peg. Agreed. But hearken ! yon's auld aunty's 
I ken they'll wonder what can make us stay. 

PaL And let them ferly. Now a kindly kiss. 
Or five score good anes wadna be amiss ; 
And syne we'll sing the sang with tunefu' glee. 
That I made up last owk on you and me. 

Peg. Sing first, syne claim your hire. 

Pat. Well, I agree. 


Bi/ the delicious warmness of thy mouthy 
And rawing een, that smiling tell the truth, 
I guess, my lassie, that as well as I, 
Yoiire made for love, and xvhy should ye deny? 

But ken ye, lad, gifwe confess o'er soon, 
Ye think us cheap, and syne the wooing' s done : 
The maiden that der quickly tines her paiver. 
Like unripe J ruit, icill taste but hard and sour. 

But gin they hiiig der king upon the tree, 
Their street ncss they may tine ; and sae may ye. 


Red-cheeked, you completely ripe appear , 
And I have tholcd and wooed a la/ig half-year. 

Peggy (singing, falls into Patie's arms). 
Then dirrna pii me, gently thus IJd 
Into my Paties arms, J or good and a. 
But stint your zvishes to this kind embrace, 
And 7nint naejarther till iveve got the grace. 

Pcttie, (with his left hand about her waist). 
O charming armju ! hence, ye cares axvay. 
Til kiss my treasure a' the Uve-lang day : 
All night ril dream my kisses o'er again, 
Till that day come that yell be a my ain. 

Sung by both. 
Sun, gallop down the westlin skies, 
Gang soon to bed, and quickly rise ; 
O lush your steeds, post time away. 
And haste about our bridal day ! 
And if ye re wearied, honest light, 
Sleep, gin ye like, a zceck that night. 




Now tufn your eyes beyond yon spreading lime, 
And tent a man whase beard seems bleach'd with time ; 
An elwand fills his hand, his habit mean ; 
Nae doubt ye'll think he has a pedlar been. 
But whisht ! it is the knight in masquerade. 
That comeS) hid in this cloud, to see his lad. 
Observe how pleas'd the loyal sufferer moves 
Through his auld avenues, anes delightfu' groves. 

Sir William solus. " 

i HE gentlemaji, thus hid in low disguise, 
I'll for a space, unknown, delight mine eyes 
With a ful view of every fertile plain, 
Which once I lost- ^which now are mine again. 
Yet, 'mid t my joy, some prospects pain renew, 
Whilst I my once fair seat in ruins view. 
Yonder, ah me ! it desolately stands 
Witho. t a roof, the gates fallen from their bands ! 
The casements all broke down ; no chimney left j 
The naked vails of .ap*stry all bereft. 
My stables and pavilions, broken walls. 
That with each rainy blast decaying falls : 


My gardens, once adorned the most complete, 

"With all that nature, all that art makes sweet ; 

Where, round the figured green and pebble walks, 

The dewy flowers hung nodding on their stalks ; 

But overgrown with nettles, docks, and brier. 

No jaccacinths or eglantines appear. 

How do these ample walls to ruin yield. 

Where peach 'and nectarine branches found a bield. 

And basked in rays, which early did produce 

Fruit fair to view, delightful in the use ! 

All round in gaps, the most in rubbish lie. 

And from what stands the withered branches fly. 

These soon shall be repaired j and now my joy 

Forbids all grief, when Fm to see my boy. 

My only prop, and object of my care. 

Since Heaven too soon called home his mother fair j 

Him, ere the rays of reason cleared his thought, 

I secretly to faithful Symon brought. 

And charged him strictly to conceal his birth. 

Till we should see what changing times brought forth. 

Hid from himself, he starts up by the dawn. 

And ranges careless o*er the height and lawn , 

After his fleecy charge^ serenely gay. 

"With other shepherds whistling o'er the day. 

Thrice happy life ! that's from ambition free ; 

Removed from crowns and courts, how cheerfully 

A quiet contented mortal spends his time, 

In hearty health, his soul unstained with crime ! 



Tune " Happy Clown.'* 

Hidfioin himself, now by the dawn 
He starts as fresh as roses blaum ; 
And ranges der the heights and lawn 

AJter his bleating Jiocks. 
Healthjul and innocently gay, 
He chants and tvhistles out the day ; 
Untaught to smile, and then betray, 

Like courtly weather-cocks. 

Life happy, from ambition free, 

Envy, and vile hypocrisy, 

JVheix truth and love with joys agree, 

Unsullied with a crime : 
Unmoved with xvhat disturbs the great. 
In propping of their pride and state, 
He lives, and, unafraid of fate. 

Contented spends his time. 

Now towards good Symon's house I'll bend my way. 

And see what maizes yon gamboling to-day ; 

All on the green, in a fair wanton ring. 

My youthful tenants gayly dance and sing. {^E.rit. 


SCENE 11. 

*Tis Symon's house, please to step in, 

And vissy't round and round ; 
There's nought superfluous to give pain, 

Or costly to be found. 
Yet all is clean : a clear peat ingle 

Glances amidst the floor : 
The green horn spoons, beech luggies mingle 

On skelfs foregainst the door. 
While the young brood sport on the green, 

The auld anes think it best, 
With the brown cow to clear their ecn, / 

Snufi^, crack, and take their rest." 

Symon, Glaud, atid E,lsv a. 
GlaiicL We anes were young oursells. I like to 
The bairns bob round with other merrylie. 
Troth, Symon, Patie's grown a strapan lad. 
And better looks than his I never bade ; 
Amang our lads he bears the gree awa. 
And tells his tale the cleverest of them a*. 

Elspa. Poor man ! he's a great comfort to us 
baith ; 
God mak him good, and hide him ay frae skaith. 



He is a bairn, I'll say*t, well worth our care. 
That gae us ne'er vexation late or air. 

Gkiutl. I trow, goodwife, if I be not mistane. 
He seems to be with Peggy's beauty tane. 
And troth, my niece is a right dainty wean. 
As ye well ken : a bonnier needna be. 
Nor better, be*t she were nae kin to me. 

Sym. Ha, Glaud ! I doubt that ne*er will be a 
match ; 
My Patie's wild, and will be ill to catch ; 
And or he were, for reasons I'll no tell, 
I'd rather be mixt with the mools mysell. 

Glaud. What reason can ye have ? There's nane, 
I m sure, 
Unless ye may cast up that she's but poor : 
But gif the lassie marry to my mind, 
I'll be to her as my ain Jenny kind. 
Fourscore of breeding ewes of my ain bim, 
Five ky that at ae milking fills a kirn, 
I'll gie to Peggy that day she's a bride ; 
By and attour, if my good luck abide. 
Ten lambs at spainhig-time as lang's I live. 
And twa quey cawfs I'll yearly to them give. 

Ekpa. Ye offer fair, kind Glaud ; but dinna speer 
"What may be is not fit ye yet should hear. 

Sym. Or this day eight days, likely, he shall learn. 
That our denial disna slight his bairn. 


Glaud. Well, nae mair o't; come, gie's the other 
bend ; 
We*ll drink their healths, whatever way it end. 

\_Thtir healths gae round. 
Sym. But, will ye tell me, Glaud, by some 'tis said. 
Your niece is but a fundling, that was laid 
Down at your hallen-side ae morn in May, 
Right clean rowed up, and bedded on dry hay ? 
Glaud. That clatteran Madge, my titty, tells sic 
Whene'er our Meg her cankart humour gaws. 

Enter Jenny. 

Jew. O father, there's an auld man on the green, 
The fellest fortune- teller e'er was seen : 
He tents our loofs, and syne whops out a bopk. 
Turns o'er the leaves, and gie's our brows a look ; 
Syne tells the oddest tales that e'er ye heard. 
His head is gray, and lang and gray his beard. 

Sym. Gae bring him in, we'll hear what he can say ; 
Nane shall gang hungry by my house the day : 

\_Exlt Jenny. 
But for his telling fortunes, troth, I fear, 
He kens nae mair of that than my gray mare. 

Glaud. Spae*men ! the truth of a' their saws I doubt j 
For greater liars never ran thereout. 


Jenny returns, bringing in Sir William ; with 
them Patie. 
Sym. Ye're welcome, honest carle j here tak a 

Sir WiL I give you thanks, goodman, Fse no be 

Glaud. \_Driiiks.~\ Come, t'ye, friend How far 

came ye the day ? 
Sir JVil. I pledge ye, nibour ; e'en but little way : 
Rousted with eild, a wee piece gate seems lang ; 
Twa miles or three's the maist that I dow gang. 

Si/m. Ye're welcome here to stay all night with me. 
And take sic bed and board as we can gi' ye. 

Sir JVil. That's kind unsought. Well, gin ye 
have a bairn ' 

That ye hke well, and wad his fortune learn, 
I shall employ the farthest of my skill 
To spae it faithfully, be't good or ill. 

Syrii. \_Pointing to Patie.] Only that lad: alake! 
I have nae mae. 
Either to make me joyful now, or wae. 

Sir lid. Young man, let's see your hand ; what 

gars ye sneer ? 
Pat. Because your skill's but little worth, I fear. 
Sir fVil. Ye cut before the point ; but, billy, bide, 
I'll wager there's a mouse-mark on your side.' 
Elspa. Betooch-us-too ! and well I wat that's 
true ; 
Awa, awal the deil's o'er grit wi' you j 


Four inch aneath his oxter is the mark. 
Scarce ever seen since he first wore a sark. 

Sir JVil. I'll tell ye mair ; if this young lad be 
But a short while, he'll be a braw rich laird. 

Elspa. A laird ! Hear ye, goodman what think 

ye now ? 
Sym. I dinna ken ! Strange auld man, what art 
thou ? 
Fair fa* your heart, 'tis good to bode of wealth j 
Come, turn the timmer to laird Patie's health. 

[Patie's health gaes round. 
Pat. A laird of twa good whistles and a kent, 
Twa curs, my trusty tenants on the bent. 
Is all my great estate and like to be : 
Sae, cunning carle, ne'er break your jokes on me. 
Si/m. Whisht, Patie, let the man look o'er your 
hand ; 
Aft-times as broken a ship has come to land. 

'[Sir William looks a little at Patie's hand, 
then counterfeits falling into a trance, while 
they endeavour to lay him right. 
Eispa. Preserve's ! the man's a warlock, or pos- 
With some nae good, or second-sight, at least : 
Where is he now ? 

Gland. He's seeing a' that's done 
In ilka place, beneath or yont the moon. 



Ekpa. These second-sighted fouk, (his peace be 
here ! 
See things far afF, and things to come, as clear 
As I can see my thumb. Wow ! can he tell 
(Speer at him, soon as he comes to himsell,) 
How soon we'll see Sir William ? whisht, he heaves, 
And speaks out broken words, like ane that raves. 

Syni. He'll soon grow better; Elspa, haste ye gae. 
And fill him up a tass of usquebae. 

Sir William starts up, and speaks. 
A Knight that for a Lion fought. 

Against a herd of bears, 
AVas to lang toil and trouble b"ought. 

In which some thousands shares. 
But now again the Li()7i rares. 

And joy spreads o'er the plain : 
The Z/w/ has defeat the bears. 

The Knight returns again. 
That Knight, in a few days, shall bring 

A shepherd frae the fauld, 
And shall present him to his King, 

A subject true and bauld. 
He Air Patrick shall be call'd : 

All you that hear me now, 
May well believe what 1 have tald. 

For it shall happen true. 


Sym. Friend, may your spacing happen soon and 
weel ; 
But, faith, Fm redd you've bargained with the deil. 
To tell some tales that fouks wad secret keep ; 
Or, do you get them tald you in your sleep ? 

Sir JVil. Howe'er I get them, never fash your . 
Nor come I to read fortunes for reward ; 
But I'll lay ten to ane with ony here, 
That all I prophesy shall soon appear. 

Sym. You prophesying fouks are odd kind men ! 
They're here that ken, and here that disna ken. 
The wimpled meaning of your unco tale, 
Whilk soon will make a noise o'er muir and dale. 
Gland. 'Tis nae sma' sport to hear how Sym be- 
And takes' t for gospel what the spae-man gives 
Of flawing fortunes, whilk he evens to Pate : 
But what we wish we trow at ony rate. 

Sir jyH. Whisht ! doubtfu' carle ; for ere the sun 

Has driven twice down to the sea, 
What I have said, ye shall see done 

In part, or nae mair credit me. 
Gland. Well, be't sae, friend ; I shall say naething 
mair ; 
But I've twa sonsy lasses, young and fair, 
Plump ripe for men : I wish ye cou'd foresee 
Sic fortunes for thern might, prove joy to me. 
N n 2 


Sir JVil. Nae mair through secrets can I sift 

Till darkness black the bent : 
I have but anes a day that gift ; 

Sae rest a while content. 
Sym. Elspa, cast on the claith, fetch butt some 
And of your best gar this auld stranger eat. 

Sir JVil. Delay a while your hospitable care ; 
I'd rather enjoy this evening, calm and fair. 
Around yon ruined tower, to fetch a walk 
With you, kind friend, to have some private talk. " 
Sym. Soon as you please Til answer your desire: 
And, Glaud, you'll take your pipe beside the fire; 
"We'll but gae round the place, and soon be back. 
Syne sup together, and take our pint, and cracks 
Glaud. I'll out a while, and see the young anes 
play : 
My heart's still light, albeit my locks be gray. 



Jenny pretends an errand hame ; 
Young Roger draps the rest, 
To whisper out his melting flame, 
And thow his lassie's breast. 
Behind a bush, well hid frae sight, they meet : 
See, Jenny's laughing ; Roger's like to greet. 
Poor Shepherd ! 

Roger a?id Jenny. 

Rog. Dear Jenny, I wad speak t'ye, wad ye let ; 
And yet I ergh, ye' re ay sae scornfu' set. 

Jen. And what wad Roger say, if he cou'd speak.? 
Am I obliged to guess what ye' re to seek ? 

-Rog. Yes, ye may guess right eith for what I grein, 
Baith by my service, sighs, and langing een. 
And I maun out wi't, though I risk your scorn ; 
Ye're never frae my thoughts, baith e'en and morn. 
Ah ! cou'd I loe ye less, I'd happy be ; 
But happier far, cou"d ye but fancy me. 

Jen. And wha kens, honest lad, but that I may ? 
Ye canna say that e er I said ye nay. 

Rog. Alake ! my frighted heart begins to fail. 
Whene'er I mint to tell ye our my talc. 
For fear some tighter lad, mair rich th;in I, 
Has win your love, and near your heart may lie. 

N n 3 


Je?L I loe my father, cousin Meg I love ; 
But to this day nae man my mind cou'd move : 
Except my kin, ilk lad's alike to me ; 
And frae ye all I best had keep me free. 

Rog. How lang, dear Jenny ? sayna that again ; 
What pleasure can ye tak in giving pain ? 
I'm glad, however, that ye yet stand free ; 
Wha kens but ye may rue, and pity me ? 

Jen. Ye have my pity else, to see you set 
On that whilk makes our sweetness soon forget. 
Wow ! but we're bonny, good, and every thing ; 
How sweet we breathe whene'er we kiss or sing ! 
But we're nae sooner fools to give consent. 
Than we our daffin and tint power repent ; 
When prisoned in four waws, a wife right tame, 
Although the first, the greatest drudge at hame. 

Rog. That only happens, when, for sake of gear, 
Ane wales a wife as he wad buy a mare : 
Or when dull parents bairns together bind 
Of different tempers, that can ne'er prove kind. 
But love, true downright love, engages me, 
(Tho' thou shou'dst scorn,) still to delight in thee. 

Jen. What sugar'd words frae woers lips can fa'! 
But girning marriage comes and ends them a'. 
Fve seen, with shining fair, the morning rise. 
And soon the sleety clouds mirk a' the skies, 
I've seen the silver spring a while rin clear. 
And soon in mossy puddles disappear ! 


The bridegroom may rejoice, the bride may smile j 
But soon contentions a their joys beguile. 

Hog. I've seen the morning rise with fairest light. 
The day, unclouded, sink in calmest night. 
I've seen the spring rin wimpling through the plain, 
Increase, and join the ocean without stain : 
The bridegroom may be biyth, the bride may smile; 
Rejoice through life, and all your fears beguile. 

Je?i. Were I but sure you lang wad love maintain. 
The fewest words my easy heart cou'd gain : 
For I maun own, since now at last you re free. 
Although I joked, I loed your company ; 
And ever had a warmness in my breast. 
That made ye dearer to me than the rest. 

Hog. I'm happy now ! o'er happy ! haud my head ! 
This gush of pleasure's like to be my dead. 
Come to my arms ! or strike me! I'm all fired 
With wondering love ! let's kiss till we be tired. 
Kiss, kiss ! we'll kiss the sun and starns away. 
And ferly at the quick return of day ! 
O Jenny ! let niy arms about thee twine. 
And briss thy bonny breasts and lips to mine. 

N n 4 



Tune'' Leith Wynd." 

JFere I assured yoiid constant prove j 

You should nae mair complain ; 
The easy maid beset with love, 

Fezo xvords will quickly gain: 
For I must ozvn, now since you re free. 

This too fond heart of mine 
Has lang a black-sole true to thee, 

Wished to be paired with thine, 

I'm happy 7iow, ah ! let my head 

Upon thy breast recline ; 
The pleasure strikes me near-hand dead ; 

Is Jenny then sae kind ? 
O let me briss thee to my heart ! 

And round my arms entivine : 
DeUghtfu thought ! zee II never part ; 

Come, press thy mouth to mine. 

Jen. "With equal joy my easy heart gives way, 
To own thy w^ell-tried love has won the day. 
Now, by these warmest kisses thou hast tane. 
Swear thus to love me, when by vows made ane. 


Rog. I swear by fifty thousand yet to come. 
Or may the first ane strike me deaf and dumb. 
There shall not be a kindlier dawted wife. 
If you agree with me to lead your life. 

Jen. Well I agree : neist to my parent gae. 
Get his consent ; he* 11 hardly say ye nay. 
Ye have what will commend ye to him well, 
Auld fouks, like them, that want na milk and meal. 

Tune'' O'er Bogie." 

JVell, I agree, ye re sure of me ; 

Nedt to myjather gae : 
Make him content to give consent^ 

Hell hardly say you nay : 
For you have tvhat he xvad be at, 

And xvill Commend you xvell, 
Since parents auld think love grows cauld^ 

JVhere baims want milk and meal. 

Shoud he deny, I care na by, 

He'd contradict in vain, 
Though a my kin had said and sxcorn, 

But thee 1 7ciil have nane. 
Then never ranoe, nor learn to chano-c. 

Like those in high degree ; 
And if ye prove Jaith/'ul in love. 

You II J (ud naejaul in nie. 


Rog. My faulds contain twice fifteen forrow nowt. 
As mony newcal in my byers rout ; 
Five pack of woo I can at Lammas sell. 
Shorn frae my bob-tailed bleaters on the fell ; 
Good twenty pair of blankets for our bed, 
"With meikle care, my thrifty mither made. 
Ilk thing that makes a heartsome house and tight. 
Was still her care, my father's great delight. - 
They left me all ; which now gies joy to me. 
Because I can give a*, my dear to thee : 
And had I fifty times as meikle mair, 
Kane but my Jenny should the samen skair. 
My love and a* is yours ; now haud them fast. 
And guide them as ye like, to gar them last. 

Joi. I'll do my best. But see wha comes this way, 
Patie and Meg : besides, I mauna stay. 
Let's steal frae ither now, and meet the morn ; 
If we be seen, we'll dree a deal of scorn. 

Rog. To where the saugh-tree shades the mennin- 
I'll frae the hill come down when day grows cool. 
Keep tryst, and meet me there : there let us meet. 
To kiss and tell our love ; there's nought sae sweet ! 




This scene presents the Knight and Sym 

Within a gallery of the place, ' 

Where all looks ruinous and grim ; 

Nor has the Baron shown his face. 

But joking with his shepherd leel. 

Aft speers the gate he kens fu' well. 

Sir William and Symon. 
Sir Wil. To whom belongs this house so much 

decayed ? 
Sym. To ane that lost it, lending generous aid 
To bear the head up, when rebellious tail 
Against the laws of nature did prevail. 
Sir William Worthy is our master's name, 
Whilk fills us all with joy, now He's come hame. 

( Sir William draps his masking beard ; 

Symon, transported, sees 
The welcome knight, with fond regard. 

And grasps him round the knees.) 

My master ! my dear master ! Do I breathe 
To see him healthy, strong, and free frae skaith I 
Returned to cheer his wishing tenants* sight ! 
To bless his son, my charge, the warld's delight ! 


' Sir JVil. Rise, faithful Symon ; in my arms enjoy, 
A place thy due, kind guardian of my boy : 
I came to view thy care in this disguise. 
And am confirmed thy conduct has been wise ; 
Since still the secret thou'st securely sealed. 
And ne*er to him his real birth revealed. 

S^;//. The due obedience to your strict command 
Was the first lock ; neist my ain judgment fand 
Out reasons plenty ; since, without estate, 
A youth, though sprung frae kings, looks bauch and 
*S'/;* JVjL And aften vain and idly spend their time. 
Till, grown unfit for action, past their prime. 
Hang on their friends, which gies their sauls a cast. 
That turns them downright beggars at the last. 

Sijm. Now, well I wat, sir, ye have spoken true ; 
For there's laird Ky tie's son, that's loed by few. 
His father steght his fortune in his wame. 
And left his heir nought but a gentle name. 
He gangs about, soman frae place to place. 
As scrimp of manners as of sense and grace j 
Oppressing all as punishment of their sin. 
That are within his tenth degree of kin ; 
Rins in ilk trader's debt, wha's sae unjust 
To his ain family as to give him trust. 

-S'/> 7/7/. Such useless branches of a common- 
Should be lopt off, to give a st?.tc more health. 


Unworthy bare reflection. Symon, run 
O'er all your observations on my son : 
A parent's fondness easily finds excuse. 
But do not, with indulgence, truth abuse. 

Sym. To speak his praise, the langest simmer day. 
Wad be o'er short, could I them right display. 
In word and deed he can sae well behave. 
That out of sight he rins before the lave ; 
And when there's e'er a quarrel or contest, 
Patrick's made judge, to tell whase cause is best ; 
And his decreet stands good : he'll gar it stand ; 
Wha dares to grumble finds his correcting hand. 
With a firm look, and a commanding way, 
He gars the proudest of our herds obey. 

Sir fVil. Your tale much pleases. My good friend, 
What learning has he ? Cim he write and read ? 

Sym. Baith wonder well : for, troth, I didna spare 
To give him, at the school, enough of lair ; 
And he delytes in books. He reads and speaks. 
With fouks that ken them, Latin words and Greeks. 

Sir JVil. Where gets he books to read ? and of 
what kind ? 
Though some give light, some blindly lead the blind. 

Sym. Whene'er he drives our sheep to Edinburgh 
He buys some books of history, sangs, or sport : 

ling sing, -\ 

^ing, > 

ses ring. j 


Nor does he want of them a rowth at will. 

And carries ay a poutchfu* to the hill. 

About ane Shakespeare, and a famous Ben, 

He aften speaks, and *ca*s them best of men. 

How sweetly Hawthornden and Stirling sing, 

And ane ca'd Cowley, loyal to his king, 

He kens fu' well, and gars their verses ring. 

I sometimes thought that he made o'er great phrase 

About fine poems, histories, and plays : 

When I reproved him anes, a book he brings, 

With this, quoth he, on braes I crack with kings. 

Sir ffll. He answered well; and much ye glad 
my ear. 
When such accounts I of my shepherd hear. 
Reading such books can raise a peasant's mind 
Above a lord's that is not thus inclined. 

Si/m. What ken we better, that sae sindle look. 
Except on rainy Sundays, on a book; 
When we a leaf or twa haff read, haff spell, , 
Till a' the rest sleep round as well's qursell. 

S/r JUL Well jested, Symon. But one question 
I'll only ask yc now, and then give o'er. 
Thte youth's arrived the age when little loves 
Flighter around young hearts like cooing doves : 
Has nae young lassie, with inviting mien. 
And rosy cheeks, the wonder of the green. 


Engaged his look, and caught his youthful heart. 

Si/m. I feared the warst, but kend the smallest part. 
Till late I saw him twa three times mair sweet 
With Glaud*s fair niece, than I thought right or meet. 
I had my fears j but now have nought to fear. 
Since, like your, sell, your son will soon appear. 
A gentleman, enriched with all these charms. 
May bless the fairest, best born lady's arms. 

Sir If i/. This night must end his unambitious fire, 
When higher views shall greater thoughts inspire. 
Go, Symon, bring him quickly here to me ; 
None but yourself shall our first meeting see. 
Yonder*s my horse and servants nigh at hand ; 
They come just at the time I gave command ; 
Straight in my own apparel I'll go dress : 
Now ye the secret may to all confess. 

Sj/m. With how much joy I on this errand flee. 
There's nane can know that is not downright me. 

\_Ejit Sy-mox. 

Sir "W'lLLrAM solus. 
When the event of hopes successfully appears, 
One happy hour cancels the toil of years ; 
A thousand toils are lost in Lethe's stream, 
And cares evanish like a morning dream ; 
When wish'd-for pleasures rise like morning- light. 
The pain that's past enhances the delight. 



These joys I feel, that words can ill express, 
I ne'er had known, without my late distress. 
But from his rustic business and love, 
I must, in haste, my Patrick soon remove. 
To courts and camps that may his soul improve 
Like the rough diamond, as it leaves the mine. 

Only in little breakings shews its light. 
Till artful polishing has made it shine : 

Thus education makes the genius bright. 


Tune " Wat ye wha I met yestreen." 

Now from rusticity and love, 

JVhoseJiames but over lozvly burn, 
My gentle shepherd must be drove^ 

His soul'must take another turn. 
As the rough diamond J rom the mine, 

In breaking only sheus its light. 
Till polishing has made it shine; 

Thus learning makes the genius bright. 




The scene described in former page, 

Glaud's onstead *. Enter Mause and Madge. 

Mause and Madge. 

Madge. \J u r laird's come hame ! and owns ^oung 
Pate his heir. 
Mause. That's news indeed ! 

Madge. * As true as ye stand there* 

As they were dancing a' in Symon's yard. 
Sir William, like a warlock, with a beard 
Five nieves in length, and white as driven snawj 
Amang us came, cried, Haud ye merry a\ 
We ferly'd meikle at his unco look. 
While frae his pouch he whirled forth a book. 

* In the late edition of Ramsay's Works, printed in the year 
] 800 ; and in most of the editions of the comedy; *' onset" is put 
for " onstead :" which contradicts the incidents in the scene to 
which it is prefixed, and renders the prologue itself altogether un- 
intelligible. Onstead is obviously the word intended by Ramsay ; 
an ? his late editor might perhaps have been as well employed in 
correcting^ as in altering his works. 



As we stood round about him on the green. 
He viewed us a', but fix'd on Pate his een ; 
Then pawkily pretended he could spae. 
Yet for his pains and skill wad nathing hae. 

Mause. Then sure the lasses, and ilk gaping coof, 
"VVad rin about him, and baud out their loof. 

Madge. As fast as flaes skip to the tate of woo, 
"Whilk slee tod-lowrie bauds without his mou, 
Vvhen he, to drown them, and his hips to cool. 
In simmer days slides backward in a pool : 
In short, he did for Pate braw things foretell. 
Without the help of conjuring or spell. 
At last, whn well diverted, he withdrew, 
Pu'd aff his beard to Symon : Symon knew 
His welcome master ; round his knees he gat. 
Hang at his coat, and syne, for blythness, grat, 
Patrick was sent for ; happy lad is he ! 
Symon tald Elspa, Elspa tald it me. 
Ye'll hear out a' the secret story soon: 
And troth 'tis e'en right odd, when a' is done. 
To think how Symon ne'er before wad tell, 
Na, no sae meikle as lo Pate himsell. 
Our Meg, poor thing, alake ! has lost her jo. 

ArAWiL. It may be sae, wha kens ? and maybe no. 
To lift a love's rooted is great pain : 
Even kings have tane a queen out of the plain ; 
And what has been before may be again. 


Madge. Sic nonsense ! love tak root, but tocher- 
'Tween a herd's bairn, and ane of gentle blood ! 
Sic fashions in King Bruce's days might be. 
But siccan ferlies now we never see. 

Mause. Gif Pate forsakes her, Bauldy she may 
gain I 
Yonder he comes, and wow but he looks fain ! 
Nae doubt he thinks that Peggy's now his ain. 

Madge. He get her ! slavering doof, it sets him well 
To yoke a plough where Patrick thought to till. 
Gif I were Meg, I'd let young master see 

Mause. Ye'd be as dorty in your choice as he ; 
And so wad I. But, whisht, here Bauldy comes. 

Enter Bauldy, singing. 


Jocky said to Jenny, Jenny, xvilt thou dot? 
Ne'er a Jit, qnoth Jenny, for my tocher-good, 
For my tocher-good, I ivinna marry thee : 
Kens-ye-Uke, quoth Jocky, I can let you be. 

Mause. Well liltit, Bauldy, that's a dainty sang. 
Bauldy. I'se gie ye'd a% its better than its lang. 

/ have goxvd and gear, I have land enough, 
T have sa.v good oxcsen ganging in a plough ; 
O o 2 


Ganging in a plough, and linkan o\r the lee. 
And gin ye zvinna tak me, I can let ye be. 

I ha*ce a good ha -house, a barn, and a byre ; 
A peat -stack y'ore the doorxvillmak a ratitingjire; 
Til mak a ranting Jive, and merry shall we be. 
And gin ye uinna tak me, I can let ye be. 

Jenny said to Jocky, gin ye winna tell, 
Ye shall be the lad, I'll be the lass mysell ; 
YeWe a bonny lad, and I'm a lassie free ; 
Ye re wckomer to tak me than to let me be. 

I trow sae ; lasses will come too at last, 

Tho' for a while they maun their snaw-ba's cast. 

Mause. Well, Bauldy, how gaes a ? 

Baiddy. Faith unco right : 
I hope we'll a' sleep sound but ane this night. 

Madge. And wha's the unlucky ane if we may 
ask ? 

Bauldy. To find out that is nae difficult task. 
Poor bonny Peggy, wha maun think nae mair 
On Pate turned Patrick, and Sir William's heir. 
Now, now, fTood Madge, and honest Mause, stand be, 
"While Meg's in dumps, put in a word for me. 
rU be as kind as ever Pate could prove, 
Less wilfu', and ay constant in my love. 


Madge. As Neps can witness, and the bushy thorn, 
'Where mony a time to her your heart was sworn. 
Fy ! Bauldy, blush, and vows of love i^egard ; 
AVhat ither lass will trow a mansworn herd ? 
The curse of Heaven hings ay aboon their heads. 
That's ever guilty of sic sinfu* deeds. 
I'll ne'er advise my niece sae gray a gate ; 
Nor will she be advised, fu' well I wat. 

Baiildij. Sae gray a gate ! manswoi^n ! and a' the 
rest ! 
Ye lied, auld roudes, and, in faith, had best 
Eat in your words ; else I shall gar ye stand. 
With a het face, afore the haly band. 

"^ladge. Ye'U gar me stand I ye shevelling-gabbet 
brock ! 
Speak that again, and, trembling, dread my rock. 
And ten sharp nails, that, when my hands are in, 
Can flyp the skin o' ye'r cheeks out o'er your chin. 

Bauldif. I tak ye witness, Mause, ye heard her 
That I'm mansworn. I winna let it gae. 

JMadgc. Ye're witness too, he ca'd me bonny 
And should be served as his good-breeding claims. 

o o ^ 

Ye filthy dog ! 

[/'V/V.v to Ills Jia'w I'lic afnrif. xi stout battle. 
Mausk ouicdvours to redd tJicm. 

O o ?> 


Mause. Let gang your grips ; fy, Madge ! howt, 
Bauldy, leen ; 
I wadna wish this tulzie had been seen, 
It*s sae daft Hke. ^ 

[BaUldy gets out o/" Madge's clutches with 
a bleeding nose. > 
Madge. 'Tis dafter hke, to thole 
An ether-cap hke him to blaw the coal. 
It sets him well, with vile unscrapit tongue. 
To cast up whether I be auld or young ; 
They're aulder yet than I have married been. 
And, or they died, their bairns' bairns have seen. 
Mause. That's true ; and, Bauldy, ye was far 
to blame. 
To ca* Madge ought but her ain christened name. 
Bauldy. My lugs, my nose, and noddle find the 


Madge. Auld roudes ! filthy fallow, I shall auld ye. 
Mause. Howt, no ; ye'U e'en be friends with ho- 
nest Bauldy. 
Come, come, shake hands ; this maun nae farther gae ; 
-Ye maun forgi'e 'm. I see the lad looks wae. 
Bauldy. In troth now, Mause, I have at Madge 
nae spite : 
But she abusing first was a' the wyte 
Of what has happened, and should therefore crave 
My pardon first, and shall acquittance have. 


Madge. I crave your pardon I gallows-face, gae 
And own your taut to her that ye wad cheat, 
Gae, or be blasted in your health and gear, 
'Till ye learn to perform, as well as swear. 
Vow, and lowp back ! was e*er the like heard tell ? 
Swith, tak him deil ; he's o'er lang out of hell. 
Baiddy. [^running oJf.~\ His presence be about us ! 
curst were he 
That were condemned for life to live with thee. 
Madge. \_taugJiing.'] I think I've towzled his ha- 
rigalds a wee j 
He'll no soon grein to tell his love to me. 
He's but a rascal that wad mint to serve 
A lassie sae, he docs but ill deserve, 

Mausc. Ye towin'd him tightly ; I commend ye 
for't ; 
His blooding snout gave me nae little sport : 
For this forenoon he had that scant of grace. 
And breeding baith, to tell me to my face. 
He hoped I was a witch, and wadna srand. 
To lend him in this case my helping hand. 

Madge. A witch ! how had ye patience this to 
And leave him een to see, or lugs to hear ? 

Mausc. Auld withered hands, and feeble joints like 
Obligjs fowk resentment to decline ; 

O o 4 


Till aft 'tis seen, when vigour fails, then we 

With cunning can the lack of pith supply. 

Thus I pat aff revenge till it was dark. 

Syne bade him come, and we should gang to wark ; 

Fm sure he'll keep his tryst ; and I came here 

To seek your help, that we the fool may fear. 

Madge. And special sport we'll have, as I protest ; 
Ye'll be the witch, and I shall play the ghaist, 
A hnen. sheet wond round me like ane dead, 
I'll cawk my face, and grane, and shake my head. 
We'll fleg him sae, he'll mint nae mair to gang 
A conjuring, to do a lassie wrang. 

Mause. Then let us go j for see, 'tis hard on 
The westlin cloud shines red with setting light. 



SCENE 11. 

When birds begin to nod upon the bough, 

And the green swaird grows damp with falling dew. 

While good Sir William is to rest retired, 

The Gentle Shepherd tenderly inspired, 

Wj'.lks through the broom with Roger ever leel. 

To meet, to comfort Meg, and tak farewell. 

Pa TIE and Roger. 

Roger. Wow ! but I'm cadgie, and my heart lowps 
O, Mr Patrick ! ay your thoughts were right : 
Sure gentle fowk are farther seen than we. 
That naething have to brag of pedigree. 
My Jenny now, wha brak my heart this morn. 
Is perfect yieidmg, sweet, and nae mair scorn. 
I spake my mind ; she heard. I spake again ; 
She smiled. I kissed, I wooed, nor wooed in vain* 

Faiic. I'm glad to hear't. But O ! my change this 
Heaves up my joy, and yet I'm sometimes wae. 
I've found a father, gently kind as brave. 
And an estate that lifts me 'Doon the lave. 



AVith looks all kindness, words that love confest, 
He all the father to my soul exprest. 
While close he held me to his manly breast. 
Such were the eyes, he said, thus smiled the mouth 
Of thy loved mother, blessing of my youth, 
Who set too soon ! And while he praise bestowed, 
Adown his gracefu' cheeks a torrent flowed. 
My new-born joys, and this his tender tale 
Did, mingled thus, o'er all. my thoughts prevail ; 
That speechless lang, my late kend sire I viewed. 
While gushing tears my panting breast bedewed. 
Unusual transports made my head turn round. 
Whilst I mysell, with rising raptures, found 
The happy son of ane sae much renowned. 
But he has heard ! Too faithful Symon's fear 
Has brought my love for Peggy to his ear. 
Which he forbids. Ah ! this confounds my peace. 
While thus to beat, my heart shall sooner cease. 

Rog. How to advise ye, troth I'm at a stand : 
But were't my case, ye'd clear it up afF hand. 

Pat. Duty, and haflen reason, plead his cause : 
But what cares love for reason, rules, and laws ? 
Still in my heart my shepherdess excels. 
And part of my new happiness repels. 



Tune " Kirk wad let me be." 

Duty and part of reason, 

Flead strong on the parent's side, 
Which love so superior calls treason ; 

The strongest must be obeyed : 
For now, though Vm one oj the gentry. 

My constancy J alsehood repels. 
For change in my heart has no entry. 

Still there my dear Peggy excels. 

Rog. Enjoy them baith. Sir "William will be won: 
Your Peggy *s bonny ; you re his only son. 

Pat. She*s mine by vow-s, and stronger ties of love; 
And frae these bands nae change my mind shall move. 
I'll wed nane else ; through life I will be true. 
But still obedience is a parent's due. 

Rog. Is not our master and yoursell to stay 
Amang us here ? or, are ye gawn away 
To London court, or ither far-afF parts. 
To leave your ain poor us with broken hearts ? 

Pat. To Edinburgh straight to-morrow we ad- 
vance ; 
To London neist, and afterwards to France, 
Where I maun stay some years and learn to dance. ^ 


And twa three other monkey tricks. That done, 
I come hame struttmg in my red-heeled shoon. 
Then 'tis designed, when I can well behave^ 
That 1 maun be some pfetted thing's dull slave. 
For some few bags of cash, that, I wat well, 
I nae mair ijeed nor carts do a third wheel. 
But Peggy, dearer to me than my breath. 
Sooner than hear sic news, shall hear my death. 

Rog. 1 hey xi'fia have just enough can soundly sleep ; 
The o'oxwne only fashes f auk to keep. 
Good Mr Patrick, tak your ain tale hame. 

Fat. 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 yours, yields braw con- 
When we but pick it scantly on the bent : 
Fine claiths, saft beds, sweet houses, and red wine. 
Good cheer, and witty friends, whene'er ye dine j 
Obeysant servants, honour, wealth, and ease : 
Wha's no content with these are ill to please. 

Fat. Sae Roger thinks, and thinks not far amiss j 
But mony a cloud hings hovering o'er the bliss. 
The passions rule the roast ; and, if they're sour. 
Like the lean kye, will soon the fat devour. 


The spleen, tint honour, and aiFronted pride, 
Stang like the sharpest goads in gentry's side. 
The gouts and gravels, and the ill disease, 
Are frequentest with fouk 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. ril do't, and ye shall tell me whilk to buy : 
Faith I'se have books though I should sell ray kye. 
But now let's hear how you re designed to move. 
Between Sir William's will, and Peggy's love. 

Pat. Then here it lies : His will maun be " 
My vows I'll keep, and she shall be my bride : 
But I some time this last design maun hide. 
Keep ye the secret close, and leave mc here j 
I sent for Peggy. Yonder comes my dear. 

Rog. Pleased that ye trust me with the secret, I, 
To wyle it frae me, a' the delis defy. 

[Exit Roger. 


Pa TIE solus. 
With what a struggle must I now impart 
My father's will to her that hauds 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' Im nae mair a shepherd, yet I'm thine. 

Pen. 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. 
^\ ha 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 ? 

l^ac. 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 falsehood hate : Come kiss thy cares away j 
I ken to love, as well as to obey. 
Sir v'v illiam'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 j 
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 sw^et tales exprest, 
By the blyth shepherd that excell'd the rest ; 
Nae mair be envied by the tattling gang, 
"When Patie kiss'd me, when I danced or sang : 
Nae mair, alake ! we'll on the meadow play ! 
And rin haff breathless round the rucks of hay ; 
As afttimes I have fled from thee right fain. 
And fawn on purpose, that I might be tane. 
Nae mair around the Foggy-know FU 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. 


Tune " Wac's my heart tJKit \\ c should sunder." 

Speak on, .speak thus, and sl'ill niii grief, 
Iluld up a licart that's sinking under 

These fears that soon icill li'jnt relic/', 

When Pate must from his Peg-i;'v sunder. 


A get tier face, and silk atthe, . 

A lady rich in beauty s bbssom, 
Alake poor me ! will now cojispire 

To steal theejrom thy Peggy's bosom. 

No more the shepherd, who excelFd 

The rest, zvhose wit made them to wonder, 
Shall now his Peggy's praises tell. 

Ah! I can die, but never sunder. 
Ye meadmvs where zve often strayed. 

Ye banks where we were wont to xvander. 
Sweet-scented rucks, round xvhich we play d. 

You'll lose your sxveets when zve re asunder. 

Again, ah ! shall I never creep 

Around the K710W with silent duty, 
Kindly to watch thee, while asleep, 

And wonder at thy manly beauty ? 
Hear, Heaven, while solemnly I vow, 

Thd thou shouldst prove a wandering lover. 
Thro' lije to thee I shall prove true 

Nor be a wife to any other^ 

Pat, Sure Heaven approves, and be assured of me, 
I'll ne'er gang back of what I've sworn to thee : 
And time, tho' timf- maun interpose a while. 
And I maun leave my Peggy and this isle j 


Yet time, nor distance, nor the fairest face. 
If there's a fairer, e'er shall fill thy place, 
rd hate my rising fortune, should it move 
The fair foundation of our faithful love. 
If at my foot were crowns and sceptres laid. 
To bribe my soul frae the delightful maid ; 
For thee I'd soon leave these inferior things 
To sic as have the patience to be kings. 
Wherefore that tear ? Believe, and calm thy mind. 
Peg. I greet for joy, to hear thy words sae kind. 
When hopes were sunk, and nought but mirk despair 
Made me think life was little worth my care. 
My heart was like to burst ; but now I see 
Thy generous thoughts will save thy love for me. 
With patience then I'll wait each wheeling year, 
Hope time away, till thou with joy appear ; 
And all the while I'll study gentler charms. 
To make me fitter for my traveller's arms : 
ril gain on uncle Glaud ; he's far frae fool. 
And will not grudge to put me through ilk school ; 
Where I may manners learn 


Time " Tweedside." 

JFhen hope was quite sunk i?i despair. 
My heart it zcas going to break ; 

Mij life appear d n-ortJiless my care, 
But uozv I ivill save t for thy sake. 



Where er my love travels by day. 

Wherever he lodges by nighty 
With me his dear image shall stay. 

And my soul keep him ever in sight. 

With patience Til wait the long year^ 

And study the gentlest charms ; 
Hope time away till thou appear^ 

To lock thee for ay in those arms ; 
Whilst thou was a shephei^d, I prizd 

No higher degree in this life ; 
But noxv Til endeavour to rise 

Ta a height is becoming thy wife. 

For beauty that's only skin-deep, 

Mmtfade like the gowans of May^ 
But inxvardly rooted will keep 

For ever, ivithout a decay. 
Nor age, nor the changes of life. 

Can quench the fair fire of love, 
Jf virtues ingrain d in the ivife, 

And the husband have sense to approve. 

Pat. ^I'hat's wisely said. 

And what your uncle wares shall be well paid. 
Though without a' the little helps of art, 
Thy native sweets might gain a prince*s heart : 


Yet now, lest in our station, we offend. 

We must learn modes, to innocence unkend j 

Affect afttimes to like the thing we hate. 

And drap serenity, to keep up state : 

Laugh, when we're sad j speak, when we've nought 

to say ; 
And, for the fashion, when we're blyth, seem wae : 
Pay compliments to them we aft have scornM ; 
Then scandalize them when their backs are turn'd. 

Peg. If this is gentry, I had rather be 
What I am still ; but I'll be ought with thee. 

Pat. No, no, my Peggy, I but only jest 
With gentry's apes ; for still amangst the best. 
Good manners give integrity a bleeze 
When native virtues join the arts to please. 

Peg. Since with nae hazard, and sae small expence. 
My lad frae books can gather siccan sense ; 
Then why, ah ! why should the tempestuous sea. 
Endanger thy dear life, and frighten me ? 
Sir William's cruel, that wad force his son. 
For watna-what's, sae great a risk to run. 

Pat. There is nae doubt, but travelling does im- 
Yet I would shun it for thy sake, my love. 
But soon as I've shook aff my landwart cast. 
In foreign cities, hame to thee I'll haste. 

Peg. ^Vith every setting day, and rising morn, 
VW 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, 
ni aften gang, and tell the trees and flowers. 
With joy, that they'll bear witness I am yours, 


Tune " Bush aboon Traquair." 

At setting day, and rising morn, 

With soul that still shall love thee, 
Til ask of Heaven thy safe return, 

With all that can improve thee. 
Til visit oft the hirken bushy 

Where frst thou kindly told me 
Sweet tales of love, and hid my blushy 

Whilst round thou didst enfold me. 

To all our haunts I will repair^ 

By greenwood-shazo or fountain, 
Or where the summer-day Td share 

With thee upon yon mountain. 
There will I tell the trees andflmverSy 

From thoughts unfeignd and tender ,, 
By votvs you re mine, by love is yours 

A heart which cannot wander. 


Pat. My dear, allow me, frae thy temples fair, 
A shining ringlet of thy flowing hair ; 
"Which, as a sample of each lovely charm, 
I'll aften kiss, and wear about my arm. 

Peg. Were't in my power with better boons to 
I'd give the best I could with the same ease j 
Nor wad I, if thy luck had fallen to me. 
Been in ae jot less generous to thee. 

Pat. I doubt it not ; but since weVe little time 
To ware*t on words, wad border on a crime : 
Love*s safter meaning better is exprest. 
When 'tis with kisses on the heart imprest. 




See how poor Bauldy stares like ane possest. 
And roars up Symon frae his kindly rest : 
Bare-legg'd, with night-cap, and unbutton'd coat. 
See, the auld man comes forward to the sot." 


Symox and Bauldy. 

Sym. W HAT want ye, Bauldy, at this early hour. 
While drowsy sleep keeps a' beneath its power ? 
Far to the north, the scant approaching light 
Stands equal *twixt the morning and the night. 
What gars ye shake and glowr, and look sae wan ? 
Your teeth they chitter, hair like bristles stand. 

Bduldij. O len me soon some water, milk or ale. 
My head's grown giddy ; legs with shaking fail j 
I'll ne'er dare venture forth at night my lane ; 
Alake ! I'll never be mysell again. 
I'll ne'er o'erput it ! Symon ! O Symon ! O ! 

\_Symon gives him a drinh. 

Sym. A\'hat ails thee, gowk ! to make sae loud ado ? 
You've wak'd Sir M'illiam, he has left his bed j 
He comes, I fear ill pleas' d ; I hear his tred. 


Enter Sir William. 

Sir IFil. How goes the night ? Does day-light yet 
appear ? 
Symon, you're very timeously asteer. 

Sj/m. I'm ^orry, Sir, that we've disturb'd your " 
rest ; 
But some strange thing has Bauldy's sp'rit opprest ; 
He's seen some witch, or wrestled with a ghaist. ^ 

Bauldy. O ay, dear Sir, in troth 'tis very true ; 
And I am come to make my plaint to you. 

Sir IFiL [^smi/ing.'] I lang to hear't 

Bauldi/. Ah ! Sir, the witch ca'd Mause, 

That wins aboon the mill amang the haws, 
First promised that she'd help me with her art, 
To gain a bonny thrawart lassie's heart. 
As she had trysted, I met wi'er this night ; 
But may nae friend of mine get sic a fright ! 
For the cursed hag, instead of doing me good, 
(The very thought o't's like to freeze my blood !) 
Rais'd up a ghaist or deil, I kenna whilk. 
Like a dead corse in sheet as white as milk ; 
Black hands it had, and face as wan as death. 
Upon me fast the witch and // fell baith, 
And gat me down ; while I, like a great fool, 
A\'as laboured as I wont to be at school. 
My heart out of its hool was like to lowp ; 
I pithless grew with fear, and had nae hope, 



Till, with an elritch laugh, they vanished quite : 
Syne I, haff dead with anger, fear and spite, 
Crap up, and fled straight frae them. Sir, to you, 
Hoping your help, to gie the deil his due. 
I'm sure my heart will ne'er gie o'er to dunt. 
Till in a fat tar-barrel Mause be burnt. 

SirfVil. Well, Bauldy, whate'er's just shall grant- 
ed be ; 
Let Mause be brought this morning down to me. 
Bauldy! Thanks to your honour ; soon shall I 
obey : 
But first I'll Roger raise, and twa-three mae. 
To catch her fast, or she get leave to squeel. 
And cast her cantraips that bring up the deil. \_Exit. 
Sir Wil. Troth, Symon, Bauldy's more afraid than 
The witch and ghaist have made themselves good 

What silly notions crowd the clouded mind. 
That is through want of education blind ! 

Si/m. But does your honour think there's nae sic 
As witches raising deils up through a ring ? 
Syne playing tricks, a thousand I cou'd tell, 
Cou'd never be contrived on this side hell. 

Sir JVil. Such as the devil's dancing in a moor, 
Amongst a few old women crazed and poor, 


Who are rejoiced to see him frisk and lowp 
0*er braes and bogs, with candles in his dowp ; 
Appearing sometimes hke a black-horned cow, 
Afttimes like bawty, badrans, or a sow : 
Then with his train through airy paths to glide, 
While they on cats, or clowns, or broom-staffs ride ; 
Or in the egg-shell skim out o'er the main. 
To drink their leader's health in France or Spain : 
Then aft by night, bumbaze hare-hearted fools. 
By tumbUng down their cup-board, chairs and stools. 
\A hate*er's in spells, or if there witches be. 
Such whimsies seem the most absurd to me. 

Sym. 'Tis true enough, we ne'er heard that a witch 
Had either meikle sense, or yet was rich. 
But Mause, though poor, is a sagacious wife. 
And lives a quiet and very honest life ; 
That gars me think this hobleshew that's past 
Will land in naithing but a joke at last. 

Sir Jfll. I'm sure it will: But see increasing light 
Commands the imps of darkness down to night ; 
Bid raise my servants, and my horse prepare, 
"Whilst I walk out to take the morning air. 



Tune ** Bonny grey-eyed morn." 

The bonny grey-eyed morn begins to peep, 

And darkness flies before the rising ray ; 
The hearty hind starts from his lazy sleep, 

To follow healthful labours of the day : 
Without a guilty sting to zvrinkle his broWj 

The lark and the linnet tend his levee, 
And he joins their concert, driving his plow, 

From toil of grimace and pageantry fixe. 

While flustered xvith wine, or maddened with loss 

Of half of an estate, the prey of a main. 
The drunkard and gamester tumble and toss, 

Wishing for calmness and slumber in vain. 
Be my portion health, and quietness of mind, 

Placed at due distance fi^om parties and state, 
Where neither ambition, nor avarice blind, 

Meach him who has happiness linked to his fate. 




While Peggy laces up her. bosotn fair, 
With a blue snood Jenny binds up her hair ; 
Glaud by his morning ingle takes a btek, 
The rising sun shines motty through the reek, 
A pipe his mouth ; the lasses please his een. 
And now and then his joke maun intervene. 

Glaud, Jenny, and Peggy. 

Gland. I WISH, my bairns, it may keep fair till 
night ;- 
Ye do not use sae soon to see the light. 
Nae doubt now ye intend to mix the thrang, 
To take your leave of Patrick or he gang. 
But do ye think that now when he's a laird. 
That he poor landwart lasses will regard .? 

Jen. Tho' he*s young master now, I m very sure 
He has mair sense than slight auld friends, tho' poor. 
But yesterday he gae us mony a tug, 
And kissed my cousin there frae lug to lug. 

Glaud. Ay, ay, nae doubt o't, and he'll do*t again j 
But, be advised, his company refrain : 
Before he, as a shepherd, sought a wife, 
A\ ith her to live a chaste and frugal life ; 
But now grown gentle, soon he will forsake 
Sic godly thoughts, and brag of being a rake. 


Peg. A rake ! what's that f Sure if it means ought 
He'll never be't, else I have tint my skill. 

Glaud. Daft lassie, ye ken nought of the affair, 
Ane young and good and gentle's unco rare. 
A rake*s a graceless spark, that thinks nae shame. 
To do what like of us thinks sin to name : 
Sic are sae void of shame, they 11 never stap 
To brag how aften they have had the clap. 
They'll tempt young things, like you, with youdith 

Syne make ye a' their jest, when ye're debauched. 
Be wary then, I say, and never gie 
Encouragement, or bourd with sic as he. 

Peg. Sir WilHam's virtuous, and of gentle blood; 
And may not Patrick too, like him, be good ? 

Glaud. That's true, and mony gentry mae than he. 
As they are wiser, better are than we ; 
But thinner sawn : They're sae puft up with pride. 
There's mony of them mocks ilk haly guide. 
That shaws the gate to Heaven. I've heard mysell, 
Some of them laugh at doomsday, sin and hell. 

Jen. Watch o'er us father ! heh ! that's very odd ; 
Sure him that doubts a doomsday, doubts a God. 

Glaud. Doubt! why they neither doubt, nor judge, 
nor think. 
Nor hope, nor fear; but curse, debauch, and drink: 


But I'm no saying this, as if I thought 

That Patrick to sic gates will e'er be brought. 

Peg. The Lord forbid ! Na, he kens better things : 
But here comes aunt ; her face some ferly brings. 

Enter Madge. 
Madge. Haste, haste ye ; we're a* sent for o'er 
the gate. 
To hear, and help to redd some odd debate 
*Tween Mause and Bauldy, 'bout some witchcraft 

At Symon's house : The knight sits judge himsell. 
Glaud. Lend me my staff j Madge, lock the out- 
er door, 
And bring the lasses wi' ye ; I'll step before. [_EMt. 
Madge. Poor Meg ! Look, Jenny, was the like 
e'er seen. 
How bleer'd and red with greeting look her een ? 
This day her brankan wooer takes his horse. 
To strute a gentle spark at Edinburgh cross ; 
To change his kent, cut frae the branchy plain. 
For a nice sword, and glancing headed cane ; 
To leave his ram-horn spoons, and kitted whey, 
For gentler tea, that smells like new won hay ; 
To leave the green-swaird dance, v/hen we gae milk, 
To rustle amang the beauties clad in silk. 
But Meg, poor Meg ! maun with the shepherd stay. 
And tak what God will send, in hodden-gray. 


Peg. Dear aunt, what need ye fash us wi' your 
scorn ? 
That's no my faut that Pm nae gentler born. 
Gif I the daughter of some laird had been, 
I ne'er had notic'd Patie on the green : 
Now since he rises, why should I repine ? 
If he's made for another, he 11 ne'er be min**- 
And then, the like has been, if the decree 
Designs hini mine, I yet his wife may be. 

Madge. A bonny story, trowth ! But we delay : 
Prin up your aprons baith, and come away. 




Sir William fills the twa-arm'd chair, 

While Symon, Roger, Glaud, and Mause, 
Attend, and with loud laughter hear 

Daft Bauldy bluntly plead his cause : 
For now 'tis tell'd him that the tawz 

Was handled by revengefu* Madge, 
Because he brak. good breeding's laws. 

And with his nonsense rais'd their rage. 

Sir William, Patie, Roger, Symon, Glaud, 
Bauldy, and Mause. 

Sir IVil And was that all? Well Bauldy, ye was 
No otherwise than what ye well deserved. 
Was it so small a matter, to defame. 
And thus abuse an honest woman's name ? 
Besides your going about to have betrayed 
By perjury an innocent young maid. 

Bauldy. Sir, I confess my faut thro' a* the steps, 
And ne'er again shall be untrue to Neps. 

Mause. Thus far. Sir, he obliged me on the score ; 
I kend not that they thought me sic before. 

Bauldy. An't like your honour, I believed it well j 
But trowth I was e'en doilt to seek the deil : 


Yet, with your honour's leave, tho' she's nae witchj 

She*s baith a slee and a revengefu' j 

And that my some-place finds. But I had best 
Haud in my tongue ; for yonder comes, the ghaist^ 
And the yoling bonny xcitch^ whase rosy cheek 
Sent me, without my wit, the deil to seek* 

Enter Madge, Peggy, and Jenny. 

Sir JVil. [^looking at Peggy. ~\ Whose daughter's 
she that wears th' aurora gown, 
With face so fair, and locks a lovely brown ? 
How sparkling are her eyes ! What's this ! I find 
The girl brings all my sister to my mind. 
Such were the features once adorned a face. 
Which death too soon deprived of sweetest grace* 
Is this your daughter, Glaud ? ^ 

Glaud. Sir, she's my niece y 

And yet she's not : but I should hald my peace. 

Sir JVil. This is a contradiction : What d'ye mean ? 
She is, and is not ! Pray thee, Glaud, explain. 

Gland. Because I doubt, if I should make ap-" 
What I have kept a secret thirteen year. 

Alaiise. You may reveal what I can fully clear. ^ 

Sir JVil. Speak soon ; I'm all impatience ! 

Pat. So am I ! 

For much I hope, and hardly yet know why. 



Glaud. Then, since my master orders, I obey. 
This honny fundl'mg^ ae clear morn of May, 
Close by the lee-side of my door I found, 
All sweet and clean, and carefully hapt round, 
In infant-weeds of rich and gentle make. 
What cou'd they be, thought I, did thee forsake ? 
Wha, warse than brutes, cou'd leave exposed to air 
Sae much of innocence sae sweetly fair, 
Sae helpless young ? for she appeared to me 
Only about twa towmonds auld to \q. 
I took her in my arms, the baimie smiled 
With sic a look wad made a savage mild. 
I hid the story : She has passed sincesyne 
As a poor orphan, and a niece of mine. 
Nor do I rue my care about the wean, 
For she's well worth the pains that I have tane. 
Ye see she's bonny, I can swear she's good. 
And am right sure she's come of gentle blood : 
Of whom I kenna. Nathing ken I mair. 
Than what I to your honour now declare. 

Sir IVil. This tale seems strange ! 

l^at. The tale delights my ear ; 

Sir JVil. Command your joys, young man, till 
truth appear. 

3fause. That be my task. Now, Sir, bid all be 
hush : 
Peggy may smile ; thou hast no cause to blush. 



Long have I wished to see this happy day, 
That I might safely to the truth give way ; 
That I may now Sir William Worthy name. 
The best and nearest friend that she can claim : 
He saw't at first, and with quick eye did trace 
His sister's beauty in her daughter's face. 

Sir TVil. Old woman, do not rave j prove what 
you say ; 
'Tis dangerous in affairs like this to play. 

Pat. What reason. Sir, can an old woman have 
To tell a lie, when she's sae ne'er her grave ? 
But how, or why, it should be truth, I grant, 
I every thing, looks like a reason, want. 

Omnes. The story's odd ! we wish we heard It out. 
Sir JVil. Mak haste, good woman, and resolve 
each doubt. 
[Mause goesfoncard, leading Peggy to 
Sir William. 
Mause. Sir, view me well j has fifteen years so 
A wrinkled face that you have often viewed. 
That here I as an unknown stranger stand, 
Who nursed her mother that now holds my hand ? 
Yet stronger proofs I'll give, if you demand. 

Sir ini. Ha ! honest nurse, where were my eyes 
before ! 
I know thy faithfulness, and need no more ; 


Yet, from the labyrinth to lead out my mind, 
Say, to expose her who was so unkind ? 

[*S'ir William embraces Peggy, and makes 
her sit by him. 
Yes, surely thou'rt my niece ; truth must prevail : 
But no more words, till Mause relate her tale. 

Pat. Good nurse, go on ; nae music's hafF sae fine. 
Or can give pleasure like these words of thine. 

Mause. Then, it was I that saved her infant-life, 
Her death being threatened by an uncle's wife. 
The story's lang ; but I the secret knew. 
How they pursued, with avaritious view. 
Her rich estate, of which they're now possest : 
All this to me a confident confest. 
I heard with horror, and with trembling dread. 
They'd smoor the sakeless orphan in her bed ! 
That very night, when all were sunk in rest. 
At midnight hour, the floor I saftly prest. 
And staw the sleeping innocent away ; 
With whom I travelled some few miles e'er day : 
All day I hid me ; when the day was done, 
I kept my journey, lighted by the moon. 
Till eastward fifty miles I reached these plains. 
Where needful plenty glads your cheerful swains ; 
Afraid of being found out, I to secure 
My charge, e'en laid her at this shepherd's door. 
And took a neighbouring cottage here, that I, 
Whace'er should happen to her, might be by. 



Here honest Glaud himsell, and Symon may 
Remember well, how I that very day 
Frae Roger's father took my little crove. 

Glaud. [zvith tears of joy happing dawn his heard.'] 

I well remember't. Lord reward your love : 
Lang have I wished for this ; for aft I thought, 
Sic knowledge some time should about be brought. 

^Pat. 'Tis now a crime to doubt ; my joys are full. 
With due obedience to my parent's will. 
Sir, with paternal love survey her charms. 
And blame me not for rushing to her arms. 
She's mine by vows ; and would, tho' still unknown, 
Have been my wife, when I my vows durst own. 

Sir Wil. . My niece, my daughter, welcome to my 
Sweet image of thy mother good and fair. 
Equal with Patrick : Now my greatest aim 
Shall be, to aid your joys, and well-matched flame. 
My boy, receive her from your father's hand. 
With as good will as either would demand. 

[Patie and Peggy embrace, and kneel to 
Sir William. 

Pat. With as much joy this blessing I receive. 
As ane wad hfe, that's sinking in a wave. 

Sir nil. [^raises them.'] I give you both my bless- 
ing ; may your love 
Produce a happy race, and still improve. 

er be ; "J 
rie : V 
?. J 


Peg. My wishes are complete ; my joys arise. 
While I'm hafF dizzy with the blest surprise. 
And am I then a match for my ain lad. 
That for me so much generous kindness had ? 
Lang may Sir William bless these happy plains, 
Happy while Heaven grant he on them remains. 

Pat. Be lang our guardian, still our master be ; 
We'll only crave what you shall please to gie 
The estate be yours, my Peggy's ane to me. 

Claud. I hope your honour now will take amends 
Of them that sought her life for wicked ends. 

*SV;* JVil. The base unnatural villain soon shall know, 
That eyes above watch the affairs below. 
I'll strip him soon of all to her pertains, 
And make him reimburse his ill-got gains. ' 

Peg. To me the views of wealth and an estate, 
Seem light when put in balance with my Pate : 
For his sake only, I'll ay thankful bow 
For such a kindness, best of men, to you. 

Sym. What double blythness wakens up this day ! 
I hope now, Sir, you'll no soon haste away. 
Sail I unsaddle your horse, and gar prepare 
A dinner for ye of hale country fare ? 
See how much joy unwrinkles every brow ; 
Our looks hiiig on the twa, and doat on you : 
'Even Bauldy the bewitched has quite forgot 
Fell Madge's taz, and pav.'ky Mause's plot. 

O q 3 


Sir JVil. Kindly old man, remain with you this 
I never from these fields again will stray : 
Masons and wrights shall soon my house repair. 
And busy gardeners shall new planting rear : 
My father's hearty table you soon shall see 
Restored, and my best friends rejoice with me. 

Spn. That*s the best news I heard this twenty year; 
New day breaks up, rough times begin to clear. 

Glaud. God save the king, and save Sir William 
To enjoy their ain, and raise the shepherd's sang. 

Rog. Wha winna dance ? wha will refuse to sing ? 
What shepherd's whistle winna lilt the spring ? 

Bauldy. I'm friends with Mause j with very Madge 
I'm 'greed. 
Although they skelpit me when woodly fleid : 
I'm now fu' blyth, and frankly can forgive. 
To join and sing, " Lang may Sir William live." 

Madge. Lang may he live : And, Bauldy, learn 
to steek 
Your gab a wee, and think before ye speak ; 
And never ca' her auld that wants a man, 
Else ye may yet some witches fingers ban. 
This day I'll with the youngest of ye rant. 
And brag for ay, that I was ca'd the aunt 
Of our young lady ; my dear bonny bairn ! 

Pig. No other name I'll ever for you learn. 


And, my good nurse, how shall I gratefu' be. 
For a* thy matchless kindness done for me ? 

Mciuse. The flowing pleasures of this happy day 
Does fully all I can require repay. 

Sir Wil. To faithful Symon, and, kind Glaud, 
to you. 
And to your heirs I give in endless feu. 
The mailens ye possess, as justly due. 
For acting like kind fathers to the pair. 
Who have enough besides, and these can spare. 
Mause, in my house in calmness close your days. 
With nought to do, but sing your Maker's praise. 
Omnes, The Lord of Heaven return your honour's 

Confirm your joys, and a' your blessings roove. 

Pat. l^presejitiiig JxOGER to Sir William.] 

Sir, here's my trusty friend, that always shared 
My bosom-secrets, ere I was a laird ; 
Gland's daughter Janet (Jenny, think nae, shame) 
Raised, and maintains in him a lover's flame : 
Lang was he dumb, at last he spake, and won. 
And hopes to be our honest uncle's son : 
Be pleased to speak to Glaud for his consent. 
That nane may wear a face of discontent. 

Sir ini. My son's demand is fair ; Glaud, let me 
That trusty Roger may your daughter have, 



With frank consent ; and while he does remain 
Upon these fields, I make him chamberlain. 

Glaud. You. crowd your bounties, Sir, what can 
we say. 
But that we're dyvours that can ne'er repay ? 
Whate*er your honour wills, I shall obey. 
Roger, my daughter, with my blessing, take. 
And still our master's right your business make. 
Please him, be faithful, and this auld gray head 
Shall nod with quietness down amang the dead. 

Hog. I ne'er was good a speaking a' my days. 
Or ever loed to make o'er great a phrase : 
But for my master, father and my wife, 
I will employ the cares of all my life. 

Sir JVil. My friends, I'm satisfied you'll all behave, 
Each in his station, as I'd wish or crave. 
Be ever virtuous, soon or late ye' 11 find 
Reward, and satisfaction to your mind. 
The maze of life sometimes looks dark and wild j 
And oft when hopes are highest, we're beguiled : 
Aft, when we stand on brinks of dark despair. 
Some happy turn with joy dispels our care 
Now all's at rights, who sings best let me 

Peg. When you demand, I readiest should obey: 
I'll sing you ane, the newest that I hae. 

pair, -^ 
hear. J 



Tune " Corn-rigs are bonny." 

My Patie is a bver gay, 

His mind is never muddy ; 
His breath is sweeter than nexv hay, 

His face is fair and ruddy : 
His shape is handsome, middle size ; 

Hes comely iti his wauking : 
The shining of his een surprise ; 

'Tis Heaven to hear him tawking. 

Last night I met him on a baxvk, 

JVhere yellow corn was growing, 
There 7nony a kindly word he spake, 

That set my heart a glozving. 
He kissed, and vowed he wad be mine. 

And bed me best of ony. 
That gars 7ne like to sing sincesyne, 

O corn-riggs are bonny. 

Let lasses of a silly mind 

Refuse what maist they re wanting ; 
Since we for yielding were designed, 

JVe chastely should be granting. 


Then Fll comply, and marry Pate^ 

And syne my cockernony 
He s fixe to t ouzel air or late, 

fVhere corn-riggs are bonny. 

Exeunt omnes. 


No. I. 

MEMOIRS of the late David Allax, Painter 
in Edinburgh ; commonly called the Scots Ho- 

x\.s his history is unknown to his countrymen in 
general, it was thought proper to introduce, here, 
some account of the late David Allan, who, with 
his pencil, has kept aHve Allan Ramsay's characters, 
and preserved from change, or decay, their manners, 
furniture, and accommodations, with so much fide- 
lity, and judgment. In farther illustrating his pasto- 
ral, whatever concerns this ingenious, and congenial 
artist, must excite a lively interest ; and his admi- 
rable edition of it is frequently referred to in the 
preceding descriptions of its scenary, so intimately 
connected with his designs in aquatinta. 


In the Scots Magazine for November 1 804, page 
822, appeared this 

'' Query respecting Allan the Painter. 
"To the Editor.- 

" I would be obliged to any of your correspon- 
dents, through the medium of your Magazine, if 
they could furnish any memoirs of the late celebra- 
ted David Allan, the Scottish Hogarth : as I do not 
believe any account of him w^as ever published, any 
information regarding him would be an acquisition 
to your readers. I am. Sir, yours, &c. 

Edinburgh, 7 A c: ' 

Oct. 22. 1804. 3 ^* ^* 

An " x\xs\rER" to this " query" appeared next 
month, in page 912 ; but it contains nothing, save 
the date of his death, with an enumeration of some 
of his paintings, and prints ; a bad pun ; and infor- 
mation, that, " in the Life of Burns the Poet, there 
is frequent mention made of this ingenious artist, in 
the Letters of Burns and Thomson, that do him im- 
mortal honour." This is the only answer that has 
ever been obtained ; and no account of him has at all 
appeared, excepting a very superficial one since, in 
1805, in what is called the Bi agraphia Scoiica. 


The following Memoirs are drawn up, chiefly, 
from the communications of his mdoxv, now in Edin- 
burgh J and of his brother James Allan, farmer at 
Hall near Denny in Stirlingshire, a son of his father 
by a second marriage. 

David Allan the painter, who likewise etched, 
and aquatinted, second son of David Allan shore- 
master at Alloa, and Janet Gullan from Dunfermline, 
was born at Alloa on the 1 3th of February 1 744. 

In consequence of a fright she got, and the deli- 
cate state of her health, he was born in the sixth or 
seventh month of his mother's pregnancy, who died 
a few days afterwards ; and no nurse could be found 
whom he could suck in the neighbourhood, owing 
to the smallness of his mouth. After some time at 
length a suitable one being heard of, the child, which 
was both little and weak, being wrapped up careful- 
ly, was laid in a basket among cotton, and sent by a 
man on horseback to be suckled by a woman who 
lived at the distance of some miles from Alloa. In 
consequence of a recent storm, the snow was lying 
very deep on the ground ; the horse, entangled a- 
mongst it, stumbled, and both the man and his ten- 
der charge fell off. The infant was thrown out of 
the basket, and received so severe a cut on his head 
that the mark it left remained til! his death. 


The child was not expected to live ; and from the 
circumstances attending his birth, together with his 
early misfortune, his arrival made some noise in the 
place, and excited an interest in his fate, not only in 
the village where the nurse resided, but throughout 
the whole country round it. Among those who came 
to see him, was a worthy lady in its vicinity, who had 
so much compassion for him, that, every day, when 
she rode out in her carriage an airing, she called at 
the nurse's house and took the infant along with her, 
till, by her particular care and attention, -he was at 
last preserved. 

After he was sent home from nursing, the maid 
who had the care of him, went with him in her arms, 
into a crowd, collected to see some experiments ma- 
king with loaded cannons ; when he, again, nearly 
lost his life, through her stupidity in running with 
him across the opening before the guns, at the time 
they went off. 

The first essay of his genius for designing, was oc- 
casioned by his having got a burned foot, when a 
little boy, which confined him to the house. One 
day, at this time, his father said to him. " You idle 
little rogue ! you are kept from school and doing no- 
thing ! Come ! Here is a bit of chalk. Draw some- 
thing with it on the floor." This trifling incident 


discovered young Allan's natural bent both to h I 
self and others ; and turned his attention to an art 
towards which he instantly found himself instinctive- 
ly attracted. He took the chalk, and began to deli- 
neate figures, animals, houses, &c. as his fancy di- 
rected, and from that time it was seldom out of his 

After this, when he had been some time at school, 
and was about ten years old, his master happening 
somewhat ludicrously to exercise his authority over 
some of the scholars, he could not refrain from co- 
pying the group on his slate, and exhibiting it for 
the amusement of his companions. His master was 
an old man, short sighted, and extremely vain, who 
used to strut about the school dressed in a tartan 
night-cap, and long tartan gown, with the rod of 
correction, which he often applied very injudiciously, 
constantly in his hand. Purblind however as he 
was, he got sight of Allan's picture, in which he 
made a most conspicuous, though not a flattering, 
figure. His wounded feelings were immediately trans- 
ferred to the little humourist, and the chastisement 
he received was commensurate to his master's self- 
conceit, and the merit of the drawing. The resem- 
blance was so severe, and the impression, made by 
the laugh it raised, sunk so deep, that the object of 
it remained unsatisfied till he had made a complaint 


to old Allan, and had the boy taken from his school. 
When questioned by his father how he had the ef- 
frontery to insult his master, by representing him so 
ridiculously on his slate ? His answer was, " I made 
it iikfi him j and I only did it ior Jm." 

The natural propensity ; the ruling passion pre- 
vailed. It was vain to attempt to turn aside, to smo- 
ther, or extinguish the fire of genius. His father 
observed its irresistible direction; and wisely follow- 
ed the course pointed out by nature as the only road 
by which his son could rise to eminence. Upon the 
23d of February 1755, being then eleven years of 
age, he was bound an apprentice to the celebrated 
printers, Messrs Robert and Andrew Fouhs, for se- 
ven years, to attend their painting academy in the u- 
nivefsity of Glasgow. In New-Hall House there is 
a sketch in oil colours by him whilst there, of the 
inside of the academy, with an exact portrait of Ro- 
bert Foulis, the founder and conductor of it, critici- 
sing a large picture, and giving instructions to his 
principal painter about it. In this school engraving 
was taught, as well as painting, and drawing. 

In the year 1764, some of his performances at- 
tracted the notice of the late Lord Cathcart ; whose 
seat, Shaw Park, is situated in Clackmannanshire, 
near Alloa. Lady Cathcart introduced him to the 


notice of the late Lady Frances Erskine, Lady Char- 
lotte Erskine, Mrs Abercromby of Tullybody, and 
some others in the neighbourhood, who proposed he 
should go to Italy, to prosecute his studies more ad- 
vantageously. He set out, furnished with letters of 
recommendation, and, amongst the rest, with one to 
Sir William Hamilton then in Naples; and also with 
letters of credit to support him whilst abroad. Du- 
ring his residence in Italy, Lady Cathcart wrote to 
him frequently, with all the care, and affection of a 

In Italy he studied about eleven years, with unre- 
mitting application. In Rome, in 1773, and after- 
wards, he gained the prize medal given by the Aca- 
demy of St Luke fof the best specimen of historical 
composition. The two medals, one of gold, and the 
other of silver, are now in the possession of his wi- 
dow in Edinburgh. ^Except Mr Gavin Hamilton of 
Murdostown in Lanarkshire, he was the only Scots- 
man that had ever been so distinguished by that aca- 

On his return to Britain he resided about two 
years in London; but, falling into a bad state of 
health, he was ordered home to Scotland, for a 
change of air. In 1786, soon after his arrival in 
Edinburgh, on the death, in 1775, of his distinguish- 



ed predecessor Alexander Runciman, he was ap- 
pointed director and master of the academy establish- 
ed at Edinburgh by the Board of Trustees for ma- 
nufactures and improvements, for the purpose of dif- 
fusing a knowledge of the principles of the fine arts 
and elegance of design in the various manufactures 
and works which require to be figured and orna- 
mented. This charge he retained the remainder of 
his days. 

Having, probably some time before, projected a 
new edition of The Gentle Shepherd ; he, in autumn 
1786, the same year in which he was made master 
of the academy in Edinburgh, paid his unexpected 
visit at New Hall, for the purpose of collecting fi- 
gures, and copying the original scenes on the spot, 
which had produced the pastoral comedy. He was 
accompanied by a friend, who had been a captain in 
the army, of the name of Campbell, from Glencross 
house, whom he has complimented by introducing 
his likeness in the character of " Sir William Wor- 
thy." All the other figures, being copied from in- 
dixidual nature, are likewise portraits. The out, and 
inside of " Gland's Oiutead ;' the Monks Burn, 
and its loiver or middle I'tn ; were all drawn on the 
side of that stream : and his designs for the " 11 ash- 
ing Green,'' and " Ilab/jie's Tloxr,'' afterv/ards aqua- 
tinted for the second scene of the drama, were also 


delineated from the " howm** on the Esk behind 
New-Hall House, 

* Where lasses use to wash and spread their claiths," 

and from the " little lin," between and the Carlops, 
which falls into the bason called Feggi/'s Fool, " farer 
up the burn" in nature, as in the pastoral, than the 

Ramsay was realized by the publication of this e- 
dition in 1788 ; and on the 28th of October in the 
same year, this faithful painter of his scenes was 
married to Miss Shirley Welsh, the youngest daugh- 
ter of Thomas Welsh, who was a carver and gilder 
in Edinburgh, but had withdrawn from business. 
By his wife he had five children ; three of whom 
were cut off by disease in their infancy. 

He himself died of a dropsy, preceded by an asth- 
ma occasioned by his sedentary life, and close appli- 
cation to his business, on the 6th of August 1796, 
in the fifty-third year of his age; leaving behind him 
a widow with one son, David, and one daughter na- 
med Barbara Anne Allan. His son David Allan, a 
promising youth, was sent out a cadet to India ia 
September last 1806. 

R r 2 


In person our Scots Hogarth had nothing attrac- 
tive. His figure was a bad resemblance of his hu- 
morous precursor of the English metropolis. He 
was under the middle size ; of a slender, feeble 
make, with a long, sharp, lean, white, coarse face, 
much pitted by the small pox, and fair hair. His 
large, prominent eyes of a light colour, looked 
weak, near sighted, and not very animated. His 
nose was long, and high ; his mouth wide ; and both 
ill shaped. His whole exterior, to strangers, appear- 
ed unengaging, trifling, and mean. His dejwrtment 
was timid, and obsequious. 

The prejudices, naturally excited by these exter- 
nal disadvantages, at introduction, however, were 
soon dispelled on acquaintance ; and, as he became 
easy and pleased, gradually yielded to agreeable sen- 
sations ; till they, insensibly, vanished ; and were not 
only overlooked, but, from the effect of contrast, e- 
ven heightened the attractions by which they were, 
so unexpectedly, followed. When in company he 
esteemed, that suited his taste, as restraint wore off, 
his eye, imperceptibly, became active, bright, and 
penetrating ; his manner and address, quick, hvely, 
and interesting, always kind, polite, and respectful ; 
his conversation, open, gay, humorous, without sa- 
tire, and communicative, playfully replete with bene- 
volence, observation, and anecdote. On the anti- 


quities, and literary history of his country, he had 
employed much of his attention, and delighted to 
discourse. The following additional character of him 
has been given, which he well deserved, " His pri- 
vate life was marked by the strictest honour, and in- 
tegrity. His manners were gentle, unassuming, and 
obliging. He will be long remembered, and his loss 
regretted, by every one who enjoyed the happiness 
of his friendship." Biogr. Scot. 

As a painter, at least in his own country , he neither ex* 
celled in drawing, composition, colouring, nor effect* 
Like Hogarth, too, beauty, grace, and grandeur,. either 
of individual outline and form, or of style, constitute no 
part of his merit. He was no Correggio, Raphael, or 
Michael Angelo, He painted portraits, as well as Ho- 
garth, below the size of life ; but they are recom 
mended by nothing, save a strong homely resem- 
blance. They are void of all the charms of elegance;, 
and of the claro-obscuro. As an artist, and a man 
of genius, his characteristic talent lay in expression ;. 
in the imitation of nature with truth and humour j> 
especially in the ludicrous representation of laugh- 
able incidents in low life, where her more animated, 
and more varied, effects, operate most powerfully and 
freely, unfettered, and undisguised, by the drill of 
ceremonious uniformity ; and where blunders and 
absurdities, arc most numerous, and striking. His 

R r 5 


vigilant eye lay always on the watch, for every eccen- 
tric figure, every motley group, or ridiculous inci- 
dent, out of which his pencil, or his needle, could 
draw innocent entertainment and mirth. 

As already noticed, all the dramatis personam of 
his scenes, and the scenes themselves, for The Gentle 
Shepherd, are portraits, selected from particular na- 
ture. His character, as a painter, was marked pre- 
cisely by the same features with that of Allan Ram- 
say, as a poet. He has done ample justice to his 
meaning, and humour ; because his opportunities of 
observation, from his acquaintance with his originals, 
were the same, and their minds being congenial, the 
effects these produced were alike on both. Allan's 
pictures, are but Ramsay's scenes realized, and pre- 
sented to the eye. Both, equally, possessed similar 
powers of perceiving, and perpetuating, whatever is 
ridiculous, or uncouth, in shape^ dress, attitude, ex- 
pression, or association ; of imitating, arresting, and 
preserving, for the entertainment, and information 
of posterity, by the only possible means of doing so, 
those genuine characteristic differences in figure, cast 
of features, manner, and modes of life, appropriate 
to every age, and district, so varied, discriminative, 
and striking, yet so difficult to catch precisely with 
the pencil, and so elusive of every effort at descrip- 
tion with the pen j of exhibiting pure, unaffected 

1^0. I.] THE scars hogarth. 631 

nature, peculiar, as well as general, with truth ; and 
of drawing the emotions and passions, under their 
real, and particular effects, and appearances at the 
scenes of action : But the meaning of the poet, una- 
voidably, remained imperfect, and obscure, without 
the explanations of the painter, 

, In New-Hall House there is an excellent portrait 
of our Scots Hogarth, painting from a statue, after 
a picture done in the year 1774, byDominico Corvi 
at Rome ; and also most correct likenesses in basso 
relievo of Mr and Mrs Allan, received from his wi- 
dow, which were taken for, and under the direction 
'of, the painter himself, by the celebrated Tassie, 
forming one elegant, spirited, and beautiful piece of 
sculpture within the same oblate oval frame. 

No. n. 

POEMS connected zvith, and referred to, in the li.- 
i.usiRAiio'ss ; from the IForh (f Dr Alexan- 
der Pennecuik of Nciv Hally published in the, 
year 17I0. 

To my Friend ; inviting him to the C aunt r if. 

Sir ; fly the smoke, and clamour of the town : 
Breathe country air ; and see the crops cut down : 
Revel o*er Nature's sweets ; dine on good beef j 
And praise the granter of the plenteous sheaf. 

Rr 4 

632 POEMS FROM [apP. 

Free firom all care we'll range thro' various fields. 
Studying those plants which mother Nature yields. 
In Li/nes meandering brook we'll sometimes fish ; 
The trout's a brave, but no expensive dish. 
When limbs are wearied, and our sport is done, 
We'll trudge to Cantszvalls, by the setting sun ; 
And there, some hours, we'll quaff a cup of ale. 
And smoke our pipe, backed by a wanton tale. 
We'll read no Courant which the news home brings ; 
For what have we to do with wars, or kings ? 
We'll ne'er disturb our heads with state affairs ; 
But talk of plough, and sheep, and country fairs. 
Churchmen's contentions we abhor to hear : 
They're not for conscience, but for worldly gear. 
We'll fear our God ; wish well to king and nation j "^ 
Worship, on Sabbath, with the congregation j v 
Thus live in peace j and die in reputation. . J 

The j1 lit hors ANSWER, to his b?'ot/icr J a^ies Pex- 
necuik's many letters dissuading him from stay- 
ing longer in the Count ry ; and inviting him to 
come and settle his residence) andfolkiv his em~ 
phyment, in Edinburgh. 

His brother vvas a practising member of the Faculty of Advocates, 

Some say I have both genius and time. 
To make friends nierry with my country rhyme ; 


And raise the strain of my coy modest muse, 
From coarse-spun stockings, and plain dirty shoes. 

I hear the birds, here, sweet companions, sing ; 
To welcome home the verdure of the spring. 
While herbalizing shady groves, and mountains, 
I quench my thirst by crystal streams, and fountains ; 
There, joyfully, I sit me down and smell. 
The flowery fields, and Heliconian well. 

I am no Nimrod ; nor make it my care. 
To see a greyhound slay a silly hare : 
Though I can follow that, when I have leisure. 
For exercise, I swear, more than for pleasure. 
The noble horse, that saves us oft from death, 
I think' t bad sport to run him out of breath. 
When there's no need, it was not spoke in jest. 
Merciful men show mercy to a beast. 

I love the net ; I like the fishing hook ; 
To angle by the pretty murmuring brook. 
To curl upon the ice does greatly please ; 
That hearty, manly, Scottish exercise. 
That clears the brain, stirs up the native heat. 
And gives a gallant appetite for meat. 
In winter, too, I often plant a tree ; 
Remarking what the annual growth may be : 


Order my hedges, and repair my ditches. 
Which gives delight, although not sudden riches; 

So, when of these sweet solitudes I tire. 
We have our trysts, and meetings of the shire j 
Where some few hours, the tedious time to pass, 
We sit, and quaff a merry moderate glass. 
Visits we interchange with one another. 
In boil accord^ like sister and like brother. 
Which makes our harmless meetings still to be, 
A bond and cement of society. 
Pleased, I return to garden, book, or study ; 
Far from the court, my friend, far from the woody : 
While you enpy Jalse pleasures in their prime, &c. 

Near unto Libberton, or Fosters JVynd, 
The good old man may, cozie, live, you find. 

I will not be so graceless, James, nor bold. 
To stifle him with smoke, though he be old. 
Nor will I, to repair my former losses. 
Consent he break his Hmbs in your stay closes ; 
But near to Stirling Yards, or Heriofs JFork, 

Where he may freely breathe . 

There must he quartered be, God's praise to sing. 
For his refreshful breathings in the spring ; 
And when stern fate that breath shall countermand, 
The greedy Gray Friars we have near at hand, &c. 


Elegy on the Death of Alex a-sder Penkecuik 
of New Hall, sometime Chirurgeon to General . 
Bannier, in the Sxoedish wars ; and, since, Chi- 
rurgeon-General to the auxiliarij Scots army in 
England. The Author's Father. 


Come, try your talents ; mourn, and bear a part, 
Ye candidates of learned Machaon*s art : 
For death, at length, hath shuffled from the stage 
The oldest jEsculapius of our age : 
A Scotsman true ; a faithful friend, and sure ; 
Who flattered not the rich, nor scourged the poor. 

Where shall we go for help ? Whom shall we trust? 
Our Scots Apollo's humbled in the dust ! 
Many poor souls will miss him, in their need ; 
To whom his hands gaye health ;. yea clothes, and , 

Thrice thirty years do now these hands destroy. 
That cured our maladies, and caused our joy. 
Five mighty kings, from's birth unto his grave. 
The Caledonian sceptre swayed have. 
Four times his eyes have seen, from cloak to gownj 
Prelate and Presbyter turn upside down. 
He loved his native country as himself; 
And ever scorned the greed of worldly pelf. 



From old forbeirs, much worth he did inherit j 
A gentleman by birth, and more by merit. 

Nothing is here expressed, but what is true. 
Farewell, old Fennecuik ! Reader, adieu ! 

Inscription to be put at the foot of Jonas Hamil- 
ton o/" Coldcoafs * Picture, draxvn by . 

Painter, thou hast, now, with grace^ 
Drawn me Coldcoafs martial face. 
And manly looks, which do discover 
Something, likewise, of the lover. . 

His Roman nose, and swarthy hue. 
To all do testify and shew. 
To none alive that he will yield 
In Venus' tent, or Mars's field. 
As JVorster fight, and Nanny Fell, 
From's valiant deeds, and feats, can tell. 

No less for Bacchus shall his name. 
Stand in the register of fame. 
Save Coldcoat, none Dalhousie f knew. 
Who Jonas could at drink subdue : 

* Now Macbiehlll ; between New Hall, and Romanno. 
j- Ramsay Earl of Daliiousie ; Allan Ramsai^^s chief. 

j^o. n.] DR pennecuik's works. 637 

Brave Nicolson, who's in his gra^e, 
Did from him many a parley crave : 
Drummoiid * who's yet alive can tell. 
How, from them all he bore the belL 

No epitaph we need, on stone. 
To mark this hei^o when he's gone. 
His name, and fame shall surely stand, 
While Session Books f there's in the land. 

The LiNTOUN Cabal, or the Jovial Smith of Lin- 
touns Invitation of his Club to their Morjiing's 
Draught, xvhom he had made drunk the night be- 
fore, after a great Stojin. 

Fly fearful thoughts of funeral. 
Call here James Douglas of the Hall I, 
And all the rest of that cabal 
Let*s rant and merry be. 

* Sir William Drummond of Hwwthornckn ; son to the ccTe- 
brated poet, whose portrait, with that of his friend Ben Jonson, 
Allan Ramsay hung out for his si^n as a bookseller. Sir William, 
Dr Pennecuik's'companion, was proprietor of the farms of Upper 
and Nether JVh'tteJield, between Neav Hall, and Romanno. 

\ Parish-church books, in which fines for fornication, &c. are 

X The Hall-House of Lintoun. Some of the old feus in the 
village are held for the payment of a placl, when demanded from 
a hole in the back-wall of the Hall-House of Lintovia. 


We'll set a table in the smiddy *, 
And drink till all our heads grow giddy, 
If it should cost our necks the woody f ; 
Fye haste lass ! Bring them ! Flee ! 

But hark ? I think no shame to tell it ; 

Be sure you first fetch GiBbie Elliot. 

Tell him we're trystcd at a sallet, ''( 

And he must say the grace. 

I swear by omiia vincit amor, 

And by my bellows and fore-hammer. 

My tongue for thirst begins to stammer,^ 

M hene'er I see his face. 

He turned religious in his fever. 
For better thriving late than never. 
Yet swears it scorched so his liver, 
Before to drouth inclined, 
That though this night he drink the sea. 
The morn he'll e'en as drouthy be ; 
Nor speak a word of sense can he 
Till first his skin be lined.- 

* The Sm'idJy was a place of so much consequence in those 
days, that the ruins of a smithy above the influx of the Lyru into 
the Tweed, to wliich the last Earl of March, who refolded at 
Nsidpath Castle, (to whom Dr Pennecuik's works are dedicated,) 
used to walk every good day to converse and hear the news, is 
still shown, about three miles from Peebles. 

f The gallows. " ' 



Bring haggis-headed JVilUam Younger* !- -/ 
And James, that little brandy-monger ! 
Laird Giffard, wh* looks like cauld and hunger, 
He may come t'warm his soles ! 
Their entertainment shall be good ; 
God grant they part, but dirt, or blood ! 
Pay but their drink, we'll trust their food. 
Cause Scrogs provide us coals ! 

But stay ! There come my dainty lads ; 
By ane, and ane, like whores and bawds : 
They smell the ak^ and need no gawds 

To post or prick them hither. 

Now, welcome ! by my faith ! good fellows ! 
I see you haste, like nimble swallows ; 
Lord keep your craigs lang frae the gallows ! 
That we may drink together. 

But tell me Sirs, how this can be ? 

I'he storm*s made all our .s'At'C/; to die. 

And yet spared such a company I 

Come, let us, then, be frolic ? 

Laird G}ffard\ cries, fye fetch my mother ! 

Or my dear sister ! choose you whether : 

* IViU'iam Touiiger of Hog-yards., who signed the Petition to the 
Prince of Orange, in the name of all the Lintoun Lairds. See Pen- 
neaiii's U^orls. 

f James Giffard, whose name remains, among those of the Co- 
venanters, on the Harbour Craig ; who " erected, in 1GG(3, at his 


And Master Robert *, bring him hither! 
For I have ta'en the colic. 

Tm Hke to vomit gut and gall ! 

Good Lord have mercy on my saul ! 

My giddy head will make me fall ! 

In faith, I am no jester. 

IVill Younger^ pray ! and Gibbie, preach ! &c. 

Letter in "verse from Mr William Clerk Advo* 
cate\, to Dr Alexander Pennecuik of Nexo 
Hall, May 1714. 

Most noble doctor ; glory of our time : 
Parnassus' prince ! Protector of our rhyme ! 

sole expence," the Cross of L'tntoun, that " lively specimen of na- 
tural genius," so wonderfully produced " without the assistance 
of art." See Armstrong^ s Companion to the Maji of Peelles-shire ; 
and who is mentioned at the head of the Lintoun Lairds, in the 
Address to the Prince of Orange, in Dr Pennecuik's works. 

* Robert Elliot, minister of Lintoun, whose Epitaph, dated 
1682, and character, in verse, appears among Dr Pennecuik's 
poems. Glhlle, was the son, and assistant of Robert. 

f Brother to B^ron Clerk ; nephew to the Lady of Sir David, 
and cousin to Mr Forbes of New Hall. From his liking to visit, 
and shift about, from house to house ; among hh companions, 
he got the name of Wandering IVll/te. When at New Hall 
House, he slept in one of the garret rooms, adjoining to those of 
Allan P..amsay, and Mr Tytlcr. . 


Receive this compliment from honest JVillj 
"Who's just returned from our kind Coivics mill, 
With troops of gipsies, who molest our plains ; 
Praise Spittlchaiigh ! most charming of our swains. 
But, now all's calm ; serene ; as you may think. 
Since JViWs turned poet, with Lady Effy's drink. 

Dr Pennecuik's Answer. 

Brave generous fVill ! I cannot well rehearse, 
How pleased I was to read your lofty verse ; 
So eloquent, that every line did smell. 
Of Tully, and the Heliconian Well. 
But, while both wit and fancy you show forth ; 
The praise you give me far exceeds my worth. 
Oh ! how unequal is the match indeed. 
Betwixt your young, and my old hoary head ! 
Your blood is warm j your fancy's on the stage : 
This is your spring j but winter of my age : 
My muse cools, like my blood, and still grows worse j 
Yours towers aloft, like the Pegasean Horse. 

Kind, and stout patriots you are, I vow ! 
With your brave Club, to catch the Gipsy Crew. 
Your names should be engraven on marble stones. 
For clearing Tweeddale of these vagabonds. 

S s 


Had Cffwie * not been known, I do protest, 
Kind Jonas had been captive with the rest, 
And sent to prison, if we should allow. 
All to be rogues that have the gipsy hue. 

Yet, if I live, expect a better tale, 
\^^hen we meet, blyth, at Lady EfFy's ale. 

A Pastoral Elegy, upon the generally lamented 
death of that xcorthy gentleman William Dou- 
glas, Esq. elder, of Dor nock; who departed this 
life the day of July 1715. 

Pan and Pastora, to the Shepherds asleep. 

Ah ! Shepherds break your pipes ! Rise, and give 
The doleful cry of Dornodis death comes here. 
Awake, and weep ! Turn careless of your flocks. 
And yell, till, echoing, you do rend the rocks ! 
Aji?um, Milk, Aloffat, no more gently glide ; 
But, in hoarse rapid floods, your streams divide. 

* Contraction for Coldcoat, now Machiehill, then the property 
of Jonas Hamilton, a man of a dark complexion, often mentioned 
by Dr Pennecuik with jocular affection. 


The music of our birds is at a close ; 
And every murmuring brook weeps forth its woes. 
Our comfort's gone ; and we must feel the cross j 
And still bewail the universal loss, &c. 

Dr Pennecuik's other pastoral poems are to be found 
in his works, printed in the year 1715; to which 
very incorrect, and only, edition, are annexed the 
following encomiastic verses, by Alexander Fencook, 

To the ingenious, afid zcort hi/ Avthor, ofthefolloiV' 
ing Description (of Tweeddale), and Poems. 

Proud England boasts to be the Muses' seat ; 
Glories in Spencers flights, and Cmioleys heat ; 
l^en Jonsons manly sense, Ethredges plays ; 
Chaucer's bright wit, and Herbert's heavenly lays ^ 
Milton s inspired thoughts, and Sidneys strains. 
Who sung the sweetest of the Arcadian swains. 

These are the Muses' darling sons indeed ; 
Yet equalized by bards be-north the Tweed. 
Our famous Scotland's snowy hills give birth 
To wits, and warriors, famous on the earth. 
On barren heaths, which never felt the plough, 
And frozen hills the richest learning grow j 



Tossed in cold cliffs of Caledonians coasts. 
With Boreas' blasts, and Hyperborean fros<s. 

Seraphic songs flow from Buchanans quill ; 
Too great for man's, almost for angel's skill. 
Th' admired Drummond dropt celestial lines 
Of wit, in which a boundless fancy shines. 
Immortal Douglas^ in his hermit's cell 
Drunk with the streams of Heliconian Well, 
Reeling with raptures, in a rapid strain, 
Virgil translates, and brightens up his fame. 
Stirling, and M ait land, leave immortal names ; 
Let's read Ihe JSluses welcome to King James, 
Where constellations of bright wits appear, 
"Who fill the soul with knowledge, charm the ear. 
Crawford, of late, the British Ovid grew ; 
And you prove. Sir, the British Ovid now. 
I wish my worth did equaHze my will ; 
That I in nature's secrets had thy skill, 
And could express them with thy matchless quill 


Happythat people whom thou dwell'st among: ' 
No wonder they're contented to live long ; 
Their health comes from thy hand, their pleasure 
from thy song. 
Al. p. Mercatou, Edinhurgensis. 

NO, III.] ALLAN Ramsay's WORKS. 645 

No. III. 

OTHER POEMS, besides the Gentle Shepherd, 
from the Works oj Allax Ramsay, connected 
with, and rej erred to in the Illustrations. 

Verses wnV/e beneath the Histoi^ical Print of the 
li'onderful preservation of Mr David Bruce, 
and others his schoolfellows. 

The maiden name of Mfs Forbes of New Hall was Bruce / 
and this is the earliest of Ramsay's compositions now known. 
If she was related to this Mr Bruce, it shows that the poet's con- 
nection with the family must have commenced previous to 1710; 
and that the first as well as the last production of his muse was 
attached to one ot its members. 

St Jmlrrws, August 1 9. 1710. 
Six times the day, with light and hope arose. 
As oft the night her terrors did oppose^ 
While tossed on roaring waves the tender crew 
Had nought but death, and horror in their view : 
Pale famine, seas, bleak cold, at equal strife. 
Conspiring all against their bloom of life : 
AVhil^t, like the lamp's last flame, their trembling 

Are on the wing to leave their mortal gaols j 

S S3 


And death before them stands with frightful stare. 
Their spirits spent, and sunk down to despair. 

Behold the indulgent providential eye. 
With watchful rays, descending from on high j 
Angels came posting down the divine beam 
To save the helpless in their last extreme : 
Unseen the heavenly guard about them flock. 
Some rule the winds, some lead them up the rock. 
While other two attend the dying pair. 
To waft their young white souls thro' fields of air. 

Ode to Mr Forbes of Neiv Hall. 
Written in 1721, 

The same year in which was published the first quarto vohime 
of Ramsay's Works, containing the introductory scene of The 
Gentle Shejiherd. 

Solvit ur acrls htems Horace. 

Now gowans sprout, and lavrocks sing. 
And welcome west winds warm the spring, , 
O'er hill and dale they saftly blaw. 
And drive the winter's cauld awa. 
The ships, lang gyzened at the pier. 
Now spread their sails, and smoothly steer ; 
The nags and nowt hate wissened strae. 
And frisking to the fields they gae ; 


Nor hinds with elson and hemp lingle. 
Sit soling shoon out o'er the ingle. 
Now bonny haughs their verdure boast. 
That late were clad with snaw and frost ; 
With her gay train the Paphian Queen, 
By moon-light dances on the green, 
She leads, while Nymphs and Graces sing, 
And trip around the fairy ring ; 
Mean time, poor Vulcan, hard at thrift, 
Gets mony a sair and heavy lift. 
Whilst rinnen down, his haff-blind lads 
Blaw up the fire, and thump the gads. 

Now leave your fit-sted on the dew. 
And busk yoursel in habit new. 
Be gratefu' to the guiding powers. 
And blythly spend your easy hours. 
O canny Forbes ! tutor time. 
And Hve as lang's ye're in your prime j 
That ill-bred death has nae regard 
To king, or cottar, or a laird ; 
As soon a cattle he'll attack, 
As waus of divots roofed with thack, 
Immediately we'll a' take flight 
Unto the mirk realms of night. 
As stories gang, with ghaists to roam, 
In gloomy Pluto's gousty dome ; 

S s4 

648 POEMS FROM [apP, 

Bid fair good-day to pleasure syne, 
Of bonny lasses and red wine. 

Then deem ilk little care a crime. 
Dares waste an hour of precious time 5 
And since our life's sae unco short, 
Enjoy it a% ye've nae mair for't. 

Epistle to the Honourable Duncan Forbes of 
Culloden, Lord Advocate. 

Written in \7Q5. 

In the late edition, in 1800, of Ramsay's Works, this poem 
is ignorantly dated 1722 ; although Duncan Forbes was not Lord 
Advocate till 1725. In 1725, the Pastoral was brought to a 
conclusion, and first published. 

Shut in a closet six foot square, 
No fash'd with meikle wealth or care, 

I pass the live-lang day ; 
Yet some ambitious thoughts I have, 
AVhich will attend me to my grave. 

Sic busked baits they lay. 

These keep my fancy on the wing, 
Something that's blyth and snack to sing. 

And smooth the wrinkled brow : 
Thus care I happily beguile, 
Hoping a plaudit and a smile 

Frae best of men, like you. 

j?o. III.] ALLAN Ramsay's works. 649 

You, wha in kittle casts of state. 
When property demands debate. 

Can right what is dung wrang ; 
Yet blythly can, when ye think fit. 
Enjoy your friend, and judge the wit 

And slidness of a sang. 

How mony, your reverse, unblest, 
Whase minds gae wandering thro' a mistj 

Proud as the thief in hell. 
Pretend, forsooth, they're gentle fouk, 
'Cause chance gies them of gear the yowk, 

And better chiels the shell ! 

I've seen a wean aft vex itsell, 
And greet, because it was not tall : 

Heez'd on a board, O than ! 
Rejoicing in the artfu' height. 
How smirky looked the little wight ! 

And thought itsell a man. 

Sic bairns are some, blawn up awee 
With splendour, wealth, and quality. 

Upon these stilts grown vain ; 
They o'er the pows of poor fouk stride, 
And neither are to baud nor bide, 

Thinking this height their ain. 


Now shou'd ane speer, at sic a pulF, 
What gars thee look sae big and bluff ? 

Is't an atleiiding menzie ? 
Or fifty dishes on your table ? 
Or fifty horses in your stable ? 

Or heaps of glancing cunzie ? 

Are these the things thou ca's thysell ? 
Come, vain gigantic shadow, tell ; 

If thou say' St yes I'll shaw 
Thy picture means thy silly mind. 
Thy wit's a croil, thy judgment blind. 

And love worth nought ava. 

Accept our praise, ye nobly born. 
Whom Heaven takes pleasure to adorn 

With ilka manly gift ; 
In courts or camps to serve your nation. 
Warmed with that generous emulation 

Which your forbears did lift. 

In duty, with delight to you 

The inferior world do justly bow, . 

While you're the maist deny'd ; 
Yet shall your worth be ever prized. 
When strutting naethings are despised 

"With a' their stinking pride. 


This to set aff as I am able, 

I'll frae a Frenchman thigg a fable. 

And busk it in a plaid ; 
And though it be a bairn of Motte's *, 
When I hae learnt it to speak Scots, 

I am its second dad. 

*' Twa books, near neighbours in a shop. 
The tane a gilded Turkey fop. 
The tither's face was weather-beaten, 
And cauf-skin jacket, sair worm-eaten. 
The corky, proud of his bra' suit. 
Curled up his nose, and thus cried out : 
" Ah ! place me on some fresher binks ; 
Figh ! how this mouldy creature stinks ! 
How can a gentle book like me 
Endure sic scoundrel company ? 
What may fouk say, to see me cling 
Sae close to this auld ugly thing j 
But that I'm of a simple spirit. 
And disregard my proper merit ?'* 
Quoth grey-beard, JVhisht, Sir, with your din; 
For a your mei^itorious skin, , 
I doubt if ye be worth within : 

* Mons. la Motte, who has written lately a curious Collection 
of Fables, from which the following is imitated. 

6.52 POEMS FROlVt [-^PP* 

For as auld-fashioned as I look, 

May be I dm the better book. 

" O heavens ! I canna thole the clash 

Of this impertinent auld hash ; 

I winna stay ae moment langer." 

My Lord, please to command your anger ; 

Pray let me only tell you that 

** What wad this insolent be at ? 

Rot out your tongue pray. Master Symmer, 

Remove me frae this -dinsome rhymer : 

If you regard your reputation, 

And us of a distinguished station, 

Hence frae this beast let me be hurried. 

For with his stour and stink Fm worried." 

" Scarce had he shook his paughty crap. 
When in a customer did pap ; 
He up douse Stanza lifts, and eyes him. 
Turns o'er his leaves, admires, and buys him : 
" This book,*' said he, " is good and scarce. 
The saul of sense in sweetest verse." 
But reading title of gilt cleathing. 
Cries, " Gods ! wha buys this bonny naithing ? 
Nought duller e'er was put in print : 
Wow ! what a deal of Turkey's tint !" 

Now, Sir, to apply what we've invented, 
You are the buyer represented ; 
And, may your servant hope 


My lay shall merit your regard, 
I'll thank the gods for my reward, 
And smile at ilka fop. 

Ode to the Memory of Mrs Forbes, the lat^ 
Lady New Hall. 

Written in 1728, 

The same year in which his second quarto issued from the press 
with the Pastoral Comedy completed, and the first scene reprinted 
as part of the drama, having a Note., by Ramsay, subjoined to it, 
informing his readers that he had, now, " carried the Pastoral the 
length oijive acts at the desire of some persons of distinction.'*^ 

Ah life ! thou short uncertain blaze, 
Scarce worthy to be wish*d or lov'd, 

When by strict death so many ways 
So soon the sweetest are remov'd. 

In prime of life and lovely glow, 

The dear Brucina must submit ; 
Nor could ward off the fatal blow. 

With every beauty, grace, and wit. 

If outward charms, and temper sweet. 
The cheertul smile, and thought sublime. 

Could have preserv'd, she ne'er had met 
A change, 'till death had sunk with time. 


Her soul glanced with each heavenly ray. 
Her forni with all those beauties fair. 

For which young brides and mothers pray. 
And wish'd for to their infant care* 

Sour spleen or anger, passion rude^ 
These opposites to peace and heaven. 

Ne'er paled her cheek, or fired her blood : 
Her mind was ever calm and even. 

Come, fairest nymphs, and gentle swains. 

Give loose to tears of tender love ; 
Strew fragrant flowers on her remains. 

While sighing round her grave you move- 
In mournful notes your pain express. 

While with reflection you run o'er. 
How excellent, how good she was I 

She was ! alas ! but is no more 1 

Yet piously correct your moan. 

And raise religious thoughts on high, 

After her spotless soul, that's gone 
To joys that ne'er can fade or die. 


The Address of Allan Ramsay to the Honour- 
able Duncan Forbes of' Culloden, Lord Presi- 
dent of' the Session, and all our other Judges, xvho 
are careful oj the honour of the government, and 
the property of the subject. 

JVHtten in 1737, 

On the suppression of bis Playhouse, being the last of his poems. 

Humbly means and shares, 

To you, my Lords, whase elevation, 
Makes you the wardens of the nation, 
While you with equal justice stand. 
With Lawtie's balance in your hand ; 
To you, whase penetrating skill 
Can eithly redd the good frae ill. 
And ken them well whase fair behaviour 
Deserve reward and royal favour, 
As like you do, these stonkerd fellows, 
Wha merit naithing but the gallows : 
To you, with humble bow, your bard, 
Whase greatest brag is your regard. 
Begs leave to lay his case before ye. 
And for an outgate to implore ye. 

Last year, my Lords, nae farrer ganc, 
A costly wark was undertane 
By me, wha had not the least dread 
An act wad knock it on the head : 


A playhouse new, at vast expence. 
To be a large, yet bein defence, 
In winter nights, 'gainst wind and weet. 
To ward frae cauld the lasses sweet, 
While they with bonny smiles attended. 
To have their little failures mended ; 
Where satire, striving still to free them, 
Hauds out his glass to let them see them. 
Here, under rules of right decorum. 
By placing consequence before 'em, 
I kept our troop, by pith of reason, 
Frae bawdy, atheism, and treason ; 
And only preach'd, frae moral fable, 
The best instruction they were able ; 
While they by doctrine linsy-wpolsy. 
Set aff the utile with dulce. 

And shall the man to whom this task falls, 
Suffer amang confounded rascals. 
That, like vile adders, dart their stings,, 
And fear nae God, nor honour kings ? 
Shall I, wha for a tract of years 
Have sung to commons and to peers, 
And got the general approbation 
Of all within the British nation, 
At last be twin'd of all my hopes 
By them who wont to be ray props ?' 
Be made a loser and engage 
With troubles in declining age ; 


While wights, to whom my credit stands 
For sums, make sour and thrawn demands ? 

Shall London have its houses twa, 
And we be doom'd to 've nane ava ? 
Is our metrop'lis, anes the place. 
Where longsyne dwelt the royal race 
Of Fergus, this gate dwindled down ' 
T' a level with ilk clachan town, 
While thus she suffers by the subversion 
Of her maist rational diversion ? 

When ice and snaw o*ercleads the isle, 
Wha now will think it worth their while 
To leave their gowsty country bowers. 
For the anes blythsome Edinburgh towers. 
Where there's no glee to give delight. 
And ward frae spleen the langsome night ? 
For which they'll now have nae relief. 
But sonk at hame, and deck mischief. 

Is there ought better than the stage 
To mend the follies of the age, 
If manag'd as it ought to be, 
Frae ilka vice and blaidry free ? 
Which may be done with perfect ease, 
And nought be heard that shall displease. 


658 POEM BY THE [aPP. 

Or give the least offence ot pain^ 
If we can hae't restor'd again. 
Wherefore, my Lords, I humbly pray 
Our lads may be allowed to play, 
At least till new-house debts be paid off. 
The cause that Fm the maist afraid off ; 
Which laide hes on my single back. 
And I maun pay it ilka placfc. 

Now, 'tis but just the legislature 
Shou'd either say that I'm a fauter. 
Or thole me to employ my bigging. 
Or of the burden ease my rigging. 
By ordering, frae the public fund, 
A sum to pay for what Fm bound ; 
Syne, for amends for what Fve lost. 
Edge me into some canny post. 
With the good liking of our king, 
And your petitioner shall sing. 

A. R. 


No. IV. 

A POtlM by the Reverend Mr BradfutCy referred 
to 171 the Illustrations: From the Seventeenth 
Volume of the Statistical History, entitled 


At Nclv Hall, in Mid-Lothian, 
The Seat of Robert Brown, Esq. Advocate. . 

Written in ITS*, 

By the Reverend Mr Bradfute, author of the Statistical Ac- 
count of Dunsyre in Clydesdale ; of an Essay on the Fisheries, ia 
the Transactions of the Highland Society of Scotland ; and the 
intimate friend of Sir James Clerk of Pennecuik. 

Waked by the rfiorning rays from fleeting dreams, 
I leave the couch inviting to repose, 
To trace the scenes which Nature spreads around; 
To please the eye or animate the soul. 
With recollections drawn from ancient times. 

We enter first the Glen, adorned with trees, 
Where varied shades and pleasing grovoe delight 
The warbling birds that perch on every spray. 
The lulling murmurs of the distant Esk, 
At bottom of the woods salute the ear ; 
Beyond, the rising heights covered with woods, 
And interspersed with jutting rocks, invite 

T t 2 

660 POEM BY THE ^ [APP. 

The eye to trace, in Beauty's waving line. 
The vivid landscape, rich with deepening shades 
Which here overhang the glassy glittering stream, 
'Till from the widening vale the country opes. 

The winding path now leads us thro' the wood, 
"Where Esk pours forth her silver-flowing tide. 
In sweet retirement, and sequestered shade. 

We then approach the opening of the trees 
Where now the rustic swain enjoys the banks, 
Happy and blythe, not far his hxambXe Cot, 
Clothed with the shining straw, whose white- washed 

Appear contrasted with the ivy's green. 
Before the door, the partner of his cares 
Turns swift the wheel, and tunes the Scottish song,. 
Eying askance her young ones on the grass. 
Lest they too near approach the river's bank : 
The cattle spread around, now browse the herbs. 
Loaded with dews delightful to the taste ; 
The watchful dog guards well the ripened corns. 
And saves ti)e treasures for his master's use. 
Near this a pleasant rivulet glides along, 
Falls from the height, and forms the bright cascade, 
Where hollow rocks surround the foaming pool, 
And form a shade to screen the mid-day sun. 


From this we mount the bank to view the Lake^ 
With shining surface drawn from crystal springs. 
Land-locked and smooth, where oft the finny tribe 
Rise at the glittering fly with eager taste. 

We now return, and trace the river's banks. 
Studded with cowslips, and with copsewoods crowned. 

Beyond, the prospect's barren all and wild. 
With hollow glens and deep-sequestered lawns. 

Now all at once, far up another glen, 
'Midst awful solitudes and darksome dells, 
A high tremendous Rock erects his front : 
On near approach, we found it deeply marked 
With venerable names, of those who fled. 
In Charles's hapless days, the haunts of men. 
Pursued by unrelenting bands, who sought 
Their death, and waged ignoble war unjust. 
Here sad the preacher stood with solemn pause. 
To mark, with outstretched arm, the sombre heath, 
The field 6f Scottish and of English wars ; 
Or what more near concerned the listening crowd. 
To point the fatal spot on Pentland tlills. 
Where many a ploughman- warrior lought and fell. 

Slowly we turn and leave these gloomy scenes. 
Sacred to sighs and deepest heartfelt woe, 



To seek the pleasing banks and purling rill 
Where copsewood thickets cheer the wandering eye, 
Where honeysuckle with the birch entwines. 

We enter now from hence the western glen. 
Through which the murmuring Esk pours forth his 

And view a pastoral and more pleasant scene. 
Sacred to Fame, and deemed now classic ground. 
'Twas here a beautiful recess was found ; 
And hence arose the scene of Habbie's How, 
AVhere now appears, betwixt two birks, the lin 
That, falling, forms the pool where bathed the maids, 
Whilst here upon the green their cloth they laid. 
Here on a seat reclined, screened from the sun 
By hazle shrubs and honeysuckle flowers. 
You sit at ease, and recollect the song. 
While sportive Fajicy imagery supplies. 

Following the stream, we view those happy spots, 
Where Glaud and Symon dwelt in times of old. 
And passed the joke over the nut-brown ale ; 
Where old Sir William cheered poor Peggy s 

And gave her yielding, to her Paties arms. - 
Thy pen, O Ramsay ! sweetest pastoral bard ! 
Alone was fit to paint the pleasing tale, 
And teach mankind the charms of rural life ! 

Nt>. v.] ON' THE SCENARY. 66^ 

NO.V. ^ 


On the Scmary of the Gentle ShepJierdt 

Connected with the Illustrations. 

" Gray on the bank ' < . ? 

" By aged pines, half sheltered from the wind 
** A homely Mansion rose, of antique form, 
" For ages batter'd by the polar storm.'* 

Mac [iher son's OiSiAN, Frag, of a N, Tale* 

With pinnacles, and chimneys, rising high 
Above its roof in numbers great, there stands 
An aged Mansion, buik in gothic taste. 
Though light and airy as the Greek refined. 
And wildly suited to the scenes around *. 

Across the front, there stretches, to the north,, 
And west, as far as eye can reach, a ridge 
Of hills of various shapes ; retiring some. 
And some advancing, conic some with heath 
Of sable hue o'erspread, and cairn'd a top, 
Memorials rude of Druid festivals. 

* See the Description of New-Hall HouS ; Visiu of the 
Washing Green ; Map ; &c. 

T t4 


Whilst others, green and smooth, with easy sweep. 
Ascend from out the murmuring glens between. 
And such are those that rise direct in front. 
Designed the 'Spitals from their hospitals. 
Beyond the intervening lawns, and woods. 
Pavilions gay, and crossing avenues. 

On either side, a dingle deep plunges back. 
With timber filled : One, watered, dashing down 
In bright cascades, the Fairies Deiis ycleped : 
The other, dry, is from its Chapel named j 
And near a Hermitage and Mineral Well, 
O'er a sequestered glade, runs out below : 
Expanding both, as they, descending, join 
A noble glen, behind the Mansion proud. 
Upon the point they form projecting bold. 

East, o'er the Fairies* Den, the Garden slopes 
Upon its prominence, and spreads beneath 
The Stables at its head, surrounded all. 
Except, with rising trees. A Park, to rear. 
And feed the bleating offsprings of the hills, 
A concave carpet wide across the Esk, 
East of the garden, where alone the banks. 
Rich grassy braes, and whins, and broom, and heath. 
Are flat, within a varied sylvan scene. 
From it to the Monk's Burn, where, from MorJcs Rig 
Among the hills, the 'Spitals near, arrived. 
It falls in lins into the glen, extends. 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 665 

West, o*er the Chapel Den, the lawn 
Of friendship, with its Obelisk, swells, and fills 
The space to Marys Lin and Bozvcr. Besouth, 
The river's bank falls back without the Bower ; 
Between, and Habbys House and Hozv, among 
The glades, and knolls, and prominences near. 
Their verdant hills below, and crowded, far. 
The azure Tweedsmuir Tweeddale mountains high. 
Whence Annan, Tweed, and Clyde, their offsprings, 

The Glen, from where the Chapel stands, is rude. 
And craggy up to Habbys How, shut close 
With copse. Behind the House, its towering points 
Project into an open glade, the stream 
In playful windings " wimpling thro* the howm.'* 
Below, a valley enters from the south. 
With sloping banks, and gliding current grave ; 
And from its head, like hoary pillared tower. 
The Harbour Craig looks down. Monk's dell and 

Join next from t'other sfde, and thence the plain 
Monk's Haugh is named, till 'bout the lofty brow. 
And glistening Lake, inclosed, behind, it bends. 

^\'ith woods, and clumps, and shrubs, and copses 
The mounts, and banks, and glades, are filled, and 


Irriguous, round the venerable Mansion; 
Embosomed close, upon its prominence. 

Once in this Seat, when in the feudal times 
A gloomy Castle 'twas with sullen towers, 
Of which some parts within and near't remain. 
There lived a Chieftain, from his wide demesnes. 
O'er all his tenants and retainers bound, 
Inheriting, with various services, 
From powers unquestioned then, and usage long^. 
The highest jurisdiction, even o'er life 
Itself. The Castle stood upon its point. 
Then bare, defended by the Glen, and deep 
Ravine on either side, and, green, the hills 
Reflected, gay, the sun's meridian warmth. 
In front. With holes, and slits, and *cullis, sure,- 
With openings sly above it, whence to crush. 
Or pierce the head, devoted, underneath. 
Its walls were furnished, and its ponderous port. 
No woods, luxuriant, waved at hand, to hide 
The lurking foe : Secure within itself. 
It sternly, rough, and proud, defied attack : 
No shelter, strong, it needed from the blast. 
So thick its buttressed walls impregnable. 
Within, 'twas hung with armour bright, and filled 
With martial trophies gained for ages back. 

>Ja v.] ON THE SCENARY. 667 

The Hall, the court of justice, and th6 place 
Of council, both, was used, for meetings grave, 
And social. At the upper end, the chief. 
And his compeers about the table sat ; 
"While at the lower, and a little sunk. 
His stout dependants all were welcome made, 
The common produce, or the common spoils 
To share. The plenteous banquet o'er, the bowl 
Went jovial round, each knight, in turn, aloud. 
His fair proclaiming, and reciting, oft. 
His deeds of high renown in beauty's cause* 
The bard, enthusiastic, sung the feats 
Of former times, the kindling spirits keen 
The chorus joining, with the voice, and ring 
Of arms involuntary ; till the breath 
Of lovely Mary, sister to the Chief, 
Struck in with softest melody, and soothed 
Their rage with powers resistless : Such the rage 
Excited by the northern blast, amidst 
The turbulent roaring billows of the main ; 
When, yielding to the gentle zephyr, soon 
Their fury sinks, and nought but gaiety is seen, 
And charms, and smiles attractive. Thus they fared 
Whilst, from the hills, the vassals could supply 
Their Chief: But if perchance a hostile clan. 
From deadly lead, hid, under cloud of night. 
Or their own feastings, had reduced their stock ; 


A plate of spurs the plundering signal gave. 
To sally forth, direct, in quest of more *. 

Within this Castle, thus the Chieftain lived ; 
When ruddy autumn now began to reign. 
The Garden^ then upon the west, with fruits 
Hung luscious ; and the vassals all, on pain 
Of utmost punishment, were, strict, forbid 
To enter ; when, upon the wall a youth. 
An aged widow's sole surviving child. 
Well known, and thievish as those days produced. 
Was, late, arrested, as one luckless night. 
By two confederates aided from within. 
He clambered o'er, with ruby cherries laden. 
Straight, in the Dtmgeon-pit he was confined. 
Informed, by his associates who escaped. 
His mother, ere^ the dawn, had, full of fears. 
Though distant, left her cottage for the Castle : 
For oft, before, her son had in such pranks 
Been caught ; had oft within the Pit been close 
Immured. The Dungeon, then, was darkly raised 
Beside the Chapel, on the brow, still left 
In ruins. From this pitted tower, in front. 
Close by its door, the Jugs for culprits hung. 
An iron collar by a chain suspended. 

* Such is said to have been the ancient practice among the 
chieftains of Tweeddale and its neighbourhood. 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 669 

0*er, loose, a pile of stones, on which they stood 
Conspicuous. Before she'd reach'd the Castle 
The Chief had risen, with knights, and vassals, fresh : 
Trom out the Jrith, the orient lamp began 
To lighten up the vale ; the mists, dispersed. 
The hills t'ascend, and of their mantles gray 
To free them fast : The cock, the harbinger 
Of day, had crowed : The merry lark had left 
The ground : The morning tempted to the chase ; 
And loud, to summon to't, the horn had blown ; 
"V^'hen tidings of the theft, and thief were brought. 
In heat of youthful passion ; to be gone 
Impatient, with his hounds and followers ; 
Out from the Keep he ordered was, and fast 
Within the collar to be chained, and shown, 
A warning, or his self, or ways to shun. 
Till from their sport they should return at eve. 
Without delay he to the pile was dragged ; 
Forced up the heap ; and fixed within the ring. 
But scarce had he been left till in the breeze 
Had died away the sounds of men and dogs. 
When, by a hapless move, a slippery stone 
Slid out from under foot, and took away 
His breath. Bereft of life, he lonely hung, 
AVhen at the Castle gate his mother knocked, 
Bedimmed with age, without perceiving aught ; 
Asked for her son her only son ; implored 
That Mary, favourite loved, would from her brother 


Procure his pardon. But, when to the tmcer 

The servants led her she approached its door 

Heard not his voice and looked- and saw her child 

The only support of her palsied limbs ; 

Though wild, and wicked, still her sole resource-*- 

Last prop in sinking years she screamed aloud, 

Distracted ! strong a while, her feeble arms. 

In frantic clasp, upheld him, now a corse. 

Till nature sunk ! The tender sister wept 

O'er youth, and age ; and when, within the Castle, 

The wailing widow, from her stupor, oft. 

With shriek, wild starting, called upon her son ! 

Her healing art unable to do more. 

She threw her eyes to heaven, and begged relief! 

A fluttering glimmer yet remained of life 

Within its socket, at the close of day ; 

When to the room, in which she had been laid. 

The Chieftain came in haste, and heard her cry, 

With faltering tongue, exhausted- where' s my child? 

A mother's curse attend his murderer ! 

May he ne*er know the value of a son ! 

Stamped be his jmmc itself, with barrenness ! 

The voice of nature joined within him : Like 

A statue, pale and motionless he stood ; 

But heard no more. One grave inclosed the dead. 

O, why should, thus, the man, because possessed. 
Of what is held the choicest gift of heaven. 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 671 

Oi feelings exquisite, be tortured oft, 

Though more than guihless, with the pangs of guilt \ 

A settled horror, thence, o'erspread his mind. 
The hall grew silent j and the hills no more 
Re-echoed to the chase : He left them both : 
And whilst upon a weary pilgrimage, 
To papal Rome itself as some report. 
To do away the mother's hasty wish. 
And quiet the torments of a troubled soul, 
He went, his sister, to relieve her mind 
Dejected, formed, beyond the Chapel De??, 
Toward the west, between and Habbys Hoxv, 
Beside a lin, an arbour, on a point. 
That still retains the name of Mary's Bower *,' 
Oft to her Bozver she pensively withdrew^. 
Till he absolved returned, and with him joy. 

* This is another way of telling the same traditional story that 
is repeated in the Description of Mary's Lin and Bower. 
Though in particulars they often vary, in the main all the accounts 
agree. They likewise evidence the antiquity, and importance of 
this Seat, first, it would seem, a Convent, then a Castle, and af- 
terwards a Mansion-House ; and confirm what is said, with re- 
gard to it, in the Life of Baron Ckrk, that it once *' held mosc 
of the surrounding district.'* 



- The following Poem contains an exact description 
of the remarkable Meteor that appeared on the 18th of 
August 1783 at- twenty-five minutes past nine in the 
evening, as seen by the author ; and the scenary in the 
first part of it is faithfully copied from the objects about 
the place in which he was at the time*. It is written in 
the manner of Ossian, as if by a Saxon soon after the 
Conquest, which happened in the month of Octo- 
ber ; in order to heighten the effect of the descrip- 
tion by the introduction of the Gothic superstition. 
The Meteor's progress was from the north-west ; 
but it is here altered, to favour the idea of its being 
the forerunner of William's Invasion, in September, 
the following month, agreeably to the common opi- 
nion, that all appearances of Heavenly Bodies, not 
perfectly understood, indicated the deaths of Sove- 
reigns, or the Revolutions of Empires. 

See Philosophical Transactions, vol. Ixxiv. 

*' Now it is the time of night 
*' That the graves, all gaping wide, 
*' Every one lets forth his sprite, 
" In the church'Way paths to ghde. 

Shakespeare. Midsummer Nigkt^s Dreamy 
Act 5. Sc. 3. 

* The Advocate's Room at New Hall. See the Descriptici* 
Qf New-Hall Heuse% 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 673 

" Sl'.one, like a Meteor, streaming to the wind. 

Milton, P. Lost. B. I. 

" Streamed, like a Meteor, to the troubled air. 

Gray. The Bard. 

*' That, through the shade of night projecting huge, 

*' In horrid trail, a spire of dusky flame, 

** Embodied mists and vapours, whose fir'd mass 

" Keen vibrates, streaming a red length of air, 

** While distant orbs with wonder and amaze 

* Its dreaded progress watch, as of a foe 

' Whose march is ever fatal, in whose train 

" Famine, and War, and desolating Plague, 

*' Each en his pale horse rides, the ministers 

" Of angry heaven, to scourge offending worlds ! 

Mallet. The Excursion, Canto 2. 

'TwAS in the pride of the rolling year : It had 
come to the fullness of its strength : A part of the 
yellow grain yet rustled on the field : The young of 
the bounding doe were fleet as the wind : The hun- 
ter marked them on the hill, and sighed for the 
sound of their approach : The pass was stained with 
their youthful blood. The plains rejoiced in their 
labours: The hills exulted in the fruits of their 

No galling curfew vet had tolled j the middle of 
the second hour, of the night, was come, and still 
the fire might be kindled on the hearth. I was sit- 



ting thoughtful in my hall; a lamp burned -before 
me J serene and sultry was the evening ; I was op- 
pressed with the heat, though no fire was in the 
place ; My window opened to the twinkling of the 
stars : The moon threw her borrowed light upon 
the floor, and gleamed along the side of the glen, 
reposing her steady beams on the wood, or sparkling 
in the stream below ; the tops of the trees were 
bright in the wood that rose, and round as her silver 
edge when she first appears, but the shades were 
dark as the cave within the hollow rock j she glis- 
tened on the dew, in the fullness of her light, mark- 
ing the distant temple on the brow, and the ruins * 
among the lofty trunks ; the withered leaf from a- 
bove dropt gently through the spreading boughs. 
Not a cloud could be seen : Only the farthest stars 
were hid by the rising mist ; slow, as the yielding 
light, they descended behind the steaming plain. 
I thought on the Maid of the wood f ; how she pined 
in the artless bower, to the west, and listened to the 
falling of the stream : I marked the hum of the dis- 
tant lin, beyond, between the birks in the how J. 
Far beneath the noise of the waters was heard, in 

* The ruins of the Chapel. See the Description of New-Hall 

f See the Description of Marifs Lhi, and Bower ; and the 
Mansion, the preceding poem. 

t In Habbie's How. 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 675 

the howm. The western breeze came skimming 
down the hill, and gently sighed in passing through 
the glen ; the leaves hardly rustled as it went along. 
Nocturnal exhalations rose : the merry gleam danced 
upon the heath: the dusky bat fluttered round the 
trees : at dreary intervals, from the dark recess on 
either side, was heard the moaning of the owl ; she 
Sat in the hollow tree, o'er the rill that murmurs 
from the dashing rock above, to glide down the slo- 
ping fall below, and meet the current in the glade * ; 
wild was the screech she returned ; her hootings 
were like those she sends forth before the approach- 
ing storm ; she answered to another's cry ; cold ran 
the blood of the traveller; the screams floated in 
the wind, like the lamentations of the dying in the 

hands of the midnight murderer. The raging 

bull bellows through the woods : The boar whets 
his tusks on the aged oak : The bowlings of the 
wolf is heard afar ; swift, as the arrow from the 
hunter's bow, th' affrighted deer fly o'er th' extend- 
ed heath. But the shrouded ghost, as the shadow of 
a lingering cloud, stalks slowly o'er the paths of the 
dead ; wan and wrapt in white he had sullen risen 
from beneath his stone ; the turf heaved as he rose : , 

* Tiie " howm," or Washing Green, below the Fairies' Den, 
and Lia. S':e the Description of Ncuj-Hall House, &c. The 
" liowm'' is inimcdiateiy behind New-Hall House. 



The cold wind shrilly whistles among the dropping 
ailes ; the blue taper scarcely through the horn 
shows the relic j half extinguished by the sickly 
damps, wearisomely it burns ; faintly his slow ap- 
proach is heard through the winding vault ; a glim- 
mering light, from the pale moon, steals through the 
shattered roof, and dimly marks his way : Mournful, 
he issues from the gate of tears ; the drowsy hinges 
creak : Like the pillared smoke ascending before a 
sable cloud ready to thunder on the earth, tall and 
white, he walks his, round before the gloomy pile ; 
his cold step is on the silent grave ; the great bell is 
heard to toll on high j the hollow sound dully echoes 
from the awful tower, and slumbers in the breeze : 
Wild, and dismal is the shriek i from the habita- 
tions of the dead. All else was calm and still : 
Silence reigned : The feathered race were fast asleep. 

Faint gleamings, like the transient lights that shoot 
athwart the heavens, brightened in the south. White, 
as the sun behind the mist of the morning, a dazzling 
glare filled the hall ; the lamp was lost in the blaze. 
I ran to the window : The heavens were on fire ; I 
could distinguish the smallest object on the earth : 
The gleam was extinguished : The stars withdrew 
their lights : The moon gave up the contest. From the 
west of south the Meteor approached : Large, and 
round, it seemed, at first, to stand, like another 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 677 

moon J but, to her, as white as she appears when, 
pale behind th^ beams of the sun^ she waiteth for the 
hour of her strength. Slow, and equal was its pace, 
forniing an easy bend. It flattened as it moved, and 
dragged, a fiery tail ; many were the stars it left in 
its train ; a hissing sound was heard as it passed ; 
prodigious was its height, though so bright it seem- 
ed at hand. The blinded owl ceased to scream; the 
silly bat fell stupified to the earth ; the feathered 
race, starting, turned their heads from behind their 
wings ; nature awoke. Soon, it disappeared behind 
the northern hill : The noise of its bursting was 
heard, like the sound of distant thunder, beyond the 
lofty mountain, when the winds are hush, and the 
bounding roe panteth on the hill. 

The moon resumed her reign : The stars put forth 
tlieir heads : The exhalation kindled on the heath : 
The owl renewed her note : The bat, shrunk within 
its wings, rose from the earth, and fluttered in the 
air : The waters, far below, murmured through the 
glade : The trees rustled to the sighing gale : The 
feathered race hid their heads behind their wings : 
Wearied nature slept. The astonished traveller mu- 
sing went on his way : I returned to my seat. 

Oulckly the invaders came : Fierce was the foe 

U u 3 


from the southern shore. The Valkyriur *, the choo- 
sers of the slain, attended on the field : Ihey were 
mounted on swift horses ; their swords were drawn 
in their hands : They selected such as were destined 
for slaughter : Many were the heroes they conduct- 
ed to Valhalla, to attend them at the banquet, and 
serve them with their horns of mead : The groans 
of the dying filled the land : He perished at the head 
of his people. Wide and waste are the forests of 
the stranger. , Wiien shall we see the race of Odin I 


" Amazed at antic titles on the stones." 

Drydeh's Firgily G. I. 

** An hour after, he saw something to the right which looked 
at a distance hke a castle with towers, but which he discovered 
afterwards to be a craggy rock." 

Johnson. Idlert NO. 97. 

** At sight of the great church, he owned that indeed it was a 
lofty rock, but insisted that in his native country of St Kilda there 
were others still higher; however, the caverns formed in it (so he 
named the pillars and arches on which it is raised) were hollowed, 
he said, more commodiously than any he had ever seen there." 
Mallet, from Martin's Vot/age to Si Kilda. 

** nor caves, nor secret vaults 

** could keep these Christians 

" Or from my reach or punishment." 

Mas SINGER. Virgin Marlyr, Act 1. 

* Sec Gray's Poems, The Fatal Sisters, A'o/f. 

NO. v.] ON THE, SCENARY. 679 

Projecting, lofty, from a sloping bank, 
Close by the summit of two meeting glens. 
Towering on high, and single, stands 2. Rock, 
Once, from the barb'rous hand, a wild retreat. 
Of unrelenting persecution fierce. 
In Charles's thoughtless reign the darkest blot. 
And hence arose its name, the Harbour Craig *. 
Dark, awful, and tremendous, from his base. 
Rugged, he rears his sable head upright. 
Dismally parted from the steep behind j 
A narrow pass, now almost filled with earth. 
Still marking plain convulsion horrible, 

Surprised, with staring eye, the passing swain, 
When first, afar, it opens to the sight. 
Descries a hoary venerable ruin. 
As if by magic hazle wand upreared ! 
He stops, and, musing, tries to recollect 
If aught concerning it he ever heard ; 
Anxious to know its founder, and its fate : 
With hasty steps, resolved to clear his doubts. 
He next, in front, advances up the vale ; 
When, lo ! on nearer view, he stands amazcd 
To find, at last, 'tis Nature's workmanship ! 
Yet, still, he scarce believes that he is right. 
Though rude the pillars, and the caves behind ; 

* See the Dacrijilion, and y'tea;, of this celebrated rock. 
U u 4 


So Strange the workings of the northern blast ! 

Delighted, curious, he examines sly ; 

And on inspection close, with eager look, 

He finds it lettered o*er, on every part. 

With ancient dates, and aged characters. 

The pious relics of its fanner guests : 

For, here, upon the verdant steep beneath. 

And on its heathy summit used to sit. 

Devout, sequestered, and attentive, all, 

A holy, persecuted, audience grave, 

Lending the anxious ear, whilst, raised on high. 

His fervent sermons, heated, zealous, preached. 

The earnest," warm, enthusiastic teacher. 

Standing between the pillars in the rock ; 

The grandeur of the pulpit nobly chose. 

To suit th' exalted subject of his theme. 

The Author of its being ! hence arose 

The lofty church, and gothic pile, to lift. 

Though far behind th' effect of Nature's works, 

Like these, the mind to elevated thought ; 

JFeak emblems, both, o/" Heavenly Majesty !. 

Even now, their carvings rude, where least exposed, 

Of names, and years, distinctly can be read ; 

Pleasing,, and innocent, the simple work ! 

And natural is the wish ! for ever, sure. 

And constant, has it been the wish of all ; 

Beyond the grave, to be hemembeiied j oxg ! 

" O Charles ! O monarch ! in long exile trained. 

Whose hopeless years th' oppressor's hand to know 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 681 

How hateful and how hard ; thyself reliev'd, 
Now hear, thy people, groaning under wrongs 
Of equal load, adjure thee by those days 
Of want and woe, of danger and despair. 
As heaven has thine, to pity their distress ! 
Yet from the plain good meaning of my heart 
Be far th* unhallowed license of abuse j 
Be far the bitterness of saintly zeal. 
That impious hid behind the patriot's name 
Masks hate and malice to the legal throne, 
In justice founded, circumscribed by laws. 
The prince to guard but guard the people too ; 
Chief one prime good to guard inyiolate. 
Soul of all worth, and sum of human bliss. 
Fair Freedom ! birthright of all thinking kinds. 
Reason's great charter, from no king deriv'd, 
By none to be reclaimed, man's right divine. 
Which God who gave indelible pronounced. 
But if, disclaiming this his heaven-owned right. 
This first, best tenure by which monarchs rule ; 
If, meant the blessing, he becomes the bane. 
The wolf, not shepherd, of his subject flock, 
To grind and tear, not shelter and protect. 
Wide wasting where he reigns to such a prince 
Allegiance kept were treason to mankind. 
And loyalty revolt from virtue's law * :" 

* Mallet. /Inijjtilor anclTheodcray Canto 2. 


Eastward, above, ascending to the south. 
In lengthened bends receding from the rock, 
A valley runs ; all green and sloping smooth. 
Divided, equal,, by the languid, dull. 
And- drowsy turnings of a muddy stream. 
Then farther, to the east, across, is seen. 
Sombre, dreary, and waste, the Hahlaw Moor* j 
A wide extent, o'er which the wearied eye 
Seeks for a place in vain whereon to rest ; 
And where the constant lamentations shrill 
Of bending curlew, saihng over head ; 
And piteous wailings of the plover gray ; 
Or lapwing, flitting up and down, above ; 
As if deploring their unhappy lots. 
Alone assail th' unwilling ear. Save, ere 
The close of day, at solemn intervals. 
Especially before the coming^ storm. 
The chuckings hoarse of skimming grouse are heard. 
Still the hid snipe, with flounce, may chance to rise 
From under foot, and, wavering, take the air 
With screamings rough afirighted, and, on high. 
Disliking to desert its rushy spot, 
Flutter aloft, and, smoothly gliding down. 
At times, aslant, with droning humming strange 
Repeated twice, descend a little way. 
Then, sudden somewhat, with a start uprise. 
Until, at last, it plunges down, and from 

* See the Mafi. 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 683 

Thick rush, at distance, creaks with grating sound. 
Like wheel neglected long : Or the ill shaped 
Wild duck from wetter ground, flap from the reeds. 
With harshest cries, and shoot aloft, outstretched.- ' ' 
The croakings dull of amorous toads, and frogs. 
Of reptile class, may, too, in spring be heard. 
From each dead pool, in mournful harmony. 
While, close engaged in the obstetric art, . 
Within their filthy spawn they soak ingulpht : 
4-nd the fell hissings of the lurking snake. 
From out the heath ; if wayward chance should lead 
A hapless foot across him basking at -ji' ' 

The heat of noon in coil luxurious, stuff *d 
With nauseous food entire of vermin hatched 
Upon the gloomy plain in which he broods. 
To rouze him, frantic, to th' envenomed bite. 
Such, by the place, have been invited here ; 
For other place unfit, and even for this. 
Unless, by summer's warmth awaked, they crawl. 
From leaden chains a minute free, again 
To sleep an hour. In winter, all beneath 
The howling blast is still, as sleep, or death. 

Aptly this moor's for deadly conflict fit. 
And, cloathed in sable, still it seems to mourn 
The fate of those that, here, in skirmish fell. 
In brave defence against black Cromwell's scourge j 
Its point, which of the vale, upon the east. 


One side, descending, forms, retaining, still. 

The name of Stetl *, extending to the north. 

Slow, o'er the barren heath, and reedy fen. 

The cold, and ghastly spirits of the slain 

May wander long, and mournful, undisturbed : 

Or, still persisting in a state of war. 

All pale and bloody with the mortal wound, 

"Wildly, upon the desert, field, perform 

Their dreadful, horrid evolutions fell. 

And, shrieking hideous, 'midst the dreary, sharp,, 

WhistUngs of the foul blast, fierce, in the dark 

And silent midnight, to the frightful gleam 

Of dancing meteoi^ may, at once, engage 

In airy combat ; but, how frightened from 

This dismal glare, that caused thy death, would, then. 

Thy fleeting shade, Eliza ! fiy, with scream 

Terrific shrill, and face concealed behind 

Thy trembling hands upHfted ! Oh, what fien4 

Could plot thy ruin on that dreadful night. 

When, home returning from the convoy of 

Thy friend, the moon that led thee on the path 

Was, on a sudden, darkly hid behind 

A cloud that blotted out the way ! The wind 

Blew whizzing o'er the heath ; the stream ran with 

A constant dreary murmur through the glen ; 

* Sec the Map, Mr Bradfute's Poem, and the Statistical Ac- 
count of IVest Linton. ' 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 685 

And when the lightning's flash athwart the gloom 
Shot vivid, all was black ; thy path it showed 
Was lost, but showed no more. Now thick from 

The chilling rain, and blast, descended sharp 
Upon the tender victim : Helpless, save 
The fading flower blown o'er the heath, unfit 
For such a soil, the gardener's darling ! Oh 
Had but thy father found thee yet ! Again 
*Tis calm ; the flooded waters roar beneath, 
And, overhead, the lightnings dart across 
The dismal canopy. But, when the fen. 
With vapours filled, sent forth its frightful flame. 
In kindled air, its meteor from the marsh, 
Its horrid gleam contrasted with the gloom ; 
Unable to v/ithstand the shock, at length. 
Back to its warm and feeling heart the blood 
Retreated cold. She frantic runs ! Again 
It glares ! Her tender trembling Hmbs, alas ! 
Exhausted, and fatigued, can do no more. 
And, sinking, yield ! Loud now the winds may blow. 
At peace ; the nipping blast can pinch no more I 
1 he sighing reeds protect thy beauteous form. 
Though bleaching lifeless ; and thy floating shade 
Attentive listens to the plaintive notes 
Insensible of cold ; itself composed 

Of vapour chill. But, soon, this view so dull. 

Beyond the Steel, and height of Sipnons House, 
May, yet, be changed into a lively scene. 


Westward, below its site, presents itself, 
Up from the 1Iakour Craig upon the left, 
"Winding in hasty turnings out of sight, 
A deep, and narrow Glen, with rugged banks. 
From yonder side of which, di-ect in view. 
Sudden, 'midst b oken fragments, bursting bright. 
And tumbling from the bowels of the earth, 
A pure, and rapid current brfskly flows ; 
His entrance far above. Now, liberty 
Regained, gay, sparkling, with a cheerful noise. 
He funs to meet his dark and silent friend. 
That, from the eastward, down the valley glides. 
In union close, the coxcomb, and the sot. 
Each to the other frankly yields a part. 
And that they may be for each other fit. 
They jointly steer a middle course between 
The two extremes. Meandering through the vale 
At last they join the past'ral Esk ; and down 
Its glen v/ith wooded banks inclosed, about 
The Steel, and Symons House above't, stray on, 
.'Amongst the glades and rocks, till round the Lalce. 
They turn, and disappear. Ere this, beyond 
The Steel descending to the north, and Esk, 
From t'other side a stream, as bright as glass. 
Falls spouting o'er a rock, within a dell 
That opening branches off, then onward plays. 
Till down again it pours, collected by 
A circling cave that almost closes round 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 687 

The bowl beneath, thence leaving only room, * 
For passage strait, between its craggs, and woods. 
To let it slily outward steal, when down 
Another break it springs, and, round the stones. 
And fragments darting, gains the' Esk. Close by, 
A rural Onstcad stands, a shepherd's home. 
And erst supposed the seat of honest Glaud. 
'Tis here the haugh, or glade, commences, once 
The plain on which a part of Cromwell's troops 
By Monk commanded lay encamped, and hence 
Monlis Haii'j:fi 'tis named to where it circles round 
The Lake. No wonder, thus, that Cromwell, Monk, 
And brave Montrose, the shepherds' future thoughts 
Employed, when Symon, to his neighbour, first 
Announced King Charles restored, (not dreamingj 

Of future persecutions,) and their Knight's 
Return. Amidst the Pentland heights this dell. 
That meets the haugh, begins, where, high upon 
The rounded summit of a grassy hill, 
A bloody skirmish with Monk's soldiers rose 
In which the leader fell, o'er whom a stone 
AV'as placed that still remains, and from 
The chief commander's name, that sent the force, 
Though absent also there. Monk's Rig 'tis called *. 
All to the north, and west. In varied hues, . . 

* 'ihi Jtofmlar accounts of t'acse name?, adopted by Ramsn:/. 


And shapes, the high and fleecy Pentlands rise. 
And terminate the view. Here, bhthsome bard^ 
You laid your rural scenes, so fitly chose. 
Here, Ramsay, did thy Gentle Shepherd feed 
His gentler flock, and, with his bashful friend, 
Lie basking in the sun, and light, and gay. 
Laugh o*er his amorous tale : whilst playful, fresh. 
And blooming as the rose, his lovely maid. 
Upon the '' jiowery hoxvm^'' with Jenny shy. 
Sweetly convers'd, oft, by the " burnie clear," 
" Trotting and wimpling " thro' the verdant grass ; 
Or farther up the glen, at " Habbie's How," 
That still retains its form, and rustic name. 
Beauteous as from the hand of Nature pure. 
Unknown to him, timid and watchful, bath'd 
Her charming limbs in the encircling pool. 
Cheerful, and artless, is thy native strain! 
Hence oft, delighted, may the rustic swain, 
" Beneath the south side of a Craigy Bield," 
Read o'er thy pleasing scenes, and reading learn 
To follow out the aimplc, Iwnest life, 
The oxly source of genuine happiness." 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 689 


An Elegy. 

. The scenary of this poem is copied from the ob- 
jects around the perforated rock, or hermitage, and 
mineral zvell, between the " Howm,*' or Washing 
Green behind New-Hall House, and the Squirrel's 
Haugh on the Esk, above it. See the Map, and 
Descriptions of the Views. 

** About two leagues from Fribourg, we went to see a hermi- 
tage ; it lies in the prettiest solitude imaginable, among woodsy 
and rocks." 

Aduison. On Italy. 

* And may, at last, my weary age 
" Find out the peaceful hermitage, 
" The hairy gown, and mossy cell, 
" Where I may sit, and rightly spell 
** Of every star the sky doth shew, 
" And every herb that sips the dew." 


In days of yore, when common sense retired, 
And only superstition grossly reigned. 
In penance often men withdrew from sight. 
Trusting that pleasure would come after pain. 

By poverty, and stripes, and watchings long, 
By checks increased, severities renewed, 



They sorely mortified the sinful flesh, 

And, thus, their lusts and spirits they subdued. 

If but the smallest spark of life was left. 

One gay accomplishment, by heaven bestowed. 

To grace, and finish off, its favourite man. 

They straight debarred him from the blessed abode. 

The running stream, the hollow glade they sought. 
There, in the mossy cell, and deep recess. 
Sunk within hanging woods and lofty banks. 
They told their beads, and took their lonely mess. 

They fasted oft, and earnestly they prayed. 
Devoutly pent within the narrow cave ; 
And oft they sauntered, pensive, thro' the woods. 
In quest of herbs, and musing on the grave. 

'Twas then, that long there lived, in wild retreat, 
A Hermit, pale with fasting, and with care; 
His only drink was water from the brook. 
He eat of nothing but the coarsest fare. 

Tall was his person, and his carriage grave. 
Resigned, though bending with a load ofyears. 
His eyes bespoke the fervour of his mind. 
His cheeks were furrowed by his frequent tears. 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 691 

Low from his chin hung down his silver beard ; 
His hoary locks upon his shoulders rest ; 
Unless when heated by religious zeal. 
Calm, and composed, was all within his breast* 

Taught, by experience, in his younger days^ 
How vain, and trifling, are all things below ; 
Retired, he sought by penance, and by prayer, 
Th' exalted honours which from goodness flowi 

North, to the hills, high o'er the boldest bank, 
A guardian Castles top was just observed : 
And, on a neighbouring point, was seen, above. 
Its Gothic Chapel, by the Hermit served ; 

A twisted, moss-grown, thorn, beneath its sitCj 
'Bout half-way down, in the recess that lies 
On this side south, protected from the sun 
The Fount from whence the Castle drew supplies* 

Close to a rock he built his low re the at. 
Secure from summer's heat, and winter's storm ; 
An Oratory, with its cross above. 
And roofs, and chimney, reared, in simple form. 

His funnelled roof the little chimney crowned ; 
Through the arched cave he entered to the cell 5 

X x2 


The comer most exposed a buttress propt, 
Supporting high, and safe, the matin bell. 

A winding stream ran purling past the grot ; 
On it, his windows opened, or a glade, 
G'er each, with taste, he threw the gothic arch. 
Religion gave the cast to all he made ; 

Religion, with his native taste combined. 
The wildly solemn point, as fittest chose 
Romantic forms, to suit the scenes around ; 
Taste even on superstition graces throws. 

A rough hewn plank, two rustic piers upheld ; 
Out from the pool, at close of sultry day. 
At dancing flies the lively trouts light sprang. 
Bit at his crumbs, or on the surface play. 

"With coals collected from the broken banks. 
His blazing fires o'er winter's colds prevail ; 
The woods, in summer, herbs and roots supplied. 
To cure disease, and swell his scanty meal : 

Their warm, embowering shades, and varied fruits. 
Their streams, and rocks, a crowd of tenants drew. 
That strove, as if, to cheer his vacant hours ; 
From shelters sung, or gamboled in his view. 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 693 

By strangers reared, first ushered in the spring, 
"With simple song, the foundUng cuckoo gray; 
Oft flying straight in quick vibrations past. 
Perched oft with tail raised high in amorous play. 

Upon the lofty summits of the steep. 
High o*er his head, the gloomy pine-trees grow j 
Thence came the plaintive cooings of the dove ; 
Thence came the croakings of the mournful crmc. 

From the low glade th' aspiring firs ascend. 
With each its ring of cones beneath its point ; 
Their horny plates the ruddy cross-bill tears. 
And digs a winged seed from every joint. 

The bullfinch feeds upon the tender bud j 
Like feathered dart, the long-tailed titiuouse flies ; 
The blue * plays round each mossy branch for food ; 
And up the trunk the mouse-like creeper plies. 

The sky-blue heron, like a pillared stone. 
With patience watching, from the fishy stream. 
Or from the lofty grove, mounts up, alarmed. 
With rambhng members, and a piercing scream. 

Beside the brook, from out th' impending bank, 
A sweet shrill tune the bobbing ouzel sends, 

* Blue titmouse. 
A X 3 


The 7vck ring *, bold though fewer notes repeats, 
Whilst from high crag he like a blackbird bends. 

Up from the pebbly beach the wagtail springs. 
With streaming rudder, at the shifting fly ; 
The sand lark f darts, with bended wings, athwart, 
And skims, and loudly pipes, in quivering by. 

In quick, short flights, along the dry-stone wall, 
Descending first, then rising to the top. 
The restless zvheatear, in its motley dress, 
Eyes round, perks, flirts, and chats at every stop, 

The creaking 7'ail is heard, but never seen. 
Now here, now there, the standing corn among j 
The bunting sits on the surrounding fence. 
And chirps, at intervals, its easy song. 

The dazzling goldfinch ornaments the woods j 
The broivn, the yellow, golden crested, wrens, 
Their wondrous throats extend j and, with a screech, 
The painted jV/j/ shoots hurrying cross the glens. 

Incessant, fleet, and veering, as the wind. 
The sic'ift, the martin and the srcallozv flies, 
And as they sho^y 'tis to be foul or fair. 
Swim near the earth, or play among the skies : 

Rock, or Ring Ouzel. f Sand Piper. 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 695 

The young ones twitter from their clay-built huts. 
Stuck high, in numbers, on the Castle wall j 
Or from their straw-clad holes within the bank. 
Extend their throats, and to their parents call. 

Slow out of sight the cheerful lark ascends j 
Constant, and varied, as he mounts, he sings : 
And downward sinking to the topmost spray. 
The titling warbles with uplifted wings. 

Afraid, and coy, yet wishing to be seen. 
First at the window, then the door, appears 
The friendly redbreast ; on the hearth at last 
He pertly lands, and lays aside his fears. 

The muddy buzzard sails from bank to bank ; 
The bright gray harrier skims along the ground ; 
The sharp brown haick stands fluttering '" " in air, 
Or with recurring shrieks keeps wheeling round. 

At times, though rare, within the woods is seen, 
By chance detached, and as a passing guest, 
The spotted hoopoe, with its bended bill. 
Its blushing plumage, and its graceful crest. 

The partridge hides its head within the furze ; 
The grouse sits close beneath the dark brown heath ; 

X X 4 


But renard, if he chance to steal that way, 
Rewards their cautious fears with instant death. 

The lambkins bleated on the rising hill ; 

The caw-hoy'' s horn was heard, the soothing low ; 

The magpie chattered in the bushy thorn ; 

Light skipped the squirrel on the slender bough *. 

With turned up, snow-white scut, the rabbit round. 
With drawn-out form, and flattened back-laid ears, 
Into its sandy burrow nimbly scuds. 
Or peeping out returns and disappears. 

The ermine jumped from out the humble brake. 
And, fearful, rose erect among the grass : 
The weazel, bounding, crossed the verdant glade, 
And sought protection in the stony mass. 

Expanded, smooth, beyond the bustling stream. 
The bright green lawns about its windings spread. 
Save, where turned up, and loose, the light brown 

A heaving heap, the mining mole betrayed. 

As the strong horse a large round load of hay. 
Its volute shell the slug drags up the tree ; 

* About the Squirrel's haugh. See the Description of Mary's 
J, in and Bower. 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 697 

The scajty lizard basking in the sun. 

Seeks its small hole, and leaves the passage free. 

Pleasing, in summer, carolled from the grove. 
The thrush, the blackbird, and the linnet sweet ; 
The bee stood humming on the tender flower 5 
Soft was the turf beneath his aged feet. 

At times, his Gothic cell, and mossy rock. 
Attract the shepherd from the evening fold ; 
His artless crucifix displayed a-top 
Marked it to be a Hermit's cave, untold. 

His penance so severe, his life so pure. 
Oft drew the saint beneath his friendly shade ; 
His earnest, frequent, intercourse with heaven. 
Oft brought the sinner to request his aid. 

The virtues of each plant so well he knew. 
In healing sickness was his skill so sure. 
Found by the happy patient, oft from far, 
'Twas seldom that he failed to work a cure. 

Deep sunk in trees amongst the rocks above, 
By secret path approached, a curious well 
Lay near, the hidden uses all of which 
He knew, and practised, at his friendly cell ; 


With tender care he drew it from its source, 
He cut a channel to the solid face. 
He scooped a bason, raised a cooling shed. 
And to her Ladys self consigned the place. 

The Castle's, once a Convent, still, there stood 
An Hospital * beneath the nearest hill ; 
'J'he weary, and the sick, found shelter there. 
And there he often, exercised his skill. 

'Tis said that when, at noon, the pious swain. 
With humble present, from his hut, drew near. 
He found him slowly wandering in the wood 
Charmed with the beauties of the fruitful year. 

Again, beneath an aged elm espied. 

Devoutly standing in his russet gown. 

He saw him lean upon his faithful staff. 

And tell the beads that from his belt hung down. 

The witch-like hare now from her form awaked. 
Crossing the lea with awkward hobble appears ; 
Or midst the dewy grass, whilst nibbling quick. 
Oft rising, fearful, shows her lengthened ears. 

To meet his mate, or seek the evening snail. 
Out from the hedge the hog-like urchin creeps, 

* See tlie Description of the ^Spitals of New Hall. 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 699 

With probing snout steals on ; or rolls him up. 
And like a ball of thorns from danger keeps. 

With humming noise the beetle spins along. 
Straight, through still air, directs his drowsy flight ; 
The mongrel bat^ with sooty leathern wings, 
Flits round the trees, and shows the coming night *. 

Oft at the silent hour when spectres walk, 
Drawn to his window by the silver ray. 
He marked the paleness of the wading moon. 
He marked the sluggish dullness of her way : 

He saw the twinkling of the distant star : 
The gleaming current glittered in his sight : 
Solemn, and dark, came on the sable cloud j 
And all lay buried in the dreary night. 

The oxvl sat screaming in the deep recess ; 
Loud, wild, and dismal, was her mournful cry : 
The rushing of the waters filled the glen. 
Resounded from the rocks, in passing by. 

But, chiefly, in his latter days he used. 
Close by his window with his rock behind. 
To, musing, pore upon the passing brook. 
Pleased with the rustlings of the fleeting wind : 

* See the List of Animals, in the Description of the IVushlng 
Green, for those characterized here. 


'Twas here he studied oft his favourite book j 
Here did he oft, in contemplation deep. 
Sadly reflect upon the bypast years. 
Sadly remember that hisjathers sleep. 

The shadow of the cloud passed o'er the glade ; 
Struggling, in vain, went on the murmuring stream ; 
The rugged rock falls slowly down to dust ; 
All did remind him death is not a dream. 

Soon did the father realize his thoughts ; 
Soon did another mournful instance give j 
To all on earth an end is Jirmly jix d ; 
Few are the days the oldest have to live. ' 

Long did the friendly tear, and grateful sigh, 
Mark the remembrance of the help he gave 5 
And ever, to the memory of his life. 
Sacred has been preserved his lonely Cave. 

The plank is gone, but still its piers are left ; 
'Twixt and the cell the shining pool still lies. 
No crumbs now fall, but still, at summer's eve. 
Its eager trouts, as if impatient, rise. 

Still, up the steep, his crystal well remains, 
'J he faint and languid seek it out with care. 
And that the holy finder of the spring 
May be rewarded, is their constant prayer : 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 701 

The vaulted bason still entire is seen. 
The hanging path that joins it to the cell. 
And yet in simple characters remain 
Above its gothic door, ** Our Ladifs JVell.'" 

Beneath its hills, the 'Spital House yet stands *, 
By the clear rill we trace its ancient site ; 
Even now its hospitality remains, 
And travellers still claim shelter as their right. 

The Monks' burn, near, has yet its former name, 

Not far below, it joins the trickling rill ; 

Where meet the streams, the fruitful Glebe croft 

Betwixt their conflux and the northern hill f. 

Part of the Castle still is to be found ; 
The western point its ruined Chapel shows \ ; 
And yet a thorn, with many a reverend twist. 
Lives underneath, and o'er its fountain grows. 

* See the Maji. 

f See the Description of the "'Sfiitah of Neiu Hall. 

X See t)ie Description of Nevj-IIaU House. 


For a BATHING HUT m Habbie's How; 
Dedicated to Peggy, the Gentle Shepherdess, 

An Ode. 

" Honida tempestas coelum contr^xit ; et imbres 
" Nivesque deducunt Jovem : nunc mare nunc silvae 
*' Thrcicio aquilone sonant." 

HoR. lib. 5, cartn. 13. 

* Red came the river down, and loud, and oft 
*' The angry spirit of the water shriek'd." 

Douglas, jiict 3. Sc. 2. 

** The winds roared in the woods, and the torrents tumbled 
from the hills 

Work'd into sudden rage by wintry showers, 
* Down the steep hill the roaring torrent powers : 
** The mountain shepherd hears the distant noise.'* 

Rambler. NO. /j5. 

** Peggt. Gae farer up the burn to Habbie's How, 
" Where a' the sweets of spring and simmer grow : 
" Between twa birks out o'er a little lin 
" The water fa's and maks a singand din : 
" A pool breast-deep beneath as clear as glass, 
" Kisses with easy whirls the bordering grass. 
" We'll end our washing while the morning's cool, 
" And when the day grows het we'll to the pool, 
** There wash oursells 'tis healthfu' now in May, 
" And sweetly cauler on sae warm a day.'* 

Gentle Shepherd. j4ct 1. Sc. 2. 

NO, v.] ON THE SCENARY. 703 

Fiercely blew the wintry blast ; 
Cold, and drenching, was the rain j 
Mercy on the tender flocks ! 
On the herds that grazed the plain ! 
Quickly arose this rapid stream, 
Largely fed by many a rill ; 
Esk Head *, the fount from whence he came. 
Is at the back of Paties Hill. 
Darkly, and troubled, deep he rolled. 
Tumbling,' and roaring, as he went ; 
- Till, frantic, o'er these rocks he rushed. 
And for a while his fury spent : 
Now, calmly, in the pool he wheels. 
Beneath the foam, and mist that rose ; 
Then, with gained vigour, as before, 
He dashing down the valley goes. 
Thus have I seen a tawny bull. 
By rushing dogs with rage supplied. 
Come roaring down the mountain's brow, 
As if he every check defied : 
But if a swamp should intervene. 
He foams, and flounders with his train ; 
Till struggling to an issue found. 
He thunders down the steep again. 

Esk Heady at the foot of the Harper Rig. See the Descrip- 
tions of the Map ; and of the *Spitalt of New Hall. 


Thanks to thee. Rural Hut ! 'twas then, 
Stopt, with my gun, I sought thy aid ; 
How freely didst thou take me in. 

And give me shelter in thy shade ! 

Long last thy hospitable roof ! 
Long may thy rustic walls remain ! 
And may th' unfriendly, envious blast. 
Attempt to break them down, in vain ! 
Hence may these hanging trees, and rocks. 
Be thy protectors always found ! 
May woodbines, and the ivy green. 
Cheerful, in summer, clasp thee round ! 

, Here let me, 'tis a favourite spot, - 
When languid at the bottom He 
The finny race, o*erpowered with heat. 
Take out my book, put up my fly ! 
Enchanted by thy native scenes ; 
Lulled by the falling of the streiam ; 
Here, Ramsay, may I, acted, see 
Thy Gextle Shepherd in my dream: 
His artless bower-tree stockinhorn, 
His dog, and flock, would make him known ; 
His crook, smart garters, bonnet blue. 
And plaid across his shoulder thrown : 
For often, with his bashful friend. 
Retiring hither from the plain, 
Blithsome, he told his amorous tale ; 
Or, piping, played a merry strain : 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 705 

Happy, like Damon *, had he found 

Gay Peggy, with her sparkling " een," 

As here she bathed her lovely form. 

When tired with washing on the green : 

Though much I doubt if Patrick had. 

Like modest Damon, stole from sight ; 

He'd " brattled," rather, " down the brae," 

And laught to see her in a fright : 

Then, when he'd meet her with her friends. 

She blushed, looked down, and nought could say, 

He'd torture with his artful jeers. 

Till, as he'd wished, she stole away. 

Whilst in the shape of cheerful lark. 
Still lively, o'er this place you sing ; 
Or goldfinch-like these birches haunt. 
And with shrill music make it ring j 
O may I oft, to share thy glee. 
Here wish my heated limbs to cool ; 
Thy Hut protect my cloaths, whilst I 
Enraptured plunge into the pool ; 
As those who into Lethe dive. 
And there forget fatigue, and painj 
Imbibe thy spirits as I swim. 
And, thus, a new existence gain ! 

Of equal use, in winter storms j 
And in the heats of sultry days j 

* In ThomsstCs Seasons. See the Description of HabhWi Hoiv. 



Simple, and rural is thy Hut ; 
But merit only calls for praise. 

PEGGY'S MYLLj bel&io the Cabline's Lou pis. 

A Ballad ; 

CoNTAiNAND the hystorie o' the Myll a descrip- 
tion of it its stanss and of the howm forenent it. 
Of the impudence o' myller Jok quhan Kate trampit 
at the edge o' the howm and of the zearly meetand 

on it, below the Pyper's Know. -^ Als alswo how 

Bess Bamphray maist lost a husband on the road 
halm to her midder*s cot-house at Monk's Haugh ; 
and how a ghalst gat her ane against hys wyll. To- 
gydder wi' a fryendly hynt tae jzoung lasses an ob- 
servation on the uncertain issues o' schemes and pro- 
jects the uselessness o' envy and mony odder 
thyngs whylk the auld-farrand wyll not myss tae 
notys in bygaand. 

OuHAN Patie gat Sir William's lands, 
^ The auld corn myll at Carlopis 
AV^as sair fa'n into disrepair, 
Frae th' pit-whiel tae its ruif-topis ; 

The' on the Uisge, in Roger's farm. 
It, ance, bayth late and early, 

1^0. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 707 

Below the mouth o' Mause's glenn, 
Culd grynd aits, pease, an' barley : 

At t'idder mouth atween its rokkis 
Thys honest vvyse auld wydovv 
Amang the haws had, synce, hir cruve 
Be-north the grene and meadow *. 

He wrychds and masonis set to wark, 
He wair't on't muckle syller. 
He chang't its name to Peggy's Myll, 
And Roger gat a myller : 

The myller' s name is Mathew Meal, 
Jok Duist is Mathew's servant, 
Quho, wi* hys maister's, hys ain dues 
To draw is maist observant 2 

To Mathew Meal the multuris fa' ; 

Jok Duist gets a' the sequels. 

The knaveschipis, bannocks, gowpens or lokis j 

For sucken f, it has nae equals. 

Its wa's are whyter, now, than snaw j 
The staneis are layde fu* neitly ; 

* See the Genii: ShtJiherJ, Act 5. Scene 1. ; the Description of 
Ulause's Cottage ; and the Map. 

f Extent of thirlage, or astrictcd grounds. 
Yy 2 


And' a' the fo'k als they zle bye, 
Crye, ferlyan, O how staytly ! 

Its ruif 's now blew wi* bonny sklateis 
That skinkle o'er wi' dimonts -, 
An' ay the jawps flee frae the whiel 
That quirlis at the end on't. 

The klapper gangs sae kantily. 
That a' the nychbours lyk it ; 
E'en Nepis's tung was ne'er sae loud, 
Quhan chierily she krackyt. 

Abune, the road lieds throuch the glenn. 
Up frae the rumblan' water, 
Atween the hyllis aman the craygis, 
' That maks an unka klatter ; 

But frae the ford and Pyper's know * 
The byrkis hyng down fu' swietly. 
And round a howm on t'odder syde 
The burnie rins mair sliekly : 

Wi' cauler shankis, and kyltit coatis, 
Here trampit Kate fu' tychtly, 

* Below the present bridge at tlie north end of the village of 
the Carlops, and of Manse's glen. 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 709 

Quhan duisty Jok jeer't frae the myll 
I ne'er saw legs sae sychtly. 

Now, a' the lasses every zier, 
'Nieth Paties sunny Hyll-o *, 
An* a' the lads, miet on this howm, 
An* danss tae Peggy's Myll-q. 

The pyper sits upon the know 
And plays awa fu* chier*ly ; 
The auld fo'k sit on ilka syd, 
And gab awa fu' raerr'ly. 

Sae smart ilk lad, wi' bonnet blue. 
Ilk quene wi' cockernonny, 
The grannies own, even in thair day 
Ihe howm was ne'er sae bonny. 

And round, and round, lyke Peggy's quhiel. 
They danss bezond the water : 
And sae they chier the auld anes heartis, 
They clack lyk Peggy's clapper. 

Than, O, quhan Pate and Peggy cumis. 
And crownis the merry mietand ; 
Wi joy, it maks thayr heartis sae grit 
They're a' maist at the grietand ! 

* See the Description of the ''S/iita/s of New Hall; and the Maji, 

Yy 3 


The lads zie a' the lasses hame, 
A quhyl azont the gloamand, 
Wi' sic a routh o' sport and glle 
It kiepis them lang frae roamand. 

Ance, at thys mietand. Will, and Bess, 
Danss'd a* the day thegidder ; 
The twa war sae wiel match't, and lyk, 
You'd thoucht Will Bess*s bridder. 

Will was auld Symon's cottar's son ; 
Bess was Gland's cottar's dochter, 
A virtuous wydow*s only weane. 
An' mony a herd had socht her. 

Will was a tycht and strapand chield. 
And pryz't hymsell upon it ; 
He had bra' gartands at hys knies. 
And rybbands round hys bonnet : 

He was baith straycht, and ruddy face't. 

And lyk't a bonny lassie. 

But cu'dna' thynk to tak a wyfe 

He was sae proud and saucy : 

A tappet cock in hys ain zaird. 
Was ne'er mair fu' o' mettle. 
Or mair perplex't, amang hys hennis, 
On quhylk o' them to settle ; 

Ka v.] ON THE 3CENARY. 7H 

For a* the hyzzies round the place. 
It mycht bie sene fu' playnly. 
War stryvand sae that ony ane 
Wa'd danss wi' hym fu* faynly. 

Thys Bess als wiel as he observ'tj 
And 't made hir bozome flutter, 
^uhan ilka quene, frae spyt, that day 
Sniest to hir wi' a stutter t 

The mair they snyft, the mair sche straive 
Tae kiep hym to hirsell-o ; 
And Will, that day, wi' sonsy Bess, 
Had not, it's sayd, hys fellow. 

He danss'd wi' sic an air, and glie, 
And fitted it sae nietly, 
^^lat a' the lads, frae schaim, and teynd, 
Luiked ne'er before sae blately : 

They cudna* get thair feet tae gang 
Lyk als they saw swiet Willie's ; 
They war, compayrd, lyk vspavicd couttis ; 
Thair quencs, nier Bcss, lyk fillies. 

At last, it fell sae late, and myrk, 
The gimmcrs they grew frychtcd 

y y 4 


That, gyf they didna suin gi*e o'er. 
They wa'd be a' benychted. 

Swa, sum thair fryends, and sum thair laddis, 
Tuik wi' them, tae protek them ; 
Sum gaed in hirsells, sum in pairs, 
Juist as it dyd affek them. 

Amang the last zung Will and Bess, 
Thouch Bess was in a swydder, 
Als they had duin a day, agried 
Tae kiep bie ane anydder: 

The tane lyv -d at the Harlaw Muir, 
The todder stayd at Monk's Haugh j 
But first they set out wi' a cowp. 
That they mycht not gar fo'ks laugh : 

A wee bit on, they watched thair tym, 
And fa'and slaw behynd them. 
Sklent sliely duin to the burn syd, 
Quhan nane they thocht wa'd mynd them. 

Bot myller Jok, quha wowit Bess, 
Suspekand quhat wad happen. 
Had gaen for hys quhyt duisty coat, 
Quhan they thocht Ijest, to pap in : 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 713 

He fallow'd them, behynd the cruid, 
Tae zie quhat they had ettled ; 
And quhan he fand hys guess was rycht, 
Hys plan, or lang, was settled. 

Zont the Wood brae * they 'skapit aff, 
Tae gang east, by the watter. 
And thocht they war thair lanes swa suin 
Als died awa' the clatter ; 

But Jok was mair ta'en up wi' them 
Than let them out o' sycht, thoch. 
And they had odder thyngs than hym 
To mynd, had it been lycht thoch. 

They dander'd down the clier burn syde, 
Quhyls marr'd wi' craigis, and buschis. 
And quhyls wi' cantie babbland spryngis 
Fryng'd cross the haughs wi* ruschis. 

At last, no far frae Habbie*s How, 
The linn they wiel cu'd hier it. 
Quod Bess, to Will, wi' a' they stops. 
And dansses, I'm maist wierit. 

Then we'll syt duin juist here, quoth he. 
Upon thys cozie brae syd, 

* See the Map, 


Ze needna fier, at liest whyle zou 
Ha'e me upon zour tae syd. 

Sche sat hir duin, als Will advys't. 
The byrks hang o'er, behynd them j 
Frae zont the glenn, frae out the burn. 
The muin schone lyk tae blynd them : 

Frae Habbie's How, a bit below. 

They heard the watter singand, 

Quhar quhyt it, *mang the limestane cralgis, 

Sets luggs that's near't a ringand. 

Quod Will to Bess ; now Bess, I beg 
Zou'll tell me now sincerely . 
Then, first, zou must, guid partner Will, 
Zour mynd lay open fairly r 

Before that zou dyd that, indeed 
A fuil I surely wa'd bie ; 
Quhan I had ne'er a grip mysell. 
To gi'e ze me to haud bie : 

It's no my business fyrst, tae spiek ; 
They ken, that ken the matter : 
Quhan I've heard how zou do, I'll, then. 
About it, tell zou better. 

NO, v.] ON THE SCENARY. 715 

Gyf that's the case, then, Will replys. 
And I haif nocht els for't then, 
I'll tell zou a* my m'ynd at ance, 
And cut the tether short then. 

To let ze, Bess, then understand 
At ance quhat is my meaning ; 
Bie that pure stream thare at our feet ! 
This day, zou've ta'en me clene in. 

Before I saw zou at the howm, 
I'd lauch't at sche wad tell me 
Quhat, I must now confess to zou, 
'Twas, Bess, that thare befell me. 

Zou danss swa wiel, and luik swa fresch. 
And gi'e sic tempand glansses ; 
Quha, thynk ze, that ha*e ene ava, 
Are prufe 'gainst sic advansses. 

Wiel, since I must ; mysell, to zou, 
I totally surrender ! 
And of my all, without reserve, 
I mak zou, Boss, a tender ! 

Quhyl thys he said, he prynts hys worddis 
Upon hir lippis wyth kysses ; 
Expectand to get back, for them, 
At liest als mony yesses* 


'Tis now zour turn, quod he, tae spiek. 
Unless zou mien tae mok me 
Sche gied a lulk ; and than cry'd out, 
O Will, zou' re lyk tae chok me 1 

Quhidder it was compassion moved ; 
Or that he thocht sche Jok squawl't ; 
Or 'twas frae spyt at William's luck ; 
Or juidg't sche for the joke bawl't j 

Or 'twas regard for Bess's fame. 
That seemed now in sic danger ; 
Or frae them a' ; als he ne'er told. 
We're still als zet a stranger : 

But swa it was, juist at the tym 
Quhan Will was lyk tae chok hir, 
Jok, wi' his mealy coat and face. 
Appeared, and thus bespok hir. 

" Bess Bamphray ! turn zour face this way ; 
Thoch I am died and rotten. 
Are a' zour promises to Jane, 
Zour midder, swa forgotten ! 

Quhan sche thys morning rigged zou out. 
And tyed zour cockernonny ; 
Did sche no tell ze tae tak care 
O' men, thoch ne'er swa bonny ? 

KO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 717 

O Bess attend tae quhat I say ! 
How often did zou tell us 
Zou ne'er wad trust a swankie's word j 
For they war sliddery fallows!" 

Bess was, at fyrst, swa ta'en wi' Will, 
Sche nodder saw, nor heard him ; 
But suih, I trow, quhan they luik't round, 
Jok, in a twinkland, scared them. 

Quhyl Will was glowrand, Bess slipp't out, 
Baith frae hys sycht, and clutches : 
And, now, his lane, he ran, als chaced 
Bie fifty diels, and witches ! 

Als Bess he nodder saw, nor heard. 
He juidg't he'd fairly lost her ; 
And, in despair, at last, he went 
And lay duin on his bouster. 

Upon the tap of the burn brae, 
Abune the linn and watter. 
Stands Halbert's house. I thynk guidwyfe, 
Says he, I hier a blatter ! 

The wyfe and weanes ran to the door. 
To zie quha 'twas was at it ! 

* Sec the Map. ; and the Descnption of Halhij''s Hous:. 


Cries Is'bel ; losh preserve us Bess ! 
At thys tym ; and swa towtit ! ,; 

Is thys an hour tae gang about, 
0*er glens, and braes ; z'r lane too ? 
And a' sae towzl't ; as if sum chiel 
Had gotten ze juist wi' weane, too ! 

But cum z'r wa ; z're walcum thoch : 
Thare's a guid fyre, tae warm ze : 
Tak in that stuil, and tell's z'r crakkis ; 
Nane, here at liest, wyll harm ze. 

Quhan sche'd sat duin ; O dear, quod Bess, 
Guid niechbours but I'm wierit ! 
I saw e'en now my fadder's ghaist ; 
And styll I thynk I hier it ! 

Zour fadder's' ghaist ! they a' cryed out. 
And quhat, Bess, dyd it say to ze ? 
I'm sure, quod Hab, it could nae cryme. 
That e'er I heard o', lay tae ze. 

The stars forfend ! quoth Bess, that I 
Shuld e'er bie at the mercy 
Even o* my fadder's ghaist for that \ 
Wi' frycht, Pd die gyf 'twar sae. 

wo. v.] ON THE SCENAllY. 710 

And zet had It not been for hym., 
That cam tae my protection, 
I dried, afore thystym, I'd been 
Under the diel's subjection. 

A fadder he has been tae me, 
Quhan died, als wiel as lievand ; 
From frae a wicked chiel's attacks 
Me juist e*en now reprievand ! 

Foul fa' the worthless loun ! cryes Tib ^ 
Quha culd it bie, I wonder ? 
Fm sure he kens himsell, quoth Bess j 
I wadna lyk tae blunder-: 

I was sae put besyde my wits, 
Quhan in hys arms he lock't me j 
I culd but, 'twixt hys kysses, cry, 
O, are ze ga'an tae chok me ! 

Nae suiner had I cryed thys out. 
Than hierand something spiekand, 
He cudna' help, between the smakkis, 
Frae o'er hys schouther keekand : 

Quhan lo ! als lyk als lyk culd be, 
Althodi sum wee thing zounger, 
Azont the burn my fadder stuid. 
As quhyt as a ralelmonger ! 


His schadow in the waiter shon ; 
He stuid hys leefu' lane thare ; 
Upon its edg, a* quhyt, and straucht, 
Juist lyk a lang hied-stane thare ! 

Quhane'er the chiel saw*t, and was sure 
His ene war no baith reeland, 
He bang'd up lyk a loun bewitch't. 
Or lyk a thief catch't stieland. 

Quhan in*s ain voice it cryed " O Bess ! 
, Attend to quhat I say now ;" 
I skriecht ! and, als the rever did, 
I rase, and ran awa too, 

I jynkit round a hazel busch ; 
And up the brae I scrambled ; 
And, as zou zie me, towzled a', 
I tae zour dor ha'e rambled. 

I'm sure it's bene a lucky thyng 
That I ha'e fund zour fyre-syd ; 
For had I no, bie chanss, cum here, 
I had died at sum myresyd. 

Says Is'bel, Hab wyll zie ze haim, 
Sae suin as ze ha'e warm't ze ; 
Zour midder wyll be grievand sair 
Wi' thinkand somethyng's harm't ze ; 

NO* v.] ON THE SCENARY. 721 

He's at the wars bene, and can faicht, 
Wi' ony ghaist, or warlock-^ 
O dier, sychs Bess, I wuss he had 
Bene wi* me frae the Carlop ! - 

Quod Hab, fyrst j Tib, let's tayst a scon ; 
And with't zour covenanter ! 
They'll gi'e us heat ; and mak us bauld ; 
Quoth Tib, Hab how zou banter ! 

Sche hurries ben to hir ayn boal. 
Bie thys slae roung and bonnit ! 
Wynks he to Bess, I'll wager zou 
We'll wayt an hour upon it ! 

Kynd Is'bel brocht the bottyl butt, 
Cryand, Hab, zou'd gar a fox lauch ! 
Throuch it, or lang, bayth Hab, and Bess, 
AVar saifly huised at Monk's Hauch. 

Niest day spunk' t out the hail affair ; 
How Jok pass'd for Bett's daddy : 
And, as he cudna' kiep awa, 
Sche saw hir muirland laddy. 

He stappet o'er the burn tae hir, 
Hir favour tae recover j 

Z z 


Tae offer hir hymsell again. 
And sty 11 remayn iiir lovef. 

Sxhe, now, tho*, was mair canny grown. 
Afore he cu'd obtain hir, 
He was oblyg'd tae ca' a priest, ; ^ou^^^^ 
Tae say a grace, tae gayn hir. .7 lurA 

Bay th Will and Bess, nexf ziet, War at 
The howm at Peggy's Myll-o : 
And, now, being married fo'ks, the rest, 
Wythout sturt, danss'd thair filLo. 

Zet a' the niechbours still are clier. 
And Will hymsell has sayd it, 
That hadna* myller Jok appiered T la/^I 
Tae Bess he'd ae'er bene wedded. i^-.v-O 

Swa nayller Jok, in fek, wass he 
That tyd thaim fast thegidder j 
And buxom Bess that nycht sent hayin 
Als sche had left hir midder : 

For wythout hym, sche'd lost, I fier. 
E'er, for a husband, Willie ; 
And or 'twg[s lang, without remied. 
Had luikcd bayth sadd, and sillie. 

N6. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 72S 

Thus, actions aft lied quyte cohtriir 
Frae quhat bie thaim's intended ; 
For Jok ne*er driem'd hys prank wa'd bie 
Wi' Bess's wedding ended. 



A Ballad, 

It'rittcn in the year 1793. 

With an Episode, founded on a real event, con- 
taining a comparison between Twccddale Mutton^ 
and the Edinburgh Races ; including a Soliloquy 
on Pleasure, particularly that of eatings the way we 
like it, and the different kinds of it. 

On one side of the conic rocks 

The carline louped between ; 
A glen bends northwards to the Esk, 

On t'^other side's a green * : 

Along the glen, a little town 
Frae th" rocks runs to the bng ; 

* See the Mnfi ; with the Descriptions of Mausi's CoHa^f. 
and Roger's Halhaiion ; and of Ths Lin Burn. 


On this the hill, on that the brae. 
The town's baith snug and trig. 

The brig is built aburie the ford ; 

Below it is the stance 
Of Peggy's mill ; and o*er*t the howm 

Where was a yearly dance *. 

The street in breadth is sixty feet ; 

The houses all are neat. 
With doors and windows painted white. 

And roofs of tyle, and slate. 

Half way between the rocks and brig. 

The street spreads to a square, 
A fountain there supplies the town. 

And keeps it clean and fair. 

Eastle the rocks a canty inn 

Gives lodging, beer, and bread j 

Over the door it has the sign 
Of Mause the witch's head : 

'Tis thirteen miles from Edinburgh, 

Upon the Biggar road ; 
Which runs below the Pentland Hills, 

Through where the green is broad : 

* See the preceding poem, on Pf^^^^s Mj/ll lelotv The Carlyng^s 


Be-south the craigs the carline lived. 

So blithesome Ramsay tells. 
When Bauldy, Madge once sent away 

With towzled harigells : 

The tree still stands, where, like a stane. 

Half petrified with fear. 
He stood in sight, and swithered lang 

Or he durst venture near : 

It grovv^s beside a little well. 

East from the inn, and rocks. 
And of west winds from Car lops Hill, 

It still can bear the shocks *. 

The craigs, be-north of Mause's hut, 

Directly intervene. 
And make a narrow pass, betwixt 

The village, and the green : 

Beyond the green, half round it, south. 
There sweeps a trotting burn. 

* See the View of Mausers Cottage^ and Roger's Habitation ; 
and the Map. Roger's Habitation was once used as an inn. See 
Dr Pair.dcuik'i Description of Tnveeddale . Before that, it was the 
mansion of the estate ; and after, in the days of Allan Ramsay, 
the farmstead to the whole lands of the Carlops, as one sheep 
walk, on their annexation to New Hall. 

Z z i3 


Beneath a gently-rising bank. 
Directing every turn j ' 

Till, ending in a swelling know. 
Formed by King Charlie's Nick, 

It; opens to a haugh below. 
And lets it pass it quick ; 

In distant vista, down this vale. 
Which verdant slopes surround. 

Appears the house, upon the height 
Where Symon, once, was found ; 

The loyal friend of honest Glaud-, 

That o'er good news to laugh. 
In old times, oft, across the burn. 

Called on him at Monk's Haugh *. 

East, from this valley's southern edge, ' 
Springs up the Rumbhng Well ; 

West, up its Dean, three curious mounts 
Contrast the Carlops Hill f. 

Behind the opening 'twixt the rocks, 

Runs, bright, the village 'forth ; 
' i ween and gay Patie's *Spital Hill, 

Its shelter on the north : 

* See the View, and Description of Claud's Or.stcad ; and the 
Ma[t. \ See the Map. 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 727 

As fur*s the square, the houses line 

The street without a bend ; 
Along the level street is view'd ..... 

The fount at farthest en4. .v i'> l-n/ 

Upon this flat expanded spot. 

Whence all these round appear, -': r 

A market's seen, the twenty-third 
Of April, every yeav * : :!, ,^ 

'Twixt Patie's Hiil, and Roger's Rig, 

The poet's tower ascends f ; 
There pastoral flutes, with vernal glee. 

For the prize pipe contend {. 

Another in October's held. 

Upon its fifteenth day j 
This day, when Rajusay first drew breath, 

The green is ever gay : 

* See the Descriptions of Mansers Cottage ; andTVi^ L'm Burn ; 
also the Almanachs, 

-j- See the Map., for the site of Ramsajj's Toiuer. 

X These annual contests, among the shepherdi of the Pent- 
land Hills, at Ramsay's Tower in the spring, for a Scots pasto- 
ral flute, recall the days oiTIicocri'.us, and Virgil, and the compe- 
titions for the prize pip-, amidst the Arcadian scenes of Sicily, 
and Italy, which constitute the chief subjecto of their Idyls, and 

Z z 4 


To crowds, at e'en, amidst the scenes 

That gave his drama birth. 
The shepherds act it, to the life, 
, And crown his fame with mirth . 

The tents are pitched upon the heights 

The merchandize to hold ; 
And, to attract the dealers more, 

Well covered from the cold ; 

There gingerbread, and ribbons gay, 

Are placed to catch the eye ; 
For older heads, too, whisky stoups. 

That all may come and buy. 

The farmers hale their cattle bring j 

The young folks all conveen ; 
And many a fairing is exchanged 

That day at Carlops Green. 

Sometimes the drums and streamand pipes. 

Are like to deave their ears ; 
Whan thro* the fair the serjeant struts, 

Enlisting volunteers : 

* See the Description of Mouse's Cottage^ and Roger's Halita- 
tlon ; and, in NO. 6. of this Appendix, among the Popular Poems, 
the Prologue to The Gentle Shepherd^ written by James Forrest, 
when it was acted at Roger's Rig, near the Carlops. 


Unless when, flourishing his cane, 

He stops his pipes and drum. 
And calls on all the gallant youths. 

Lest here the French should come, 

. In ane o' their romantic freaks. 
And on their sweethearts fa'. 
And tak their fathers* gudes and gear. 
And leave them nought ava ! 

Not even, he bawls, brave lads your breeks, 

Your hizzies even their coats ! 
For those in France that ha'e the sway 

Are a' daft Sans Culottes, 

Ance James, and John, met at this fair : 
James straight from Edinburgh came j 

John had a fat yeld cow to sell, 
^'\nd wasna* far frae hame. 

Quoth James, come this way, to yon* shed ? 

Let's see what's in your mill ? 
We'll try to mak a bargain there. 

And crack out o'er a gill. 

\\\* a' my heart, quo' John: and so 

Across the green they went ; 
And tho' it seemed already fu'. 

Got baith seats in the tent. 


So soon as James had bpught the cow, : 
Deep politics began isqiqaii aqo!3 -H 

He of the peopk was affknd, .-.o Ziho bn/. 
And to Me rights rfimn, . jsT^id JasJ 

A fife and drum, that was ga'afl b^oiii; m 
Fat Frenchmen in their heads j , l^J^ 

For, whiles, but frae a silly cause :Iej hrJ.. 
A great event proceeds,^ rl;. e /jiji bn/i ' 

I'm for equality, cries he !' .' uil ^naVw 4q>I 
I've read all Thomas Paine : :i iiroY 

And, lest a word I should forget, .:!. -j / 1 
I'll read him o'er again. ^^ / .. -lA 

What right have those they call the riehr- 
Come here's to you friend John 

What right have they to more than we ? 
I answer, surely none 1 

What would you do then, tell me James ? 

O, by all means divide I 
I'd like, if /twere but from mere spite, 

In Croesus' coach to ride. 

Though, unpractised, I there should be 

Sick, listless, and in pain ; 
A jeer to all my neighbours round. 

And but distresses gain ; 


Though, unbred up in Croesus* ways, -i^U 
By them rd lose my heahb;r -.- ^ 

I'd like, if but to humble him," * ;2i;r ,i , j 
To rob him of his wealth.-!^-..:. t'V/ 

But then, tjuoth John, by riding so 

Ane's head may turji about. 
And, frae no kenning how to use't, 

The purse may soon run out. 

But if, again, what we try for 

Is to have e(jual rights ; / 
We ken that's no French nonsense, James, 

For that a Briton fights. . 

You're no' awar' an equal purse, If 

My friend, can never be ; 
At least if all have equal rights 

To spend it, and be free : 

'Twere as great tyranny to make 

A lavish prodigal 
Hoard up his share, as from a scrub. 

By force to take it all. 

Besides, at once, your levelling would 

Destroy all soul, and spirit. 
By blotting all distinctions out. 

The only spurs to merit. 


But as for equal rights, even now. 

We have them perfect here j 
For, just Hke any other man. 

We hang a wicked peer. . 

Your equal purse would soon be gone ; 

All would' be as before : 
Some would pick up what you had lost 

And add it to their store* 

Or lang, this sure would be the case ; 

And what would you do then ? 
Why, what else would I do, says James, 

But just divide again ! , 

Then, cried twa beggars, from without. 

An island each of lice. 
What share shall I get of your cow ? 

Or I get of her price ? / 

What right have you, no more than we. 

To any thing that's good ? 
Or even than our free born lice, 

Tliat must, through us, have food ? 

In truth, quoth John, I fear, good friends. 

You'll not share as a glutton. 
An English Squire, not far frae this 

Shared of a black-faced mutton. 


Ay, ay, man, whatna story's that ? 

Says James, let's hear*t ; though lang. 
But if an hour it tak tae tell't. 

I wunna' say its wrang. 

,WeeI then, quoth John j and so ye see. 
Come, here's t'ye ! gie's a snuff ? 

There's ane frae me. Ere I am duin. 
You'll think it lang enough. 

The Squire, and's man, baith on their way, 

Had rode, to near this place. 
Some eighty years ago, or mair. 

To see an Edinburgh race. 


On Sunday they had got thus far. 
When he pulled up his bridle ; 

And, though 'twas late, for dinner called. 
Not wishing: to be idle. 


The landlord, just the day before. 
Had killed a prime fat wedder ; 

So to a leg John Bull and he, 
Or lang, sat down together, 

"Why, faith ! says Bull, host, this looks well 

Then cutting up the loin. 
Beneath at least an inch of fat. 

The juice sprang up like w ine ; 


Like port, it filled the ashet full. 

The cut expanding wide. 
If all your mutton's so, laughs he ! 

rU not begrudge my ride. 

The landlord swore 'twas four years old. 
The true short breed of Tw^eeddale I 

And with the rest, if he would stay, ^ 
None but the Squire should meddle : 

No, not the king, were he to starve. 

Should taste a single bit ; 
Until his honour should have done. 

Who'd got the first of it. 

If so, cries Bull, at least I'll stay. 

Good host, at least this night : 
By Jove ! I cannot think to stir 

Without another bite. 

My man shall go to tovm himself ; 

While I keep here alone ; 
And bring me out the news, betimes. 

Of how the race went on. 

What signifies it, adds the host. 

When for a week each day 
A race is run, although you should. 

Sir, be from one away. 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 73^ 

Each race, believe me, *s much the same 

As that which went before : 
To see five races then yourself. 

Is just as good's a score. 

Next day the quarter was discussed y 

While Tom told all the news ; 
As, how this rider broke his neck. 

And, how that got a bruise. 

Egad ! says Bull, you make so plain, 

Tom, all that happened there ; 
I know as well how all has passed 

As if rd had my share. 

You shall to-morrow go again. 

Take notice who*8 the winner ? 
You may, with perfect ease, be back 

A little after dinner. 

There 2ire Jour races after next. 

Still, ere the Ztfiolc are run ; 
I surely will have seen enough 

Before these four are done. 

Another quarter was produced : 

It bred a fresh excuse : 
Till Tom was sent five times, at last. 

To tov/n to bring the news. 


One quarter of the wedder, now ; 

And but one race remained ; 
When thus the squire convinced himself. 

And from the race refrained. 

Though I have rode two hundred miles ^ 

For pleasure was it not : 
And what can give me more delight 

Than what I here have got ? 

We all in pleasure, 'tis allowed. 

Have an undoubted right 
To choose, each man, what suits himself. 

And gives him most delight j 

But was a man, whose finest nerves 

W ere placed within his palate. 
To choose a show, before a feast, , 

I'd surely folly call it: 

Now, for my part, I do declare 

That, such are my dull eyes, 
A sight, even, of such charming meat, 

Before a race I prize : 

I, surely, therefore, ne'er can rue. 
Though I should miss this race ; 

When I shall put into my guts 
Such mutton in its place. 

NO. v.] ON THE SCENARY. 737 

By eating well, at least, we may 

In bulk, and vigour thrive ; 
But, who, e'er by the grandest sight 

Was even kept alive: 

O'er all the senses, now, so high 

Is that of eating placed. 
That every connoisseur in them 

Is called a man of taste : 

Hence 'tis that both the eyes, and nose. 

Are but as centinels 
Placed o'er the mouth, and but its guards, 

To see that all is well : 

Accordingly, that 'tis their chief. 

On which the rest depend. 
They know full sure, for were't to close 

All would be at an end : 

Our first great object, then, should be 

To give't the choicest fare ; 
The others only, after it. 

Should be our second care: 

If they should interfere with 't, then. 
Of course, 't should not be hard. 

3 A 


At once, to fix, which of the two, 

I think, should be preferred ; . 
.'' '' '.'] ' ' 
The solid pleasures from the mouth 

We, therefore, ought to prize. 
Nay even my very hounds do so. 

Before those from the eyes. 

Besides, in pleasures more rifined^'i - A 
As I've heard at some lecture, . 

Good lodging takes the lead, even there. 
The child of arckiteciuva : 

Hence, schemers, high, we builders call 

Of castles in the air ; 
And all contrivers architects. 

Of projects, foul,.cr fair : 

A sorry architect, I fear, 

For such a scheme, VA be, 
To leave, with meat, good lodging, then. 

An open race to see ; 

Even were I certain of some sport, 

To raise a little mirth ; 
When 'tis exposed to colds, and rains, 

And breezes, from the Firth ! 

NO* v.] ON THE SCENARY. 739 

The race may, after all, turn out 

Not to be very good j 
Then, for a shadeless, empty, show, 

I'd lodgings leave, and food : 

And, this delicious meat still more. 

This mutton, to enhance, 
I*d 'change, With it, a certainty. 

For what is but a chance : 

Now, as one bird in hand's, at least. 
Worth tzvo before they're catch't ; 

'Twould take two chances of good sport, 
Before this leg was match't. 

Besides, we've races such as these. 

From what Tom's daily told. 
And just as tempting, nearer home. 

With any man I'll hold ! 

For the last time, you shall set out. 
Then, Tom, for Leith to-morrow. 

Next day the wedder will be done ; 
I say't with grief, and sorrow : 

For, our coarse mutton, for a year, 
I'll not let near my mouth. 

3 A2 


By Monday 1*11 have eat this up ; 
And then I'll turn me south. 

On Sunday last 'twas we came here ; 

One stage but from the race ; 
Where I've been stopt, while I can eat, 

ril ne'er forget the place : 

The carlines head the carlihe's loups 
These charming boils, and roasts 

The mutton d the Car lops Hill 
Shall ever be my toasts !-* 

Before that John had well begun 

This story long to tell, 
The beggars saw nor he'd divide, 

Nor even James himsell : 

For, always, James, when levelling. 
Looked up towards the rich ; 

But never thought of looking down, 
To beggars with the itch. 

They both had time enough to plan, 

As well as execute j 
For many a glass, and snufF, John took. 

Before that he got through't : 

NO, v.] ON THE SCENARY. 741 

So, like their fishwife friends in France, 

Since none would be so civil 
As give them all they sought, themselves. 

They'd take it, through^ the devil. 

Whilst loyal John his story told. 

One eased him of the price ; 
And t'other got even James's cow 

OS with him in a trice. 

Now, when the dealers raise, and look't. 

Their gills, and stories done. 
They found, with gjrief, when 'twas too late. 

Both price, and cow, were gone ! 

Quoth John to James, what think you now ? 

Is't this you call equality ? 
Quoth James to John, it surely is ; 

Though 'twont do in reality. 

Or James got back to Edinburgh town, 

Without, or cash, or cow, 
He*d got his fill of Sans Culottes, 

And levelling I trow. 

The requisitions that were made. 
At ance, opened baith his een ; 

3 A 3 


And sent him hame a wiser man, 
That day, frae Carlops Green. 

No. VI. 

Connected with the Illustrations. 

The following lines, in the form of a letter, were 
sent into New-Hall House, by one of the servants, 
in summer 1802. 

Verses, ejctempore, to Mr Brown of New Hall. 

This will let you understand 
That Jamie Thonvion is at hand. 
O'er frae Kinkith, in which he dwells. 
On t'ither side o' Pentland Hills. 

Nae ither business he has wi' ye. 
But comes on purpose for to see ye ; 
And ask your leave, that he may gang 
And view the Place where Allan sang j 


Syms House; and Gland's snug Onstead see ; 
Auld Manses Cruve, and Blasted Tree ; 
The Lin, and Pool o' cauler water, 
Whar Meg^ and Jenny, used to squater. 
In Habby's How, breast-deep, in May, 
Skreened round wi* birks upon the brae. 

Now, if this favour ye will grant. 
And gi'e the license that I want, 
I here do promise nay I sweer ! 
I wunna wrang y'r guids nor gier : 
Sik as the dingand down a dike ; 
Breaking your timmer ; or the like. 
O' them I'll tak as muckle care 
As if they were my ain, and mair ; 
O' a' your orders being observant. 
As it becomes 

Your humble servant 

Jamie Thomson. 

It is easy to see that this James Thomson has no 
resemblance to the celebrated poet of Ednam, but in 
name, and attachment to the muses. His forte is 
humour. He is a " canty callan," of the school of 
Allan; and is as eccentric, and droll, in his look, and 
manner, as in his genius. He is a common weaver 
at K'uildth, a hamlet, on a brow of the northern de- 
clivity of the Pcntland Hills, between the waters of 

3 A 4 


Leith, and Glencross, not far from the high water- 
fall, on the latter stream, said by some wiseacres of 
late to be in Habbie's How; and that such is the po- 
pular opinion ! A large octavo volume of his poems 
was published some years ago, corrected by Mr Mac- 
laurin of Dreghorn, near Kinleith, who wrote, and 
prefixed to it, an account, and portrait of the poet. 
Less attention has been paid to them than they de- 

The south, as well as the north, side of Ramsay's 
favourite Pictland Hills, has, likewise, its native self- 
taught bard, of the same trade too ; who resides in 
the village of Carlops, and was bom in a cottage, 
called the Turtle Bank *, over the Esk and Wash- 
ing Green, south from New-Hall House, and east 
from Habbie's How, in the very middle of the ori- 
ginal scenary of The Gentle Shepherd. His 
name is James Forrest, the son of a labourer, 
and author of several poems in the Scots Magazine, 
with the signature J. F. His genius is of a serious, 
plaintive, cast. He furnished the anecdote of Ram-m 
say, repeated in the description of the Craigy 
Bield ; and also, among others, three poems con- 
nected with the scenary, which have considerable 
merit, and are subjoined, to show that the popular 

* See the Map. 



Opinion on both sides of the Pentland Hills, on this 
subject, perfectly agrees with evidence, and common 


Written after taking a walk through the Wash- 
ing Grken, and Habbie's How, at New Hall 
on the North Esk ; by James Forrest of the 
milage of the Car lops. 

Addressed to Mr Brown of New Hall. 

Weak are the strains my humble muse can show ; 
With hand unskill'd I touch the trembling string ; 
Fair science never taught my heart to glow. 
Nor cleared the way to the Castalian Spring. 
In rural solitude, I pass my days. 
Among the swains on Esk's fair winding stream ; 
To please myself, I sing my artless lays ; 
To court the voice of fame I never dream. 

To view the beauties of the pastoral glade. 
Awhile, I bid the haunts of men farewell ; 
To Hnger, listening, by the bright cascade. 
Or hear it gently murmur down the dell -, 


Or through the mazy wood-waikj lonely, stray. 
Where bards, of old, felt inspiration's fire ; 
In yonder " howni'' my listless limbs to lay. 
Where tuneful Ramsay strung his melting lyre. 

O, could I paint, the white, romantic " Lin ;" 
The fir-crowned steep, high-waving o'er the stream ; 
The twilight grove, the glass-like " Poor within j 
The ruddy cliffs reflecting yonder beam j 
The moss-grown cave, from noon's fierce heat a shade. 
Fit haunt for love, or friendship's social hour. 
Or musing bard, by restless fancy led, 
Who seeks, at eve, the lonely birchen bower. 

Fair handed spring weaves her green livery here : 
She rears the primrose on the bank unseen j 
Robes in its lively dress the thorny briar ; 
And paints the daisy on th' enamelled green. 
The purple violet, and the hare-bell blue. 
In gay profusion, ornament the lawn : 
The lily bends, surcharged with morning dew. 
Its reddish-white proclaims the rosy dawn. 

- Thro* these sweet glens still may the muses stray j 
Where native beauty scorns the show of art ; 
Where the plain shepherd sings his simple lay ; 
And rural innocence enchants the heart. 



7b The Gentle Shepherd, when acted at Rogers 
Rig, near the Carlops *, in the year 1 807- 

Written by James Forrest : and spoken by F. Govan. 

Here are no foreign actors with laced coats, ^ 
Who ne'er can speak a word o' plain braid Scots ; 
But simple country fo'ks, who seek no fame : 
Just to amuse ye is our greatest aim. 
Have patience then a while, till I rehearse 
My Prologue short, in rough unpolished verse. 

Thanks be to Allan, that queer, funny wight. 
Who wrote the Play we mean to act this night. 
What, though it lash some follies o' the age ; 
Fair virtue shines triumphant in each page : 
Here's steady loyalty, that nought could move ; 
Friendship sincere ; and truth ; and constant love ; 
Beauty, in tears while hope eludes her view. 
Fair, like the lilly wet with vernal dew. 

Such were the lays blythe Ramsay sweetly sung, 
When on the banks of Esk his lyre was strung ; 

* See the Map. 

748 POPULAR POEMS [app. 

As, oft, he wooed the muse, at twilight's fall, 
Among the green-wood glades around New Hall. 

So long as May produces smelling flowers : 
So long as bees delight in sunny hours : 
So long as truth with innocence shall dwell : 
So long THE GENTLE SHEPHERD shall excel. 
Let bigots rail j and kankart critics snarl ; 
And crafty priests about sma' matters quarrel ; 
We scorn, alike, their malice and their rage : 
There^s nought immoral seen upon our stage. 


On returning from the other side of the Pcntland 
Hills, after visiting, in summer 1806, the place, 
on Glencorse xvater, which some crazy, interested, 
or envious persons, have taken it into their heads, 
in opposition to their senses, and intellects, to call 
Habbie's How ! 

15}' James Forrest, of the village of the Carlops. 

Ae day a thought cam in my pow. 
To see that place ca*d Habbie's How ; 
Up, near the head o' Glencorse water, 
^Bout whilk there's been sae muckle clatter. 


What visionary castles fair. 
The muse-rid bard builds in the air ! 
I thought to see the light-heeled fawns, 
. -Gay, sporting o'er green flowery lawns, 
' : ":*Mong fragrant birks, where zephyrs fissle; 

Pan playing on his oaten whissle ; 
' An' wi' the nine celestial lasses. 

Dancing a' round, come frae Parnassus. 

How was I cheated ! whan I saw 
The elritch place ! Preserve us a* ! ! ! 

Nought's there, t'inspire the poet's lays. 
Or fire his breast wi' nature's praise : 
Nae smiling flowers o' spring, nor simmer ; 
Nor bush, nor tree, o* growand timmer. 
Save twae sma' row'n-twigs, on the rocks 
Whar the rough-throated corbie croaks i 
The hills a' round, baith brown, and bare, 
Will scarce afford to feed a hare ! ! ! 

Beside a wee bit dub, for room, 
Whar twa wild goslins coudna' swoom ; 
In sik a place, it gied me pain 
To see a bungled, leeand, Stane, 
Brought this same year, for the first time, 
An' a' stuck round wi' ill-spelled rhyme. 
To try to gar fo'k think they see 
What their ain een show ne'er could be. 


The wark o' some doiled 'prentice callan, 
Set up In Memory d Allax *. 

In addition to these popular proofs, it may be men- 
tioned, that New Hall was, during this summer, 1 807, 
visited by a well-dressed elderly man, accompanied 
by his son. He was, seemingly, about sixty years of 
age 5 and after introducing, and naming himself, he 
said he was born on the estate : That his father was 
one of Sir David and Mr Forbes*s tenants, and his 
house was in a field which still goes by his name : 
That he had, often, heard his father say, that Allan 
Ramsay used to come every summer to New-Hall 
House, where he, frequently, continued a month, 
and six weeks at a time : That he always travelled 
on foot 5 and often took a walk down the Esk from 
thence to visit Baron Sir John Clerk, and returned 
again : That the houses of Glaud, and Symon, were 

* This Stone being lately placed there ; the erecting of it is 
thought to have been occasioned by the inquiries of some stran- 
gers, not long since, at the rustics of Glencross water for the site 
of Habbie's Hoio upon it ; when they were unfortunately told, by 
the very people on the spot, that they knew of no such place. See 
Beauties of Scotlanu, Mid-Lothian. It is a curious fact, 
that this spot is in the same parish with New Hall, on the nearest 
extremity of the adjoining estate, and is not so far from it as it is 
from Fulford or New Woodhouselee, in a different parish, and on 
the other side of both the intervening estates of Logan House, 
and Castlelaw, with their mansions, and farmsteads ! 


taken from the Marfield, and Harlaw Moor farms : 
That he himself, when a boy, was almost drowned 
in Peggy's Pool, at Habbie's How : And that Sir 
William Worthy's seat was copied from New-Hall 
House, and its appendages; the situations, and ap- 
pearances, of many of which he pointed out, and de- 

The first intimation, to the writer of this article, 
that the original scenes of The Gentle JShepherdwere 
to be found at Nexv Hall, was communicated in the 
year 1783, by a lady, then, considerably advanced in 
life, in the most friendly intimacy, and almost daily 
in company, with Allan Ramsay's youngest daughter. 

A piece of the " blasted tree" near the site of 
Maitses Cottage at the Carlops, has lately been 
shown in London, as a precious relic, and great cu- 


Ablins, perhaps 

Aboon, above 

Aikerbraid, the breadth of an 

Air, long since, early- 
Air up, soon up in the morning 
Ambrie, cup-board 
Anew, enough 
Aries, earnest of a bargain 
Ase, ashes 
At ains, or At anes, at once, at 

the same time 
Attour, out-over 
Auld-farran^ ingenious 
Aurglebargin, or Eagglebargin, 

to contend and wrangle 
Awsome, frightful, terrible 
Aynd, the breath 

Back-scy, a snvloin 
Badran?, a cat 
Baid, staid, abode 
Bairns, children 

Balen, whalebone 

Bang, is sometimes an action of 
haste. We say, he^ or :V, came 
tu'tlh a bang. A hang also 
means a great number : Of 
customers she had a hang. 

Bangster, a blustering roaring 

Bannocks, a sort of bread thick- 
er than cakes, and round 

Barkened, when mire, blood, 
&c. hardens upon a thing like 

Barlikhood, a fit of drunken 
angry passion 

Barrow-trams, the staves of a 

Batts, cholic 

Bawbee, halfpenny 

Bauch, sorry, indifferent 

Bawsy, bawsand-fiiced, is a cow 
or a horse with a white face 

Bcdecn, irr:m.cdiatc]r, in haste 



Beft, beaten 

Begoud, began , 

Begrutten, all in tears 

Beik, to bask 

Beild, or Beil-, a shelter 

Bein, or Been, wealthy 

A Bein House, a warm well 
furnished one 

Beit, or Beet, to help, repair 

Bells, bubbles 

Beltan, the 3d of May, or Rood- 

Bended, drunk hard 

Bens, the inner room of a house 

Bennison, a blessing 

Bensell, or Bensail, force 

Bent, the open field 

Beuk, baked 

Bicker, a wooden dish 

Bickering, fighting, running 
quickly; school-boys battling 
with stones 

Bigg, build 

Bigget, built 

diggings, buildings 

Biggonet, a linen cap, or coif 

Billy, brother 

Byre, or Byer, a cow-stall 

Birks, birch-trees 

Birle, to drink. Common people 
joining their farthings, for 
purchasing liquor ; they call 
it birllng a buivbtt:. 

Birn, a burnt mark 

Birns, the stalks of burnt heath 

Birr, force, flying swiftly with a 

Birsed, bruised 

Bittle, or Beetle, a wooden mell 
for beating hemp ; or a ful- 
ler's club 

Black-a-viced, of a black com- 

Blae, pale blue, the colour of 
the skin when bruised 

Blaflum, beguile 

Blate, bashful 

Blatter, a rattling noise 

Bleech, to blanch, or whiten 

Bleer, to make the eye water 

Bleez, blaze 

Blether, foolish discourse 

Bletherer, a babbler. Stammer- 
ing is called llether'wg, 

Blin, cease. Never bllrij nsvcr 
have done, 

Bhnkan, the flame rising and 
faUing, as of a lamp when the 
oil is exhausted 

Boak, or Boke, vomit 

Boal, a little press, or cup-board, 
in the wall 

Bodin, or Bodden, pi'ovided, or 

Bodle, one-sixth of a penny En- 
, Bodword, an ominous message. 
Bod words are nov/ used to 
express ill-natured messages. 

Boglebo, hobgobhn or spectre 

Bonny, beautiful 

Bonnywalys, toys, gewgaws 

Boss, empty 

Bouk, bulk 

Bourd, jest or dally 

Bouze, to driiik 



Brochen, a kind of watergruel 
of oatmeal, butter, and honey 

Brae, the side of a hill, bank of 
a river 

Braird, the first sprouting of 

Branderj a gridiron 

Brands, calves of the legs 

Brankan, prancing, capering 

Branks, wherewith the rustics 
bridle their horses 

Brattle, noise, as of horse' feet 

Brats, aprons 

Braw, brave, fine in apparel 

Brecken, fearn 

Brent-brow, a snoooth high fore- 

Brigs, bridges 

Brisg, to press 

Brock, a badger 

Broo, broth 

Browden, fond 

Browster, brewer 

Browst, a brewing 

Bruliment, a broil 

Bucky, the large sea-snail ; a 
term of reproach, when we 
express a cross-natured fel- 
low, by a thrazun huchi/. 

Buff, nonsense ; aSj He blethered 

Bught, the little fold where the 
ewes are inclosed :;t milking 

BuIIlt, to bubble ; the motion 
of water at a spring-head or 
nuise of a rising tide 

Bumbazed, confused ; made to 

stare and look like an idiot 
Bung, completely fuddled, as it 

were to the bung 
Bunkei's, i. bench, or sort of 

long low chests, that serve 

for seats 
Bumbler, a bungler 
Burn, a brook 
Busk, to deck, dre^s 
Bustine, fustian, (cloth) 
But, often for without ; as, httt 

feed or favour 
Bykes, or Bikes, nests, or hi^es^ 

of bees 
Bygane, bypast 
Byword, a proverb 

Cadge, carry 

Cadger, a country carrier 

CafF, calf; chaff 

Callan, a boy 

Camschough, stern, grim, of at 
distorted countenance 

Cangle, to wrangle 

Canker'd, angry, passionately 

Canna, cannot 

Cant, to tell merry old tales 

Cantraips, incantations 

Canty, cheerful and merry 

Capernoited, whimsical, ill-na- 

Car, sledge 

Carena, care not 

Carle, an old word for a mar 



Carline, an old woman. - Gire- 
carline^ a giant's wife 

Cathel, an hot-pot, made of ale, 
sugar, and eggs 

Cauldrife, spiritless ; wanting 
cheerfulness in address 

Cauler, cool, or fresh 

Cawk, chalk 

Chafts, chops 

Chaping, an ale-measure, or 
stoup, somewhat less than an 
English quart 

A-char, or A-jar, aside. When 
any thing is beat a little out 
of its position, or a door or 
window a little opened, we 
say, They're a-char, or a-jar. 

Charlewain, Charles-wain, the 
constellation called the Plow 
or Ursa Major. 

Chancy, fortunate, good-natu- 

Chat, a cant name for the gal- 

Chiel, a general term like /c/Io'U}. 
Used sometimes with respect ; 
as, He^s a 'very good ch'iel ,* 
and contemptuously, That 

Chirm, chirp and sing like a 

Chucky, a hen 

Clan, tribe, family 

Clank, a sharp blow or stroke 
that makes a noise 

Clashes, chat 

Clatter, to chatter 

Claught, took hold 

Claver, to speak nonsense 

Claw, scratch 

Cleek, to catch as with a hook 

Cleugh, a den betwixt rock* 

Chnty, hard, stony 

Clock, a beetle 

Clotted, the fall of any soft 

moist thing 
CI088, a court or square ; and 

frequently a lane or alley 
Clour, the little lump that rises 

on the head, occasioned by 

a blow or fall 
Clute, or Cloot, hoof of cows 

or sheep 
Cockernony, the gathering of 

a woman's hair, when it is 

wrapt or snooded up with 

a band or snood 
Cockstool, a pillory 
Cod, a pillow 
Coft, bought 
Cog, a pretty large wooden dish 

the country people put their 

pottage in 
Cogle, when a thing , moves 

backwards and forwards, in- 

chning to fall 
Coodies, small wooden vessels, 

used by some for chamber- 
Coof, a stupid fellow 
Coor, to cover 
Cooser, a stoned horse 
Coost, did cast 
Coosten, thrown 
Corby, a raven 



Cosle, sheltered in *a convenient 

Cotter, a subtenant 
Cowp, to fall ; also a fall 
Cowp, to change, barter 
Cowp, a company of people ; as 

merry, senseless, corky convfi 
Cour, to crouch and creep 
Couth, frank and kind 
Crack, chat 
Creel, basket 
Crish, grease 
Croil, a crooked dwarf 
Croon, or Crune, to murmur, or 

hum, over a song ; the lowing 

of bulls 
Crouse, bold 
Cruve, a cottage 
Crummy, a cow's name 
Cryn, shrink, or become less, by 

Cudeigh, a bribe, present 
Culzie, entice, or flatter 
Cun, to taste, learn, know 
Cunzic, or Coonie, coin 
Curn, a small parcel 
Cursche, a kerchief ; a linen 

dress wore by our Highland 

Cutled, used kind and gaining 

methods for gaining love and 

Cutts, lots. These ciitts are u- 

sually made o[ straws une- 
qually cut 
Cutty, short 

D.ib, a proficient 

Dad, to beat one thing against 

another. He fell w? a dad. 

He daded his head against tha 

ivall, &c. 

Daft, foolish ; and sometime* 

Daffin, folly, waggery 
Dail, or Dale, a valley, a plain 
Daintiths, dainties, delicates 
Dainty is used as an epithet of 

a fine man or woman 
Dander, wander to and fro 
Dang, did ding, beat, thrust, 
drive. Ding dang, moving 
hastily one on the back of a- 
Darn, to hide 

Dash, to put out of countenance 
Dawt, to cocker and caress with 

Dawty, a fondling, darling 
Deave, to stun the ears witli 

Dees, dairy-maids 
Deray, merriment, jollity, so- 
lemnity, tumult, disorder, 
Dern, secret, hidden, lonely 
Deval, to descend, fall, hurry 
Dewgs, rags, or shapings of 

Didlc, to act, or move, hke a 

Digiit, decked, made ready ; 

also to clean 
J3inr.a, do not 

Dirlf, a smarting pain quickly 

r> :; 



Dit, to stop oi- close vip a hole 

I)ivet, broad tgrf 

Docken, a dock, (the herb) 

Doilt, confused and silly 

iDoited, dozed or crazy^ as in 
old age 

Doll, a large piece, dole, or 

Donk, moist 

I)onsie, affectedly nea^ ; clean, 
when applied toanylittle per- 

Doofart, a dull heavy-headed 

Dool, or prule^ the goal which 
gamesters strive to gain first, 
(as at foot -ball) 

Dool, pain, grief 

Ports, a proud pet 

Dorty, proud, not to be spoke 
to, conceited, appearing as 

Dosend, cold, impotent 

Dought, could, availed 

Doughty, strong, valiant, and 

Douks, dives under water 

Douse, solid, grave, prudent 

Dow, to will, to incline, to 

Dow, dove 

Dawed, (liquor) that is dead, 
or has lost the spirit, 
ed (plant) 

Dowff, mournful, wanting viva- 

Dowie, mcLinclioly, sad, dole- 

Downa, Dow not ; /. e, though 
one has the power, he wants 
the heart, to it 

Dbwp, the posteriors, the small 
remains of a candle, the bot- 
tom of an egg-shell. Better 
haff" egg as toom dowp. 

Drant, to speak slow, after a 
sighing manner 

Dree, , to suffer, endure 

Dreary, wearisome, frightful 

Dreigh, slow, keeping at dis-. 
tance. Hence, an ill-payer 
of his debts, we call dreigh. 

Dribs, drops 

Drizel, a little water in a rivu^ 
let, scarce appearing to ran 

Droning, sitting lazily, or mo- 
'ving heavily ; speaking with 

Drouked, drenched, all wet 

Dubs, small puddles of water 

Dung, defeat 

Dunt, a stroke or blow 

Dunty, a doxy 

Durk, a poignard or dagger 

Dynles, trembles, shakes 

Dyver, a bufikrupt 

Eags, incites, stirs up 
Eard, earth, the gnnind 
E'.'ge (of a hill,) is the side or 

Eon, eyes 

EiidcenSj of the snme ago 
Eilh, ca-^y ; Eilhar, easier 



Elbuck, elbow 

Elf-shot, bewitched, shot by- 

Elson, a shoemaker's awl 

Elritch, wild, hideous, uninha- 
bited, except by imaginary 

Endlang, along 

Ergh, scrupulous, when one 
makes faint attempts to do 
a thing, without a steady re- 

Erst, time past 

Estler, hewn stone. Buildings 
of such we call esiler-^ork. 

Ether, an adder 

Ettle, to aim, design 

Evened, compared 

Eydent, diligent, laborious 

Fa, a trap, such as is used for 
catching rats or mice 

Fae, a foe, an enemy 

Fadge, a spungy sort of bread, 
in shape of a roll 

Fag, to tire, or turn weary 

Fail, thick. turf, such as are u- 
sed for building dikes for 
folds, inclosures, &c. 

Fain, expresses earnest desire ; 
as, Fam ivouhl I. Also, joy- 
ful, tickled with pleasure. 

Feat, neat, in good order 

Fairlaw, wlieii we wish well to 
one ; that a g^od o\ j\ur fate 
lx^zx bci^ll him 

Fang, the talons of a fowl 

Fan^:;, to grip, or hold fa^t 

Fash, to vex or trouble 

Fashous, troublesome 

Faugh, a colour between white 

and red 
Faugh-riggs, fallow ground 
Feck, a part, quantity ; as, 
Malst fccky the greatest num- 
ber ; Nae/ecif very few. 
Feckfow, able, active 
Feckless, feeble, little5and weak 
Feed, or Fead, feud, hatred, 

Fell, many, several 
Fen, shift 

Fending, living by industry 
Mak a Fen, fall upon method* 
Ferlie, wonder 
Fernzier, the last, or fore-run 

File, to defile or dirty 
Fireflaught, a flash of lightning 
Fistle, to stir ; a stir 
Fitsted, the print of the foot 
Fizzing, whizzing 
Flailing, moving up and down, 

raising wind by motion, as 

birds with their vs'ings 
Flags, flashes, as of wind and 

Flane, an arrow 
Flang, flung 
Flaughter, to pare turf from the 

Flaw, lie or fib 
Fiectch, to cox or flatter 
Fkg, fright 
Flcwet, a smart blow 
F'cy, or Flic, to afrright 



Fleyt, afraid or terrified 

Flinders, splinters 

Tht, to remove 

Fiite, or Flyte, to scold, chide 
Flet, did scold 

Flushes, floods 

Fog, moss 

Fpordays, the morning far ad- 
anced, fair day-light 

Forby, besides 

Forbearers, forefathers, ances- 

Forfairn, abused, bespattered 

Forfaughten, weary, faint, ai:d 
out of breath with fighting 

Forgainst, opposite to 

Forgether, to meet, encounter 

Forleet, to forsake or forget 

Forestam, the forehead 

Fouth, abundance, plenty 

Fozy, spungy, soft 

Frais, to make a noise. We use 
to say, one ma/:s a frais, when 
they boast, wonder, and talk 
more of a matter than it is 
worthy of or will bear. 

Fray, bustle, fighting 

Freik, a fool ; a light imperti- 
nent fellow 

Fremit, strange, not a-kin 

Fristed, trasted 

Frush, brittle, like bread baken 
with butter 

FufF, to blow 

Fuffin, blowing 

Furdt-r, prosper 

Furthy, forward 

Furlct, four pecks 

Fush, brought 

Fyk, to be restless, uneasy 

Gab, the mouth to prate. Gal 

sae gash 
Gabbing, prating pertly 
Gab again, when servants give 

saucy returns when repriman- 
Gfibby, one of a ready and easy 

expression ; the same with 

auld gabhet 
Gadge, to dictate impertinently, 

talk idly with a stupid gravi- 
^ ty 

Gafaw, a hearty loud laughter. 
Gawf, to laugh 
Gait, a goat 
Gams, gums 

Gar, to cause, make, or force 
Gare, greedy, rapacious, earnest 

to have a thing 
Gash, solid, sagacious. One 

with a long out chin, we call 

gash-gabhet, gash-heard 
Gate, way 
Gaunt, yawn 
Gawky, an idle, staring, idioti- 

cal person 
Gawn, going 
Gaws, galls 
Gavvsy, jolly, buxom 
Geek, to mock 
Geed, o'r Gade, went 
Genty, handsome, genteel 
Get, or Brat, a child, by way 

of contempt or derision 
Gi---ianjrcr, an ill debtor 




Gillygacus, or Gillygapus, a 
staring gaping fool ; a gor- 
Gilpy, a roguish boy 
Gimmer, a young sheep, (ewe. ) 
Gin, if 

Gird, to strike, pierce 
Oirn, to grin, snarl ; also, a 
snare or trap, such as boys 
make of horse-hair to catc^h 
Girth, a hoop 

Glaiked, foolish, wanton, light 
Glaiks, an idle good-for-nothing 
fellow. To give the glalJis, 
to beguile one, by giving him 
his labour for his pains. 
Glaister, to bawl or bark 
Glamour, juggling. When de- 
vils, wizards, or jugglers, de- 
ceive the sight, they are said 
to cast glamour over the eyes 
of the t'pectator. 
Glar, mire, oozy mud 
Glee, to squint 
Gleg, sharp, quick, active 
Glen, a narrow valley between 

Gloom, to scowl or frown 
Glowming, the twilight, or e- 

vening gloom. 
Glowr, to stare, look stern 
Glunsh, to hang the brow and 

Goan, a wooden dish for ment 
Gooli^, a large knife 

Gorlings, or Gorblings, young 

unfledged birds 
Gossie, gossip 
Gowans, daisies 
Gove, to look broad and sted- 

fast, holding up the face 
Gowf, besides the known game, 
a racket or sound blow on the 
chops, we call a go<wf on the 
Gowk, the cuckow. In deri- 
sion,, we call a thoughtless 
fellow, and one who harps 
too long on one subject, a 
Govvl, a howling, to bellow and 

Gousty, ghastly, large, waste, 

desolate, and frightful 
Grany, grandmother, any old 

Grape, a trident fork ; also, to 

Gree, prize, victory 
Green, to long for 
Greet, to weep. Grat, wept. 
Grieve, an overseer 
GrofF, gross, coarse 
Grotts, milled oats 
Grouf, to lie flat on the belly 
Grounche, or Glunshe, to mur- 
mur, grudge 
Grutten, wept 
Grysc, a pig 
Gumption, good sense 
Gurly, rough, bitter, cold, 



Gysened, when the wood of 
any vessel is shrunk with 

Gytlings, young children 

HafFet, cheek, side of the head 
Hagabag, coarse towelling 
Haggis, a kind of pudding 

made of the lungs and liver 

of a sheep, and boiled in the 

big bag 
Hags, hacks, peat-pits, or breaks 

in mossy ground 
Hain, to save, manage narrowly 
Halesome, wholesome ; as halcf 

Hallen, a screen 
Hameld, domestic 
Hamely, friendly, frank, open, 

Hanty, convenient, handsome 
Harle, drag 
Ham -pan, the skull 
Hams, brains 
Harship, ruin 
Hash, a sloven 
Haveren, or Havrcl, a foolish 

silly fellow 
Haughs, valiies or low grounds 

on the sides of rivers 
Havins, good-breeding 
Haviour, behaviour 
Hass, the throat, or fore -part oF 

tilt' neck 
Heal, or Heel, health, or wliole 
Heepy, a person hypochondriac 
Heeryestreen, tlie night before 


Heez, to lift up a heavy thing 

a little 
Heezy, is a good lift 
Heftit, accustomed to live in a 

Heght, promised; also, named 
Hempy, a tricky wag, such for 

whom the hemp grows 
Hereit, ruined in estate, broke, 

Hesp, a clasp or hook, bar or 

bolt ; also, in yarn, a certain 

number of threads 
Hether-bells, the heath blossom 
Heugh, a rock, or steep hill ; " 

also, a coal pit 
Hiddils, or HidHngs, lurking, 

hiding places. To do a thing 

in hldUngs ; i. e. privately. 
Hirple, to move slowly and 

Hirsle, or Hirdsale, a flock of 

Ho, a single stocking 
Hobbleshew, a confused racket, 

Hool, husk 
Hooled, inclosed 
Hooly, slow- 
Host, or Whost, to cough 
How, or Hu, a cap, or roof- 
How, low ground, a hollow 
Ho.v ! ho ! 
Howdered, hidden 
Howdy, midwife 
Howk, to dig 
Hov.-ms, plains or river sides 



Howt; i fy ! 

Howtowdy, a young lien 
Hurkle, to crouch or bow to- 
. gether, like a cat, hv4ge-hog, 
t. or. hare j i,",: 

Hut, a hovel 
Hyt, mad 

Jack, jacket 

Jag, to prick as with a pin 

Jaiv, a wave or gush of water 

Jawp, tlie dashing of water . 

Iceshogles, icicles 

Jce, to incline to one side. To 
jee back and fore, is to move 
like a balance up and down, 
to this and the other side 

Jig, to crack, make a noise like 
a cart-wiieel 

Jimp, slender 

Jip, gypsie 

Ilk, each 

Ilka, every 

Ingan, onion 

Ingle, fire 

Jo, sweetheart 

Jowk, a low bow 

Irie, fearful, terrified, as if a- 
fraid of some ghost, or appa- 
rition ; also, niphncholy 

I'so, I shall ; as I'll for I will 

Isles, embers 

J lint, a large joint or piece of 

Jute, sour or liqiinr 

Jybc, to mock. GVb:^ to taunt 

Kaber, a rafter 

Kale, or Ivail, colewort, and 
sometimes broth 

Kacky, to dung, a part of a faiTO-lCTt paid 
in fowls .' , .. . ': ' 

Kame, comb 

Kanny, or Canny, fortunate ; 
also, wary, one! who manages 
his affairs discreetly 

Kebbuck, a c'leese 

Keckle, to laugh, to be noisy 

Kedgy, jovial 

K' ek, to peep 

Kelt, cloth with a freeze, com- 
monly made of native black 

Kemp, to strive who shall per- 
form most of the same work 
in the same time 

Ken, to know ; used in Eng- 
land as a noun. A thing with- 
in hen ; i. e. within view. 

Kent, a long staff, such as shep- 
herds use for leaping over 

Kepp, to catch a thing that 
moves towards one 

Kiest, did cast. Fide Coost 

Kilted, tucked up 

Kimmor, a female gossip 

Kirr, a ciiurn ; also, to cluirn 

Kirtle, an upper petticoat 

Kitchen, all sort of eatables 
except bicad 

Kittle, diiTicult, iTrystirJou?, 
knotty (writings) 

Kittle, to tickle, ticklish 

Knacky, witty, facetious 



Knoit, to beat or strike sharply 
Knooaed, buffeted and bruised 
Knoost> or Knuist, a large lump 
Know, a hillock 
Knublock, a knob 
Knuckles, only used in Scotch 

for the joints of the fingers 

next the back of the hand 
ICow, goblin, or any person one 

stands in awe to disoblige, 

and fears 
Ky, kine or cows 
Kyth, to appear. He''ll ki/ih in 

his ain colours 
Kyte, the belly 

Laggert, bespattered, covered 
with clay 

Laigh, low 

Laits, manners 

Lak, or Lack, to undervalue, 
contemn ; as. He that laks my 
mare, Kvould buy my mare 

Landart, the country, or be- 
longing to it ; rustic 

Lane, alone 

Languor, languishing, melan- 
choly. To hold one out of 
languor ; i. e. divert him 

Lankale, coleworts uncut 

Lap, leaped 

Lappered, curdled or clotted 

Lare, a place for laying, or that 
has been lain in 

Lare, bog 

Lave, the rest, or remainder 

Lawin, a tavern reckoning 

Lawland, low country 

Lavrock, the lark 

Lawty, or Lawtitb, justice, fi. 
dehty, honesty 

Leal, true, upright, honest, 
faithful to trust, loyal. A 
leal heart never lied 

Leam, flame 

Lear, learning ; also, to learn 

Lee, untilled ground j also, a 
open grassy plain 

Leghn, a milking pail with one 
lug or handle 

Leman, a kept miss 

Lends, buttocks, loins 

Leugh, laughed 

Lew-warm, lukewarm 

Libbit, gelded 

Lick, to whip or beat ; also, a 
wag or cheat we call a great 

Lied, ye lied, ye tell a lie 

Lift, the sky or firmament 

Liggs, lies 

Ijilts, the holes of a wind-instru- 
ment of music ; hence. Lilt 
up. a spring. Lilt it out, take 
off your drink merrily 

Limmer, a whore 

Limp, to halt 

Lin, a cataract 

Ling, quick career in a straight 
line, to gallop 

Lingle, cord, shoemakers* 

Linkan, walking speedily 

Lire, breasts; also the most mus- 
cular parts ; sometimes the air 
or complexion of the face 



Lirk, a wrinkle or fold 

Lisk, the flank 

Lith, a joint 

Loan, a little common near to 

country villages, where they 

milk their cows 
Loch, a lake 
Loo, to love 

Loof, the hollow of the hand 
Looms, tools, instruments in 

general, vessels 
Loot, did let 
Low, flame 
Lowan, flaming 
Lown, calm. Keep lown, be 

Lown, rogue, whore, villain 
Lounder, a sound blow 
Lout, to bow down, making 

courtesy ; to stoop 
Luck, to inclose, shut up, fas- 
ten. Hence, luchen-handecl, 

close fisted ; lucken gozvans, 

booths, &c. 
Lucky, grandmother or goody 
Lug, ear ; handle of a pot or 

Luggie, a wooden dish with a 

Lum, the chimney 
Lure, rather 
Lyart, hoary, or grey-haired 

Magil, to mangle 

IMaik, or make, match, equal 

Maikless, matchless 
Mailen, a farm 

J*/Iaklyj seemly, .vcll-proportion- 

Maksna, it is no matter 
Malison, a curse, malediction 
Mangit, galled or bruised by 

Mank, a want 
Mant, to stammer in speech 
March, or Merch, a land-mark, 

border of lands 
Marh, the marrow 
Marrow, mate, fellow, equal, 

Mask, to mash, in brewing 
Masking-loom, a mash-vat 
Maun, must 

Maunna, must not, may not 
Meikle, much, big, great, large 
Meith, limit, mark, sign 
Mends, satisfaction, revenge, re- 
taliation. To make a mendsy 
to make a grateful return 
Mense, discretion, sobriety, 

Mensfou, mannerly 
Menzie, company of men, army, 

assembly, one's followers 
Messen, a little dog, a lap-dog 
Midding, a dunghill 
Midges, gnats, little flies 
Mim, affectedly modest . 
Mint, aim, endeavour 
Mirk, dark 

Miscaw, to give names 
Mischance, misfortune 
Miskcn, to neglect or not take 
notice of one ; also, to let 
Mislushous, malicious, rough 
Misters, necessities, wants 
Mittans, woollen gloves 



Mony, many 

Mools, the eartli of the grave 

]^ou, mouth 

Moiip, to eat ; generally used 
of children, or of old people, 
who have but few teeth, and 
make their lips move fast, 
though they eat but slow 

Mow, a pile or bing, as of fuel, 
hay, sheaves of corn, &c. 

Mov/s, jests 

Muckle, see Mal-le 

MurguUied, mismanaged, abu 

Match, coif 

Mutchken, an English pint 

Nack)^ or Knacky, clever, ac- 
tive in small affairs 

Neese, nose 

Nettle, to fret or vex 

Newfangle, fond of a new thing 

Nevcl, a sound blow with the 
nive or fist 

Nick, to bite or cheat. Nicked, 
cheated. Also, as a cant 
w'ord, to drink heartily ; as 
He a'lcks Jine. 

Niest, next 

Niffer, to exchange or barter 

Niffnafan, trifling 

Nignays, trifles 

Nips, bits 

Nither, to straiten " 

Nithered, hungered, or half 
starved, in maintenance 

Nive, the fist 

Nock, notch or nick of an ar- 
rou- or spindle 

Noit, see Knott 

Nowt, cows, kine 

Nowther, neither 

Nuckle, new calved (cows) > - 

Oe,. a grandchild 

O'er, or Ower, too much ; as^ 
j^' o*er is 'vice 

Overcome, surplus 

Ony, any 

Or, sometimes used for ere, or 
before ; as, Or da^ ; i. e. be- 
fore day-break 

Ora, any thing over what is 

Orp, to weep with a convulsive 

Oughtlens, in the least 

Owk, week 

Owrlay, a cravat 

Owsen, oxen 

Owther, either 

Oxter, the arm-pit 

Padtlock, a frog 
Paddock-ride, the spawn of 

Paiks, chastisement. To fiaikt 

to beat or belabour one sound- 

Pang, to squeeze, press, or pack> 

one thing into another 
Paughty, proud, haughty 
Pawky, witty, or sly in word or 

action, without any harm or 

bad designs 
Peer, a quay or wharf 
Peets, turf for fire 
Pcghj to pant 



Pcnsy, fiaical, foppbli, conceit- 

Perquire, by heart 

Pett, a favourite, a fondling. 
To fietile, to dandle, feetl, 
cherish, flatter. HoHce, to 
take the pett^ is to be pee- 
vish or sullen, as commonly 
petts are, wlien in the least 

Pibroughs, such Highland tunes 
as are played on bag-pipes 
iiefore them, when they go 
out to battle 

Pig, an earthen pitcher 

Pike, to pick out or choose 

Pimpin, pimping, mean, scurvy 

Pine, pain or pining 

Pingle, to contend, strive, or 
work hard 

Pirn, the spool, or quill, within 
the shuttle, which receives 
the yarn 

Pirny, (cloth), a web of unequal 
threads or colours, striped 

Pith, strength, might, force 

Plack, two bodies, or the third 
of a penny English 

Pople, or Paple, the bubbling, 
purling, or boiling up of water 

Poortith, poverty 

Powny, a little horse or gallo- 
way ; also, a tu'kcy 

Pouse, to push 

Pouch, a pocket 

Priviri^^ l:i\i:irl, trying ridi- 
r<]!oM'.; "ip-rnir.tnts 

Prets, tricks, rogueries. We 
say, He plaid me a prel ; '. e, 
cheated. The callan^s fou o* 
prets ; i. e. has abundance of 
waggish tricks 

Prig, to cheapen, or importune 
for a lowen price of goods 
one is buying 

Prin, a pin 

Prive, to prove or taste 

Propine, gift or present 

Piyme, or Prime, to fill or stuff 

Putt a stane, to throw a large 
stone ."' 

Quey, a young cow >! 

Rackless, careless ; one who 
does things without regard- 
ing whether they be good or 
bad, we call him rackless hand^ 

Rae, a roe 

Raftan, merr)-, roving, hearty 

Raird, a loud sound 

Rair, roar 

Rak, or Rook, a mist or fog 

Rampage, to speak and act fu- 

Rashes, rushes 

Rave, did rive or tear 

Rauglit, reached 

Rax, to stretch. Raxed, reached 

Ream, cream. 'Whe.acQ; 
as, reaming liquor 

Redd, to rid, unravel ; to sepa- 
rate folks that are fighting. 
It i:I:o '.' -liNies cloariiiij of a- 



ny passage. Pm redd, I'm 

Rede, counsel, advice ; as, / 

wad na rede yc to do that 
Reek, reach ; also, smoke 
Reft, bereft, robbed, forced, or 

carried away 
Reif, rapine, robbery 
Reik, or Rink, a course or race 
Rever, a robber or pirate 
Rewth pity 

Rice, or Rise, bulrushes, bram- 
ble-branches, ortwigs of trees 
Rife, or Ryfe, plenty 
' Rift, to belcTi 
Rigging, the back or rig-back, 

the top or ridge of a house 
Ripples, a weakness in the back 

and reins 
Rock, a distaff 
Roose, or Ruse, to commend, 

Roove, to rivet 
Rottan, a rat 
Roundel, a witty, and often a 

satiric kind of rhyme 
Rowan, rolling 
Rowt, to roar, especially the 

lowing of bulls and cows 
Rowth, plenty 
Ruck, a rick or stack of hay or 

Rude, the red taint of the com- 
Ruefu, doleful 

Rug, to pull, take away by force 
Rumple, the rump 
Rungs, small boughs of trees 

lopped off 

Runckle, to ruffle 
Runkle, a wrinkle 

Saebeins, seeing it is ; since 
Saikless, guiltless, free 
Sained, blessed 

Sail, shall ; like soud for should 
Sand-blind, pur - blind, short- 
Sar, savour or smell 
Sark, a shirt 

Saugh, a willow or sallow-tree 
Saw, an old saying or proverbial 
. expression 
Scad, scald 

Scar, the bare places on the sides 
of hills washed down with rain 
Scart, to scratch 
Scawp, a bare dry piece of sto- 
ny ground 
Scon, bread wliich the country 
people bake over the fire, 
thinner and broader than a 
Scowp, to leap or move hastily 

from one place to another 
Scowth, room, freedom 
Scrimp, narrow, straitened, little 
Scroggs, shrubs, thorns, briers 
Scroggy, thorny 
Scuds, ale, a late name given it 

by the benders 
Scunner, to loath 
Sell, self 

Scuch, furrow, ditch 
Sey, to try 

Srybow, a young onion 
Shan, pitiful, silly, poor 
Sham, cow's dung 



Shaw, a wood or forest 

Shawl, shallow 

Shawp3, empty husks 

Sheen, shining 

Shill, shrill, having a sharp sound 

Shire, clear, thin. We call thin 
cloth, or clear liquor, shire ; 
also, a clever wag, a shire lick 

Shog, to wag, shake, or jog 
backwards and forwards 

Shool, shovel 

Shoon, shoes 

Shore, to threaten 

Shotle, a drawer 

Sib, a-kin 

Sic, such 

Sicker, firm, secure 

Sike, a rill, or rivulet, common- 
ly dry in summer 

Siller, silver 

Sindle, or Sinle, seldom 

Sinsyne, since that time ; as, 
Lang sinsyne, long ago 

Skaill, to scatter 

Skair, to share 

Skaith, hurt, damage 

Skeigh, skittish 

Skelf, a shelf 

Skelp, to run ; used when one 
runs barefoot ; also, a small 
splinter of wood ; to flog the 

Skiff, to move smoothly away 

Skink, a kind of strong broth 
made of cows hams or 
knuckles ; also, to fill drink 
in a cup 

Skirl, to shriek or cry with a 
shrill voice 

Sklate, slate. Skailie is a fine 
blue slate 

Skowne, ragged, nasty, idle 

Skreed, a rent 

Skybald, a tatterdemalion 

Skyt, to fly out hastily 

Slade, or Slaid, did slide, mo- 
ved, or made a thing move 

Slap, or Slak, a gap, or narrow 
pass between two hills ; alao, 
a breach in a wall 

Sleek, smooth 

Sleet, a shower of half melted 

Slerg, to bedaub or plaster 

Slid, smooth, cunning, slippery; 
as. He's a slid lown 

Slidry, slippery 

Slippery, sleepy 

Slonk, a mire, ditch, or slough; 
to wade through a mire 

Slote, a bar or bolt for a door 

Slough, husk or coat 

Smaik, a silly, httle, pitiful fel- 
low ; th same with smatchet 

Smirky, smiling 

Smittle, infectious, or catching 

Sinoor, to smother 

Snack, nimble, ready, clever 

Sned, to cut 

Sneer, to laugh in derision 

Sneg, to cut ; as, Sncggcd off at 
the lueVs end 

Snell, sharp, smarting, bitter, 

Snib, snub, check or reprove, 




Snifter, to snufFor breathe thro' 
the nose a little stopt 

Snod, metaphorically used for 
neat, handsome, tight 

Snood, the band for tying up a 
woman's hair 

Snool, to dispirit by chiding, 
hard labour, and the like ; a 
pitiful grovelling slave 

Snoove, to whirl rouud 

S Hotter, snot 

Snurl, to ruffle, wrinkle 

Sod, a thick turf 

Sonsy, happy, fortunate, lucky; 
sometimes used for large and 

Sore, sorrel, reddish-coloured 

Sorn, to spunge 

Soss, the noise that a thing 
makes when it falls to the 

Sough, the sound of wind a- 
mongst trees, or of one sleep- 

Sowens, flummery, or oatmeal 
sowered amongst water, for 
some tim.e, then boiled to a 
consistency, and eaten with 
inilk or butter 

Sowf, to conn over a tune on an 

Spae, to forctel or divine 

Spaemen, prophets, augurs 

Spain, to wean from the breast 

Spait, a torrent, flood, or inun- 

Span^, a jurnr* ; to leap or jump 

Spr.ul, tb.e shoulder, arm 

Speel, to climb 

Speer, to ask, inquire 

Spelder, to split, stretch, draw- 

Spence, the place of the house 
where provisions are kept 

Spill, to spoil, abuse 

Spqolie, spoil, booty, plunder 

Spraings, stripes of different co- 

Spring, a tune on a musical in- 

Sprusi), spruce 

Spruttled, speckled, spotted _ 

Spunk, a match tipped with 

Stalwart, strong and valiant 

Stang, did sting ; also, a sting 
or pole 

Stank, a pool of standing water 

Stark, strong, robust 

Starn, a small moiety. We say, 
Ne^er a starn 

Starns, the stars 

Stay, steep ; as. Set a stout heart 
to a stay brae 

Steek, to shut, close 

Stegh, to cram 

Stend, or Sten, to move with a 
hasty long pace 

Stent, to stretch, or extend 

Stipend, a benefice 

Stirk, a steer or bullock 

Stoit, or Stot, to rebound or re- 

Stoor, rough, hoarse 

Stou, to cut or crop. A stou, a 
large cut or piece 



Stouud, a smarting pain or stitch 
Stour, dust agitated by winds, 

men or horse' feet 
Stour, to run quickly 
Stowtli, steahh 

Strapan, clever, tall, handsome 
Strath, a plain on a river side 
Streek, to stretch 
Striddle, to stride ; commonly 

applied to one that is little 
Stvinkle, to sprinkle or strew 
Stroot, or Strut, stuffed full, 

Strunt, a pet. To take the 

strunt, to be petted, or out of 

Studdy, an anvil or smith's stithy 
Sturay, giddy - headed ; also, 

Sture, or Stoor, stiff, strong, 

Start, trouble, vexation, distur- 
Stym, a blink or a little sight of 

a thing 
Suddle, to sully or defile 
Sumph, blockhead 
Sujikan, splenetic 
8ui:kots, soinctliing 
Swak, to throw, cast with force 
SwankieF, clever young fellows 
Swavf, to swoon away 
Swash, squat, fuddled 
Swatch, a pattern 
Swats, small ale 
Swccht, burden, weight, force 
Sweer, la/y, slow 
Sweeticf, conf-jclions 

Sweft, suffocated, choked to 

Swith, begone quickly 
Swither, to be doubtful whether 

to do this or that 
Syne, afterwards, then 

Tackel, an arrow 

Taid, toad 

Tane, taken 

Tap, a head ; such a quantity of 

lint as spinsters put upon the 

distaft is called, a lirit-ta/i 
Tape, to use anything sparingly 
Tappit-hen, the Scotch quart 

T^row, to refuse what we love, 

from a cross humour 
Tartan, cross striped, stuff, of 

various colours, checkered ; 

the Highland plaid 
Tass, a little dram cup 
Tate, a small luck of hair, or 

any little quantity of wool, 

cotton. Sec. 
Taunt, to mock 
Tawpy, a foolish wench 
Taz, a whip or scourge 
Ted, to scatter, spread 
Tee, a little earth, on which 

gamesters, at the golf, set 

their balls, before they strike 

them off 
Teen, or Tynd, anger, rago, 

Teet, to peep out 
Tensonie, the niimb'.^r of ten 
Tent, attention 



Tenty, cautious 

Thack, thatch 

Thacker, thatcher 

Thae, those 

Tharmes, small tripes 

Theek, to thatcli 

Thig, to beg or borrow 

Thir, these 

Thole, to endure, suffer 

Thow, thaw 

Thowless, unactive, silly, lazy, 

Thrawart, froward, crabbed, 

Thrawin, cross-grained and stern 
Thrcep, to aver, allege, urge, 

and affirm boldly 
Thrimal, to press or squeeze 

through with difficulty 
Thud, a blast, blow, storm, or 

the violent sound of these ; as. 

Cried heh ! at ilka thud ; i. e. 

gave a groan at every blow 
Tid, tide or time ; proper time ; 

as, He took the tid 
Tift, good order, health 
Tine, to lose. Tint, lost 
Tinsel, loss 
.Tip, or Tippony, ale sold for 

two-pence the Scotch pint 
Tirl, or Tir, to uncover a house, 

or undress a person ; strip one 

naked. Sometimes a short 

action is named a tirl ; as, 

l/iej/ took a tirl of dancings 

drinking, Sec 
Titty, sister 
Tocher, portion, dowry 

Tod, a fox 

Tooly, to fight ; a fight or quar- 

Toom, empty ; applied to a bar- 
rel, purse, house, &c. ; also, 
to empty 

Tosh, right, neat 

Tosic, warm, pleasant, half- 

To the fore, in being, alive, un- 

Touse, or Touste, to rumple, 

Tout, the sound of a horn or 

Tow, a rope 5 a Tyburn neck- 
lace, or St Johnstoun ribband 

Towmond, a year or twelve- 

Trewes, hose and breeches all 
of a piece 

Trig, neat, handsome 

Troke, exchange 

True, to true, trust, believe ; as. 
True ye sae ? or, L.ove gars 
me true ye 

Truf, steal 

Tryst, appointment 

Turs, turfs, trus 

Twin, to part with, or separate 

Twitch, touch 

Twinters, sheep of two years old 

Tydie, plump, fat, lucky 

Tynd, see Teen 

Tyst, to entice, stir up, allure 

Ugg, to detest, hate, nauseate 



Ugsome, hateful, nauseous, hor- 

Umwhile, the late, or deceased 
some time ago ; of old 

Undocht, or Wandocht, a silly 
weak person 

Uneith, not easy 

Ungeard, naked, not clad, un- 

Unko, or Unco, strange, un- 

Unloosome, unlovely 

Vougy, elevated, proud ; that 
boasts or brags of any thing 

Wad, or Wed, pledge, wager, 

pawn ; also, would 
WafF, wandering by itself 
Wak, moist, wet 
Wale, to pick and choose 
The Wale, /. e. the best 
Wallop, to move swiftly with 

much agitation 
Wally, large, beautiful, chosen. 

A honny ivaUij ; i. e. a fine 

Wame, womb 
Wandought, want of dought, 

Wangrace, wickedness, want of 

War, worse 
Warlock, wizard 
Wat, or Wit, to know 
Waii2:ht, a lnr<Te drautjlit 
Waughts, drinks largely 
Woe, little ; as, A "jjunton wee 

Wean, or Wee ane, a child 

Ween, thought, imagined, sup- 

Wecr, to stop or oppose 

Weir, war 

Weird, fate or destiny *' 

eit, rain 

Wersh, insipid, wanting salt, 

Whauk, whip, beat, flog 

Wbid, to^ fly quickly. A ivhid 
is a hasty flight 

Whilk, which 

Whilly, to cheat 

Whillywha, a cheat 

Whingeing, whining, speaking 
with a doleful tone 

Whins, furze 

Whisht, hush ; hold your peace 

Whisk, to pull out hastily 

Whomilt, turned upside down 

Wight, stout, clever, active ; al- 
so, a man or person 

Wimpling, a turning backward 
and forward, winding hke the 
meanders of a river 

Win, or Won, to dwell, reside 

Winna, will not 

Winnocks, windows 

Winsom, gaining, desirable, a- 
greeablc,complete,large. We 
say, Alt/ iv'tnsome love 

Wirrykow, a bugbear 

Wisent, parched, dry, withered 

\\ istle, to exchange, (money) 

Withershins, cross motion, or 
against the sun 



Woo, or W, wool ; as in the 
whim of making five words 
out of four letters, thus, z, a, 
e, w; l. e. is it all one wool ? 

Wood, mad 

Woody, the gallows 

Wordy, worthy 

Wow ! strange ! wonderful ! 

Wreaths, (of snow,) when heaps 
of it. are driven together 

Wysing, incHning. To wi/st^ 
to lead, train 

Wyson, the gullet 

Wyt, to blame 

Yamph, to bark or make a noise 
like little dogs 

Yap, hungry, having a longing 
desire for any thing ready 

Yealtou, yea wilt thou 

Yed, to contend, wrangle 

Yeld, barren, as a cow thai 
gives no milk 

Yerk, to do any thing with ce 

Yesk, the hiccup 

Yett, gate 

Yestreen, yesternight 

Youdith, youthfulnesa 

Yowden, wearied 

Yowf, a swinging blow 

Yuke, the itch 

Yule, Christmas 


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