Enter JEAN in haste.
Jean. Faither, the sheep are nibblin in the corn,
Wee Sandy's chaint auld Bawtie tae the thorn,
An bawsond Crummock's broken frae the staw ;
Och ! a's gane wrang since Harry gaed awa. [Aside.
Gaf. A hoose divided, a gangs tae the deil.—Exit.
Mir. Dochter, come here;—noo, let us reason ceevil.
Isnt siller maks oor leddies gang sae braw ?
Isnt siller buys their cleuks an bonnets a ?
Isnt siller busks them up wi silks an satins,
Wi' umbrellas,[1] muffs, claith shune, an pattens ?
Oor Leddie,—what is't gars us curtsey tae her,
An ca her Mem ? why, just cause she has siller ;
Isnt siller maks our gentles fair an sappy ?
Whilk lets us see, its siller maks fouks happy.
Jean. Mither, ae simple question let me speir,—
Is Muirlan fat or fair wi a his geir ?
Auld croichlin wicht, tae hide the ails o age,
He capers like a monkey on a stage ;
An cracks, an sings, an giggles sae Licht an kittle,
Wi's auld beard slavered wi tobacco spittle.—
Mir. Peace, wardless slut—O, whan will youth be wise !
Ye'll slicht your carefu mither's gude advice :
I've brocht you up, an made ye what ye are ;
An that's your thanks for a my toil an care :
Muirlan comes doon this nicht, sae drap your stodgin,
For ye must gie consent or change your lodgin. [Exit.
Jean. Een turn me oot, Muirlan I'll never marry :
What's wealth or life withoot my dearest Harry ?
SONG.
Set to Music by MR. JOHN ROSS Organist, Aberdeen.
Our bonnie Scots lads in their green tartan plaids,
Their blue belted bonnets, an' feathers sae braw,
Rankt up on the green, war fair to be seen,
But my bonnie young laddie was fairest o a;
His cheeks were as red as the sweet heather bell,
Or the red western dud lookin doun on the snaw,
His lang yellow hair owre his braid shouthers fell,
And the een o the lasses were fixed on him a;
My heart sank wi was on the wearifu day,
When torn frae my bosom they march'd him awa,
He bade me fareweel, he cried “O be leel,”
An his red cheeks war wet wi the tears that did fa.
Ah ! Harry, my love, tho thou ne'er shouldst return,
Till life's latest hour I thy absence will mourn,
An memory shall fade, like the leaf on the tree,
E'er my heart spare ae thocht on anither but thee.
[Exit.
[1] Umbrellas were introduced into Paisley in 1788 by Mr. Alexander Weir, merchant at the Cross of Paisley; and the first or original one, which he brought from Edinburgh, is still in existence.