82 -' 2 . 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2018 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates 
 
 https://archive.org/details/reapersorcorntarOOIowe 
 
THE REAPERS; 
 
 OR 
 
 COEN AND TARES, 
 
 A JASTORAL COJIEDY, 
 
 WILLIAM. LOWE. 
 
 V.;# 
 
 
 GLASGOW: 
 
 MORISON KYLE, 108 QUEEN STREET. 
 
 PRICE ONE SHILLING. 
 

 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The Plot of the following Pastoral Comedy is taken from 
 facts. 
 
 There is only one character w'ritten in the Scotch dialect; 
 the reason of this being the difficulty in completing a '‘Cast” 
 of Scottish Plays with Ladies and Gentlemen familiar with the 
 mither tongue o’ the North.” 
 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Laird Rod eric k. 
 
 Dugald More, a Farmer. 
 
 Alan MTndoe, a Shepherd. 
 
 TLuGiirE MTntitre, an Orra Man. 
 
 Ranald Taggart, a Factor. 
 
 Tite FjEGGar o’ the Brae. 
 
 Reapers, Bailiffs, Pipers, &e. 
 
 Meg Morris. 
 
 Elsie More, daughter of Farmer More. 
 Jessie Muir, an Orphan. 
 
 Highland Lasses, <fec. 
 
THE REAPERS. 
 
 ACT FIRST. 
 
 Scene l.-CORNFIELD. 
 
 Stools. Reapers at rest; others sharj^enhaj their Sicldes. Hilts 
 in distance. Flight of Birds across Stage. 
 
 Song and Chorus hy Reapers. 
 
 The golden grain waves with the gale, 
 
 Like yellow billows o’er the vale; 
 
 The harvest fields, like russet seas, 
 
 Are rippled by the mountain breeze. 
 
 The bearded blessings born in spring, 
 
 In autumn’s lap their bounties fling ; 
 
 Then up and reap the ripened corn, 
 
 Which bends in welcome to be shorn. 
 
 {Horn heard. 
 
 The farmer sounds the signal horn ; 
 
 Now ply we sickles in the corn ; 
 
 But, while we shear, and sheave, and bind. 
 
 Remember old age gleans behind. 
 
 The Reapers go off to worf. 
 
 Enter Farmer More. Discovers a Reaper sleeiiing at side of 
 Stool'. Shakes him, and sends him off'. 
 
 Far. This harvest is a good one, Power divine! 
 
 To thee, the farmer’s thanks are due—take mine. 
 
 From seed we gave in faithful trust to Spring 
 A hundred-fold thou dost with autumn bring; 
 
 Blit oh! forgive me when I own to thee 
 A burden borne in soul, eyes do not see, 
 
 Except my dear ones, who in love can trace 
 Care’s furrows deeper grow upon ni}^ face; 
 
 The tell-tale features must betray the heart, 
 
 Which fain by^ smiles would hide its grievous smart. 
 
 But can I listen to the sickle song? 
 
 Or gaze upon the happy reaping throng 
 Without a thought of her, my light of life, 
 
 / 
 
G 
 
 The one who brightened eartli to me—my wife; 
 
 Who shed a glow of happiness where’er 
 She cast a glance; oft have I seen her there 
 In that same field, with reaping-hook in hand, 
 
 The laughing leader of the harvest band 
 
 Her sun-browned face, her cheeks of heather bloom— 
 
 0! Heaven, each reaping season opes her tomb— 
 
 For, as a peasant sings our Highland strains. 
 
 My ear mates with the voice, her soft refrains 
 That to hearkening soul sound hallowed chimes, 
 
 In sacred echo tones from buried times. 
 
 Oh! well for me if this old heart should break; 
 
 No, no, I must live for the living's sake. 
 
 In grief, sore chastened, I am sinful still, 
 
 To wish against my heavenly Father’s will; 
 
 Though wifeless, sonless, wealthless be my state. 
 
 My daughter’s love still soothes my adverse fate: 
 Come, Patience, to me as the child of prayer, 
 
 To quell these thoughts that traffic with despair. 
 
 Enter Meg Morris with milk cog. 
 
 .^[EG. Here’s buttermilk to slocken thirsty throats! 
 
 Eh! Farmer More, and not among the oats ! 
 
 Thou’rt thinking of my sister now, I knov; 
 
 Come dry your eyes, nor brood upon your woe, 
 
 We all must follow soon, and join her sleep; 
 
 ’Tis wicked in you, thus to wail and weep 
 So long for one who died in smiles and peace ; 
 
 In thinking of her bliss, let sorrow cease. 
 
 Far, You. counsel well, for wisdom bids me wait, 
 
 But wife, then son—oh! Meg, the loss was great; 
 
 And soon as harvest comes it reappears, 
 
 Till I find blessing in the flow of tears: 
 
 Reproach me not for these sad tributes shed 
 As essence of regard giv’n to the dead. 
 
 Meg. Your son may be alive, in spite of news 
 
 That j)rint him drowned. How often ships and crews 
 That have been reckoned lost, are but delayed 
 In time of war. Mayhap lie s gone to trade 
 In India, where they say great mines of gold 
 Await the working of the wise and bold; 
 
 And Archibald is brave—can boast a brain, 
 
 He’ll come back rich. 
 
 Far. No, no! such hope is vain. 
 
 But now the cloud has broken, and ni}^ eyes 
 Are dry again. Our lives are like the skies. 
 
 Now clear in sunshine; then the tempest lowers, 
 
 Until its blackness burst in beaming showers 
 That fall like silver beads upon the hills, 
 
 To freshen pasture and to feed the rills; 
 
 While, with a glance from God, the joyful sky 
 Smiles in the semi-iris of his eye, 
 
7 
 
 So ’tis with sorrow, Meg; it grows and grows. 
 
 Till tears, formed from the sources of our woes, 
 
 In blissful flow bid angel thoughts increase. 
 
 And lave scorched patience into restful peace. 
 
 Enter Hugh MTntyre, icho has Ms fingers cut ami bleeding. 
 Hugh. Deil tak’ the hook. I’ve cut my^finger aff. 
 
 Look at the bluid—hech, Meg, ye needna laugh, 
 
 I thocht ye wad hae fainted at the sicht; 
 
 It’s ciittit tae the bane, here, row’t up ticlit. 
 
 ]Meg. Where is your rag ? I have not such a thing, 
 
 Hugh. Tak’ aff your mutch and screed awa the string’, 
 
 I’ll bleed tae death ! 
 
 Far. It is an ugly cut ; 
 
 Hugh. As wide’s my mou’, mak’ haste. 
 
 Meg. ifir earing hand!cer chief.) Tut! tut! 
 
 Have patience, man, now hold your finger out, 
 
 But close the rest. Don’t shrink, you sheepish lout. 
 
 Stand still, ye fidget! 
 
 Hugh. Meg, yer unco rough. 
 
 Min’ hoo you tie’t, ugh ! Canny, woman. 
 
 Meg. I Stuff, 
 
 Don’t wriggle like an eel, and cower and cringe, 
 
 I’d bear as much again, without a whinge. 
 
 Hugh. Ye needna’ tug and tie wi’ siccan force. 
 
 My finger’s no the hin’ hoch o’ a horse. 
 
 Far. That w’ound will stop your shearing for a day. 
 
 So you can stook the sheaves : to work, away. 
 
 And I will take your place—give me your hook. 
 
 Hugh. I dinna ken the way tae set a stook. 
 
 Far. Collect the sheaves, and Meg will show you how. 
 
 Hugh. Eh! bring them here, frae there ayont the knowe? 
 
 Far. Ay, here. 
 Hugh 
 
 Did he say here ? 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 Ay, here, obey ! 
 
 
 Hugh. Ugh! ye 
 
 will gallop me tae death the day 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Meg. I fancy now he’s vexed at loss of labour 
 
 That gave him Jessie Muir for his work-neighbour; 
 
 But she, poor lass, in love can ne’er be won. 
 
 Her heart was giv’n to Farme]- More’s lost son; 
 
 Ah! I have heard her sigh, have heard her pray 
 For his return. Oh! heaven grant she may. 
 
 In her long patience, meet wdth blest reward 
 Of her love’s presence—her whole soul’s regard. 
 
 Enter Hugh icith six sheaves. 
 
 Hugh. Here’s sax, and that is just half o’ a stook. 
 jMeg. Don’t handle them so roughly, sir! Now look, 
 
 You’ve shaken out the corn. There’s waste. 
 
 Hugh. Ye’re wrang; 
 
 That’s for the bonnie lav’rocks for their sang; 
 
 Puir birdies, Meg, maun get their stanimacks fou, 
 
 For they ha’e mou’s as w’eel as me and you. [Places sheaves. 
 
<s 
 
 Meg» Is that the way you show your wisdom, mau? 
 
 You have not sense to stook. 
 
 Hugh. Weel, try your han’. 
 
 Meg. Take two sheaves by the tops, with tender care, 
 
 As if they were a lad and lass with hair 
 Of gold; now, this the lad, and that the miss, 
 
 See! bring their faces so, until they kiss. 
 tioo sheaves together. Hugh hiocliS them down as she goes 
 for others.'] 
 
 Hugh. Your lad and lass, tired kissin’ ane anither. 
 
 Like man and wife, are lyin’ doon thegitlier. 
 
 [/Se/s them vp. 
 
 Meg. You foolish hind! your brain is gathering’wool; 
 
 To set a stook, list to the harvest rule :— 
 
 Mark where the sun is—there!—’tis twelve o’clock; 
 
 Now note his noon place by yon rifted rock; 
 
 Set every stook to that, endways—e’en so; 
 
 Now, in the morning this east side, you know. 
 
 Will dry: at noon, I’ve said, the sun shines there. 
 
 So of his rays both sides have equal share; 
 
 Then as the sun sinks to his nightly rest, 
 
 His beams will dry this side towards the west— 
 
 It’s simple, Hugh, but be the lesson borne. 
 
 There’s art in all things, ev’n in stooking corn. 
 
 Hugh. Lor’ that’s a hint or twa I’ll no forget. 
 
 There are mair sheaves up yonder, Meg, tae get, 
 
 Sae gang and lug them doon the brae, while I 
 Look on and get anither lesson. 
 
 Meg. (Chases him round stooli.) Why, 
 
 Y^ou lazy lout, your legs are lithe and strong; 
 
 To wmrk, you rascal, or a cart-whip thong 
 Will crack about your shoulders till they’re blue— 
 
 I’m wasting tongue and time with such as you. \Exit. 
 Hugh. She’s left the cog o’ milk. I’ll sloke my thirst, 
 
 If I drink a’ that’s here my wame will burst; 
 
 Ah na! it’s raxin’ leather, and will stretch. 
 
 [^Drlnks. Meg returns. 
 
 Meg. You calf! you lick the cream! you greedy wretch! 
 
 \_Seizes cog and empties it over him. 
 Hugh. 0 lor’, I’m droon’t. 0 curse the milk and you; 
 
 I only pat the cog up tae my mou;— 
 
 Look at my claes! 
 
 Meg. Another lesson for you, Hugh-- 
 
 Take what is yours, you’re welcome to your own ; 
 
 What is another’s, always let alone. 
 
 That milk was mine. 
 
 Hugh. Y^our milk? ye didna gie’t, 
 
 Gin it were yours, I should be loth tae pree’t. 
 
 Meg. An ass’s milk would suit your nature best. 
 
 Hugh. I’ll wait for yours. 
 
 Meg. You porridge-eating pest, 
 
 I’ll milk you. 
 
 [^Chases him. 
 
9 
 
 Hugh. Meg, I hii]na milk tae gie. 
 
 ]\Ieg. ril get you, Ilughie, yet across my knee. 
 
 And, when I do, I’ll pay yon for your freaks; 
 ril spoil your easy sitting for some weeks. • [/>//. 
 
 Hugh. I’d best keep fi-ien’s wi’ lier, for faith she can, 
 
 In strength o’ aim an’ jaw, lick ony man. 
 
 Wha’s this that’s linkin’ ow’re the whinny knowe '? 
 
 It’s Jessie ! my soul’s lichtit wi’ love’s lowc, 
 
 An’ her e’en set it a bleezin, till a fever, 
 
 Is ragin’ in my bluid ; nor rill— nor river. 
 
 Can e’er this fiery feeling cool, or hinder; 
 
 My breast’s a furnace, and my heart’s a cinder. 
 
 ’Twas thinking o’ her bonnie face alane 
 That made me cut my finger to the bane. 
 
 IIoo like an angel wingin’ here she looks ; 
 
 \_Gues hach'wardi and Inioclis doicn doulas. 
 Tae me a deevil, dingin’ doon the stooks ; 
 
 I canna thole her presence ; I’ll be gane. 
 
 An’ owre my loveless lot grunt wi’ my pain. \_ExLt. 
 
 Enter Jessie Muir. 
 
 Jessie. If I mistake not, that was Hughie hei“e; 
 
 What makes him run so, like a startled deer. 
 
 Poor lad, he seems but ill at ease of late, 
 
 It may be I have caused his altered state. 
 
 For he protested love, when well he knows, 
 
 My heart and new love must be always foes; 
 
 From one alone, my sworn soul cannot sevei-, 
 
 Whose loss makes life a widowhood for evci\ 
 
 Soiuj. 
 
 In heart, there is hut one love true, 
 
 Which stands the test of time or strife, 
 
 That like a soul-gem sparkles through 
 The deepest darkness of our life. 
 
 One love can be but pure alone ; 
 
 For if the heart in whole adore, 
 
 Nor king, nor cpieen, with bribe of throne 
 Could move it, to make room for more. 
 
 True love is not a passing bloom, 
 
 That Avithers Avith our ceasing breath ; 
 
 It is not buried in the tomb ; 
 
 It knoAvs no blight from sting of death. 
 
 For love is centre of the soul, 
 
 And sheltered there, how can it die ? 
 
 The human heart its earthward goal, 
 
 Its home eternal is on high. 
 
 Enter Laird Eoderick. 
 
 Laird. So, Jessie, still you sing that song of grief; 
 
 Why spiiiii the mtaiis that might afford relief 
 From those afflicting thoughts which make you jiire? 
 There’s nought I hold or e’er hope to call mine 
 I wmuld not freely give to gain your heart. 
 
10 
 
 Jessie. Your pardon, Laird, your words but drive the dart, 
 
 ■Fixed here, still deeper, sir, foiLear—good day. 
 
 The subject pains me so— 
 
 Laiud. Stay,"Jessie, stay. 
 
 What can you hope from love given to the dead ? 
 
 Your tears that pale your cheeks are idly shed; 
 
 Thy passionate grief is now beheld with scorn. 
 
 When all of sense say to thee, “ Cease to mourn.” 
 
 Then from thy saddened features let me see 
 One smile responsive to a thought of me. 
 
 Jessie. Expect to see the sun at midnight rise, 
 
 As soon as love for you gleam from my eyes. 
 
 The hope I hold is blest—of heaven’s high giving ; 
 
 A cherished trust that whispers, “he is living,” 
 
 To whom my heart is sworn. This oath—ta’eii token 
 
 \_L(jo]is at half-coin mspended from her neck. 
 Brings bright remembrance of our vows love—spoken 
 In mutual faith, that never must be broken. 
 
 Laird. Thy constancy is rare ; but time and tongue 
 Condemn such sacrifice in one so young ; 
 
 Is it in keeping with kind counsels given 
 For our despairing moments, to be driven 
 By selfish sorrow past the pale of peace ? 
 
 When friends with proffered comfort bid thee cease 
 To nourish care, which saps thy life away ? 
 
 List to my love- — [_Takes her hand. 
 
 Jessie. Xo, no, release me, pray; 
 
 You are my better, both by birth and station. 
 
 Thy suit would only bring thee degradation ; 
 
 I must be faithful to the lost, or dead — 
 
 ’Tis sinful, wooing what ye cannot wed. 
 
 Laird. Fond ones can give what those in wedlock get. 
 
 And opposition will my purpose whet. 
 
 Jessie. Sir, you should blush to say so — Laird, I’eflect, 
 
 Ere you bring loathing wdiere there lives respect; 
 
 True men of every class must hate offence 
 That offers harm to maiden’s innocence. 
 
 What scarcely seems a stain upon man’s name. 
 
 Brands wmman’s virtue with a lasting’ shame. 
 
 Laird. You shall not go. 
 
 Jessie. Detain me not, I beg. 
 
 Enter Meg with rake. 
 
 Meg. Hallo, hallo ! what’s this ? 
 
 Jessie. Oh welcome, Meg. 
 
 Laird. A joke, good woman, that is all. 
 
 Meg. Indeed! 
 
 Such jokes are best when maid with man’s agreed; 
 
 What’s sport for you, distresses her, I see, 
 
 So if you’re bent on joking, joke with me. 
 
 Laird. Dost know me, woman ? 
 
Meg. 
 
 11 
 
 I am wide awake. 
 
 Kuow you? your picture’s in my hand—a rake ; 
 
 So^keep your roguish tricks for dupes elsewhere, 
 
 Or I may use this rake to comb your hair. 
 
 Gome, Jessie, lass! the lambs have much to fear, 
 
 When foxes wearing boots and breeks are here. 
 
 \_Exit ivlfh Jexslp. 
 Laird. This bold advance once more meets with defeat; 
 
 In love, like Avar, there’s shame in a retreat; 
 
 My timid passion, roused to daring now', 
 
 Shall grow akin to hate. Her virgin a'ow, 
 
 Like frozen purity, ere long shall thaw 
 With glowing breath of kisses; Nature’s law 
 Is full of grants to satisfy requests ; 
 
 But custom countermands the choice behests 
 Of Cupid’s court: thus countless lives expire 
 As victims of that fierce soul-scorching fire 
 AVhose quenching lies in gratified desire. 
 
 Enter Banald Taggart. 
 
 Kan. Discomfiture is pictured on your face ; 
 
 Learn to bear crosses with a better grace; 
 
 All will go well if you but have recourse 
 To that prerogative of power— 
 
 Laird. What? 
 
 Kan. Force. 
 
 Laird. She pines for Archibald. 
 
 Kan. Well, let her pine, 
 
 A taste of poverty would make her thine. 
 
 We all are forward while we are well fed, 
 
 But hunger tames rebellious heart and head. 
 
 Her guardian, menaced with a legal threat 
 ,0f lodgement in a county gaol for debt, 
 
 Would change this A\'ayward maiden’s mind to you. 
 
 I find, in looking o’er your money due. 
 
 This Farmer More is bound for Donald Glen 
 For two years’ i-ent. Exact this bond due, then 
 ’Twill swallow up his hoarded gains from thrift. 
 
 And Jessie Muir will be yours as a gift 
 To hush the debt, that paid \Amuld bring distress; 
 
 Dues oft are cancelled by a fond caress; 
 
 I’ve knowm the heaviest Avoes transformed to bliss 
 By that lipped rapture of our love —a kiss. 
 
 Laird. But should this Archibald return! I fear. 
 
 In spite of letters stopped, he may appear: 
 
 The specious tales may all be tricked by truth. 
 
 Which Ave have framed to separate the youth 
 From Jessie’s loAm. Though in a foreign clime, 
 
 My ill-forecasting mind fears that in time 
 He Avill come back, cooled in desire to roam;— 
 
 All hearts yearn Avith tlie Avish to visit home. 
 
12 
 
 Kan. Suy 1 did all, if Archibald should come ; 
 
 I am 3^our servant, gold will make me dumb; 
 
 In correspondence stopped, in all design 
 Of ill intent, money will make them mine; 
 
 With riches I can bear the brunt of blame, 
 
 Or, better still, go hence and change my name. 
 
 Be this your guard against this fretful fear. 
 
 Which conjures spectral evils in the rear 
 Of your desire, which fain would be enjoyed, 
 
 -.But that a carping conscience makes it cloyed 
 With dullard doubt; this mind-made phantom brave 
 By clasping to your bosom what you crave. 
 
 Laird. You give me courage by assuring speech; 
 
 A soft sound to an ear oft fails to i-each 
 Affection’s hold, where slumbers loving thought. 
 
 Which leaps in words to lips when roughly sought;— 
 Demand this debt now due by Fainner More— 
 
 Being stript of farm and all his v.mrldly store. 
 
 No doubt his charge will change her frowning mood, 
 And give whate’er I ask in gratitude. 
 
 In lien of pa3mient—which would beggar those 
 
 With whom she linds a home. M3^ whole frame glows 
 
 In warm anticipation of the pleasure 
 
 That peeps from schemes we take to gain this treasure. 
 
 Kan. I once possessed a treasure, and I’m glad 
 A coffin holds it now. I never had 
 A moment’s peace from my fair jewel till 
 I closed it in a casket. My heart still 
 Would force its pulses into youthful life. 
 
 And beats in fondness for—another wife. 
 
 Laird. So old, and yet in love, you surely jest. 
 
 Kan. Oh, not so old, but what I might be blest 
 In living pictures, with my face transferred 
 To infant innocence; my voice be heard 
 As once my father heard his voice in me. 
 
 For in all prattlers women’s 03^8 can see 
 The parents live, the likest, most endeared. 
 
 Laird. Thou’rt withered, Kanald Taggart, shrunk and seared. 
 
 Kan. a withered trunk may still hide living roots. 
 
 With vital power to bless the spring with shoots; 
 
 Laird. But seldom can bestow on autumn, fruits. 
 
 And wdio is she 3^11 madly thus adore? 
 
 Kan. The lovety Elsie, daughter of old More. 
 
 Laird. A hopeless suit; she has a highland beau; 
 
 She’s pledged to many Alan M‘Indoe. 
 
 Kan. All pledges have their price; gold buys a heart 
 With ease in Cupid’s matrimonial mart. 
 
 I’ve been a witness to those marriage sales, 
 
 And know that \vealth to wedlock seldom fails 
 To win its choice to church, in spite of troths 
 Sigh-sealed in burning kisses, and swmrn oaths. 
 
 Laird. Your plan in full I now can comprehend: 
 
13 
 
 Tlie means yon use for me must you befriend, 
 
 For, as you urge strong’ measures in my suit, 
 
 You push your own with Elsie More to boot. 
 
 Proceed, then, with your case, Love versus Law,’’ 
 
 Your presence, primed with words of legal awe. 
 
 Will lierald to their home deeds of distress, 
 
 Or bless our longing hearts with love’s success. [Lb 
 
 Ran. Now I am master of this spendthrift fool; 
 
 ’Tis true Pve been his crime-committing tool 
 For hire some years. My life has been depraved ; 
 
 I must repent—when I have money saved. 
 
 My virtuous resolutions will arise 
 Beneath the brightness of fair Elsie's eyes; 
 
 They shine like lamps of love to light my soul - 
 Back to its purity by charmed control;— 
 
 I feel, yet cannot fathom quite her smile 
 
 Has thrown athwart each sense some witchiiig wile 
 
 That centi’es all my tlioughts upon her face. 
 
 From which there is leflected every gi-ace 
 That lovelier grows, till I, in worshi}) ei’azed. 
 
 Pray, curse, and bless, then whine;— 1 am amazed — 
 
 Bewildered at myself; ev’n now 1113" tears 
 
 Roll down my’ cheeks, iio! theyVe perspiring fears. 
 
 Lo! here she comes; my courage with her come ; 
 
 My lieart beats like a regimental drum. 
 
 Enter Elsie More. 
 
 Elsie. Ah, Ranald, are you well? ymu’re looking so— 
 
 Ran. Looks are deceptive, Elsie, lass. Well? No, 
 
 Pm troubled in my mind. 
 
 Elsie. • For what? I guess 
 
 The cause. 
 
 Ran. You do? 
 
 Elsie. I do. 
 
 Ran. Of my distress? 
 
 flow searching are your ey^es; you see my^ heart. 
 
 So can behold the wound and soothe tlie smart ; 
 
 Pve sufferetl sadly, Elsie, you can judge. 
 
 When thinking I might mateless, friendless, trudge 
 Along the rugged ways of life alone. 
 
 With'no kind helpmate to be named my own. 
 
 Elsie. Take heart again, ymu are bowed dowm, I see. 
 
 With mournful musings of— 
 
 Ran. 'Toil jiity me? 
 
 Elsie. I do. You bear the greatest grief of life, 
 
 f’or what suj)plieR the place of one’s lost wife? 
 
 Ran. Another. 
 
 Elsie. Another, Ranald? 
 
 PtAN. Ay, ’tis true, 
 
 Anotlier wife. My’ soul is set on you. 
 
 Elsie. Pm stinck with wonder at this declaration. 
 
14 
 
 ItAN. A welcome wonder, eh? Here’s elevation 
 
 From plodding work to loll within your carriage; 
 
 I’ll be your subject, you my queen—in marriage. 
 Elsie. Ah me! your late wife’s grave is scarcely green; 
 
 Wooers in black and crape should not be seen. 
 
 Rax. My black is legal, and this band of crape 
 Is merely worn to keep my hat in shape, 
 
 Likewise to hide the oil that has oozed through, 
 
 So lavished on my locks for love of you. 
 
 Elsie. I am betrothed to Alan M‘Indoe. 
 
 Rax. Ay, ay, I’ve heard so. Elsie, do you know 
 How penniless he is? I pity her 
 Who could on such a landless loon confer 
 Her hand; your heart’s not giv’n to such as he! 
 
 What is a shepherd when compared to me? 
 
 Elsie. A man beside a knave. 
 
 Rax. You compliment. 
 
 Elsie. I now perceive the drift of your intent— 
 
 You fain would blacken him, who in my eyes 
 Is brighter than the orb in yonder skies; 
 
 As to his calling, ’tis heaven’s favoured trade 
 From which its choicest king of old was made; 
 
 In later times, such was the shepherd’s worth. 
 
 To them the angels came from heaven to earth, 
 
 And first proclaimed the tidings of the birth 
 Of Him who made us victors over sin; 
 
 Now name the honours of your craft—begin. 
 
 Rax. I need not argue with you, girl, ’tis plain 
 Y^ou look on me with loathing. Entertain 
 What I propose. Unless you do relent 
 Of your refusal, Elsie, you’ll repent; 
 
 Y'ou do so now, I see. Come, be of cheer, 
 
 Hut smile on me, there’s naught that you may fear. 
 
 Enter Alax jNFIxdoe. 
 
 Alax. What should she fear from one so weak and old? 
 Excuse me, sir, this lamb is of my fold. 
 
 That never Avillingly will wend to thine; 
 
 Seek some old ewe, this tender pet is mine. 
 
 Rax. I’ve means within my ken will make you rue ; 
 
 Y"our tongue, now glib in scorn, ere long will sue 
 To me for favours, which I may not grant; 
 
 Y'ou’ve waged a war with wealth against your want. 
 Look to your love! will it replenish store, 
 
 When poverty will enter at your door. 
 
 Lean-jawed and famine-faced, to feed on all? 
 
 Till sheepless pen and empty byre and stall 
 Will grieve your hearts. All this in time may be, 
 Then, in such plight, you will remember me. 
 
 Alan, (seizes him.) Dare but to threaten me or mine with ill, 
 I’ll close my clutches round your throat until 
 Your eyes start from their sockets. 
 
IT) 
 
 Kan. MiirJcrl help! 
 
 Alan. You coward cur, that can for mercy yelp, 
 
 Yet boast the power to bite. 
 
 Kan. Let go! I’ll choke! 
 
 Elsie. Kclease him, Alan. 
 
 Alan. Hence! 
 
 Kan. My neck-bone’s broke! 
 
 Your fist has squeezed my sight away, I’m blind! 
 I’ll have revenge for this, you highland hind— 
 
 No! not revenge, mere justice giv’n, I hope. 
 
 For this will get your neck within a rope. 
 
 What’s this? my blood! where is my handkerchief? 
 This is a sanguinary proof — my l^rief 
 Is written here. A lawyer’s blood is shed— 
 
 In that your doom is easy to be read. 
 
 ElvSIe. Oh, fly! 
 
 Alan. The hills have holds beyond his power 
 
 To find. 
 
 Elsie. Alas! it was an evil hour 
 
 That brought you both iii contact, for I fear 
 When threats are used by him there’s danger near; 
 1 wish you had not come. What should I do 
 Were ill, by woi-ds of mine, to fall on you? 
 
 Alan. Ugh, let him try his worst, the venom’d snake ; • 
 
 If I dread aught it’s only for your sake; 
 
 I’ve tried to like him long, for hope of place. 
 
 Still, loathing lurked at lieart, now seen in face; 
 Where liking’s forced it fails to find the state 
 In wdiicli pure friendship lives, and, soon or late, 
 
 A look, a word, lets loose our pent-up hate; 
 Known foes are best, with them all doubting ends, 
 The worst of foes are in disguise of friends. 
 
 But let this subject pass— it moves a tear, 
 
 Bid sti'ife be hushed, and anger disappear 
 Before the laughing joys we 11 woo, to wile 
 Our features back within their wonted smile; 
 
 So let us sit beside this stook of corn, 
 
 And sing away his threats that merit scorn. 
 
 Elsie. This Ranald has a secret which is hid 
 
 For but a time. Ye powers above forbid 
 That he can bring more sadness to our door; 
 
 My father has borne much, but little more 
 Would bow him down beyond his might to rise ; 
 For I have heard of late his heavy sighs— 
 
 , d’here is some trouble, yet unknown to me, 
 
 Pressed on his heart, from wUich he’d fain be free; 
 Some scheme by Ranald Taggart, whom I dread, 
 
 I fear is planned, and threatening overhead. 
 
 Alan. Fret not beneath the prospect of a harm. 
 
 While I have breath and use of arm 
 
 I’ll stand between you and the ills you fear. 
 
 With all the strengih a righteous cause can rear; 
 
 lExit. 
 
ELyiK. 
 
 Alax. 
 
 Alan. 
 
 Elhie. 
 
 Alan. 
 
 Elsie. 
 
 Hugh.; 
 
 Elsie. 
 
 Hugh. 
 
 Alax. 
 
 Hugh. 
 
 IG 
 
 If Falsehood front us, with licr face uncouth, 
 
 She’ll shrink abashed before the form of Truth., 
 
 In that assurance, Alan, let me trust; 
 
 Brief is a wicked triumph o’er the just. 
 
 Short is its boast, for every sinful swa}’ 
 
 Must ^deld to goodness at no distant day. 
 
 Then in our mutual troths let comfort ilsc, 
 
 E’or in their sweet remembrance discord dies ; 
 
 AVliile love, in whispers, breathes a soothing’ balm. 
 That lulls all troublous harpings into calm; 
 
 With tender tones attuned like saintly psalm, 
 
 The holiest theme of praise in heaven above. 
 
 Is ours on earth in “everlasting- love.” 
 
 Duet. 
 
 When nature decks the world in green, 
 
 Hie sjiringtime of our life is seen ; 
 
 llien when she crowns the gi-een with l]owci\s, 
 
 Life laughs in summer’s rosy bowers. 
 
 Along love’s blossom-arched retreat 
 Time marches on with muffled feet, 
 
 He sighs not, lest he should destroy 
 Hearts charmed with interchanging joy. 
 
 You do not sing of Autumn sere, 
 
 When gifts of gold begem the year ; 
 
 There fallen leaves lie in love’s way. 
 
 And sunny locks turn moonlight-gray. 
 
 Beyond the Autumn’s golden bridge. 
 
 Appears stern Winter’s icy ridge. 
 
 Whence blows his hoar-fro^-thickencd breath 
 That chills all life and love to death. 
 
 But ’neath that ridge there is an arch, 
 
 It’s length is not a moment’s march ; 
 
 There, as we bend to enter through. 
 
 Eternal Spring bursts to our view. 
 
 Ah ! now I see love’s lasting rays 
 Can lighten all life’s lonesome ways — 
 
 The darker path — the heavenly liglit 
 
 Burns from the neighbouring gloom more bright. 
 
 Enter Hugh. 
 
 Ay, Alun, ye’re the happiest o’ men; 
 
 AA’re liltin’ like twa lav’i-ocks owre the glen. 
 Laverocks ? 
 
 Imphm—he’s the cock an’ ye’i-e the hen. 
 My bonnie birds, I hope ye wull be blest, 
 
 Nae doot ye hae began tae big yer nest; 
 
 For Alan’s had an e’e on stock an’ steadin’. 
 
 An’ busy Elsie’s been preparin’ beddin’; 
 
 But hech! I fear a cross against yer weddin’. 
 
 AYhat’s that? 
 
 You’ve made a foe o’ Ranald Taggart, 
 lie reached me pechin’, lookin’ roosed and haggart; 
 He stormed and stamp’t aboot, an’ raved o’ law; 
 Seized mo, swore I assault an’ battery saw. 
 
 I swore I didna see’t; Lor’ then the froth 
 Blew frae his mou’ as’t wad fi-ae boilin’ broth, 
 
J7 
 
 Then aff he starlit in a fearfu’ fmy, 
 
 Swearin’ by law, by judges, an’ by jury, 
 
 That he wad mak’ ye baith a beggared pair; 
 
 Syne, gruinphin like a boar, wi’ bi-istled hair, 
 
 He flew like Satan’s sel’ oot o’ luy siclit. 
 
 As if intent tae reach the deil the niclit. 
 
 Elsie. Come to iny father, Alan, he’ll advise 
 What’s best to do. 
 
 Hugh. Mak’ haste, if ye are wise ; 
 
 In Ranald Taggart ye hae raised Auld Hornie’s sel’, 
 
 For roon’ his rage I sniffed a brimstone smell. 
 
 Alan. Come to your father, Elsie, tell him all, 
 
 I hardly think aught serious can befall 
 From what I did ; still, Elsie, let us take 
 Precaution ’gainst his wrath for safet3"’s sake; 
 
 For what I’ve done, my conscience does not rue, 
 
 Perhaps ’twas rash, but ’twas defending you. \_Excaiii. 
 Hugh. Twa folk in love to nie’s a sicht o’ bliss; 
 
 They smile, they’re face tae face, and noo they kiss. 
 
 I canna get a lassie in my grips, 
 
 Tae taste love’s honey-dew upon her lips. 
 
 I am a drone in Cupid’s hive, ocli me! 
 
 I daurna o’ the flowery treasures pree ; 
 
 The drone is helpless, for it canna sting, 
 
 Nae mail* can I, sae I’m a useless thing. 
 
 Here’s Ranald cornin’, Tvhat’s he after noo; 
 
 Pm sure he’s got some deevil’s brewst tae bre^v; 
 
 I’ll hide amang the sheaves o’ this ait stook. 
 
 I’d sooner write my name in Hornie’s book 
 Than meet this hoodie-craw in carrion mood; 
 
 Sic limbs o’ law are Satan’s blackest brood; 
 
 I wis’ the earth o’ him an’ sic was rid; 
 
 I hope my head an’ heels wall here be hid. 
 
 [Hides in stooJc. 
 
 Enter Ranald with packet of papers. 
 
 Ran. I’m in a frame of mind to execute 
 
 Rare business which will make these boasters mule. 
 
 (Sits Where is the deed subsciibed by Fariiier More? 
 
 Here ’tis.—Ha! ha I noAV, as I glance it o’er 
 My rage turns glee, for from this forfeit bond 
 My hungry vengeance will be fed be^mnd 
 AVrath’s appetite in vengeful expectation, 
 
 Which is to see, in humbled situation, 
 
 That girl sue for 1113^ favour, and my hand ; 
 
 This paper o’er her heart gives me command. 
 
 \Lmys paper hy stook while he arranges others — Hugh takes 
 I’ll rule her liking now in all I ask. 
 
 So, Ranald Taggart, to your welcome task. 
 
 Where has the paper gone? I placed it there : 
 
 It’s blown away, and yet no puff of air 
 Has stirred my hair; I saw nobody near. 
 
 c 
 

 IIo ! ho I the robber may be hiding here ! 
 
 I see a foot, aye feet—this solves the riddle; 
 
 The head is there, so I’ll attack the middle, 
 
 Whoe’er it is I’ll ply this oaken stick :— 
 
 You rogue, you knave, give up your plunder, quick. 
 [Thrusts stick amongst the sheaves; Hugh yells and comes out.'] 
 Enter Laird ivith two bailiffs. 
 
 Laird. What’s this ? 
 
 Lan. Oh, welcome Laird, you’re just in time 
 
 To be a witness of this rascal’s crime. 
 
 The deed you gave me, this base scoundrel stole. 
 
 Laird. Is that the truth ? 
 
 Ran. The truth, upon my soul. 
 
 Hugh. Forgi’e me, Laird. 
 
 Laird. Where is the deed you took ? 
 
 Hugh. I left,it in the heart o’ yonder stook. 
 
 Ran. ’Tis here! 
 
 Laird. What tempted you, you knave, to rob. 
 
 Hugh. Nae doot the deil. 
 
 Ran. Theft is a hanging job. 
 
 And you shall swing for’t on the gallows tree. 
 
 Hugh. I didna think o’ that; oh, michty me! 
 
 Ye wdnna hang me surely, Laird, I’m crazed, 
 
 I didna mean to steal, but love has dazed 
 My e’en, my lugs, my tongue, an’ senses a’, 
 
 Sae, bonnie Laird, let me for ance awa; 
 
 I’m no mysel’, my mind has misty grown, 
 
 Owre a’ I dae love has a glamour throwm. 
 
 Laird. Your love? For whom? 
 
 Hugh. For bonnie Jessie Muir. 
 
 Laird. You love her better than your life? 
 
 Hugh. I’m sure 
 
 I like her weel, though no sae weel as life. 
 
 But w^eel enough tae tak’ her for my wife. 
 
 An’ that’s as muckle, Laird, an’ maybe mair 
 Than some, in truth, wad dae, wha’ vow an’ swear 
 Tae lay their lives an’ fortunes at love’s feet;— 
 
 It’s fine in words, but actions seldom dae’t. 
 
 Ran. Take him away, put shackles on his wrists. 
 
 Hugh. My tongue has failed ; Hugh, forward wi’ your fists! 
 
 Come near me noo, you lot o’ lawyer loons. 
 
 An’ like Tam Balloch’s wife. I’ll dure your croons. 
 
 \_Knocks Ranald and Bailiffs over, and Exit. 
 Laird. Up ! up ! my men, and give the rascal chase, 
 
 Once seized, confine him in some lockfast place; 
 
 Be quick ; of him I have a special need. 
 
 So let reward for this urge all your speed, 
 
 [Bailiffs exeunt. 
 
 Ran. They’ll catch him soon ; they’re gaining on the hound. 
 Secure him men, and I’ll give each a pound ; 
 
 The reapers join the race,—they’ll interfere. 
 
19 
 
 Laird. The farmer and his friends are coming here, 
 
 No doubt to learn the cause—this be your time 
 To hint the master urged the servant’s crime. 
 
 Then when the daughter pleads, say that yon see 
 No means of safety, but by counselling me. 
 
 Hugh in our toils we’ll bind him by an oath 
 To do our bidding, so will serve us both ; 
 
 His fear of death by hemp will make him say. 
 
 And do all we desire. 
 
 Kan. They’re near; away! 
 
 Laird. Send Jessie to me, for, in sorrow pressed, 
 
 A lenient act may wake love in her breast; 
 
 Despair has eager ears, a hopeful word 
 On them is angel utterance conferred. [Exit. 
 
 Ran. His motive has sweet love to be it’s base ; 
 
 Mine has a bitter hate to help my case, 
 
 With all the poignant power my cunning wields — 
 
 Love at my age, to love of lucre yields. 
 
 Confound my rebel heart, that it should whirl 
 My senses into madness for a girl; 
 
 A minx. I’ll turn to my time-serving toy 
 To be from business cares my mind’s deco}'-! 
 
 To warm my chilling years to youth and joy. 
 
 Enter ^Ieg and Reapers. 
 
 Meg. What has Hugh done that he is seized and bound ? 
 
 Ran. a hanging matter, Meg'; I’m glad he’s found. 
 
 He played the thief. 
 
 Meg. And you have played the rogue ; 
 
 While lawyers live the thief must be in vogue ; 
 
 Deny your words, or your own life’s at stake, 
 
 We’ll souse your ugly carcase in the lake. 
 
 Ran. Ho I bailiffs, here; I am attacked. Ho ! help ! 
 
 Meg. Before he’s touched, hear how the cur can yelp. 
 
 Look, lads, this withered, wizzened, dried-up skin ; 
 
 This shrivelled parchment, blotted black with sin ; 
 
 This worm with legs, this grub—this footed snake. 
 
 That always leaves misfortune in its wake ; 
 
 This carrion crow, cawing still above three score. 
 
 Has dared to offer love to Elsie More. 
 
 Why don’t yon marry me ?—we wed together 
 Would save a pair of blankets in cold weather. 
 
 {Seizes him.) Now, rascal, say you lie; and free poor Hugh. 
 Ran. I here declare, that what I’ve said is true, 
 
 In spite of danger, and in face of yon. 
 
 Enter Bailiffs. 
 
 You’ve come in time to witness this assault; 
 
 You’ll all be hanged, or ’twill not be my fault. 
 
 Meg. What? hang us all ; well, since we know the worst. 
 What’s to prevent us hanging you up first? 
 
 Suppose we duck him, lads, and then he’ll grace 
 The gallows with at least a ( leaner face. 
 
 [They are goiny to seize him. 
 
20 
 
 Farmer More, Elsie and Jessie enter. 
 
 Far. What is the cause of this uuseemly strife ? 
 
 Meg. Where limbs of law locate, rows must be rife. 
 
 Kan. Farmer, my business is a grievous one, 
 
 Yet law is law, and duty must be done. 
 
 None can lament it more than I, yet still 
 I’m paid to execute my master’s will; 
 
 Your rent is in arrears, and must be paid. 
 
 Far. The Laird said the demand would be delayed 
 Till I had stacked the corn, and sold it then— 
 
 Kan. a promise rued! And you for Donald Glen 
 
 Stood bound (he’s failed to pay)—his debt is due. 
 
 Two hundred pounds, which must be paid by you. 
 
 F ar. This claim is sudden, sir ; what does it mean ? 
 
 I’m sure the Laird and I have ever been 
 The best of friends. I know not what to think ; 
 Payment of this would place me on the brink, 
 
 Ay, in the gulf of ruin, which I fear 
 Will swallow all I own of wordly gear; 
 
 Make me and mine as outcasts from the hearth, 
 
 The altar of our home—our shrine on earth, 
 
 Made holier by her, my soul’s regard, 
 
 Who sleeps to wake no more in yon churcliyard. 
 
 My very life is rooted to this soil. 
 
 Hard prayer to be refused, “ Oh! leave us here to toil.” 
 The debt I own, the payment but defer. 
 
 Kan. Send Jessie to the Laird, he’d list to her. 
 
 ^Ieg. I see his drift; the rougish Laird would try 
 To make the lass his mistress, bye and bye. 
 
 And this grey fox, the knave slips loose in love ; 
 
 You killed a goose, now lick lips for a dove— 
 
 Our Elsie here. Seek elswhere, love-mock cadger, 
 
 Your kiss would turn the stomach of a badger. 
 
 Kan. You are a foolish woman, and as such 
 
 I treat you, Meg. My office must bear much. 
 
 But do not burden it with more ; for 1 , 
 
 Driven to my.character’s defence, deh^ 
 
 All evil tongues to blacken it with crime ; 
 
 But we will argue this another time. 
 
 Well, Farmer, can you give me wdiat I seek ? 
 
 We’ll sell jmur crops, by public roup, next week, 
 
 Your cattle, horses, in fact, all your stock. 
 
 Far. All, all — oh! I shall die beneath this shock. 
 
 Elsie. There’s Alan MHndoe, he’ll do his best, 
 
 Kan. I have a warrant out for his arrest; 
 
 There is a price set on the ruffian’s head. 
 
 Far. My helpless ones, w^e now lack means of bread, 
 
 I felt some anguish near, now it has come ; 
 
 The Laird shall have his bond, although the sum 
 Must beggar mine and me;—oh ! harder still, 
 
 To leave this home, wdiere every glen and hill 
 Is blushing now with rustling heather bells, 
 
21 
 
 Which murmur memories, to me—death knells. 
 
 What wonder, then, my heart from this blow shrinks, 
 That wrenches from its core these sacred links, 
 
 AVhich bind the living to the loved and dead ; 
 
 Denying’ hope, to share that nai’row bed 
 Where rests my wife—I long for that abode 
 Where tired existence lays its weary load. 
 
 Elsie. No, father, no! would’st make us orphans quite. 
 
 Rax. a word from Jessie may set matters right. 
 
 Meg. a word from Satan would serve him much l>etter. 
 Rax. This pays not debt. 
 
 Meg. You are the devil’s debtor — 
 
 lie wants a factor, so we’ll send him you; 
 
 Come, lads, let s pay Beelzebub his due. 
 
 Far. No, touch him not, we must not break the 
 
 Framed for the weal of wealth, though full of flaws. 
 When viewed through tears and mediums of distress. 
 Forgive me, heaven, if I the truth transgress 
 By thinking- now—I cannot see thy plans 
 In wisdom harmonise with law of man’s: 
 
 For here we find man, for his lordly feasts. 
 
 Starves men from native soil to foster beasts; 
 
 And wdiere the ploughshare plied the earth for bread. 
 We find law-boards forbidding foot to tread; — 
 
 I’ve seen this curse grow stronger year and year — 
 Seen households exiled to make room for deei’. 
 
 These pampered lordlings little know at court 
 That they kill human beings in their sport ; 
 
 For some aie spirit-crushed across the seas, 
 
 Some driven to cities, wasted in disease — 
 
 This is the fate I feared; thus fear fulfils 
 My dread. My health, my home, are with these hills. 
 Ran. You need not leave them, Farmer ; Jessie kn.ovs 
 The Laird for her sake would— 
 
 Far. Do not disclose 
 
 This project, based upon a dark design 
 To ruin her repute, and so stain mine;. 
 
 She is an orphan child, left to my care, 
 
 Driven nigh to madness, homeless, in despair; 
 
 I still can guard her from the falling blight 
 That withers me. No monied rutfiau’s might 
 Shall buy from me such gift by bargained guile, 
 
 To sell her holiest right from heaven, to smile. 
 
 She's mine, my charge, as such she will remain - 
 My lost son’s love For God’s sake, sir, refrain 
 To name such sin, which Hoods my sight with tears. 
 That should not dim these eyes so old in years; 
 
 Come, loafing ones, you must my sorrow share, 
 
 And, in our woes, seek resignation there. 
 
 End of First Art. 
 
 \^K'nepIs, 
 
22 
 
 ACT SECOND. 
 
 Scene—FARMYARD in Distance. 
 
 Enter Eanald and Laird. 
 
 Ran. ’Tis useless to repent of what is done, 
 
 Since by distraint onr wishes may be won; 
 
 These qualms are spasms, and their physic lies 
 AVithin a loving* look of Jessie’s eyes. 
 
 What is a twinge or two from conscience, Laird ? 
 Will you by sighs and tears be purpose scared ? 
 Laird. No, no! we’ll carry these harsh measures through 
 But, Ranald, will that oath-bound knave be true 
 To our requirements planned? Suppose we fail 
 Through our dependence on his lying tale? 
 
 For falsehood’s tongue is ever apt to falter. 
 
 Ran. His will grow glib by terror of a halter; 
 
 So in his mouth we hold the truth in check. 
 
 By threat to throw a rope around his neck. 
 
 I’ve spread the news we wish to be believed, 
 Which, if in credence heard, we have achieved 
 The strongest step to maiden’s fallen fame, 
 
 Which is to fasten frailty to her name; 
 
 Then virtue is a braggart boast that clings 
 In mockery to modesty, and rings 
 Out ravings to dull ears. Thus will a vice 
 First smudge a name, then to the act entice ; 
 
 Bat chastity must always have its price; 
 
 So to your lady-love be large in offers— 
 
 Laird. This but reminds me of my empty coffers; 
 
 My race to ruin has been swift of late. 
 
 Ran. Pooh! pooh! part with a farm of your estate; 
 Your purse re-filled, resolve ye to retrench, 
 
 And shepherdise with this Arcadian wench. 
 
 Laird. The plan is pleasant, be thy wits employed. 
 
 That this long dream of bliss may be enjoyed. 
 Ran. Hist in your ear. The girl will be decoyed, 
 Lured to your arms, by lies. She has a note 
 Disguised in character, as if one wrote 
 In sympathy, with hope of instant aid 
 To banish all their troubles ; so the maid, 
 
 In secret (such I counselled) in an hour 
 Will keep appointment in yon birchen bower. 
 Laird. She must suspect us of this foolish scheme. 
 
 Ran. Oh not so foolish, Laird, as it may seem— 
 
 I’ve penned the note in such a style that she 
 Can never think it came from you or me:— 
 
 I called you knave, a rogue without a heart; 
 
 So, from this practice of deceptive art. 
 
 She’ll picture help from Alan MTndoe, 
 
 AA^hich he in secret might on More bestow; 
 
23 
 
 Not daring’ day, in dread of liis arrest 
 For violence,—my neck can still attest. 
 
 Laird. I’ll hence, and wait within the place you’ve named, 
 Expectant that my passion so inflamed. 
 
 Will, in its heat, transfuse a kindred glow 
 Within her heart encased in breast of snow. 
 
 Where in its whiteness, like a marble urn. 
 
 Lies love’s sweet essence, which can never burn 
 But by the breath of him who left it there; 
 
 Which I w’ould strike to light in mad despair — 
 
 \o sooner lit, than in deep darkness hid 
 To shine no more, — my better thoughts forbid 
 The further urging of this dastard scheme. 
 
 Ran. a passing fume—a dulness on your dream — 
 
 A cloud that dims your day; ’tis ever so. 
 
 In all desire—we doubt and doubting' go 
 Towards the object which our life controls, 
 
 While fear starts shadows ’twixt it and our souls. 
 Till, in its fair possession safe, we see 
 The frowning shades that blurred its brightness flee. 
 Laird. True to our former compact I adhere, 
 
 So hence with all compunctious fret and fear ; 
 Ilalf-sinning here, and half-repenting there. 
 
 Is sickly state, a swoon ’twixt joy and care ; 
 
 What goodness loses, evil means may win. 
 
 Where fairness fails, success may come by sin. 
 
 Thus find we Fortune’s gifts on knaves attend, 
 
 AVhile to deserving worth she proves no friend. 
 
 Since softened phrase gains not this maiden’s smile. 
 I’ll try what cunning can in craft and guile. 
 
 Ran. He’s gone ! love has transformed him to a fool, 
 
 My love has lost its fire—at least is cool; 
 
 I find these silly fancies only lurk 
 In mind and body in the lack of work. 
 
 Ah ! still I have a tender, tugging tie, 
 
 A wdsh, a want, that Elsie could supply’. 
 
 I’m on the rave again about this wench; ' 
 
 I’ll sell the farm, do anything to quench 
 This breast-borne fire that burns in my despite. 
 
 And spoils my peace of day, my sleep at night. 
 Who’s this ’^—a beggar come to tax my jjurse ; 
 
 Ah, charity has been my greatest curse; 
 
 I have bestowed large sums upon the needy. 
 
 Yet some assert I’m miserly and greedy— 
 
 An avaricious, money-mongering elf. 
 
 Upon whose itching palm is printed pelf;” 
 
 Well, I am satisfied within myself. 
 
 Enter Beggar. 
 
 Begg. Give aid to one who, fallen in fortune, sues 
 For help in hapless fate. 
 
 Ran. I must refuse 
 
 On principle, although my yielding mind 
 
 
24 
 
 Proves rebel to it oft. To help mankind 
 Who beg, encourages an idle band 
 Wliom 1 may term as locusts of the land. 
 
 Thy limbs are lusty—stronger far than mine ; 
 
 If work’s thy wish, but say it, ’twill be thine. 
 
 Begg. The wish was on my tongue, I fain would hire 
 For labour in the stable, field, or byre :— 
 
 Who owns this farm ? does he need harvest hands ? 
 
 Ban. One Farmer More but lately owned these lands, 
 
 But he is deep in debt, in trouble too ;— 
 
 A girl he has is to fair fame untrue. 
 
 Begg. Ah no I 
 
 ItAN. Ah yes ! why should you answer no ” ? 
 
 Begg. Perhaps report by some malicious foe 
 
 Spreads like a blight from falsehood’s poisonous power, 
 
 To blast the wholesome bloom of this field flower; 
 
 Xor town, nor village, cot, nor castle free , 
 
 From that wide mildew-mouth called calumny. 
 
 Which, as it breathes, good name and famc^ arc lost 
 In its warm mist, more fatal than the frost. 
 
 Ban. Too true, but cease this moiulising mood; 
 
 It steals my tears; ah! one so fair, and lewd,— 
 
 So young. 
 
 Begg. Indeed, what is the false one’s name ? 
 
 Ban. ’Tis Jessie Muir. 
 
 Begg. From whom does she take shame ? 
 
 Ban. With our young Laird. 
 
 Begg. And does her guardian know ? 
 
 Ban. I think he guesses it; but he is slow 
 
 In sight, and in belief, — blind in distress. 
 
 Her vice unnoted may bring means to bless. 
 
 Begg. A sinful sacrifice must be unblest, 
 
 Which past and present lessons can attest. 
 
 Has poverty in desperation driven 
 
 The family to this ? in which they’ve given 
 
 Their purity of name, as it were nought, 
 
 But like a huckster ware to market brought; 
 
 That honour, made a purchaseable thing, 
 
 AXhich should, to buy, make bankrupt laird or king. 
 
 Ban. Heyday, my sturdy beggar, you forget 
 That you defend a giddy, vain coquette. 
 
 Who left old love pledged to a farmer’s smi— 
 
 A Highland ^mkel, who in haste had won 
 
 Her promised plight. Soon as he crossed the sea 
 
 And was deemed drowned—and from troth-trammels free, 
 
 She smiled upon the Laird, which he of course 
 
 Returned; a mutual matter, sir, not force; 
 
 If you’d be witness of the loving pair, 
 
 You’ll see them parting from the hillock there. 
 
 I watched them enter yonder birchen bower. 
 
 See o’er the trees—behold god Cupid’s tower. 
 
 Go, get a glimpse, ’twill gain you good day’s alms. 
 
25 
 
 Begg. Is’t thus that you bestow your beggar balms ? 
 
 Why should I go— 
 
 Ban. You’re duller than an ass. 
 
 When beggars cross the path of lad and lass, 
 
 The bigger is the bounty they bestow ; 
 
 They give not then for pity, but for show. 
 
 Man is much moved to giving in love’s session. 
 
 To make on maiden’s hearts a good impression; 
 Though truth to tell, when fingers open purses, 
 
 The coin ta’en in a blessing, leaves in curses. 
 
 Begg. You read men’s nature with a partial eye, 
 
 Thus evil minds in virtues evils spy. 
 
 If sense polluted stands in front of view, 
 
 Perception is obscured from what is true— 
 
 As dusky glass glooms every thing that’s bright. 
 Blame then the medium, do not blame the light. 
 
 But thou hast roused a curious wish to see 
 This fickle fair one, lost to constancy. 
 
 Ban. He’ll see them if they meet in cross or kiss, 
 
 For being together there will hint at bliss; 
 
 Which, in such place, is easy of surmise. 
 
 So in repute the Laird will gain his prize ; 
 
 Then such success will help me on to mine. 
 
 Here comes a helper in my new design ; 
 
 And one that cannot fail if others fall, 
 
 A deep laid scheme, the top plot of them all. 
 
 Enter Hugh. 
 
 Well, have you given the girl the note? 
 
 Hugh. I hae. 
 
 I hope ye’ve nae mair deevil’s wark the day ; 
 
 I’m tired o’ servin’ Satan, let me free, 
 
 Thae thumpin’ lees wull be the death o’ me. 
 
 Ban. What, sirrah? please remember what you’ve said ; 
 But break your oath, the consequences dread. 
 
 The gallows’ rope is dangling o’er your head. 
 
 If you your tongue from lies to truth unloose, 
 
 ’Twill get your neck within a hempen noose. 
 
 Hugh. Oh, dinna terrify me wi’ the woodie. 
 
 The bare thocht o’t wi’ sheer fricht mak’s me giddy. 
 I’ve sell’t my soul, and lost its after hope, 
 
 Tae save my ugly carcase frae the rope ; 
 
 For w^eel I ken, if I your wull deny. 
 
 I’ll dangle in the air like duds tae dry. 
 
 Ban. Keep that important fact fresh in your mind, 
 Whene’er to babble truth you feel inclined. 
 
 Now, what said Jessie when she read the note? 
 Hugh. At first, she said she could mak’ naethin’ o’t. 
 
 She speered vdia sent it, wi’ a tearfu’ e’e, 
 
 Then loupit tae my mou’ my maiden lee; 
 
 At which I heard lood noises in my lugs. 
 
 Like yelps and barkings frae the deevil’s dogs, 
 
 D 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
26 
 
 That snarl in packs upon the hills and moors, 
 
 An’ sniff at siufu’ sleepers in dark ’oors ; 
 
 Perhaps this verra nicht they’ll visit me, 
 
 An’, gaur me swet wi’ terror, brimstane bree. 
 
 PtAN. You’ve nought to dread’from them ; 
 
 Hugh. Ay, that is true, 
 
 Afore they girn at me they’ll worry you. 
 
 Pan. Be more respectful, sir. Did Jessie Muir 
 Go towards the birchen bower ? 
 
 Hugh. She did. Pm sure. 
 
 Pan. How sure ? 
 
 Hugh. I saw her gang oot owre you heicht, 
 
 Or else my leein’ tak’s truth frae my sicht. 
 
 'Pan. It works! You’ve seen this Alan MTndoe 
 Since he assaulted me—now don’t say no ; 
 
 The truth, you rascal, or I’ll make you swing. 
 
 Hugh. Ye’ve turn’d my tougue into a serpent’s sting’, 
 
 Tae kill my freens. 
 
 Pan. Where did you see him, knave ! 
 
 You took a message for him to- 
 
 Hugh. You cave, 
 
 Beside the burnie bend. 
 
 Pan. He’s there in hiding ; 
 
 Hugh. An’ waur, he’s in a leein’ loon confiding; 
 
 Pan. And Elsie More went there at- 
 
 Hugh. Deid o’ nicht. 
 
 Pan. And stole back to.her bed at- 
 
 Hugh. Dawn o’ licht. 
 
 I see ye ken a’ o’ the matter, sir. 
 
 Pan. {aside.) I’ve gained my end—here is a taint for her. 
 
 Well done, my lad; your fortune will be made, 
 
 If you prove trusty in this trickster trade. 
 
 I’ll want you in an hour—be at my beck! 
 
 A slip will slight the safety of your neck. \_Exit. 
 
 Hugh. 0, d-n my neck! it is Auld Clootie’s vent— 
 
 A lum for lees, by fiery Satan sent; 
 
 An’ big black flichters, as frae moss-fir blaze. 
 
 Fa’ on fair fame as they’d fa’ on white claes. 
 
 Enter Beggar unseen hy Hugh. 
 
 Begg. Too true it is ; I saw the loving pair 
 
 Hold tryste. Sink, hope, beneath this crowning care! 
 
 I will not linger here. 
 
 Hugh. Heeven be aboot’s! 
 
 Whaur did ye come frae, worthy King o’ cloots! 
 
 Begg. This fellow may relieve my mind from doubt; 
 
 I fear the worst, yet dread to find it out. 
 
 Hugh. He’s mutterin’ somethin’ slyly to himsel’, 
 
 Perhaps the (iarle is castin’ some witch-spell; 
 
 Glide day, puir man, ye’re lookin’ pale and w’eak. 
 
 Begg. I am fatigued, so rest and shelter seek. 
 
 Hugh. Ye’ll ha’e tae wander tae the next farm-hoose; 
 
 Upon this Ian’ the imps o’ law are loose. 
 
27 
 
 This bonnie farm, wi’ a’ its golden store, 
 
 That ance belanged tae honest Farmer More, 
 
 Wi’ byre an’ barn, an’ a’ within the fauld. 
 
 By public roup I hear wilFsune be sauld. 
 
 Buqg. More is not dead? 
 
 Hugh. He’s still a livin’ man. 
 
 But, hech! this blow has laid on him death’s han’; 
 
 Then, Jessie Muir, trothed tae his lang-lost son. 
 
 Is by the laird to wanton wyes noo won. 
 
 Begg. ’Twas her I saw go to the birchen wood— 
 
 Hugh. For what, I needna name —it’s understood. 
 
 Begg. So here, where Nature in her bounty smiles, 
 
 A villain lives, whose loathesome look defiles 
 This place, where peace and happiness once reigned. 
 
 As offspring of blest innocence—now stained. 
 
 Oh! blinding gleams of love, whose lustrous sheen 
 So dazzles eyes with its bright beamy screen 
 That faults behind it hide, yet seldom seen. 
 
 Till change of time or fortune bring a haze 
 To show black specks glossed viewless by the rays. 
 
 Love wears the glittering garments of the sun. 
 
 And charms our sight to what our hearts would shun ; 
 While homely garbs of stainless innocence 
 Are cast aside as poverty’s offence; 
 
 Then wretches grow in their sin-splendour proud 
 Who wear upon their backs their virtue’s shroud. 
 
 One deed’s to do, then love and land good-bye. 
 
 When she is false, what hope on earth have I 
 But back to friendly wilds, with wish to die ? [^Exit 
 
 Hugh. That man’s in love; I wonner wha it’s wi’, 
 
 I saw bricht tears come keekin’ in his e’e; 
 
 I’m cured o’ love, I dinna feel its dart— 
 
 A threat tae hurt the held aye heals the heart. 
 
 Enter Alan M‘Indoe. 
 
 Alan. Ah! Hughie, friend! has Elsie More been here ? 
 
 Hugh. No yet, ye foolish man, ha’e ye nae fear 
 Tae wander this wye in the open day? 
 
 Alan. I must see Elsie, Hughie^ come what may. 
 
 Hugh. There’s Ranald Taggart leggin’ up the brae 
 Wi’ his law-loons tae tak’ ye aff to gaol, 
 
 But while ye’re here, their purpose there maun fail; 
 
 Thank heaven you’ve left the cave: they’re on the march 
 To seek you there. 
 
 Alan. Did you direct this search? 
 
 Hugh. No! Ranald kenn’d himsel’! 
 
 Alan. He did, from you. 
 
 But Elsie and yourself my hiding knew;— 
 
 Oh Hughie! what could tempt you to betray 
 My secret to my foe? away! away! 
 
 No one in future can on thee depend, 
 
 Since thou art false and faithless to thy friend, 
 
28 
 
 Hugh. The auld wretch pumpit me tae this disgrace; 
 
 I’m daft—the gibbet glowers me i’ the face. 
 
 A cursed bit o’ paper that I stole, 
 
 Has'made me sell tae Satan’s sel’ my soul. 
 
 Enter Elsie. 
 
 Elsie. Ah, Alan, here! then joy comes to my breast. 
 
 Your presence hushes fearful doubts to rest. 
 
 Alan. Say naught before him, Elsie. Hugh revealed 
 The place where I in confidence concealed. 
 
 He is a traitor to confiding trust, 
 
 And should from hire and home be henceforth tlirust 
 To herd with hinds; all haunts of hunted men 
 Have turned unsafe while he lives in our glen. 
 
 Elsie. So, those who feed and lodge you, you deceive; 
 
 That he is false, it is hard to believe! 
 
 Oh! Hugh, I thought, for sake of times gone by, 
 
 We could upon your faithfulness rely ; 
 
 But troubles are the tests of truth, and show 
 The real face of friend or front of foe ;— 
 
 False to my father when his fortunes fall, 
 
 You fawn to find a footing in the hall 
 Of our stone-hearted Laird. Well, be it so, 
 
 Into your sneaking slavish service go, 
 
 To be a common curse, for golden gain. 
 
 Got from our grief, and paid thee from our pain. 
 And thou hast fared with us,—hath shared our roof, 
 But such has failed to make thee bribery-proof. 
 
 Oh, wretched Hugh, why add you to our cares. 
 
 You who have been remembered in our prayers; 
 
 And yet turn rebel to our household ties, 
 
 Made strong in smiles, now severed in our sighs. 
 Hugh. This freedom’s waur than fetters ; I’ll be hanged 
 Afore my master, you, or he be wranged; 
 
 Rin, rin awa, an’ I wall steek my e’en 
 
 Tae whaur ye gang. I am in heart yer frien’ 
 
 But daurna say sae o’ot; a’ warldly hope 
 That my heid bauds is hamper’d wi’ a rope 
 AVhich dangles owre my skull, aye prone tae slip 
 Boon roon my craig—I’m in the hangman’s grip,— 
 I’m dazed, dementit, don’t on me depen’. 
 
 Heaven help me, I am near my hinner en’. 
 
 Alan. What cause can he have for a troubled mind. 
 
 But now he talked of papers that he stole, 
 
 And said in terror “,he had sold his soul.” 
 
 Elsie. He has been bought to this, or bound by oath 
 By Ranald Taggart to betray us both; 
 
 He’s easy to persuade to good or ill. 
 
 So is a tool to serve his hirer’s will. 
 
 Alan. No matter what, we must of him beware ; 
 
 Fear ever is the cowmrd’s greatest, care, 
 
 True men in righteous deeds jump to their graves, 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
29 
 
 While faltering fear is fosterer of slaves, 
 
 Who for self safety steal, or lie, to please 
 
 The holder of their hearts, the bender of their knees ; 
 
 The smiles of power to snch are lordly fees. 
 
 Oh, shameful sight, deserving angel’s ban. 
 
 To see a jvretch graced with the form of man. 
 
 Driven by a dread of death to yield control 
 Of mind and body, yea to sell his soul. 
 
 Elsie. We must have patience, till that prayed-for time 
 Brings justice to confute these acts of crime; 
 
 Though blackened clouds o’ercast the azure lift. 
 
 Our eyes ere long will hail a sun-rent rift. 
 
 Then bless the orb that gives its golden gift. 
 
 In beamy brightness to the face of fate. 
 
 Dulled—sorrow-shaded to our lot of late ; 
 
 Then let us hope, though guilt may now seem strong ; 
 
 Time proves that weakness welcomes what is wrong. 
 
 Enter Meg dancing. 
 
 Meg. Here’s fortune come at last, some feeling friend 
 Hath brought our troubles to a joyful end; 
 
 We’ve money now to settle all our debts, 
 
 A fig for lairds, for factors, and for frets; 
 
 And at our kirn we’ll yet have pipes and songs. 
 
 We’ll dance away remembrance of our wrongs, 
 
 I’ll foot the fioor in highland fling and reel. 
 
 Alan. Meg! are you mad? 
 
 Meg. No, Alan, but I feel 
 
 So happy at this lucky change, that I 
 In glee could sing, could dance and cry, 
 
 When we’ll get rid of all distraining pother 
 You’ll soon be father and you’ll soon be mother. 
 
 But Ranald w^ill be here, so Alan, go 
 And keep in hiding for a day or so. 
 
 Elsie. But who has sent this money, Meg? 
 
 Meg. It’s got! 
 
 From whom? from whom? ho ! ho! it matters not, 
 
 Since with it blessing comes; time soon will show 
 The man who could such welcome aid bestow. 
 
 Alan. Where was it found ? 
 
 Meg. {LooJiS at him and hems.) Where you would wish to be— 
 Where Elsie sleeps, and dreams of love and thee; 
 
 Beneath the pillow, as I made the bed, 
 
 I found the money—and this note I read— 
 
 “ From one who sympathises with your woe.” 
 
 Alan. Who could it be ? 
 
 Meg. Ha ! ha! I think I know. 
 
 Alan and Elsie. Who, Meg? 
 
 Meg. Some lad in love—who does adore— 
 
 Elsie. In love! 
 
 Alan. With whom? 
 
 Meg. 
 
 With me or Elsie More. 
 
30 
 
 There’s Ranald coming—take you to the hill, 
 
 You better keep in secresy until 
 We think of means to thwart the rogue’s intent 
 Of sending you to gaol. He may repent 
 When he 'discovers we can pay the rent. 
 
 Elsie. He’ll see us as we go. 
 
 Meg. Give me your shawl 
 
 And sun-hood to put on. Now you may crawl 
 Towards yon copse; I’ll stand in Ranald’s view, 
 
 And so attract his eyes from seeing you ; 
 
 He’ll think me Elsie, and no doubt wdll try 
 To urge his love again : be sure that I 
 Will make the most of this; ’twill be rare sport 
 To have him on his knees, to kiss and court 
 A tender lamb like me; so do not stay, 
 
 But bend your backs, in haste now hie away. 
 
 Alan. We leave you to your lover, but take care 
 Of Ranald’s wiles; so Meg of him beware. 
 
 Meg. Be easy on that score ; he can’t do much 
 To injure me, I’m match for twenty such. 
 
 [Alan ami Elsie exeunt. 
 How good of Alan : who but he could leave 
 The money where I found it; ’twill retrieve 
 Our home and harvest, well nigh bailiff racked I 
 Here comes the mover of the covert act ; 
 
 He has not noticed Alan M‘Indoe 
 With Elsie leave. I’m ready for this beau 
 Who wants a bairn to be a bride of his; 
 
 I’ll add fresh wTinkles to his sin-seamed phiz 
 AVith my ten scratchers, here as sharp as knives, 
 
 The ready weapons of all scolding wives. 
 
 \_Meg, icho has put Elsie's shaivl and hood on, sits hy stooJc. 
 Enter Ranald. 
 
 Ran. There sits the once proud beauty, who defied 
 My tendered love ; less offer shall be tried ; 
 
 I offered wedlock to the wench of late, 
 
 Perhaps I’ll have her at a cheaper rate. 
 
 The time’s in tune, when Jessie is thought frail, 
 
 Example is infecting—now my tale :— [Meg sohs. 
 
 She is in tears ; when woman’s heart can melt 
 It proves that love in heart is keenly felt. 
 
 I know full well that all affection borrows 
 Least from our joys, and largest from our sorrows. 
 
 [Meg sohs. 
 
 What! Elsie More in tears? Why do you weep? 
 Although untoward circumstances keep 
 You from the sunshine, bright on you erewhile 
 ’Twill burst in splendour yet; if you but smile 
 On me, remembrance of the past will die. 
 
 My soul is softened in that grievous sigh ; 
 
 And sympathy now sets my eyes abroach— 
 
 Tears in a lawyer’s eyes are law’s reproach. 
 
81 
 
 Meg. 
 Ran. . 
 Meg. 
 
 Ran. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 Ran. 
 
 Meg, 
 
 Ran. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 Ran. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 Ran. 
 
 Meg, 
 
 Ran. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 Ran. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 Ran. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 {Assumimj Elsie’s voice) If you’ll forgive poor Alan M‘lndoc,* 
 ■ I will my heart and hand on you bestow. . 
 
 Her grief for him, poor girl, has made her hoarse, 
 
 Forgive him, darling Elsie ? yes, of course. 
 
 Well, write it so, that you his act look^o’ep: • 
 
 Then he shall never be my lover more. 
 
 For 3 ^ou alone I’ll live, wealth will atone 
 The loss my heart now woos, I am your own. 
 
 Oh ! joy beyond all words ; behold me wTite— 
 
 The deed in love’s own language I’ll indite. 
 
 “ I freely pardon Alan M‘Indoe, 
 
 Nor will I press my charge—but now^ forego 
 All suit and summons for assaulting me.” i 
 There, lovely damsel, this sets Alan free. ,. - . \_Oives paper. 
 Now name our wedding day ! 
 
 {Aside.) Here’s heart-hot haste 
 
 From urging lips ; my lenient act has placed 
 Me in possession of the gem I seek. 
 
 When shall we go to church ? 
 
 When, when? . 
 
 Next week? 
 
 A wedding', Elsie, is a formal wiit, 
 
 That love in liberty cannot permit; 
 
 In marriage, all enjoyments have their clogs. 
 
 All pleasures wear their muzzles like mad dogs. 
 
 Take you example uow from Jessie Muir, 
 
 She’s with the Laird—has yielded to her wooer — 
 
 To all his wishes, Jessie has complied. 
 
 Ah ! secret love is sweetest—so let’s hide 
 Our amours ; which by married fetters yoked — 
 
 {Springwg up and seizing him.) 
 
 You.seventy-summered sinner, you’ve })rovoked 
 The very devil in me. 
 
 Meg—I’m choked. 
 
 Say that you lied, when you said that the Laird 
 Had ruined Jessie Muir, or be prepared 
 To meet a furious woman’s wrath you’ve I'aised. 
 
 Take off your hand. 
 
 Speak, hound ! 
 
 Meg, are you crazed ? 
 
 Say-that you wronged this orphan lassie—quick, 
 
 Or I will give your neck the gallow^s crick. 
 
 {Freeing himself.) I spoke the truth ! 
 
 Oh! Ranald, no,—is’t true ? 
 
 I thought her purer than the morning dew; 
 
 Poor lass. Poor Farmer More—his heart will break, 
 
 And so will mine. Oh sir, for pity’s sake, 
 
 Say nothing of this matter in the ear 
 Of Farmer More - should he in trouble hear 
 This new'est sorrow, and to us the worst — 
 
 I’m sure his heart would with the knowledge burst; 
 
 But truth has seldom such a source accurst 
 
32 
 
 As your lie-lipping mouth. Til not believe 
 Your shameful tale, its drift I here perceive— 
 
 You-hoped that Elsie might by you be won, . . 
 
 By saying Jessie Muir had been undone. 
 
 You raven-rascal, ever croaking ill, 
 
 You’d break our home — 
 
 Ran. Ha ! ha ! and more I will. 
 
 Go further, Meg, like Alan M‘Indoe— 
 
 A word of mine, and to a gaol you’ll go. 
 
 Meg. He’s free; here is your own love-letter’d note. 
 
 Have you forgotten, Ranald, what you wrote ? 
 
 “ I freely pardon Alan M‘Indoe; 
 
 Nor will I press my charge, but will forego 
 All suit and summons for assaulting me ”— 
 
 “ There, lovely damsel^ that makes Alan free.” 
 
 [Ranald advances to snatch paper. 
 Stand back ! you venom-spitting toad, 
 
 Know we have means to rescue our abode 
 . From plotting carles and villain Lairds wlio’d try 
 To bid for virtue as the lands they buy ; 
 
 Well may you wince, you quibbling, quirking hind. 
 Two-legged disgrace to form of humankind. 
 
 Stand off! black tyke, worst of the devil’s pack, 
 
 Let all your curs come yelping at your back ; 
 
 Still I have that-will muzzle them and you, 
 
 And draw your wehrwolf’s fangs, and so— adieu. {Exit. 
 
 Ran. I’ve blundered here—my very eyes and ears 
 Are traitors to my cunning it appears. 
 
 How true it is that love robs every sense. 
 
 To pay the pleasure which brings penitence ; 
 
 I’ve been befooled, bewitched, oh, bungling ass, 
 
 To let a passion loose—to hunt a lass. 
 
 Who, were she leashed, or in love’s fairness caught ; 
 
 The winning reckoned, were as next to nought. 
 
 But farewell her, and farewell all her sex, 
 
 W ho are but sent to earth to fret and vex 
 Mankind—yet love is essence of our life — 
 
 I’m wrong, it is the leaven of all strife. 
 
 It works in me as in brew vats would barm. 
 
 That needs a switching when the weather’s wmrm ; 
 
 But as it froths, love’s sweetness from it flees, 
 
 And leaves hate’s sourness settled in-the lees. 
 
 Soft feeling from my nature now I sever; 
 
 So hence, ye women, from my heart for ever. 
 
 Fresh to my schemes of wealth I now return, 
 
 All other projects from my soul I spurn. {Exit. 
 
 Enter HUGH with large stone. 
 
 Hugh. That cankered carle’s awa’; he’ aff tae hatch 
 An egg o’ ill ; I’ve been lang on the watch 
 Tae get a chance o’ stavin’ in his skull; 
 
 I’ve thocht o’ daen’t, and non I think I wull. 
 
33 
 
 Far. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 Far. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 Far. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 Far. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 Far. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 ,Far. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 Far. 
 
 Elsie. 
 
 Far. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 Ran. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 Ran. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 Ran. 
 
 Meg. 
 
 Jessie 
 
 What need I care, o’ a’ my peace bereft, 
 
 As weel be hanged for murder as for theft ; 
 Yet killin’ him wad be a rigditeons deed. 
 Since it wad mak* ane less o’ Satan’s breed 
 On earth ; Fll think it owre again a wee, 
 
 ’twixt him an’ me. [Retires. 
 
 And weigh hoo chances stari’ 
 
 Enter Farmer More and Meg. 
 
 ]\ly gravest fears are wakened, Meg, by this. 
 You are suspicious, Farmer ; nought’s amiss. 
 It has been left by Alan M‘Indoe 
 lie could not raise the sum. 
 
 You little know 
 
 What friends can do. 
 
 I’vedieard strange Yews. 
 
 Of harm? 
 
 There's Jessie and— 
 
 The Laird. 
 
 Hath reason in’t. 
 
 What can have brought about this sudden change? 
 
 Oh! ray alarm 
 
 With him? that’s very strange, 
 irought about this sudd 
 You found the money where she slept? 
 
 I did. 
 
 That you are right in thought, oh ! heaven forbid ; 
 Your daughter Elsie shares her bed, and must 
 For her dead mother’s sake be worthy trust. 
 
 I’m doubtful of the tongue in telling truth 
 While love is burning in the breast of youth, 
 
 The reason’s scorched, and judgement in its fire, 
 
 Is oft consumed in passionate desire. 
 
 Enter Elsie and Hugh. 
 
 Oh, father! Ranald Taggart has enraged 
 The reapers, whom for harvest you engaged; 
 
 The coim is cut, and they demand their hire, 
 
 And hither are they coming, roused in ire; 
 
 They say you are dishonest—call you cheat. 
 
 Hush, daughter, hush! My ruin is complete. 
 
 We’ve money. Farmer, and they shall be paid, 
 ril pay the gang myself. I’m not afraid! 
 
 Enter Ranald and Reapers. 
 
 The harvestmen are here to get their pay. 
 
 They’ll have their money. 
 
 When? 
 
 This very day. 
 
 {aside.) She’s got it, then. 
 
 Make up all your amounts. 
 Come to the barn. I’ll settle all accounts. 
 
 Enter Laird and Jessie. 
 
 .My foster-father, let us bless the Laird 
 AVho will forego his due. 
 
 E 
 
Meg 
 
 We are prepared 
 
 To pay. I’d sooner lose my tongue—a limb, 
 
 Than be beholden to a—man like him. 
 
 Far. Why is this goodness, Laird, at heels of ill? 
 
 Laird. I have complied with Jessie’s urgent will. 
 
 Far. Her will? that’s strange! Is she your ruler, then? 
 Ran. We know by what all women govern men. 
 
 Far. What dare you darkly hint at in such speech? 
 
 Ran. An idiot’s mind the meaning of’t might reach. 
 
 What do her looks and blushing visage teach. 
 Jessie. What’s this suspicion? surely nought ’gainst me? 
 Meg. No, Jessie, no! 
 
 Ran. That we shall shortly see; 
 
 You boast of money, Meg, to pay all debt. 
 
 Such due is by that girl’s dishonour met; 
 
 How was it got? you see frail Jessie weeps, 
 
 . The Laird told me he left it where she sleeps— 
 
 But you have found it— 
 
 Far. Elsie can defy 
 
 This falsehood with her tiuth. Oh, shameless lie! 
 My daughter speak—confute what he has said. 
 Ran. She can’t. Last night she did not share her bed. 
 But wandered to a cave to court disgrace 
 With Alan MTndoe—Her blushing face 
 May speak conviction, though her voice be dumb. 
 Far. My sorrow’s summit’s gained—this is the sum 
 
 That breaks my heart, that buys my honest name; 
 The grave must be my refuge from this shame. 
 
 If curses live in words—then curses fall 
 From lips that hitherto have prayed for all. 
 
 0 ! heaven, hast thou been deaf to every prayer 
 That I have uttered ’neath my load of care; 
 
 My back is bent with woe, my hair is gray 
 With grief much more than years. No hopeful ray 
 Gleams o’er my vengeful fate, whose iron hold 
 Has clutched the cherished ones within my fold; 
 
 My children lost! Oh, anguish-riven breast! 
 
 Burst, beating source of life, and let me rest! 
 
 Elsie. ’Tis true, I went in secret to the cave, 
 
 But for no mission mentioned by that knave. 
 
 Who, baffled in his wish, would stain with sin 
 The name and fame of one he could not win. 
 
 Meg. That I can prove against this crow-clad pest. 
 
 Ran. Although I failed, is that your virtue’s test? 
 
 AVhy went she out at all at dead of night? 
 
 Enter Alan MTndoe. 
 
 Alan. I’ll answer that. 
 
 Ran. Ha! ha! my lad. I’ll cite 
 
 You to appear before the county bench 
 To answer for yourself, not for your wench. 
 
 Arrest him, bailiffs! 
 
Meg. Back, ye blackguards, back. 
 
 And prick your ears to this, you currish pack. 
 
 Here’s Alan’s pardon written by his hand. 
 
 Han. a documentary decoy, well planned, 
 
 To lure him from his fastness to the law; 
 
 That paper bears upon its face a flaw 
 Which makes it null, the purpose of’t is wmii. 
 
 Elsie. Sad news, indeed! Oh! Alan, you’re undone. 
 
 Alan. I come to prove you pure, and do not fear 
 These minions of the law, and leader here. 
 
 Your daughter, Farmer More, is void of blame, 
 
 Nor bears she on her brow the blight of shame; 
 
 She came to me to ask my aid for thee; 
 
 I said I’d part with all to set thee free 
 From toils and troubles which torment thy life, 
 
 And for repayment asked her for my wife. 
 
 Far. Thanks, Alan, thanks, what answer did she give ? 
 
 Ran. Secure him men at once. 
 
 Alan. (Dmiving large dlrl:.) Not while I live. 
 
 Where is the man among your coward crew 
 Who dare advance? is’t you, or you, or ijou, 
 
 The darkest, direst of them all ? My knife 
 Is drawn, is ready for a caitiff’s life. 
 
 Come on 1 but he who stirs to offer force 
 Rolls at my foot a breathless, bloody corse; 
 
 Then ’way there, ’way, nor tempt impending doom, 
 
 Which with my touch would fit you for a tomb. \_Exit. 
 Laird. Get arms and follow. 
 
 Ran. {ivlio has heeii hehind men.) Cowards! here’s your charge; 
 
 [ Gives imper. 
 
 My life’s in danger while he roves at large. 
 
 Far. Harsh measures these, for such a trivial fault— 
 
 Ran. Eh! trivial? a dastardly assault. 
 
 Meg. a manly duty which each honest heart 
 
 Would fain complete what he did but in part; 
 
 You’ll fall yet in his grips, then see if laws 
 Will save the kite clutched in the eagle’s claws. 
 
 Ran. If I’m the kite we’ll scale this eagle’s peak 
 To cut his talons, and to break his beak. 
 
 To clip his wings, and put him in a cage, 
 
 Where he may flap, and screech, and shriek in rage; 
 
 Till he find perch upon the gallows-tree. 
 
 To take his flight into eternity. 
 
 Elsie. Oh ! Laird, you will not let this deed take place. 
 
 Far. He’s now no Laird of ours; it were disgrace 
 For me and mine to till the land he owns; 
 
 Wer’t not yon churchyard keeps the dust and bones 
 Of dear departed ones—of wife and kin, 
 
 I long had ceased to serve him in his sin; 
 
 And such it is, else this sad suffering now 
 Had spared fresh furrows on my cheek and brow; 
 
 My daughter is proved pure against your voice. 
 
 So this poor orphan child is your next choice— 
 
36 
 
 Her life till now has been one living truth, 
 
 Cleaved to my love by one lost in his youth. 
 
 Who stands erect to swear that she can err, 
 
 Must wrong- his soul more than he can wrong- her 
 Jessie. What fearful blame is this of which you speak? 
 
 No act of mine e’er needed blush of cheek. 
 
 Far, I knew you would resist all evil powmr; 
 
 Then say why sought you him in yonder bower ? 
 
 Jessie. Hugh brought a note to me an hour ago ; 
 
 He left me suddenly. I did not know 
 
 The writing nor who wrote,—at last I thought 
 
 ’Twas Alan MTndoe 1113^ presence sought, 
 
 And had disguised his writing in the fear 
 ’Twould fall in hands of foes then lurking near; 
 
 It promised instant aid. 1 (piickly went 
 To find it was the Laird himself who sent 
 The letter; which, had I the sender known. 
 
 Should not have gone to meet him there, alone. 
 
 He told me that this farm was sold; that we 
 Must from the place of our forefathers flee 
 As fugitives from law, and debts o’erdue; 
 
 Then said, if I had love at heart for you, 
 
 I could avert the ruin. 
 
 Far. Jessie, how? 
 
 I ask a question, why art silent now ? 
 
 Jessie. He said if I’d be his, he would forgo 
 
 Arrears of rent, and all the debts you owe; 
 
 AV^hat could I do, who had such means to bless 
 The beings that I love, but answer, yes. 
 
 Far. Hiswdfe? 
 
 Laird. My wife? there, farmer, you mistake. 
 
 Far. His mistress ? 
 
 Jessie. No, not that, my heart w^ould break. 
 
 Unless my honour live within my life. 
 
 Ran. The wish of virtue lost is to be wife ; 
 
 Is’t fit to be so modest in daylight, 
 
 And 3^et so fond and frail in hours of night. 
 
 Jessie. What charge is this? 
 
 Ran. {To Meg.) That wmman boasts a purse. 
 
 Meg. What! is it yours? eacli coin is then a curse. 
 
 Ran. Where found it 3^11 ? 
 
 Laird. Where with a note ’twas left— 
 
 I do not blame you, Jessie, for its theft, 
 
 And had not mentioned it, but accident 
 Has brought to light my secrecy’s intent; 
 
 AUhich was to keep my visit to your room 
 Unknowm from ears. 
 
 Far. Courts she the lost one’s doom ? 
 
 And this was wmn, and at thy pure name’s cost 
 
 \_Throws purse on ground 
 
 Thank heaven, thy parents died ere thou wert lost. 
 elEssiE.Dost thou believe me lost ? 
 
 Far. What can I do ? 
 
37 
 
 Ran. If you need further proof, ask more of Hugh, 
 
 Who saw the Laird in by the window steal— 
 
 Hugh, {aside.) Oh dinna gar me speak, for noo I feel 
 That ’gainst my frien’s I canna wag my tongue. 
 
 .Ran. {aside.) You thief—you better try, or you’ll be hung. 
 Jessie. You did not see him, Hugh?—in mercy, speak 
 The simple truth;—see, on my knees I seek 
 In forlorn hope my safety from your breath. 
 
 My life is in your voice, {loeeps.) 
 
 Ran. {aside to Hugh.) The truth brings death. 
 
 Hugh, {aside.) Atween a deil an’ angel 1 am jammed;— 
 
 1 saw the Laird gang in; {Jessie faints) for this I’m d—d. 
 Ran. {aside.) You’ve saved your neck. [Meg goes to Jessie. 
 Hugh, {aside.) Ay! at my soul’s expense. 
 
 Meg. You’ve driven her now from feeling and from sense. 
 
 Jessie, {reviving.) Where are you, father ? here? how strange you 
 seem, 
 
 I have been burdened with a dreadful dream. 
 
 No dream I it was a waking horror heard ; 
 
 My innocence, my life, hung on a word— 
 
 I heard it like a doom from deathsman spoken, 
 
 And now, in faintness feel, I am heart-broken. 
 
 [^Staggers. Laird goes to amst her. 
 Meg. Stand back ! she shudders at your very sight. 
 
 Behold her features turned to deadly white. 
 
 And ask your conscience, if in truth it can 
 Call this, your doing, worthy of a man. 
 
 Here, Farmer, take her I man, you cannot shun 
 This poor lost lamb,—she may be but undone 
 In words, not acts, to suit their guileful ends ; 
 
 But, in good time, heaven its deliverance sends. 
 
 In meams unlooked-for to reveal cloaked guilt. 
 
 So take her to your heart, I know thou wilt; 
 
 You must, or bear that blackest part of blame. 
 
 Which casts to sin what kindness can reclaim. 
 
 She has no father! 
 
 Far. (embracing her.) Yes, she still has me ; 
 
 Though crushed and blighted, Jessie still will be 
 My child, my charge, unless she wish to go 
 With him. 
 
 Jessie. With him? oh. mercy, father, no ! 
 
 I never felt till now the pangs of fear, 
 
 Nor ever felt a father’s love so dear. 
 
 Ran. We’ll leave them, Laird, the lassie does repent. 
 
 Laird. Since this is so, fair Jessie, I’m content. 
 
 I’ll see you Farmer, soon, to settle, when— 
 
 Far. What’s that? \Stiots heard fired in distance. 
 
 Ran. Guns fired I ha! ha I well done, my men. 
 
 They’ve shot him! 
 
 Elsie. Whom ? 
 
 Ran. My deadly foe, 
 
 Your daring lover, Alan MJndoe. [Elsie shriehs and falls. 
 End of Second Act. 
 
38 
 
 ACT THIRD. 
 
 Scene. —BARN. 
 
 Door Centre. Hecqi of Straio in Corner. Flails. Farming ImiHe- 
 ments, Ralces^ Riddles, ^c. 
 
 Enter Laird and Ranald icitli tool'. 
 
 Laird. All stock is valued rightly—and you sayj 
 The sum will not the Farmer’s debts defray. 
 
 Ran. The rest, the purchaser agrees to pay. 
 
 Laird. I rue the sale, I’m loth to lose the land. 
 
 Ran. Too Ute; the deeds are in the owner’s hand ; 
 
 I gave them to his agent who has paid 
 The sum in gold. 
 
 Laird. Well, since the bargain’s made, 
 
 The Parmer must depart. 
 
 Ran. This very day ! 
 
 When pressed, youTl find your girl will long to stay. 
 Laird. I hope it not; we plotted but to fail. 
 
 Ran. It ouly verifies the gossip’s tale. 
 
 That true love’s course did never yet run smooth. 
 
 Laird. The passion is one-hearted. 
 
 Ran. Let hope soothe 
 
 Your wounded pride. 
 
 Laird. If all our guilt were known, 
 
 And our real characters to eyes but shown. 
 
 Our fates would fall to feel the felon’s brand; 
 
 Then shipped as scamps to till Yau Dieman’s Land, 
 
 We’d mix with rogues— 
 
 Kan. Hush! hush! you’re not found out. 
 
 Laird. My future must be full of fear and doubt. 
 
 I hardly thought, when first these crimes began, 
 
 I’d lose the noblest title of a man; 
 
 My honour, born of truth and trust; I’ve lied. 
 
 So must more falsehood still, in falsehood hide. 
 
 Ran. Laird, have you lost your wits ? 
 
 Laird. No ! tempter, no ! 
 
 You prompted me to let my good name go; 
 
 So bound in sin myself, pure ones erst free 
 Are doomed by lies to suffer shame with me. 
 
 Ran. I served your love. 
 
 Laird. So much, you merit hate. 
 
 Ran. Such ever will be faithful servant’s fate; 
 
 But have a care, be more discreet in speech ; 
 
 Instead of blaming me, yourself impeach,— 
 
 The mastership may change ; so check your spleen. 
 
 Laird. For you, vile wretch ! wdiat hadst thou been 
 Without employ of mine ? a common drudge. 
 
 Ran. The past will ever be a poor man’s judge. 
 
 What am I now? since you an answer grudge 
 
39 
 
 I’ll tell you, sir. Laird, I’m you master now ; 
 
 You sneer, nor that, nor anger-knitted brow 
 Has fright for me, so keep down rising rage ; 
 
 I’ll bring accounts of my long factorage, 
 
 Which put to proof, will leave you in my debt. 
 
 Laikd. Base knave! 
 
 Ran. Hush, hush ! I have not finished yet. 
 
 For dicing, racing, wenching. I’ve supplied 
 
 The means; my thrift-tongued counsels were denied ; 
 
 I marked your race to ruin from the day, 
 
 You said, in heat, my place was to obey— 
 
 So took your squandering task as was required ; 
 
 I’ve sold, or mortgaged since, as you’ve desired. 
 
 The money for this farm with me shall stay. 
 
 As part of what you owe me, as my pay. 
 
 Laird. You surely lie? 
 
 Ran. • Consult accounts, they’re clear; 
 
 Y’'ou have neglected them, year after year. 
 
 But must inspect them now. 
 
 Laird. Have you been just ? 
 
 Ran. You doubt my honesty? 
 
 Laird. I do not trust 
 
 The tale you tell. 
 
 Ran. I’ve proofs ; be not splenetic ; 
 
 You’ll owm me ever, surely, energetic 
 In giving gold for signatures to deeds; 
 
 You’ll own I did denounce your racing steeds; 
 
 I saw in such lose-land extravagance. 
 
 Your itch to pilfer from the purse of Chance— 
 
 A dame who dupes, and wealth and wit purloins, 
 
 By jingling in fools’ ears her unseen coins. 
 
 Laird. So ruin’s come. 
 
 Ran. Oh no, some barren moors 
 
 And hills to hunt on with your hounds are yours; 
 With husbandry at heart you still may live 
 In ease and comfort, from the game they'll give. 
 Laird. This comes of cringing wretches, fair to face. 
 
 Who pack their purses from their lord’s disgrace. 
 
 I now can trace in you the artful hind. 
 
 Who first urged spendthrift notions on my mind; 
 Which there, in fondness fixed, used as a blind 
 To your base teaching, double-tongued advice; 
 Checking one course of riot, to entice 
 Or change, or point the j)assions to a w^orse; 
 Smile-blest in front to hide the coming curse. 
 
 If thou hast dealt dishonestly, beware I 
 I’ll hoop your neck in hemp— 
 
 Ran. Take care, take care 
 
 The intercepted letters from abroad, 
 
 May give the hemp your carcase for a load; 
 
 That thought gives you civility of face, 
 
 From which your tongue may take a better grace. 
 
40 
 
 'Laird. I was to blame to let my rage have scope; 
 
 With such as you can coolness only cope; 
 
 We’ll have a settlement this very clay. 
 
 Ran. Well said—quite in a business way. 
 
 Laird. And then we’ll separate— 
 
 Ran. I trust, as friends. 
 
 Laird. The sooner such a fiendish friendship ends 
 The better for us both. In sinful league 
 Long joined, I trace in every dark intrigue 
 You as prime mover. Ah! too late the scales 
 Fall from my sight, and now repentance fails 
 To lure back honour, sin has weaned away; 
 
 Which gone, my life has lost its strongest stay. \_Exit. 
 Ran. Such is man’s state when he’s by love opprest. 
 
 Strange devils billet in the human breast. 
 
 Sent there by woman’s witchery to house 
 In hearts, and lodging there, they rouse 
 Brain-snakes to knot our consciences in mesh ; 
 
 Then whining mortals cast their coats of fiesh 
 To feed their ever craving, gaping jaws. 
 
 Till life’s last marrow-morsels stuff their maw^. 
 
 Well, well, from wreck and ruin’s woeful waste 
 I’ve found my fortune; so I will in haste 
 Now bring my schemes to their successful close; 
 
 Then in some rural cot, court mind’s repose. 
 
 One thing’s to do before I leave this place— 
 
 That rogue’s to take, I’m bent on his disgrace; 
 
 A thought of him brings here the serpent thought. 
 
 That he has wmn the woman that I sought: 
 
 Strange that a love-suit scorned implants a shame— 
 
 Curse on these blund’ring knaves who missed their aim. 
 
 Enter Hugh. 
 
 Well, Hughie, man, what want you here? 
 
 Hugh. Some strae. 
 
 Ran. So curt to me, what ails you, lout, to-day ? 
 
 Hugh. Ye needna speir I my peace o’ min’ has ganc, 
 
 Sin’ my puir maister has lost a’ his aiii, 
 
 An’ Jessie tae, she looks sae worn an’ pale. 
 
 She wha ance was the rosiest in the vale. 
 
 An’ uoo by former grief and present wrang. 
 
 She looks as if she wadna suffer lang ; 
 
 As I gazed on her face it seemed tae me 
 That angel lichts were shinin’ frae her e’e. 
 
 Ran. Well! let her pine, what matters it to you ? 
 
 Hugh. I lo’ed the lassie ance, ay, lo’e her noo. 
 
 Ran. Ho, ho I my swain, I thought that folly past. 
 
 Hugh. My love is jist the kin’ o’ love will last. 
 
 Ran. She is the Laird’s. 
 
 Hugh. That is a cruel lee; 
 
 She’s wranged by him, by you ; an’ mair, by me, 
 
 In words alane. Ae day oor heartless sin 
 
-11 
 
 Will a’ be seen, we caiiua keep it in 
 
 The darkness lang, the truth will sliow its licht. 
 
 Aa’ set a’ maitlei'S wi’ its caiinle l icht. 
 
 "Ran. Let your base tor gue but babble— dread the docni 
 
 Which would blight all your liopcs in manhood’s bloom. 
 Hugh. 0 ! blicht rny hopes o’ devildoni, ye carle, 
 
 By you I’ve lost niy peace, inysel’, the warl’,— 
 
 Ilk thing tae me has turned as black as ]jitch; 
 
 Xicht brings a ghaist, an’ day a dreadfu’ witch ; — 
 
 They haunt rne ev’ry ’oor wi’ faces grim 
 Till I am a’ ashak’ in ilka limb ; 
 
 I stoiter like a stickit stot, my knees 
 Bunt at ilk ither like pleugh swingle-trees; 
 
 My waistcoat’s growin’ slack, my body sma’, 
 
 My fat an’ flesti are fleein’ fast awa’. 
 
 Ran. You timerous hind, you have no cause to fear 
 . So long as you are faithful. I’ll be here 
 To see the Banner and his household leave, 
 
 Within an hour; dare with a breath deceive 
 Your oath-bound trust, I’ll throw a hempen ring 
 Around your neck, for theft I’d make you swing : 
 
 Look here—a deed prepared for your arrest. 
 
 Hugh. Oh, dinna force it, an’ I’ll try my best 
 
 Tae dae your biddin’, for I’d like tae dee 
 Wi’ my buits aff, an' in my bed. I see 
 There’s nae help left but in my leein’ still; 
 
 Sae I’ll obey yours, and the deevil’s will. 
 
 Ran. That’s right! you’ll like the service bye-and-l)ye ; 
 
 A twinge or two at first, a sigh and cry ; 
 
 But when you come to count your hire in gold, 
 
 A"ou will not rue your acts, or falsehoods told ; 
 
 A little longer, and 3mu’ll get your pay— 
 
 Two guineas, Hugh,—a fortune, lad. Good da\’! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Hugh. I tried tae stave his head in wi’ a stane 
 Some ’oors ago, I rue it wasna dune 
 Yet rued tae dae’t, an’ noo I rue he’s gane 
 Awa’ alive; I’ll try tae think o’ him nae mair, 
 
 But still his presence pests me cver^wvhere. 
 
 The horses, puir beasts, a’ are on the neigh ; 
 
 They ken there’s somethin’ wrang% an’ weel they ; 
 
 Ah, weel! I ll work at wispin’ up this strae 
 For beddiu’ tae the beasts—it’s short and cris}), 
 
 I doot it will defy my art tae wisp. 
 
 \^Ee(jins to maliC wisp. 
 
 If this were Ranald Taggart I wad try— 
 
 I’d get his body in my arms—this wye ; 
 
 Syne wi’ his cravat round his wizzened thrapple, 
 
 I’d grip and scjueeze him by the wind-pipe apple ; 
 
 Then double up his spindle hoehs waist high, 
 
 An’ claught, an’ clawg an’ brizz, an’ ttvist, an’ tie. 
 
 u 
 
42 
 
 Until I got him tichtened neck and heel, 
 
 Then I wad kick the carlin’ tae the deil. 
 
 \Th& ahove speech is spiohen to the appropriate degrees of 
 mahing a loisp of straw. Goes to molie another wisp.'^ 
 
 I see a boot amang thae heaps o’ strae— 
 
 There is a foot iiTt tae, what will I dae ? 
 
 It’s Alan M‘Indoe—perhaps the shot 
 The rascals fired hac ta’en effect. Sad lot 
 If he has crawled tae dee upon this spot. 
 
 I hear a pechin. Alan, is it you ? 
 
 [Alan springs up aiul seizes him. 
 Let go your grip, your grasp wad choke a cco. 
 
 Alan. I’ve heard enough while hiding here, to know 
 That you are paid to be iny secret foe. 
 
 What oath is this that Ranald made you swear ? 
 
 That you can bear to break hearts with despair ; 
 
 Yet keep a vow imposed by such a fiend 
 4 ''o hold himself and villain master screened 
 From justice— condemnation of the just. 
 
 Reveal to me the cause of this ! you must, 
 h’or I am desperate now in Jessie’s cause, 
 
 Nor heed my hunting down, rny life, nor laws. 
 
 Hugh. Let go my craig, or else I canna tell. 
 
 Alan. Speak quickly, now ! 
 
 Hugh. Rut that wull hang mysel’. 
 
 Enter Meg and Elsie. 
 
 jMeg. What battle’s this ? eh, Alan MTndoe. 
 
 Elsie. Why did you leave your hiding place ? 
 
 Alan. To know 
 
 The truth of Jessie’s innocence. She’s wTonged, 
 
 No blame, poor lassie, e’er to her belonged ; 
 
 I’ve heard strange hints from Ranald and the Laird 
 Proofs that they are in guilty projects paii-ed. 
 
 Hugh is their hireling in their scandalous scheme. • 
 
 Meg. Is this the pay for all the curds and cream 
 
 I stuffed your stomach with ? hold ap your head 
 You thankless rogue—What have you done or said? 
 
 [Ranald pvcc/w In and exits. 
 Hugh. Oh, woman ! dimia speak. Bin, Alan, rin ! 
 
 I caught a glimpse o’ Ranald peepin in ; 
 
 He’ll sune be back wi’ a’ his blackguard crew 
 Ta tak’ ye aff tae gaol. He’s coinin’ noo ! 
 
 Stan’ at the barn door cheek ; dae't — dinna doot, 
 
 As they come rushin’ in, ye can slip out 
 An’ I will lie amang the strae an’ moan, 
 
 As if a dunt frae you had gaiired me groan. 
 
 [Alan stands at door side. Hugh goes amongst sfrate. 
 Ranai.p and Bailiffs rn-<h in a)}d Ai.\^ slips ouf.~\ 
 
Ran. Tie’s there—secure him — hind the rascal fast ! 
 
 IIo ! Alan M‘Iiidoe, you’re mine at last. 
 
 \_TIiey seizG Hugh iuIlo has been shaking straw, ^-c.] 
 AVho’s this, Hiig-h M‘Intyre? 
 
 Hugh. Ay, it is me; 
 
 I’m nearly killed. 
 
 Ran. This is conspiracy, 
 
 To harbour rogues and breakers of the law. 
 
 You’ll find the fruit of tliis. Turn o’er the straw ; 
 
 Not there ! —where has he gone ? 
 llu(;ir. I didna see, 
 
 Ae knock frae him was quite enough for me. 
 
 Kan. Men, search tlie neighbourhood until he’s got; 
 
 Tie must be somewhere near; scour every spot, 
 
 And if you start him, do not spare your shot. 
 
 Enter Jessie. 
 
 Ji ssiE.What stir is this ? The neighbours have arrived 
 To bid us all good-bye,; our father sti'ived 
 To look as cheerful as he could, till tears 
 Stole down his cheeks, — the sad time nears 
 When we must leave this place, once full of cheer, 
 AVhere everything at parting grows more deal-, 
 
 As if they formed, unknown till now, a part 
 Of purest life left deepest in the heart. 
 
 'i he owner of the farm has come, the neighbours say; 
 So we must journey hence this very day. 
 
 Ran. The Laird has still a room for Jessie Muir. 
 
 Meg. And Satan has a nook for you I’m sure, 
 
 So leave our company— we are bemeaned 
 By being in speech with such a hang-dog fiend; 
 A^ou’ve done your best to blot and blacken fame 
 Of this poor orphan girl, but her fair name 
 Will soon be proved, perhaps within the hour— 
 
 A wmrd oft ivorks a virtue-giving dower. 
 
 Ran. {aside to Hugh.) Have you been tampered with? have 
 confessed ? 
 
 I have an order here for your arrest. 
 
 IIuGin I hinna tank! a word. 
 
 Meg. Look at them both ; 
 
 That silly lad is bound to him by oath; 
 
 He said as much. W^hat oath need he to keep 
 Unless for evil ends ? The truth will peep 
 On face of falseness like a ray of light. 
 
 And wuth its strengthening power will make all bright. 
 
 Enter Laikd. 
 
 Laikd. W^here’s Ranald t 
 Han. Here. 
 
 Laird. I w^aited for you. 
 
 Han. Wait, 
 
 ' My time is not all yours as ’twas of late, 
 
44 
 
 FjAirtD.I am your master— 
 
 Ran. Master? ivas, yoif mean ; 
 
 Tliere is some difference now from what hath been. 
 My service hath expired; obedience due 
 I have paid full; and wish not to renew 
 The compact of the past. What is’t you want ? 
 Asked in submission, may move me to grant. 
 Laird. Submission, cur, I’ll make—but I forget 
 
 The presence of these girls—I’ll meet you j^et, 
 Where I may speak at wnll, and there, may strilm. 
 Meg. Go out and kill each other if you like. 
 
 Enter Bailiffs dvagijinff in Alan. 
 
 Ran. At last he's ta’en. 
 
 Elsie. Oh, Alan, are you here? 
 
 A LAN. I am. Repine not, Elsie, have no fear; 
 
 Though now we are these villains’ game for sport, 
 Their guilty triumph o’er us will be short. 
 
 Ran. But long enough to lodge you in the gaol. 
 
 And, if I can, you’ll pass the* gallows-pale. 
 
 Meg. Perhaps you’ll grace the gallow^s wnth your pale, 
 Remember, Ranald Taggart, Ilaman’s fate. 
 
 Enter Reapers and Elsie leading Farmer Morf. 
 Far. So, all ^mur claims are fully settled, Laird ? 
 
 Laird. They are. 
 
 Far. Then let this lad from bonds be spared ; 
 
 Take not his freedom for an action done 
 In my poor child’s behalf, my only one; 
 
 Who now stands pure in worldly eyes ; her peace 
 Rests on your voice, in giving him release. 
 
 Ran. He has no power; by me he is accused. 
 
 Ear. Well, Ranald, will this favour be refused? 
 
 Can you, the witness of my trials past, 
 
 Deny me this small boon ? it is the last 
 I’ll ever ask—the last I may require. 
 
 Ran. My pity’s moved, 111 grant as 3^11 desire. 
 
 Far. There’s something still of human in your breast; 
 
 For this one act, I pardon all the rest. 
 
 Ran. ril only grant your wish, if you’ll grant mine. 
 
 Far. I have no means to mate a wish of thine ; 
 
 What have I left to gratify demand ? 
 
 Ran. The favour that I ask is Elsie’s hand. 
 
 Elsie. No, father, no ! 
 
 Alan. No, Farmer, no ! 
 
 Far. You dare 
 
 To ask her hand, in hate, not love ; you’d tear 
 The only solace from me in my age. 
 
 Alan. Vile wretch! 
 
 Fab. Hush, hush, this is no time for rage. 
 
 When hearts are broken, crushed in helpless state, 
 Love lingers there to leave no room for hate. 
 
 Here is my daughter, sir, her death-hued cheek. 
 
Gives you an answer tongue could never speak ; 
 
 Her soul yearns for the man you persecute— 
 
 Is’t likely then she’ll listen to your suit ? 
 
 Elsiic. What’s to be done? oh, Ranald, set him free, 
 
 I plead to you, will beg upon my knee. 
 
 Far. No, Elsie, no, though sunk in sorrow now, 
 
 Our knees, in prayer to heaven alone, should bow. 
 
 Ran. Ihen drag him to the gaol. [Enter Beggar. 
 
 Begg. Stay, till I am heard. 
 
 Ran. What beggar’s this who dares dispute my word ? 
 
 Begg. I am the owner of this place. 
 
 Ran. Eh, you ? 
 
 Begg. Here are the deeds to prove my title true. 
 
 Laird. But why this ragged garb. 
 
 Begg. Worn in disguise, 
 
 To trace reported truths to be base lies; 
 
 Which you and your false factor there had framed. 
 
 That pure ones might of virtue be defamed. 
 
 IjAied. Although you are possessor of this place, 
 
 Beware how you thrust on me such disgrace. 
 
 Ran. Bewmre ! he is a lunatic at large ! 
 
 Or if you’re sane, I’ll institute a charge 
 Against you for this libel. 
 
 Begg. So you may, 
 
 But I will change the charge to your disma}^; 
 
 In your conviction, knaves ; for this behoof, 
 
 I have been busy in procuring proof.— 
 
 AVhy letters to this farmer were detained ; 
 
 How, with your bribes, rogues to your guilt were gained ; 
 How, when this generous man in goodness gave 
 His deed for others’ debt, yon heartless knave 
 Persuaded his false neighbour to abscond. 
 
 And then distrained this farmstead for the bond. 
 
 Ran. The law must judge by proof. 
 
 Begg. Then witness one 
 
 In me, this injured farmer’s long lost son. 
 
 Far. My son ! [Emlraces him. Meg dances. Men shout. 
 
 Meg. Hurrah ! ’tis Archibald come back 
 
 In spite of you, and all your plotting pack. 
 
 Now, Ranald, I will wdiistle while you swing; 
 
 I’ll see you dance the gallows’ Highland fling. 
 
 Jessie. His father, sister, they have been caressed; 
 
 But I am held unworthy to be pressed 
 In fond and loving welcome to his breast. 
 
 Far. Although appearances against her seem. 
 
 She may be true, still merit our esteem. 
 
 Jessie. He doubts my truth, this barbs the fatal dart 
 
 That wings its way—hope’s murdered in my heart; 
 
 Oh, Archibald, I die. [Archibald supports her. 
 
 Arch. Oh, evil hour, 
 
 That ever gave that ruthless ruffian power, 
 
 To blight and blast my bosom’s cherished flow^er; 
 
4G 
 
 Here, Laird, be witness of your blackest crime, 
 
 Which should consign your conscience for all time 
 To gnawings of remorse. 
 
 JESSiK.{reuii‘iii(/.) Still, still in breath. 
 
 When 1 had trusted for my peace in death; 
 
 Thou think’st me guilty of a deed undone. 
 
 Arch. Elsie, reflect; how was the money wmn? 
 
 Hugh. Oh, damn it! noo 1 canna baud my tongue. 
 
 For her I’ll think it pleesure tae be hung’.— 
 
 Ran. What, will you dare? 
 
 Hugh. Aye, dare the deil an’ yon ; 
 
 The fear o’ hemp has ower lang closed my mou’— 
 
 Time demon-hearted twa by oath an’ threat, 
 
 Made me the catspaw o’ the nuts time set ; 
 
 Aye, geek and gape, though ye may glower an’ gloom, 
 
 I’ll speak—I left the money in her room ! 
 
 Noo, neither lash nor law shall frichten me, 
 
 Come, string me up, I weel deserve tae dee. 
 
 Akch. All doubt dispels before the dawn of bliss. 
 
 !\1eg. Come, Hughie, to my arms, you’ve won a kiss. 
 
 Lad, take it if you like. I’ll not complain. 
 
 Hugh. I’m bashfu’ Meg, wait till wm’re baith alane, 
 
 For I hae notions in my heid, sic wmrk 
 Is aye the best an’ sweetest in the dark. 
 
 Far. My son restored to bless my age, oh, heaven, 
 
 Receive my thanks for this thy goodness given. 
 
 Ran. My charge ’gainst Alan MHndoe still stands. 
 
 Men, seize him! 
 
 Arch. Stir not ! when a rogue commands; 
 
 You’ve sinned enough. 
 
 Meg. Enough to make him hang. 
 
 What say you, friends? we’ll make him ride the stang. 
 Hugh. Aye, get a flail; here is an ashen rung ; 
 
 Noo Imud his arms. \_Theij seize Ranald. 
 
 Ran. is seized and [mt on stick astraddle.) 
 
 Help here ! 
 
 Hugh. Oh, hand yer tongue ! 
 
 Noo gie’m a ride, hoi chitls, hoist up the stick ! 
 
 Claught ticht his hochs ; the deevil’s bairn can kick. 
 
 [Tiiey fake him off centre, shouting ^^hedp !^' Reapers hehindd\ ■ 
 LAiKD.I’m humbled, Farmer, and for pardon sue 
 From all I’ve injured. If a lenient view 
 Be taken of the past, repentance may 
 Reclaim to virtue, one who went astray 
 In seeking selfish happiness at price. 
 
 And sacrifice of name, and fame to vice. 
 
 Far. Forgiveness for the past I freely give, 
 
 And from our pardon, Laird, resolve to live 
 A purer life. 
 
 Hugh. Be a guid loon like me. 
 
 0 Lor’! I had forgot I learnt tae lee. 
 
 Elsie. How w’ere you saved when ship and crew were lost? 
 
47 
 
 Arch. It was my grief, my homeward purpose crossed. 
 
 We were about to sail, when I received 
 A letter from the Laird. Judge how I grieved 
 When there, I read that Jessie had turned frail. 
 
 I went ashore—The sailors hoisted sail, 
 
 And left me lorn of heart; at last I sought 
 The service that enriched me; still the thought 
 That thou wert false Avas nightly daily pain, 
 
 Which all endeavour battled with in vain. 
 
 1 heard the ship was lost in wdiich I’d meant 
 To sail, and of my safety letters sent. 
 
 To give at least my father’s heart relief; 
 
 ISo answers came—then wildly grew my grief. 
 
 At last to know the worst resolved, I came. 
 
 To find you living under ban of blame; 
 
 In beggar’s garl), some time I kept unknown, 
 
 To sift truth surely—now 4is clearly shown; 
 
 Thus are we blest, in blessing more secured 
 When chastened by affliction long endured. 
 
 \Noisp outside. Shouts. Eanald icith clothes torn rushes in, 
 folloiced by IIeapers.] 
 
 R an. Oh, mercy ! Farmer, save me from their fury. 
 
 Or they wdll hang me without judge or jury. 
 
 Far. Back, neighbours, back. If mercy you would seek. 
 
 Ask it of her most injured. 
 
 Ban. Jessie, speak ! 
 
 I’ve been a wretch, but will repent my sin 
 If I forgiveness and your favour win. 
 
 Jessie.I do forgive you, Kanald, in the trust 
 
 That henceforth you w^ill live a life more just. 
 
 Far. So ends our sorrow in the darkest hour; 
 
 Behind all gloom there is a shining powmr 
 Before wfflose brightness blackened fate dispels, 
 
 Which stills all stormy strife, and passion quells. 
 
 Meg. Send out for wffliskey—pipers play—lads prance 
 Towards your partners for our country dance. 
 
 Dance. 
 
 Ranald Is made the butt of them all, rd last Meg dances with him. 
 
 Curtain.