Act Fifth
Scene I
See how poor Bauldy stares like ane possest,
And roars up Symon frae his kindly rest.
Bare-leg’d, with night-cap, and unbutton’d coat,
See, the auld man comes forward to the sot.
Symon and Bauldy.
Symon.
What want ye, Bauldy, at this early hour,
While drowsy sleep keeps a’ beneath its pow’r?
Far to the north, the scant approaching light
Stands equal ’twixt the morning and the night.
What gars ye shake and glowr, and look sae wan?
Your teeth they chitter, hair like bristles stand.
Baul. O len me soon some water, milk or ale,
My head’s grown giddy,—legs with shaking fail;
I’ll ne’er dare venture forth at night my lane:
Alake! I’ll never be mysell again.
I’ll ne’er o’erput it! Symon! O Symon! O!
[Symon gives him a drink.
Sym. What ails thee, gowk!—to make sae loud ado?
You’ve wak’d Sir William, he has left his bed;
He comes, I fear ill pleas’d: I hear his tred.
Enter Sir William.
Sir Will. How goes the night? Does day-light yet appear?
Symon, you’re very timeously asteer.
Sym. I’m sorry, Sir, that we’ve disturb’d your rest: }
But some strange thing has Bauldy’s sp’rit opprest; }
He’s seen some witch, or wrestl’d with a ghaist. }
Baul. O ay,—dear Sir, in troth ’tis very true;
And I am come to make my plaint to you.
Sir Will. [smiling.] I lang to hear’t——
Baul. ——Ah! Sir, the witch ca’d Mause,
That wins aboon the mill amang the haws,
First promis’d that she’d help me with her art,
To gain a bonny thrawart lassie’s heart.
As she had tristed, I met wi’er this night;
But may nae friend of mine get sic a fright!
For the curs’d hag, instead of doing me good,
(The very thought o’t’s like to freeze my blood!)
Rais’d up a ghaist or deil, I kenna whilk,
Like a dead corse in sheet as white as milk;
Black hands it had, and face as wan as death,
Upon me fast the Witch and it fell baith,
And gat me down; while I, like a great fool,
Was laboured as I wont to be at school.
My heart out of its hool was like to lowp;
I pithless grew with fear, and had nae hope,
Till, with an elritch laugh, they vanish’d quite:
Sync I, haff dead with anger, fear and spite,
Crap up, and fled straight frae them, Sir, to you,
Hoping your help, to gi’e the deil his due.
I’m sure my heart will ne’er gi’e o’er to dunt,
Till in a fat tar-barrel Mause be burnt.
Sir Will. Well, Bauldy, whate’er’s just shall granted be;
Let Mause be brought this morning down to me.
Baul. Thanks to your Honour; soon shall I obey:
But first I’ll Roger raise, and twa three mae,
To catch her fast, or she get leave to squeel,
And cast her cantraips that bring up the deil.
[Exit Bauldy.
Sir Will. Troth, Symon, Bauldy’s more afraid than hurt,
The witch and ghaist have made themselves good sport.
What silly notions crowd the clouded mind,
That is thro’ want of education blind!
Sym. But does your Honour think there’s nae sic thing
As witches raising deils up thro’ a ring?
Syne playing tricks, a thousand I cou’d tell,
Cou’d never be contriv’d on this side hell.
Sir Will. Such as the devil’s dancing in a moor,
Amongst a few old women craz’d and poor,
Who are rejoic’d to see him frisk and lowp
O’er braes and bogs, with candles in his dowp;
Appearing sometimes like a black-horn’d cow,
Aftimes like Bawty, Badrans, or a Sow:
Then with his train thro’ airy paths to glide,
While they on cats, or clowns, or broom-staffs ride;
Or in the egg-shell skim out o’er the main,
To drink their leader’s health in France or Spain:
Then aft by night, bumbaze hare-hearted fools,
By tumbling down their cup-board, chairs and stools.
Whate’er’s in spells, or if there witches be,
Such whimsies seem the most absurd to me.
Sym. ’Tis true enough, we ne’er heard that a witch
Had either meikle sense, or yet was rich.
But Mause, tho’ poor, is a sagacious wife,
And lives a quiet and very honest life;
That gars me think this hobleshew that’s past
Will land in naithing but a joke at last.
Sir Will. I’m sure it will:—But see increasing light
Commands the imps of darkness down to night;
Bid raise my servants, and my horse prepare,
Whilst I walk out to take the morning air.
SANG XX.—Tune, Bonny grey-ey’d morn.
The bonny grey-ey’d morn begins to peep,
And darkness flies before the rising ray;
The hearty hind starts from his lazy sleep,
To follow healthful labours of the day:
Without a guilty sting to wrinkle his brow,
The lark and the linnet tend his levee,
And he joins their concert, driving his plow,
From toil of grimace and pageantry free.
While fluster’d with wine, or madden’d with loss
Of half an estate, the prey of a main,
The drunkard and gamester tumble and toss,
Wishing for calmness and slumber in vain.
Be my portion health, and quietness of mind,
Plac’d at due distance from parties and state;
Where neither ambition, nor avarice blind,
Reach him who has happiness link’d to his fate.
[Exeunt.