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You're wretched--very wretched; what's the matter? Is not your kinsman kind?

Mal. Yes; he is kind.

Jumes. Have you no powerful friend to plead your


And raise you in the Church?

Mal. I would not rise;

"I tell you, sir, I have no wish to rise;

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Enough that I am in the church without

Being raised; I would not have a powerful friend "To plead my cause."

James. Oh!

Mal. If Sir Adam Weir

Had deigned to ask my thoughts,—but no-no--no--
He used the power, wrung from my poverty--
My orphan youth,--but I am wrong-most wrong--
I pray you ask no more, Sir, of my doings;
If I have served you, let your gratitude--
Though such I claim not,-let it show itself
In silence. I would have my grief remain
In my own breast.

James. Ah! but that were unkind

To friends like me; for, trust me, though so short
The date of our acquaintance, it has grown

At once to friendship.

Mal. But I know you not

I never saw you till an hour ago.

James. Oh!--so suspicious? Look on me, my friend"See you a lurking devil in my eyes?"

I tell you I would serve you if I could,

"And sympathy is all that I can offer.

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Reject it not. I'm but a simple yeoman; "But I would know your grief, if happily

"I might relieve it. If it come to the worst,

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I can but share it." Come, come! hide no more
The sorrow that consumes you. Bring the snake
Forth from the hole where it but gathers venom !—
Out on the sunny grass with the vile thing!

We'll stamp it into powder with our heels.
Mal. Why-I-Ï have no sorrow to reveal.

James. You have. But if you trust not to my words, And scorn my friendship

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By a cunning artist. 'Tis our two estates,

The boundaries, the measurements; each field,
Each tree, each ditch.

Laird. It is not possible!

Gadso? I had a friend who-let it


I have forgotten--but he held the pencil,

And drew and drew-'twas marvellous how he drew.
And this is yours and mine? Gadso! gadso!--
I see.

"Sir A. You see where, to the right, it bends

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Laird. Ay, 'tis the Langstone Knowe-I know it well.

"I have a flock there-thirty-five white sheep"A goodly flock.

"Sir A. And here the river runs!

“Laird. It is the Bourtree burn-the bonny burn! "Gadso! he's a rare hand, the planner on't."

Sir A. If the estates were joined, and one sole man Could ride round both, and call them all his own, "Here following up the river to the north,

"The hill along the east, and to the south

"And west the king's high-road "—what say you, friend? Laird. Gadso! 'twere a most pleasant ride. Gadso! 'Twould be a square. I would it could be done.

Sir A. It may be done.

Laird. I cannot sell the landsMoss-Holm is fast entailed

Sir A. Upon your son,

Laird. Hoo! Gadso! he's a youth! I say, a youth. I'll say no more: there was a friend of mine

Looked on him once, and said, "Friend Small," he said,

"Your son is such a youth!" And so he is

He's such a youth.

Sir A. I've never had the pleasure

To see him yet.

Laird. Oh! he is well worth seeing;

"A goodly youth-not tall, not very tall

"But stout-exceeding stout-and waits at court—
A courtly gentleman; the King admires him,
And loves him much--a very proper man,

My son, young Mungo Small."

Sir A. I doubt it not;

And if you're fixed on what we settled last,
I will not say you no. My girl is young
And gentle, as I think--my only heir,

Since heaven has left me to a childless age,
After such struggles--both my boys ta'en from me.
Laird. I never lost a son-gadso! I never
Lost anything I cared for. Hem!--I am wrong--
I am a widower, dear Sir Adam Weir;

I lost my wife--it was a grievous loss--
Which minds me of a merry speech was made
On the occasion by a friend of mine.

He said what was it, now ?-I don't remember--
But it was shrewd,—it made us laugh so much!
A pleasant wag!

Sir A. When can I see your son?

Laird. Oh, any time. His month of waiting ends This very day. He'll come from Holyrood

And hurry here.


But here's a pretty maid!

This is your grandchild, as I think.

Sir A. It is.

What ails you, Madeleine? You're pale, you're sad. Made. Oh, sir! a thing has happ'd—a man near killed. Laird. Gadso!

Sir A. What man? what man? How mean you, girl? Made. Malcolm and I were walking near the skirt Of Langstone planting, when there suddenly Rushed to us a man, resisting the assault

Of five fierce robbers

Laird. Gad ha' mercy! Robbers!

Made. Malcolm rushed forward, and the villains fled.

But the poor man-a wayfarer he seems

Was wounded, and he begged to rest awhile.

Sir A. He's welcome. This is past all suffering;

That robber grows more daring, day by day.

You've heard, Laird Small, of Buckie of Drumshorlan, The reiver

Laird. A deil's Buckie! I can't sleep

In my own bed anights for thinking of him.
He minds me

Sir A. Nay, don't tremble, Madeleine;
The danger's past. I'll see the stranger's wounds
Attended to.-Go call my niece, my dear;
Let him be taken to the tapestry chamber,

In the north tower.

Laird Small, will you go with me?

[Exit Madeleine, L.

Laird. What, I? and see him die ?-perhaps he'll die!

I had a friend—a soldier—ah, I know!—

He was a gallant man, and fought at-somewhere,
No matter what 'twas called; a cannon shot
Took off his head-and so, poor gentleman,
He died. Pray Gad, this man do not the same!
But if his head's on-yes, yes, I'll go see him
Sir A. Come, then!

Laird. Oh, after you, Sir Adam !
Sir A. Come!

[Exeunt, R.



SCENE I.-The Tapestry Room at Laichmont.

JAMES discovered, seated, L. c.-MADELEINE at his side.

Made. How feel you, sir?

James. Confused ;- -as if in doubt

Whether I live on this hard, workday soil,

Or have already passed the bounds of time,

And have an angel sent to solace me.

Made. My cousin will be here with drugs, ere long,

Shall soothe your pain.

James. There are two deep physicians

To whom I trust my cure,-wise Doctor Time,

And his meek colleague, Patience. If, meanwhile,

My gentle nurse, you'll let me wind your scarf

Round my shock hairs, 'twill bring such virtue with it, "From touch of your most sweet and piteous bosom," That it will soothe the wound more speedily

Than all the marvels in her skilful hands.

[Winds the scarf around his head.

LAIRD SMALL looks cautiously in,—then enters, R. Laird. Is the man dead ?—I hope he is not dead— I cannot bear to look on a dead man.

Is he clean gone ?

James. To Madeleine.] What scaramouch is this?

Made. 'Tis the Laird Small; the owner of Moss-Holm. James. [Aside.] Oh, father of my wonderful new usher--A likely sire of such a learned son!

Enter SIR ADAm Weir, r.

Sir A. [To the Laird.] I fear your speech may hurt the wounded man-

[To James.] You find the noise too much, sir? James. Yes, the voice

Of the old Merry-Andrew is too sharp.

Sir A. Sir! you mistake-he is a gentleman.

James. Oh, cry you mercy! I thought he was a clown, Sent forward by some wandering mountebank.

Sir A. Hush! speak more low. You're not much hurt, I hope ?

James. Not quite enough to mind me of a priestA little too much to mind me of a play.

Sir A. Oh! rest and time will set you up again.

[To the Laird. Retire you now, Laird Small,-I'll hold some speech Apart with him, and join you by-and-by.

Laird. Gadso! it is not safe; if he should die,
'Twould frighten you for life.-Pray you, good sir,
Don't die till we've had notice. I once knew
A man-but-well, I hope you'll join us soon.
Don't die, good stranger-come, my pretty one!

[Exeunt Laird and Madeleine, R.

Sir A. Are you of Scotland, friend?

James. [Rises and comes forward, L. c.] No need ask that,


you but hear the music of my voice,

"And see the graceful rounding of my cheek."

Oh, yes; I'm Scotch enough!

Sir A. I saw at a glance

You were no Frenchman !

James. No, i'faith-not I ;

My foot's a little too heavy ;-no, sir, nothing
But a plain Scot—and honest, as times go.

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