Sir Wil.—This tale seems strange!
Patie.—The tale delights my ear!
Sir Wil.—Command your joys, young man, till truth appear.
Mause.—That be my task. Now sir, bid a' be hush;
Peggy may smile; thou hast nae cause to blush.
Lang hae I wish'd to see this happy day,
That I may safely to the truth gi'e way;
That I may now Sir William Worthy name,
The best and nearest friend that she can claim:
He saw 't at first, an' wi' quick eye did trace
His sister's beauty in her daughter's face.
Sir Wil.—Old woman, do not rave,—prove what you say,
It's dangerous in affairs like this to play.
Patie.—What reason, Sir, can an auld woman have
To tell a lie when she's sae near her grave?
But how or why, it should be truth I grant
I every thing that looks like reason want.
Omnes.—The story's odd! we wish we heard it out.
Sir Wil.—Make haste, good woman, and resolve each doubt.
[Mause goes forward, leading Peggy to Sir William.]
Mause.—Sir, view me weel; has fifteen years sae plow'd
A wrinkled face that you hae often viewed,
That here I as an unknown stranger stand.
Wha nursed her mother that now hauds my hand?
Yet stronger proofs I'll gie, if you demand.