"OUR AMBITION IS TO RAISE THE FEMALE MIND OF ENGLAND TO ITS TRUE LEVEL."

Dedication to the Queen.

JULY, 1831.

VOL. II.

CUDDY CLEW;

A PASTORAL.

By the Ettrick Shepherd.

Cuddy rasé ae morn in June,

Clear the sky, an' sweet the weather;
Man an' beast was light an' boon,
An' the birds o' ilka feather:
Cuddy don'd his hase an' shoon,
Gae a grane wi langsame croon,
Then a sigh that tawld o'er soon,
His paar heart was aut o' tune,

An' a' gane wrang wi' him thegither.

Cuddy kaimed his yellow hair,

Gant it o'er his shoulders scatter;
Shaved his beard completely bare,

Wash'd his face wi' saep an' water,

Dried it wi' his laiby well,

Fawdit back his braid lapell,
Pray'd a prayer, as I heard tell,

For defence against a spell,

O' the which he'd gat a smatter.

B

Cuddy took his kent an' plaid,
On his colley gae a whew,
Took the brae wi' aching head,
Heavy heart and sickly hue;
Love had play'd him sic a smirl,
Ae blink frae a pawky girl,
Through his heart gaed wi' a thirl,
That gurt a' his veetals dirl,
Wae's my heart for Cuddy Clew.

Cappy Cuddy's colley true,

Caper'd round an' round uncum'erd;
Trawkin mawkins 'mang the dew,
Snawkin' after tod or soumart;
Sometimes paintin like a setter,
Free o' fear an' free o' fetter,
At a laverock or whenchetter,
Or a mouse for lack o' better,
Cappy was nae gowk nor gloamart.
"My brave tike ye little trow,
What

your master's doom'd to dree;
Love is a' unkind to you,

An' the pangs that torture me."
Cappy gae a look sae slee,
There was meaning in his e'e,
Language plain, as plain could be ;
I could read it-so could ye→
Haslins guess it certainlye.

"Master, mine ye little ken,

What we thole for female messans;
Tikes are ten times waur nor men,
Only they despise confessin's;

But little said will soonest mend,
Keenest love will quickest end;
Still on this ye may depend,
Whate'er maidens may pretend,

Nought delights them mair than pressin's."

At that moment, Cappy's tail

Heaved up like a bendit bow,
He smelt a smell alangst the gale,

Or heard a voice ayant the knowe;
An' wha was this but Robin Rhynde?
Gala's young an' blithesome hind,
Wi' his dog of savage mind,
Of the pepper mustard kind,

Blithesome sight to Cuddy Clew.

But hardly sae to honest Cappy,
Wha aroused him to his mettle;
Weel he ken'd that terrier snappy,

But a drubbing wad na settle;

Often had he shaked him, flung him,
Taw'd him, towzled him, and wrung him,
But had never fairly dung him;

An' though Robin Rhynde wad rung him,

* CAPPY.-The familiar appellative for the name Captain.

Flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone,
And never to be trampled on.

Such language would have been unmeet,
Had she been taken from man's feet;
But as she's taken from that part,
The portion nearest to the heart,
'Tis hers, to be most fondly nourish'd,
Beloved, an' in his bosom cherish'd.

CUDDY.

Stop, lad, again-consult your brief:
Man had nae hand in this mischief;
But just lay snoozing, weel content,
Else, he had never gi'en consent.
But soon did she frae faith estrange,
Impatient then, as now, for change,
The very first deil that she saw,
She took the blink, an' brak the law;
Now wha can show a creature grace,
That for an apple, d-'d her race?

ROBIN.

Sic blasphemy, I canna hear,

Gainst all that's lovely, all that's dear.
Man, when created, there's nae doubt,
Just wander'd like a stump about,
Amang his vassal beasts forlorn,
Gaping an' glowring ilka morn,
As birds sat cooing on the tree,
Hymning their love-sick melody.

But when the heaven-born maid was framed,

And first by him embraced and named,

Methinks, I see the ardour rise,

In gleams of his impassion'd eyes,
And list the pathos of his tongue,

When words were few, and love was young.

The virgin's soft an' sunny eye,

The downcast look, the blush, the sigh,
The floating hair, the modest frame,
The thousand beauties yet to name;
What glories both in heaven and earth,
His soul that moment brought to birth.

Love look'd through maze of nameless blisses,
Of thousand joys, and thousand kisses.

CUDDY.

Why, Rob, 'tis kend you're woman mad,
But ere we part, I'll make you glad

In my opinion to combine,

And brand the sex with woes condign. First, tell me this, and tell me true, What is it woman cannot do? Whoever tries to sum, or reads The onward course of her misdeeds, Right downward from the rueful time, That beauty register'd with crime, Will find, that woman's power alone, Can change the church, pervert the throne, - Bring down the conqueror to his knee, And baffle pomp and pedigree.

Nay, she can nature's course defy,
Make cowards fight, and heroes fly;
Draw back the miser from the mine,
The bigot from his holy shrine,

To plunge in sins, denounced and fear'd,
And lead the prelate by the beard;
Make armies rally, or disperse,
And so derange the universe,

That man might ween o'er his domain,
Nature had dropp'd the regal rein,
And given up the supreme command,
To woman's weak and erring hand.
Refute these dogmas, if you can,
Or own, that she's the plague of man.

Sooth, Rob, there's naething truly wicked,
But what they learn mankind a trick o't.
They lead a young man like a snool,
To caper, dance, an' play the fool;
To babble nonsense, and when done,
To shoot, or hang himself, for fun.
Woman can set the world in jar,
Can turn peace into deadly war,
Can turn man's reason upside down,
And make him dance upon his crown ;
Can turn a priest into a woman,

A stalwart quean afraid of no man,
Then turn him out. And as you ken,
His wig into a cloakin hen.

And lastly, in this grand appeal,

Can she not make a shepherd feel

Her sovereign power, an' stern controul,

By turning him into an owl,

A puling prig, an' worst of a',

His nose into a lobster claw?

"Tis plain, that by their wicked craft,

They've dung me dailt, an' put you daft,
An' that's enough, as you may see,
To settle points 'tween you and me.

ROBIN.

No; though your sweeping accusation,
Deserves not, needs not, confutation;
Let me describe her, stage by stage,

Through youth, through womanhood, and age;
Virtuous and lovely, I must show her,

For these are nature's doweries to her;

A being, made for social bliss,

And all exceptions, I dismiss.

Then tell me, as I go along,

Where I am painting woman wrong.