1 do more for thee, Margarèt,

Than any of thy kin;

For I will kifs thy pale wan lips,

Though a smile I cannot win.

50

With that befpake the feven brethren,
Making most piteous mone:

You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,

55

And let our fifter alone.

If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,

I do but what is right;

I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpfe
By day, nor yet by night.

Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,

Deal on your cake and your wine;

For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,

Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.

Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,

60

65

They grew till they grew unto the church-top,
And then they could grow no higher;
And there they tyed in a true lovers knot,
Which made all the people admire.

75

Then came the clerk of the parish,
As you this truth fhall hear,

And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there.

80

V.

BARBARA ALLEN's CRUELTY.

Given, with fome corrections, from an old printed copy in the editor's poffeffion, intitled, "Barbara Allen's cruelty, 66 or the young man's tragedy."

I

N Scarlet towne, where I was borne,
There was a faire maid dwellin,

Made every youth crye, wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merrye month of may,

When greene buds they were swellin,

Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,

For love of Barbara Allen.

5

He

He fent his man unto her then,

To the town, where fhee was dwellin;

You must come to my mafter deare,

Giff your name be Barbara Allen.

For death is printed on his face,

And ore his hart is ftealin: Then hafte away to comfort him, O lovelye Barbara Allen.

Though death be printed on his face,

And ore his harte is stealin,

Yet little better shall he bee,

For bonny Barbara Allen.

So flowly, flowly, fhe came up,

And flowly fhe came nye him ;
And all she fayd, when there she came,
Yong man, I think y'are dying.

He turnd his face unto her ftrait,]
With deadlye forrow fighing;
O lovely maid, come pity mee,
Ime on my death-bed lying.

If on your

death-bed you doe lye,

What needs the tale you are tellin : I cannot keep you from your death;

Farewell, fayd Barbara Allen.

10.

15

20

25

30

He

He turnd his face unto the wall,

As deadlye pangs he fell in: Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all, Adieu to Barbara Allen.

`As she was walking ore the fields,
She heard the bell a knellin;
And every ftroke did feem to faye,
Unworthy Barbara Allen.

She turnd her bodye round about,
And fpied the corps a coming:

Laye downe, laye down the corps, the fayd,
That I may look upon him.

With scornful eye she looked downe,

Her cheeke with laughter swellin ;

Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine,
Unworthye Barbara Allen.

When he was dead, and laid in grave,

Her harte was struck with forrowe,

O mother, mother, make my bed,

For I fhall dye to morrowe.

35

40

45

50

Hard harted creature him to flight,

Who loved me fo dearlye:

O that I had beene more kind to him,

55

She, on her death-bed as fhe laye,
Beg'd to be buried by him:
And fore repented of the daye,
That she did ere denye him.

Farewell, fhe fayd, ye virgins all,
And fhun the fault I fell in :
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.

60

VI.

SWEET WILLIAM's GHOST.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

From Allan Ramsay's Tea Table mifcellany. The concluding ftanza of this piece feems modern.

THERE came a ghoft to Margaret's door,
With many a grievous grone,

T

And ay he tirled at the pin;

But anfwer made fhe none.

Is this my father Philip?

Or is't my brother John?

Or is't my true love Willie,

From Scotland new come home?

Tis