With that the babe sprang from her wombe

No creature being nye,

130

And with one fighe, which brake her heart,

This gallant dame did dye.

The lovely little infant yonge,
The mother being dead,

Refigned its new received breath

To him that had it made

Next morning came her own true lovė,

Affrighted at the newes,

135

And he for forrow flew himfelfe,

XI.

WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

This is a very ancient song, but we could only give it from modern copies. Some editions inftead of the four last lines in the fecond ftanza have these, which have too much merit to be wholly fuppressed,

"Whan cockle fhells turn filler bells,

"And mufcles grow on every tree,

"When froft and fnaw fall warm us aw3,
"Than fall my love prove true to me."

See the Orpheus Caledonius, c.

Arthur-feat mentioned in ver. 17. is a hill near Edinborough; at the bottom of which is St. Anthony's well.

Waly waly up the bank,

And waly waly down the brae,

And waly waly yon burn fide,

Where I and my love wer wont to gae.

I leant my back unto an aik,

I thought it was a truffy tree;
But first it bow'd, and fyne it brak,
Sae my true love did lightly me.

O waly, waly, gin love be bonny,
A little time while it is new,
But when its auld, it waxeth cauld,
And fades awa' like morning dew.

2

O wher

O wherfore shuld I busk my head?
Or wherfore fhuld I kame my hair?
For my true love has me forfook,

And says he'll never loe me mair.

Now Arthur-feat fall be my bed,
The sheets fall neir be fyl'd by me:
Saint Anton's well fall be my drink,

Since my true love has forfaken me.
Marti'mas wind, whan wilt thou blaw,

And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum ?
For of my life I am wearie.

Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,
Nor blawing fnaws inclemencìe;

Tis not fic cauld, that makes me cry,

But my loves heart grown
Whan we came in by Glasgowe town,

15

20

25

cauld to me,

30

We were a comely fight to fee,

My love was cled i' th' black velvet,
And I my fell in cramasìe.

But had I wift, before I kisst,

That love had been fae ill to win;

I had lockt my heart in a cafe of gowd,

35

And pinnd it with a filler pin.

Oh,

Oh oh! if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurses knee,

And I my fell were dead and gane!

For a maid again Ise never be.

40

XII.

THE WANTON WIFE OF BATH.

From an ancient copy in black-print, in the Pepys collection. Mr. Addison has pronounced this an excellent ballad: See the Spectator, No. 248.

'N Bath a wanton wife did dwelle,

IN

As Chaucer he doth write;

Who did in pleasure spend her dayes,
And many a fond delight.

Upon a time fore ficke she was,
And at the length did dye;
And then her foul at heaven gate
Did knocke most mightilye.

Firft Adam came unto the gate: Who knocketh there? quoth hee. I am the wife of Bath, fhe fayd, And faine would come to thee. VOL. III.

L

10

Thou

Thou art a finner, Adam fayd,

And here no place shalt have.

And fo art thou, I trowe, quoth fhee;
Now, gip, you doting knave.

I will come in, in fpight, fhe fayd,

Of all fuch churles as thee;

Thou wert the causer of our woe,
Our paine and mifery;

And first broke Gods commandiments,
In pleasure of thy wife.

When Adam heard her tell this tale,
He ranne away for life.

Ver. 16. Gip, gep, or guep, is a common interjection of contempt in ur old poets. See Gray's Hudibras, pt. 1, canto 3. v, 202, note.

She