ANCIENT POEMS.

HE pauky auld Carle came ovir the lee

TH

Wi' mony good-eens and days to mee,
Saying, Goodwife, for zour courtefie,

Will ze lodge a filly poor man?
The night was cauld, the carle was wat,
And down azont the ingle he fat;
My dochters fhoulders he gan to clap,
And cadgily ranted and fang.

O wow! quo he, were I as free,
As first when I faw this countrie,
How blyth and merry wad I bee!
And I wad nevir think lang.
He grew canty, and she grew fain;
But little did her auld minny ken
What thir flee twa togither were say’n,
When wooing they were fa thrang.

And O! quo he, ann ze were as black,
As evir the crown of your dadyes hat,
Tis I wad lay thee by my back,

And awa wi' me thou fould gang.
And O! quoth fhe, ann I were as white,
As evir the fnaw lay on the dike,
Ild clead me braw, and lady-like,
And awa with thee Ild gang.

Between the twa was made a plot;
They raise a wee before the cock,
And wyliely they fhot the lock,

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5

P

And faft to the bent are they gane.
Up the morn the auld wife raife,
And at her leifure put on her claiths,
Syne to the servants bed she gaes

To fpeir for the filly poor man.

She gaed to the bed, whair the beggar lay,
The ftrae was cauld, he was away,

She clapt her hands, cryd, Julefu' day!

For fome of our geir will be gane.
Some ran to coffers, and some to kifts,
But nought was stown that could be mift
She dancid her lane, cryd, praise be bleft,
I have lodgd a leal poor man.

Since naithings awa, as we can learn,

30

35

40

The kirns to kirn, and milk to earn,

Gae butt the houfe, lafs, and waken my bairn,

ANCIENT POE M S.

The wearyfou gaberlunzie man.
Some rade upo horfe, fome ran a fit,
The wife was wood, and out o' her wit;

63

She could na gang, nor yet could the fit,
But ay did curse and did ban.

55

Mean time far hind out owre the lee,

Fou fnug in a glen, where nane could fee,
The twa, with kindlie sport and glee,

Cut frae a new cheefe a whang.

The priving was gude, it pleas'd them baith,
To lo'e her for ay, he gae her his aith.

Quo fhe, to leave thee, I will be laith,

My winfome gaberlunzie man.

O kend my minny I were wi' zou,
Illfardly wad the crook her mou,

Sic a poor man fheld nevir trow,

Aftir the gaberlunzie-mon.

My dear, quo he, zee're zet owre zonge;

And hae na learnt the beggars tonge,

To follow me frae toun to toun,

And carrie the gaberlunzie on.

Wi' kauk and keel, Ill win zour bread,
And spindles and whorles for them wha need,
Whilk is a gentil trade indeed

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65

70

75

The

The gaberlunzie to carrie----o.
Ill bow my leg and crook my knee,
And draw a black clout owre my ee,

A criple or blind they will cau me:

While we fall fing and be merrie----0.

80

XI.

ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL.

We

It is ever the fate of a difgraced minister to be forfaken by his friends, and infulted by his enemies, always reckoning among the latter the giddy inconftant multitude. bave bere a turn at fallen greatness from fome angry partifan of declining popery, who could never forgive the downfall of their Diana, and lofs of their craft. The ballad feems to have been composed between the time of Cromqucll's commitment to the tower, June 11. 1540, and that of his being beheaded July 28. following. A fhort interFal! but Henry's passion for Catharine Howard would admit of no delay. Notwithstanding our libeller, Cromwell had many excellent qualities; his great fault was too much bfequioufnefs to the arbitrary wILL of his master; but let it be confidered that this mafter had raised him from obfcurity, and that the high-born nobility had fhewn him the way in every kind of mean and fer-vile compliance. The original copy printed at London in 1540, is intitled, "A nerve ballade “made of Thomas Crumwel, called TROLLE ON AWAY.” To it is prefixed this diflich by way of burthen,

Trolle on away, trolle on awaye.

Synge heave and howe rombelowe trolle on away.

BOTH