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-Is given (with corrections) from the editor's ancient folio MS., collated with two printed copies in black-letter; one in the British Museum, the other in the Pepys Collection. Its old title is, "A lamentable ballad of the Lady's fall." To the tune of "In Pescod Time, &c."-The ballad here referred to is preserved in the "Muses Library," 8vo., p. 281. It is an allegory or vision, entitled "The Shepherd's Slumber," and opens with some pretty rural images, viz.:

"In pescod time when hound to horn

Gives eare till buck be kil'd,
And little lads with pipes of corne
Sate keeping beasts a-field.

"I went to gather strawberries

By woods and groves full fair, &c."

MARKE well my heavy dolefull tale,

You loyall lovers all,

And heedfully beare in your breast

Fall,

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A gallant ladyes fall.

Long was she wooed, ere shee was wonne, 5 Think on thy former promises,

To lead a wedded life,

But folly wrought her overthrowe

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XI.

Waly, Waly, Love be Bonny.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

THIS is a very ancient song, but we could O wherfore shuld I busk my head? only give it from a modern copy. Some editions instead of the four last lines in the second stanza have these, which have too much merit to be wholly suppressed:

"Whan cockle shells turn siller bells,

And muscles grow on every tree,
When frost and snaw sall warm us aw',
Than sall my love prove true to me."
See the Orpheus Caledonius, &c.

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

O WALY waly up the bank,

And waly waly down the brae,

Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair?
For my true love has me forsook,
And says he'll never loe me mair.
Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed,
The sheets shall neir be fyl'd by me:
Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,
Since my true love has forsaken me.
Marti'mas wind, when 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 snaws inclemencìe;
'Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry,
But my loves heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgowe town,

We were a comely sight to see,

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And waly waly yon burn side,

Where I and my love wer wont to gae.

My love was cled in black velvet,
And I my sell in cramasìe.

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But had I wist, before I kisst,

That love had been sae ill to win;

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