O hooly, hooly, raise she up,

To the plaice wher he was lyan; And whan fhe drew the curtain by, Young man, I think ye're dyan.

O its I'm fick, and very very fick,
And its a' for Barbara Allan :
O the better for me ye'fe never be,
Though your harts blude wer spillan.

Remember ye nat in the tavern, fir,

Whan ye the cups wer fillan;

How ye maide the healths gae round and round,
And flighted Barbara Allan ?

He turn'd his face unto the wa','
And death was with him dealan ;
Adiew! adiew! my dear friends a',
Be kind to Barbara Allan.

10

15

20

Cried, wae to Barbara Allan!

O mither, mither, mak my bed,

O mak it faft and narrow :
Since my luve died for me to day,
Ife die for him to morrowe.

VIII.

THE BAILIFF's DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.

From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, with fome improvements communicated by a lady as she heard the fame repeated in her youth. The full title is "True "love requited: Or, The Bailiffs daughter of Iflington,”

TH

Here was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe,
And he was a fquires fon :

He loved the bayliffes daughter deare,

That lived in Iflington.

But when his friendes did understand

His fond and foolish minde, They fent him up to faire London An apprentice for to binde.

And when he had been seven long yeares,
And never his love could fee:
Many a teare have I fhed for her fake.
When she little thought of mee.

Then all the maids of Iflington
Went forth to fport and playe,

All but the bayliffes daughter deare

She fecretly stole awaye.

And as she went along the high-road,
The weather being hot and drye,
She fat her downe upon a green bank,

And her true love came riding bye.

25

She started up, with a colour foe redd,

Catching hold of his bridle-reine;

30

One penny, one penny, kind fir, she fayd,
Will cafe me of much paine.

Before I give you one penny, fweet-heart,

Praye tell me where you were borne.
At Islington, kind fir, fayd shee,
Where I have had many a fcorne.

I prythee, fweet-heart, then tell to mee,
O tell me, whether you knowe
The bayliffes daughter of Iflington.
She is dead, fir, long agoe.

If the be dead, then take my horse,
My faddle and my bowe;

For I will into fome farr countrye,

Where noe man fhall me knowe.

O ftaye, O ftaye, thou goodlye youthe,
She standeth by thy fide;

45

She is here alive, fhe is not dead,

And readye to be thy bride.

O farewell griefe, and welcome joye,

Ten thousand times therefore;

For nowe I have founde mine owne true love,
Whom I thought I should never see more.

50

IX,

K4

IX.

THE WILLOW-TREE.

A PASTORAL DIALOGUE.

From the fmall black-letter collection, intitled, "The Golden Garland of princely delights;" collated with two other copies and corrected by conjecture.

H

WILLY.

OW now, fhepherde, what meanes that ?
Why that willowe in thy hat?

Why thy fcarffes of red and yellowe
Turn'd to branches of greene willowe?
CUDDY.

They are chang'd, and fo am I ;
Sorrowes live, but pleasures die;

Phillis hath forfaken mee,

Which makes me weare the willowe-tree.

WILLY.

Phillis! fhee that lov'd thee long?

Is fhee the lafs hath done thee wrong?

Shee that lov'd thee long and beft,

Is her love turn'd to a jest?

10

CUDDY,