The firft ftroke that little Musgrave strucke,

He hurt lord Barnard fore;

The next stroke that lord Barnard ftrucke,
Little Musgrave never strucke more.

With that befpake the ladye faire,

In bed whereas the laye,

90

Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgràve, 95 Yet for thee I will praye :

And wifhe well to thy foule will I,
So long as I have life;

So will I not do for thee, Barnàrd,
Thoughe I am thy wedded wife.

He cut her pappes from off her brest;

Great pitye it was to fee

Some drops of this faire ladyes bloode

Run trickling downe her knee.

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Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all, 105
You never were borne for my goode:

Why did you not offer to ftay my hande,
When you fee me wax fo woode?

For I have flaine the faireft fir knighte,

That ever rode on a steede;

So have I done the faireft lady`e,

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That ever ware womans weede.

A grave,

A grave, grave, lord Barnard cryde,

To putt these lovers in,

But lay my ladye o' the upper hande,
For fhee comes o' the better kin.

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XIII.

THE EW-BUGHTS MARION.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

This fonnet is faid to be of great antiquity: that and it's fimplicity of fentiment have recommended it to a place here.

ILL ze gae to the ew-bughts, Marion,

WILL

And wear in the fheip wi' mee?

The fun fhines fweit, my Marion,

But nae half fae fweit as thee.

O Marions a bonnie lafs ;

And the blyth blinks in her ee:
And fain wad I marrie Marion,

Gin Marion wad marrie mee.

Theires gowd in zour garters, Marion

And filk on zour white haufs-bane. Fou faine wad I kiffe my Marion

At eene quhan I cum hame.

Theires braw lads in Earnflaw, Marion,
Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee
At kirk, quhan they fee my Marion,
Bot nane of tham lues like mee.

Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion,
A cow and a brawney quay :
Ife gie tham au to my Marion,
Juft on her bridal day.

And zees get a grein fey apron,

And waistcote o' London broun; And wow bot ze will be vaporing Quhaneer ze gang to the toun.

Ime yong and ftout, my Marion,
Nane dance lik mee on the greine,
And gin ze forfak me, Marion,

Ife een gae draw up wi' Jeane.
Sae put on zour pearlins, Marion,

And kirtle oth cramafie;

And fune as my chin has nae haire on,

I fall cum weft, and fee zee.

XIV. THE

XIV.

THE KNIGHT AND SHEPHERD's DAUGHTER.

From an old printed copy in the Editor's poffeffion.

HERE was a fhepherds daughter

TH

Came tripping on the waye,

And there by chance a knighte fhee mett,
Which caufed her to staye.

Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide,
These words pronounced hee:

I shall dye this daye, he sayd,

If Ive not my wille of thee.

The Lord forbid, the maide replyde,

That you fhold waxe fo wode!

'But for all that fhee could do or saye,

'He wold not be withstood.

And

put me to open fhame,

Now, if you are a courteous knighte,
Tell me what is your name?

10

15

Some

Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart,

And fome do call mee Jille;

But when I come to the kings faire courte
They call me Wilfulle Wille.

He fett his foot into the ftirrup,
And awaye then he did ride;

She tuckt her girdle about her middle
And ranne close by his fide.

20

But when she came to the brode watèr,
She fett her breft and fwamme,

25

And when she was got out againe,
She tooke to her heels and ranne.

He never was the courteous knighte,

To faye, faire maide, will you ride?

30

Nor she was never so loving a maide

To faye, fir knighte abide.

When she came to the kings faire courte,

She knocked at the ring

So readye was the king himself

To let this faire maide in.

Now Chrift you fave, my gracious liege,

Now Chrift you fave and fee,

You have a knighte within your courte

This daye hath robbed mee.

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40

What