Reliques of ancient English poetry, by T. Percy

No more the ghost to Margret said,

But, with a grievous grone,

Evanish'd in a cloud of mist,

And left her all alone.

O stay, my only true love, stay,

The constant Margret cried :

Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een, Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died.

VII. SIR JOHN GREHME AND BARBARA ALLAN.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

PRINTED, with a few conjectural emendations, from a written copy.

VIII. THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.

FROM an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, with some improvements. Islington in Norfolk is probably the place here meant.

THERE was a youthe, and a well-beloved | She sat her downe upon a green bank,

IX. THE WILLOW TREE.

A PASTORAL DIALOGUE.

FROM the small black-letter collection, entitled The Golden Garland of princely Delights, collated with two other copies, and corrected by conjecture.

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.

MARKE well my heavy dolefull tale,
You loyall lovers all,

And heedfully beare in your brest

A gallant ladyes fall.

Long was she wooed, ere shee was wonne,

To lead a wedded life,

But folly wrought her overthrowe
Before shee was a wife.

Too soone, alas! shee gave consent
And yeelded to his will,
Though he protested to be true,

And faithfull to her still.

Shee felt her body altered quite,

Her bright hue waxed pale,

Her lovelye cheeks chang'd color white,
Her strength began to fayle.

Woe worth the time I eer believ'd That flattering tongue of thine : Wold God that I had never seene

The teares of thy false eyne.

And thus with many a sorrowful sigh,

Homewards shee went againe ; Noe rest came in her waterye eyes,

Shee felt such privye paine.
In travail strong shee fell that night,
With many a bitter throwe;
What woefull paines shee then did feel,
Doth eche good woman knowe.

Shee called up her waiting mayd,
That lay at her bedds feete,
Who musing at her mistress woe,

Began full fast to weepe.

Weepe not, said shee, but shutt the dores,

And windowes round about,

Let none bewray my wretched state,

But keepe all persons out.

O mistress, call your mother deare
Of women you have neede,
And of some skilfull midwifes helpe,
That better may you speed.
Call not my mother for thy life,
Nor fetch no woman here ;

The midwifes helpe comes all too late,
My death I doe not feare.

With that the babe sprang from her wombe,
No creature being nye,

And with one sighe, which brake her hart,
This gentle dame did dye.
The lovely litle infant younge,
The mother being dead,
Resigned its new received breath
To him that had it made.

Next morning came her own true love,
Affrighted at the newes,

And he for sorrow slew himselfe,
Whom eche one did accuse.

The mother with her new borne babe,
Were laide both in one grave:
Their parents overworne with woe,
No joy thenceforth cold have.

Take heed, you dayntye damsells all,
Of flattering words beware,
And to the honour of your name
Have an especial care.

Too true, alas! this story is,

As many one can tell :
By others harmes learne to be wise,
And you shall do full well.

XI.-WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

THIS is a very ancient song, but we could 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, etë.

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, And waly waly yon burn side,

Where I and my love wer wont to gae.

I leant my back unto an aik,

I thought it was a trusty tree; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true love did lichtly me.

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