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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,

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

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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.

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.

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be 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.

Some

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

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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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FROM two ancient copies in black letter, one in the Pepys Collection, the other in the British Museum. To the tune of ""

COME mourne, come mourne with mee,
You loyall lovers all ;

Lament my loss in weeds of woe,
Whom griping grief doth thrall.

Like to the drooping vine,

Cut by the gardener's knife, Even so my heart, with sorrow slaine, Doth bleed for my sweet wife.

By death, that grislye ghost,

My turtle dove is slaine, And I am left, unhappy man, To spend my days in paine.

IIer beauty late so bright,

Like roses in their prime,

Is wasted like the mountain snowe, Before warme Phebus' shine.

IIer faire red colour'd cheeks

Now pale and wan; her eyes,

The Lady's Fall."

That late did shine like crystal stars, Alas, their light it dies :

Her prettye lilly hands,

With fingers long and small, In colour like the earthly claye, Yea, cold and stiff withall.

When as the morning-star

Her golden gates had spred And that the glittering sun arose Forth from fair Thetis' bed.

Then did my love awake,

Most like a lilly-dower, And as the lovely queene of heaven, So shone shee in her bower.

Attired was shee then;

Like Flora in her pride,

Like one of bright Diana's nymphs, So look'd my loving bride.

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