When day was come, and night was gone,
And all men wak'd from fleep,
Sweet William to his lady fayd,

My dear, I have cause to weep.

I dreamt a dream, my dear ladyè,
Such dreames are never good:

I dreamt my bower was full of red 'wine',

And my bride-bed full of blood.

Such dreams, fuch dreams, my honoured Sir,

They never do prove good;

To dream thy bower was full of red wine', 36 And thy bride-bed full of blood.

He called up his merry men all,

By one, by two, and by three;

Saying, I'll away to fair Margret's bower,
By the leave of my ladiè.

And when he came to fair Margret's bower,

He knocked at the ring;

And who fo ready as her seven brethren

To let fweet William in.

Then he turned up the covering-sheet,

Pray let me fee the dead;

Methinks the looks all pale and wan,

She hath loft her cherry red.

45

For. 31. 35. Swine. PCC.

I'll do more for thee, Margarèt,

Than any of thy kin;

50

For I will kifs thy pale wan lips,

Though a smile I cannot win.

With that befpake the feven brethren,
Making moft piteous mone:

If I do kifs my jolly brown bride,
I do but what is right;

I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpfe
By day, nor yet by night.

Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,

your

Deal on your cake and wine *: For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,

Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.

Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,
Sweet William dyed the morrow:
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,
Sweet William dyed for forrow.

Margaret was buryed in the lower chancèl,

And William in the higher:

Out of her breft there sprang a rose,

And out of his a briar.

* Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals.

65

They

They grew till they grew unto the church-top,
And then they could grow no higher;

And there they tyed in a true lovers knot,
Which made all the people admire.

Then came the clerk of the parish,
As you the truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there.

75

V.

BARBARA ALLEN's CRUELTY.

Given, with fome corrections, from an old black letter copy, intitled, "Barbara Allen's cruelty, or the young man's tragedy."

N Scarlet towne, where I was borne,

IN

There was a faire maid dwellin,

Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.

When greene buds they were fwellir,

Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,

For love of Barbara Allen.

He fent his man unto her then,

To the town, where thee was dwellin;
You must come to my mafter deare,
Giff your name be Barbara Allen.

For death is printed on his face,

And ore his hart is ftealin: Then hafte away to comfort him, O lovelye Barbara Allen.

Though death be printed on his face,

And ore his harte is ftealin, Yet little better shall he bee, For bonny Barbara Allen.

So flowly, flowly, the came up,

And flowly the came nye him;

And all the fayd, when there fhe came,
Yong man, I think y'are dying.

He turnd his face unto her ftrait,

With deadlye forrow fighing; O lovely maid, come pity mee, Ime on my deth-bed lying.

If on your death-bed you doe lye,
What needs the tale you are tellin :
I cannot keep you from your death ;
Farewell, fayd Barbara Allen.

He turnd his face unto the wall,

As deadlye pangs he fell in: Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all, Adieu to Barbara Allen.

As fhe was walking ore the fields,
She heard the bell a knellin;
And every ftroke did feem to faye,
Unworthy Barbara Allen,

She turnd her bodye round about,
And spied the corps a coming:

Laye down, laye down the corps, he fayd,
That I may look upon him.

With scornful eye fhe looked downe,
Her cheeke with laughter fwellin;
Whilft all her friends cryd out amaine,
Unworthye Barbara Allen.

When he was dead, and laid in grave,
Her harte was ftruck with forrowe,
O mother, mother, make my bed,
For I fhall dye to-morrowe.

Hard harted creature him to flight,

Who loved me fo dearlye:

✪ that I had beene more kind to him,

35

40

: 55

When he was alive and neare mel

She