Then up and crew the red red cock, No more the ghost to Margret said, 'O stay, my only true love, stay,' Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een, 55 60 VII. SIR JOHN GREHME AND BARBARA ALLAN. A SCOTTISH BALLAD. Printed, with a few conjectural emendations, from a written copy. He sent his man down throw the towne, O hooly, hooly raise she up, 5 To the plaice wher he was lyan; 10 And whan she drew the curtain by, 'O, its I'm sick, and very very sick. Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir, How ye made the healths gae round and round, He turn'd his face unto the wa' Then hooly, hooly raise she up, And sighan said, she could not stay, 15 20 25 ** * 35 35 1 An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes dyan' and 'lyan' ought to be transposed; as the taunt Young man, I think ye're lyan,' would be very characteristical. VIII. THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, with some improvements communicated by a lady as she had heard the same recited in her youth. The full title is, 'True love requited: Or, the Bailiff's daughter of Islington.' Islington in Norfolk is probably the place here meant. THERE was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe, He loved the bayliffes daughter deare, Yet she was coye and would not believe That he did love her soe, Noe, nor at any time would she Any countenance to him showe. But when his friendes did understand 5 His fond and foolish minde, They sent him up to faire London 10 15 And when he had been seven long yeares, 'Many a teare have I shed for her sake, Then all the maids of Islington She pulled off her gowne of greene, And to faire London she would go And as she went along the high road, She started up, with a colour soe redd, 'One penny, one penny, kind sir,' she sayd, 'Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart, 'I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee, 'If she be dead, then take my horse, My saddle and bridle also; For I will into some farr countrye, Where noe man shall me knowe.' 25 30 35 40 'O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youth, She standeth by thy side; 45 She is here alive, she is not dead, And readye to be thy bride.' 'O, farewell griefe, and welcome joye, • Ten thousand times therefore; 50 For nowe I have founde mine owne true love, Whom I thought I should never see more.' 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 conjec ture. WILLY. How now, shepherde, what meanes that? Why thy scarffes of red and yellowe Turn'd to branches of greene willowe? CUDDY. They are chang'd, and so am I; Sorrowes live, but pleasures die: Which makes me weare the willowe-tree. WILLY. 5 Shee that long true love profest, For she a new love loves, not mee; Which makes me wear the willowe-tree. WILLY. Come then, shepherde, let us joine, Since thy happ is like to mine: 15 |