'Methinkes I heare the throstle cocke,

Methinkes I heare the jay,

Methinkes I heare lord Barnards horne:
I would I were awaye.'

'Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgràve,
And huggle me from the cold;
For it is but some shephardes boye
A whistling his sheepe to the fold.

Is not thy hawke upon the pearche,
Thy horse eating corne and haye?
And thou a gay lady within thine armes:
And wouldst thou be awaye?'

By this lord Barnard was come to the dore,

And lighted upon a stone:

And he pulled out three silver keyes.

And opened the dores eche one.

He lifted up the coverlett,

He lifted up the sheete;

'How now, how now, thou little Musgrave,
Dost find my gaye ladye sweete?'

'I find her sweete, quoth little Musgrave,
The more is my griefe and paine;
Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes
That I were on yonder plaine.'

'Arise, arise, thou little Musgràve,

And put thy cloathes nowe on,
It shall never be said in my countree,
That I killed a naked man.

Ver. 64, Is whistling sheepe ore the mold, fol. MS.

75

80

I have two swordes in one scabbarde,

Full deare they cost my purse;

And thou shalt have the best of them,
And I will have the worse.'

The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke,
He hurt lord Barnard sore;

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

With that bespake the ladye faire,

In bed whereas she laye,

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90

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

And wishe well to thy soule will I,

So long as I have life;

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

He cut her pappes from off her brest;
Great pitye it was to see

The drops of this fair ladyes bloode
Run trickling downe her knee.

100

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

Why did you not offer to stay my hande,
When
you sawe me wax so woode?

For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte,

That ever rode on a steede;

So have I done the fairest lady,

That ever ware womans weede.

110

A grave, a grave,' lord Barnard cryde,

To putt these lovers in;

But lay my ladye o' the upper hande,

For shee comes o' the better kin.'

115

†† That the more modern copy is to be dated about the middle of the 17th century, will be readily conceived from the tenor of the concluding stanza, viz.

This sad Mischief by Lust was wrought;

Then let us call for Grace,

That we may shun the wicked vice,

And fly from Sin a-pace.

XII.

THE EW-BUGHTS MARION.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

This sonnet appears to be ancient: that and it's simplicity of sentiment have recommended it to a place here.

WILL ye gae to the ew-bughts, Marion,
And wear in the sheip wi' mee?
The sun shines sweit, my Marion,
But nae half sae sweet as thee.
O Marion's a bonny lass;

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

Gin Marion wad marrie mee.

Theire's gowd in your garters, Marion;
And siller on your white hauss-bane:1
Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion

At eene quhan I cum hame.

Theire's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion,
Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee

5

10

1 Hauss bane, i.e. The neck-bone. Marian had probably a silver locket on, tied close to her neck with a ribband, a usual ornament in Scotland: where a sore throat is called 'a saire hause,' properly' halse.'

At kirk, quhan they see my Marion;
Bot nane of them lues like mee.

Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion,
A cow and a brawney quay;
Ise gie tham au to my Marion,
Just on her bridal day.
And yees get a grein sey apron,

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

Ime young and stout, my Marion,
None dance lik mee on the greine;
And gin ye forsak me, Marion,

Ise een gae draw up wi' Jeane.
Sae put on your pearlins, Marion,
And kirtle oth' cramasie;

And sune as my chin has nae haire on,
I sall cum west, and see yee.

XIII.

THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S

DAUGHTER.

This ballad (given from an old black-letter copy, with some corrections) was popular in the time of Q. Elizabeth, being usually printed with her picture before it, as Hearne informs us in his preface to Gul. Neubrig. Hist. Oxon. 1719, 8vo. vol. I. p. lxx.' It is quoted in Fletcher's comedy of the • Pilgrim,' Act 4. Sc. 1.

THERE was a shepherds daughter

Came tripping on the waye;

And there by chance a knighte shee mett,
Which caused her to staye.

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

'O, I shall dye this daye,' he sayd,

'The Lord forbid,' the maide replyde,
• That you shold waxe so wode!'
[But for all that shee could do or saye,
He wold not be withstood.]

your

Sith you have had wille of mee,
And put me to open shame,

10

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

15

'Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart, And some do call mee Jille;

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

He sett his foot into the stirrup,
And awaye then he did ride;

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

But when she came to the brode watèr,

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

He never was the courteous knighte,
To saye, faire maide, will ye ride?'
[And she was ever too loving a maide]
To saye, 'sir knighte, abide.'

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30