"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."

"O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youthe,

45

She is here alive, she is not dead,

She standeth by thy side;

And readye to be thy bride."

"O farewell griefe, and welcome joye,

Ten thousand times therefore;

For nowe I have founde mine owne true love,
Whom I thought I should never see more.

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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.

WILLY.

"How now, shepherde, what meanes that?
Why that willowe in thy hat?

Why thy scarffes of red and yellowe

Turn'd to branches of greene willowe?"

CUDDY.

"They are chang'd, and so am I ;

5

Sorrowes live, but pleasures die :

Phillis hath forsaken mee,

Which makes me weare the willowe-tree."

CUDDY.

"Shee that long true love profest,

Shee hath robb'd my heart of rest;
For she a new love loves, not mee;

15

Which makes me wear the willow-tree."

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. Its old title is, "A lamentable ballad of the Lady's fall." To the tune of In pescod time, &c. The ballad here referred to is preserved in the Muses Library, 8vo, p. 281.

It is an allegory or vision, entitled, The Shepherd's Slumber, and opens with some pretty rural images, viz.:

"In pescod time when hound to horn
Gives eare till buck be kil'd,
And little lads with pipes of corne
Sate keeping beasts a-field.

"I went to gather strawberries

By woods and groves full fair," &c.

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.

15

66

"Behold," quoth shee, a maids distresse

By love brought to thy bowe;

Behold I goe with childe by thee,

Tho none thereof doth knowe.

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Come, come, my love, perform thy vowe,
And wed me out of hand;

O leave me not in this extreme

Of griefe, alas! to stand.

"Think on thy former promises,

Thy oathes and vowes eche one; Remember with what bitter teares

To mee thou madest thy moane. Convay me to some secrett place And marry me with speede;

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40

45

Or with thy rapyer end my life,

Ere further shame proceede."

"Alacke! my beauteous love," quoth hee,

My selfe will step betweene the swords,
And take the harme on mee:

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Soe shall I scape dishonor quite,

And if I should be slaine,

What could they say but that true love
Had wrought a ladyes bane.

"But feare not any further harme;

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My selfe will soe devise

That I will ryde away with thee

Unknowen of mortall eyes;

Disguised like some pretty page
Ile meet thee in the darke,
And all alone Ile come to thee

Hard by my fathers parke."

"And there," quoth hee, "Ile meete my deare,

If God soe lend me life,

On this day month without all fayle

I will make thee my wife."

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Then with a sweet and loving kisse