Ne for the gold in all England The Douglas wold not break his word. When the regent was a banisht man, With me he did faire welcome find; And whether wcal or woe betide, I still shall find him true and kind. Yet step one moment here aside, Ile showe you all your foes in field. 65 Lady, I never loved witchcraft, But evermore held the high-waye Betweene England and Scotland it wold If you'll not come yourselfe, my lorde, 105 Yet send your chamberlaine with mee; Let me but speak three words with him, 111 And he shall come again to thee. James Swynard with that lady went, She showed him through the weme of her ring How many English lords there were And who walkes yonder, my good lady, And who beth yonder, thou gay ladye, That walkes so proudly him beside? That is Sir William Drury,† shee sayd, A keene captàine hee is and tryde. 85 How many miles is itt, madame, And sore those wars my minde distresse; Where many a widow lost her mate, And now that I a banisht man Shold bring such evil happe with mee, To cause my faire and noble friends To be suspect of treacherie: This rives my heart with double woe; If you'll give me no trust, my lord, Nor unto mee no credence yield; 90 I never was on English ground, 95 115 120 125 130 My mother shee was a witch ladye, But who is yond, thou ladye faire, * i. e. Lake of Leven, which hath communication with the sea. † At that time in the hands of the opposite faction. He pulled his hatt downe over his browe; He wept; in his heart he was full of woe: The lord warden of the East marches. Governor of Berwick. Warden of the Middle-march. And he is gone to his noble lord, Those sorrowful tidings him to show. Now nay, now nay, good James Swynàrd, And they can ne'er prove false to mee. I have now in Lough-leven been The most part of these years three, Therefore I'll to yond shooting wend, He writhe a gold ring from his finger, In Harley woods where I cold bee.* And wilt thou goe, thou noble lord, Then farewell truth and honestìe; And farewell heart and farewell hand; For never more I shall thee see. 146 150 155 160 Hold upp thy head, man, quoth his lord; To see if he cold make it quail. When they had other fifty sayld, 200 205 Other fifty mile upon the sea, The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd, 165 Looke that your brydle be wight, my lord, And all the saylors were on borde; Then William Douglas took to his boat, Then he cast up a silver wand, Says, Gentle lady, fare thee well! The lady fett a sigh soe deep, And in a dead swoone down shee fell. Now let us goe back, Douglas, he sayd, A sickness hath taken yond faire ladìe; If ought befall yond lady but good, Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes; If you'll not turne yourself, my lord, And wee will return to you againe. 170 175 180 Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes; 185 i. e. Where I was. An ancient idiom. And your horse goe swift as shipp att sea: What needeth this, Douglas? he sayth; 215 220 Then he at Yorke was doomde to die, 225 There is no navigable stream between Lough-leven and the sea; but a ballad-maker is not obliged to understand geography. Ver. 224, fol. MS. reads land, and has not the following stanza. It is here chiefly printed from a thin quarto Music book, entitled, "Psalmes, Sonets, and Songs of sadnes and pietie, made into Musicke of five parts: &c. By William Byrd, one of the Gent. of the Queenes Majesties honorable Chappell.-Printed by Thomas East, &c.," 4to. no date: but Ames in his Typog. has mentioned another edit. of the same book, dated 1588, which I take to have been later than this. Some improvements, and an additional stanza (sc. the 5th) were had from two other ancient copies; one of them in black letter in the Pepys Collection, thus inscribed, “A sweet and pleasant sonet, intitled, 'My Minde to me a Kingdom is.' To the tune of In Crete, &c." Some of the stanzas in this poem were printed by Byrd separate from the rest: they are here given in what seemed the most natural order. Loe! thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring. I see how plentie surfets oft, Mishap doth threaten most of all; No princely pompe, nor welthie store, No shape to winne a lovers eye; I presse to beare no haughtie sway; Look what I lack my mind supplies. 10 But jelousie is hell; Some wives by patience have reduc'd THE subject of this tale is taken from that | IMPATIENCE chaungeth smoke to flame, entertaining colloquy of Erasmus, entitled "Uxor Menyapos, sive Conjugium:" which has been agreeably modernized by the late Mr. Spence, in his little miscellaneous publication, entitled "Moralities, &c., by Sir Harry Beaumont," 1753, 8vo. pag. 42. The following stanzas are extracted from an ancient poem entitled "Albion's England," written by W. Warner, a celebrated poet in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, though his name and works are now equally forgotten. The reader will find some account of him in Series the Second, book ii. song 24. The following stanzas are printed from the author's improved edition of his work, printed in 1602, 4to.; the third impression of which appeared so early as 1592, in bl. let. 4to.The edition in 1602 is in thirteen books; and so it is reprinted in 1612, 4to. ; yet in 1606 was published "A continuance of Albion's England, by the first author, W. W. Lond. 4to.:" this contains books xiv., xv., xvi. In Ames's Typography is preserved the memory of another publication of this writer's, entitled, "Warner's Poetry," printed in 1580, 12mo., and reprinted in 1602. There is also extant, under the name of Warner, "Syrinx, or seven fold Hist. pleasant and profitable, comical, and tragical," 4to. It is proper to demise that the following lines were not written by the author in Stanzas, but in long Alexandrines of fourteen syllables: which the narrowness of our page made it here necessary to subdivide. Ill husbands to live well: Of whom I now shall tell. An earle 'there was' had wedded, lov'd; Once hunted he untill the chace, Long fasting, and the heat Within a forest great. 5 10 Where knowne and welcom'd (as the place Were set him on the borde. A cushion made of lists, a stoole Halfe backed with a hoope The poore old couple wisht their bread 16 20 Were wheat, their whig were perry, Mean while (in russet neatly clad, With linen white as swanne, 30 |