O hooly, hooly, raise she up, To the plaice wher he was lyan; And whan fhe drew the curtain by, Young man, I think ye're dyan. O its I'm fick, and very very fick, Remember ye nat in the tavern, fir, Whan ye the cups wer fillan; How ye maide the healths gae round and round, He turn'd his face unto the wa',' 10 15 20 Cried, wae to Barbara Allan! O mither, mither, mak my bed, O mak it faft and narrow : VIII. THE BAILIFF's DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON. From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, with fome improvements communicated by a lady as she heard the fame repeated in her youth. The full title is "True "love requited: Or, The Bailiffs daughter of Iflington,” TH Here was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe, He loved the bayliffes daughter deare, That lived in Iflington. But when his friendes did understand His fond and foolish minde, They fent him up to faire London An apprentice for to binde. And when he had been seven long yeares, Then all the maids of Iflington All but the bayliffes daughter deare She fecretly stole awaye. And as she went along the high-road, And her true love came riding bye. 25 She started up, with a colour foe redd, Catching hold of his bridle-reine; 30 One penny, one penny, kind fir, she fayd, Before I give you one penny, fweet-heart, Praye tell me where you were borne. I prythee, fweet-heart, then tell to mee, If the be dead, then take my horse, For I will into fome farr countrye, Where noe man fhall me knowe. O ftaye, O ftaye, thou goodlye youthe, 45 She is here alive, fhe is not dead, 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, 50 IX, K4 IX. THE WILLOW-TREE. A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. From the fmall black-letter collection, intitled, "The Golden Garland of princely delights;" collated with two other copies and corrected by conjecture. H WILLY. OW now, fhepherde, what meanes that ? Why thy fcarffes of red and yellowe They are chang'd, and fo am I ; Phillis hath forfaken mee, Which makes me weare the willowe-tree. WILLY. Phillis! fhee that lov'd thee long? Is fhee the lafs hath done thee wrong? Shee that lov'd thee long and beft, Is her love turn'd to a jest? 10 CUDDY, |