To end my dayes in open fhame, Which thou mightft well redreffe? Woe worth the time I eer believ'd That flattering tongue of thine Would God that I had never feene The teares of thy false eyne. And thus with many a forrowful figh, Homewards fhe went againe; Noe reft came in her waterye eyes, Shee felt fuch privye paine. In travail strong shee fell that night, With many a bitter throwe; What woefull pangs fhee then did feel, Shee called up her waiting mayd, Who mufing at her mistress woe, Began full faft to weepe. Weepe not, faid fhee, but shutt the dores, And windowes round about, Let none bewray my wretched ftate, But keepe all perfons out. O mistress, call your mother deare, Nor fetch no women here, 100 105 110 115 120 The midwifes helpe comes all too late, My death I doe not feare. With that the babe sprang from her wombe No creature being nye, 130 And with one fighe, which brake her heart, XII. WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY. A SCOTTISH SONG. This is a very ancient fong, but we could only give it from modern copies. Some editions instead of the four laft lines in the fecond ftanza have these, which have too much merit to be wholly fuppreffed, "Whan cockle fhells turn filler bells, "And mufcles grow on every tree, "Whan froft and fnaw fall warm us aw', See the Orpheus Caledonius, &c. Arthur-feat mentioned in ver, 17. is a hill near Edinborough. Waly waly up the bank, And waly waly down the brae, And waly waly yon burn fide, Where I and my love wer wont to gae. I thought it was a trusty tree; O waly, waly, gin love be bonny, And fades awa' like morning dew. 5 10 O where wherfore fhuld I bufk my head? Or wherfore fhuld I kame my hair? Now Arthur-feat fall be my bed, Since my true love has forfaken me. Tis not the froft, that freezes fell, Nor blawing fhaws inclemencìe; 15 20 25 Tis not fic cauld, that makes me cry, But my loves heart grown cauld to me. Whan we came in by Glafgowe town, We were a comely fight to fee, 30 My love was cled i' th' black velvet, And I my fell in cramasie. But had I wift, before I kifst, That love had been fae ill to win, I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd VOL. I. 35 Oh, Oh oh! if my young babe were born, 40 XII. THE WANTON WIFE OF BATH. From an ancient copy in black-print, in the Pepys collection Mr. Addifon has pronounced this an excellent ballad: See the Spectator, No. 248. N Bath a wanton wife did dwelle, IN As Chaucer he doth write; Who did in pleasure spend her dayes, |