I'll do more for thee, Margarèt,

Than any of thy kin;

50

For I will kifs thy pale wan lips,

Though a smile I cannot win.

With that befpake the feven brethren,
Making moft piteous mone:

You may go kifs your jolly brown bride,

$5

And let our fifter alone.

If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,
I do but what is right;

I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpfe
By day, nor yet by night.

Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,
Deal on your cake and your wine *:

For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,

Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.

Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,
Sweet William dyed the morrow:
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,
Sweet William dyed for forrow.

Margaret was buryed in the lower chancèl,

And William in the higher:

Out of her breft there sprang a rofe,

And out of his a briar.

* Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals.

They grew till they grew unto the church-top,
And then they could grow no higher;

And there they tyed in a true lovers knot,
Which made all the people admire.

Then came the clerk of the parish,
As you the truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there,

75

V.

BARBARA ALLEN's CRUELTY.

Given, with fome corrections, from an old black letter copy, intitled, "Barbara Allen's cruelty, or the young man's tragedy."

N Scarlet towne, where I was borne,

IN

There was a faire maid dwellin,

Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merrye month of may,

When greene buds they were fwe'lin,

Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.

He

He fent his man unto her then,

To the town, where flee was dwellin; You must come to my master deare,

Giff

your name be Barbara Allen.

For death is printed on his face,

And ore his hart is ftealin:

10

Then haste away to comfort him,
O lovelye Barbara Allen.

15

Though death be printed on his face,

And ore his harte is stealin,

Yet little better shall he bee,
For bonny Barbara Allen.

So flowly, flowly, fhe came up,

And flowly the came nye him;

And all the fayd, when there fhe came,
Yong man, I think y'are dying.

20

He turnd his face unto her ftrait,

25

With deadlye forrow fighing; O lovely maid, come pity mee, Ime on my deth-bed lying.

If on your death-bed you doe lye,
What needs the tale you are tellin :
I cannot keep you from your death;
Farewell, fayd Barbara Allen.

૩૦

He

They grew till they grew unto the church-top,
And then they could grow no higher;
And there they tyed in a true
lovers knot,

Which made all the people admire.

Then came the clerk of the parish,
As you the truth fhall hear,

And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there,

75

8.

V.

BARBARA ALLEN's CRUELTY.

Given, with fome corrections, from an old black letter copy, intitled, "Barbara Allen's cruelty, or the young man's "tragedy."

N Scarlet towne, where I was borne,

IN

There was a faire maid dwellin,

Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merrye month of may,

When greene

buds they were fwe'lin,

Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,

For love of Barbara Allen.

3

He

He fent his man unto her then,

To the town, where fhee was dwellin; You must come to my master deare,

Giff

your name be Barbara Allen.

For death is printed on his face,

And ore his hart is ftealin:

Then haste away to comfort him,
O lovelye Barbara Allen.

15

Though death be printed on his face,

And ore his harte is stealin,

Yet little better shall he bee,
For bonny Barbara Allen.

So flowly, flowly, she came up,

him;

And flowly he came nye
And all the fayd, when there fhe came,
Yong man, I think y'are dying.

He turnd his face unto her ftrait,

With deadlye forrow fighing; O lovely maid, come pity mee, Ime on my deth-bed lying.

If on your

death-bed you doe lye,

What needs the tale you are tellin: I cannot keep you from your death; Farewell, fayd Barbara Allen.

4

20

25

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He