Att length the wished day was come,
On which this beauteous mayd,
With longing eyes, and ftrange attire,

For her true lover stayd.
When any person shee efpyed

85

And hast thou now forfaken mee
In this my great distresse,
To end my dayes in open shame,

Which thou mightft well redreffe?
Woe worth the time I eer believ'd
That flattering tongue of thine:
Wold God that I had never feene

The teares of thy false eyne.

100

And

And thus with many a forrowful sigh, -
Homewards fhee 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 paines fhee then did feel,
Doth eche good woman knowe.

Shee called up her waiting mayd,
That lay at her bedds feete,

Who mufing at her mistress woe,

Began full faft to weepe.

Weepe not, faid fhee, but fhutt the dores,

And windowes round about,

Let none bewray my wretched state,

But keepe all perfons out.

O mistress, call your mother deare;

Of women you have neede,

And of fome skilfull midwifes helpe,

That better may you speed.

105

115

120

Call not my mother for thy life,

125

Nor fetch no woman here;

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 hart,

XI.

WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY. A SCOTTISH SONG.

This is a very ancient fong, but we could only give it from a modern copy. Some editions inftead of the four last lines in the fecond ftanza have thefe, which have too much merit to be wholly fupprefed:

"Whan cockle fhells turn filler bells,

"And mufcles grow on every tree,

"When froft and fnaw fall warm us aw',

"Than fall my love prove true to me."

See the Orpheus Caledonius, &c.

Arthur's-feat mentioned in ver. 17, is a bill near Edinbo» rough; at the bottom of which is St. Anthony's well.

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 leant my back unto an aik,

I thought it was trusty tree;
But firft it bow'd, and fyne it brak,
Sae my true love did lichtly me.

O waly, waly, gin love be bonny,
A little time while it is new;
But when its auld, it waxeth cauld,
And fades awa' like morning dew.

O wherfore fuld I bufk my head?
Or wherfore fhuld I kame my hair?
For my true love has me forfook,
And fays he'll never loe me mair.

Now Arthur-feat fall be my bed,
The sheets shall neir be fyl'd by me:
Saint Anton's well fall be my drink,

Since my true love has forfaken me.
Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And thake the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum ?
For of my life I am wearie.

Tis not the froft, that freezes fell,
Nor blawing fnaws inclemencie ;

'Tis not fic cauld, that makes me cry,

15

20

25

But my loves heart grown cauld to me.

Whan we came in by Glasgowe town,

30

We were a comely fight to fee,

My love was cled in black velvet,
And I my fell in cramasie.

But had I wift, before I kisst,

That love had been fae ill to win;

I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd,
And pinnd it with a filler pin.

35

And,