Makyne, to-morn be this ilk tyde,
Gif ye
will meit me heir,

Maybe my sheip may gang besyde,
Quhyle we have liggd full neir;
But maugre haif I, gif I byde,
Frae thay begin to steir;

Quhat lyes on heart I will nocht hyd,
Then Makyne mak gude cheir."

45

'Makyne, I have bene here this quyle: At hame I wish I ware."

60

"Now may thou sing, for I am shent!

Quhat ailis luve at me?"

Makyne went hame withouten fail,
And weirylie could weip;

Then Robin in a full fair dale
Assemblit all his sheip.

75

75

Be that some part of Makyne's ail
Out-throw his heart could creip;
Hir fast he followt to assail,
And till her tuke gude keip.

"Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne,
A word for ony thing;

80

For all my luve it sall be thyne,

Withouten departing.

All hale! thy heart for till have myne,

85

Is all my coveting:

My sheip to morn, quhyle houris nyne,
Will need of nae keiping."

"Robin, thou hast heard sung and say,

In gests and storys auld,

The man that will not when he may,
Sall have nocht when he wald.

90

95

And the grene wod richt neir-hand by
To walk attowre all where :

100

V. 99, Bannatyne's MS. has woid, not woud, as in ed. 1770.

Outowre the holtis hair;

Pure Robin murnd, and Makyne leugh;
Scho sang, and he sicht sair :

125

And so left him, bayth wo and wreuch,
In dolor and in care,

Keipand his herd under a heuch,

Amang the rushy gair.

V. 117, Bannatyne's MS. reads as above feill, not faill, as in ed. 1770.

XIV.

Gentle Herdsman, tell to Me.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A PILGRIM AND HERDSMAN.

The scene of this beautiful old ballad is laid near Walsingham in Norfolk, where was anciently an image of the Virgin Mary, famous over all Europe for the numerous pilgrimages made to it, and the great riches it possessed. Erasmus has given a very exact and humorous description of the superstitions practised there in his time. See his account of the Virgo Parathalassia, in his Colloquy, entitled, Peregrinatio Religionis Ergo. He tells us, the rich offerings in silver, gold, and precious stones, that were there shown him, were incredible, there being scarcely a person of any note in England but what some time or other paid a visit, or sent a present, to Our Lady of Walsingham. At the dissolution of the monasteries in 1538, this splendid image, with another from Ipswich, was carried to Chelsea, and there burnt in the presence of commissioners, who, we trust, did not burn the jewels and the finery.

1

1 See at the end of this ballad an account of the annual offerings of the Earls of Northumberland.

This poem is printed from a copy in the Editor's folio MS., which had greatly suffered by the hand of time; but vestiges of several of the lines remaining, some conjectural supplements have been attempted, which, for greater exactness, are in this one ballad distinguished by italics.

GENTLE heardsman, tell to me,
Of curtesy I thee pray,
Unto the towne of Walsingham
Which is the right and ready way.
"Unto the towne of Walsingham
The way is hard for to be gon;
And verry crooked are those pathes
For you to find out all alone."

Weere the miles doubled thrise,
And the way never soe ill,

Itt were not enough for mine offence,
Itt is soe grievous and soe ill.

5

10

66

Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire,

Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are greene;

Time hath not given thee leave, as yett,

15

For to committ so great a sinne."

Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say,
If thou knewest soe much as I;

My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest,
Have well deserved for to dye.

I am not what I seeme to bee,

My clothes and sexe doe differ farr:

I am a woman, woe is me!

Born to greeffe and irksome care.

For my beloved, and well-beloved,
My wayward cruelty could kill:
And though my teares will nought avail,
Most dearely I bewail him still.

He was the flower of noble wights,
None ever more sincere colde bee;
Of comely mien and shape hee was,
And tenderlye hee loved mee.

When thus I saw he loved me well,
I grewe so proud his paine to see,
That I, who did not know myselfe,

Thought scorne of such a youth as hee.
2And grew soe coy and nice to please,
As women's lookes are often soe,
He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth,
Unlesse I willed him soe to doe.

Thus being wearyed with delayes
To see I pittyed not his greeffe,

35

40

He gott him to a secrett place,

And there he dyed without releeffe.

And for his sake these weeds I weare,
And sacriffice my tender age;

45

And every day Ile begg my bread,

To undergoe this pilgrimage.

Thus every day I fast and pray,
And ever will doe till I dye;
And gett me to some secrett place,

For soe did hee, and soe will I.

50

2 Three of the following stanzas have been finely paraphrased by Dr. Goldsmith, in his charming ballad of Edwin and Emma; the reader of taste will have a pleasure in comparing them with the original.

'And' still I try'd each fickle art,
Importunate and vain;

And while his passion touch'd my heart,
I triumph'd in his pain.

"Till quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride;

And sought a solitude forlorn,

In secret, where he dy❜d.

But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay;
I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.

And there forlorn, despairing hid,
I'll lay me down and die:
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I.