Sidor som bilder

Sweet Love, begon a while,
Thou seest my heavines;
Beautie is borne but to beguyle
My harte of happines.

See how my little flocke,

That lovde to feede on highe,

Doe headlonge tumble downe the rocke,
And in the valley dye.

The bushes and the trees,

That were so freshe and greene, Doe all their deintie colors leese, And not a leafe is seene.

The blacke birde and the thrushe,

That made the woodes to ringe,
With all the rest are now at hushe,
And not a note they singe.

Swete Philomele, the birde
That hath the heavenly throte,

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Doth nowe, alas! not once afforde
Recordinge of a note.

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Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor

is given (with corrections) from an ancient copy in black-letter in the Pepys Collection, entitled, "A tragical ballad on the unfortunate love of Lord Thomas and fair Ellinor, together with the downfall of the browne girl." In the same collection may be seen an attempt to modernize this old song, and reduce it to a different measure: a prooi of its popularity.

LORD Thomas he was a bold forrester,

And a chaser of the kings deere ;

Faire Ellinor was a fine woman,

And Lord Thomas he loved her deare.

"Come riddle my riddle, dear mother," he sayd, "And riddle us both as one;


Whether I shall marrye with faire Ellinor,

And let the browne girl alone?"

"The browne girl she has got houses and lands,

Faire Ellinor she has got none;


And therefore I charge thee on my blessing,

To bring me the browne girl home."

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66 What newes, what newes, Lord Thomas," she sayd "What newes dost thou bring to mee?"

"I am come to bid thee to my wedding, And that is bad newes for thee."

"O God forbid, Lord Thomas," she sayd, "That such a thing should be done;


I thought to have been the bride my
And thou to have been the bridegrome."



"Come riddle my riddle, dear mother," she sayd,
"And riddle it all in one;

Whether I shall goe to Lord Thomas his wedding,
Or whether shall tarry at home ?.”

"There are manye that are your friendes, daughter, And manye a one your foe;

Therefore I charge you on my blessing,

To Lord Thomas his wedding don't goe."

"There are manye that are my friendes, mother;

But were every one my foe,

Betide me life, betide me death,

To Lord Thomas his wedding I'ld goe."

She cloathed herself in gallant attire,
And her merrye men all in greene;
And as they rid through every towne,
They took her to be some queene.

But when she came to Lord Thomas his gate,
She knocked there at the ring;

And who was so readye as Lord Thomas,
To lett faire Ellinor in.

"Is this your bride ?" fair Ellinor sayd;
"Methinks she looks wonderous browne;
Thou mightest have had as faire a woman
As ever trod on the grounde."

"Despise her not, fair Ellin," he sayd, "Despise her not unto mee;

For better I love thy little finger,
Than all her whole bodèe."


This browne bride had a little penknife,

That was both long and sharpe,

And betwixt the short ribs and the long,
She prick'd faire Ellinor's harte.


Ver. 29, It should probably be, Reade me, read, &c., i. e. Advise me,


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"O Christ thee save," Lord Thomas, hee sayd, "Methinks thou lookst wonderous wan;

Thou usedst to look with as fresh a colour,

As ever the sun shone on."

"O art thou blind, Lord Thomas?” she sayd, "Or canst thou not very well see?


O dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode
Run trickling down my knee?”

Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side;

As he walked about the halle,


He cut off his brides head from her shoulders,
And threw it against the walle.

He set the hilte against the grounde,

And the point against his harte;

There never three lovers together did meete,


That sooner againe did parte.

The reader will find a Scottish song on a similiar subject to this towards the end of this volume, entitled, Lord Thomas and Lady Annet.


Cupid and Campaspe.

This elegant little sonnet is found in the third act of an old play, entited, Alexander and Campaspe, written by John Lilye, a celebrated writer in the time of Queen Elizabeth. That play was first printed in 1591; but this copy is given from a later edition.


CUPID and my Campaspe playd

At cardes for kisses; Cupid payd:
He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,
His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lippe, the rose

Growing on's cheek, (but none knows how,)
With these, the crystal of his browe,

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And then the dimple of his chinne;
All these did my Campaspe winne.
At last he set her both his eyes,
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love! has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of mee?


The Lady turned Serving-Man

is given from a written copy, containing some improvements (perhaps modern ones) upon the popular ballad, entitled, "The famous flower of Serving-men; or the Lady turned Serving-man."

You beauteous ladyes, great and small,
I write unto you one and all,

Whereby that you may understand
What I have suffered in the land.

I was by birth a ladye faire,
An ancient barons only heire,

And when my good old father dyed,
Then I became a young knightes bride.


And there my love built me a bower,
Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower;
A braver bower you ne'er did see
Then my true-love did build for mee.


And there I livde a ladye gay,

Till fortune wrought our loves decay;

For there came foes so fierce a band,


That soon they over-run the land.

They came upon us in the night,

And brent my bower, and slew my knight;

And trembling hid in mans array,

I scant with life escap'd away.


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