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"I grant the same, O Lord," quoth she;
"Most lewdly did I live;

But yet the loving father did
His prodigal son forgive."

"So I forgive thy soul," he sayd,
"Through thy repenting crye;
Come enter then into my joy,

I will not thee denye."




The Bride's Burial.

From two ancient copies in black-letter: one in the Pepys Collection, the other in the British Museum.

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At length her rosye red

Throughout her comely face,

As Phoebus beames with watry cloudes,
Was cover'd for a space.


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"Farewell," quoth she, "my loving friend,

For I this daye must dye;

"The messenger of God

With golden trumpe I see, With manye other angels more Which sound and call for mee.

"Instead of musicke sweet,

Go toll my passing-bell;

And with sweet flowers strow my grave,
That in my chamber smell.

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Did fetch a grievous groane,

As tho' his heart would burst in twaine,

And thus he made his moane.

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In earth they laid her then,
For hungry wormes a preye;
So shall the fairest face alive

At length be brought to claye.



Given from two ancient copies, one in black-print, in the Pepys Collec tion, the other in the Editor's folio MS. Each of these contained a stanza not found in the other. What seemed the best readings were selected from both.

This song is quoted as very popular in Walton's Compleat Angler, chap. ii. It is more ancient than the ballad of Robin Good-fellow, printed below, which yet is supposed to have been written by Ben Jonson.

As at noone Dulcina rested

In her sweete and shady bower
Came a shepherd and requested
In her lapp to sleepe an hour.
But from her looke

A wounde he tooke

Soe deepe, that for a further boone
The nymph he prayes.


Wherto shee sayes,

Forgoe me now, come to me soone,”

But in vayne shee did conjure him
To depart her presence soe;

Having a thousand tongues to allure him,
And but one to bid him goe.

Where lipps invite,

And eyes delight,

And cheekes, as fresh as rose in June,

Persuade delay;

"What boots?" she say,

Forgoe me now, come to me soone."

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