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Adieu! ye vain transporting joys!
Off ye vain fantastic toys!

That dress this face-this body—to allure!

Bring me daggers, poison, fire!

Since scorn is turn'd into desire.

All hell feels not the rage which I, poor I, endure.

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XXIII.

Lilli Burlero.

The following rhymes, slight and insignificant as they may now seem, had once a more powerful effect than either the Philippics of Demosthenes or Cicero, and contributed not a little towards the great revolution in 1688. Let us hear a contemporary writer.

"A foolish ballad was made at that time, treating the Papists, and chiefly the Irish, in a very ridiculous manner, which had a burden said to be Irish words, 'Lero, lero, lilliburlero,' that made an impression on the [king's] army, that cannot be imagined by those that saw it not. The whole army, and at last the people, both in city and country, were singing it perpetually. And perhaps never had so slight a thing so great an effect."-Burnet.

It was written, or at least republished, on the Earl of Tyrconnel's going a second time to Ireland in October, 1688. Perhaps it is unnecessary to mention, that General Richard Talbot, newly created Earl of Tyrconnel, had been nominated by King James II. to the lieutenancy of Ireland in 1686, on account of his being a furious papist, who had recommended himself to his bigoted master by his arbitrary treatment of the Protestants in the preceding year, when only lieutenant-general, and whose subsequent conduct fully justified his expectations and their fears. The violence of his administration may be seen in any of the histories of those times: particularly in Bishop King's "State of the Protestants in Ireland," 1691, 4to.

Lilliburlero and Bullen-a-lah are said to have been the words of distinction used among the Irish Papists in their massacre of the Protestants in 1641.

Ho! broder Teague, dost hear de decree ?

Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.

Dat we shall have a new deputie,

Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.

Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la, 5
Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la.

Ho! by Shaint Tyburn, it is de Talbote:

Lilli, &c.

And he will cut all de English troate.

Lilli, &c.

Dough by my shoul de English do praat,

Lilli, &c.

De law's on dare side, and Creish knows what.
Lilli, &c.

But if dispence do come from de Pope,

Lilli, &c.

We'll hang Magna Charta and dem in a rope.
Lilli, &c.

For de good Talbot is made a lord,

Lilli, &c.

And with brave lads is coming aboard:

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Lilli, &c.

Who all in France have taken a sware,

Lilli, &c.

Dat dey will have no protestant heir.
Lilli, &c.

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Ara! but why does he stay behind?

Lilli, &c.

Ho! by my shoul 'tis a protestant wind.
Lilli, &c.

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But see de Tyrconnel is now come ashore,

Lilli, &c.

And we shall have commissions gillore.
Lilli, &c.

And he dat will not go to de mass,

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Lilli, &c.

Shall be turn out, and look like an ass.

Lilli, &c.

Now, now de hereticks all go down,

Lilli, &c.

By Chrish and Shaint Patrick, de nation's our own.

Lilli, &c.

Ver. 7, Ho by my shoul. al. ed.

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Dare was an old prophesy found in a bog,

Lilli, &c.

"Ireland shall be rul'd by an ass and a dog."
Lilli, &c.

And now dis prophesy is come to pass,

Lilli, &c.

For Talbot's de dog, and JA**s is de ass.

Lilli, &c.

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***The foregoing song is attributed to Lord Wharton in a small pamphlet, entitled, "A true relation of the several facts and circumstances of the intended riot and tumult on Queen Elizabeth's birthday," &c. Third edition, London, 1712, price 2d. See p. 5, viz. "A late Viceroy [of Ireland], who has so often boasted himself upon his talent for mischief, invention, lying, and for making a certain Lilliburlero Song; with which, if you will believe himself, he sung a deluded Prince out of three Kingdoms."

V. 43. What follows is not in some copies.

XXIV.

The Braes of arrow,

IN IMITATION OF THE ANCIENT SCOTS MANNER,

was written by William Hamilton, of Bangour, Esq., who died March 25, 1754, aged 50. It is printed from an elegant edition of his Poems, published at Edinburgh, 1760, 12mo. This song was written in imitation of an old Scottish ballad on a similar subject, with the same burden to each stanza.

A. "BUSK ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow;
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny bride,
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow."

B. "Where gat ye that bonny, bonny bride?
Where gat ye that winsome marrow ?"
A. "I gat her where I dare na weil be seen

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

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"Weep not, weep not, my bonny, bonny bride, Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow;

Nor let thy heart lament to leive

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow."

B. "Why does she weep, thy bonny, bonny bride?
Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow?
And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow? "

A. “Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep,
Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow;

And lang maun I nae mair weil be seen
Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow?

"For she has tint her luver, luver dear,
Her luver dear, the cause of sorrow;

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And I hae slain the comliest swain

That eir pu'd birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

66 Why rins thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, reid?

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Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow?

And why yon melancholious weids

Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow?

"What's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flude?
What's yonder floats? O dule and sorrow!

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"Wash, O wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow;

And wrap his limbs in mourning weids,
And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow.

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"Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad, Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow;

And weep around in waeful wise

His hapless fate on the Braes of Yarrow.

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"Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield, My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow,

The fatal spear that pierc'd his breast,

His comely breast on the Braes of Yarrow.

"Did I not warn thee not to, not to luve ?

And warn from fight? but to my sorrow

Too rashly bauld a stronger arm

Thou mett'st, and fell'st on the Braes of Yarrow.

"Sweet smells the birk; green grows, green grows

the grass;

Yellow on Yarrow's bank the gowan;

Fair hangs the apple frae the rock;

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan.

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"Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed,

As green its grass, its gowan as yellow,

As sweet smells on its braes the birk,
The apple frae its rock as mellow?

"Fair was thy luve, fair, fair indeed thy luve,
In flow'ry bands thou didst him fetter;

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Tho' he was fair, and weil beluv'd again
Than me, he never luv'd thee better.

"Busk ye, then busk, my bonny, bonny bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow;
Busk ye, and luve me on the banks of Tweed,
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow."

C. "How can I busk a bonny, bonny bride?

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How can I busk a winsome marrow? How luve him upon the banks of Tweed

That slew my luve on the Braes of Yarrow?

"O Yarrow fields, may never, never rain

Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover,

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"The boy put on his robes, his robes of green,

His purple vest, 'twas my awn sewing:

Ah! wretched me! I little, little kenn'd
He was in these to meet his ruin.

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The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed,
Unheedful of my dule and sorrow;

But ere the toofall of the night

He lay a corps on the Braes of Yarrow.

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