And thus unto the youth she said

That drove them to the Bell,

'This shall be yours, when you bring back My husband safe and well.'

The youth did ride, and soon did meet
John coming back again:

Whom in a trice he tried to stop,
By catching at his rein;

But not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,
The frighted steed he frighted more,
And made him faster run.

Away went Gilpin, and away
Went postboy at his heels,

The postboy's horse right glad to miss
The lumbering of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road,
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,

With postboy scampering in the rear,
They raised the hue and cry:

'Stop thief! stop thief!-a highwayman!'

Not one of them was mute;

And all and each that passed that way
Did join in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike gates again

Flew open in short space; The toll-men thinking, as before,

That Gilpin rode a race.

And so he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town;

Nor stopped till where he had got up
He did again get down.

Now let us sing, Long live the King!
And Gilpin, long live he!

And when he next doth ride abroad
May I be there to see!

325

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN
[1751-1816]

DRINKING SONG

HERE'S to the maiden of bashful fifteen,
Here's to the widow of fifty;

Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean,
And here's to the housewife that's thrifty;

I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.

Here's to the charmer, whose dimples we prize,
And now to the maid who has none, sir,
Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
And here's to the nymph with but one, sir.
Let the toast pass, etc.

Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow,
And to her that's as brown as a berry;
Here's to the wife with a face full of woe,
And now to the girl that is merry:
Let the toast pass, etc.

For let 'em be clumsy, or let 'em be slim,
Young or ancient, I care not a feather;
So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brim,
And let us e'en toast them together.

I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.

326

ANNA LAETITIA BARBAULD

[1743-1825]

LIFE

LIFE! I know not what thou art,
But know that thou and I must part;
And when, or how, or where we met,
I own to me's a secret yet.

But this I know, when thou art fled,
Where'er they lay these limbs, this head,
No clod so valueless shall be

As all that then remains of me.

O whither, whither, dost thou fly?
Where bend unseen thy trackless course?
And in this strange divorce,

Ah, tell where I must seek this compound I?
To the vast ocean of empyreal flame

From whence thy essence came

Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed
From matter's base encumbering weed?
Or dost thou, hid from sight,

Wait, like some spell-bound knight,

Through blank oblivious years th' appointed hour
To break thy trance and reassume thy power?
Yet canst thou without thought or feeling be?
O say, what art thou, when no more thou'rt thee?

Life! we have been long together,

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;
'Tis hard to part when friends are dear;
Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;—
Then steal away, give little warning,

Choose thine own time;

Say not Good-night, but in some brighter clime
Bid me Good-morning!

327

ISOBEL PAGAN(?)

[1741 (?)-1821]

CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES

CA' the yowes to the knowes,*
Ca' them where the heather grows,
Ca' them where the burnie rows,"
My bonnie dearie.

As I gaed down the water side,
There I met my shepherd lad;
He row'd me sweetly in his plaid,
And he ca'd me his dearie.

'Will ye gang down the water side,
And see the waves sae sweetly glide
Beneath the hazels spreading wide?

The moon it shines fu' clearly.'

'I was bred up at nae sic school,
My shepherd lad, to play the fool,
And a' the day to sit in dool,

And naebody to see me.'

'Ye sall get gowns and ribbons meet,
Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet,
And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep,
And ye sall be my dearie.'

'If ye'll but stand to what ye've said,
I'se gang wi' you, my shepherd lad,
And ye may row me in your plaid,
And I sall be your dearie.'

'While waters wimple to the sea,
While day blinks in the lift sae hie,
Till clay-cauld death sall blin' my e'e,
Ye aye sall be my dearie!'

328

LADY ANNE LINDSAY

[1750-1825]

AULD ROBIN GRAY

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld,' and the kye at hame,
And a' the warld to rest are gane,

The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,
While my gudeman lies sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride;
But saving a croun he had naething else beside:
To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea;
And the croun and the pund were baith for me.

He hadna been awa' a week but only twa,

When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown'

awa;

My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea-
And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me.

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e Said, Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me!

My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back;

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack;
His ship it was a wrack-why didna Jamie dee?
Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me?

My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak;

But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break: They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea; Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been a wife a week but
When mournfu' as I sat on the

only four,

stane at the door,

1 Fold. 2 Cows.

$ Stolen.