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And with one sighe, which brake her heart,

This gallant dame did dye.

The lovely little infant yonge,

The mother being dead,

Resigned its new received breath

To him that had it made.

Next morning came her own true love,
Affrighted at the newes,

And he for sorrow slew himselfe,

Whom eche one did accuse.

The mother with her new borne babe,
Were both laid in one grave,

Their parents overcome with woe,
No joy thenceforth cold have.

Take heed, you daintye damselles all,
Of flattering words beware,

And of the honour of your name
Have an especial care.

Too true, alas! this story is,

As many one can tell.

By others harmes learne to be wise,
And you shall do full well.

[XII. WALY 144]

XII. (Z. XI.)

WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

This is a very ancient song, but we could only give it from modern copies. Some editions instead of the four last lines in the second stanza have these, which have too much merit to be wholly suppressed,

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Whan cockle shells turn siller bells, ,,And muscles grow on every tree, When frost and snaw sall warm us aw', Than sall my love prove true to me." See the Orpheus Caledonius, &c. Arthur-seat mentioned in ver, 17. is a hill near Edinbor- 35 ough. [Vgl. hiezu ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS in Vol. III. p. 345.]

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Waly waly up the bank,

And waly waly down the brae,

And waly waly yon burn side,

Where I and my love wer wont to gae.

I leant my back unto an aik,

I thought it was a trusty tree;

But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,
Sae my true love did lightly me.

O waly waly, gin love be bonny,
A little time while it is new,
But when its auld, it waxeth cauld,
And fades awa' like morning dew.
[O where- 145] O wherfore shuld I busk

my head?

Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair?
For my true love has me forsook,
And says he'll never loe me mair.
Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed,

The sheets sall neir be fyl'd by me:
Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,
Since my true love has forsaken me.
Marti'mas wind, whan wilt thou blaw,

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And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum?
For of my life I am wearìe.

Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaws inclemencìe;
Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry,

But my loves heart grown cauld to me.
Whan we came in by Glasgowe town,
We were a comely sight to see,

My love was cled i' th' black velvet,
And I my sell in cramasìe.

But had I wist, before I kisst,

That love had been sae ill to win,

I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd,

And pinnd it with a siller pin.

[Oh, 146] Oh oh! if my young babe were born,

And set upon the nurses knee,

And I my sell were dead and gane!

For a maid again Ise never be.

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XII.

THE WANTON WIFE OF BATH.

From an ancient copy in black-print, in the Pepys collection. Mr. Addison has pronounced this an excellent ballad: See the Spectator, No. 248.

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[Thou 147] Thou art a sinner, Adam sayd,
And here no place shalt have.

And so art thou, I trowe, quoth shee,
'And eke a' doting knave.

I will come in, in spight, she sayd,
Of all such churles as thee;

Thou wert the causer of our woe,
Our paine and misery;

And first broke Gods commandiments,
In pleasure of thy wife.

When Adam heard her tell this tale,
He ranne away for life.

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Then downe came Jacob at the gate,
And bids her packe to hell,

Thou false deceiving knave, quoth she,
Thou mayst be there as well.

Ver. 16. Now gip you. P. [Vgl. hiezu ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS in Vol. III. p. 345.]

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For thou deceiv'dst thy father deare,
And thine own brother too.
Away 'slunk' Jacob presently,
And made no more adoo.

She knockes again with might and maine,
And Lot he chides her straite.

How now, quoth she, thou drunken ass,
Who bade thee here to prate?

[With 148] With thy two daughters thou didst lye,
On them two bastardes got.

And thus most tauntingly she chaft
Against poor silly Lot.

Who calleth there, quoth Judith then,
With such shrill sounding notes?

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Quoth David, who knockes there so loud,
And maketh all this strife?

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You were more kinde, good Sir, she sayd,
Unto Uriah's wife.

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And when thy servant thou didst cause
In battle to be slaine;

Thou causedst far more strife than I,

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Who would come here so faine.

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The woman's mad, quoth Solomon,
That thus doth taunt a king.
Not half so mad as you, she sayd,

I trowe, in manye a thing.

[Thou 149] Thou hadst seven hundred wives at once,
For whom thou didst provide;

And yet, god wot, three hundred whores
Thou must maintaine beside:

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And they made thee forsake thy God,
And worship stockes and stones;
Besides the charge they put thee to

In breeding of young bones.

Hadst thou not bin beside thy wits,
Thou wouldst not thus have ventur'd;
And therefore I do marvel much,
How thou this place hast enter'd.

I never heard, quoth Jonas then,

So vile a scold as this.

Thou whore-son run-away, quoth she,

Thou diddest more amiss.

"They say', quoth Thomas, womens tongues

Of aspen-leaves are made.

All is not true that's sayd.

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Thou unbelieving wretch, quoth she,

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When Mary Magdalen heard her then,
She came unto the gate.

Quoth she, good woman, you must think
Upon your former state.

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[No 150] No sinner enters in this place
Quoth Mary Magdalene. Then

'Twere ill for you, fair mistress mine,
She answered her agen:

You for your honestye, quoth she,
Had once been ston'd to death;

Had not our Saviour Christ come by,
And written on the earth.

It was not by your occupation,
You are become divine:

I hope my soul in Christ his passion,
Shall be as safe as thine.

Uprose the good apostle Paul,
And to this wife he cryed,

Ver. 77. I think. P.

Percy's Reliques ed. Schröer.

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