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Thus from the warres lord Howard came, 145
And backe he sayled ore the maine,
Into Thames mouth he came againe.
150 « Such a noble prize have I brought to your grace,
As never did subject to a king.
• Sir Andrewes shipp I bring with mee ;
A braver shipp was never none :
Before in England was but one.”
Welcomed the noble Howard home, And where, said he, is this rover stout:
That I myselfe may give the doome?
“ The rover, he is fafe, my leige,
Full many a fadom in the sea; If he were alive, as he is dead,
I must ha' left England many a day :
For the victory wee have wonne,
And Peter Simon, and his sonne."
To Henry Hunt, the king then fayd,
In lieu of what was from thee tane,
With Sir Andrewes jewels and his chayne."
And lands and livings shalt have store;
As Howards erst have beene before.
Nowe, Peter Simon, thou art old,
I will maintaine thee and thy sonne :
For the good service they have done.
To see Sir Andrewe Barton knight:
And thought to have seen a gallant fight.
But when they see his dead ye face,
foe hollowe in his head,
This man were alive as he is dead :
Which fought foe well with heart and hand, 195
Till they come to my brother kings high land.
LADY BOTHWELL's LAMENT,
A SCOTTI ISH Song,
refers, I presume, to the affecting story of lady Jean Gordon, fifter to the earl of Huntley. This lady had been married tut fix months to James Hepburn earl of Bothwell, when that nobleman conceived an ambitious design of marry, ing his sovereign Miry queen of Scots : to accompliji wbicb
, among other violent meajures he sued out a divorce from bis lawful bride, the lady Jean. This fuit was driven forward with such indecent precipitation, that the process was begun and ended in four days, (in May 1567.) and his wife
, who was a woman of merit, driven from his bed, upon the most trivial and scandalous pretences. See Robertson. History is filent as to this lady having a child by him, but that might be accounted for by supposing it dyed.
Afier all, perhaps this story is misapplied here, and indeed is hardly consistent with the laft ftanza. In the Editor's felia MS. whence this song is printed, it is fimply intitled BALOWE: and in the copy given by Allan Ramsey in his Tea-table Mif cellany, (which contains many modern additions) it is called,
Lady ANNE Bothwell's Lament.
ALOW, my babe, ly stil and sleipe!
It grieves me fair to see thee weipe :
Balow, my boy, thy mithers joy,
Balow, my babe, ly stil and Neipe,
Whan he began to court my luve,
Ly stil, my darling, sleipe a while,
I cannae chuse, but ever wil
gae, Mine hart can neire depart him frae,
Bot doe nat, doe nat, prettie mine,
Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane,
Fareweil, fareweil, thou falfest youth,
Balow, my babe, ly stil, and sleipe,