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She fat her by the nut-browne bride,

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And her een they wer fae clear, Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,

Whan fair Annet drew near.

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And reaching by the nut-browne bride,
Laid it on fair Annets knee.

Up than fpak the nut-browne bride,
She fpak wi' meikle fpite;
And whair gat ye that rofe-water,
That does mak yee fae white?

OI did get the rofe-water,

Whair ye wull neir get nane, For I did get that very rofe-water Into my mithers wame.

The bride fhe drew a long bodkin,

Frae out her gay head gear,

And ftrake fair Annet unto the heart,

That word fpak nevir mair.

Lord Thomas he faw fair Annet wex pale,

And marvelit what mote bee:

But whan he faw her dear hearts blude,

A' wood-wroth wexed hee.

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He

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He drew his dagger, that was fae sharp,
That was fae fharp and meet,

And drave it into the nut-browne bride,
That fell deid at his feit.

Now ftay for me, dear Annet, he sed,
Now ftay, my dear, he cry'd;
Than ftrake the dagger untill his heart,
And fell deid by her fide.

Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa',

Fair Annet within the quiere;

And o' the tane thair

grew a birk,

The other a bonny briere.

And ay they grew, and ay they threw,

As they wad faine be neare;
And by this ye may ken right weil,
They were twa luvers deare.

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VI.

CORYDON's DOLEFUL KNELL.

This little fimple elegy is given, with fome corrections, from two copies, one of which is in "The golden garland of frincely delights."

The

The burthen of the fong, DING DONG, &c. is at present appropriated to burlesque subjects, and therefore may excite only ludicrous ideas in a modern reader; but in the time of our boet it ufually accompanied the most folemn and mournful trains. Of this kind is that fine aerial Dirge in Shakespear's Tempest,

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"But doth fuffer a fea-change
"Into fomething rich and ftrange:
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell,

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"Harke now I heare them, Ding dong bell.”

["Burther, Ding dong."]

I make no doubt but the poet intended to conclude this air in a manner the most folemn and expreffive of melancholy.

M

TY Phillida, adieu love!

For evermore farewel!

Ay me! I've loft my true love,

And thus I ring her knell,

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,

My Phillida is dead!

I'll flick a branch of willow

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At

my fair Phillis' head.

For

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