So that the pretty speeche they had,
Made murtherers' heart relent:
And they that tooke the deed to do,
Full sore they did repent.

Yet one of them, more hard of heart,
Did vowe to do his charge,
Because the wretch that hired him
Had paid him very large.

The other would not agree thereto,
So here they fell at strife;
With one another they did fight,
About the children's life:
And he that was of mildest mood
Did slaye the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood;

Where babes did quake for feare!

He took the children by the hand,
When teares stood in their eye,
And bade them come and go with him,
And look they did not crye:

And two long miles he ledd them thus,
While they for bread complaine:

"Stay here," quoth he, "I'll bring ye bread,

When I do come againe."

These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
Went wandering up and downe;
But never more they sawe the man
Approaching from the town;

Their prettye lippes, with black-berries,
Were all besmear'd and dyed,

And when they sawe the darksome night,
They sat them downe and cryed.

Thus wandered these two pretty babes,
Till deathe did end their grief,

In one another's armes they dyed,
As babes wanting relief:

No burial these pretty babes
Of any man receives,

Till robin-red-breast painfully

Did cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrathe of God
Upon their uncle fell;

Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt an hell:

His barnes were fired, his goods consumed,
His landes were barren made,
His cattle dyed within the field,
And nothing with him stayd.

And in the voyage of Portugal
Two of his sonnes did dye;

And, to conclude, himself was brought
Unto much miserye:

He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven years came about;
And now at length this wicked act
Did by this meanes come out:

The fellowe, that did take in hand
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judged to dye,
As was God's blessed will:
Who did confess the very truth,
The which is here exprest;
Their uncle dyed while he for debt
Did long in prison rest.

All you that be executors,
And overseers eke,

Of children that be fatherless,
And infants mild and meek;
Take you example by this thing,
And yield to each his right,
Lest God with such like miserye
Your wicked minds requite.

THE TWA BROTHERS.1

THERE were twa brothers at the scule,
And when they got awa'-

It's "Will ye play at the stane-chucking,
Or will ye play at the ba',

Or will ye gae up to yon hill head,
And there we'll warsell a fa'?"

JOHN." I winna play at the stane-chucking,
Nor will I play at the ba',

But I'll gae up to yon bonnie green hill,
And there we'll warsell a fa"."

They warsled up, they warsled down,
Till John fell to the ground;
A dirk fell out of William's pouch,
And gave John a deadly wound.

JOHN." O lift me up upon your back,
Take me to yon well fair;

And wash my bluidy wounds o'er and o'er,
And they'll ne'er bleed nae mair."

He's lifted his brother upon his back,

Ta'en him to yon well fair;

He's wash'd his bluidy wounds o'er and o'er,
But they bleed ay mair and mair.

"Tak ye aff my Holland sark,

And rive it gair by gair,

And row it in my bluidy wounds,

And they 'll ne'er bleed nae mair."

He's taken aff his Holland sark,
And torn it gair by gair;

He's row it in his bluidy wounds,

But they bleed ay mair and mair.

1 For an explanation of words in this and other ballads, see Glossary at end of Volume.

"Tak now aff my green mantle,
And row me saftly in;

And tak me up to yon kirk style,
Whare the grass grows fair and green."

He's taken aff the green mantle,
And rowed him saftly in;

He's laid him down by yon kirk style,
Whare the grass grows fair and green.

JOHN." What will ye say to your father dear,
When ye gae hame at e'en?"

WILLIAM.—“ I'll say ye're lying at yon

kirk style,

Whare the grass grows fair and green."

JOHN.-"O no, O no, my brother dear,
O you must not say so;

But say, that I'm gaen to a foreign land,
Whare nae man does me know."

When he sat in his father's chair

He grew baith pale and wan,

MOTHER. "O what blude's that upon your brow? O dear son tell to me."

WILLIAM.- "It is the blude o' my gude gray steed— He wadna ride wi' me."

MOTHER.—“ O thy steed's blude was ne'er sae red, Nor e'er sae dear to me.

66

"O what blude's that upon your

O dear son, tell to me."

cheek?

WILLIAM." It is the blude of my greyhound,

He wadna hunt for me."

MOTHER.—“ O thy hound's blude was ne'er sae red,
Nor e'er sae dear to me;

O what blude's this upon your hand?
O dear son, tell to me.'

WILLIAM.—“ It is the blude of my gay goss hawk,
He wadna flee for me."

MOTHER. "O thy hawk's blude was ne'er sae red,
Nor e'er sae dear to me.

"O what blude 's this upon your dirk?
Dear Willie, tell to me."

WILLIAM." It is the blude of my ae brother;
O, dule and wae is me."

MOTHER." O what will ye say to your father?
Dear Willie, tell to me.'

WILLIAM.—“ I 'll saddle my steed, and awa I 'll ride,
To dwell in some far countrie."

MOTHER.—“O when will ye come hame again?
Dear Willie, tell to me."

WILLIAM." When sun and mune leap on yon hill;
And that will never be."

She turn'd hersel' right round about,
And her heart burst into three;
"My ae best son is deid and gane,
And my tother ane I'll ne'er see."

GRISELDA.

IN Lombardy, where Piedmont's Alpine bound
Sees fair Saluces' region stretch'd around,
With long hereditary honours great
The Marquis Gautier rul'd his peaceful state.
Rich was his realm, and he its prime delight;
First of his noble stock in princely might;
Of well proportion'd limbs, of comely face;
Endow'd by nature's boon with every grace,
Save that, enamour'd of free single life,
He brook'd no mention of the name of wife,

Sore grief of heart their lord's reluctance gave
To many a vassal tried, and baron brave.
All met at length: new hopes from union rose;
And, the crowd praising what the chiefs propose,
Forth to the palace far'd a chosen band,

And thus they spoke the wishes of the land :

D