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Then leaving strife, Earl Percy took,

The dead man by the hand;
And said: Earl Douglas, for thy life,
Would I had lost my land!

'O Christ! my very heart doth bleed]
With sorrow for thy sake:
For sure a more renowned knight
Mischance did never take.'

Sir Patrick Spens.*

The king sits in Dunfermline town,
Drinking the blude-red wine;
"O where shall I get a skeely skipper,
To sail this ship of mine ?'

O up and spake an eldern knight,
Sat at the king's right knee-
'Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor,
That ever sailed the sea.'

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When that the lords o' Noroway
Began aloud to say-

'Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud,

And a' our queenis fee.' "Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud! Fu' loud I hear ye lie;

For I ha'e brought as much white monie

As gane my men and me,

And I ha'e brought a half-fou (2) of gude red goud,

Out o'er the sea wi' me.

'Make ready, make ready, my merry men a'!

Our gude ship sails the morn.' 'Now, ever alake, my master dear, I fear a deadly storm!

'I saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm; And, if we gan to sea, master,

I fear we'll come to harm.'

They hadua sailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three,

When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,

And gurly grew the sea.

The ankers brak, and the top-masts lap, It was sic a deadly storm;

And the waves cam o'er the broken ship, Till a' her sides were torn.

'O where will I get a gude sailor,
To take my helm in hand,

Till I get up to the tall top-mast,
To see if I can spy land?

'O here am I, a sailor gude,

* Supposed to refer to the incident thus related by Fordun: 'In the year 1281, Margaret, daughter of Alexander III. was married to the King of Norway; who leaving Scotland on the last day of July, was conveyed thither in noble style, in company with many knights and nobles. In returning home after the celebration of her nuptials. the Abbot of Balmerinoch, Bernard of Monte-Alto, and many other persons were drowned.' 1 Next, 2 Bushel.

To take the helm in hand,
Till you go to the tall top-mast;
But I fear you'll ne'er spy land.'

He hadna gane a step, a step,

A step but barely ane,

When a boult flew out of our goodly ship,

And the salt sea it came in.

'Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith, Another o' the twine,

And wap them into our ship's side, And let nae the sea come in.'

They fetched a web o' the silken claith, Another o' the twine,

And they wapped them round that gude ship's side,

But still the sea came in.

O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
To weet their cork-heeled shoon!
But lang or a' the play was played,
They wat their hats aboon.

And mony was the feather-bed
That floated on the faem;
And mony was the gude lord's son
That never mair cam hame.

The ladyes wrang their fingers white,
The maidens tore their hair,
A' for the sake of their true loves-
For them they'll see nae mair.

O lang, lang may the lades sit,
Wi' their fans into their hand.
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand!

And lang, lang may the maidens sit,
With their goud kaims in their hair,
A' waiting for their ain dear loves!
For them they'll see nae mair.

Half owre, half owre to Aberdour,
"Tis fifty fathoms deep,
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.

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The long and interesting ballad of the Nut-brown Maid' was first printed in Arnold's Chronicle about 1502, then reprinted in The Muses' Mercury, 177, and afterwards formed the groundwork of Prior's Henry and Emma.' The object of the old anthor was to prove that the faith of woman is stronger than worldly men believe.

I say not nay, but that all day
It is both writ and said

That woman's faith is, as who sayeth,
All utterly decayed;

But, nevertheless, right good witness In this case might be laid,

That they love true and continue,
Record the Nut-brown Maid:

Which from her love, when her to prove

He came to make his moan.

Would not depart; for in her heart
She loved but him alone.

In order to try her affection, the lover said he was sentenced to die a shameful death, and had to withdraw as an outlaw to the greenwood.

SHE.

O, Lord, what is this world's bliss,
That changeth as the moon!
My summer's day in lusty May
Is darked before the noon.

I hear you say, Farewell: Nay, nay,
We depart not so soon.

Why say ye so? whither will ye go?
Alas! what have ye done?
All my welfare to sorrow and care
Should change if ye were gone;
For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.

HE.

I can believe, it shall you grieve,
And somewhat you distrain:
But afterward, your paines hard
Within a day or twain

Shall soon aslake; and ye shall take
Comfort to you again.

Why should ye ought, for to make thought?

Your labour were in vain.
And thus I do, and pray to you,
As heartily as I can;

For I must to the greenwood go,
Alone, a banished man.

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The Maid still maintains her constancy, on which the lover says he has ' purveyed' him of a maid whom he loves better than her, but even this does not shake her faith, and then the noble youth discloses himself to his faithful mistress.

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By tradition, assigned to James V. (1512-42), and supposed to describe one of his own roving adventures. The gaberlunzie was a travelling beggar, pedler, or tinker. The English reader acquainted with the works of Burns will have no difficulty with the Scottish words in this humorous descriptive ballad.

The pawky auld carl came o'er the lea,
Wi' mony gude e'ens and days to me,
Saying: Gudewife, for your courtesie,

Will ye lodge a silly poor man ?'
The night was cauld, the carl was wat,
And down ayont the ingle he sat ;
My dochter's shouthers he 'gan to clap,
And cadgily ranted and sang.

'O wow! quo' he, 'were I as free
As first whan I saw this countrie,
How blithe and merry wad I be!
And I wad never think lang."'

He grew canty, and she grew fain;
But little did her auld minny ken
What thir slee twa togidder were sayen,

When wooing they were sae thrang.

'And O!' quo' he, and ye were as black
As ever the crown o' your daddy's hat,
"Tis I wad lay thee by my back,

And awa wi' thee I'd gang.'

'And O!' quo' she, and I were as white
As e'er the snaw lay on the dike,
I'd cleid me braw and lady-like,
And awa wi' thee I'd gang.'
Between the twa was made a plot;
They raise a wee before the cock,
And wilyly they shot the lock,

And fast to the bent are they gane.
Upon the morn the auld wife raise,
And at her leisure put on her claise,
Syne to the servants' bed she gaes,

To speir for the silly poor man.

She gaed to the bed where the beggar lay;
The strae was cauld-he was away;
She clapt her hands, cried: Duleful day!
For some o' our gear will be gane.'
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist,
But nought was stown that could be mist;
She danced her lane, cried: Praise be blest
I have lodged a leal poor man.

Since nathing's awa, as we can learn,
The kirn's to kirn, and milk to yearn;
Gae butt the house, lass, and waken my bairn,
And bid her come quickly ben.'

The servant gued where the dochter lay;
The sheets were cauld-she was away,
And fast to her gudewife 'gan say:

'She's aff wi' the Gaberlunzie-man!'

'O fie gar ride, and fie gar rin,
And haste ye find these traitors again!
For she's be burnt, and he's be slain;
The wearifu' Gaberlunzie-man.'
Some rade upo' horses, some ran a-fit;
The wife was wud, and out o' her wit;
She could na gang, nor yet could she sit,
But aye did curse and did ban.

Meantime, far hind out owre the lea,
Fu' snug in a glen where nane could see,
Thir twa, wi' kindly sport and glee,

Cut frae a new cheese a whang.

The prieving was good, it pleased them baith;
To lo'e her for aye he gae her his aith;
Quo' she: To leave thee I will be laith,
My winsome Gaberlunzie-man.

'Oken'd my minny I were wi' you,
Ill-far'dly wad she crook her mou',
Sic a puír man she'd never trow,

After the Gaberlunzie-man.'

'My dear,' quod he, 'ye're yet owre young,
An' hae na learned the beggar's tongue,
To fallow me frae town to town,

And carry the Gaberlunzie on.

'Wi' kauk and keel I'll win your bread,
And spinnels and whorls for them wha need,
Whilk is a gentle trade indeed,

To carry the Gaberlunzie on.
I'll bow my leg and crook my knee,
An' draw a black clout owre my e'e,
A cripple or blind they will ca' me,
While we will sing and be merrie.'

PROSE LITERATURE.

SIR JOHN FORTESCUE.

The first prose writer of eminence after Mandeville and Wycliffe was SIR JOHN FORTESCUE, Chief-justice of the King's Bench under Henry VI. and a constant adherent of the fortunes of that monarch. He flourished between the years 1430 and 1480. Besides several Latin tracts, Chief justice Fort scue wrote one in the English language, entitled 'The Difference between an Absolute and Limited Monarchy as it more particularly regards the English Constitution,' in which he draws a striking, though perhaps exaggerated contrast between the condition of the French under an arbitrary monarch, and that of his own countrymen, who even then possessed considerable privileges as subjects. The French he describes as borne down by public burdens. They drink water, they eat apples, with bread, right brown, made of rye. They eat no flesh, but if it be seldom a little lard, or of the entrails or heads of beasts slain for the nobles and merchants of the land. They wear no woollen, but if it be a poor coat under their uttermost garment, made of great canvas, and passen not their knee; wherefore they be gartered and their thighs bare. Their wives and children gone barefoot.' And this, he exclaims, is the fruit of the French king's jus regale! Sir John is said to have died in 1485,

·

aged 90.

English Courage.

Original spelling.-It is cowardise and lack of hartes and corage that kepith the Frenchmen from rysyng, and not povertye; which corage no Frenche man hath like to the English mar. It hath ben often seen in Englond that iij or iv thefes, for povertie, hath sett upon vij or viij true men, and robbyd them al. But it hath not ben seen in Fraunce that vij or viij thefes have ben hardy to robbe iij or iv true men.

It is cowardice and lack of hearts and courage that keepeth the Frenchmen from rising, and not poverty; which courage no Frenchman hath like to the Englishman. It hath been often seen in England that three or four thieves, for poverty, hath set upon seven or eight true men, and robbed them all. But it hath not been seen in France that seven or eight thieves have been hardy to rob three or four true men. Wherefore it is right seld that Frenchmen be hanged for robbery, for that they have

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