And wishe well to thy soule will I, So long as I have life; So will I not do for thee, Barnàrd, Thoughe I am thy wedded wife. 100
He cut her pappes from off her brest; Great pitye it was to see The drops of this fair ladyes bloode Run trickling downe her knee.
Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men all, 105 You never were borne for my goode: Why did you not offer to stay my hande, When you sawe me wax so woode?[227]
For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte, That ever rode on a steede; 110 So have I done the fairest lady, That ever ware womans weede.[228]
A grave, a grave, Lord Barnard cryde, To putt these lovers in; But lay my ladye o' the upper hande, 115 For she comes o' the better kin.
[+±+] That the more modern copy is to be dated about the middle of the last century, will be readily conceived from the tenor of the concluding stanza, viz.
"This sad Mischief by Lust was wrought; Then let us call for Grace, That we may shun the wicked vice, And fly from Sin a-pace."
[226] Ver. 64. Is whistling sheepe ore the mold, fol. MS.
[228] [See the last stanza of _Childe Maurice_ from Folio MS., book i. No. 18, which is almost identical with this.]
This sonnet appears to be ancient: that and its simplicity of sentiment have recommended it to a place here.
[This is marked in Ramsay's _Tea Table Miscellany_ as an old song with additions. It is not known who wrote the song or who composed the air belonging to it. They are both old.]
Will ye gae to the ew-bughts,[229] Marion, And wear in[230] the sheip wi' mee? The sun shines sweit, my Marion, But nae half sae sweit as thee. O Marion's a bonnie lass; 5 And the blyth blinks[231] in her ee: And fain wad I marrie Marion, Gin Marion wad marrie mee.
Theire's gowd in your garters, Marion; And siller on your white hauss-bane[232]: 10 Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion At eene quhan I cum hame. Theire's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion, Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee At kirk, quhan they see my Marion; 15 Bot nane of them lues[233] like mee.
Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion, A cow and a brawney quay;[234] Ise gie tham au to my Marion, Just on her bridal day. 20 And yees get a grein sey[235] apron, And waistcote o' London broun; And wow bot ye will be vaporing Quhaneir ye gang to the toun.