I mark their gloze,

And it disclose

UNKNOWN.

[Before 1649.]

EDOM O' GORDON.

IT fell about the Martinmas,
When the wind blew shrill and cauld,
Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,

"We maun draw to a hauld.

"And whatna hauld sall we draw to, My merry men and me?

We will gae to the house of the Rodes, To see that fair ladye."

The lady stood on her castle wa', Beheld baith dale and down;

When I have done

I get me gone,

And leave them scolding, ho, ho,

ho!

Came riding towards the town.

"Gie owre your house, ye lady fair,
Gie owre your house to me;
Or I sall burn yoursell therein,
But and your babies three."

"I winna gie owre, ye fause Gordon, To nae sic traitor as thee; And if ye burn my ain dear babes,

My lord sall mak' ye dree.

"Now reach my pistol, Glaud, my man,
And charge ye weel my gun;
For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher,
My babes, we been undone !"

She stood upon her castle wa',

And let twa bullets flee:

She missed that bluidy butcher's heart, And only razed his knee.

"Set fire to the house!" quo' fause Gordon, Wud wi' dule and ire: "Fause ladye, ye sall rue that shot As ye burn in the fire!"

"Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man! I paid ye weel your fee;

Why pu' ye out the grund-wa' stane,
Lets in the reek to me?

"And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man!
I paid ye weel your hire;
Why pu' ye out the grund-wa' stane,
To me lets in the fire?"

But on the point o' Gordon's spear
She gat a deadly fa'.

O bonnie, bonnie was her mouth,
And cherry were her cheeks,
And clear, clear was her yellow hair,
Whereon the red blood dreeps.

23

Then wi' his spear he turned her owre;
O gin her face was wan!
He said, "Ye are the first that e'er
I wished alive again."

He cam' and lookit again at her;
O gin her skin was white!
"I might hae spared that bonnie face
To hae been some man's delight."

“Busk and boun, my merry men a',
For ill dooms I do guess ;-

I cannot look on that bonnie face
As it lies on the grass.'

"Wha looks to freits, my master dear, Its freits will follow them;

Let it ne'er be said that Edom o' Gordon Was daunted by a dame."

But when the ladye saw the fire

Come flaming o'er her head, She wept, and kissed her children twain, Says, "Bairns, we been but dead."

The Gordon then his bugle blew,

And said, "Awa', awa'!

This house o' the Rodes is a' in a flame; I hauld it time to ga'."

And this way lookit her ain dear lord,
As he came owre the lea;

He saw his castle a' in a lowe,
Sae far as he could see.

"Put on, put on, my wighty men,
As fast as ye can dri'e!

For he that's hindmost o' the thrang
Sall ne'er get good o' me."

Then some they rade, and some they ran,
Out-owre the grass and bent;

But ere the foremost could win up,
Baith lady and babes were brent.

And after the Gordon he is gane,

Sae fast as he might dri'e;

And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's blude He's wroken his fair ladye.

"In days when our King Robert reigned, His breeches cost but half a crown; He said they were a groat too dear,

And ca'd the tailor thief and loun. He was the king that wore the crown, And thou the man of low degree: It's pride puts a' the country down,

Sae take thy auld cloak about thee!"

"O Bell, my wife, why dost thou flout?
Now is now, and then was then.
Seek anywhere the world throughout,
Thou ken'st not clowns from gentle-

Then by there came twa gentlemen
At twelve o'clock at night;
And they could neither see house nor
hall,

Nor coal nor candle light.

And first they ate the white puddings,
And then they ate the black;
Though muckle thought the gudewife to
hersel',

Yet ne'er a word she spak'.

Then said the one unto the other,

"Here, man, tak' ye my knife!

SIR ROBERT AYTON.

[1570-1638.]

FAIR AND UNWORTHY.

I DO confess thou 'rt smooth and fair, And I might have gone near to love thee,

Had I not found the lightest prayer

THOMAS HEYWOOD.

[About 1640.]

GOOD-MORROW.

move thee:

But I can let thee now alone,

As worthy to be loved by none.

I do confess thou 'rt sweet; yet find Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, Thy favors are but like the wind,

That kisses everything it meets; And since thou canst with more than one, Thou 'rt worthy to be kissed by none.

The morning rose that untouched stands Armed with her briers, how sweetly smells!

But plucked and strained through ruder hands,

Notes from the lark I 'Il borrow;
Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale, sing,
To give my love good-morrow.

Wake from thy nest, robin red breast;
Sing, birds, in every furrow;
And from each hill let music shrill
Give my fair love good-morrow.
Blackbird and thrush in every bush,
Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow;
You pretty elves, among yourselves,
Sing my fair love good-morrow.

SEARCH AFTER GOD.

But scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her, one by one.

Such fate, erelong, will thee betide, When thou hast handled been awhile,

Like sere flowers to be thrown aside:
And I will sigh, while some will smile,
To see thy love for more than one
Hath brought thee to be loved by none.

WILLIAM STRODE.

[1600-1644.]

MUSIC.

O LULL me, lull me, charming air!
My senses rock with wonder sweet:
Like snow on wool thy fallings are;
Soft, like a spirit's, are thy feet!

Grief who need fear
That hath an ear?
Down let him lie

And slumbering die,

And change his soul for harmony!

God!