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Ballade. And drinke thou up this deadlye draught,

Which I have brought to thee.

Then presentlye upon her knees
Sweet Rofamonde did falle;
And pardon of the queene fhe crav'd
For her offences all.

Take pitty on my youthfull yeares,
" Fair Rofamonde did crye;

And lett mee not with poison stronge
Enforced bee to dye.

I will renounce my finfull life,
And in fome cloyfter bide;
Or elfe be banifht, if you please,
To range the world foe wide.

And for the fault which I have done,
Though I was forc'd theretoe,
Preferve my life, and punish mee
As you thinke meet to doe."

And with these words, her lillie handes
She wrunge full often there;
And down along her lovely face
Did trickle many a teare.

But nothing could this furious queene
Therewith appeafed bee;
The cup of deadlye poifon ftronge,
As fhe knelt on her knee,

Shee gave this comelye dame to drinke,
Who tooke it in her hand,
And from her bended knee arofe,

And on her feet did ftand:

And cafting up her eyes to heaven,
Shee did for mercye calle;

And drinking up the poifon ftronge,
Her life fhe loft withalle.

And

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Dr. Percy gab diese Ballade in s. Reliques, T. III. P. 78. aus einem alten Abdruck unter der Aufschrift: A tragical ballad on the unfortunate love of lord Thomas and fair Ellinor, together with the downfall of the brown girl. Auch führt er an, daß sie hernach in einem andern Sylbenz maaß modernisirt sey. In den von Herrn Urfinus herausz gegebenen Balladen und Liedern, S. 68 ff. fieht sie gleichfalls, mit einer von mir versuchten Ueberseßung. Eine andre gab Bodmer, in seinen Altengl. Balladen, B, I. S. 106.

LORD Thomas he was a bold forreftèr,
And a chafer of the Kings deere;

Faire Ellinor was a fine woman,

And lord Thomas he loved her deare.

Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, he fayd,
And riddle us both as one;

Whether I fhall marrye with faire Ellinor,
And let the browne girl alone?

The browne girl fhe has got houses and lands,
Faire Ellinor fhe has got none,

And therefore I charge thee on my blefling,
To bring me the browne girl home,

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Ballade. And as it befelle on a high holidaye

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As many there are beside,

Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinòr,

That should have been his bride.

And when he came to faire Ellinors bower,
He knocked there at the ring,

And who was fo readye as faire Ellinor,
To lett lord Thomas withinn.

What newes, what newes, lord Thomas, fhe faid?
What newes doft thou bring to mee?

I am come to bid thee to my weddin,
And that is bad newes for thee.

O God forbid, lord Thomas, fhe fayd,
That fuch a thing fhould be done;
I thought to have been thy bride my felfe,
And thou to have been the bridegrome.

Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, she sayd,
And riddle it all in one;

Whether I fhall goe to lord Thomas his wedding,
Or whether fhall tarry at home?

There are manye that are your friendes, daughter,
And manye that are your foe,

Therefore I charge you on my bleffing,

To lord Thomas his wedding don't goe.

There are manye that are my friendes, mother;
But if thousands there were my foe,

Betide me life, betide me death,

To lord Thomas his wedding Ild goe.

She cloathed herself in gallant attire,
And her merrye men all in greene,
And as they rid through everye towne,
They took her to be fome queene.

But when she came to lord Thomas his gate,
She knocked there at the ring;

And

Ballade.

And who was fo readye as lord Thomas,
To lett faire Ellinor in.

Is this your bride, faire Ellinor fayd?
Methinks the looks wonderous browne;
Thou mighteft have had as faire a woman,
As ever trod on the grounde.

Defpife her not, fair Ellin he fayd,
Defpife her not unto mee;
For better I love thy little finger,
Then all her whole bodèe.

This browne bride had a little penknife,
That was both long and sharpe,

And betwixt the fhort ribs and the long
She prickd faire Ellinor's harte

O Chrift thee fave, lord Thomas hee fayd,
Methinks thou lookft wonderous wan;
Thou ufedft to look with as fresh a colour,
As ever the fun fhone on.

Oh, art thou blind, lord Thomas? he fayd,
Or canst thou not very well fee?

Oh! doft thou not fee my own hearts bloode
Run trickling down my nee.

Lord Thomas he had word by his fide;
As he walked about the halle,

He cut off his brides head from her shoulders,
And threw it against the walle.

He fet the hilte against the grounde,
And the point against his harte.

There never three lovers together did meete,
That fooner againe did parte.

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Eine der schönsten neuern Balladen, von dem berühm ten Freunde Addison's, und seinem Mitarbeiter am Zu schauer, Thomas Tickel, geb. 1686, gest. 1740. von dem man, auffer vermischten Originalgedichten, eine poetische Uebersehung des ersten Buchs der Iliade, und des vierten Gesanges der Lukanischen Pharsalia hat. Mein Versuch einer Ueberschung dieser Ballade steht in des Herrn Ur finus Sammlung, S. 112; gern aber überlasse ich der Herderischen den Preis, in den Volksliedern, B. 1, S. 100, wo sie zugleich etwas abgeändert und dem einfachen alten Balladenton nåher gebracht ist.

LUCY AND COLIN.

Of Leinfter, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Not e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect fo fair a face.

Till luckless love, and pining care
Impair'd her rofy hue,

Her coral lip, and damaík cheek,
And eyes of gloffy blue.

Oh! have you feen a lily pale,

When beating rains defcend?
So droop'd the flow - confuming maid;
Her life now near its end.

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering fwains
Take heed, ye easy fair:

Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjured Twains beware.

Three times, all in the dead of night,

A bell was heard to ring;

And

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