WILLIAM

AND

MARGARE T.*

BY MR.

MALLET.

In a comedy of Fletcher, called The Knight of the burning Pefle, old Merry-Thought enters repeating the following verfes:

When it was grown to dark midnight,
And all were fait afleep,

In came Margaret's grimly ghost,

And flood at William's feet.

This was, probably, the beginning of feme ballad, commonly known, at the time when that author wrote; and is all of it, I believe, that is any where to be met with. Thefe lines, naked of ornament and fimple as they are, ftruck my fancy: and, bringing fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure, much talked of formerly, gave birth to the following poem; which was written manz years ago.

I.

WAS at the filent, folemn hour,
When night and morning meet;

In glided MARGARET's grimly ghaft,
And flood at WILLIAM's feet.

II.

Her face was like an April mora,
Clad in a wintry cloud :

And clay-cold was her lilly-hand,
That held her fable fhroud.

III.

So fhall the fairest face appear,
When youth and years are flown':
Such is the robe that kings must wear,
When death has reft their crown.

IV.

Her bloom was like a fpringing flower,
That fips the filver dew;

The role was budded in her cheek,
Juft opening to the view.

V.

But Love, had like the canker-worm,
Confum'd her early prime:

The rofe grew pale, and left her cheek;

She dy'd before her time.

VI.

Awake! fhe cry'd, thy true Love calls,

Come from her midnight grave;

Now let thy Pity hear the maid,

Thy Love refus'd to fave.

VII.

This is the dumb and dreary hour,
When injur'd ghofts complain;
When yawning graves give up their dead,
To haunt the faithlefs fwain.

VIII.

Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,
Thy pledge and broken oath :
And give me back my maiden-vow
And give me back my troth.

IX.

Why did you promife love to me,
And not that promife keep?
Why did you fwear my eyes were bright,
Yet leave thofe eyes to weep?

X.

How could you fay my face was fair,
And yet that face forfake?
How could you win my virgin heart,
Yet leave that heart to break?

XI.

Why did you fay my lip was fweet,
And made the scarlet pale?
And why did f, young witlefs maid!
Believe the flattering tale?

XII.

That face, alas! no more is fair;

Thofe lips no longer red:

Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death,

And every charm is fled.

-XIII.

The hungry worm my fister is;
This winding fheet I wear:
And cold and weary lafts our night,
Till that last morn appear.

XIV.

But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence ; A long and late adieu !

Come, fee, falfe man, how low fhe lies,

Who dy'd for love of you.

XV.

The lark fung loud; the morning fmil'd,

With beams of rofy red:

Pale William quak'd in every limb,

And raving left his bed.

XVI.

He hy'd him to the fatal place
Where Margaret's body lay:
And stretch'd him on the green grafs turf,
That wrap'd her breathless clay.

XVII.

And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name,

And thrice he wept full fore:

Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,

And word fpoke never more i

On the publication of this ballad, in the year 1760, Mr. Mallet fubjoined an atteftation of the truth of the facts related in it, which we shall give the reader literally:

Extract of a letter from the curate of Bowes in Yorkfhire, on the fubject of the preceding poem, to Mr. Copperthwaite at Marrick.

66

"Worthy fir,

"As to the affair mentioned in yours; it happened long before my time. I have therefore been obliged to confult my clerk. and another perfon in the neighbourhood for "the truth of that melancholy event. The hiftory of it is " as follows:

"The family-name of the young man was Wrightson; of the young maiden Řailton. They were both much of "the fame age; that is growing up to twenty In their "birth was no disparity; but in fortune, alas! fhe was