Before he had been gane a twelvemonth and a day, My father cou'dna work-my mother cou'dna spin; My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back; My father argued sair-my mother didna speak, But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break; I hadna been his wife a week but only four, I saw my Jamie's ghaist-I cou'dna think it he, Till he said, "I'm come hame, my love, to marry thee!" O sair, sair did we greet, and mickle I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin, Henry Carey. SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. OF F all the girls that are so smart There's none like pretty Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. There is no lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. Her father he makes cabbage-nets And through the streets does cry 'em ; Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy 'em : She is the darling of my heart, When she is by, I leave my work, And bangs me most severely But let him bang his bellyful, And she lives in our alley. Of all the days that's in the week And that's the day that comes betwixt My master carries me to church, I leave the church in sermon-time She is the darling of my heart, When Christmas comes about again, I would it were ten thousand pound, She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. My master and the neighbours all And, but for her, I'd better be A slave and row a galley; But when my seven long years are out O then we'll wed, and then we'll bed, THE TH Thomas Chatterton. BRISTOW TRAGEDY.' HE feathered songster chanticleer And told the early villager The coming of the morn: King Edward saw the ruddy streaks Of light eclipse the gray, And heard the raven's croaking throat Proclaim the fated day. "Thou'rt right," quoth he; "for by the God That sits enthroned on high! Charles Bawdin, and his fellows twain, To-day shall surely die." Then with a jug of nappy ale He leaves this mortal state." 1 Chatterton's antiquated orthography is not followed in this specimen. Sir Canterlone then bended low, He journied to the castle-gate, But when he came, his children twain, With briny tears did wet the floor, For good Sir Charles's life. "Oh, good Sir Charles!" said Canterlone, "Bad tidings I do bring." "Speak boldly, man," said brave Sir Charles; 66 What says the traitor king?" "I grieve to tell: before yon sun Does from the welkin fly, He hath upon his honour sworn, That thou shalt surely die.' "We all must die," said brave Sir Charles; "Of that I'm not afraid; What boots to live a little space? Thank Jesus, I'm prepared. "But tell thy king, for mine he's not, Than live his slave, as many are, Then Canterlone he did go out, |