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"Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar,

I pray thee tell to me,

If ever at yon holy shrine

My true love thou didst see."

"And how should I know your true love

From many another one?"

"O, by his cockle hat, and staff,

And by his sandal shoone.*

But chiefly by his face and mien,
That were so fair to view;

His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd
And eyne of lovely blue.".

"O, lady, he is dead and gone!
Lady, he's dead and gone!

And at his head a green grass turfe,
And at his heels a stone. 18

Within these holy cloysters long
He languisht, and he dyed,
Lamenting of a ladyes love,

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And 'playning of her pride.

Here bore him barefac'd on his bier
Six proper youths and tall,

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And many a tear bedew'd his grave
Within yon rk-yard wall."

"And art thou dead, thou gentle youth!
And art thou dead and gone!

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And didst thou dye for love of me!
Break, cruel heart of stone!"

"O, weep not, lady, weep not soe;
Some ghostly comfort seek:
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,
Ne teares bedew thy cheek."

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*These are the distinguishing marks of a Pilgrim. The chief places of devotion being beyond sea, the pilgrims were wont to put cockle-shells in their hats to denote the intention or perforin ance of their devotion. Warb. Shakesp. Vol. viii. p. 224.

VOL. I.

K

"O, do not, do not, holy friar,

My sorrow now reprove;

For I have lost the sweetest youth,
That e'er wan ladyes love.

And nowe, alas, ! for thy sad losse,
I'll evermore weep and sigh;

For thee I only wisht to live,
For thee I wish to dye."

"Weep no more, lady, weep no more,

Thy sorrowe is in vaine :

For violets pluckt the sweetest showers J
Will ne'er make grow againe.

Our joys as winged dreams doe flye,
Why then should sorrow last?

Since grief but aggravates thy losse,
Grieve not for what is past."

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"O, say not soe, thou holy friar ;

I pray thee, say not soe:

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For since my true-love dyed for mee,

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'Tis meet my tears should flow.

And will he ne'er come again?

Will he ne'er come again?

Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,
For ever to remain.

His cheek was redder than the rose ;
The comliest youth was he!

But he is dead and laid in his grave:
Alas, and woe is me!"

"Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever:

One foot on sea and one on land,

To one thing constant never.

Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,
And left thee sad and heavy ;

For young men ever were fickle found,
Since summer trees were leafy."

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"Now, say not so, thou holy friar,

I pray thee say not soe;

My love he had the truest heart :
O, he was ever true!

And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth,

And didst thou dye for mee?

Then farewell home; for ever-inore

A pilgrim I will bee.

But first upon my true-loves grave

My weary limbs I'll lay,

And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf,
That wraps his breathless clay."

"Yet stay, fair lady; rest awhile
Beneath this cloyster wall:

See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind,

And drizzly rain doth fall."

"O, stay me not, thou holy friar ;

O, stay me not, I pray;

No drizzly rain that falls on me,
Can wash my fault away."

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But haply, for my year of grace *

Is not yet past away,

Might I still hope to win thy love,
No longer would I stay."

"Now farewell grief, and welcome joy
Once more unto my heart;

*The year of probation or noviciate.

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For since I have found thee, lovely youth,
We never more will part."

**As the foregoing song has been thought to have suggested to our late excellent poet Dr. Goldsmith, the plan of his beautiful ballad of "Edwin and Emma" (first printed in his "Vicar of Wakefield ") it is but justice to his memory to declare, that his poem was written first, and that if there is any imitation in the case, they will be found both to be indebted to that beautiful old ballad "Gentle Herdsman," &c. printed in the second volume of this work, which the Doctor had much admired in manuscript, and has finely improved. See Vol. ii. Book i. song xiv. ver. 37. pag. 62, &c.

THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK.

Reliques

OF

ANCIENT POETRY, &c.

SERIES THE FIRST.-BOOK III.

I.

THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY

CHACE.

At the beginning of this volume we gave the old original Song of "Chevy Chace." The reader has here the more improved edition of that fine Heroic ballad. It will afford an agreeable entertainment to the curious to compare them together, and to see how far the latter bard has excelled his predecessor, and where he has fallen short of him. For tho' he has every where improved the versification, and generally the sentiment and diction; yet some few passages retain more dignity in the ancient copy; at least the obsoleteness of the style serves as a veil to hide whatever might appear too familiar or vulgar in them. Thus, for instance, the catastrophe of the gallant Witherington is in the modern copy exprest in terms which never fail at present to excite ridicule : whereas in the original it is related with a plain and pathetic simplicity, that is liable to no such unlucky effect: See the stanza in page 11, which, in modern orthography, &c. would run thus:

"For Witherington my heart is woe,
That ever he slain should be:
For when his legs were hewn in two,
He knelt and fought on his knee."

So again the stanza which describes the fall of Montgomery ts somewhat more elevated in the ancient copy:

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