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There are manye that are my friendes, mother ;

But were every one my foe,
Betide me life, betide me death,
To lord Thomas his wedding I'ld goe.


She cloathed herself in gallant attire,

And her merrye men all in greene; And as they rid through every towne,

They took her to be some queene.


But when she came to lord Thomas his gate,

She knocked there at the ring;
And who was so readye as lord Thomas,

To lett faire Ellinor in.


Is this your bride, fair Ellinor sayd ?

Methinks she looks wonderous browne; Thou mightest have had as faire a woman,

As ever trod on the grounde.

Despise her not, fair Ellin, he sayd,

Despise her not unto mee;
For better I love thy little finger,

Than all her whole bodèe.


This browne bride had a little penknife,

That was both long and sharpe,
And betwixt the short ribs and the long,

She prick'd faire Ellinor's harte.


O Christ O Christ thee save, lord Thomas, hee sayd,

Methinks thou lookst wonderous wan;
Thou usedst to look with as fresh a coldur,

As ever the sun shone on.


Oh, art thou blind, lord Thomas ? she sayd,

Or canst thou not very well see?
Oh! dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode

Run trickling down my knee.

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Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side ;

As he walked about the halle,
He cut off his brides head from her shoulders,

And threw it against the walle.

He set the hilte against the grounde,

And the point against his harte.
There never three lovers together did meete,

That sooner againe did parte.


* The reader will find a Scottish song on a similar subject to this, towards the end of this volume, intitled, LORD THOMAS AND LADY ANNET."



This elegant little sonnet is found in the third act of an old play, intitled, “ Alexander and Campaspe," written by John Lilye, a celebrated writer in the time of queen Elizabeth. That play was first printed in 1591 : but this copy is given from a later edition.

Cupid and my Campaspe playd
At cardes for kisses; Cupid payd :
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,
His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lippe, the rose
Growing on's cheek (but none knows how),
With these, the crystal of his browe,
And then the dimple of his chinne;
All these did my Campaspe winne.
At last he set her both his eyes,
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.

O Love! has she done this to thee?
What shally alas ! become of mee?



is given from a written copy, containing some improvements (perhaps modern ones), upon the popular ballad, intitled, • The famous flower of Serving-men: " or the Lady turned Serving-man.”

You beauteous ladyes, great and small,
I write unto you one and all,
Whereby that you may understand
What I have suffered in the land.


I was by birth a lady faire,
An ancient barons only heire,
And when my good old father dyed,
Then I became a young knightes bride.


And there my love built me a bower,
Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower ;
A braver bower you ne'er did see
Then my true love did build for mee.

And there I livde a ladye gay,
Till fortune wrought our loves decay ;
For there came foes so fierce a band,
That soon they over-run the land,



They came upon us in the night,
And brent my bower, and slew my knight;
And trembling hid in mans array,
I scant with life escap'd away.


In the midst of this extremitie,
My servants all did from me flee:
Thus was I left myself alone,
With heart more cold than any stone.


Yet though my heart was full of care,
Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire,
Wherefore in haste I chang'd my name
From faire Elise, to sweet Williame :


And therewithall I cut my haire,
Resolv'd my man's attire to weare ;
And in my beaver, hose and band,
I travellid far through many a land.

At length all wearied with my toil,
I sate me downe to rest awhile;
My heart it was so fill’d with woe,
That downe my cheeke the teares did flow.


It chanc'd the king of that same place
With all his lords a hunting was,
And seeing me weepe, upon the same
Askt who I was, and whence I came.



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