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125

And there he first spied Gill Morice

Kameing his zellow hair :
That sweetly wavd around his face,

That face beyond compare :
He sang sae sweet it might dispel

A' rage but fell despair.

130

Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice,

My lady loed thee weel,
The fairest part of my bodie

Is blacker than thy heel.
Zet neir the less now, Gill Morice,

For a' thy great beautiè,
Ze's rew the day ze eir was born;
That head sall

gae

135

wi' me.

140

Now he has drawn his trusty brand,

And slaited on the strae ;
And thro' Gill Morice' fair body
He's
gar

cauld iron gae.
And he has tain Gill Morice' head

And set it on a speir ;
The meanest man in a' his train

Has gotten that head to bear.

145

And he has tain Gill Morice up,

Laid him across his steid,

Ver. 128. So Milton,

Vernal delight and joy : able to drive
All sadness but despair.

B. iv. v, 155.

And

And brocht him to his painted bowr,

And laid him on a bed.
The lady sat on castil wa',

Beheld baith dale and doun;
And there she saw Gill Morice' head

Cum trailing to the toun.

150

155

Far better I loe that bluidy head,

Both and that zellow hair,
Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands,

As they lig here and thair.
And she has tain her Gill Morice,

And kissd baith mouth and chin :
I was once as fow of Gill Morice,

As the hip is o' the stean.

160

I got ze in my father's house,

Wi' mickle sin and shame;
I brocht thee up in gude grene wode,

Under the heavy rain.
Oft have I by thy cradle sitten,

And fondly seen thee sleip;
But now I gae about thy grave,

The saut tears for to weip.

165

170

And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik,
And

syne his bluidy chin : O better I loe my Gill Morice

Than a' my kith and kin !

Away, Away, away, ze ill woman,

And an il deith mait ze dee : Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son,

He'd neir bin slain for mee.

175

180

Obraid me not, my lord Barnard !

Obraid me not for shame!
Wi' that saim speir O pierce my heart !

And put me out o' pain.
Since nothing bot Gill Morice head

Thy jelous rage could quell,
Let that saim hand now tak hir life,

That neir to thee did ill.

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195

With waefo wae I hear zour plaint;

Sair, sair I rew the deid,
That eir this cursed hand of mine

Had gard his body bleid.
Dry up zour tears, my winsome dame,

Ze neir can heal the wound;

Ze

the speir,

Ze see his head

upon
His heart's blude on the ground.

200

I curse the hand that did the deid,

The heart that thocht the ill ;
The feet that bore me wi' silk speid,

The comely zouth to kill.
I'll
ay

lament for Gill Morice,
As gin he were mine ain;
I'll neir forget the dreiry day

On which the zouth was slain.

205

*** This little pathetic tale suggested the plot of the tragedy of Douglas.

Since it was first printed, the Editor has been assured that the foregoing Ballad is still current in many parts of Scotland, where the hero is universally known by the name of Child Maurice, pronounced by the common people CHEILD or CHEELD; which occasioned the mistake.

be

proper to mention, that other copies read ver. 110 thus :

“ Shot frae the golden sun.” And ver. 116 as follows :

“ His een like azure sheene."

It may

THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

RELIQUES

OF

Ancient Poetry, (tc.

SERIES THE THIRD.

BOOK II.

I.

THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY

contains a short summary of the exploits of this famous champion, as recorded in the old story books ; and is commonly intitled, “A pleasant song of the “valiant deeds of chivalry atchieved by that noble knight "sir Guy of Warwick, who, for the love of fair Phelis, " became a hermit, and dyed in a cave of craggy rocke,

a mile distant from Warwick.”

The history of sir Guy, though now very properly resigned to children, was once admired by all readers of

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