THIS is a very ancient song, but we could only give it from a modern copy. Some editions, instead of the four last lines in the second stanza, have these, which have too much merit to be wholly suppressed :

"Whan cockle shells turn siller bells,

And muscles grow on every tree,
When frost and snaw sall warm us aw',

Than sall my love prove true to me.'

See the Orpheus Caledonius, &c.

Arthur's-seat, mentioned in verse 17, is a hill near Edinborough; at the bottom of which is St. Anthony's well.

O WALY waly up the bank,

And waly waly down the brae,

And waly waly yon burn side,

Where I and my love wer wont to gae.

I leant my back unto an aik,

I thought it was a trusty tree;

But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,
Sae my true love did lichtly me.

O waly waly, gin love be bonny,
A little time while it is new;

5

10

But when its auld, it waxeth cauld,
And fades awa' like morning dew.
O wherfore shuld I busk my head?
Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair?
For my true love has me forsook,

And

says he'll never loe me mair.

Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed,

The sheets shall neir be fyl'd by me: Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,

Since my true love has forsaken me. Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,

And shake the green leaves aff the tree? O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum?

Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,

Nor blawing snaws inclemencìe; 'Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry, But my loves heart grown cauld to me. Whan we came in by Glasgowe town,

We were a comely sight to see, My love was cled in black velvet, And I my sell in cramasìe.

But had I wist, before I kisst,

I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd,

35

And pinnd it with a siller pin.

And, oh! if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurses knee,

And I my sell were dead and gane!

For a maid again Ise never be.

40

XII.

The Wanton Wife of Bath.

FROM an ancient copy in black-print, in the Pepys colection. Mr. Addison has pronounced this an excellent ballad: See the Spectator, No. 248.

IN Bath a wanton wife did dwelle,

As Chaucer he doth write;

Who did in pleasure spend her dayes,
And many a fond delight.

Upon a time sore sicke she was

And at the length did dye; And then her soul at heaven gate, Did knocke most mightilye.

5

First Adam came unto the gate :

Who knocketh there? quoth hee.

10

I am the wife of Bath, she sayd,

And faine would come to thee.

Thou art a sinner, Adam sayd,

And here no place shalt have.

And so art thou, I trowe, quoth shee, 'And eke a' doting knave.

15

I will come in, in spight, she sayd,
Of all such churles as thee;

She knockes again with might and maine,

And Lot he chides her straite.

How now, quoth she, thou drunken ass,

35

Who bade thee here to prate?

Ver. 16. Now gip you. P.

With thy two daughters thou didst lye,
On them two bastardes got.

And thus most tauntingly she chaft

Against poor silly Lot.

Who calleth there, quoth Judith then,
With such shrill sounding notes ?

40

This fine minkes surely came not here,

Quoth she, for cutting throats.

Good Lord, how Judith blush'd for shame,

45

When she heard her say soe!

King David hearing of the same,
He to the gate would goe.

Quoth David, who knockes there so loud,
And maketh all this strife?

You were more kinde, good Sir, she sayd,
Unto Uriah's wife.

And when thy servant thou didst cause

In battle to be slaine:

Thou causedst far more strife than I,
Who would come here so faine.

The woman's mad, quoth Solomon,
That thus doth taunt a king.
Not half so mad as you, she sayd,

I trowe, in manye a thing.

VOL. III.