From Allan Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. The concluding stanza of this piece seems modern.

THERE came a ghost to Margaret's door,

With many a grievous grone,

And ay

he tirled at the pin,

But answer made she none.

"Is this my father Philip?

Or is't my brother John?

Or is't my true love Willie,

From Scotland new come home?"

Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee."

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Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, 'Of me shalt nevir win,'

Till that thou come within my bower,

And kiss my cheek and chin."

"If I should come within thy bower, I am no earthly man :

And should I kiss thy rosy lipp,

Thy days will not be lang.

"O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,

I

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pray thee speak to mee:

Give me my faith and troth, Margret,

As I gave it to thee."

"Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, 'Of me shalt nevir win,'

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"Hae there your faith and troth, Willie,

God send your soul good rest."

Now she has kilted her robes of green

A piece below her knee,

And a' the live-lang winter night

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The dead corps followed shee.

"Is there any room at your head, Willie?

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"There's nae room at my head, Margret,

There's nae room at my feet;

There's no room at my side, Margret,

My coffin is made so meet."

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No more the ghost to Margret said,

But, with a grievous grone,

Evanish'd in a cloud of mist,
And left her all alone.

"O stay, my only true love, stay,"

The constant Margret cried:

Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een,
Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died.

VII.

Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

Printed, with a few conjectural emendations, from a written copy.

It was in and about the Martinmas time,
When the greene leaves wer a fallan,
That Sir John Grehme o' the west countrye
Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan.

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He sent his man down throw the towne,
To the plaice wher she was dwellan :

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"O haste and cum to my maister deare,
bin Barbara Allan."

Gin

ye

O hooly, hooly raise she up,

To the plaice wher he was lyan;
And whan she drew the curtain by,
"Young man, I think ye're dyan.'

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1 An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes dyand and lyand ought to be transposed; as the taunt, Young man, I think ye're lyand,' would be very characteristical.

VOL. II.

194

THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.

"O its I'm sick, and very, very sick,

And its a' for Barbara Allan."
"O the better for me ye'se never be,

Though your harts blude wer spillan.

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"Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir,

Whan ye the cups wer fillan,

How ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan ?"

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The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington.

From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, with some improvements communicated by a lady as she had heard the same recited in her youth. The full title is, “True love requited; or, the Bailiff's daughter of Islington."

Islington in Norfolk is probably the place here meant.

THERE was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe,
And he was a squires son :

He loved the bayliffes daughter deare,

That lived in Islington.

THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.

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Yet she was coye, and would not believe
That he did love her soe,

5

Noe nor at any time would she

Any countenance to him showe.

But, when his friendes did understand

His fond and foolish minde,

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They sent him up to faire London,

An apprentice for to binde.

And when he had been seven long yeares,
And never his love could see,-

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Many a teare have I shed for her sake,
When she little thought of mee.'

15

She started up, with a colour soe redd,
Catching hold of his bridle-reine;

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"One penny, one penny, kind sir," she sayd, "Will ease me of much paine.'

وو

"Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart,

Praye tell me where you were borne."

"At Islington, kind sir," sayd shee,
"Where I have had many a scorne."

"I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee,
O tell me, whether you knowe

The bayliffes daughter of Islington." "She is dead, sir, long agoe."

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