For with hempen cord its better
To stop each poor man's breath,
Than with famine you should see
Your subjects starve to death.
Up starts a Dutch Lord,
Who to Delaware did say,

Thou deservest to be stabb'd!

Then he turn'd himself

away:

Thou deservest to be stabb'd,

And the dogs have thine ears, For insulting our King

In this Parliament of peers; Up sprang a Welsh Lord,

In

The brave Duke of Devonshire, young Delaware's defence, I'll fight This Dutch Lord, my Sire.

For he is in the right,

And I'll make it so appear:
Him I dare to single combat,
For insulting Delaware.
A stage was soon erected,

And to combat they went,
For to kill, or to be kill'd,
It was either's full intent.

But the

very first flourish, When the heralds gave command, The sword of brave Devonshire

Bent backward on his hand;

LORD DELAWARE.

In suspense he paused awhile,
Scann'd his foe before he strake,
Then against the king's armour,
His bent sword he brake.

Then he sprang from the stage,
To a soldier in the ring,

Saying, "Lend your sword, that to an end

This tragedy we bring:

Though he's fighting me in armour,

While I am fighting bare,

Even more than this I'd venture,

Leaping back on the stage,

Sword to buckler now resounds,

Till he left the Dutch Lord

A bleeding in his wounds:

This seeing, cries the King

To his guards without delay, "Call Devonshire down,

Take the dead man away!"

No, says brave Devonshire,

I've fought him as a man,

Since he's dead, I will keep

The trophies I have won;

For he fought me in your armour,

While I fought him bare,

137

And the same you must win back, my Liege,

If ever you them wear.

God bless the Church of England,
May it prosper on each hand,
And also every poor man

Now starving in this land;

And while I pray success may crown

Our king upon his throne,

I'll wish that every poor man,

May long enjoy his own.

An imperfect copy of the foregoing interesting Ballad, was noted down by us from the singing of a gentleman in this city, which has necessarily been re-modelled and smoothed down to the present measure, without any other liberties, however, having been taken with the original narrative, which is here carefully preserved as it was committed to us, while the spirit of our original, so far as our endeavours were competent for the task, has been retained throughout. We have not, as yet, been able to trace out the historical incident upon which the Ballad appears to have been founded, yet those curious in such matters may consult, if they list, " Proceedings and Debates in the House of Commons, for 1621 and 1622," where they will find that some stormy debatings in these several years, have been agitated in Parliament regarding the Corn Laws, which bear pretty close upon the leading features of the above. The air is beautiful, and peculiar to the Ballad.

THE BONNY LASS O' GOWRIE.

A wee bit north frae yon green wood,
Whare draps the sunny showerie,
The lofty elm-trees spread their boughs,
To shade the braes o' Gowrie;
An' by yon burn ye scarce can see,
There stan's a rustic bowerie,
Whare lives a lass mair dear to me,

Than a' the maids in Gowrie.

THE BONNY LASS O' GOWRIE.

Nae gentle bard e'er sang her praise,
'Cause fortune ne'er left dowrie;
The rose blaws sweetest in the shade,
So does the flower o' Gowrie.
When April strews her garlands roun',
She barefoot treads the flowrie;

Her sang gars

a' the woodlands ring,

That shade the braes o' Gowrie.

Her modest blush an' downcast e'e,
A flame sent beating through me;
For she surpasses all I've seen,

This peerless flower o' Gowrie.

I've lain upon the dewy green
Until the evening hourie,

An' thought 'gin ere I durst ca' mine,
The bonnie lass o' Gowrie.

The bushes that o'erhang the burn,
Sae verdant an' sae flowerie,

Can witness that I love alane,

The bonnie lass o' Gowrie.

Let ithers dream, an' sigh for wealth,

An' fashions fleet an' flowery,

Gie me that hamely innocence
Upon the braes o' Gowrie.

139

Revised from an old stall copy, which ascribes the composition of the original Ballad to a COL. JAMES RAMSAY of Stirling Castle.

THE EWE LAMB.

I'LL gie thee jewels, an' I'll gie thee rings,
I'll gie thee pearls, an' many fine things,

I'll gie thee silk petticoats fringed to the knee,
If thou'lt lea'e father an' mother, an' marry wi' me.

I'll nane o' your jewels, I'll nane o' your rings,
I'll nane o' your pearlings nor ither fine things,
Nor skyrin silk petticoats fringed to the knee,
But I'll lea' father an' mother, an' marry wi' thee.

But my father's a shepherd, wi' his flocks on yon hill,
Ye may gang to the auld man, an' ask his gude-will:
Indeed will I, Jeanie, an' bring answer to thee,
Sae, amang the berry-bushes 'gin gloamin meet me.

Good-morrow, old father! ye're feeding your flock;
Will you grant me a ewe-lamb to bring up a stock?
Indeed will I, Jamie, says he, frank an' free:
Sae, amang the berrie-bushes, my Jeanie met me.

How blyth look'd young Jamie, as he took her by the hand,
Syne up before the old man this young couple stand;
Says, this is the ewe-lamb that I ask'd of thee,
'Twas amang the berry-bushes this young thing met me.

O foul fa' thee, Jamie, thou hast me beguil'd,

I little thought the ewe-lamb thou ask'd was my child; But since it is sae, that in love you agree,

My blessing gang wi' ye, my dochter, quoth he.