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Then up and spake the bauld baron,

An angry man was he:
He has tane the table wi his foot,

Sae has he wi his knie,
Till crystal cup and car dish

In flinders he gard flie.

" Gae bring a robe of your cliding,

" Wia the haste ye can,
.." And I'll gae to the gude grenewode,

“ And speik wi your leman."
• O bide at hame now lord Barnard !

I ward ye bide at hame; .
• Neir wyte a man for violence, .

• Wha neir wyte ye wi nane.'
Child Maurice sat in the grenewode,

He whistled and he sang :
“ O what meins a the folk coming ?

“ My nother tarries lang," :
The baron to the grenewode cam,

Wi meikle dule and care ;
And there he first spyd Child Maurice,

Kaming his yellow hair.
• Nae wonder, nae wonder, Child Maurice,

My lady loes thee weil : ,
“The faitest part of my body

• Is blacker than thy heil.
• Yet neis the less now, Child Mauricey

• For a thy great bewtie,

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• Ye'se rew the day ye eir was born;

• That heid sall gae wi me.'
Now he has drawn his trusty brand,

And slaided owr the strae;
And throuch Child Maurice fair body

He gar'd the cauld iron gae.
And he has tane Child Maurice heid,

And set it on a speir;
The meinest man in a his train,

Has gotten that heid to beir.
And he has tane Child Maurice up,

Laid him across his steid;
And brocht him to his painted bower

And laid him on a bed.

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" Obraid me not, my lord Barnard !

“ Obraid me not for shame! " Wi that sam spier, O perce my heart,

" And save me frae my pain! “ Since naething but Child Maurice heid

- Thy jealous rage cold quell " Let that same hand now tak her lyfe,

" That neir to thee did ill.

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• Dry up your teirs, my winsome dame,

* They neir can heal the wound; · Ye see his heid upon the speir,

• His heart's bluid on the ground. "I curse the hand that did the deid,

· The heart that thocht the ill, • The feet that bare me wi sic speid,

• The comely youth to kill.. • I'll aye lament for Child Maurice

As gin he war my ain; • I'll ne'er forget the dreary day

• On which the youth was slain.


IN ancient times, when Britain's trade was arms, And the lov'd music of her youth, alarms; A godlike race sustain'd fair England's fame : Who has not heard of gallant Piercy's name? Ay, and of DOUGLAS! Such illustrious foes In rival Rome and Carthage never rose! From age to age bright shone the British fire, And ev'ry hero was a hero's sire. When powerful fate decreed one warrior's doom, Up sprung the phenix from his parent's tomb. But whilst those generous rivals fought and fell, Those generous rivals lov'd each other well: Tho' many a bloody field was lost and won,. . Nothing in bare, in honour all was done. When PIERCY wrong'd, defy'l bis prince or peers, Fast came the DOUGLAS with his Scottish spears'; And, when proud DOUGLAS made bis King his foe, For DOUGLAS, Piercy bent his English bow. Expelld their native homes by adverse fare, They knock'd alternate at each other's gate: Then blaz'd the castle, at the midnight hour, For him whose arms bad shook its firmest row'r.

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