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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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The lady on the castle wa
Beheld baith dale and down;

And there she saw Child Maurice heid
Cum trailing to the toun.

“Better I loe that bluidy heid,
“Bot and that yellow hair,

“Than lord Barnard and a his lands “As they lig here and there.”

And she has tane Child Maurice heid, And kissed baith cheik and chin ;

** I was anes fow of Child Maurice “As the hip is o the stane.

“I gat ye in my father's house “ Wi meikle sin and shame :

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“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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PROLOGUE.

IN antient 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 8
Ay, and of Do UG LAs Such illustrious foes
In rival Rome and Carthage never rose!
From age to age bright shone the British fire,
And every hero was a hero's sire.
When powerful fate decreed one warrior's doom,
Up sprung the phanix 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 hate, in honour all was done.
When PIERCY wrong’d, defy'd his prince or peers,
Fast came the Dou G LAs with his Scottish spears;
And, when proud Do UG LAs made his King his foe,
For Doug LAs, PIERcy bent his English bow.
Expell'd their native homes by adverse fate,
They knock'd alternate at each other's gate:
Then blaz'd the castle, at the midnight hour,

For him whose arms had shock its firmest tow’r. *

This night a Doug LA's your protećlion claims;
A wife! a mother! Pity's softest names:
The story of her woes indulgent hear,
And grant your suppliant all she begs, a tear.
In confidence she begs; and hopes to find
Each English breast, like noble PIERcy’s, kind.

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