But I haif marvel in certaine
Quhat makes thee thus wanrufe.
The wedder is fair, and I am fain;
My sheep gais hail abuve;
And sould we pley us on the plain,
They wald us baith repruve.'

'Robin, tak tent unto my tale, And wirk all as I reid;

And thou sall haif my heart all hale,

Eik and my maiden-heid:

Sen God, he sendis bute for bale,

And for murning remeid, I'dern with thee bot gif I dale, Doubtless I am but deid.'

'Makyne, to-morn be this ilk tyde,
Gif ye will meit me heir,

Maybe my sheip may gang besyde,
Quhyle we have liggd full neir;
But maugre haif I, gif I byde,

Frae thay begin to steir,

Quhat lyes on heart I will nocht hyd,
Then, Makyne, mak gude cheir.'

'Robin, thou reivs me of my rest;
I luve bot thee alane.'
'Makyne, adieu! the sun goes west,
The day is neir-hand gane.'

'Robin, in dule I am so drest,

That luve will be my bane.'

'Makyn, gae luve quhair-eir ye list, For leman I luid nane.'

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Robin, I stand in sic a style,

I sich and that full sair.'

'Makyne, I have bene here this quyle;

At hame I wish I were.'

Robin, my hinny, talk and smyle,

Gif thou will do nae mair.'

Makyne, som other man beguyle,

For hameward I will fare.'

Syne Robin on his ways he went,
As light as leif on tree;

But Makyne murnt and made lament,
Scho trow'd him neir to see.

Robin he brayd attowre the bent:
Then Makyne cried on hie,

Now may thou sing, for I am shent!
Quhat ailis luve at me?'

Makyne went hame withouten fail,

And weirylie could weip;

Then Robin in a full fair dale

Assemblit all his sheip.

Be that some part of Makyne's ail,
Out-throw his heart could creip;

Hir fast he followt to assail,

And till her tuke gude keip.

'Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne,

A word for ony thing;

For all my luve, it sall be thyne,

Withouten departing.

All hale thy heart for till have myne,

Is all my coveting;

My sheip to morn quhyle houris nyne,
Will need of nae keiping.'

'Robin, thou hast heard sung and say,
In gests and storys auld,

The man that will not when he may,

Sall have nocht when he wald.

I pray to heaven baith nicht and day,
Be eiked their cares sae cauld,

That

presses first with thee to play

Be forrest, firth, or fauld.'

'Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry,
The wether warm and fair,

And the grene wod richt neir-hand by,
To walk attowre all where:
There may nae janglers us espy,

That is in luve contrair;
Therin, Makyne, baith you and I
Unseen may mak repair.'

'Robin, that warld is now away,
And quyt brocht till an end:

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And nevir again thereto, perfay,
Sall it be as thou wend;

For of my pain thou made but play;

I words in vain did spend:

As thou hast done, sae sall I say,

Murn on, I think to mend.'

'Makyne, the hope of all my heil,
My heart on thee is set;
I'll evermair to thee be leil,
Quhyle I may live but lett,
Never to fail as uthers feill,

Quhat grace so eir I get.'

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115

Ver. 99, Bannatyne's MS. has woid, not woud, as in Ed. 1770.-Ver. 117, Bannatyne's MS. reads as above feill, not faill, as in Ed. 1770.

'Robin, with thee I will not deill;

Adieu, for this we met.'

Makyne went hameward blyth enough,
Outowre the holtis hair;

Pure Robin murnd, and Makyne leugh;
Scho sang, and he sicht sair:

And so left him bayth wo and wreuch,
In dolor and in care,

Keipand his herd under a heuch,

Amang the rashy gair.

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XIV.

GENTLE HERDSMAN, TELL TO ME.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A PILGRIM AND HERDSMAN.

The scene of this beautiful old ballad is laid near Walsingham, in Norfolk, where was anciently an image of the Virgin Mary, famous over all Europe for the numerous pilgrimages made to it, and the great riches it possessed. Erasmus has given a very exact and humorous description of the superstitions practised there in his time. See his account of the Virgo Parathalassia, in his colloquy, intitled, 'Peregrinatio religionis ergo.' He tells us, the rich offerings in silver, gold, and precious stones, that were there shewn him, were incredible, there being scarce a person of any note in England, but what some time or other paid a visit, or sent a present to our lady of Walsingham.'1 At the dissolution of the monasteries in 1538, this splendid image, with another from Ipswich, was carried to Chelsea, and there burnt in the presence of commissioners; who, we trust, did not burn the jewels and the finery.

This poem is printed from a copy in the Editor's folio MS. which had greatly suffered by the hand of time; but vestiges of several of the lines remaining, some conjectural supplements have been attempted, which, for greater exactness, are in this one ballad distinguished by italics.

'GENTLE heardsman, tell to me,

Of curtesy I thee pray,

Unto the towne of Walsingham

Which is the right and ready way.'

'See at the end of this ballad an account of the annual offerings of the Earls of Northumberland.

'Unto the towne of Walsingham
The way is hard for to be gon;
And verry crooked are those pathes
For you to find out all alone.'

'Weere the miles doubled thrise,
And the way never soe ill,

Itt were not enough for mine offence:
Itt is soe grievous and soe ill.'

'Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire,

Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are greene; Time hath not given thee leave, as yett,

For to committ so great a sinne.'

'Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say,
If thou knewest soe much as I;

My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest,
Have well deserved for to dye.

I am not what I seeme to bee,
My clothes and sexe doe differ farr:

I am a woman, woe is me!

Born to greeffe and irksome care.

For my beloved, and well-beloved,
My wayward cruelty could kill:
And though my teares will nought avail,
Most dearely I bewail him still.

He was the flower of noble wights,

None ever more sincere colde bee; Of comely mien and shape hee was, And tenderlye hee loved mee.

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