Minstrelsy of the Scottish border: consisting of historical and romantic ballads, collected [by sir W. Scott]. [Another], Volume 1

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1821
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Page 9 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown...
Page 10 - To take the helm in hand, Till you go up to the tall top-mast ; But I fear you'll ne'er spy land.
Page 207 - OI sleep saft, and I wake aft, It's lang since sleeping was fley'd frae me ; Gie my service back to my wife and bairns, And a' gude fellows that spier for me." Then Red Rowan has hente him up, The starkest man in Teviotdale — "Abide, abide now, Red Rowan, Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell. " Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope ! My gude Lord Scroope, farewell ! " he cried — " I'll pay you for my lodging maill, When first we meet on the Border side.
Page lxii - I OFT have heard of Lydford law, How in the morn they hang and draw, And sit in judgment after : At first I wondered at it much ; But since I find the reason such, As it deserves no laughter.
Page 70 - When Percy wi the Douglas met, I wat he was fu fain; They swakked their swords, till sair they swat, And the blood ran down like rain. But Percy with his good...
Page 11 - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet...
Page 207 - Then shoulder high with shout and cry We bore him down the ladder lang; At every stride Red Rowan made, I wot the Kinmont's aims played clang. 'O mony a time,
Page 204 - Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?" Quo' fause Sakelde; "come tell to me!" "We go to hunt an English stag, Has trespassed on the Scots countrie.
Page 205 - Where be ye gaun, ye broken men ?' Quo' fause Sakelde ; ' come tell to me !' Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band, And the never a word o' lear had he. ' Why trespass ye on the English side ? Row-footed outlaws, stand!' quo' he; The never a word had Dickie to say, Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.
Page cvii - When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-labourers could not end ; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings.

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