And of the rest, of small account,

Did many hundreds die:

Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase,
Made by the Earl Percy.

God save the king, and bless this land,
With plenty, joy, and peace;

And grant, henceforth, that foul debate

"Twixt noblemen may cease.

Unknown

BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY

IN Scarlet town, where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin',
Made every youth cry Well-a-way!
Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merry month of May,
When green buds they were swellin',
Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his man in to her then,

To the town where she was dwellin', "O haste and come to my master dear, If your name be Barbara Allen."

So slowly, slowly rase she up,

And slowly she came nigh him, And when she drew the curtain by"Young man, I think you're dyin'."

"O it's I am sick and very very sick,
And it's all for Barbara Allen."
"O the better for me ye'se never be,

Though your heart's blood were a-spillin'!

"O dinna ye mind, young man," says she,
"When the red wine ye were fillin',

That ye made the healths go round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allen?"

He turned his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealin':
"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allen!"

As she was walking o'er the fields,
She heard the dead-bell knellin';"
And every jow the dead-bell gave
Cried "Woe to Barbara Allen."

"O mother, mother, make my bed,
O make it saft and narrow:
My love has died for me to-day,
I'll die for him to-morrow.

"Farewell," she said, "ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:

Henceforth take warning by the fall

Of cruel Barbara Allen."

Unknown

THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON

THERE was a youth, a well-beloved youth,

And he was a squire's son,

He loved the bailiff's daughter dear,

That lived in Islington.

Yet she was coy and would not believe i

That he did love her so,

No, nor at any time would she

Any countenance to him show.

But when his friends did understand

His fond and foolish mind, They sent him up to fair London An apprentice for to bind.

And when he had been seven long years,
And never his love could see:

Many a tear have I shed for her sake,
When she little thought of me.

Then all the maids of Islington

Went forth to sport and play, All but the bailiff's daughter dear; She secretly stole away.

She pulled off her gown of green,
And put on ragged attire,
And to fair London she would go
Her true-love to enquire.

As she went along the high road,
The weather being hot and dry,
She sat her down upon a green bank,
And her true-love came riding by.

She started up, with a color so red,
Catching hold of his bridle-rein;
One penny, one penny, kind sir, she said,
Will ease me of much pain.

Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart. Pray tell me where you were born.

At Islington, kind sir, said she,

Where I have had many a scorn.

I prithee, sweet-heart, then tell to me,

O tell me,

whether you know,

The bailiff's daughter of Islington.

She is dead, sir, long ago.

If she be dead, then take my horse,

My saddle and bridle also;

For I will unto some far country,
Where no man shall me know.

O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth,
She standeth by thy side;
She is here, alive, she is not dead,
And ready to be thy bride.

O farewell grief, and welcome joy,
Ten thousand times therefor;

For now I have found mine own true-love,
Whom I thought I should never see more.

Unknown

KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF
CANTERBURY

An ancient story I'll tell you anon

Of a notable prince that was called King John;
And he ruled England with main and with might,
For he did great wrong, and maintained little right.

And I'll tell you a story, a story so merry,
Concerning the Abbot of Canterbury;
How for his house-keeping and high renown,
They rode post for him to fair London town.

An hundred men the king did hear say,
The abbot kept in his house every day;
And fifty gold chains without any doubt,
In velvet coats waited the abbot about.

"How now, father abbot, I hear it of thee,
Thou keepest a far better house than me;
And for thy house-keeping and high renown,
I fear thou work'st treason against my own crown."

"My liege," quo' the abbot, "I would it were known
I never spend nothing, but what is my own;
And I trust your grace will do me no deere,
For spending of my own true-gotten gear."

"Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is high,
And now for the same thou needest must die;
For except thou canst answer me questions three,
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.

"And first," quo' the king, "when I'm in this stead, With my crown of gold so fair on my head,

Among all my liege-men so noble of birth,
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worth.

"Secondly, tell me, without any doubt,

How soon I may ride the whole world about;
And at the third question thou must not shrink,
But tell me here truly what I do think."

"O these are hard questions for my shallow wit,
Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet:
But if you will give me but three weeks' space,
I'll do my endeavor to answer your grace."

"Now three weeks' space to thee will I give,
And that is the longest time thou hast to live;
For if thou dost not answer my questions three,
Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to me."

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word,
And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford;
But never a doctor there was so wise,
That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold,
And he met his shepherd a-going to fold:
"How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home;
What news do you bring us from good King John?"