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Yet one of them, more hard of heart

Did vowe to do his charge,
Because the wretch that hired him

Had paid him very large.
The other would not agree thereto,

So here they fell at strife;
With one another they did fight

About the children's life :
And he that was of mildest mood

Did slay the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood ;

Where babes did quake for feare!

He took the children by the hand,

When teares stood in their eye,
And bad them come and go with him,

And look they did not crye:
And two long miles he ledd them thus,

While they for bread complaine : “Stay here,” quoth he, “ I'll bring ye bread,

When I do come againe.”

These pretty babes, with hand in hand,

Went wandering up and downe;
But never more they sawe the man

Approaching from the town;
Their prettye lippes, with black-berries,

Were all besmear'd and dyed,
And when they sawe the darksome night,

They sat them downe and cryed.

Thus wandered these two prettye babes,

Till deathe did end their grief; In one another's armes they dyed,

As babes wanting relief :

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No burial these prettye babes

Of any man receives,
Till robin-redbreast painfully

Did cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrathe of God

Upon their uncle fell ;
Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,

His conscience felt an hell:
His barnes were fired, his goods consumed,

His landes were barren made,
His cattle dyed within the field,

And nothing with him stayd.

1

And in the voyage of Portugal

Two of his sonnes did dye;
And, to conclude, himself was brought

Unto much miserye:
He pawn’d and mortgaged all his land

Ere seven years came about;
And now at length this wicked act

Did by these meanes come out:

The fellowe, that did take in hand

These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judged to dye,

As was God's blessed will;
Who did confess the very truth,

The which is here exprest; Their uncle dyed while he for debt

Did long in prison rest.

All you that be executors,

And overseers eke,
Of children that be fatherless,

And infants mild and meek;

Take you example by this thing,

And yield to each his right,
Lest God with such like miserye
Your wicked minds requite.

OLD BALLAD.

THE TWA BROTHERS.

THERE were twaa brothers at the scule,

And when they got awa'
It's “Will ye play at the stane-chucking, a

Or will ye play at the ba',
Or will ye gae up to yon hill head,

And there we'll warsell a fa’?"

JOHN.—"I winna play at the stane-chucking,

Nor will I play at the ba’,
But I'll gae up to yon bonny green hill,

And there we'll warsell a fa’.”

They warsled up, they warsled down,

Till John fell to the ground;
A dirk s fell out of William's pouch,"

And gave John a deadly wound.
JOHN.—“O lift me up upon your back,

Take me to yon well fair;
And wash my bluidy i wounds o'er and o'er,

And they'll ne'er bleed nae mair.” k

.Two.

b School. • Away I Wrestle a fall. & Dagger.

d Throwing stones. b Pocket. i Bloody.

e Ball More.

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He's lifted his brother upon his back,

Ta’en him to yon well fair ;
He's washed his bluidy wounds o'er and o’er,

But they bleed ay mair and mair.
“Tak ye aff my Holland sarka

And rive it gair by gair,
And rowd it in my bluidy wounds,

And they'll ne'er bleed nae mair."
He's taken aff his Holland sark,

And torn it gair by gair ;
He's row it in his bluidy wounds,

But they bleed ay mair and mair.
“ Tak now aff me green mantle,

And row me saftly e in;
And tak me up to yon kirk' style,

Whare the grass grows fair and green."
He's taken aff the green mantle,

And rowed him saftly in;
He's laid him down by yon kirk style,

Whare the grass grows fair and green.
JOHN.—“What will ye say to your father dear,

When ye gae hames at een " ?”
WILLIAM.—“I'll say ye're lying at yon kirk style,

Whare the grass grows fair and green.
JOHN.—“O no, O no, my brother dear,

O
you

must not say so ;
But say that I'm gaen to a foreign land,

Whare no man does me know."
When he sat in his father's chair
He
grew baith i pale and wan.
• Strip.

Softly. h Evening.

Shirt.

& Roll.

i Church

b Tear.

& Home.

1 Both

MOTHER.—“O what blude a 's that upon your brow?

O dear son, tell to me.” WILLIAM.—“It is the blude o' my good gray steed

He wadna ride wi' me.
MOTHER. O thy steed's blude was ne'er sae red,

Nor e'er sae dear to me.
O what blude's that upon your cheek?

O dear son, tell to me.
WILLIAM.—“ It is the blude of my grey hound,

He wadna hunt for me.

MOTHER.—“O thy hound's blude was ne'er sae red,

Nor e'er sae dear to me.
O what blude's this upon your hand ?

O dear son, tell to me.
WILLIAM.—“It is the blude of my gay goss hawk,

He wadna flee for me.”
MOTHER.—0 thy hawk's blude was ne'er sae red,

Nor e'er sae dear to me.
O what blude's this upon your

dirk ?
Dear Willie, tell to me.”
WILLIAM.—“It is the blude of my ae brother ;

O, dule, and waed is me. MOTHER.—“ what will ye sae to your

father? Dear Willie, tell to me." WILLIAM.—“I'll saddle my steed, and a wa I'll ride,

To dwell in some far countrie.”
MOTHER.—“() when will ye come hame again ?

Dear Willie, tell to me."
WILLIAM.—“ When sun and mune leap on yon hill ;

And that will never be.”

- Blood.

• One-only.

Sorrow.

d Woo.

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