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 twal brothers at the scule,2
And when they got awa'3.

It's "

Will ye play at the stane-chucking,4
Or will ye play at the ba',5

Or will ye gae up to yon hill head,

And there we 'll warsell a fa'?"6

JOHN." I winna play at the stane-chucking,
Nor will I play at the ba',

But I'll gae up to yon bonnie green hill,
And there we 'll warsell a fa"."

They warsled up, they warsled down,
Till John fell to the ground;

JOHN.

A dirk' fell out of William's pouch,8
And gave John a deadly wound.

"O lift me up upon your back,
Take me to yon well fair;

And wash my bluidy wounds o'er and o'er,
And they 'll ne'er bleed nae mair."10

JOHN.

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 sark,1
And rive2 it gair3 by gair,
And row it in my bluidy wounds,
And they 'll ne'er bleed nae mair."

He's taken off 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 my green mantle,
And row me saftly in;

5

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.

"What will ye say to your father dear,
When ye gae hame at e'en 8?"

WILLIAM.-"I'll say ye 're lying at yon kirk style, Whare the grass grows fair and green."

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JOHN. O no, 0 no, my brother dear,

O you must not say so;

But say, that I'm gaen to a foreign land,
Whare nae man does me know."

When he sat in his father's chair

He grew baith pale and wan,

MOTHER." O what blude1's that upon your brow? O dear son, tell to me."

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WILLIAM.- 'It is the blude o' my gude gray steedHe 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.'

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WILLIAM." It is the blude of my greyhound,
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. "O thy hawk's blude was ne'er sae red, Nor e'er sae dear to me.

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'O what blude 's this upon your dirk?
Dear Willie, tell to me."

WILLIAM.

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It is the blude of my ae2 brother;
O, dules and wae is me.'

MOTHER. "O what will ye say to your father?

Dear Willie, tell to me.'

WILLIAM.- -"I'll saddle my steed, and awa I 'll ride, To dwell in some far countrie."

-"O 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."

1 Blood.

2 One-only.

3 Sorrow.

4 Woe.

She turned hersel' right round about,
And her heart burst into three:
"My ae best son is deid and gane,
And my tother ane I'll ne'er see."

1

OLD BALLAD.

THE CHILD OF ELLE.

ON yonder hill a castle stands,
With walles and towres bedight;
And yonder lives the Child of Elle,
A younge and comely knighte.

The Child of Elle to his garden went,
And stood at his garden pale,

Whan, lo! he beheld fair Emmeline's page
Come trippinge downe the dale.

The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,

Y-wis2 he stoode not stille;

And soone he mette faire Emmeline's page

Come climbing up the hille.

"Nowe sain thee and save thee, thou little foot-page,

Nowe welcome art thou to me;

Oh, tell me how does thy ladye gaye,

And what may thy tydinges be?"

"My lady she is all woe begone,

And the teares they falle from her eyne; And aye she laments the deadlye feude Betweene her house and thine.

"And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe,
Bedewde with many a teare,

And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her,
Who loved thee so deare.

"And here she sends thee a ring of golde,
The last boone thou mayst have,
And biddes thee weare it for her sake,
When she is layd in grave.

"For, ah! her gentle heart is broke,

And in grave soone must shee be,

Sith her father hath chose her a new new love, And forbidde her to think of thee.

"Her father hath brought her a carlish1 knighte, Sir John, of the north countraye;

And within three dayes shee must him wedde,
Or he vowes he will her slaye.'

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Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And greet thy ladye from mee;

And tell her that I, her owne true love,

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Will dye, or sette her free.

Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And let thy fair ladye know,

This night will I bee at her bowre2 windowe,
Betide me weale or woe."

The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne,
He neither stint ne stayd,