Good man, he knew it was not right For Dust and Ashes to fall out with Dirt!

And then he only hung it out in the rain, And put it on again.

'There has been perilous work With him and the Devil there in yonder cell; For Satan used to maul him like a Turk.

There they would sometimes fight, All through a winter's night, From sunset until morn.

He with a cross, the Devil with his horn; The Devil spitting fire with might and main, Enough to make St. Michael half afraid: He splashing holy water till he made His red hide hiss again, And the hot vapour fill'd the smoking cell.

This was so common that his face became All black and yellow with the brimstone flame, And then he smelt.... O dear, how he did smell!

'Then, sir, to see how he would mortify The flesh! If any one had dainty fare, Good man, he would come there, And look at all the delicate things, and cry, 'O belly, belly, You would be gormandizing now, I know; But it shall not be so!

Home to your bread and water, home, I tell ye!'

'But,' quoth the Traveller, 'wherefore did he leave A flock that knew his saintly worth so well?'

'Why,' said the Landlord, 'Sir, it so befell He heard unluckily of our intent To do him a great honour; and you know He was not covetous of fame below, And so by stealth one night away he went.'

'What might this honour be?' the Traveller cried.

'Why, sir,' the host replied, 'We thought perhaps that he might one day leave us; And then should strangers have The good man's grave.

A loss like that would naturally grieve us, For he'll be made a saint of, to be sure.

Therefore we thought it prudent to secure His relics while we might; And so we meant to strangle him one night.'

_R. Southey_

CIX

_LADY ALICE_

Lady Alice was sitting in her bower window At midnight mending her quoif; And there she saw as fine a corpse As ever she saw in her life.

'What bear ye, what bear ye, ye six men tall?

What bear ye on your shoulders?'

'We bear the corpse of Giles Collins, An old and true lover of yours.'

'Oh, lay him down gently, ye six men tall, All on the gra.s.s so green, And to-morrow when the sun goes down, Lady Alice a corpse shall be seen.

'And bury me in Saint Mary's church, All for my love so true; And make me a garland of marjoram, And of lemon-thyme, and rue.'

Giles Collins was buried all in the east, Lady Alice all in the west; And the roses that grew on Giles Collins's grave, They reached Lady Alice's breast.

The priest of the parish he chanced to pa.s.s, And he severed those roses in twain.

Sure never were seen such true lovers before, Nor e'er will there be again.

_Old Ballad_

CX

_THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT_

An outlandish knight came from the North lands, And he came a wooing to me; And he told me he'd take me unto the North lands, And there he would marry me.

'Come, fetch me some of your father's gold, And some of your mother's fee; And two of the best nags out of the stable, Where they stand thirty and three.'

She fetched him some of her father's gold And some of her mother's fee; And two of the best nags out of the stable, Where they stood thirty and three.

She mounted her on her milk-white steed, He on the dapple grey; They rode till they came unto the sea-side, Three hours before it was day.

'Light off, light off thy milk-white steed, And deliver it unto me; Six pretty maids have I drowned here, And thou the seventh shall be.

'Pull off, pull off thy silken gown, And deliver it unto me, Methinks it looks too rich and too gay To rot in the salt sea.

'Pull off, pull off thy silken stays, And deliver them unto me!

Methinks they are too fine and gay To rot in the salt sea.'

'Pull off, pull off thy Holland smock, And deliver it unto me; Methinks it looks too rich and gay To rot in the salt sea.'

'If I must pull off my Holland smock, Pray turn thy back unto me, For it is not fitting that such a ruffian A woman unclad should see.'

He turned his back towards her, And viewed the leaves so green; She catch'd him round the middle so small, And tumbled him into the stream.

He dropped high, and he dropped low, Until he came to the tide,-- 'Catch hold of my hand, my pretty maiden, And I will make you my bride.'

'Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted man, Lie there instead of me; Six pretty maidens have you drowned here, And the seventh has drowned thee.'

She mounted on her milk-white steed, And led the dapple grey.

She rode till she came to her father's hall, Three hours before it was day.

_Old Ballad_

CXI

_SPRING_

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring; Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and the may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo.

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a sunning sit, In every street these tunes our ears do greet, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo.

Spring, the sweet Spring.

_T. Nash_