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“ My father he is a baron bolde,

“ Of lynage proud and hye, “ And what would he say if his daughter

"Away with a knight should fly ? « Ah well I wot he nevir would rest,

“ Nor his meate should do him no goode, “ Till he had slayne thee, Child of Elle,

“ And seene thy deare heart's bloode.” O, lady, wert thou in thy saddle set, And a little

space

him fro, I would not care for thy cruel father,

Nor the worst that he could doe.

O, lady, wert thou in thy saddle sette,

And once without this walle,
I would not care for thy cruel father,

Nor the worst that might befalle.
Fair Emmeline sigh'd, fair Emmeline wept,

And aye her heart was woe,
At lengthe he seizde her lilly-white hand,

And doune the ladder he drewe.

And thrice he claspde her to his breste,

And kist her tenderlie:
The tears that fell fronı her- fair eyes

Ranne like the fountayne free.
He mounted himselfe on his steede so talle,

And her on a fair palfraye,
And slung his bugle about his necke,

And roundlye they rode awaye.
All this beheard her own damselle,

In her bed whereas she lay,
Quoth shee, My lord shall knowe of this

So I shall have golde and fee.

Awake, awake, thou baron bold !

Awake, my noble dame! Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle, To doe

the deede of shame.

The baron he woke, the baron he rose,

And callde his merry men all ; “ And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte,

* The ladye is carried to thrall.”
Fair Emmeline scant had ridden a mile,

A mile forth of the towne,
When she was aware of her father's men

Come galloping over the downe.
And foremost came the carlish knight,

Sir John of the north countraye, « Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitour,

“ Nor carry that lady awaye. “ For she is come of hye lynage,

" And was of a lady borne; “ And ill it beseems thee a false churles's sonne, To carry

her hence to scorne."
Now loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight,

Now thou doest lye of mee;
A knight me gott, and a ladye me bore,

Soe never did none by thee.

But light now doune, my lady faire,

Light down and hold my steed,
While I and this discourteous knighte

Do try this arduous deede.
Fair Emmeline sigh’d, fair Emmeline wept,

And aye her heart was woe;
While twixt her love and the carlish knight,

Past many a baleful blow.

The Child of Elle he fought soe well,

As his weapon he wavde amaine,
That soone he had slaine the carlish knight,

And layd him upon the playne.
And now the baron and all his men

Full fast approached nye,
Ah what may ladye Emmeline doe?

'Twere now no boote to flye.

Her lover he put his horne to his mouth,

And blew both loud and shrill,
And soone he sawe his owne merry men

Come rydyng over the hill.
Now hold thy hand thou bold baron,
I

pray thee hold thy hand;
Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts

Fast knit in true love's band.

1

Thy daughter I have dearly lovde,

Full long and many a day,
But with such love as holy kirke

Hath freelye said wee may.
O give consent she may be mine,

Ånd blesse a faithful pare;
My lands and livings are not small,

My house and lynage faire.
My mother she was an erle's daughter,

And a noble knight my sire-
The baron he frownde, and turn'd away,

With meikle dole and ire.

Fair Emmeline sigh’d, fair Emmeline wept,

And did all trembling stand;
At lengthe she sprang upon her knee,

And held his lifted hand.

Pardon, my lord and father deare,

This fair young knight and mee, Trust me, but for the

carlish knight, I never had fled from thee.

Oft have

you
calld

your Emmeline,
Your darling and your joye;
O let not then your harsh resolves

Your Emmeline destroye.

The baron he stroakd his dark broun cheeke,

And turnd his head asyde, To wipe away the starting teare

He proudly strave to hyde.

In deep revolving thought he stoode,

And mus'd a little space; Then rais'd fair Emmeline from the grounde,

With many a fond embrace.

Here take her, Child of Elle, he sayd;
And

gave her lillye hand:
Here take my deare and only child,

And with her half my land.

Thy father once mine honour wrong'd,

In dayes of youthful pride, Do thou the injury repayre

In fondness for thy bride.

And as thou love her, and hold her deare,

Heaven prosper thee and thine; And now my blessing wend wi' thee

My lovelye Emmeline.

THE WIFE OF AUCHTERMUCHTY.

In Auchtermuchty dwelt a Man,

An Husband, as I heard it tauld, Quha weil could tipple out a Can,

And nowther luvit Hungir nor Cauld, Till anes it fell upon a Day,

He zokit his Plewch upon the Plain; But schort the Storm wald let him stay,

Sair blew the Day with Wind and Rain.

He lowsd the Plewch at the Lands End,

And draife his Owsen hame at Ene; Quhen he came in he blinkit ben,

And saw his Wyfe baith dry and clene, Set beikand by a Fyre full bauld,

Suppand fat Sowp, as I heard say: The Man being weary, wet and cauld,

Betwein thir twa it was nae Play.

Quod he, quhair is my Horses Corn,

My Owsen has nae Hay nor Strae,
Dame, ye maun to the Plewch the Morn,

I sall be Hussy gif I may.
This Seid-time it proves cauld and bad,

And ze sit warm, nae Troubles se;
The Morn ze sall gae with the Lad,
And
syne

zeil ken what drinkers drie.

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Gudeman, quod scho, content am I,

To tak the Plewch my Day about, Sac ye rule weil the Kaves and Ky,

And all the House baith in and out: And now sen ze haif made the Law,

Then gyde all richt and do not break; They sicker raid that ncir did faw,

Therefore let naithing, bc neglect.

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