The Oxford Book of Ballads - online book

A Selection Of The Best English Lyric Ballads Chosen & Edited by Arthur Quiller-Couch

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But he lay still, and sleepit sound,
Albeit the sun began to sheen ; She look'd atween her and the wa',
And dull and drowsie were his e'en.
Then in and came her father dear;
Said, ' Let a' your mourning be ; I'll carry the dead corse to the clay,
And I'll come back and comfort thee.' xv ' Comfort weel your seven sons,
For comforted I will never be: I ween 'twas neither knave nor loon
Was in the bower last night wi me.'
Part II i
The clinking bell gaed through the town,
To carry the dead corse to the clay ; And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret's window,
I wot, an hour before the day.
il 'Are ye sleeping, Marg'ret ? ' he says,
' Or are ye waking presentlie ? Give me my faith and troth again,
I wot, true love, I gied to thee.' in ' Your faith and troth ye sail never get,
Nor our true love sail never twin. Until ye come within my bower,
And kiss me cheik and chin.' twin] break in two.
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