AULD ROBIN GRAY.

YOUNG Jamie lo'ed me weel, and he sought me for his bride, But saving a crown he had naething else beside;

To make that crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea,

And the crown and the pound were baith for me.

He had na been awa a week but only twa,

When my mither she fell sick, and the cow was stown awa,

My father brak his arm, and my Jamie at the sea,

And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courting to me.

My father cou'dna work, and my mither cou'dna spin;

I toiled baith day and night, but their bread I cou'dna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi' tears in his ee

Said, Jenny, for their sakes, oh, will you marry me?

My heart it said nay; I looked for Jamie back;

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it proved a wrack, The ship it proved a wrack, — why didna Jenny dee?

And why do I live to say, Oh, waes me!

Has your wine barrells cast the girds,
Or is your white bread gone?

"O wha was't was your father, Annie,
Or wha was't was your mother?
And had you ony sister, Annie,
Or had you ony brother?".

"The Earl of Wemyss was my father,
The Countess of Wemyss my mother;
And a' the folk about the house,
To me were sister and brother."

"If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,

I wot sae was he mine;

And it shall not be for lack o'gowd,
That ye your love sall tyne.

"Come to your bed, my sister dear,
It ne'er was wranged for me,
But an ae kiss of his merry mouth,
As we cam owre the sea.

"Awa, awa, ye forenoon bride,
Awa, awa frae me:

I wudna hear my Annie greet,
For a' the gold I got wi' thee."

"OI have seven ships o' mine ain, A' loaded to the brim;

And I will gie them a' to thee,
Wi' four to thine eldest son,
But thanks to a' the powers in heaven
That I gae maiden hame!"
SCOTT'S VERSION.

GRISELDA.

THE CLERKES TALE.

Ther is right at the West side of Itaille

Doun at the rote of Vesulus the cold, A lusty plain, abundant of vitaille, Ther many a toun and tour thou maist behold,

That founded were in time of fathers old,

And many another delitable sighte. And Saluces this noble contree highte.

A markis whilom lord was of that

land,

As were his worthy elders him before, And obeysant, ay redy to his hand,

Al have I not to don in this mat

ere

More than another man hath in this place,

Yet for as moch as ye, my lord so dere

Han alway shewèd me favour and grace,

I dare the better aske of you a space Of audience, to shewen our request, And ye, my lord, to don right as you lest.

For certes, lord, so wel us liketh you And all your werke, and ever have don, that we

Ne couden not ourself devisen how We mighten live in more felicitee: Save one thing, lord, if it your willé be,

That for to be a wedded man you lest, Then were your peple in soverain hertés rest.

Boweth your nekke under the blisful yok

Of soveraintee, and not of servise, Which that men clepen spousalile or wedlok:

And thinketh, lord, among your thoughtés wise,

How that our dayes passe in sondry wise;

For though we slepe, or wake, or rome, or ride,

Ay fleth the time, it wol no man abide.