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Before he had been gane a twelvemonth and a day,
My father brak his arm, our cow was stown away;
My mother she fell sick-my Jamie was at sea—
And Auld Robin Gray, O! he came a-courting me.

My father cou'dna work-my mother cou'dna spin;
I toiled day and night, but their bread I cou❜dna win;
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his ee,
Said, "Jenny, O! for their sakes, will you marry me?"

My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back;
But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack;
His ship it was a wrack! Why didna Jamie dee?
Or, wherefore am I spared to cry out, Woe is me!

My father argued sair-my mother didna speak,

But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break;
They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the sea;
And so Auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been his wife a week but only four,
When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at my door,

I saw my Jamie's ghaist-I cou'dna think it he,

Till he said, "I'm come hame, my love, to marry thee!"

O sair, sair did we greet, and mickle
of a';
say
Ae kiss we took, nae mair—I bade him gang awa.
I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee;
For O, I am but young to cry out, Woe is me!

I

gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin,
I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin;
But I will do my best a gude wife aye to be,
For Auld Robin Gray, O! he is sae kind to me.

Henry Carey.

SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.

OF

F all the girls that are so smart There's none like pretty Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. There is no lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.

Her father he makes cabbage-nets

And through the streets does cry 'em ;

Her mother she sells laces long

To such as please to buy 'em :
But sure such folks could ne'er beget
So sweet a girl as Sally!

She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

When she is by, I leave my work,
I love her so sincerely;
My master comes like any Turk,

And bangs me most severely

But let him bang his bellyful,
I'll bear it all for Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

Of all the days that's in the week
I dearly love but one day—

And that's the day that comes betwixt
A Saturday and Monday;
For then I'm drest all in my best
To walk abroad with Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

My master carries me to church,
And often am I blamed
Because I leave him in the lurch
As soon as text is named;

I leave the church in sermon-time
And slink away to Sally;

She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

When Christmas comes about again,
O then I shall have money;
I'll hoard it up, and box it all,
I'll give it to my honey:

I would it were ten thousand pound,
I'd give it all to Sally;

She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

My master and the neighbours all
Make game of me and Sally,

And, but for her, I'd better be

A slave and row a galley;

But when my seven long years are out
O then I'll marry Sally,-

O then we'll wed, and then we'll bed,
But not in our alley!

THE

TH

Thomas Chatterton.

BRISTOW TRAGEDY.'

HE feathered songster chanticleer
Had wound his bugle-horn,

And told the early villager

The coming of the morn:

King Edward saw the ruddy streaks

Of light eclipse the gray,

And heard the raven's croaking throat

Proclaim the fated day.

"Thou'rt right," quoth he; "for by the God

That sits enthroned on high!

Charles Bawdin, and his fellows twain,

To-day shall surely die."

Then with a jug of nappy ale
His knights did on him wait;
"Go tell the traitor, that to-day

He leaves this mortal state."

1 Chatterton's antiquated orthography is not followed in this specimen.

Sir Canterlone then bended low,
With heart brimful of woe;

He journied to the castle-gate,
And to Sir Charles did go.

But when he came, his children twain,
And eke his loving wife,

With briny tears did wet the floor,

For good Sir Charles's life.

"Oh, good Sir Charles!" said Canterlone,

"Bad tidings I do bring."

"Speak boldly, man," said brave Sir Charles; 66 What says the traitor king?"

"I grieve to tell: before yon sun Does from the welkin fly,

He hath upon his honour sworn,

That thou shalt surely die.'

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"We all must die," said brave Sir Charles;

"Of that I'm not afraid;

What boots to live a little space?

Thank Jesus, I'm prepared.

"But tell thy king, for mine he's not,
I'd sooner die to-day,

Than live his slave, as many are,
Though I should live for aye."

Then Canterlone he did go out,
To tell the mayor straight
To get all things in readiness.
For good Sir Charles's fate.

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