ALISON.
[From the Millere's Tale.]
Fayre was this yongë wif, and therwithal
As any wesel hire body gent and smal[[48]]
A seint[[49]] she werëd, barrëd al of silk,
A barm-cloth[[50]] eke as white as morne milk[[51]]
Upon hire lendës[[52]] ful of many a gore,
White was hire smok, and brouded[[53]] al before
And eke behind on hire colére[[54]] aboute
Of cole-black silk within and eke withoute.
The tapës of hire whitë volupere[[55]]
Were of the samë suit of hire colére;
Hire fillet brode of silk and set ful hye;
And sikerly[[56]] she had a likerous[[57]] eye,
Ful smal ypulled[[58]] were hire browës two,
And they were bent and black as any slo,
She was wel morë blisful on to see
Than is the newë perjenetë[[59]] tree,
And softer than the wolle is of a wether.
And by hire girdle heng a purse of lether,
Tasseled with silk and perlëd with latoun,[[60]]
In all this world to seken up and doun
Ther n'is no man so wise that coude thenche[[61]]
So gay a popelot[[62]] or swiche[[63]] a wenche.
Ful brighter was the shining of hire hewe
Than in the tour, the noble yforged newe.
But of hire song, it was as loud and yerne[[64]]
As any swalow sitting on a berne.
Thereto she coudë skip and make a game
As any kid or calf folowing his dame.
Hire mouth was swete as braket[[65]] or the meth,[[66]]
Or horde of apples laid in hay or heth.
Winsing[[67]] she was, as is a jolly colt,
Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.
A broche she bare upon hire low colére.
As brode as is the bosse of a bokelére.[[68]]
Hire shoon were lacëd on hire leggës hie;
She was a primerole,[[69]] a piggesnie,[[70]]
For any lord, to liggen[[71]] in his bedde,
Or yet for any good yemán[[72]] to wedde.
[48] Trim and slim.
[49] Girdle.
[50] Apron.
[51] Morning's milk.
[52] Loins.
[53] Embroidered.
[54] Collar.
[55] Cap.
[56] Surely.
[57] Wanton.
[58] Trimmed fine.
[59] Young pear.
[60] Ornamented with pearl-shaped beads of a metal resembling brass.
[61] Think.
[62] Puppet.
[63] Such.
[64] Brisk.
[65] A sweet drink of ale, honey, and spice.
[66] Mead.
[67] Skittish.
[68] Buckler.
[69] Primrose.
[70] Pansy.
[71] Lie.
[72] Yeoman.
ANONYMOUS BALLADS OF THE SIXTEENTH AND SEVENTEENTH CENTURIES.
WALY, WALY BUT LOVE BE BONNY.
O waly,[[73]] waly up the bank,
And waly, waly down the brae,[[74]]
And waly, waly yon burn[[75]] side,
Where I and my love wont to gae.
I lean'd my back unto an aik,[[76]]
I thought it was a trusty tree;
But first it bow'd and syne[[77]] it brak,
Sae my true love did lightly me.
O waly, waly but love be bonny,
A little time while it is new;
But when 'tis auld it waxeth cauld,
And fades away like the morning dew.
O wherefore should I busk[[78]] my head?
Or wherefore should I kame[[79]] my hair?
For my true love has me forsook,
And says he'll never love me mair.
Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed,
The sheets shall ne'er be fyl'd by me;
Saint Anton's well[[80]] shall be my drink,
Sinn my true love has forsaken me.
Martinmas' wind, when wilt thou blaw
And shake the green leaves off the tree?
O gentle death, when wilt thou come?
For of my life I'm aweary.
'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snow's inclemency;
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,
But my love's heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town
We were a comely sight to see;
My love was clad in the black velvet,
And I myself in cramasie.[[81]]
But had I wist, before I kissed,
That love had been sae ill to win,
I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold,
And pin'd it with a silver pin.
Oh, oh, if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee,
And I myself were dead and gane,
And the green grass growing over me!
[73] An exclamation of sorrow, woe! alas!
[74] Hillside.
[75] Brook.
[76] Oak.
[77] Then.
[78] Adorn.
[79] Comb.
[80] At the foot of Arthur's-Seat, a cliff near Edinburgh.
[81] Crimson.
THE TWO CORBIES.[[82]]
As I was walking all alane
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t'other say,
"Where sail we gang and dine to-day?"
"In behint yon auld fail[[83]] dyke,
I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.
"His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild fowl hame,
His lady's ta'en another mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet.
"Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,[[84]]
And I'll pick out his bonny blue een;
Wi' ae[[85]] lock o' his gowden hair,
We'll theck[[86]] our nest when it grows bare.
"Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sail ken where he is gane;
O'er his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sail blow for evermair."