Balow, my boy, thy father's fled,
When he the thriftless son has played;
Of vows and oaths forgetful, he60
Preferr'd the wars to thee and me.
But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine
Make him eat acorns with the swine.
Balow, my boy, &c.
But curse not him; perhaps now he,65
Stung with remorse, is blessing thee:
Perhaps at death; for who can tell,
Whether the judge of heaven or hell,
By some proud foe has struck the blow,
And laid the dear deceiver low?70
Balow, my boy, &c.
I wish I were into the bounds
Where he lies smother'd in his wounds,
Repeating, as he pants for air,
My name, whom once he call'd his fair;75
No woman's yet so fiercely set,
But she'll forgive, though not forget.
Balow, my boy, &c.
If linen lacks, for my love's sake,
Then quickly to him would I make80
My smock, once for his body meet,
And wrap him in that winding-sheet
Ah me! how happy had I been,
If he had ne'er been wrapt therein.
Balow, my boy, &c.
Balow, my boy, I'll weep for thee:85
Too soon, alake, thou'lt weep for me:
Thy griefs are growing to a sum,
God grant thee patience when they come;
Born to sustain thy mother's shame,
A hapless fate, a bastard's name.90
Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep,
It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.
LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.
From Percy's Reliques, ii. 207.