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Within thefe holy cloyfters long
He languifht, and he dyed,
Lamenting of a ladyes love,
And 'playning of her pride.

Here bore him barefac'd on his bier
Six proper youths and tall,
And many a tear bedew'd his grave
Within yon kirk-yard wall.

And art thou dead, thou gentle youth!
And art thou dead and gone!
And didft thou dye for love of me!
Break, cruel heart of flone!

weep not, lady, weep not foe;

Some goftly comfort feek:

Let not vain forrow rive thy heart,

Ne teares bedew thy cheek.

O do not, do not, holy friar
My forrow now reprove;
For I have loft the fweeteft youth,
That e'er wan ladyes love.

And nowe, alas! for thy fad loffe,

I'll evermore weep and figh: For thee I only wifht to live,

For thee I wish to die.

Weep no more, lady, weep no more,
Thy forrowe is in vaine:

For, violets pluckt the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make grow againe.

Our joys as winged dreams doe flye,
Why then should sorrow last?
Since grief but aggravates thy loffe,
Grieve not for what is past.

O fay not foe, thou holy friar;
I pray thee, fay not foe:

For fince my true-love dyed for mee,
'Tis meet my tears should flow.

And will he ne'er come again?
Will he ne'er come again?

Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,
For ever to remain.

His cheek was redder than the rose,
The comlieft youth was he:-
But he is dead and laid in his grave:
Alas, and woe is me!

Sigh no more, lady, figh no more,
Men were deceivers ever:

One foot on fea and one on land,

To one thing conftant never..

Had thou been fond, he had been falfe,
And left thee fad and heavy ;

For young men ever were fickle found,
Since fummer trees were leafy.

Now fay not fo, thou holy friar,
I pray thee fay not foe:

My love he had the trueft heart:

O he was ever true!

And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth,
And didft thou dye for mee?

Then farewell home; for, ever-more

A pilgrim I will bee.

But firft upon my true-love's grave

My weary limbs I'll lay,

And thrice I'll kifs the green-grass turf,

That wraps his breathlefs clay.

Yet flay, fair lady; rest awhile

Beneath this cloyster wall:

See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, And drizzly rain doth fall.

O flay me not, thou holy friar;
O flay me not I pray:

No drizzly rain that falls on me,
Can wafh my fault away.

Yet ftay, fair lady, turn again,

And dry thofe pearly tears;

For fee beneath this gown of

gray

Thy owne true-love appears.

Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love,
Thefe holy weeds I fought;
And here amid thefe lonely walls

To end my days I thought.

But haply for my year of grace
Is not yet past away.

Might I fill hope to win thy love,

No longer would I flay.

Now farewell grief, and welcome joy

Once more unto my heart:

For fince I have found thee, lovely youth, We never more will part.

GILDER OY.

G

ILDEROY was a bonnie boy,
Had rofes tull his fhoone,
His flockings were of filken foy,
Wi' garters hanging doune:
It was, I weene, a comlie fight,
To fee fae trim a boy,

He was my jo and hearts delight,
My handfome Gilderoy.

Oh! fike two charming een he had,
A breath as sweet as rofe,

He never ware a Highland plaid,
But coftly filken clothes:

He gain'd the luve of ladies gay,

Nane eir tull him was coy,
Ah! wae is mee! I mourn the day,
For my dear Gilderoy.

My Gilderoy and I were born,

Baith in one toun together,
We scant were seven years beforn,
We gan to luve each other;

I

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