Within thefe holy cloyfters long Here bore him barefac'd on his bier And art thou dead, thou gentle youth! 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 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, For, violets pluckt the sweetest showers Our joys as winged dreams doe flye, O fay not foe, thou holy friar; For fince my true-love dyed for mee, And will he ne'er come again? Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave, His cheek was redder than the rose, Sigh no more, lady, figh no more, One foot on fea and one on land, To one thing conftant never.. Had thou been fond, he had been falfe, For young men ever were fickle found, Now fay not fo, thou holy friar, My love he had the trueft heart: O he was ever true! And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth, 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; No drizzly rain that falls on me, 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, To end my days I thought. But haply for my year of grace 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, He was my jo and hearts delight, Oh! fike two charming een he had, He never ware a Highland plaid, He gain'd the luve of ladies gay, Nane eir tull him was coy, My Gilderoy and I were born, Baith in one toun together, I |