But vertue fits triumphing ftill

Upon the throne of glorious fame:
Though spiteful death mans body kill,
Yet hurts he not his vertuous name:
By life or death what fo betides,
The flate of vertue never flides.

YOUNG WATER S.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

ABOUT Zule, quhen the wind blew cule,

And the round tables began,

A'! there is cum to our kings court
Mony a well-favourd man.

The queen luikt owre the caftle wa,
Beheld baith dale and down,
And then she faw zoung Waters
Cum riding to the town.

His footmen they did rin before,
His horsemen rade behind,
And mantel of the burning gowd
Did keip him frae the wind.

K

Gowden graith'd his horfe before

And filler fhod behind,

The horse zoung Waters rade upon.

Was fleeter than the wind.

But then spake a wylie lord,
Unto the queen said he,

O tell me qhua's the fairest face
Rides in the company.

I've fene lord, and I've fene laird,

And knights of high degree;
Bot a fairer face than zoung
Waters

Mine eyne did never fee.

Out then fpack the jealous king,
(And an angry man was he)
O, if he had been twice as fair
Zou micht have excepted me.

Zou're neither laird nor lord fhe fays,
Bot the king that wears the crown;
Theris not a knight in fair Scotland
But to thee maun bow down.

For a' that fhe could do or fay,
Appeasd he wad nae bee;

Bot for the words which fhe had faid

Zoung Waters he maun dee.

1

They hae taen zoung Waters, and
Put fetters to his feet;

They hae taen zoung Waters, and
Thrown him in dungeon deep.

Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town
In the wind bot and the weit;
Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town
Wi fetters at my feet.

Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town
In the wind Bot and the rain:
Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town
Neir to return again.

They hae taen to the heiding hill
His zoung fon in his craddle,
And they hae taen to the heiding hill
His horse, bot and his faddle.

They hae taen to the heiding hill
His lady fair to fee.

And for the words the queen had spoke,
Zoung Waters he did dee.

THE EW-BUGHTS MARION.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

W

ILL ze gae to the ew-bughts, Marion,
And wear in the fheip wi' mee?

The fun fhines fweit, my Marion,

But nae half fae fweit as thee. O marions a bonnie lass;

And the blyth blinks in her ee: And fain wad I marrie Marion, Gin Marion wad marrie mee.

Theires gowd in zour garters Marion,

And filk on zour white haufs-bane.
Fou faine wad I kiffe my Marion
At eene quhan I cum hame.
Theires braw lads in Earnflaw, Marion,
Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee
At kirk, quhan they fee my Marion,

Bot nane of tham lues like mee.

Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion,
A cow and a brawney quay:
Ife gie tham au to my Marion,
Juft on her bridal day.

And zees get a grein sey apron,

And waiftcote o' London broun; And wow bot ze will be vaporing Quhaneer ze gang to the toun.

Ime yong and flout, my Marion,
Nane dance lik mee on the greine,
And gin ze forfak me, Marion,

Ife een gae draw up wi' Jeane.
Sae put on zour pearlins, Marion,
And kirkle oth cramafie;

And fune as my chin has nae haire on,

I fall cum weft, and see zee.

THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCETH LOVE.

I

Lothe that I did love,

In youth that I thought fwete:

As tyme requires for my behove,
Me thinkes they are not mete.

For age with ftealing steps,

Hath clawed me with his crowch, And lufty life away fhe leapes,

A sthere had ben none fuch.