How it comes let doctors tell, Meg grew sick-as he grew heal; And oh! her een, they spak' sic things! Duncan was a lad o' grace, Ha, ha! the wooing o't; Maggie's was a piteous case, Ha, ha! the wooing o't: Duncan couldna be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY. It was a friar of orders gray And he met with a lady faire Clad in a pilgrime's weedes. "Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar, I pray thee tell to me, If ever at yon holy shrine My true love thou didst see?" "And how should I know your true love From many another one ?" "O, by his cockle hat and staff, And by his sandal shoone; "But chiefly by his face and mien, His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd, "O lady, he is dead and gone! Lady, he's dead and gone! "Within these holy cloysters long He languisht, and he dyed, Lamenting of a ladye's love, And 'playning of her pride. "And will he never 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; "Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more, One foot on sea and one on land, "Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, And left thee sad and heavy; For young men ever were fickle found, "And art thou dead, thou much-loved youth, And didst thou dye for mee? Then farewell home; for evermore A pilgrim I will bee. |