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Bishop Percy.


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wi' me,

NANNY, wilt thou
Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town?

Can silent glens have charms for thee,

The lowly cot and russet gown? Nae langer drest in silken sheen,

Nae langer decked wi' jewels rare, Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene, Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

O, Nanny, when thou'rt far awa,
Wilt thou not cast a look behind?
Say, canst thou face the flaky snaw,
Nor shrink before the winter wind?
O can that soft and gentle mien

Severest hardships learn to bear,
Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

O, Nanny, canst thou love so true,

Through perils keen wi' me to gae? Or, when thy swain mishap shall rue, To share with him the pang of wae? Say, should disease or pain befall,

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care, Nor, wishful, those gay scenes recall, Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

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And when at last thy love shall die,

Wilt thou receive his parting breath? Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,

And cheer with smiles the bed of death! And wilt thou o'er his much-loved clay Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear? Nor then regret those scenes so gay,

Where thou wert fairest of the fair?


T was a friar of orders gray


Walked forth to tell his beads,

And he met with a lady fair,

Clad in a pilgrim's weeds.

"Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar!

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“And how should I know your true love

From many another one?" "Oh! by his cockle hat and staff,

And by his sandal shoon:

"But chiefly by his face and mien,
That were so fair to view,

His flaxen locks that sweetly curled,
And eyes of lovely blue."

"O lady, he is dead and gone!
Lady, he's dead and gone!
At his head a green grass turf,
And at his heels a stone.

"Within these holy cloisters long He languished, and he died, Lamenting of a lady's love,

And 'plaining of her pride.

"Here bore him barefaced on his bier

Six proper youths and tall;
And many a tear bedewed his grave
Within yon kirkyard wall.”

"And art thou dead, thou gentle youth---
And art thou dead and gone?
And didst thou die for love of me?
Break, c. uel heart of stone!"

"O weep not, lady, weep not so,
Some ghostly comfort seek:
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,
Nor tears bedew thy cheek.”

"O do not, do not, holy friar,

My sorrow now reprove;
For I have lost the sweetest youth
That e'er won lady's love.

"And now, alas! for thy sad loss
I'll evermore weep and sigh;
For thee I only wished to live,
For thee I wish to die."


'Weep no more, lady, weep no more; Thy sorrow is in vain :

For violets plucked, the sweetest shower Will ne'er make grow again.

"Our joys as wingèd dreams do fly;

Why, then, should sorrow last? Since grief but aggravates thy loss, Grieve not for what is past."

“O say not so, thou holy friar!


pray thee, say not so;

For since my true love died for me,

'Tis meet my tears should flow.

"And will he never come again— Will he ne'er come again?

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

"His cheek was redder than the roseThe comeliest youth was he;

But he is dead and laid in his grave,


Alas! and woe is me."

Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever;

One foot on sea, and one on land,

To one thing constant never.

"Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,

And left thee sad and heavy;

For young men ever were fickle found,

Since summer trees were leafy."

"Now say not so,

thou holy friar,

I pray thee say not so;

My love he had the truest heart--

O, he was ever true :

“And art thou dead, thou much-loved youth?

And didst thou die for me?

Then farewell home; for evermore

A pilgrim I will be.

"But first upon my true love's grave

My weary limbs I'll lay,

And thrice I'll kiss the green grass turf

That wraps his breathless clay."

"Yet stay, fair lady; rest awhile

Beneath this cloister wall;

The cold wind through the hawthorn biows, And drizzly rain doth fall."

"O stay me not, thou holy friar ;

O stay me not, I pray;

No drizzly rain that falls on me
Can wash my fault away."

"Yet stay, fair lady; turn again,

And dry those pearly tears;

For see, beneath this gown of gray,


Thy own true love appears.

Here, forced by grief and hopeless love,

These holy weeds I sought;

And here, amid these lonely walls,

To end my days I thought.

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