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Then up and fpake the bauld baron,
An angry man was he:

He has tane the table wi his foot,

Sae has he wi his knie,

Till crystal cup and ezar dish

In flinders he gard flie.

"Gae bring a robe of your cliding,

"Wia the haste ye can,

"And I'll gae to the gude grenewode,
"And speik wi your leman."

O bide at hame now lord Barnard !
I ward ye bide at hame;

Neir wyte a man for violence,
Wha neir wyte ye wi nane.'

Child Maurice sat in the grenewode,
He whistled and he sang :

"O what meins a the folk coming?

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My mother tarries lang,"

The baron to the grenewode cam,

Wi meikle dule and care;

And there he first spyd Child Maurice,

Kaming his yellow hair.

Nae wonder, nae wonder, Child Maurice,

My lady loes thee weil :

The fairest part of my body

Is blacker than thy heil.

Yet neir the less now, Child Maurice,

For a thy great bewtie,

'Ye'se rew the day ye eir was born; That heid sall gae wi me.'

Now he has drawn his trusty brand,
And slaided owr the strae ;
And throuch Child Maurice fair body
He gar'd the cauld iron gae.

And he has tane Child Maurice heid,
And set it on a speir;

The meinest man in a his train,
Has gotten that heid to beir.

And he has tane Child Maurice up,
Laid him across his steid;

And brocht him to his painted bower

And laid him on a bed.

The lady on the castle wa

Beheld baith dale and down;

And there she saw Child Maurice heid

Cum trailing to the toun.

"Better I loe that bluidy heid, "Bot and that yellow hair, "Than lord Barnard and a his lands "As they lig here and there.

And she has tane Child Maurice heid, And kissed baith cheik and chin; "I was anes fow of Child Maurice "As the hip is o the stane.

"I gat ye in my father's house

"Wi meikle sin and shame;

"I brocht ye up in the grenewode
"Ken'd to mysel alane:

"Aft have I by thy craddle sitten,
"And fondly sein thee sleip;
"But now I maun gae 'bout thy grave
"A mother's teirs to weip."

Again she kiss'd his bluidy cheik,

Again his bluidy chin;

"O better I looed my son Maurice,
"Than a my kyth and kin!"

Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
An ill dethe may ye die!

• Gin I had ken'd he was your son
He had neir bein slayne by me.'

"Obraid me not, my lord Barnard! "Obraid me not for shame! "Wi that sam spier, O perce my heart, "And save me frae my pain!

"Since naething but Child Maurice heid Thy jealous rage cold quell

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"Let that same hand now tak her lyfe, "That neir to thee did ill.

"To me nae after days nor nichts
"Will eir be saft or kind:
"I'll fill the air with heavy sichs,
"And greit till I be blind."

Encuch of bluid by me's been spilt,
Seek not your dethe frae me;

I'd rather far it had been mysel,
Than either him or thee.

• Wi hopeless wae I hear your plaint,
• Sair, sair, I rue the deid.—
That eir this cursed hand of mine
'Sold gar his body bleid!

Dry up your teirs, my winsome dame,
They neir can heal the wound;

Ye see his heid upon the speir,
'His heart's bluid on the ground.

I curse the hand that did the deid,
The heart that thocht the ill,
• The feet that bare me wi sic speid,
The comely youth to kill.

I'll aye lament for Child Maurice
As gin he war my ain;

I'll ne'er forget the dreary day

On which the youth was slain.'

PROLOGUE.

IN ancient times, when Britain's trade was arms,
And the lov'd music of her youth, alarms;

A godlike race sustain'd fair England's fame :
Who has not heard of gallant PIERCY's name 2
Ay, and of DOUGLAS? Such illustrious foes
In rival Rome and Carthage never rose!
From age to age bright shone the British fire,
And ev'ry hero was a hero's sire.

When powerful fate decreed one warrior's doom,
Up sprung the phenix from his parent's tomb.
But whilst those generous rivals fought and fell,
Those
rivals lov'd each other well:
generous
Tho' many a bloody field was lost and won,
Nothing in hate, in honour all was done.
When PIERCY wrong'd, defy'ð his prince or peers,
Fast came the DOUGLAS with his Scottish spears;
And, when proud DOUGLAS made his King his foe,
For DOUGLAS, PIERCY bent his English bow.
Expell'd their native homes by adverse fate,
They knock'd alternate at each other's gate:
Then blaz'd the castle, at the midnight hour,
For him whose arms had shook its firmest tow'r.

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