MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,

Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order? March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,

All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border.
Many a banner spread,
Flutters above your head,

Many a crest that is famous in story.

Mount and make ready then,

Sons of the mountain glen,

(2.)-CHAP. II.

In yon lone vale his early youth was bred. Not solitary then-the bugle-horn

Of fell Alecto often waked its windings,
From where the brook joins the majestic river,
To the wild northern bog, the curlieu's haunt,
Where oozes forth its first and feeble streamlet.
Old Play.

(3.)-CHAP. V.

A priest, ye cry, a priest !—lame shepherds they,
How shall they gather in the straggling flock?
Dumb dogs which bark not-how shall they compel
The loitering vagrants to the Master's fold?
Fitter to bask before the blazing fire,
And snuff the mess neat-handed Phillis dresses,
Than on the snow-wreath battle with the wolf.
Reformation.

(4.)-CHAP. VI.

2.

Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing, Come from the glen of the buck and the roe; Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. Trumpets are sounding,

War-steeds are bounding,

Nor hurt the 'wholesome crop and tender vine Craves good advisement. plants,

The Reformation.

(5.)-CHAP. VIII.

England shall many a day

Tell of the bloody fray,

When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border.

(3.)-MOTTOES.

(1.)-CHAP. I.

Chap. xxv.

OAY! the Monks, the Monks, they did the mischief!

Theirs all the grossness, all the superstition
Of a most gross and superstitious age.-
May HE be praised that sent the healthful tem-
pest,

And scatter'd all these pestilential vapors;
But that we owed them all to yonder Harlot
Throned on the seven hills with her cup of gold,
I will as soon believe, with kind Sir Roger,
That old Moll White took wing with cat and broom-
stick,

And raised the last night's thunder.

Old Play.

(6.)-CHAP. XI.

Old Play.

You call this education, do you not?
Why, 'tis the forced march of a herd of bullocks
Before a shouting drover. The glad van
Move on at ease, and pause a while to snatch
A passing morsel from the dewy green-sward,
While all the blows, the oaths, the indignation,
Fall on the croupe of the ill-fated laggard
That cripples in the rear.

Old Play.

(7.)-CHAP. XII.

There's something in that ancient superstition,
Which, erring as it is, our fancy loves.
The spring that, with its thousand crystal bubbles,
Bursts from the bosom of some desert rock
In secret solitude, may well be deem'd
The haunt of something purer, more refined,
And mightier than ourselves.
Old Play.

(8.)-CHAP. XIV.

Nay, let me have the friends who eat my victuals, As various as my dishes. The feast's naught,

From the Abbot.

1820.

(1.)—THE PARDONER'S ADVERTISEMENT.

"Ar length the pardoner pulled from his scrip a small phial of clear water, of which he vaunted the quality in the following verses:"

Listneth, gode people, everiche one,
For in the londe of Babylone,
Far eastward I wot it lyeth,

And is the first londe the sonne espieth,
Ther, as he cometh fro out the sé;
In this ilk londe, as thinketh me,
Right as holie legendes tell,
Snottreth from a roke a well,
And falleth into ane bath of ston,
Wher chast Susanne in times long gon,
Was wont to wash her bodie and lim-
Mickle vertue hath that streme,
As ye shall se er that ye pas,
Ensample by this little glas-
Through nightés cold and dayés hote,
Hiderward I have it brought;
Hath a wife made slip or slide,
Or a maiden stepp'd aside;

Putteth this water under her nese,
Wold she nold she, she shall snese.

And yet it is not-no more than the shadow
Upon the hard, cold, flat, and polish'd mirror,
Is the warm, graceful, rounded, living substance
Which it presents in form and lineament.

Old Play.

(9.)-CHAP. XXIII.

Give me a morsel on the greensward rather, Coarse as you will the cooking-Let the fresh

spring

(2.)-SPEECH OF THE PORTER AT

KENILWORTH.

"AT the approach of the Queen, upon sight of whom, as struck by some heavenly vision, the gigantic warder dropped his club, resigned his keys, and gave open way to the Goddess of the night, and all her magnificent train."

What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones?
Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones!
Sirs, I'm a warder, and no man of straw;
My voice keeps order, and my club gives law.

Yet soft-nay stay-what vision have we here?
What dainty darling's this-what peerless peer?
What loveliest face, that loving ranks enfold,
Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold?
Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake,
My club, my key, my knee, my homage take.
Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss ;—
Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a
sight as this!'

(3.)-MOTTOES.

(1.)—CHAP. IV.

Chap. xxx.

Nor serve two masters?-Here's a youth will try it

Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his due;
Says grace before he doth a deed of villany,
And returns his thanks devoutly when 'tis acted.
Old Play.

(2.) CHAP. V.

-He was a man Versed in the world as pilot in his compass. The needle pointed ever to that interest Which was his loadstar, and he spread his sails With vantage to the gale of others' passion. The Deceiver-a Tragedy. (3.)—CHAP. VII.

-This is He

Who rides on the court-gale; controls its tides; Knows all their secret shoals and fatal eddies; Whose frown abases, and whose smile exalts. He shines like any rainbow-and, perchance, His colors are as transient.

Old Play.

"This is an imitation of Gascoigne's verses, spoken by the Herculean porter, as mentioned in the text [of the Novel]. The original may be found in the republication of the Princely Pleasures of Kenilworth, by the same author, in the History of Kenilworth, Chiswick, 1821.

(4.)-CHAP. XIV.

This is rare news thou tell'st me, my good fellow;
For one fair heifer-if the one goes down,
There are two bulls fierce battling on the green
The dale will be more peaceful, and the herd,
Which have small interest in their brulziement,
May pasture there in peace.
Old Play

(5.)-CHAP. XVII.

Well, then, our course is chosen; spread the sail,-
Heave oft the lead, and mark the soundings well;
Look to the helm, good master; many a shoal
Marks this stern coast, and rocks where sits the
siren,

Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin.
The Shipwreck.

(6.)-СНАР. ХХІІІ.

Now God be good to me in this wild pilgrimage!
All hope in human aid I cast behind me.
Oh, who would be a woman? who that fool,
A weeping, pining, faithful, loving woman?
She hath hard measure still where she hopes
kindest,

And all her bounties only make ingrates.
Love's Pilgrimage.

(7.)-CHAP. XXV.

Hark! the bells summon, and the bugle calls,
But she the fairest answers not; the tide
Of nobles and of ladies throngs the halls,
But she the loveliest must in secret hide.
What eyes were thine, proud Prince, which in the
gleam

Of yon gay meteors lost that better sense,
That o'er the glow-worm doth the star esteem,
And merit's modest blush o'er courtly insolence?
The Glass Slipper.

(8.)-CHAP. XXVIII.

What, man, ne'er lack a draught, when the full

can

Stands at thine elbow, and craves emptying!-
Nay, fear not me, for I have no delight
To watch men's vices, since I have myself
Of virtue naught to boast of.-I'm a striker,
Would have the world strike with me, pell-mell,
all.

Pandaemonium.

(9.)-CHAP. XXIX.

Now fare thee well, my master ! if true service
Be guerdon'd with hard looks, e'en cut the tow-
line,

And let our barks across the pathless flood
Hold different courses.

Shipwreck.