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Mysell being in the public line,
I look for howfs I kenn'd lang syne,
Whar gentles used to drink gude wine,

And eat cheap dinners ;
But deil a soul gangs there to dine,

Of saints or sinners!

Weel, sirs, gude'en, and have a care,
The bairns mak fun o' Meg nae mair;
For gin they do, she tells you fair,

And without failzie,
As sure as ever ye sit there,

She'll tell the Bailie

Fortune's' and Hunter's' gane, alas !
And Bayle’s' is lost in empty space;
And now if folk would splice a brace,

Or crack a bottle,
They gang to a new-fangled place

They ca' a Hottle.



The deevil hottle them for Meg!
They are sae greedy and sae gleg,
That if ye're served but wi' an egg

(And that's puir pickin'), In comes a chiel and makes a leg,

And charges chicken!

“ And wha may ye be,” gin ye speer,
“That brings your auld-warld clavers here?”
Troth, if there's onybody near

That kens the roads,
I'll haud ye Burgundy to beer,

He kens Meg Dodds.

I came a piece frae west o' Currie;
And, since I see you're in a hurry,
Your patience I'll nae langer worry,

But be sae crouse
As speak a word for ane Will Murray,"

That keeps this house.

THE sages—for authority, pray look
Seneca's morals, or the copy-book-
The sages to disparage woman's power,
Say, beauty is a fair, but fading flower ;-
I cannot tell—I've small philosophy-
Yet, if it fades, it does not surely die,
But, like the violet, when decayed in bloom,
Survives through many a year in rich perfume.
Witness our theme to-night, two ages gone,
A third wanes fast, since Mary fill'd the throne.
Brief was her bloom, with scarce one sunny day,
"Twixt Pinkie's field and fatal Fotheringay:
But when, while Scottish hearts and blood you

Shall sympathy with Mary's woes be lost !
O'er Mary's mem'ry the learned quarrel,
By Mary's grave the poet plants his laurel,
Time's echo, old tradition, makes her name
The constant burden of his fault'ring theme;
In each old hall his gray-hair'd heralds tell
Of Mary's picture, and of Mary's cell,
And show-my fingers tingle at the thought-
The loads of tapestry which that poor Queen

In vain did fate bestow a double dower
Of ev'ry ill that waits on rank and pow's,
Of ev'ry ill on beauty that attends
False ministers, false lovers, and false friends.
Spite of three wedlocks so completely curst,
They rose in ill from bad to worse, and worst,
In spite of errors—I dare not say more,
For Duncan Targe lays hand on his claymore.
In spite of all, however, humors vary,
There is a talisman in that word Mary,

Plays are auld-fashion'd things, in truth,
And ye've seen wonders mair uncouth;
Yet actors shouldna suffer drouth,

Or want of dramock,
Although they speak but wi' their mouth,

Not with their stamock.

But ye tak care of a' folk's pantry;
And surely to hae stooden sentry
Ower this big house (that's far frae rent-free),

For a lone sister,
Is claims as gude's to be a ventri-

How'st ca’d-loquister.

i Fortune's Tavern—a house on the west side of the Old appeared in full dress, and nobody was admitted who bad not Štamp-office Close, High Street, and which was, in the early a white neekcloth-then considered an indispensable insignium part of the last century, the mansion of the Earl of Eglintoun. of a gentleman. - The Lord High Commissioner to the General Assembly of

* Mr. William Murray became manager of the Edinburgh the day held his levees and dinners in this tavern.

Theatre in 1815. 2 Hunter's—another once much-frequented tavern, in Writer's Court, Royal Exchange.

6 "I recovered the above with some difficulty. I believe it 3 Bayle's Tavern and Coffeehonse, originally on the North was never spoken, but written for some play, afterwards with Bridge, east side, afterwards in Shakspeare Square, but re- drawn, in which Mrs. H. Siddons was to have spoken it in the moved to admit of the opening of Waterloo Place. Such was character of Queen Mary."-Extract from a Letter of Sir the dignified character of this house, that the waiter always Walter Scott to Mr. Constable, 24 October, 1824.

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sung at others a lay, of which we can offer only a Dull Peace! the valley yields to thee, few fragments, literally translated from the an- And owns thy melancholy sway. cient language in which they were chanted, pre

Welsh Poen. mising that they are in that excursive symbolical style of poetry, which Taliessin, Llewarch, Hen,

(2.)-CHAP. VII. and other bards, had derived perhaps from the O, sadly shines the morning sun time of the Druids."

On leaguer'd castle wall,

When bastion, tower, and battlement,
I ask'd of my harp, “ Who hath injured thy chords ?” Seem nodding to their fall.
And she replied, “ The crooked finger, which I

Old Ballad. mocked in my tune." A blade of silver may be bended-a blade of steel

(3.)-CHAP. XII. abideth

Now all ye ladies of fair Scotland, Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. And ladies of England that happy would

prove, The sweet taste of mead passeth from the lips, Marry never for houses, nor marry for land, But they are long corroded by the juice of worm- Nor marry for nothing but only love. wood;

Family Quarrels The lamb is brought to the shambles, but the wolf rangeth the mountain;

(4.)-CHAP. XIII. Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth.

Too much rest is rust,

There's ever cheer in changing; I ask'd the red-hot iron, when it glimmer'd on the We tyne by too much trust, anvil,

So we'll be up and ranging. “Wherefore glowest thou longer than the fire

Old Song. brand !" "I was born in the dark mine, and the brand in

(5.)–CHAP. XVII. the pleasant greenwood.”

Ring out the merry bells, the bride approaches. Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. The blush upon her cheek has shamed the morning,

For that is dawning palely. Grant, good saints, I ask'd the green oak of the assembly, wherefore These clouds betoken naught of evil omen! its boughs were dry and sear'd like the

Old Play. horns of the stag; And it show'd me that a small worm had gnaw'd

(6.)-CHAP. XXVII its roots.


Gentle sir, The boy who remembered the scourge, undid the You are our captive—but we'll use you so, wicket of the castle at midnight.

That you shall think your prison joys may match Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. Whate'er your liberty hath known of pleasure.

Roderick. No, fairest, we have trifled here too Lightning destroyeth temples, though their spires long; pierce the clouds;

And, lingering to see your roses blossom Storms destroy armadas, though their sails inter- I've let my laurels wither. cept the gale.

Old Play He that is in his glory falleth, and that by a con

temptible enemy. Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth.

Chap. xxxi.

from The Talisman.



(1)–CHAP. II. In Madoc's tent the clarion sounds,

With rapid clangor hurried far ; Each hill and dale the note rebounds,

But when return the sons of war! Thou, born of stern Necessity,

(1.)-AHRIMAN. _" So saying, the Saracen proceeded to chant verses, very ancient in the language and structure, which some have thought derive their source from the worshippers of Arimanes, the Evil Principle."

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Thus, from the moment of our birth, Long as we linger on the earth,

Untroubled in his look, and untroubled in his breast, The knight the weed hath taken, and reverently

hath kiss'd:

“ Now bless'd be the moment, the messenger be And now must the faith of my mistress be show: blest!

For she who prompts knights on such danger to run Much honor'd do I hold me in my lady's high behest! Must avouch his true service in front of the sun. And say unto my lady, in this dear night-weed dress'd,

". I restore,' says my master, 'the garment I've To the best arm'd champion I will not veil my worn, crest;

And I claim of the Princess to don it in turn; But if I live and bear me well, 'tis her turn to take For its stains and its rents she should prize it the the test."

more, Here, gentles, ends the foremost fytte of the Lay Since by shame 'tis unsullied, though crimsou'd of the Bloody Vest.

with gore.'”

(press 'd Then deep blush'd the Princess—yet kiss'd she and The blood-spotted robes to her lips and her breast. “Go tell my true knight, church and chamber shall


If I value the blood on this garment or no."


all ;

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And when it was time for the nobles to pass, The Baptist's fair morrow beheld gallant feats- In solemn procession to minster and mass, There was winning of honor, and losing of seats- The first walk'd the Princess in purple and pall, There was hewing with falchions, and splintering But the blood-besmear'd night-robe she wore over

of staves, The victors won glory, the vanquish'd won graves. And eke, in the hall, where they all sat at dine O, many a knight there fought bravely and well, When she knelt to her father and proffer'd the wine, Yet one was accounted his peers to excel, Over all her rich robes and state jewels, she wore And 'twas he whose sole armor on body and breast, That wimple unseemly bedabbled with gore. Seem'd the weed of a damsel when boune for her! rest.

Then lords whisper'd ladies, as well you may think,

And ladies replied, with nod, titter, and wink; There were some dealt him wounds that were And the Prince, who in anger and shame had look'd bloody and sore,


[a frown: But others respected his plight, and forbore. Turn'd at length to his daughter, and spoke with " It is some oath of honor," they said, " and I trow, “Now since thou hast publish'd thy folly and guilt, 'Twere unknightly to slay him achieving his vow.” E'en atone with thy hand for the blood thou hast Then the Prince, for his sake, bade the tournament

spilt ; cease,

Yet sore for your holdness you both will repent, He flung down his warder, the trumpets sung When you wander as exiles from fair Benevent,"

peace; And the judges declare, and competitors yield,

Then out spoke stout Thomas, in hall where he That the Knight of the Night-gear was first in the

stood, field.

Exhausted and feeble, but dauntless of mood :

“ The blood that I lost for this daughter of thine, The feast it was nigh, and the mass it was nigher, I pour'd forth as freely as flask gives its wine ; When before the fair Princess low louted a squire, And if for my sake she brooks penance and blame, And deliver'd a garment unseemly to view, Do not doubt I will save her from suffering and With sword-cut and spear-thrust, all hack'd and shame; pierced through;

And light will she reck of thy princedom and rent, All rent and all tatter'd, all clotted with blood, When I hail her, in England, the Countess of Kent." With foam of the horses, with dust, and with mud,

Chap. xxvi Not the point of that lady's small finger, I ween, Could have rested on spot was unsullied and clean.

(3.)-MOTTOES. " This token my master, Sir Thomas a Kent, Restores to the Princess of fair Benevent;

(1.)-CHAP. IX. He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the This is the Prince of Leeches ; fever, plague, fruit,

[suit ; Cold rheum, and hot podagra, do but look on him, He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his And quit their grasp upon the tortured sinews. Through life's utmost peril the prize I have won,



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