"I would give you fifty pounds
Of gold and white monie ;
I would give you fifty pounds,

If the traitor Wallace ye'd let me see."

"Tell down your money," said Willie Wallace, "Tell down your money, if it be good;

I'm sure I have it in my power,
And never had a better bode.

"Tell down your money, if it be good,
And let me see if it be fine,

I'm sure I have it in my power
To bring the traitor Wallace in."

The money was told on the table,
Silver bright of pounds fiftie;
"Now here I stand," said Willie Wallace,
"And what hae ye to say to me?"

He slew the captain where he stood,
The rest they did quake an' roar ;
He slew the rest around the room,

And ask'd if there were any more.

Come, cover the table," said Willie Wallace, 'Come, cover the table now, make haste,

For it will soon be three lang days

Sin I a bit o' meat did taste."

The table was not well covered,

Nor yet had he set down to dine,

Till fifteen more of the English lords

Surrounded the house where he was in.

The guidwife she ran but the floor,
And aye the guidman he ran ben;
From eight o'clock till four at noon,
He has killed full thirty men.

He put the house in sic a swither,

That five o' them he sticket dead;
Five o' them he drown'd in the river,
And five hung in the West-muir wood.
Now he is on to the North-Inch gone,
Where the maid was washing tenderlie;
"Now by my sooth," said Willie Wallace,
"It's been a sair day's wark to me."
He's put his hand in his pocket,

And he has pulled out twenty pounds,
Says, "Tak ye that, ye weel-faured maid,
For the gude luck of your half-crown."

SWEET WILLIE AND LADY MARGERIE.

This ballad was taken down by Mr Motherwell, in 1825, from the recitation of a lady then far advanced in years, with whose grandmother it was a favourite. It bears some resemblance to Clerk Saunders.

SWEET WILLIE was a widow's son,
And he wore a milk-white weed 0;
And weel could Willie read and write,
Far better ride on steed O.

Lady Margerie was the first ladye

That drank to him the wine O;

And aye as the healths gaed round and round, "Laddie, your love is mine O."

Lady Margerie was the first ladye

That drank to him the beer Ŏ;

And aye as the healths gaed round and round, "Laddie, ye're welcome here O.

"You must come intil my bower
When the evening bells do ring 0;
And you must come intil my bower
When the evening mass doth sing O."

He's taen four-and-twenty braid arrows,
And laced them in a whang 0;
And he's awa' to Lady Margerie's bower,
As fast as he can gang O.

He set his ae foot on the wa',
And the other on a stane O;

And he's kill'd a' the king's life-guards,
He's kill'd them every man O.

"Oh, open, open, Lady Margerie,
Open and let me in O;

The weet weets a' my yellow hair,
And the dew draps on my chin O."

With her feet as white as sleet

She strode her bower within O; And with her fingers lang and sma' She's looten sweet Willie in O.

She's louted down unto his foot,

To louze sweet Willie's shoon 0;

The buckles were sae stiff they wadna lowze, The blood had frozen in O.

"O Willie, O Willie, I fear that thou
Hast bred me dule and sorrow;
The deed that thou hast done this nicht
Will kythe upon the morrow."

In then came her father dear,
And a braid sword by his gare 0;
And he's gien Willie, the widow's son,
A deep wound and a sair O.

"Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says, "Your sweat weets a' my side O; Lye yont, lye yont, Willie," she says, For your sweat I downa bide O."

She turned her back unto the wa',
Her face unto the room 0;
And there she saw her auld father
Fast walking up and doun O.

"Woe be to you, father," she said, "And an ill death may you die O; For ye've killed Willie, the widow's son, And he would have married me O."

She turned her back unto the room,
Her face unto the wa' O;

And with a deep and heavy sich,
Her heart it brak in twa O.

KEMPION.

The tale of Kempion seems, from the names of the personages and the nature of the adventure, to have been an old metrical romance, degraded into a ballad by the lapse of time, and the corruption of reciters. The change in the structure of the last verses from the common ballad stanza to that which is proper to the metrical romance, adds force to this conjecture.

Such transformations as the song narrates are common in the annals of chivalry. In the 25th and 26th cantos of the second book of the Orlando Inamorato, the paladin, Brandimarte, after surmounting many obstacles, penetrates into the recesses of an enchanted palace. Here he finds a fair damsel seated upon a tomb, who announces to him that, in order to achieve her deliverance, he must raise the lid of the sepulchre, and kiss whatever being should issue forth. The knight, having pledged his faith, proceeds to open the tomb, out of which a monstrous snake issues forth with a tremendous hiss. Brandimarte, with much reluctance, fulfils the bizarre conditions of the adventure, and the monster is instantly changed into a beautiful fairy, who loads her deliverer with benefits.

There is a ballad somewhat resembling Kempion, called The Laidley Worm of Spindleston-heugh, which is very popular upon the borders. The most common version was either entirely composed, or re-written by the Reverend Mr Lamb, of Norham.-SIR WALTER SCOTT.

CUM heir, cum heir, ye freely feed,
And lay your head low on my knee;
The heaviest weird I will you read
That ever was read to gay ladye.

"O meikle dolour sall ye dree,

And aye the salt seas o'er ye'se swim;
And far mair dolour sall ye dree,

On Estmere crags, when ye them climb.