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"And teach my son to lisp her name, "Who died to fave his life.

"Then calling ftill upon thy name, And praying ftill for thee;

"Without repining or complaint, "Her gentle foul did flee.”

What tongue can paint lord Albret's woe,

The bitter tears he fhed,

The bitter pangs that wrung

"To find his lady dead?

his heart,

He beat his breaft: he tore his hair:

And shedding many a teare,

At length he afkt to see his fon;

The fon that coft fo deare.

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New forrowe feiz'd the damfells all:

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At length they faultering faye;

"Alas! my lord, how fhall we tell?

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"Faire as the sweetest flower of spring,

"Such was his infant mien :

"And on his little body ftampt

"Three wonderous marks were feen :

"A blood-red crofs was on his arme;

"A dragon on his breast:

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"A little garter all of gold

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"Was round his leg expreft.

"Three carefull nurses we provide

Our little lord to keepe:

"One gave him fucke, one gave him food, "And one did lull to fleepe.

"But lo! all in the dead of night,

"We heard a fearful found:

"Loud thunder clapt; the caftle shook;

"And lightning flafht around,

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"Dead with affright at firft we lay;

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But roufing up anon,

"We ran to fee our little lord:

"Our little lord was gone!

"But how or where we could not tell; "For lying on the ground,

"In deep and magic flumbers laid, "The nurses there we found.

O grief on grief! lord Albret faid :

No more his tongue cou'd fay, When falling in a deadly fwoone,

Long time he lifeless lay.

At length reftor'❜d to life and sense

He nourisht endless woe,

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No

No future joy his heart could taste,
No future comfort knowe.

So withers on the mountain top

A fair and ftately oake,

Whofe vigorous arms are torne away,
By fome rude thunder-stroke.

At length his castle irksome grew,

He loathes his wonted home;

His native country he forfakes

In foreign lands to roame.

There up and downe he wandered far,
Clad in a palmer's gowne;

Till his brown locks grew

white as wool,

His beard as thiftle downe.

At length, all wearied, down in death

He laid his reverend head. Meantime amid the lonely wilds

His little fon was bred.

There the weird lady of the woods

Had borne him far away,

And train'd him up in feates of armes,

And every martial play.

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II. LOVE

[II.]

GEORGE BARN WELL.

The fubject of this ballad is fufficiently popular from the mo dern play which is founded upon it. This was written by GEORGE LILLO a jeweller of London, and first acted about 1730. -As for the ballad, it was printed at least as early as the middle of the last century.

It is bere given from three old printed copies, which exhibit a ftrange intermixture of Roman and black letter. It is alfo collated with another copy in the Afbmole collection at Oxford, which is thus intitled, "An excellent ballad of "GEORGE BARNWELL, an apprentice of London, who 66 thrice robbed his mafter and murdered his uncle in "Ludlow. The tune is "The Merchant."

This tragical narrative feems to relate a real fa&; but when it happened I have not been able to discover.

A

THE FIRST PART.

LL youths of fair Englànd

That dwell both far and near,

Regard my story that I tell,

And to my fong give ear.

A London lad I was,

A merchant's prentice bound;

My name George Barnwell; that did spend

My mafter many a pound.

VOL. I.

[2d P]

Take

Take heed of harlots then,

And their enticing trains;

For by that means I have been brought

To hang alive in chains.

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