Reliques of ancient English poetry: consisting of old heroic ballads ...

AN t>- BALLADS. 97
Since nothing bot Gill Morice head
Thy jelous rage could quell,
Let that faim hand now tak hir life,
That neir to thee did ill.
To me nae after days nor nichts 18c
Will eir be faft or kind
I'll fill the air with heavy fighs,
And greet till I am blind.
Enouch of blood by me's bin fpilt,
Seek not zour death frae mee
;
; ; ;
I rather lourd it had been my fel
Than eather him or thee.
With waefo wae I hear zour plaint
Sair, fair I rew the deid,
That eir this curfed hand of mine
Had gard his body bleid.
Dry up zour tears, my winfom dame,
Ze neir can heal the wound
Ze fee his head upon the fpeir,
His heart's blude on the ground.
I curfe the hand that did the deid,
The heart that thocht the ill
The feet that bore me wi* fik fpeid,
The comely zouth to kill.
;
I90
*9*
I'll ay lament for Gill Morice, 205
As gin he were my ain j
Vol. III. H I'll