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

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128 ANCIENT SONGS<br />

My bones are buried in a kirk yard<br />

Afar beyond the fea,<br />

And it is but my fprite, Margret, 35<br />

That's fpeaking now to thee.<br />

She ftretched out her lilly-white hand,<br />

As for to do her beft :<br />

Hae there your faith and troth, Willie,<br />

God fend your foul good reft. 40<br />

Now me has kilted her robes <strong>of</strong> green,<br />

A piece below her knee :<br />

And a' the live-lang winter night<br />

The dead corps followed fhee.<br />

Is there any room at your head, Willie ? 45<br />

Or any room at your feet ?<br />

Or any room at your fide, Willie,<br />

Wherein that I may creep ?<br />

There's nae room at my head, Margret,<br />

There's nae room at my feet, 5©<br />

There's no room at my fide, Margret,<br />

My c<strong>of</strong>fin is made fo meet.<br />

Then up and crew the red red cock,<br />

And up then crew the gray :<br />

Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, 55<br />

That you were gane away.<br />

No

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