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O happy be ye, beastès wilde,

That here your pasture takes: I se that ye be not begilde

Of these your faithfull makes.

The hart he feedeth by the hinde:

The bucke harde by the do: The turtle dove is not unkinde

To him that loves her so.

The ewe she hath by her the ramme:

The yong cow hath the bull:
The calfe with many a lusty lambe

Do fede their hunger full.


But, wel-away! that nature wrought

The[e], Phylida, so faire:
For I may say that I have bought

Thy beauty all td deare.

What reason is that crueltie

With beautie should have part? Or els that such great tyranny

Should dwell in womans hart?

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I see therefore to shape my death

She cruelly is prest;
To th’ende that I may want my breath:

My dayes been at the best.


O Cupide, graunt this my request,

And do not stoppe thine eares; That she may feele within her brest

The paines of my dispaires:

Of Corin (who] is carelesse,

That she may crave her fee:
As I have done in great distresse,

That loved her faithfully.

But since that I shal die her slave;

Her slave, and eke her thrall:
Write you, my frendes, upon my grave

This chaunce that is befall.


Here lieth unhappy Harpalus

By cruell love now slaine :
Whom Phylida unjustly thus

Hath murdred with disdaine.'




The palm of pastoral poesy is here contested by a cotemporary writer with the author of the foregoing. The critics will judge of their respective merits ; but must make some allowance for the preceding ballad, which is given simply, as it stands in the old editions : whereas this, which follows, has been revised and amended throughout by Allan Ramsey, from whose • Ever-Green,' Vol. I. it is here chiefly printed. The curious reader may however compare it with the more original copy, printed among . Ancient Scottish Poems, from the MS. of George Bannatyne, 1568, Edinb. 1770, 12mo.' Mr. Robert Henryson (to whom we are indebted for this poem) appears to so much advantage among the writers of eclogue, that we are sorry we can give little other account of him besides what is contained in the following eloge, written by W. Dunbar, a Scottish poet, who lived about the middle of the 16th century:

*In Damferling, he [Death] hath tane Broun,

With gude Mr. Robert Henryson.' Indeed some little further insight into the history of this Scottish bard is gained from the title prefixed to some of his poems preserved in the British Museum ; viz.' The morall Fabillis of Esop compylit be Maister Robert Henrisoun, scolmaister of Dumfermling, 1571.' Harleian MSS. 3865. § 1.

In Ramsay's • Evergreen,' Vol. I. whence the above distich is extracted, are preserved two other little Doric pieces by Henryson; the one intitled • The Lyon and the Mouse;' the other, “The garment of gude Ladyis.' Some other of his Poems may be seen in the Ancient Scottish Poems printed from Bannatyne's MS.' above referred to.

ROBIN sat on the gude grene hill,

Keipand a flock of fie,
Quhen mirry Makyne said him till,

O Robin rew on me:
I haif thee luivt baith loud and still,

Thir towmonds twa or thre;
My dựle in dern bot gif thou dill,

Doubtless but dreid Ill die.'

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Robin replied, “Now by the rude,

Naithing of luve I knaw,
But keip my sheip undir yon wod:

Lo quhair they raik on raw.
Quhat can have mart thee in thy mude,

Thou Makyne to me schaw;
Or quhat is luve, or to be lude ?

Fain wald I leir that law.'


• The law of luve gin thou wald leir,

Tak thair an A, B, C;
Be heynd, courtas, and fair of feir,

Wyse, hardy, kind and frie,
Sae that nae danger do the deir,

Quhat dule in dern thou drie;
Press ay to pleis, and blyth appeir,

Be patient and privie.'

Robin, he answert her againe,

'I wat not quhat is luve; Ver. 19, Bannatyne's MS. reads as above, heynd, not keynd, as in the Edinb. edit. 1770.- Ver. 21, So that no danger. Bannatyne's MS.

But I haif marvel in certaine

Quhat makes thee thus wanrufe.
The wedder is fair, and I am fain;

My sheep gais hail abuve;
And sould we pley us on the plain,

They wald us baith repruve.'


Robin, tak tent unto my tale,

And wirk all as I reid;
And thou sall haif my heart all hale,

Eik and my maiden-heid:
Sen God, he sendis bute for bale,

And for murning remeid,
I'dern with thee bot gif I dale,
Doubtless I am but deid.'


• Makyne, to-morn be this ilk tyde,

Gif ye will meit me heir,
Maybe my sheip may gang besyde,

Quhyle we have liggd full neir;
But maugre haif I, gif I byde,

Frae thay begin to steir,
Quhat lyes on heart I will nocht hyd,

Then, Makyne, mak gude cheir.'


Robin, thou reivs me of my rest;

I luve bot thee alane.' • Makyne, adieu! the sun goes west,

The day is neir-hand gane.' * Robin, in dule I am so drest,

That luve will be my bane.' • Makyn, gae luve quhair-eir ye list,

For leman I luid nane.'


Robin, I stand in sic a style,

I sich and that full sair.' • Makyne, I have bene here this quyle;

At hame I wish I were.' * Robin, my hinny, talk and smyle,

Gif thou will do nae mair. · Makyne, som other man beguy

For hameward I will fare.'

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Syne Robin on his ways he went,

As light as leif on tree;
But Makyne murnt and made lament,

Scho trow'd him neir to see.
Robin he brayd attowre the bent:

Then Makyne cried on hie,
•Now may thou sing, for I am shent!

Quhat ailis luve at me?'

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Makyne went hame withouten fail,

And weirylie could weip;
Then Robin in a full fair dale

Assemblit all his sheip.
Be that some part of Makyne's ail,

Out-throw his heart could creip;
Hir fast he followt to assail,

And till her tuke gude keip.
* Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne,

A word for ony thing;
For all my luve, it sall be thyne,

Withouten departing.
All hale thy heart for till have myne,

Is all my coveting ;
My sheip to morn quhyle houris nyne,

Will need of nae keiping.'


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