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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:
Do fede their hunger full.
But, wel-away! that nature wrought
The[e], Phylida, so faire:
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?
I see therefore to shape my death
She cruelly is prest;
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:
That loved her faithfully.
But since that I shal die her slave;
Her slave, and eke her thrall:
This chaunce that is befall.
Here lieth unhappy Harpalus
By cruell love now slaine :
Hath murdred with disdaine.'
ROBIN AND MAKYNE.
AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH PASTORAL.
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,
O Robin rew on me:
Thir towmonds twa or thre;
Doubtless but dreid Ill die.'
Robin replied, “Now by the rude,
Naithing of luve I knaw,
Lo quhair they raik on raw.
Thou Makyne to me schaw;
Fain wald I leir that law.'
• The law of luve gin thou wald leir,
Tak thair an A, B, C;
Wyse, hardy, kind and frie,
Quhat dule in dern thou drie;
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.
My sheep gais hail abuve;
They wald us baith repruve.'
Robin, tak tent unto my tale,
And wirk all as I reid;
Eik and my maiden-heid:
And for murning remeid,
• Makyne, to-morn be this ilk tyde,
Gif ye will meit me heir,
Quhyle we have liggd full neir;
Frae thay begin to steir,
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.'
Syne Robin on his ways he went,
As light as leif on tree;
Scho trow'd him neir to see.
Then Makyne cried on hie,
Quhat ailis luve at me?'
Makyne went hame withouten fail,
And weirylie could weip;
Assemblit all his sheip.
Out-throw his heart could creip;
And till her tuke gude keip.
A word for ony thing;
Is all my coveting ;
Will need of nae keiping.'