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 ewe she hath by her the ramme: But, wel-away! that nature wrought For I may say that I have bought 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 To th'ende that I may want my breath: O Cupide, graunt this my request, That she may feele within her brest The paines of my dispaires: 80 85 90 Of Corin [who] is carèlesse, That she may crave her fee: But since that I shal die her slave; 95 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 Dumferling, 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, Quhen mirry Makyne said him till, I haif thee luivt baith loud and still, Robin replied, 'Now by the rude, But keip my sheip undir yon Lo quhair they raik on raw. wod: 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, Be heynd, courtas, and fair of feir, Quhat dule in dern thou drie; Robin, he answert her againe, 5 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. Robin, tak tent unto my tale, And thou sall haif my heart all hale, 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, Frae thay begin to steir, Quhat lyes on heart I will nocht hyd, 'Robin, thou reivs me of my rest; Makyne, adieu! the sun goes west, That luve will be my bane.' Makyn, gae luve quhair-eir ye list, 55 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 beguyle, For hameward I will fare.' Syne Robin on his ways he went, But Makyne murnt and made lament, Robin he brayd attowre the bent: Then Makyne cried on hie, Now may thou sing, for I am shent! 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, 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, All hale thy heart for till have myne, Is all my coveting; My sheip to morn quhyle houris nyne, 60 339 70 75 80 85 |