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Ho

0! broder Teague, dost hear de decree?

Lilli burlero, bullen a-la. Dat we Mall have a new deputie, Lilli builero bullen a-la. Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la, 5

Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la

Ho! by Maint Tyburn, it is de Talbote:

Lilli, &c.
And he will cut de Englishmen's troate,

Lilli, &c.

10

Dough by my shoul de English do praat,

Lilli, &c.
De law's on dare lide, and Creilh knows what,

Lilli, &c.

But if dispence do come from de pope,

15 Lilli, &c. We'll hang Magna Charta, and dem in a rope.

Lilli, &c.

For de good Talbot is made a lord,

Lilli, &c.
And wjih trave lads is coming aboard:

Lilli, &c.

20

Who all in France have taken a sware,

Lilli, &c.

Ver. 7. Ho by my shoul. al. ed.

Dåt

35

Dat dey will have no protestant heir,

Lilli, &c.

Ara! but why does he stay behind ?

Lilli, &c.
Ho! by my shoul 'tis a protestant wind.

Lilli, &c.

30

But fee de Tyrconnel is now come ashore,

Lilli, &c.
And we shall have commissions gillore,

Lilli, &c.

35

And he dat will not go to de mass,

Lilli, &c.
Shall be turn out, and look like an ass.

Lilli, &c.

Now, now de hereticks all go down,

Lilli, &c. By Chrish and fhaint Patrick, de nation's our own.

Lilli, &c.

Dare was an old prophesy found in a bog,

Lilli, &c. 4 Ireland shall be ruld by an ası, and a dog." 45

Lilli, &c.

Tw.43. What follows is not in fome copica

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And now dis prophesy is come to pass,

Lilli, &c.
For Talbot's de dog, and JA**s is de ass.

Lilli, &c.

* The foregoing Song is attributed to Lord WHARTon in a small pamphlet, intitled, A true relation of the several facts and circumstances of the intended riot and cuntult on 2. Elizabeth's birib-day, &c." 31. ed. Lond. 1712, pr. 20.-See p. 5, viz.-“ A late Viceroy (of Ireland,] wh has jo often boalled himself upon his talent for mischief, invention, lying, and for making "tain Lilli urtero Song; with which, if you will believe

himself, he sung a desuded Prince out of Three King66 doms.

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XXIV. THE BRA ES OF YARROW, IN IMITATION OF THE ANCIENT SCOTS MANNER,

was written by William Hamilton, of Bungour, Esq; wha died March 25, 1754, aged 50. It is printed from an elegant edition of his Poens publisled at Edinburgh, 1700,

I bis sing was written in imitation of an old Scottil! Ballad on a similar subject, with the same burden to sach stanza.

I 217,0

A. O USK ye, buk ye, my bụnny bonny bride,
D ,

B fk ye, bulk ye, my winfome marrow,
Bulk ye, buik ye, my bonny bonny bride,
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow.

B. Where

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B. Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride ?

Where gat ye that winsome marrow ? A. I gat her where I dare na weil be seen,

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride,

Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow; 10 Nor let thy heart lament to leive

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

B. Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride?

Why does she weep thy win some marrow?
And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow?

15

A. Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep,

Lang maun she weep with dule and forrow;
And lang maun I nae mair weil be seen

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 20

For she has tint her luver, luver dear,

Her luver dear, the cause of sorrow ;
And I hae flain the comlieft swain

That eir pu'd birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

Why rins thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, reidt 25

Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow?
And why yon melancholious weids
Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow ?

What's

What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful Aude?

What's yonder floats ? O dule and forrow! 30 O'tis he the comely swain 1 flew

Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow.

Wash, wash his wounds, his wounds in tears,

His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow; And wrap his limbs in mourning weids, 35

And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow.

Then build, then build, ye fifters, fifters fad,

Ye sisters fad, his tomb with sorrow ; And weep around in waeful wise

His hapless fate on the Braes of Yarrow.

40

Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless fhield,

My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, The fatal spear that pierc'd his breast,

His comely breast on the Braes of Yarrow,

Did I not warn thee, not to, not to luve ? 43

And warn from fight? but to my sorrow Too rashly bauld a stronger arm

Thou mett'st, and fell it on the Braes of Yarrow.

Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green grows

the grass, Yellow on Yarrow's bank the gowan, Fair hange the apple frae the rock,

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan.

Flows

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