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"O how happy is that woman

That enjoys so true a friend; Many happy day's God send her!

And of my suit I'll make an end:

On my knees I pardon crave for my offence,
Which love and true affection did first commence.

'Commend me to that gallant lady,
Bear to her this chain of gold,
With these bracelets for a token;
Grieving that I was so bold:

All my jewels, in like sort, take thou with thee;
For they are fitting for thy wife, but not for me.

'I will spend my days in prayer,

Love and all his laws defy; In a nunnery I will shroud me,

Far from any company:

But ere my prayers have an end, be sure of this, To pray for thee and for thy love I will not miss.

'Thus farewell, most gallant captain! Farewell to my heart's content! Count not Spanish ladies wanton,

Though to thee my mind was bent:

Joy and true prosperity go still with thee!'
The like fall unto thy share, most fair lady!'

Anonymous.

THE BRIDAL BED.

IT was a maid of low degree,
Sat on her true-love's grave;
And with her tears most piteously
The green turf she did lave;

She strew'd the flowers, she pluck'd the weed,

And showers of tears she shed: 'Sweet turf!' she said, 'by fate decreed To be my bridal bed.

'I've set thee, flower; for that the flower
Of manhood lieth here;

And watered thee, with plenteous showers
Of many a briny tear.

And still she cried-'Oh stay, my love,
My true-love, stay for me:

Stay, till I've deck'd my bridal bed,

And I will follow thee.

'I pluck'd thee, weed, for that no weed
Did in his bosom grow;

But sweetest flowers, from virtue's seed,
Did there spontaneous blow.

But, ah! their beauteous tints no more
A balmy fragrance shed;

And I must strew this meaner flower,
To deck my bridal bed.

'Sweet turf! thy green more green appears,
Tears make thy verdure grow:
Then thee I'll water with my tears,

Which now profusely flow,

O! stay for me, departed youth,

My true-love, stay for me;

Stay till I've deck'd my bridal bed,

And I will follow thee.

"This is the blooming wreath he wove,
To deck his bride, dear youth!
And this the ring, with which my love
To me did plight his truth;

And this dear ring I was to keep,

And with it to be wed:

But here, alas! I sigh and weep,
To deck my bridal bed!'

A blithesome knight came riding by,
And, as the bright moon shone,
He saw her on the green turf lie,
And heard her piteous moan-
For loud she cried-'Oh stay, my love,
My true-love, stay for me;
Stay, till I've deck'd my bridal bed,
And I will follow thee.'

'O say,' he said, 'fair maiden, say,
What cause doth work thy woe,
That on a cold grave thou dost lay,
And fast thy tears o'erflow?'
'Oh! I have cause to weep for woe,
For my true-love is dead!

And thus, while fast my tears o'erflow,
I deck my bridal bed.'

'Be calm, fair maid!' the knight replied, "Thou art too young to die;

Then go with me, and be my bride,
And leave the old to sigh.'

But still she call'd- Oh stay, my love,

My true-love, stay for me;

Stay, till I've deck'd my bridal bed,

And I will follow thee.'

'Oh leave,' he cried,' this grief so cold, And leave this dread despair,

And thou shalt flaunt in robes of gold, A lady rich and fair;

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Thou shalt have halls and castles fair;
And when, sweet maid! we wed,
O! thou shalt find much costly gear
To deck thy bridal bed.'

Ah! hold thy peace, too cruel knight,
Nor urge me to despair;

With thee my troth I will not plight,

For all thy proffers fair:

But I will die, with my own true-love

My true-love, stay for me;

Stay, till I've deck'd my bridal bed,

And I will follow thee.

Both halls and castles I despise :
This turf is all I crave;
For all my hopes, and all my joys,
Lie buried in this grave!

I want nor gold nor costly gear,
Now my true-love is dead;
But fading flower, and scalding tear,
To deck my bridal bed.'

'Oh! be my bride, thou weeping fair!
Oh! be my bride, I pray :
And I will build a tomb most rare,
Where thy true-love shall lay.'

Still, still with tears, she cried,' My love,

My true-love, stay for me!

Stay, till I've deck'd my bridal bed,

And I will follow thee.

'My love-he needs no tomb so rare!
In one green grave we'll lie;

Our carved works-these flowrets fair,
Our canopy-the sky.

Now go, sir Knight, go now thy ways,

Full soon

shall be dead :

But yet return, in some few days,

And deck my bridal bed:

"Then strew the flower, and pluck the thorn, And cleanse the turf, I pray :

So may some hand thy turf adorn,
When thou in grave shalt lay.
But stay, oh thou whom dear I love!
My true-love, stay for me;

Stay, till I've deck'd my bridal bed,
And I will follow thee.'

'No, maid, I will not go my ways,
And leave thee here alone;
Nor, while despair upon thee preys,
Neglect thy woful moan:

But I will stay, and share thy woe;
My tears with thine I'll shed;

And help thee pluck the flower, to strow
O'er thy sad bridal bed.'

Now from the church came forth the priest,
Whose midnight chaunt was done,
And much the hapless maid he press'd

To cease her piteous moan:

For still she cried- Oh stay, my love,

My true-love, stay for me;

Stay, till I've deck'd my bridal bed,
And I will follow thee.'

"O kneel with me,' he said, ' dear maid,
O kneel in holy prayer!

Haply, kind heaven may vouch thee aid,
And sooth thy sad despair.'

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