Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
I. Disappointment in LoveLady Ann Bothwells Lament
AnonymousB
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe;
If thoust be silent, Ise be glad,
Thy maining maks my heart ful sad.
Balow, my boy, thy mither’s joy!
Thy father breides me great annoy.
Balow, my ’babe, ly stil and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.
And with his sugred words to muve,
His faynings fals and flattering cheire
To me that time did not appeire:
But now I see, most cruell hee,
Cares neither for my babe nor mee.
Balow, etc.
And when thou wakest sweitly smile:
But smile not, as thy father did,
To cozen maids; nay, God forbid!
But yette I feire, thou wilt gae neire,
Thy fatheris hart and face to beire.
Balow, etc.
Be luving to thy father stil:
Whaireir he gae, whaireir he ryde,
My luve with him maun stil abyde:
In weil or wae, whaireir he gae,
Mine hart can neir depart him frae.
Balow, etc.
To faynings fals thine hart incline;
Be loyal to thy luver trew,
And nevir change hir for a new;
If gude or faire, of hir have care,
For womens banning ’s wonderous sair.
Balow, etc.
Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine;
My babe and I ’ll together live,
He ’ll comfort me when cares doe grieve;
My babe and I right saft will ly,
And quite forgeit man’s cruelty.
Balow, etc.
That ever kist a woman’s mouth!
I wish all maids be warned by mee,
Nevir to trust man’s curtesy;
For if we doe but chance to bow,
They ’ll use us then they care not how.
Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe!
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.