'Oh! the lead it is wondrous heavy, mother The well it is wondrous deep, The little penknife sticks in my throat, And I downa to ye speak.
'But lift me out o' this deep draw-well, And bury me in yon churchyard; Put a Bible at my head,' he says, 'And a testament at my feet, And pen and ink at every side, And I'll lie still and sleep.
'And go to the back of Maitland town, Bring me my winding-sheet; For it's at the back of Maitland town That you and I sall meet.'
O the broom, the bonny, bonny broom The broom that makes full sore; A woman's mercy is very little, But a man's mercy is more.
This ae nighte, this ae nighte, _Every nighte and alle_, Fire, and sleet, and candle lighte, _And Christe receive thye saule_.
When thou from hence away art paste, _Every nighte and alle_, To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste, _And Christe receive thye saule_.
If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon, _Every nighte and alle_, Sit thee down and put them on, _And Christe receive thye saule_.
If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gavest nane, _Every nighte and alle_, The whinnes sall pricke thee to the bare bane; _And Christe receive thye saule_.
From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe, _Every nighte and alle_, To Brigg o' Dread thou comest at laste, _And Christe receive thye saule._
From Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst passe, _Every nighte and alle_, To Purgatory fire thou comest at last, _And Christe receive thye saule_.
If ever thou gavest meat or drink, _Every nighte and alle_, The fire sall never make thee shrinke, _And Christe receive thye saule_.
If meate or drinke thou never gavest nane, _Every nighte and alle_, The fire will burn thee to the bare bane; _And Christe receive thye saule_.
This ae nighte, this ae nighte, _Every nighte and alle_, Fire, and sleet, and candle lighte, _And Christe receive thye saule_.
_THE RED FISHERMAN; OR, THE DEVIL'S DECOY_
'Oh flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified.'--_Romeo and Juliet._
The Abbot arose, and closed his book, And donned his sandal shoon, And wandered forth, alone, to look Upon the summer moon: A starlight sky was o'er his head, A quiet breeze around; And the flowers a thrilling fragrance shed, And the waves a soothing sound: It was not an hour, nor a scene, for aught But love and calm delight; Yet the holy man had a cloud of thought On his wrinkled brow that night.