"Oh, say not so, thou holy friar, I pray thee say not so;

For since my true-love died for me,
'Tis meet my tears should flow.

And will he never come again?
Will he ne'er come again?

Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,
For ever to remain.

His cheek was redder than the rose;
The comeliest youth was he;

But he is dead and laid in his grave:
Alas, and woe is me!"

66 Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more;
Men were deceivers ever;

One foot on sea and one on land,
To one thing constant never.

Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,
And left thee sad and heavy;

For young men ever were fickle found,
Since summer trees were leafy."

And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth,

And didst thou die for me ?

Then farewell, home; for evermore

A pilgrim I will be.

But first upon my true-love's grave

My weary limbs I'll lay,

And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf

That wraps his breathless clay."

"Yet stay, fair lady, rest awhile

Beneath this cloister wall;

See, through the hawthorn blows cold the wind, And drizzly rain doth fall.”

Here forced by grief and hopeless love,
These holy weeds I sought,

And here amid these lonely walls

To end my days I thought.

But haply, for my year of grace
Is not yet pass'd away,

Might I still hope to win thy love,

No longer would I stay."

"Now farewell grief, and welcome joy

Once more unto my heart;

For since I have found thee, lovely youth,
We never more will part.."

Dispersed through Shakspeare's plays are innumerable little fragments of ancient ballads, the entire copies of which could not be recovered. Many of these being of the most beautiful and pathetic simplicity, the editor of " Percy's Reliques" was tempted to select some of them, and with a few supplemental stanzas to connect them together and form them into a little tale, which is here submitted to the reader's candour. One small fragment was taken from Beaumont and Fletcher.-PERCY.

In cots where the lowly mourn;
For want and woe

At her coming go,
And joy and peace return.

Fair is the miller's daughter too,
With her locks of golden hair,
With her laughing eye and sunny brow;
Still better is she than fair.

She hath lighten'd toil

With her winning smile;
And if ever his heart was sad,
Let her sing the song

He hath loved so long,

And the miller's heart was glad.

Merrily rolls the mill-stream on, &c.

THE MILLER.

CRARLES HIGHMORE. Written for Robert Dodsley's entertainment, "The King and Miller of Mansfield."

possess,

How happy a state does the miller
Who would be no greater, nor fears to be less!
On his mill and himself he depends for support,
Which is better than servilely cringing at court.

What though he all dusty and whiten'd does go,
The more he's bepowder'd the more like a beau.
A clown in his dress may be honester far

Than a courtier who struts in his garter and star.

Though his hands are so daub'd they're not fit to be seen, The hands of his betters are not very clean;

A palm more polite may as dirtily deal

Gold in handling will stick to the fingers like méal.

What if, when a pudding for dinner he lacks,
He cribs without scruple from other men's sacks,
In this of right noble example he brags
Who borrows as freely from other men's bags.

Or should he endeavour to heap an estate,
In this he would mimic the tools of the state,
Whose aim is alone their own coffers to fill,
As all his concern's to bring grist to the mill.

He eats when he's hungry, he drinks when he's dry,
And down when he's weary contented does lie;
Then rises up cheerful to work and to sing:
If so happy a miller, then who'd be a king?

The "Miller" seems to have been a favourite character with our song writers from the earliest times, and to have been generally depicted as a model of sturdy independence. There is a song upon the subject in the poems of John Cunningham. See Bell's edition of the "British Poets," vol. ciii. The sentiment in the two concluding lines of the "Miller" is borrowed from the more ancient song of the "Jovial Beggars."

THE PRETTY PARROT.

From AIKIN'S "Vocal Poetry."

PRETTY Parrot, say, when I was away,
And in dull absence pass'd the day,
What at home was doing?
"With chat and play

All were gay,

Night and day

Good cheer and mirth renewing,

Singing, laughing all, like pretty, pretty Poll."

Was no fop so rude boldly to intrude,
And like a saucy lover would

Court and teaze my lady?

"A thing, you know,

Made for show,

Call'd a beau,

Near her was always ready;

Ever at her call, like pretty, pretty Poll."

Tell me with what air he approached the fair,

And how she could with patience bear