For with hempen cord its better
Το stop each poor man's breath,
Than with famine you should see
Your subjects starve to death.
Up starts a Dutch Lord,

Who to Delaware did say,
Thou deservest to be stabb'd!
Then he turn'd himself away:

Thou deservest to be stabb'd,
And the dogs have thine ears,

For insulting our King

In this Parliament of peers;

Up sprang a Welsh Lord,

The brave Duke of Devonshire,

In young Delaware's defence, I'll fight This Dutch Lord, my Sire.

For he is in the right,

And I'll make it so appear:
Him I dare to single combat,
For insulting Delaware.
A stage was soon erected,

And to combat they went,
For to kill, or to be kill'd,

It was either's full intent.

But the very first flourish,

When the heralds gave command, The sword of brave Devonshire

Bent backward on his hand;

LORD DELAWARE.

In suspense he paused awhile,
Scann'd his foe before he strake,
Then against the king's armour,

His bent sword he brake.

Then he

sprang from the stage,

To a soldier in the ring,

Saying, "Lend your sword, that to an end

This tragedy we bring:
Though he's fighting me in armour,

While I am fighting bare,

Even more than this I'd venture,
For young Lord Delaware."

Leaping back on the stage,

Sword to buckler now resounds,

Till he left the Dutch Lord

A bleeding in his wounds:

This seeing, cries the King

To his guards without delay, "Call Devonshire down,— Take the dead man away!"

No, says brave Devonshire,

I've fought him as a man, Since he's dead, I will keep

The trophies I have won;

For he fought me in your armour,

While I fought him bare,

137

And the same you must win back, my Liege,

If ever you them wear.

God bless the Church of England,
May it prosper on each hand,
And also every poor man

Now starving in this land;

And while I pray success may crown

Our king upon his throne,

I'll wish that every poor man,

May long enjoy his own.

An imperfect copy of the foregoing interesting Ballad, was noted down by us from the singing of a gentleman in this city, which has necessarily been re-modelled and smoothed down to the present measure, without any other liberties, however, having been taken with the original narrative, which is here carefully preserved as it was committed to us, while the spirit of our original, so far as our endeavours were competent for the task, has been retained throughout. We have not, as yet, been able to trace out the historical incident upon which the Ballad appears to have been founded, yet those curious in such matters may consult, if they list, "Proceedings and Debates in the House of Commons, for 1621 and 1622," where they will find that some stormy debatings in these several years, have been agitated in Parliament regarding the Corn Laws, which bear pretty close upon the leading features of the above. The air is beautiful, and peculiar to the Ballad.

THE BONNY LASS O' GOWRIE.

A wee bit north frae yon green wood,
Whare draps the sunny showerie,
The lofty elm-trees spread their boughs,
To shade the braes o' Gowrie;
An' by yon burn ye scarce can see,
There stan's a rustic bowerie,
Whare lives a lass mair dear to me,

Than a' the maids in Gowrie.