This news did grieve her at the heart, But straight she runs to see, Whether it was so or no,

It prov'd the contrary.

For both the babes she found alive,
As God would have it so,
Which did revive her drooping heart,
Now joys exceed all woe,
King Alexander being well,
To Hungary he goes,

And Lodwick, his beloved friend,

To overthrow his foes.

The victory they soon obtain'd,

And took the Lord and Queen, And doom'd them to such cruel deaths, As yet had not been seen, `King Alexander again was crown'd

By help of his good friend,

Their griefs to joys converted were,

Their pleasures did transcend,

XVII.

"LONDON LASSES LAMENTATION:

OR,

Her fear she should never be married."

To the tune of-I marry, and thank ye too.

ALAS! I am in a rage,

And bitterly weep and cry,

Because I'm nineteen years of age,

Yet cannot be married, not I.

No gallant regards my moan,
For love I am like to die,
It grieves my heart to lie alone,
Yet cannot be married, not I.

Mine eyes do like fountains flow,
As I on my pillow lie,
There's none know what I undergo,
Yet cannot be married, not I.

There's Margery, Sue and Kate
Have husbands with them to lie,
Yet none regard my wretched fate,
Yet cannot be married, not I.

Young men I must tell you true,
I scorn to report a lie :

I am both fair and handsome too,
Yet cannot be married, not I.

My Father is grey and old,

And surely ere long will die, And though he 'll leave me all his gold Yet cannot be married, not I.

Oh this is my grief and care!
The which I cannot pass by,
To think I am my father's heir
Yet cannot be married, not I.

;

I am in distraction hurl'd,
And do for a husband cry,
It's more to me than all the world
Yet cannot be married, not I.

I am a poor love-sick girl,

And ready with grief to die,

I proffer'd jewels and gold,

Yet cannot be married, not I.

In silks I am still array'd,

And ev'ry new fashion buy, Because I'm loth to die a maid,

Yet cannot be married, not I.

I paint and I powder still,

To tempt all that I come nigh, But yet let me do what I will,

Yet cannot be married, not I.

There's n'er a lass in town,

For beauty can me come nigh, But fortune she has sent a frown, I cannot be married, not I.

The gold which I have in store,
I value no more than clay,
I'd give all had I ten times more,
So I might be married to day.

XVIII.

"THE LOVELY NORTHERN LASS,

Who in this ditty here complaining shews What harm she got milking her daddy's ewes."

To a pleasant Scotch tune called The Broom of Cowdon Knowes.

THROUGH Liddersdale as lately I went,

I musing on did pass,

I heard a maid was discontent,

She sigh'd and said, alas!

All maids that ever deceived were,
Bear a part of these my woes,
For once I was a bonny lass

When I milkt my daddy's ewes.
With O the broom, the bonny broom,
The broom of Cowdon Knowes,
Fain would I be in the north country,
To milk my daddy's ewes.

My love into the fields did come
When my daddy was at home,
Sugar'd words he gave me there,
Prais'd me for such a one,