Reliques of Ancient English Poetry consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and other Pieces of our earlier Poets, (Chiefly of the Lyric kind.) Together with some few of later Date |
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Reliques of Ancient English Poetry | ||
IV. FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM.
This seems to be the old song quoted in Fletcher's “Knight of the burning pestle.” Acts 2d and 3d; altho' the six lines there preserved are somewhat different from those in the ballad, as it stands at present. The Reader will not wonder at this, when he is informed that this is only given from a modern printed copy picked up on a stall. It's full title is “Fair Margaret's Misfortunes; or Sweet William's frightful dreams on his wedding night, with the sudden death and burial of those noble lovers.”—
The lines preserved in the play are this distich,
“I am no love for you.”
And the following stanza,
“And all were fast asleep,
“In came Margarets grimly ghost
“And stood at William feet.”
These lines have acquired an importance by giving birth to one of the most beautiful ballads in our own or any language. See the song intituled Margaret's Ghost, at the end of this volume.
In this second edition some improvements are inserted, which were communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she had heard this song repeated in her infancy.
Two lovers they sat on a hill;
They sat together that long summer's day,
And could not talk their fill.
And you see none by mee;
Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock
A rich wedding you shall see.
Combing her yellow hair;
There she spyed sweet William and his bride,
As they were a riding near.
And braided her hair in twain:
She went alive out of her bower,
But ne'er came alive in't again.
And all men fast asleep,
There came the spirit of fair Marg'ret,
And stood at Williams feet.
Or, sweet William, are you asleep?
God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,
And me of my winding-sheet.
And all men wak'd from sleep,
Sweet William to his lady sayd,
My dear, I have cause to weep.
Such dreames are never good:
I dreamt my bower was full of red swine,
And my bride-bed full of blood.
They never do prove good;
To dream thy bower was full of ‘red’ swine,
And thy bride-bed full of blood.
By one, by two, and by three;
Saying, I'll away to fair Marg'rets bower,
By the leave of my ladyè.
He knocked at the ring;
And who so ready as her seven brethrèn
To let sweet William in.
Pray let me see the dead:
Methinks she does look pale and wan,
She has lost her cherry red.
Than any of thy kin;
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
Though a smile I cannot win.
Making most piteous mone:
You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,
And let our sister alone.
I do but what is right;
I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse
By day, nor yet by night.
Deal on your cake and your wine;
For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,
Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.
Sweet William dyed the morrow:
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,
Sweet William dyed for sorrow.
And William in the higher:
Out of her brest there sprang a rose,
And out of his a briar.
And then they could grow no higher;
And there they tyed in a true lovers knot,
Which made all the people admire.
As you the truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there.
Reliques of Ancient English Poetry | ||