Now say not so, thou holy friar, I pray thee say not soe; My love he had the truest heart: O he was ever true! And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth, And didst thou dye for mee? Then farewell home; for ever-more A pilgrim I will bee. But first upon my true-loves 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 cloyster wall: See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, And drizzly rain doth fall. O stay me not, thou holy friar; O stay me not, I pray; No drizzly rain that falls on me, Can wash my fault away. Yet stay, fair lady, turn again, And dry those pearly tears; For see beneath this gown of gray Thy own true-love appears. Here forc'd 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 past 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. CLERK COLVILL [Illustration] Clerk Colvill and his lusty dame Were walking in the garden green; The belt around her stately waist Cost Clerk Colvill of pounds fifteen. "O promise me now, Clerk Colvill, Or it will cost ye muckle strife, Ride never by the wells of Slane, If ye wad live and brook your life." "Now speak nae mair, my lusty dame, Now speak nae mair of that to me; Did I neer see a fair woman, But I wad sin with her body?" He's taen leave o his gay lady, Nought minding what his lady said, And he's rode by the wells of Slane, Where washing was a bonny maid. "Wash on, wash on, my bonny maid, That wash sae clean your sark of silk;" "And weel fa you, fair gentleman, Your body whiter than the milk." * * * * * Then loud, loud cry'd the Clerk Colvill, "O my head it pains me sair;" "Then take, then take," the maiden said, "And frae my sark you'll cut a gare." Then she's gied him a little bane-knife, And frae her sark he cut a share; She's ty'd it round his whey-white face, But ay his head it aked mair. Then louder cry'd the Clerk Colville, "O sairer, sairer akes my head;" "And sairer, sairer ever will," The maiden crys, "till you be dead." Out then he drew his shining blade, Thinking to stick her where she stood, But she was vanished to a fish, And swam far off, a fair mermaid. "O mother, mother, braid my hair; My lusty lady, make my bed; O brother, take my sword and spear, For I have seen the false mermaid." [Illustration] SIR ALDINGAR