* * * * * LADY ISOBEL AND THE ELF-KNIGHT. There cam' a bird out o' a bush, On water for to dine, An' sighing sair, says the king's daughter, "O wae's this heart o' mine!" He's taen a harp into his hand, He's harped them all asleep, Except it was the king's daughter, Who ae wink couldna get. He's luppen on his berry-brown steed, Taen 'er on behind himsell, Then baith rede down to that water That they ca' Wearie's Well. "Wide in, wide in, my lady fair, Nae harm shall thee befall; Aft times hae I water'd my steed Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well." The first step that she stepped in, She stepped to the knee; And sighing sair, says this lady fair, "This water's nae for me." "Wide in, wide in, my lady fair, Nae harm shall thee befall; Aft times hae I water'd my steed Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well." The neist step that she stepped in, She stepped to the middle; "O," sighend says this lady fair, "I've wat my gowden girdle." "Wide in, wide in, my lady fair, Nae harm shall thee befall; Aft times hae I water'd my steed Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well." The neist step that she stepped in, She stepped to the chin; "O," sighend says this lady fair, "I'll wade nae farer in." "Seven king's-daughters I've drownd here, In the water o' Wearie's Well, And I'll mak' you the eight o' them, And ring the common bell." "Sin' I am standing here," she says, "This dowie death to die, Ae kiss o' your comely mouth I'm sure wad comfort me." He's louted him o'er his saddle bow, To kiss her cheek and chin; She's taen him in her arms twa, An' thrown him headlong in. "Sin' seven king's-daughters ye've drownd here, In the water o' Wearie's Well, I'll mak' you bridegroom to them a', An' ring the bell mysell." * * * * * TOM THUMBE. In Arthurs court Tom Thumbe did live, A man of mickle might, The best of all the table round, And eke a doughty knight: His stature but an inch in height, Or quarter of a span; Then thinke you not this little knight, Was prov'd a valiant man? His father was a plow-man plaine, His mother milkt the cow, But yet the way to get a sonne This couple knew not how, Untill such time this good old man To learned Merlin goes, And there to him his deepe desires In secret manner showes, How in his heart he wisht to have A childe, in time to come, To be his heire, though it might be No bigger than his Thumbe. Of which old Merlin thus foretold, That he his wish should have, And so this sonne of stature small The charmer to him gave. No blood nor bones in him should be, In shape and being such, That men should heare him speake, but not His wandring shadow touch: But all unseene to goe or come Whereas it pleasd him still; And thus King Arthurs Dwarfe was born, To fit his fathers will: