This is the familiar stanza of the early ballads. The omission of rime in the third line signalizes the fact that the stanza could be (and was) regarded indifferently as made up either of two long lines or four short ones. Thus the famous Chevy Chase ballad is found (Ashmole Ms., of about 1560) written in long lines: "The yngglyshe men hade ther bowys ybent yer hartes wer good ynoughe The first off arros that the shote off seven skore spear-men the sloughe." (See in Flügel's _Neuenglisches Lesebuch_, vol. i. p. 199.) The same thing occurs also where there are two rimes to the stanza. Originally, the extra internal rime was no doubt the cause of the breaking up of the long couplet into two short lines. (See examples in Part Two, in the case of the septenary.) Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fair! How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu' o' care! (BURNS: _Bonnie Doon._ ab. 1790.) _abab_ Þe grace of god ful of miȝt Þat is king and ever was, Mote among us aliȝt And ȝive us alle is swet grace. (From the Harleian Ms. 913. In Mätzner's _Altenglische Sprachproben_, vol. i. p. 125.) Furnivall prints this in long lines with internal rime, which of itself seems to form the short-line stanza from the long lines. Of al this world the wyde compas Hit wol not in myn armes tweyne.-- Who-so mochel wol embrace Litel thereof he shal distreyne. (CHAUCER: _Proverb._ ab. 1380.) When youth had led me half the race, That Cupid's scourge me caus'd to run, I looked back to meet the place From whence my weary course begun. (EARL OF SURREY: _Description of the restless state of a lover._ ab. 1545.) Weep with me, all you that read This little story; And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry. (BEN JONSON: _Epitaph on Salathiel Pavy._ 1616.) And now the weary world's great medicine, Sleep, This learned host dispensed to every guest, Which shuts those wounds where injured lovers weep, And flies oppressors to relieve the opprest. (SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT: _Gondibert_, Bk. i. Canto 6. 1651) Now like a maiden queen she will behold From her high turrets hourly suitors come; The East with incense and the West with gold Will stand like suppliants to receive her doom. (DRYDEN: _Annus Mirabilis_, stanza 297. 1667.) The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. (GRAY: _Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard._ 1751.)