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The villa thus completely grac'd,
FRIAR OF ORDERS GREY.
FIRST PUBLISHED BY DR. PERCY.
was a Friar of Orders Gray Walk'd forth to tell his beads; And he met with a lady fair
Clad in a pilgrim's weeds..
* Now Christ thee sare, thou reverend Friur,
I pray thee tell to me, If ever at yon holy shrine
My true-love thou didst see.”
“And how should I know your true-love
From many another one ?" "O, by his cockle hat, and staff,
And by his sandal shoon
“ Bat chiefly by his face and mien
That were so fair to view,
And eyve of lovely blue.”
O Lady, he is dead and gone!
Lady he's dead and gone!
And at bis heels a stone.
* Here bore him barefac'd on his bier
Six proper youths and tall,
Within yon kirk-yard wall.”
"And art thou dead, thou gentle youth!
And art thou dead and gone! And didst thou die for love of me?
Break, cruel heart of stone !"
• weep not, Lady, weep not so;
Some ghostly comfort seek:
Nor tears bedew thy cheek."
“O do not, do not, holy Friar,
My sorrow now reprove;
That e'er won lady's love.
"And now, alas! for thy sad loss,
I'll e'ermore weep and sigh; For thee I only wish'd to live,
For thee I wish to die."
Weep no more, Lady, weep no more,
Thy sorrow is in vain : For violets pluck'd, the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make grow again.
"Our joys as winged dreams do fly,
Why then should sorrow last? Since Grief but aggravates thy loss,
Grieve not for what is past."
"O, say not so, thou holy Friar,
I pray thee, say not so;
'Tis meet my tears should flow.
And will he never come again?
Will he ne'er come again? Ab! no; he is dead, and laid in his grave,
For ever to remain.
“ His cheek was redder than the rose;
The comeliest youth was he! -
Alas, and woe is me!”
Sigh no more, Lady, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever:
To one thing constant never.
“ Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,
And left thee sad and heavy;
Since summer trees were leafy."
« Now say not so, thou holy Friar,
I pray thee say not 80;
O he was ever true!
“ And thou art dead, thou much-lov'd youth!
And didst thou die for me? Then farewell home! for evermore
A pilgrim I will be.
“ But first upon my true love's-grave
My weary limbs I'll lay,
That wraps his breathless clay."
" Yet stay, fair lady, rest a while,
Beneath this cloyster wall: See, through the hawthorne blows the cold wind,
And drizzly rain doth fall.”
“O stay me not, thou holy Friar!
O stay me not, I pray!
Can wash my fault away."
• Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,
And dry those pearly tears;
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 pass'd away,
No longer would I stay."
* Now farewell grief, and welcome joy
Once more unto my heart;
We Dever more will part."