Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turn'd
Into his arms as asleep she lay;
And sad and silent was the night
That was atween thir twae.
And they lay still and sleepit sound
Until the day began to daw';
And kindly she to him did say,
'It is time, true love, you were awa'.'
But he lay still, and sleepit sound,
Albeit the sun began to sheen;
She look'd atween her and the wa',
And dull and drowsie were his e'en.
Then in and came her father dear;
Said, 'Let a' your mourning be;
I'll carry the dead corse to the clay,
And I'll come back and comfort thee.'
'Comfort weel your seven sons,
For comforted I will never be:
I ween 'twas neither knave nor loon
Was in the bower last night wi' me.'
The clinking bell gaed through the town,
To carry the dead corse to the clay;
And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret's window,
I wot, an hour before the day.
'Are ye sleeping, Marg'ret?' he says,
'Or are ye waking presentlie?
Give me my faith and troth again,
I wot, true love, I gied to thee.'
Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/443
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