The following Epilogue to “The Padlock” was written by a very worthy Clergyman, soon after the first representation of that opera. The author of this little poem died in the Summer of 1...

“The wind doth blow today, my love… And a few small drops of rain; I never had but one true-love, In cold grave she was lain. ”I’ll do as much for my true-love

AS I was walking all alane I heard twa corbies making a mane: The tane unto the tither did say, ‘Whar sall we gang and dine the da… ‘—In behint yon auld fail dyke

QUHEN Flora had o’erfret the fi…    In May of every moneth queen; Quhen merle and mavis singis with…    Sweet melling in the shawis she…    Quhen all luvaris rejoicit bene

THE reivers they stole Fair Anni…    As she walk’d by the sea; But a noble knight was her ransom…    Wi’ gowd and white monie. She bided in strangers’ land wi’ h…

There once was a man from Nantuck… Who kept all of his cash in a buck… But his daughter, named Nan, Ran away with a man And as for the bucket, Nan took i…

He. BE it right or wrong, these m…    On women do complain; Affirming this, how that it is    A labour spent in vain To love them wele; for never a del…

HEY nonny no! Men are fools that wish to die! Is ‘t not fine to dance and sing When the bells of death do ring? Is ’t not fine to swim in wine,

There were three ravens sat on a t… They were as black as they might b… The one of them said to his mate, ‘Where shall we our breakefast tak… ‘Downe in yonder greene field,

LESTENYT, lordynges, both elde… How this rose began to sprynge; Swych a rose to myn lykynge    In al this word ne knowe I non… The Aungil came fro hevene tour,

It fell about the Martinmas, When the wind blew shrill and caul… Said Edom o’ Gordon to his men, ‘We maun draw to a hauld. ’And whatna hauld sall we draw to,

Nerve thy soul with doctrines nobl… Noble in the walks of time, Time that leads to an eternal, An eternal life sublime. Life sublime in moral beauty,

MY blood so red    For thee was shed, Come home again, come home again; My own sweet heart, come home agai…    You’ve gone astray

Jhesu Cryste, yn Trynyté, Oonly God and persons thre, Graunt us wele to spede, And gyf us grace so to do That we may come thy blys unto,

Rain on the green grass, And rain on the tree, And rain on the house top, But not on me!