"Here, Gordon, do I plighte my hande, "My honour and renowne, "That, if thou to my fworde wilt yeilde, "But more,-if thou wilt be my friende, "Thou, in the raging battle's houre, "When profperous fate fhall gilde my throne, "And I to thee the fame will prove, "A gentle bofom friend; "In joy to fhare thy happineffe, "In woe thy care to end. "Nowe, Adam, take thy lafling choice, "Thy prince awaites thy worde: "Accepte, brave man, my fmile or frowne "My friendship or my fworde." R Brave Adam, ftruck with wonder, gaz'd— Upon the warrioure's dark browne cheeke The pyrying prince the warriour rais'de, And prefs'd hym to his hearte; "Adam, thy prince will bee thy friende,"We never more will parte." A fhouting from their followers bye The prince then made that brave outlawe And when with fhoutes to Guilforde towne Thys noble trayne came on, O'erjoy'd, our royal queene came forthe, To meete her warlyke son. "Fayre fon, fayre fon, more deare to mee, "Than alle that lyfe can give, "Full many a daye the loffe of thee "Hath caus'd my hearte to grieve. "And whence that flayne upon thy shielde? "That bloode upon thy browe ? Oh! thou haft had fome defperate fyghte, "And didft not let mee knowe. "Was it among the rebel hofte Thy fworde hath got this stayne? "And are their banners overthrowne ? "And proude Earl Derbye flaine? "Or is't where Kenilworth's proud tow'res "O'erlook the neighbour playne, "That thou haft rear'd thy conquering armes, “And fix'd thy father's reigne. "Oh! I've not been where Derby's earl "The rebel caufe upholdes; "But I've o'ercome a braver man, "Nor have I fcene proud Kenilworth, "With tow'rs all arowe; "But I've o'ercome a braver man "Than Kenilworth 'ere did knowe. "Adam o'Gordon is that man, "A braver ne'er was feene"Then tooke the warrioure by the hande, And led hym to the queene. And there the Gordon was carrefs'd, And none in alle the tournamentes, Where'ere the royal Edwarde foughte, Brave Gordon aye woulde wende; And Edwarde, like a noble prince, Was ever Gordon's friende. CUMNOR HALL. HE dews of fummer nighte did falle, Silver'd the walles of Cumnor Halle, And manye an oake that grewe therebye. Nowe noughte was hearde beneath the skies,(The foundes of bufye lyfe were stille,) Save an unhappie ladie's fighes, That iffued from that lonelye pile. "Liecefter," fhee cried," is thys thy love "That thou fo oft has fworne to mee, "To leave mee in thys lonelye grove, "Immurr'd in fhameful privitie? "No more thou com'ft with lover's speede, Thy once-beloved bryde to fee; "But bee fhee alive, or bee fhee deade, "I feare (flerne earle's) the fame to thee.. |