s her seven brethren,
To let sweet William in.

He turned down the covering-sheet,
To see the face of the dead;
"Methinks she looks all pale and wan;
She hath lost her cherry red.

"I would do more for thee, Margaret,
Than would any of thy kin.
And I will kiss thy pale cold lips,
Though a smile I cannot win."

With that bespake the seven brethren,
Making most piteous moan,
"You may go and kiss your jolly brown bride,
And let our sister alone!"

"If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,
I do but what is right;
I ne'er made a vow to yonder poor corpse,
By day, nor yet by night."

"Deal on, deal on, ye merrymen all,
Deal on your cake and wine.
Whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,
Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine!"

Fair Margaret died as it might be to-day,
Sweet William he died the morrow,
Fair Margaret died for pure true love,
Sweet William he died for sorrow.

Margaret was buried in the lower chancel,
And William in the higher;
And out of her breast there sprang a rose tree,
And out of his a brier.

They grew till they grew unto the church-top,
And when they could grow no higher;
And there they tied a true lover's knot,
Which made all the people admire.

At last the clerk of the parish came,
As the truth doth well appear,
And by misfortune he cut them down,
Or else they had now been here.

SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST

There came a ghost to Marjorie's door,
Wi' many a grievous moan,
And aye he tirled at the pin,
But answer made she none.

"Oh, say, is that my father?
Or is't my brother John?
Or is it my true love Willy,
From Scotland new come home?"

"'Tis not thy father, Marjorie,
Nor not thy brother John;
But 'tis thy true love Willy
From Scotland new come home.

"Oh Marjorie sweet! oh Marjorie dear!
For faith and charitie,
Will ye gie me back my faith and troth
That I gave once to thee?"

"Thy faith and troth thou gavest to me,
And again thou'lt never win,
Until thou come within my bower
And kiss me cheek and chin."

"My lips they are sae bitter," he says,
"My breath it is sae strang,
If ye get ae kiss from me to-night,
Your days will not be lang.

"The cocks are crawing, Marjorie,--
The cocks are crawing again:
The dead wi' the quick they mustna stay,
And I must needs be gone."

She followed him high, she followed him low,
Till she came to yon church-yard green,
And there