Fair Margaret's Misfortunes ;
OR,
Sweet William's Dream on his Wedding Night

With the sudden Death and Burial of those noble Lovers.

As it fell out upon a day,
Two lovers they fet on a hill;
They fet together a long summer's day,
And could not take their fill,

fee no harm by you Margaret,
And you fee none by me ;
Before to-morrow at eight o'clock
A rich wedding you shall see.

Fair Margaret fet in her bower window,
A combing of her hair;
And there the efp'd Sweet William and
bride,
As they were a riding ner.

Down the laid her ivory comb,
And up the bound her hair;
She went away forth from the bower,
But never more came there.

When day was gone, and night was come
And all men faft afeep,
There came the fpirit of fair Margaret,
And flood at William's bed-feet.

God give you Joy you true lover,
In bride-bed faft afeep;
Lo! I am going to my green - grafs
Grove,
And I am in my winding-sheet,

When day was come, and night was gone
And all men wak'd from sleep;
Sweet William to his Lady faid,
My dear I've caufe to weep.

I dream'd a dream, my dear lady,
Such dreams are never good;
I dream'd thy bower was full of red twine
And my bride-bed full of blood.

Such dreams, fuch dreams my honour
ed Sir,
They never do prove good;
To dream thy bower was full of twine,
And thy bride-bed full of blood,

He called his merry men all,
By one, by two, and by three;
Saying, I'll away to Fair Margaret's
Bower,
By the leave of my Lady,

And when he came to Fair Margaret's
Bower,
He knocked at the ring;
So ready were her Seven Brethren
To let Sweet William in.

The he turn'd up the covering sheet,
Pray let me fee the dead,
Methinks he looks both pale and van,
She has loft her cherry red.

I'll do no more for thee Margaret,
Than any of thy kin;
For I will kifs thy pale van lips,
Tho' a smile I cannot win.

With that befpoke the feven brethren,
Making moft piteous moan,

You may go kifs your jolly brown dame,
And let our fitter alone.

If I do kifs my jolly brown dame,
I do but what is right;
For I made no vow to your fitter dear,
By day nor yet by night.

Pray tell me then how much you'll
deal,
Of white bread and your wine?
So much as is dealt at her Funeral To-
day,
To morrow shall be dealt at mine.

Fair Margaret dy'd To-day, To-day,
Sweet William he dy'd the morrow;
Fair Margaret dy'd for pure true-love,
Sweet William he dy'd for forrow.

Margaret was bury'd in the Lower
Chancel,
And William in the higher;
Out of her breast there sprang a Rose,
And out of his a briar.

They grew as high as the church top,
'Till they could grow no higher;
And there they grew in a True Lover's
Knot,
That made all people admire.

Then came the clerk of the parish,
As you this truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there.

Printed and Sold in Aldermery Church
Yard, Bow-Lane, London.

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