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First she sank, and syne she swam,
Until she cam to Tweed mill-dam.

The miller's daughter was baking breid,

And gaed for water as she had need.

"Oh, father, father, in our mill-dam,

There's either a ladye or a milk-white swan."

The miller quickly drew his dam,

And there he fand a drown'd woman.

You couldna see her yellow hair,

For gowd and pearls that were sae rare.

You couldna see her middle sma',
Her gowden girdle was sae braw.

You couldna see her lilie feet,
Her gowden fringes were sae deep.

You couldna see her fingers sma';
Wi' diamond rings they were cover'd a'.

"Sair will they be, whae'er they be, The hearts that live to weep for thee!"

Then by there cam' a harper fine,
That harpèd to the king at dine.

And when he look'd that lady on,

He sigh'd and made a heavy moan.

He has ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair, And wi' them strung his harp sae fair.

And he brought the harp to her father's hall, And there the court was assembled all.

He laid this harp upon a stone,
And straight it began to play alone.

"Oh, yonder sits my father, the king! And yonder sits my mother, the queen!

And yonder stands my brother Hugh, And by him my William sweet and true!"

But the last tune that the harp play'd then, Binnorie, O Binnorie,

Was, "Woe to my sister, false Helen!"

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.



AY 11, 1667.-My wife being dressed this day in fair hair, did make me so mad, that I spoke not one word to her, though I was ready to burst with anger. After that, Creed and I into the Park, and walked, a most pleasant evening, and so took coach, and took up my wife, and in my way home discovered my trouble to my wife for her white locks, swear ing several times, which I pray God forgive me for, and bending my fist, that I would not endure it. She, poor wretch, was surprised with it, and made me no answer all the way home; but there we parted, and I to the office late, and then home, and without supper to bed, vexed.

12. (Lord's Day.)-Up and to my chamber, to settle some accounts there, and by and by down comes my wife to me in her night-gown, and we began calmly, that, upon having money to lace her gown for second mourning, she would promise to wear white locks no more in my sight, which I, like a severe fool, thinking not enough, began to except against, and made her fly out to very high terms and cry, and in her heat, told me of keeping company with Mrs Knipp, saying, that if I would promise never to see her more-of whom she had more reason to suspect than I had heretofore of Pembleton-she would never wear white locks more. This vexed me, but I restrained myself from saying anything, but do think never to see this woman-at least, to have here more; and so all very good friends as ever. My wife and I bethought ourselves to go to a French house to dinner, and so inquired out Monsieur Robins, my perriwigg-maker, who keeps an ordinary, and in an ugly street in Covent Garden did find him at the door, and so we in; and in a moment almost had the table covered, and clean glasses, and all in the French manner, and a mess of potage first, and then a piece of bœuf-à-la-mode, all exceeding well-seasoned, and to our great liking; at least it would have been anywhere else but in this bad street, and in a perriwigg-maker's house; but to see the pleasant and ready attendance that we had, and all things so desirous to please, and ingenious in the people, did take me mightily. Our dinner cost us 6s. Pepys.

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LOOK where the Morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill

Look what streaks

Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east.
Night's tapers are burnt out, and jocund Day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.

The glowworm shows the matin to be near,
And 'gins to pale his ineffectual fire.

The wolves have prey'd; and, look, the gentle Day,
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about,
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray.


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