THE WEEPING WILLOW. 
147 
Popular opinion, custom, the poets, and 
common sense, all agreeing upon the point, 
ive can have no better authority. 
ILLUSTRATION OP THE SENTIMENT. 
O! synge unto my roundelaie ! 
O ! drop the briny tear with me; 
Daunce ne moe atte hallie* day ; 
Like a running river be. 
My love is deade, 
Gone to his death-bed, 
All under the willowe tree. 
Black his cryne,f as the wyntere night; 
Whyte his rode $ as driven snowe ; 
Rodde his face as morning lyglit; 
Cold he lies hi the grave below. 
Swote his tounge as the throstle’s note; 
Quycke in daunce as thought can be; 
Deft his tabor, codgelle stole. 
O, he lies by the willowe tree. 
t Neck. 
* Holy. 
f Ilair. 
