Zo.

Vine to be zyure.
And, vaithfully; love me.

Although; I; be-e; poor-r-r-r.' Lancelot would have laughed heartily at him anywhere else; but the whole scene was past a jest; and a gleam of pathos and tenderness seemed to shine even from that doggerel,--a vista, as it were, of true genial nature, in the far distance.

But as he looked round again, 'What hope,' he thought, 'of its realisation?
Arcadian dreams of pastoral innocence and graceful industry, I suppose, are to be henceforth monopolised by the stage or the boudoir?
Never, so help me, God!' The ursine howls of the new-comer seemed to have awakened the spirit of music in the party.
'Coom, Blackburd, gi' us zong, Blackburd, bo'!' cried a dozen voices to an impish, dark-eyed gipsy boy, of some thirteen years old.
'Put 'n on taable.

Now, then, pipe up!' 'What will 'ee ha' ?' 'Mary; gi' us Mary.' 'I shall make a' girls cry,' quoth Blackbird, with a grin.
'Do'n good, too; they likes it: zing away.' And the boy began, in a broad country twang, which could not overpower the sad melody of the air, or the rich sweetness of his flute-like voice,-- 'Young Mary walked sadly down through the green clover, And sighed as she looked at the babe at her breast; "My roses are faded, my false love a rover, The green graves they call me, 'Come home to your rest.'" 'Then by rode a soldier in gorgeous arraying, And "Where is your bride-ring, my fair maid ?" he cried; "I ne'er had a bride-ring, by false man's betraying, Nor token of love but this babe at my side.
'"Tho' gold could not buy me, sweet words could deceive me; So faithful and lonely till death I must roam." "Oh, Mary, sweet Mary, look up and forgive me, With wealth and with glory your true love comes home; '"So give me my own babe, those soft arms adorning, I'll wed you and cherish you, never to stray; For it's many a dark and a wild cloudy morning, Turns out by the noon-time a sunshiny day."' 'A bad moral that, sir,' whispered Tregarva.
'Better than none,' answered Lancelot.
'It's well if you are right, sir, for you'll hear no other.' The keeper spoke truly; in a dozen different songs, more or less coarsely, but, in general, with a dash of pathetic sentiment, the same case of lawless love was embodied.