Rangers that rove throughout the north country,

Lovers of ven'son and liberty,

That value not honours or money.

We three good fellows be,

That never yet ran from three times three,
Quarterstaff, broadsword, or bowmanry,
But give us fair play for our money.

We three merry men be,

At a lass or a glass under greenwood tree;
Jocundly chaunting our ancient glee,

Though we had not a penny of money

This song, of which the editor has not been able to trace the first appearance, is modelled upon the style of, or is a parody upon, "The Soldier's Glee," from the "Deutoromelia." See" Military and Patriotic Songs."

ROBIN, LEND TO ME THY BOW.

From a curious musical miscellany, called "Pamelia," 4to. Lond. 1609. The song, however, is much older than the date of the book, being frequently mentioned by Elizabethan writers.

Now, Robin, lend to me thy bow,

Sweet Robin, lend to me thy bow;

For I must now a hunting with my ladye go,

With my sweet ladye go.

And whither will thy ladye go?

Sweet Wilkin tell it unto me;

And thou shalt have my hawk, my hound, and eke my bow,
To wait on thy ladye.

My lady will to Uppingham,1

To Uppingham, forsooth, will she

And I myself appointed for to be the man,

To wait on my ladye.

1 A market town in Rutlandshire.

Adieu, good Wilkin, all beshrewd,

Thy hunting nothing pleaseth me;'

But yet beware thy babbling hounds stray not abroad, For ang'ring of thy ladye.

My hounds shall be led in the line,

So well I can assure it thee;

Unless by view of strain some pursue I may find,

To please my sweet ladye.

With that the ladye she came in,

And will'd them all for to agree;

For honest hunting never was accounted sin,
Nor never shall for me.

If the sun's excessive heat
Make our bodies swelter,
To an osier hedge we get,
For a friendly shelter;
Where-in a dyke,
Perch or pike,
Roach or daice,
We do chase,
Bleak or gudgeon,

Without grudging;

We are still contented.

Or, we sometimes pass an hour
Under a green willow,
That defends us from a shower,
Making earth our pillow;
Where we may

Think and pray,
Before death

Stops our breath:

Other joys

Are but toys,

And to be lamented.

WHEN A SHOOTING WE DO GO. Anonymous. Date uncertain. Eighteenth century. THE season's in for Partridges,

Let's take our guns and dogs;

It sha'n't be said that we're afraid,

Of quagmires, or of bogs,

When a shooting we do go, do go, do go;
When a shooting we do go.

Now "Flora" she doth beat the scent,
And after follows "Phillis;"

Thro' hedge and brake the way let's take,

For all our aim to kill is.

When a shooting, &c.

And should success attend us,

What pleasure it will prove

Let's charge, and prime, and lose no time,

While through the fields we rove.

When a shooting, &c.