So, gossip, let us found a line
      On mouton, porke and beefe;
  The which in coming years shall shine
      In cultures world as chief.

  Sic stout and braw a sone as mine
      I lay youle never see,
  and theres nae huskier wench than thine—­
      Saye, neighbor, shall it bee?]

On pages 123 and 124 of the folio Field discovered “this ballad of Chicago’s patient Grissel (erroneously pronounced ‘Gristle’ in leading western circles), setting forth the miseries and the fate of a lass who loved a sailor “: 

  THE LOST SCHOONER

  Hard by ye lake, beneath ye shade,
    Upon a somer’s daye,
  There ben a faire Chicago maid
    That greeting sore did saye: 
  I wonder where can Willie bee—­
  O waly, waly! woe is mee!

  He fared him off on Aprille 4,
    And now ’tis August 2,
  I stood upon ye slimy shoore
    And swere me to be trewe;
  I sawe yt schippe bear out to sea—­
  O waly, waly! woe is mee!

  “Ye schippe she ben as braw an hulk
    As ever clave ye tides,
  And in her hold she bore a bulk
    Of new-mown pelts and hides—­
  Pelts ben they all of high degree—­
  O waly, waly! woe is mee!

  “Ye schippes yt saile untill ye towne
    Ffor mee no plaisaunce hath,
  Syn most of them ben loded down
    With schingle, slabs and lath;
  That ither schipp—­say, where is shee? 
  O waly, waly! woe is mee!

  “Ye Mary Jane ben lode with logs,
    Ye Fairy Belle with beer—­
  Ye Mackinack ben Ffull of hoggs
    And ither carnal cheer;
  But nony pelt nor hide I see—­
  O waly, waly! woe is mee!

  “And ither schippes bring salt and ore,
    And some bring hams and sides,
  And some bring garden truck gillore—­
    But none brings pelt and hides! 
  Where can my Willie’s schooner be—­
  O waly, waly! woe is mee!”

  So wailed ye faire Chicago maide
    Upon ye shady shore,
  And swounded oft whiles yt she prayed
    Her loon to come oncet more,
  And crying, “Waly, woe is mee,”
  That maiden’s harte did brast in three._

The second half of “The Shadwell Folio,” printed November 1st, 1888, besides being memorable for the first publication of his well-known “Ailsie, My Bairn,” and the exquisite “Old English Lullaby,” contained “a homely little ballad,” as Field described it, “which reminds one somewhat of ‘Winfreda,’ and which in the volume before us is entitled ‘A Valentine.’”

The “Winfreda” here referred to is one of the poems upon which Field exhausted his ingenuity in composing with the verbal phraseology of different periods of archaic English.  The version which appears in his “Songs and Other Verse” is his first attempt at versification “in pure Anglo-Saxon,” as he says in a note to one of the manuscript copies.  Field intended to render this finally into “current English,” but, so far as I know, he never got to it.