My mind to me a kingdom is,Such perfect joy therein I find,That it excels all other blissThat God or nature hath assigned:Though much I want that most would have,Yet still my mind forbids to crave.No princely port, nor wealthy store,Nor force to win a victory;No wily wit to salve a sore,No shape to win a loving eye;To none of these I yield as thrall,For why, my mind despise them all.I see that plenty surfeits oft,And hasty climbers soonest fall;I see that such as are aloft,Mishap doth threaten most of all;These get with toil, and keep with fear:Such cares my mind can never bear.I press to bear no haughty sway;I wish no more than may suffice;I do no more than well I may,Look what I want, my mind supplies;Lo, thus I triumph like a king,My mind's content with any thing.I laugh not at another's loss,Nor grudge not at another's gain;No worldly waves my mind can toss;I brook that is another's bane;I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend;I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.My wealth is health and perfect ease,And conscience clear my chief defence,I never seek by bribes to please,Nor by desert to give offence;Thus do I live, thus will I die;Would all do so as well as I!
My mind to me a kingdom is,Such perfect joy therein I find,That it excels all other blissThat God or nature hath assigned:Though much I want that most would have,Yet still my mind forbids to crave.
No princely port, nor wealthy store,Nor force to win a victory;No wily wit to salve a sore,No shape to win a loving eye;To none of these I yield as thrall,For why, my mind despise them all.
I see that plenty surfeits oft,And hasty climbers soonest fall;I see that such as are aloft,Mishap doth threaten most of all;These get with toil, and keep with fear:Such cares my mind can never bear.
I press to bear no haughty sway;I wish no more than may suffice;I do no more than well I may,Look what I want, my mind supplies;Lo, thus I triumph like a king,My mind's content with any thing.
I laugh not at another's loss,Nor grudge not at another's gain;No worldly waves my mind can toss;I brook that is another's bane;I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend;I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.
My wealth is health and perfect ease,And conscience clear my chief defence,I never seek by bribes to please,Nor by desert to give offence;Thus do I live, thus will I die;Would all do so as well as I!
The glories of our blood and stateAre shadows, not substantial things;There is no armour against fate;Death lays his icy hand on kings:Sceptre and CrownMust tumble down,And in the dust be equal madeWith the poor crooked scythe and spade.Some men with swords may reap the field,And plant fresh laurels where they kill:But their strong nerves at last must yield;They tame but one another still:Early or lateThey stoop to fate,And must give up their murmuring breathWhen they, pale captives, creep to death.The garlands wither on your brow;Then boast no more your mighty deeds;Upon Death's purple altar nowSee where the victor-victim bleeds:Your heads must comeTo the cold tomb;Only the actions of the justSmell sweet, and blossom in the dust.
The glories of our blood and stateAre shadows, not substantial things;There is no armour against fate;Death lays his icy hand on kings:Sceptre and CrownMust tumble down,And in the dust be equal madeWith the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,And plant fresh laurels where they kill:But their strong nerves at last must yield;They tame but one another still:Early or lateThey stoop to fate,And must give up their murmuring breathWhen they, pale captives, creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow;Then boast no more your mighty deeds;Upon Death's purple altar nowSee where the victor-victim bleeds:Your heads must comeTo the cold tomb;Only the actions of the justSmell sweet, and blossom in the dust.
Ye little birds that sit and singAmidst the shady valleys,And see how Phillis sweetly walksWithin her garden-alleys;Go, pretty birds, about her bower;Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower;Ah me! methinks I see her frown!Ye pretty wantons, warble.Go tell her through your chirping bills,As you by me are bidden,To her is only known my love,Which from the world is hidden.Go, pretty birds, and tell her so,See that your notes strain not too low,For still methinks I see her frown;Ye pretty wantons, warble.Go tune your voices' harmonyAnd sing, I am her lover;Strain loud and sweet, that every noteWith sweet content may move her:And she that hath the sweetest voice,Tell her I will not change my choice:—Yet still methinks I see her frown!Ye pretty wantons, warble.O fly! make haste! see, see, she fallsInto a pretty slumber!Sing round about her rosy bedThat waking she may wonder:Say to her, 'tis her lover trueThat sendeth love to you, to you!And when you hear her kind reply,Return with pleasant warblings.
Ye little birds that sit and singAmidst the shady valleys,And see how Phillis sweetly walksWithin her garden-alleys;Go, pretty birds, about her bower;Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower;Ah me! methinks I see her frown!Ye pretty wantons, warble.
Go tell her through your chirping bills,As you by me are bidden,To her is only known my love,Which from the world is hidden.Go, pretty birds, and tell her so,See that your notes strain not too low,For still methinks I see her frown;Ye pretty wantons, warble.
Go tune your voices' harmonyAnd sing, I am her lover;Strain loud and sweet, that every noteWith sweet content may move her:And she that hath the sweetest voice,Tell her I will not change my choice:—Yet still methinks I see her frown!Ye pretty wantons, warble.
O fly! make haste! see, see, she fallsInto a pretty slumber!Sing round about her rosy bedThat waking she may wonder:Say to her, 'tis her lover trueThat sendeth love to you, to you!And when you hear her kind reply,Return with pleasant warblings.
Pack clouds, away, and welcome, day!With night we banish sorrow.Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloftTo give my Love good-morrow!Wings from the wind to please her mind,Notes from the lark I'll borrow;Bird, prune thy wing! nightingale, sing!To give my Love good-morrow!To give my Love good-morrowNotes from them all I'll borrow.Wake from thy nest, robin red-breast!Sing, birds, in every furrow!And from each bill let music shrillGive my fair Love good-morrow!Blackbird and thrush in every bush,Stare, linnet, and cocksparrow,You pretty elves, among yourselvesSing my fair Love good-morrow!To give my Love good-morrow!Sing, birds, in every furrow!
Pack clouds, away, and welcome, day!With night we banish sorrow.Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloftTo give my Love good-morrow!Wings from the wind to please her mind,Notes from the lark I'll borrow;Bird, prune thy wing! nightingale, sing!To give my Love good-morrow!To give my Love good-morrowNotes from them all I'll borrow.
Wake from thy nest, robin red-breast!Sing, birds, in every furrow!And from each bill let music shrillGive my fair Love good-morrow!Blackbird and thrush in every bush,Stare, linnet, and cocksparrow,You pretty elves, among yourselvesSing my fair Love good-morrow!To give my Love good-morrow!Sing, birds, in every furrow!
Come, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceivingLock me in delight awhile;Let some pleasing dreams beguileAll my fancies; that from thenceI may feel an influenceAll my powers of care bereaving!Though but a shadow, but a sliding,Let me know some little joy!We that suffer long annoyAre contented with a thoughtThrough an idle fancy wrought:O let my joys have some abiding!
Come, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceivingLock me in delight awhile;Let some pleasing dreams beguileAll my fancies; that from thenceI may feel an influenceAll my powers of care bereaving!
Though but a shadow, but a sliding,Let me know some little joy!We that suffer long annoyAre contented with a thoughtThrough an idle fancy wrought:O let my joys have some abiding!
All ye woods, and trees, and bowers,All ye virtues and ye powersThat inhabit in the lakes,In the pleasant springs or brakes,Move your feetTo our sound,Whilst we greet,All this ground,With his honour and his nameThat defends our flocks from blame.He is great and he is just,He is ever good, and mustThus be honoured. Daffodillies,Roses, pinks, and lovèd lilies,Let us fling,Whilst we sing,Ever holy,Ever holy,Ever honoured, ever young!Thus great Pan is ever sung.
All ye woods, and trees, and bowers,All ye virtues and ye powersThat inhabit in the lakes,In the pleasant springs or brakes,Move your feetTo our sound,Whilst we greet,All this ground,With his honour and his nameThat defends our flocks from blame.
He is great and he is just,He is ever good, and mustThus be honoured. Daffodillies,Roses, pinks, and lovèd lilies,Let us fling,Whilst we sing,Ever holy,Ever holy,Ever honoured, ever young!Thus great Pan is ever sung.
Lay a garland on my hearseOf the dismal yew;Maidens, willow branches bear;Say, I died true.My love was false, but I was firmFrom my hour of birth.Upon my buried body lieLightly, gentle earth!
Lay a garland on my hearseOf the dismal yew;Maidens, willow branches bear;Say, I died true.
My love was false, but I was firmFrom my hour of birth.Upon my buried body lieLightly, gentle earth!
Beauty clear and fair,Where the airRather like a perfume dwells;Where the violet and the roseTheir blue veins and blush disclose,And come to honour nothing else:Where to live nearAnd planted thereIs to live, and still live new;Where to gain a favour isMore than light, perpetual bliss—Make me live by serving you!Dear, again back recallTo this light,A stranger to himself and all!Both the wonder and the storyShall be yours, and eke the glory;I am your servant, and your thrall.
Beauty clear and fair,Where the airRather like a perfume dwells;Where the violet and the roseTheir blue veins and blush disclose,And come to honour nothing else:
Where to live nearAnd planted thereIs to live, and still live new;Where to gain a favour isMore than light, perpetual bliss—Make me live by serving you!
Dear, again back recallTo this light,A stranger to himself and all!Both the wonder and the storyShall be yours, and eke the glory;I am your servant, and your thrall.
Let the bells ring, and let the boys sing,The young lasses skip and play;Let the cups go round, till round goes the ground,Our learned old vicar will stay.Let the pig turn merrily, merrily, ah!And let the fat goose swim;For verily, verily, verily, ah!Our vicar this day shall be trim.The stewed cock shall crow, cock-a-loodle-loo,A loud cock-a-loodle shall he crow;The duck and the drake shall swim in a lakeOf onions and claret below.Our wives shall be neat, to bring in our meatTo thee our most noble adviser;Our pains shall be great, and bottles shall sweat,And we ourselves will be wiser.We'll labour and smirk, we'll kiss and we'll drink,And tithes shall come thicker and thicker;We'll fall to our plough, and have children enow,And thou shalt be learned old vicar.
Let the bells ring, and let the boys sing,The young lasses skip and play;Let the cups go round, till round goes the ground,Our learned old vicar will stay.
Let the pig turn merrily, merrily, ah!And let the fat goose swim;For verily, verily, verily, ah!Our vicar this day shall be trim.
The stewed cock shall crow, cock-a-loodle-loo,A loud cock-a-loodle shall he crow;The duck and the drake shall swim in a lakeOf onions and claret below.
Our wives shall be neat, to bring in our meatTo thee our most noble adviser;Our pains shall be great, and bottles shall sweat,And we ourselves will be wiser.
We'll labour and smirk, we'll kiss and we'll drink,And tithes shall come thicker and thicker;We'll fall to our plough, and have children enow,And thou shalt be learned old vicar.
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,Sorrow calls no time that's gone:Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rainMakes not fresh nor grow again.Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see.Joys as wingèd dreams fly fast,Why should sadness longer last?Grief is but a wound to woe;Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe.
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,Sorrow calls no time that's gone:Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rainMakes not fresh nor grow again.Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see.Joys as wingèd dreams fly fast,Why should sadness longer last?Grief is but a wound to woe;Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe.
Sing his praises that doth keepOur flocks from harm,Pan, the father of our sheep;And arm in armTread we softly in a round,Whilst the hollow neighbouring groundFills the music with her sound.Pan, O great god Pan, to theeThus do we sing!Thou who keep'st us chaste and freeAs the young spring:Ever be thy honour spoke,From that place the morn is broke,To that place day doth unyoke!
Sing his praises that doth keepOur flocks from harm,Pan, the father of our sheep;And arm in armTread we softly in a round,Whilst the hollow neighbouring groundFills the music with her sound.
Pan, O great god Pan, to theeThus do we sing!Thou who keep'st us chaste and freeAs the young spring:Ever be thy honour spoke,From that place the morn is broke,To that place day doth unyoke!
God Lyaeus, ever young,Ever honour'd, ever sung,Stain'd with blood of lusty grapes,In a thousand lusty shapesDance upon the mazer's brim,In the crimson liquor swim;From thy plenteous hand divineLet a river run with wine:God of youth, let this day hereEnter neither care nor fear.
God Lyaeus, ever young,Ever honour'd, ever sung,Stain'd with blood of lusty grapes,In a thousand lusty shapesDance upon the mazer's brim,In the crimson liquor swim;From thy plenteous hand divineLet a river run with wine:God of youth, let this day hereEnter neither care nor fear.
Arm, arm, arm, arm! the scouts are all come in;Keep your ranks close, and now your honours win.Behold from yonder hill the foe appears;Bows, bills, glaives, arrows, shields, and spears!Like a dark wood he comes, or tempest pouring;O view the wings of horse the meadows scouring!The vanguard marches bravely. Hark, the drums!Dub, dub!They meet, they meet, and now the battle comes:See how the arrows flyThat darken all the sky!Hark how the trumpets sound!Hark how the hills rebound—Tara, tara, tara, tara, tara!Hark how the horses charge! in, boys! boys, in!The battle totters; now the wounds begin:O how they cry!O how they die!Room for the valiant Memnon, armed with thunder!See how he breaks the ranks asunder!They fly! they fly! Eumenes has the chase,And brave Polybius makes good his place:To the plains, to the woods,To the rocks, to the floods,They fly for succour. Follow, follow, follow!Hark how the soldiers hollow!Hey, hey!Brave Diocles is dead,And all his soldiers fled;The battle's won, and lost,That many a life hath cost.
Arm, arm, arm, arm! the scouts are all come in;Keep your ranks close, and now your honours win.Behold from yonder hill the foe appears;Bows, bills, glaives, arrows, shields, and spears!Like a dark wood he comes, or tempest pouring;O view the wings of horse the meadows scouring!The vanguard marches bravely. Hark, the drums!Dub, dub!
They meet, they meet, and now the battle comes:See how the arrows flyThat darken all the sky!Hark how the trumpets sound!Hark how the hills rebound—Tara, tara, tara, tara, tara!
Hark how the horses charge! in, boys! boys, in!The battle totters; now the wounds begin:O how they cry!O how they die!Room for the valiant Memnon, armed with thunder!See how he breaks the ranks asunder!They fly! they fly! Eumenes has the chase,And brave Polybius makes good his place:To the plains, to the woods,To the rocks, to the floods,They fly for succour. Follow, follow, follow!Hark how the soldiers hollow!Hey, hey!
Brave Diocles is dead,And all his soldiers fled;The battle's won, and lost,That many a life hath cost.
Alas! my love, you do me wrongTo cast me off discourteously;And I have lovèd you so long,Delighting in your company.Greensleeves was all my joy!Greensleeves was my delight!Greensleeves was my heart of gold!And who but my Lady Greensleeves!I bought thee petticoats of the best,The cloth so fine as fine as might be;I gave thee jewels for thy chest,And all this cost I spent on thee.Greensleeves was all my joy!Greensleeves was my delight!Greensleeves was my heart of gold!And who but my Lady Greensleeves!Thy smock of silk, both fair and white,With gold embroidered gorgeously;Thy petticoat of sendal right:And these I bought thee gladly.Greensleeves was all my joy!Greensleeves was my delight!Greensleeves was my heart of gold!And who but my Lady Greensleeves!Greensleeves now farewell! adieu!God I pray to prosper thee!For I am still thy lover true:Come once again and love me!Greensleeves was all my joy!Greensleeves was my delight!Greensleeves was my heart of gold!And who but my Lady Greensleeves!
Alas! my love, you do me wrongTo cast me off discourteously;And I have lovèd you so long,Delighting in your company.
Greensleeves was all my joy!Greensleeves was my delight!Greensleeves was my heart of gold!And who but my Lady Greensleeves!
I bought thee petticoats of the best,The cloth so fine as fine as might be;I gave thee jewels for thy chest,And all this cost I spent on thee.
Greensleeves was all my joy!Greensleeves was my delight!Greensleeves was my heart of gold!And who but my Lady Greensleeves!
Thy smock of silk, both fair and white,With gold embroidered gorgeously;Thy petticoat of sendal right:And these I bought thee gladly.
Greensleeves was all my joy!Greensleeves was my delight!Greensleeves was my heart of gold!And who but my Lady Greensleeves!
Greensleeves now farewell! adieu!God I pray to prosper thee!For I am still thy lover true:Come once again and love me!
Greensleeves was all my joy!Greensleeves was my delight!Greensleeves was my heart of gold!And who but my Lady Greensleeves!
My true love hath my heart, and I have his,By just exchange one for another given:I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;There never was a better bargain driven:My true love hath my heart, and I have his.His heart in me keeps him and me in one,My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:He loves my heart, for once it was his own,I cherish his because in me it bides:My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
My true love hath my heart, and I have his,By just exchange one for another given:I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;There never was a better bargain driven:My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
His heart in me keeps him and me in one,My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:He loves my heart, for once it was his own,I cherish his because in me it bides:My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren,Since o'er shady groves they hover,And with leaves and flowers do coverThe friendless bodies of unburied men.Call unto his funeral doleThe ant, the field-mouse, and the mole,To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm,And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm;But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men,For with his nails he'll dig them up again.
Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren,Since o'er shady groves they hover,And with leaves and flowers do coverThe friendless bodies of unburied men.Call unto his funeral doleThe ant, the field-mouse, and the mole,To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm,And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm;But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men,For with his nails he'll dig them up again.
Hark! now everything is still,The screech-owl and the whistler shrill,Call upon our dame aloud,And bid her quickly don her shroud!Much you had of land and rent;Your length in clay's now competent:A long war disturb'd your mind;Here your perfect peace is sign'd.Of what is 't fools make such vain keeping?Sin their conception, their birth weeping,Their life a general mist of error,Their death a hideous storm of terror.Strew your hair with powders sweet,Don clean linen, bathe your feet,And—the foul fiend more to check—A crucifix let bless your neck;'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day;End your groan and come away.
Hark! now everything is still,The screech-owl and the whistler shrill,Call upon our dame aloud,And bid her quickly don her shroud!
Much you had of land and rent;Your length in clay's now competent:A long war disturb'd your mind;Here your perfect peace is sign'd.
Of what is 't fools make such vain keeping?Sin their conception, their birth weeping,Their life a general mist of error,Their death a hideous storm of terror.Strew your hair with powders sweet,Don clean linen, bathe your feet,And—the foul fiend more to check—A crucifix let bless your neck;'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day;End your groan and come away.
Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?O sweet content!Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex'd?O punishment!Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex'dTo add to golden numbers, golden numbers?O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!Work apace, apace, apace, apace;Honest labour bears a lovely face;Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!Canst drink the waters of the crispèd spring?O sweet content!Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?O punishment!Then he that patiently want's burden bearsNo burden bears, but is a king, a king!O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!Work apace, apace, apace, apace;Honest labour bears a lovely face;Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!
Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?O sweet content!Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex'd?O punishment!Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex'dTo add to golden numbers, golden numbers?O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!Work apace, apace, apace, apace;Honest labour bears a lovely face;Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!
Canst drink the waters of the crispèd spring?O sweet content!Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?O punishment!Then he that patiently want's burden bearsNo burden bears, but is a king, a king!O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!Work apace, apace, apace, apace;Honest labour bears a lovely face;Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!
Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain,Saint Hugh be our good speed!Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,Nor helps good hearts in need.Troll the bowl, the jolly nut-brown bowl,And here, kind mate, to thee!Let's sing a dirge for Saint Hugh's soul,And down it merrily.Down-a-down, hey, down-a-down,Hey derry derry down-a-down.Ho! well done, to let me come,Ring compass, gentle joy!Troll the bowl, the nut-brown bowl,And here, kind mate, to thee!Let's sing a dirge for Saint Hugh's soul,And down it merrily.Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain,Saint Hugh be our good speed!Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,Nor helps good hearts in need.
Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain,Saint Hugh be our good speed!Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,Nor helps good hearts in need.
Troll the bowl, the jolly nut-brown bowl,And here, kind mate, to thee!Let's sing a dirge for Saint Hugh's soul,And down it merrily.
Down-a-down, hey, down-a-down,Hey derry derry down-a-down.Ho! well done, to let me come,Ring compass, gentle joy!
Troll the bowl, the nut-brown bowl,And here, kind mate, to thee!Let's sing a dirge for Saint Hugh's soul,And down it merrily.
Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain,Saint Hugh be our good speed!Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,Nor helps good hearts in need.
The king sits in Dunfermline toun,Drinking the blude-red wine;'Oh whare will I get a gude sailor,To sail this ship o' mine?'Then up and spake an eldern knightSat at the king's right knee;'Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailorThat ever sail'd the sea.'The king has written a braid letter,And seal'd it wi' his hand,And sent it to Sir Patrick SpensWas walking on the strand.'To Noroway, to Noroway,To Noroway o'er the faem;The king's daughter to Noroway,'Tis thou maun tak' her hame.'The first line that Sir Patrick read,A loud laugh laughed he;The neist line that Sir Patrick read,The tear blinded his ee.'O wha is this has done this deed,And tauld the king o' me,To send us out at this time o' the year,To sail upon the sea?''Be 't wind or weet, be't hail or sleet,Our ship maun sail the faem;The king's daughter to Noroway,'Tis we maun tak' her hame.'They hoisted their sails on Monenday morn,Wi' a' the speed they may;And they hae landed in NorowayUpon a Wodensday.They hadna been a week, a week,In Noroway but twae,When that the lords o' NorowayBegan aloud to say—'Ye Scotisman spend a' our king's gowd,And a' our queenis fee.''Ye lee, ye lee, ye leears loud,Sae loud's I hear ye lee!'For I brought as much o' the white monieAs gane my men and me,And a half-fou o' the gude red gowd,Out owre the sea with me.'Mak' ready, mak' ready, my merry men a',Our gude ship sails the morn.''O say na sae, my master dear,I fear a deadlie storm.'I saw the new moon late yestreen,Wi' the auld moon in her arm;And if we gang to sea, master,I fear we'll come to harm!'They hadna sail'd a league, a league,A league but barely three,When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loudAnd gurly grew the sea.The ankers brak, and the tap-masts lap,It was sic a deadlie storm;And the waves cam' owre the broken ship,Till a' her sides were torn.'O whare will I get a gude sailorWill tak' the helm in hand,Till I get up to the tall tap-mast,To see if I can spy land.''O here am I, a sailor gude,To tak' the helm in hand,Till ye get up to the tall tap-mast,But I fear ye'll ne'er spy land.'He hadna gane a step, a step,A step but barely ane,When a bout flew out o' the gude ship's side,And the saut sea it cam' in.'Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith,Anither o' the twine,And wap them into our gude ship's side,And letna the sea come in.'They fetch'd a wab o' the silken claith,Anither o' the twine,And they wapp'd them into the gude ship's side,But aye the sea cam' in.O laith, laith were our Scots lords' sonsTo weet their coal-black shoon,But lang ere a' the play was play'd,They wat their hats abune.And mony was the feather-bedThat fluttered on the faem,And mony was the gude lord's sonThat never mair cam' hame.O lang, lang may the ladies sit,Wi' their fans into their hand,Before they see Sir Patrick SpensCome sailing to the strand.And lang, lang may the maidens sit,Wi' the gowd kaims in their hair,A' waiting for their ain dear loves,For them they'll see nae mair.Half owre, half owre to Aberdour'Tis fifty fathom deep,And there lies gude Sir Patrick SpensWi' the Scots lords at his feet.
The king sits in Dunfermline toun,Drinking the blude-red wine;'Oh whare will I get a gude sailor,To sail this ship o' mine?'
Then up and spake an eldern knightSat at the king's right knee;'Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailorThat ever sail'd the sea.'
The king has written a braid letter,And seal'd it wi' his hand,And sent it to Sir Patrick SpensWas walking on the strand.
'To Noroway, to Noroway,To Noroway o'er the faem;The king's daughter to Noroway,'Tis thou maun tak' her hame.'
The first line that Sir Patrick read,A loud laugh laughed he;The neist line that Sir Patrick read,The tear blinded his ee.
'O wha is this has done this deed,And tauld the king o' me,To send us out at this time o' the year,To sail upon the sea?'
'Be 't wind or weet, be't hail or sleet,Our ship maun sail the faem;The king's daughter to Noroway,'Tis we maun tak' her hame.'
They hoisted their sails on Monenday morn,Wi' a' the speed they may;And they hae landed in NorowayUpon a Wodensday.
They hadna been a week, a week,In Noroway but twae,When that the lords o' NorowayBegan aloud to say—
'Ye Scotisman spend a' our king's gowd,And a' our queenis fee.''Ye lee, ye lee, ye leears loud,Sae loud's I hear ye lee!
'For I brought as much o' the white monieAs gane my men and me,And a half-fou o' the gude red gowd,Out owre the sea with me.
'Mak' ready, mak' ready, my merry men a',Our gude ship sails the morn.''O say na sae, my master dear,I fear a deadlie storm.
'I saw the new moon late yestreen,Wi' the auld moon in her arm;And if we gang to sea, master,I fear we'll come to harm!'
They hadna sail'd a league, a league,A league but barely three,When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loudAnd gurly grew the sea.
The ankers brak, and the tap-masts lap,It was sic a deadlie storm;And the waves cam' owre the broken ship,Till a' her sides were torn.
'O whare will I get a gude sailorWill tak' the helm in hand,Till I get up to the tall tap-mast,To see if I can spy land.'
'O here am I, a sailor gude,To tak' the helm in hand,Till ye get up to the tall tap-mast,But I fear ye'll ne'er spy land.'
He hadna gane a step, a step,A step but barely ane,When a bout flew out o' the gude ship's side,And the saut sea it cam' in.
'Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith,Anither o' the twine,And wap them into our gude ship's side,And letna the sea come in.'
They fetch'd a wab o' the silken claith,Anither o' the twine,And they wapp'd them into the gude ship's side,But aye the sea cam' in.
O laith, laith were our Scots lords' sonsTo weet their coal-black shoon,But lang ere a' the play was play'd,They wat their hats abune.
And mony was the feather-bedThat fluttered on the faem,And mony was the gude lord's sonThat never mair cam' hame.
O lang, lang may the ladies sit,Wi' their fans into their hand,Before they see Sir Patrick SpensCome sailing to the strand.
And lang, lang may the maidens sit,Wi' the gowd kaims in their hair,A' waiting for their ain dear loves,For them they'll see nae mair.
Half owre, half owre to Aberdour'Tis fifty fathom deep,And there lies gude Sir Patrick SpensWi' the Scots lords at his feet.
PART IIt was a blind beggar, had long lost his sight,He had a fair daughter of beauty most bright;And many a gallant brave suitor had she,For none was so comely as pretty Bessee.And though she was of favour most faire,Yet seeing she was but a poor beggar's heyre,Of ancyent housekeepers despised was she,Whose sons came as suitors to pretty Bessee.Wherefore in great sorrow fair Bessy did say,Good father, and mother, let me go awayTo seek out my fortune, whatever it be,This suite then they granted to pretty Bessee.Then Bessy, that was of beauty so bright,All cladd in grey russet, and late in the nightFrom father and mother alone parted she,Who sighed and sobbed for pretty Bessee.She went till she came to Stratford-le-Bow;Then knew she not whither, nor which way to go:With tears she lamented her hard destinìe,So sad and so heavy was pretty Bessee.She kept on her journey until it was day,And went unto Rumford along the high way;Where at the Queen's arms entertained was she:So fair and well-favoured was pretty Bessee.She had not been there a month to an end,But master and mistress and all was her friend:And every brave gallant, that once did her see,Was straightway enamour'd of pretty Bessee.Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold,And in their songs daily her love was extolled;Her beauty was blazed in every degree;So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee.The young men of Rumford in her had their joyShe showed herself courteous, and modestly coy;And at her commandment still would they be;So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee.Four suitors at once unto her did go;They craved her favour, but still she said no;I would not wish gentles to marry with me;Yet ever they honoured pretty Bessee.The first of them was a gallant young knight,And he came unto her disguised in the night:The second a gentleman of good degree,Who wooed and sued for pretty Bessee.A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small,He was the third suitor, and proper withal:Her master's own son the fourth man must be,Who swore he would die for pretty Bessee.And, if thou wilt marry with me, quoth the knight,I'll make thee a lady with joy and delight;My heart's so enthralled by thy beautie,That soon I shall die for pretty Bessee.The gentleman said, Come, marry with me,As fine as a lady my Bessy shall be:My life is distressed: O hear me, quoth he;And grant me thy love, my pretty Bessee.Let me be thy husband, the merchant did say,Thou shalt live in London both gallant and gay;My ships shall bring home rich jewels for thee,And I will for ever love pretty Bessee.Then Bessy she sighed, and thus she did say,My father and mother I mean to obey;First get their good will, and be faithful to me,And then you shall marry your pretty Bessee.To every one this answer she made,Wherefore unto her they joyfully said,This thing to fulfil we all do agree;But where dwells thy father, my pretty Bessee?My father, she said, is soon to be seen:The silly blind beggar of Bednall-green,That daily sits begging for charitìe,He is the good father of pretty Bessee.His marks and his tokens are known very well;He always is led with a dog and a bell:A silly old man, God knoweth, is he,Yet he is the father of pretty Bessee.Nay then, quoth the merchant, thou art not for me.Nor, quoth the innholder, my wife thou shalt be:I loth, said the gentle, a beggar's degree,And therefore adieu, my pretty Bessee.Why then, quoth the knight, hap better or worse,I weigh not true love by the weight of the purse,And beauty is beauty in every degree;Then welcome unto me, my pretty Bessee.With thee to thy father forthwith I will go.Nay soft, quoth his kinsmen, it must not be so;A poor beggar's daughter no lady shall be,Then take thy adieu of pretty Bessee.But soon after this, by break of the dayThe knight had from Rumford stole Bessy away.The young men of Rumford, as thick as might be,Rode after to fetch again pretty Bessee.As swift as the wind to ryde they were seen,Until they came near unto Bednall-green;And as the knight lighted most courteouslìe,They all fought against him for pretty Bessee.But rescue came speedily over the plain,Or else the young knight for his love had been slain.This fray being ended, then straightway he seeHis kinsmen come railing at pretty Bessee.Then spake the blind beggar, Although I be poor,Yet rail not against my child at my own door:Though she be not decked in velvet and pearl,Yet will I drop angels with you for my girl.And then, if my gold may better her birth,And equal the gold that you lay on the earth,Then neither rail nor grudge you to seeThe blind beggar's daughter a lady to be.But first you shall promise, and have it well known,The gold that you drop shall all be your own.With that they replied, Contented be we.Then here's, quoth the beggar, for pretty Bessee.With that an angel he cast on the ground,And dropped in angels full three thousand pound;And oftentimes it was proved most plain,For the gentlemen's one the beggar dropt twain:So that the place, wherein they did sit,With gold it was covered every whit.The gentlemen then having dropt all their store,Said, Now, beggar, hold, for we have no more,Thou hast fulfilled thy promise aright.Then marry, quoth he, my girl to this knight;And here, added he, I will now throw you downA hundred pounds more to buy her a gown.The gentlemen all, that this treasure had seen,Admired the beggar of Bednall-green:And all those, that were her suitors before,Their flesh for very anger they tore.Thus was fair Bessy matched to the knight,And then made a lady in others' despite:A fairer lady there never was seen,Than the blind beggar's daughter of Bednall-green.But of their sumptuous marriage and feast,What brave lords and knights thither were prest,The second fitt shall set forth to your sightWith marvellous pleasure and wished delight.PART IIOf a blind beggar's daughter most bright,That late was betrothed unto a young knight;All the discourse thereof you did see:But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee.Within a gorgeous palace most brave,Adorned with all the cost they could have,This wedding was kept most sumptuouslìe,And all for the credit of pretty Bessee.All kind of dainties and delicates sweetWere bought for the banquet, as it was most meet;Partridge, and plover, and venison most free,Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee.This marriage through England was spread by report,So that a great number thereto did resortOf nobles and gentles in every degree;And all for the fame of pretty Bessee.To church then went this gallant young knight;His bride followed after, an angel most bright,With troops of ladies, the like ne'er was seen,As went with sweet Bessy of Bednall-green.This marriage being solemnized then,With musick performed by the skilfullest men,The nobles and gentles sat down at that tide,Each one admiring the beautiful bride.Now, after the sumptuous dinner was done,To talk, and to reason a number begun:They talked of the blind beggar's daughter most bright,And what with his daughter he gave to the knight.Then spake the nobles, 'Much marvel have we,This jolly blind beggar we cannot here see.'My lords, quoth the bride, my father's so base,He is loth with his presence these states to disgrace.'The praise of a woman in question to bringBefore her own face, were a flattering thing,But we think thy father's baseness,' quoth they,'Might by thy beauty be clean put away.'They had no sooner these pleasant words spoke,But in comes the beggar clad in a silk cloak;A fair velvet cap, and a feather had he,And now a musician forsooth he would be.He had a dainty lute under his arm,He touched the strings, which made such a charm,Says, Please you to hear any musick of me,I'll sing you a song of pretty Bessee.With that his lute he twanged straightway,And thereon began most sweetly to play;And after that lessons were played two or three,He strain'd out this song most delicatelìe.'A poor beggar's daughter did dwell on a green,Who for her fairness might well be a queen:A blithe bonny lass, and a dainty was she,And many one called her pretty Bessee.'Her father he had no goods, nor no land,But begged for a penny all day with his hand;And yet to her marriage he gave thousands three,And still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee.'And if any one here her birth do disdain,Her father is ready, with might and with main,To prove she is come of noble degree:Therefore never flout at pretty Bessee.'With that the lords and the company roundWith hearty laughter were ready to swound;At last said the lords, Full well we may see,The bride and the beggar's beholden to thee.On this the bride all blushing did rise,The pearly drops standing within her fair eyes,O pardon my father, grave nobles, quoth she,That through blind affection thus doteth on me.If this be thy father, the nobles did say,Well may he be proud of this happy day;Yet by his countenance well may we see,His birth and his fortune did never agree:'And therefore, blind man, we pray thee bewray(And look that the truth thou to us do say)Thy birth and thy parentage, what it may be;For the love that thou bearest to pretty Bessee.''Then give me leave, nobles and gentles, each one,One song more to sing, and then I have done;And if that it may not win good report,Then do not give me agroatfor my sport.'Sir Simon de Montfort my subject shall be;Once chief of all the great barons was he,Yet fortune so cruel this lord did abase,Now lost and forgotten are he and his race.'When the barons in arms did king Henry oppose,Sir Simon de Montfort their leader they chose;A leader of courage undaunted was he,And oft-times he made their enemies flee.'At length in the battle on Evesham plain,The barons were routed, and Montfort was slain;Most fatal that battle did prove unto thee,Though thou wast not born then, my pretty Bessee!'Along with the nobles, that fell at that tide,His eldest son Henry, who fought by his side,Was felled by a blow he received in the fight;A blow that deprived him for ever of sight.'Among the dead bodies all lifeless he lay,Till evening drew on of the following day,When by a young lady discovered was he;And this was thy mother, my pretty Bessee!'A baron's fair daughter stept forth in the nightTo search for her father, who fell in the fight,And seeing young Montfort, where gasping he lay,Was moved with pity, and brought him away.'In secret she nurst him, and swaged his pain,While he through the realm was believed to be slain:At length his fair bride she consented to be,And made him glad father of pretty Bessee.'And now, lest our foes our lives should betray,We clothed ourselves in beggars' array;Her jewels she sold, and hither came we:All our comfort and care was our pretty Bessee.'And here have we lived in fortune's despite,Though poor, yet contented with humble delight:Full forty winters thus have I beenA silly blind beggar of Bednall-green.'And here, noble lords, is ended the songOf one, that once to your own rank did belong:And thus have you learned a secret from me,That ne'er had been known, but for pretty Bessee.'Now when the fair company every one,Had heard the strange tale in the song he had shown,They all were amazed, as well they might be,Both at the blind beggar, and pretty Bessee.With that the fair bride they all did embrace,Saying, Sure thou art come of an honourable raceThy father likewise is of noble degree,And thou art well worthy a lady to be.Thus was the feast ended with joy and delight,A bridegroom most happy then was the young knight,In joy and felicitie long lived he,All with his fair lady, the pretty Bessee.
PART I
It was a blind beggar, had long lost his sight,He had a fair daughter of beauty most bright;And many a gallant brave suitor had she,For none was so comely as pretty Bessee.
And though she was of favour most faire,Yet seeing she was but a poor beggar's heyre,Of ancyent housekeepers despised was she,Whose sons came as suitors to pretty Bessee.
Wherefore in great sorrow fair Bessy did say,Good father, and mother, let me go awayTo seek out my fortune, whatever it be,This suite then they granted to pretty Bessee.
Then Bessy, that was of beauty so bright,All cladd in grey russet, and late in the nightFrom father and mother alone parted she,Who sighed and sobbed for pretty Bessee.
She went till she came to Stratford-le-Bow;Then knew she not whither, nor which way to go:With tears she lamented her hard destinìe,So sad and so heavy was pretty Bessee.
She kept on her journey until it was day,And went unto Rumford along the high way;Where at the Queen's arms entertained was she:So fair and well-favoured was pretty Bessee.
She had not been there a month to an end,But master and mistress and all was her friend:And every brave gallant, that once did her see,Was straightway enamour'd of pretty Bessee.
Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold,And in their songs daily her love was extolled;Her beauty was blazed in every degree;So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee.
The young men of Rumford in her had their joyShe showed herself courteous, and modestly coy;And at her commandment still would they be;So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee.
Four suitors at once unto her did go;They craved her favour, but still she said no;I would not wish gentles to marry with me;Yet ever they honoured pretty Bessee.
The first of them was a gallant young knight,And he came unto her disguised in the night:The second a gentleman of good degree,Who wooed and sued for pretty Bessee.
A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small,He was the third suitor, and proper withal:Her master's own son the fourth man must be,Who swore he would die for pretty Bessee.
And, if thou wilt marry with me, quoth the knight,I'll make thee a lady with joy and delight;My heart's so enthralled by thy beautie,That soon I shall die for pretty Bessee.
The gentleman said, Come, marry with me,As fine as a lady my Bessy shall be:My life is distressed: O hear me, quoth he;And grant me thy love, my pretty Bessee.
Let me be thy husband, the merchant did say,Thou shalt live in London both gallant and gay;My ships shall bring home rich jewels for thee,And I will for ever love pretty Bessee.
Then Bessy she sighed, and thus she did say,My father and mother I mean to obey;First get their good will, and be faithful to me,And then you shall marry your pretty Bessee.
To every one this answer she made,Wherefore unto her they joyfully said,This thing to fulfil we all do agree;But where dwells thy father, my pretty Bessee?
My father, she said, is soon to be seen:The silly blind beggar of Bednall-green,That daily sits begging for charitìe,He is the good father of pretty Bessee.
His marks and his tokens are known very well;He always is led with a dog and a bell:A silly old man, God knoweth, is he,Yet he is the father of pretty Bessee.
Nay then, quoth the merchant, thou art not for me.Nor, quoth the innholder, my wife thou shalt be:I loth, said the gentle, a beggar's degree,And therefore adieu, my pretty Bessee.
Why then, quoth the knight, hap better or worse,I weigh not true love by the weight of the purse,And beauty is beauty in every degree;Then welcome unto me, my pretty Bessee.
With thee to thy father forthwith I will go.Nay soft, quoth his kinsmen, it must not be so;A poor beggar's daughter no lady shall be,Then take thy adieu of pretty Bessee.
But soon after this, by break of the dayThe knight had from Rumford stole Bessy away.The young men of Rumford, as thick as might be,Rode after to fetch again pretty Bessee.
As swift as the wind to ryde they were seen,Until they came near unto Bednall-green;And as the knight lighted most courteouslìe,They all fought against him for pretty Bessee.
But rescue came speedily over the plain,Or else the young knight for his love had been slain.This fray being ended, then straightway he seeHis kinsmen come railing at pretty Bessee.
Then spake the blind beggar, Although I be poor,Yet rail not against my child at my own door:Though she be not decked in velvet and pearl,Yet will I drop angels with you for my girl.
And then, if my gold may better her birth,And equal the gold that you lay on the earth,Then neither rail nor grudge you to seeThe blind beggar's daughter a lady to be.
But first you shall promise, and have it well known,The gold that you drop shall all be your own.With that they replied, Contented be we.Then here's, quoth the beggar, for pretty Bessee.
With that an angel he cast on the ground,And dropped in angels full three thousand pound;And oftentimes it was proved most plain,For the gentlemen's one the beggar dropt twain:
So that the place, wherein they did sit,With gold it was covered every whit.The gentlemen then having dropt all their store,Said, Now, beggar, hold, for we have no more,
Thou hast fulfilled thy promise aright.Then marry, quoth he, my girl to this knight;And here, added he, I will now throw you downA hundred pounds more to buy her a gown.
The gentlemen all, that this treasure had seen,Admired the beggar of Bednall-green:And all those, that were her suitors before,Their flesh for very anger they tore.
Thus was fair Bessy matched to the knight,And then made a lady in others' despite:A fairer lady there never was seen,Than the blind beggar's daughter of Bednall-green.
But of their sumptuous marriage and feast,What brave lords and knights thither were prest,The second fitt shall set forth to your sightWith marvellous pleasure and wished delight.
PART II
Of a blind beggar's daughter most bright,That late was betrothed unto a young knight;All the discourse thereof you did see:But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee.
Within a gorgeous palace most brave,Adorned with all the cost they could have,This wedding was kept most sumptuouslìe,And all for the credit of pretty Bessee.
All kind of dainties and delicates sweetWere bought for the banquet, as it was most meet;Partridge, and plover, and venison most free,Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee.
This marriage through England was spread by report,So that a great number thereto did resortOf nobles and gentles in every degree;And all for the fame of pretty Bessee.
To church then went this gallant young knight;His bride followed after, an angel most bright,With troops of ladies, the like ne'er was seen,As went with sweet Bessy of Bednall-green.
This marriage being solemnized then,With musick performed by the skilfullest men,The nobles and gentles sat down at that tide,Each one admiring the beautiful bride.
Now, after the sumptuous dinner was done,To talk, and to reason a number begun:They talked of the blind beggar's daughter most bright,And what with his daughter he gave to the knight.
Then spake the nobles, 'Much marvel have we,This jolly blind beggar we cannot here see.'My lords, quoth the bride, my father's so base,He is loth with his presence these states to disgrace.
'The praise of a woman in question to bringBefore her own face, were a flattering thing,But we think thy father's baseness,' quoth they,'Might by thy beauty be clean put away.'
They had no sooner these pleasant words spoke,But in comes the beggar clad in a silk cloak;A fair velvet cap, and a feather had he,And now a musician forsooth he would be.
He had a dainty lute under his arm,He touched the strings, which made such a charm,Says, Please you to hear any musick of me,I'll sing you a song of pretty Bessee.
With that his lute he twanged straightway,And thereon began most sweetly to play;And after that lessons were played two or three,He strain'd out this song most delicatelìe.
'A poor beggar's daughter did dwell on a green,Who for her fairness might well be a queen:A blithe bonny lass, and a dainty was she,And many one called her pretty Bessee.
'Her father he had no goods, nor no land,But begged for a penny all day with his hand;And yet to her marriage he gave thousands three,And still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee.
'And if any one here her birth do disdain,Her father is ready, with might and with main,To prove she is come of noble degree:Therefore never flout at pretty Bessee.'
With that the lords and the company roundWith hearty laughter were ready to swound;At last said the lords, Full well we may see,The bride and the beggar's beholden to thee.
On this the bride all blushing did rise,The pearly drops standing within her fair eyes,O pardon my father, grave nobles, quoth she,That through blind affection thus doteth on me.
If this be thy father, the nobles did say,Well may he be proud of this happy day;Yet by his countenance well may we see,His birth and his fortune did never agree:
'And therefore, blind man, we pray thee bewray(And look that the truth thou to us do say)Thy birth and thy parentage, what it may be;For the love that thou bearest to pretty Bessee.'
'Then give me leave, nobles and gentles, each one,One song more to sing, and then I have done;And if that it may not win good report,Then do not give me agroatfor my sport.
'Sir Simon de Montfort my subject shall be;Once chief of all the great barons was he,Yet fortune so cruel this lord did abase,Now lost and forgotten are he and his race.
'When the barons in arms did king Henry oppose,Sir Simon de Montfort their leader they chose;A leader of courage undaunted was he,And oft-times he made their enemies flee.
'At length in the battle on Evesham plain,The barons were routed, and Montfort was slain;Most fatal that battle did prove unto thee,Though thou wast not born then, my pretty Bessee!
'Along with the nobles, that fell at that tide,His eldest son Henry, who fought by his side,Was felled by a blow he received in the fight;A blow that deprived him for ever of sight.
'Among the dead bodies all lifeless he lay,Till evening drew on of the following day,When by a young lady discovered was he;And this was thy mother, my pretty Bessee!
'A baron's fair daughter stept forth in the nightTo search for her father, who fell in the fight,And seeing young Montfort, where gasping he lay,Was moved with pity, and brought him away.
'In secret she nurst him, and swaged his pain,While he through the realm was believed to be slain:At length his fair bride she consented to be,And made him glad father of pretty Bessee.
'And now, lest our foes our lives should betray,We clothed ourselves in beggars' array;Her jewels she sold, and hither came we:All our comfort and care was our pretty Bessee.
'And here have we lived in fortune's despite,Though poor, yet contented with humble delight:Full forty winters thus have I beenA silly blind beggar of Bednall-green.
'And here, noble lords, is ended the songOf one, that once to your own rank did belong:And thus have you learned a secret from me,That ne'er had been known, but for pretty Bessee.'
Now when the fair company every one,Had heard the strange tale in the song he had shown,They all were amazed, as well they might be,Both at the blind beggar, and pretty Bessee.
With that the fair bride they all did embrace,Saying, Sure thou art come of an honourable raceThy father likewise is of noble degree,And thou art well worthy a lady to be.
Thus was the feast ended with joy and delight,A bridegroom most happy then was the young knight,In joy and felicitie long lived he,All with his fair lady, the pretty Bessee.