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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11236 ***
+
+OLD BALLADS
+
+
+_Illustrated by
+
+JOHN EYRE R.B.A._
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+COME, LASSES AND LADS
+COMIN' THRO' THE RYE
+CHERRY-RIPE
+ANNIE LAURIE
+ROBIN ADAIR
+MOLLY BAWN
+GO, HAPPY ROSE!
+THE ANCHOR'S WEIGH'D
+ALICE GRAY
+HOME, SWEET HOME
+JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO
+MY PRETTY JANE
+ROCK'D IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP
+THE MINSTREL BOY
+ON THE BANKS OF ALLAN WATER
+AULD LANG SYNE
+WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH TOWN
+THE NIGHT-PIECE TO JULIA
+TOM BOWLING
+MY LOVE IS LIKE THE RED RED ROSE
+WIDOW MALONE
+THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN
+CALLER HERRIN'
+A HUNTING WE WILL GO
+HEARTS OF OAK
+THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN
+THE BAY OF BISCAY O!
+BLACK-EYED SUSAN
+DUNCAN GRAY
+THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON
+THE MILLER OF DEE
+THE ANGEL'S WHISPER
+SIMON THE CELLARER
+AULD ROBIN GRAY
+BONNIE DUNDEE
+SALLY IN OUR ALLEY
+KITTY OF COLERAINE
+HERE'S TO THE MAIDEN OF BASHFUL FIFTEEN
+THE LEATHER BOTTEL
+WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE
+THE TOKEN
+O WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST
+THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE
+LOVELY NAN
+THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL
+TELL ME NOT, SWEET
+SHE WORE A WREATH OF ROSES
+O NANNY, WILT THOU GO WITH ME?
+D'YE KEN JOHN PEEL?
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+COME, LASSES AND LADS.
+
+
+Come, lasses and lads,
+                 get leave of your dads,
+  And away to the Maypole hie,
+For ev'ry fair has a sweetheart there,
+  And the fiddler's standing by;
+
+For Willy shall dance with Jane,
+  And Johnny has got his Joan,
+To trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it,
+  Trip it up and down!
+
+"You're out," says Dick; "not I," says Nick,
+  "'Twas the fiddler play'd it wrong;"
+"'Tis true," says Hugh, and so says Sue,
+  And so says ev'ry one.
+The fiddler than began
+  To play the tune again,
+And ev'ry girl did trip it, trip it,
+  Trip it to the men!
+
+Then, after an hour, they went to a bow'r,
+  And play'd for ale and cakes;
+And kisses too,--until they were due,
+  The lasses held the stakes.
+The girls did then begin
+  To quarrel with the men,
+And bade them take their kisses back,
+  And give them their own again!
+
+"Good-night," says Harry;
+                  "good-night," says Mary;
+  "Good-night," says Poll to John;
+"Good-night," says Sue
+                  to her sweetheart Hugh;
+  "Good-night," says ev'ry one.
+Some walk'd and some did run,
+  Some loiter'd on the way,
+And bound themselves by kisses twelve,
+  To meet the next holiday.
+
+         _Anon._
+
+
+
+
+COMING THRO' THE RYE.
+
+
+Gin a body meet a body
+  Comin' thro' the rye,
+Gin a body kiss a body,
+  Need a body cry?
+
+Ilka lassie has her laddie,
+  Nane, they say, hae I,
+Yet a' the lads they smile at me
+  When comin' thro' the rye.
+
+Gin a body meet a body
+  Comin' frae the town,
+Gin a body meet a body,
+  Need a body frown?
+    Ilka lassie has, etc.
+
+Amang the train there is a swain
+  I dearly lo'e mysel';
+But what his name, or whaur his hame,
+  I dinna care to tell.
+    Ilka lassie has, etc.
+
+               _Anon._
+
+
+
+
+CHERRY-RIPE.
+
+
+Cherry-Ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,
+  Full and fair ones, come and buy;
+If so be you ask me where
+They do grow? I answer, There,
+Where my Julia's lips do smile,
+There's the land or cherry isle,
+Whose plantations fully show
+All the year, where cherries grow.
+
+               _Herrick_.
+
+
+
+
+ANNIE LAURIE.
+
+
+Maxwelton braes are bonnie,
+  Where early fa's the dew;
+And it's there that Annie Laurie
+  Gied me her promise true;
+Gied me her promise true,
+  Which ne'er forgot will be;
+And for bonnie Annie Laurie
+  I'd lay me doun and dee.
+
+Her brow is like the snaw-drift,
+  Her throat is like the swan,
+Her face it is the fairest
+  That e'er the sun shone on;
+That e'er the sun shone on,
+  And dark blue is her ee;
+And for bonnie Annie Laurie
+  I'd lay me doun and dee.
+
+Like dew on the gowan lying,
+  Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;
+And like winds in summer sighing,
+  Her voice is low and sweet;
+Her voice is low and sweet,
+  And she's all the world to me;
+And for bonnie Annie Laurie
+  I'd lay me doun and dee.
+
+               _Trad._
+
+
+
+
+ROBIN ADAIR.
+
+
+What's this dull town to me?
+    Robin's not near.
+What was't I wish'd to see,
+    What wish'd to hear?
+Where's all the joy and mirth
+Made this town a heav'n on earth?
+Oh, they're all fled with thee,
+    Robin Adair.
+
+What made th' assembly shine?
+    Robin Adair.
+What made the ball so fine?
+    Robin was there.
+What when the play was o'er,
+What made my heart so sore?
+Oh, it was parting with
+    Robin Adair.
+
+But now thou'rt cold to me,
+    Robin Adair.
+But now thou'rt cold to me,
+    Robin Adair.
+Yet he I lov'd so well
+Still in my heart shall dwell;
+Oh, I can ne'er forget
+    Robin Adair.
+
+     _Anon._
+
+
+
+
+MOLLY BAWN.
+
+
+Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,
+  All lonely, waiting here for you?
+While the stars above are brightly shining,
+  Because they've nothing else to do.
+The flowers late were open keeping,
+  To try a rival blush with you;
+But their mother, Nature, set them sleeping,
+  With their rosy faces wash'd with dew.
+Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,
+  All lonely, waiting here for you?
+Now the pretty flowers were made to bloom, dear,
+  And the pretty stars were made to shine;
+And the pretty girls were made for the boys, dear,
+  And may be you were made for mine:
+The wicked watch-dog here is snarling,
+  He takes me for a thief, you see;
+For he knows I'd steal you, Molly, darling,
+  And then transported I should be.
+Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,
+  All lonely, waiting here for you?
+
+        _Samuel Lover_.
+
+
+
+
+GO, HAPPY ROSE!
+
+
+Go, happy Rose! and interwove
+  With other flowers, bind my love.
+Tell her, too, she must not be
+Longer flowing, longer free,
+That so oft has fetter'd me.
+
+Say, it she's fretful, I have bands
+Of pearl and gold to bind her hands;
+  Tell her, if she struggle still,
+  I have myrtle rods at will,
+  For to tame though not to kill.
+
+Take thou my blessing thus, and go,
+And tell her this,--but do not so!
+  Lest a handsome anger fly
+  Like a lightning from her eye,
+  And burn thee up as well as I.
+
+        _Herrick._
+
+
+
+
+THE ANCHOR'S WEIGH'D.
+
+
+The tear fell gently from her eye,
+  When last we parted on the shore;
+My bosom heav'd with many a sigh,
+  To think I ne'er might see her more.
+"Dear youth," she cried,
+              "and canst thou haste away?
+My heart will break; a little moment stay.
+Alas, I cannot, I cannot part from thee.
+The anchor's weigh'd,
+              farewell! remember me."
+
+"Weep not, my love," I trembling said,
+  "Doubt not a constant heart like mine;
+I ne'er can meet another maid,
+  Whose charms can fix
+               that heart like thine!"
+
+"Go, then," she cried, "but let thy constant mind
+  Oft think of her you leave in tears behind."
+"Dear maid, this last embrace my pledge shall be!
+The anchor's weigh'd!
+                farewell! remember me."
+
+               _S.J. Arnold._
+
+
+
+
+ALICE GRAY.
+
+
+She's all my fancy painted her,
+  She's lovely, she's divine;
+But her heart it is another's,
+  She never can be mine;
+Yet lov'd I as man never lov'd,
+  A love without decay,
+Oh! my heart, my heart is breaking
+  For the love of Alice Gray!
+
+Her dark brown hair is braided
+  O'er a brow of spotless white;
+Her soft blue eye now languishes,
+  Now flashes with delight;
+Her hair is braided not for me,
+  The eye is turned away;
+Yet, my heart, my heart is breaking
+  For the love of Alice Gray.
+
+I've sunk beneath the summer's sun,
+  And trembled in the blast;
+But my pilgrimage is nearly done,
+  The weary conflict's past:
+And when the green sod wraps my grave,
+  May pity haply say,
+Oh! his heart, his heart is broken
+  For the love of Alice Gray.
+
+        _William Mee_.
+
+
+
+
+HOME, SWEET HOME.
+
+
+'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
+Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!
+A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
+Which, seek thro' the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.
+  Home! home! sweet, sweet home!
+  There's no place like home!
+  There's no place like home!
+
+An exile from home splendour dazzles in vain,
+Oh I give me my lowly thatch'd cottage again!
+The birds singing gaily that came at my call,
+Give me them with the peace of mind dearer than all.
+  Home! home! sweet, sweet home!
+  There's no place like home!
+  There's no place like home!
+
+        _J. Howard Payne._
+
+
+
+
+JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.
+
+
+John Anderson, my Jo, John,
+  When we were first acquent,
+Your locks were like the raven,
+  Your bonnie brow was brent;
+But now your brow is beld, John,
+  Your locks are like the snaw;
+But blessings on your frosty pow,
+  John Anderson, my Jo.
+
+John Anderson, my Jo, John,
+  We clamb the hill thegither;
+And monie a canty day, John,
+  We've had wi' ane anither:
+Now we maun totter down, John,
+  But hand in hand we'll go,
+And sleep thegither at the foot,
+  John Anderson, my Jo.
+
+        _Burns (New Version)_.
+
+
+
+
+MY PRETTY JANE.
+
+
+My pretty Jane, my pretty Jane!
+  Ah! never, never look so shy;
+But meet me in the evening,
+  While the bloom is on the rye.
+The spring is waning fast, my love,
+  The corn is in the ear,
+The summer nights are coming, love,
+  The moon shines bright and clear.
+Then, pretty Jane, my dearest Jane!
+  Ah! never look so shy,
+But meet me in the evening,
+  While the bloom is on the rye.
+But name the day, the wedding day,
+  And I will buy the ring;
+The lads and maids in favours white
+  And village bells shall ring.
+The spring is waning fast, my love,
+  The corn is in the ear,
+The summer nights are coming, love,
+  The moon shines bright and clear.
+Then, pretty Jane, my dearest Jane!
+  Ah! never look so shy,
+But meet me in the evening,
+  While the bloom is on the rye.
+
+        _Edward Fitzball_.
+
+
+
+
+ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP.
+
+
+Rock'd in the cradle of the deep,
+I lay me down in peace to sleep;
+Secure, I rest upon the wave,
+For Thou, O Lord, hast pow'r to save.
+I know Thou wilt not slight my call,
+For Thou dost note the sparrow's fall,
+And calm and peaceful is my sleep,
+Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.
+
+And such the trust that still were mine,
+Tho' stormy winds swept o'er the brine;
+Or though the tempest's fiery breath
+Rous'd me from sleep to wreck and death!
+In ocean cave still safe with Thee,
+The germ of immortality;
+And calm and peaceful is my sleep,
+Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.
+
+        _Mrs. Willard._
+
+
+
+
+THE MINSTREL BOY.
+
+
+The Minstrel boy to the war is gone,
+  In the ranks of death you'll find him;
+His father's sword he has girded on,
+  And his wild harp slung behind him.--
+"Land of song!" said the warrior-bard,
+  "Though all the world betrays thee,
+_One_ sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
+  _One_ faithful harp shall praise thee!"
+The Minstrel fell!--but the foeman's chain
+  Could not bring his proud soul under;
+The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,
+  For he tore its cords asunder;
+And said, "No chains shall sully thee,
+  Thou soul of love and bravery!
+Thy songs were made for the brave and free,
+  They shall never sound in slavery!"
+
+        _Thomas Moore_.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE BANKS OF ALLAN WATER.
+
+
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  When the sweet Springtime did fall,
+Was the miller's lovely daughter,
+  The fairest of them all.
+For his bride a soldier sought her,
+  And a winning tongue had he:
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  None so gay as she.
+
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  When brown Autumn spreads its store,
+Then I saw the miller's daughter,
+  But she smiled no more;
+For the Summer grief had brought her,
+  And the soldier false was he;
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  None so sad as she.
+
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  When the Winter snow fell fast,
+Still was seen the miller's daughter,
+  Chilling blew the blast.
+But the miller's lovely daughter,
+  Both from cold and care was free:
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  There a corpse lay she.
+
+        _M.G. Lewis._
+
+
+
+
+AULD LANG SYNE.
+
+
+Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
+  And never brought to min'?
+Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
+  And days o' auld lang syne?
+
+        CHORUS.
+For auld lang syne, my dear,
+  For auld lang syne,
+We'll tak' a cup' o' kindness yet,
+  For auld lang syne.
+
+We twa hae run about the braes,
+  And pu'd the gowans fine;
+But we've wandered mony a weary foot
+  Sin auld lang syne.
+        For auld, etc.
+
+We twa hae paidl't i' the burn,
+  From mornin' sun till dine;
+But seas between us braid hae roar'd
+  Sin auld lang syne.
+        For auld, etc.
+
+And here's a hand, my trusty frien',
+  And gie's a hand o' thine;
+And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,
+  For auld lang syne.
+        For auld, etc.
+
+And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup,
+  And surely I'll be mine;
+And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
+  For auld lang syne.
+        For auld, etc.
+
+        _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH TOWN.
+
+
+'Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town,
+    In the rosy time of the year;
+Sweet flowers bloom'd,
+          and the grass was down,
+  And each shepherd woo'd his dear.
+    Bonnie Jocky, blythe and gay,
+    Kiss'd sweet Jenny making hay:
+The lassie blush'd, and frowning cried,
+      "No, no, it will not do;
+I canna, canna, wonna, wonna,
+              manna buckle to."
+
+Jocky was a wag that never would wed,
+  Though long he had follow'd the lass:
+Contented she earn'd
+          and eat her brown bread,
+  And merrily turn'd up the grass.
+    Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free,
+    Won her heart right merrily:
+Yet still she blush'd, and frowning cried,
+      "No, no, it will not do;
+I canna, canna, wonna, wonna,
+              manna buckle to."
+
+But when he vow'd he would
+          make her his bride,
+  Though his flocks and herds
+                were not few,
+She gave him her hand, and a kiss beside,
+  And vow'd she'd for ever be true.
+    Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free,
+    Won her heart right merrily:
+At church she no more frowning cried,
+      "No, no, it will not do;
+I canna, canna, wonna, wonna,
+              manna buckle to."
+
+        _Anon._
+
+
+
+
+THE NIGHT-PIECE TO JULIA.
+
+
+Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
+The shooting stars attend thee;
+  And the elves also,
+  Whose little eyes glow,
+Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
+
+No Will-o'-th'-Wisp mislight thee,
+Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee;
+  But on, on thy way,
+  Not making a stay,
+Since ghost there's none to affright thee.
+
+Let not the dark thee cumber;
+What though the moon does slumber?
+  The stars of the night
+  Will lend thee their light,
+Like tapers clear, without number.
+
+Then, Julia, let me woo thee,
+Thus, thus to come unto me;
+  And when I shall meet
+  Thy silv'ry feet,
+My soul I'll pour into thee.
+
+        _Herrick_.
+
+
+
+
+TOM BOWLING.
+
+
+Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,
+  The darling of our crew;
+No more he'll hear the tempest howling,
+  For death has broach'd him to.
+His form was of the manliest beauty,
+  His heart was kind and soft;
+Faithful below he did his duty.
+  But now he's gone aloft.
+
+Tom never from his word departed,
+  His virtues were so rare;
+His friends were many and true-hearted,
+  His Poll was kind and fair:
+And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly;
+  Ah, many's the time and oft!
+But mirth is turn'd to melancholy,
+  For Tom is gone aloft.
+
+Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
+  When He who all commands,
+Shall give, to call life's crew together,
+  The word to pipe all hands.
+Thus Death, who kings and tars dispatches,
+  In vain Tom's life has doff'd;
+For though his body's under hatches,
+  His soul is gone aloft.
+
+        _Charles Dibdin._
+
+
+
+
+MY LOVE IS LIKE THE RED RED ROSE.
+
+
+My love is like the red red rose
+  That's newly sprung in June;
+My love is like the melody
+  That's sweetly played in tune.
+
+As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
+  So deep in love am I;
+And I will love thee still, my dear,
+  Till a' the seas gang dry.
+
+Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
+  And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
+And I will love thee still, my dear,
+  While the sands of life shall run.
+
+But, fare thee weel, my only love,
+  And fare thee weel awhile;
+And I will come again, my dear,
+  Though 'twere ten thousand mile.
+
+        _Burns_.
+
+
+
+
+WIDOW MALONE.
+
+
+Did you hear of the Widow Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+Who lived in the town of Athlone!
+                        Ohone!
+  Oh, she melted the hearts
+  Of the swains in them parts,
+So lovely the Widow Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+So lovely the Widow Malone.
+
+Of lovers she had a full score,
+                        Or more,
+And fortunes they all had galore,
+                        In store;
+  From the minister down
+  To the clerk of the crown,
+All were courting the Widow Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+All were courting the Widow Malone.
+
+But so modest was Mistress Malone,
+                        'Twas known,
+That no one could see her alone,
+                        Ohone!
+  Let them ogle and sigh,
+  They could ne'er catch her eye,
+So bashful the Widow Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+So bashful the Widow Malone.
+
+Till one Mister O'Brien, from Clare,--
+                        How quare!
+It's little for blushing they care
+                        Down there,
+  Put his arm round her waist--
+  Gave ten kisses at laste--
+"Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone,
+                        My own!"
+"Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone."
+
+And the widow they all thought so shy,
+                        My eye!
+Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh,
+                        For why?
+  But "Lucius," says she,
+  "Since you've now made so free,
+You may marry your Mary Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+You may marry your Mary Malone."
+
+There's a moral contained in my song,
+                        Not wrong,
+And one comfort, it's not very long,
+                        But strong,--
+  If for widows you die,
+  Learn to kiss, not to sigh,
+For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+Oh, they're all like sweet Mistress Malone.
+
+        _Charles Lever_.
+
+
+
+
+THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN.
+
+
+And did you ne'er hear of a jolly young waterman,
+  Who at Blackfriars Bridge used for to ply?
+And he feathered his oars with such skill and dexterity,
+  Winning each heart and delighting each eye.
+He look'd so neat, and he row'd so steadily,
+  The maidens all flock'd in his boat so readily;
+And he eyed the young rogues with so charming an air,
+That this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.
+
+What sights of fine folks he oft row'd in his wherry!
+  'Twas clean'd out so nice, and so painted withal;
+He was always first oars when the fine city ladies
+  In a party to Ranelagh went, or Vauxhall.
+And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering,
+But 'twas all one to Tom their gibing and jeering;
+For loving or liking he little did care,
+For this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.
+
+And yet but to see how strangely things happen,
+  As he row'd along, thinking of nothing at all,
+He was ply'd by a damsel so lovely and charming,
+  That she smil'd, and so straightway in love he did fall.
+And would this young damsel but banish his sorrow,
+He'd wed her to-night, and not wait till to-morrow;
+And how should this waterman ever know care,
+When, married, was never in want of a _fair_.
+
+        _Charles Dibdin_.
+
+
+
+
+CALLER HERRIN'.
+
+
+Wha'll buy caller herrin'?
+  They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
+Buy my caller herrin',
+    new drawn frae the Forth.
+When ye were sleeping on your pillows,
+Dreamt ye aught o' our puir fellows,
+Darkling as they face the billows,
+A' to fill our woven willows.
+Buy my caller herrin',
+They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
+Buy my caller herrin',
+    new drawn frae the Forth.
+Caller herrin', caller herrin'.
+
+An' when the creel o' herrin' passes,
+Ladies clad in silks and laces,
+Gather in their braw pelisses,
+Toss their heads and screw their faces;
+Buy my caller herrin',
+They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
+Buy my caller herrin',
+    new drawn frae the Forth.
+
+Noo neebor wives, come, tent my tellin',
+When the bonnie fish ye're sellin'
+At a word be aye your dealin',
+Truth will stand when a' things failin';
+Buy my caller herrin',
+  They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
+Buy my caller herrin',
+    new drawn frae the Forth.
+Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
+  They're no brought here without brave darin',
+Buy my caller herrin',
+  Ye little ken their worth.
+Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
+  O ye may ca' them vulgar farin';
+Wives and mithers maist despairin',
+Ca' them lives o' men.
+Caller herrin', caller herrin'.
+
+        _Lady Nairne_.
+
+
+
+
+A HUNTING WE WILL GO.
+
+
+The dusky night rides down the sky,
+  And ushers in the morn;
+The hounds all join in glorious cry,
+  The huntsman winds his horn.
+    And a hunting we will go.
+
+The wife around her husband throws
+  Her arms to make him stay:
+"My dear, it rains, it hails, it blows;
+  You cannot hunt to-day."
+    Yet a hunting we will go.
+
+Away they fly to 'scape the rout,
+  Their steeds they soundly switch;
+Some are thrown in, and some thrown out,
+  And some thrown in the ditch.
+    Yet a hunting we will go.
+
+Sly Reynard now like lightning flies,
+  And sweeps across the vale;
+And when the hounds too near he spies,
+  He drops his bushy tail.
+    Then a hunting we will go.
+
+Fond echo seems to like the sport,
+  And join the jovial cry;
+The woods, the hills the sound retort,
+  And music fills the sky.
+    When a hunting we do go.
+
+At last his strength to faintness worn,
+  Poor Reynard ceases flight;
+Then hungry, homeward we return,
+  To feast away the night.
+    And a drinking we do go.
+
+Ye jovial hunters, in the morn
+  Prepare then for the chase;
+Rise at the sounding of the horn
+  And health with sport embrace.
+    When a hunting we do go.
+
+       _Henry Fielding_.
+
+
+
+
+HEARTS OF OAK.
+
+
+Come, cheer up, my lads!
+          'tis to glory we steer,
+To add something more
+          to this wonderful year:
+To honour we call you,
+          not press you like slaves:
+For who are so free
+          as the sons of the waves?
+  Hearts of oak are our ships,
+  Gallant tars are our men;
+    We always are ready:
+    Steady, boys, steady!
+We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.
+
+We ne'er see our foes
+          but we wish them to stay;
+They never see us but
+          they wish us away;
+If they run, why, we follow,
+          or run them ashore;
+For if they won't fight us,
+          we cannot do more.
+    Hearts of oak, etc.
+
+Britannia triumphant,
+          her ships sweep the sea;
+Her standard is Justice--
+          her watchword, "Be free!"
+Then cheer up, my lads!
+          with one heart let us sing,
+"Our soldiers, our sailors,
+          our statesmen, and king."
+    Hearts of oak, etc.
+
+        _David Garrick_.
+
+
+
+
+THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN.
+
+
+I'll sing you a good old song,
+  Made by a good old pate,
+Of a fine old English gentleman,
+  Who had an old estate;
+And who kept up his old mansion
+  At a bountiful old rate,
+With a good old porter to relieve
+  The old poor at his gate--
+Like a fine old English gentleman,
+  All of the olden time.
+
+His hall so old was hung around
+  With pikes, and guns, and bows,
+And swords and good old bucklers
+  That had stood against old foes;
+'Twas there "his worship" sat in state,
+  In doublet and trunk hose,
+And quaff'd his cup of good old sack
+  To warm his good old nose--
+Like a fine old English gentleman,
+  All of the olden time.
+
+When winter's cold brought frost and snow,
+  He open'd his house to all;
+And though three-score and ten his years,
+  He featly led the ball.
+Nor was the houseless wanderer
+  E'er driven from his hall;
+For while he feasted all the great,
+  He ne'er forgot the small--
+Like a fine old English gentleman,
+  All of the olden time.
+
+But time, though sweet, is strong in flight,
+  And years roll swiftly by;
+And autumn's falling leaves proclaim'd
+  The old man--he must die!
+He laid him down quite tranquilly,
+  Gave up his latest sigh;
+And mournful stillness reign'd around,
+  And tears bedew'd each eye--
+For this good old English gentleman,
+  All of the olden time.
+
+Now, surely this is better far
+  Than all the new parade
+Of theatres and fancy balls,
+  "At home" and masquerade!
+And much more economical,
+  For all his bills were paid,
+Then leave your new vagaries quite,
+  And take up the old trade--
+Of a fine old English gentleman,
+  All of the olden time.
+
+        _Anon_.
+
+
+
+
+THE BAY OF BISCAY O!
+
+
+Loud roared the dreadful thunder!
+   The rain a deluge showers!
+The clouds were rent asunder
+  By lightning's vivid powers!
+     The night, both drear and dark,
+     Our poor devoted bark,
+       Till next day, there she lay,
+         In the Bay of Biscay O!
+
+Now dashed upon the billow,
+  Our op'ning timbers creak;
+Each fears a wat'ry pillow,
+  None stop the dreadful leak!
+    To cling to slipp'ry shrouds,
+    Each breathless seaman crowds,
+      As she lay, till the day,
+        In the Bay of Biscay O!
+
+At length the wished-for morrow
+  Broke through the hazy sky;
+Absorbed in silent sorrow,
+  Each heaved the bitter sigh;
+    The dismal wreck to view,
+    Struck horror to the crew,
+      As she lay, on that day,
+        In the Bay of Biscay O!
+
+Her yielding timbers sever,
+  Her pitchy seams are rent;
+When Heaven, all-bounteous ever,
+  Its boundless mercy sent!
+A sail in sight appears,
+We hail her with three cheers!
+  Now we sail, with the gale,
+    From the Bay of Biscay O!
+
+        _Andrew Cherry._
+
+
+
+
+BLACK-EYED SUSAN.
+
+
+All in the Downs the fleet was moored,
+  The streamers waving in the wind,
+When black-eyed Susan came on board:
+  "Oh! where shall I my true love find?
+Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
+If my sweet William sails among your crew?"
+
+William, who high upon the yard,
+  Rocked by the billows to and fro,
+Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
+  He sighed, and cast his eyes below:
+The cord glides swiftly through his glowing hands,
+And, quick as lightning, on the deck he stands.
+
+So the sweet lark, high poised in air,
+  Shuts close his pinions to his breast
+(If, chance, his mate's shrill call he hear),
+  And drops at once into her nest:
+The noblest captain in the British fleet
+Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet.
+
+Oh, Susan! Susan! lovely dear!
+  My vows shall ever true remain;
+Let me kiss off that falling tear,
+  We only part to meet again:
+Change as ye list, ye winds! my heart shall be
+The faithful compass that still points to thee.
+
+Believe not what the landsmen say,
+  Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind;
+They tell thee--sailors when away
+  In every port a mistress find!
+Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
+For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
+
+If to fair India's coast we sail,
+  Thine eyes are seen in diamonds bright;
+Thy breath in Afric's spicy gale,
+  Thy skin in ivory so white:
+Thus every beauteous object that I view
+Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
+
+Though battle call me from thy arms,
+  Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
+Though cannons roar, yet free from harms,
+  William shall to his dear return:
+Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
+Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.
+
+The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
+  The sails their swelling bosoms spread;
+No longer must she stay on board:
+  They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head.
+Her lessening boat, unwilling, rows to land;
+"Adieu!" she cried, and waved her lily hand.
+
+        _J. Gay._
+
+
+
+
+DUNCAN GRAY.
+
+
+Duncan Grey came here to woo,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
+On blythe yule night when we were fou,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+Maggie coost' her head fu' high,
+Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,
+Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+
+Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd;
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
+Meg was deaf' as Ailsa Craig,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,
+Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',
+Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn;
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+
+Time and chance are but a tide,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
+Slighted love is sair to bide,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
+For a haughty hizzie dee?
+She may gae to--France for me,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+
+How it comes let doctors tell.
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
+Meg grew sick--as he grew well,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+Something in her bosom wrings,
+For relief a sigh she brings;
+And O, her een, they spak sic things!
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+
+Duncan was a lad o' grace,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
+Maggie's was a piteous case,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+Duncan couldna be her death,
+Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath;
+Now they're crouse and cantie baith,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+
+        _Burns_.
+
+
+
+
+THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.
+
+
+There was a youth, and a well-beloved youth,
+  And he was a squire's son;
+He loved the bailiff's daughter dear
+  That lived in Islington.
+
+Yet she was coy, and would not believe
+  That he did love her so.
+No; nor at any time would she
+  Any countenance to him show.
+
+But when his friends did understand
+  His fond and foolish mind,
+They sent him up to fair London
+  An apprentice for to bind.
+
+And when he had been seven long years,
+  And never his love could see:
+"Many a tear have I shed for her sake,
+  When she little thought of me."
+
+Then all the maids of Islington
+  Went forth to sport and play,
+All but the bailiff's daughter dear--
+  She secretly stole away.
+
+She pulled off her gown of green,
+  And put on ragged attire,
+And to fair London she would go,
+  Her true love to inquire.
+
+And as she went along the high road,
+  The weather being hot and dry,
+She sat her down upon a green bank,
+  And her true love came riding by.
+
+She started up, with a colour so red,
+  Catching hold of his bridle-rein;
+"One penny, one penny, kind sir," she said,
+  "Will ease me of much pain."
+
+"Before I give you one penny, sweetheart,
+  Pray tell me where you were born?"
+"At Islington, kind sir," said she,
+  "Where I have had many a scorn."
+
+"I pr'ythee, sweetheart, then tell to me,
+  O tell me, whether you know
+The bailiff's daughter of Islington?"
+  "She is dead, sir, long ago."
+
+"If she be dead, then take my horse,
+  My saddle and bridle also;
+For I will into some far countrie,
+  Where no man shall me know."
+
+O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth,
+  She standeth by thy side:
+She is here alive, she is not dead--
+  And ready to be thy bride.
+
+O farewell grief, and welcome joy,
+  Ten thousand times therefore!
+For now I have found my own true love,
+  Whom I thought I should never see more.
+
+
+
+
+THE MILLER OF DEE.
+
+
+There was a jolly miller once lived on the river Dee,
+He danced and sang from morn till night, no lark so blithe as he;
+And this the burden of his song for ever used to be:
+"I care for nobody, no, not I, if nobody cares for me.
+
+"I live by my mill, God bless her! she's kindred, child, and wife;
+I would not change my station for any other in life.
+No lawyer, surgeon, or doctor, e'er had a groat from me,
+I care for nobody, no, not I, if nobody cares for me."
+
+When spring begins his merry career, oh! how his heart grows gay;
+No summer's drought alarms his fears, nor winter's cold decay;
+No foresight mars the miller's joy, who's wont to sing and say:
+"Let others toil from year to year, I live from day to day."
+
+Thus, like the miller, bold and free, let us rejoice and sing,
+The days of youth are made for glee, and time is on the wing;
+This song shall pass from me to thee, along the jovial ring,
+Let heart and voice and all agree to say, "Long live the King!"
+
+_Isaac Bickerstaffe._
+
+
+
+
+THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.
+
+
+A baby was sleeping,
+  Its mother was weeping,
+For her husband was far on the wild raging sea,
+  And the tempest was swelling
+Round the fisherman's dwelling,
+And she cried, "Dermot, darling,
+            oh come back to me."
+
+  Her beads while she numbered,
+  The baby still slumbered.
+And smiled in her face, as she bended her knee;
+  Oh! bless'd be that warning,
+  My child, thy sleep adorning,
+For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.
+  And while they are keeping
+  Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,
+Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me,
+  And say thou would'st rather
+  They watch'd o'er thy father!
+For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.
+  The dawn of the morning
+  Saw Dermot returning,
+And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see,
+  And closely caressing
+  Her child with a blessing,
+Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee."
+
+        _Samuel Lover_.
+
+
+
+
+SIMON THE CELLARER.
+
+
+Old Simon the Cellarer keeps a large store
+Of Malmsey and Malvoisie,
+And Cyprus and who can say how many more?
+For a chary old soul is he,
+A chary old soul is he;
+Of Sack and Canary he never doth fail,
+And all the year round there is brewing of ale;
+Yet he never aileth, he quaintly doth say,
+While he keeps to his sober six flagons a day:
+But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew
+How oft the black Jack to his lips doth go;
+But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew
+How oft the black Jack to his lips doth go.
+
+Dame Margery sits in her own still-room.
+And a Matron sage is she;
+From thence oft at Curfew is wafted a fume,
+She says it is Rosemarie,
+She says it is Rosemarie;
+But there's a small cupboard behind the back stair,
+And the maids say they often see Margery there.
+Now, Margery says that she grows very old
+And must take a something to keep out the cold!
+But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know
+Where many a flask of his best doth go;
+But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know
+Where many a flask of his best doth go.
+
+Old Simon reclines in his high-back'd chair,
+And talks about taking a wife;
+And Margery often is heard to declare
+She ought to be settled in life,
+She ought to be settled in life;
+But Margery has (so the maids say) a tongue,
+And she's not very handsome, and not very young;
+So somehow it ends with a shake of the head,
+And Simon he brews him a tankard instead;
+While ho! ho! ho! he will chuckle and crow,
+What! marry old Margery? no no, no!
+While ho! ho! ho! he will chuckle and crow,
+What! marry old Margery? no, no, no!
+
+        _W. H. Bellamy_.
+
+
+
+
+AULD ROBIN GRAY.
+
+
+When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame,
+And a' the warld to sleep are gane,
+The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my ee,
+When my gudeman lies sound by me.
+
+Young Jamie loo'd me wed, and socht me for his bride;
+But, saving a croun, he had naething else beside.
+To mak that croun a pund young Jamie gaed to sea,
+And the croun and the pund were baith for me.
+
+He hadna been awa a week but only twa,
+When my mother she fell sick, and the cow was stown awa;
+My father brak his arm, and young Jamie at the sea,
+And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courtin' me.
+
+My father couldna work and my mother couldna spin;
+I toiled day and nicht, but their bread I couldna win;
+Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and, wi' tears in his ee,
+Said "Jennie, for their sakes, oh, marry me!"
+
+My heart it said nay, for I look'd for Jamie back;
+But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wreck;
+The ship it was a wreck--why didna Jamie dee?
+Or why do I live to say, Wae's me?
+
+My father argued sair, my mother didna speak,
+But she lookit in my face till my heart was like to break;
+Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart was in the sea;
+And auld Robin Gray was gudeman to me.
+
+I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
+When, sitting sae mournfully at the door,
+I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he,
+Till he said, "I'm come back for to marry thee."
+
+Oh, sair did we greet and muckle did we say,
+We took but ae kiss and we tore ourselves away;
+I wish I were dead! but I'm no like to dee;
+And why do I live to say, Wae's me?
+
+I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;
+I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin.
+But I'll do my best a gude wife to be,
+For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me.
+
+        _Lady Anne Lindsay._
+
+
+
+
+BONNIE DUNDEE.
+
+
+To the lords of Convention, 'twas Claverhouse spoke,
+Ere the king's crown go down there are crowns to be broke;
+Then each cavalier who loves honour and me,
+Let him follow the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.
+
+  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
+  Come saddle my horses and call out my men,
+  Unhook the west port, and let us gae free,
+  For it's up with the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.
+
+Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street,
+The bells they ring backward, the drums they are beat,
+But the Provost (douce man) said, "Just e'en let it be,
+For the town is well rid o' that deil o' Dundee."
+
+  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.
+
+There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth;
+If there's lords in the south, there are chiefs in the north,
+There are brave Dunevassals, three thousand times three,
+Will cry hey! for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.
+
+  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.
+
+Then awa' to the hills, to the lea, to the rocks:
+Ere I own an usurper I'll crouch wi' the fox;
+And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee
+Ye hae no seen the last of my bonnets and me.
+
+  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.
+
+        _Sir Walter Scott._
+
+
+
+
+SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.
+
+
+Of all the girls that are so smart,
+  There's none like pretty Sally;
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+There is no lady in the land
+  That's half so sweet as Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+Her father he makes cabbage-nets,
+  And through the streets does cry 'em;
+Her mother she sells laces long
+  To such as please to buy 'em.
+But sure such folks could ne'er beget
+  So sweet a girl as Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+When she is by, I leave my work
+  (I love her so sincerely),
+My master comes, like any Turk,
+  And bangs me most severely.
+But let him bang his belly full,
+  I'll bear it all for Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+Of all the days that's in the week,
+  I dearly love but one day;
+And that's the day that comes betwixt
+  A Saturday and Monday.
+For then I'm dress'd all in my best,
+  To walk abroad with Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+My master carries me to church,
+  And often am I blamed
+Because I leave him in the lurch
+  As soon as text is named.
+I leave the church in sermon time,
+  And slink away to Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+When Christmas comes about again,
+  Oh! then I shall have money;
+I'll hoard it up, and box and all
+  I'll give it to my honey.
+I would it were ten thousand pounds,
+  I'd give it all to Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+My master and the neighbours all
+  Make game of me and Sally;
+And (but for her) I'd better be
+  A slave, and row a galley.
+But when my seven long years are out,
+  Oh! then I'll marry Sally:
+Oh! then we'll wed, and then we'll bed,
+  But not in our alley.
+
+        _Henry Carey._
+
+
+
+
+KITTY OF COLERAINE.
+
+
+As beautiful Kitty one
+    morning was tripping
+With a pitcher of milk
+    from the fair of Coleraine,
+When she saw me she stumbled,
+    the pitcher it tumbled,
+And all the sweet buttermilk
+    water'd the plain.
+
+"Oh, what shall I do now?
+    'Twas looking at you, now;
+Sure, sure, such a pitcher
+    I'll ne'er meet again.
+'Twas the pride of my dairy,
+    O Barnay M'Leary,
+You're sent as a plague
+    to the girls of Coleraine!
+
+I sat down beside her,
+    and gently did chide her,
+That such a misfortune
+    should give her such pain.
+
+A kiss then I gave her,
+    before I did leave her,
+She vow'd for such pleasure
+    she'd break it again.
+'Twas haymaking season,
+    I can't tell the reason--
+Misfortunes will never come single,
+    that's plain--
+For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster
+The devil a pitcher
+    was whole in Coleraine.
+
+        _Edward Lysaght._
+
+
+
+
+HERE'S TO THE MAIDEN OF BASHFUL FIFTEEN.
+
+
+Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen,
+  Now to the widow of fifty;
+Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean,
+  And here's to the housewife that's thrifty:
+    Let the toast pass,
+    Drink to the lass--
+    I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
+
+Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize,
+  Now to the damsel with none, sir;
+Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
+  And now to the nymph with but one, sir:
+    Let the toast pass,
+    Drink to the lass--
+    I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
+
+Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow,
+  Now to her that's as brown as a berry;
+Here's to the wife with a face full of woe,
+  And now to the damsel that's merry:
+    Let the toast pass,
+    Drink to the lass--
+    I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
+
+For let her be clumsy, or let her be slim,
+  Young or ancient, I care not a feather;
+So fill up a bumper, nay, fill to the brim,
+  And let us e'en toast 'em together:
+    Let the toast pass,
+    Drink to the lass--
+    I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
+
+        _R. B. Sheridan._
+
+
+
+
+THE LEATHER BOTTÈL.
+
+
+'Twas God above that made all things,
+The heav'ns, the earth, and all therein:
+The ships that on the sea do swim
+To guard from foes that none come in;
+And let them all do what they can,
+'Twas for one end--the use of man.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+Now, what do you say to these cans of wood?
+Oh, no, in faith they cannot be good;
+For if the bearer fall by the way,
+Why, on the ground your liquor doth lay;
+But had it been in a leather bottèl,
+Although he had fallen all had been well.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+Then what do you say to these glasses fine?
+Oh, they shall have no praise of mine;
+For if you chance to touch the brim,
+Down falls the liquor and all therein.
+But had it been in a leather bottèl,
+And the stopple in, all had been well.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+Then what do you say to these black pots three?
+If a man and his wife should not agree,
+Why, they'll tug and pull till their liquor doth spill;
+In a leather bottèl they may tug their fill,
+And pull away till their hearts do ake,
+And yet their liquor no harm can take.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+Then what do you say to these flagons fine?
+Oh, they shall have no praise of mine;
+For when a lord is about to dine,
+And sends them to be filled with wine,
+The man with the flagon doth run away,
+Because it is silver most gallant and gay
+    So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+    That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+A leather bottèl we know is good,
+Far better than glasses or cans of wood;
+For when a man's at work in the field
+Your glasses and pots no comfort will yield;
+But a good leather bottèl standing by
+Will raise his spirits whenever he's dry.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+At noon the haymakers sit them down,
+To drink from their bottles of ale nut-brown;
+In summer, too, when the weather is warm,
+A good bottle full will do them no harm.
+Then the lads and the lasses begin to tottle,
+But what would they do without this bottle?
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+There's never a lord, an earl, or knight,
+But in this bottle doth take delight;
+For when he's hunting of the deer
+He oft doth wish for a bottle of beer.
+Likewise the man that works in the wood,
+A bottle of beer will oft do him good.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+And when the bottle at last grows old,
+And will good liquor no longer hold,
+Out of the side you may take a clout,
+To mend your shoes when they're worn out;
+Or take and hang it up on a pin,
+'Twill serve to put hinges and old things in.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+
+
+
+WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.
+
+
+Woodman, spare that tree,
+  Touch not a single bough--
+In youth it shelter'd me,
+  And I'll protect it now.
+Twas my forefather's hand
+  That placed it near his cot.
+There, woodman, let it stand,
+  Thy axe shall harm it not.
+That old familiar tree,
+  Whose glory and renown
+Are spread o'er land and sea,
+  Say, wouldst thou hack it down?
+
+Woodman, forbear thy stroke,
+  Cut not its earth-bound ties--
+Oh, spare that aged oak,
+  Now, towering to the skies.
+Oft, when a careless child,
+  Beneath its shade I heard
+The wood-notes sweet and wild,
+  Of many a forest bird.
+By mother kiss'd me here,
+  My father press'd my hand,
+I ask thee, with a tear,
+  Oh, let that old oak stand.
+
+My heart-strings round thee cling,
+  Close at thy bark, old friend--
+Here shall the wild bird sing,
+  And still thy branches bend.
+Old tree, the storm still brave,
+  And, woodman, leave the spot--
+While I've a hand to save
+  Thy axe shall harm it not.
+
+        _General G.P. Morris._
+
+
+
+
+THE TOKEN
+
+
+The breeze was fresh, the ship in stays,
+Each breaker hush'd, the shore a haze.
+When Jack no more on duty call'd,
+His true love's tokens overhaul'd;
+The broken gold, the braided hair,
+The tender motto, writ so fair,
+Upon his 'bacco-box he views,
+Nancy the poet, love the muse.
+"If you loves I, as I loves you,
+No pair so happy as we two."
+
+The storm, that like a shapeless wreck,
+Had strew'd with rigging all the deck,
+That tars for sharks had giv'n a feast,
+And left the ship a hulk--had ceas'd:
+When Jack, as with his messmates dear,
+He shared the grog their hearts to cheer,
+Took from his 'bacco-box a quid,
+And spell'd for comfort on the lid
+"If you loves I, as I loves you,
+No pair so happy as we two."
+
+The voyage,--that had been long and hard,
+But that had yielded full reward,
+And brought each sailor to his friend
+Happy and rich--was at an end:
+When Jack, his toils and perils o'er,
+Beheld his Nancy on the shore:
+He then the 'bacco-box display'd,
+And cried, and seized the yielding maid,
+"If you loves I, as I loves you,
+No pair so happy as we two."
+
+        _C. Dibdin._
+
+
+
+
+O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST.
+
+
+O wert thou in the cauld blast,
+  On yonder lea,
+My plaidie to the angry airt,
+  I'd shelter thee.
+Or did misfortune's bitter storms
+  Around thee blaw,
+Thy bield should be my bosom,
+  To share it a'.
+Or were I in the wildest waste,
+  She bleak and bare,
+The desert were a paradise,
+  If thou wert there,
+Or were I monarch o' the globe,
+  Wi' thee to reign,
+The brightest jewel in my crown,
+  Wad be my queen.
+
+        _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.
+
+
+Come live with me and be my love,
+And we will all the pleasures prove,
+That valleys, groves, and hills and fields,
+The woods or steepy mountains yields.
+
+And we will sit upon the rocks,
+Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
+By shallow rivers, to whose falls
+Melodious birds sing madrigals.
+
+And I will make thee beds of roses,
+And a thousand fragrant posies;
+A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
+Embroider'd o'er with leaves of myrtle;
+
+A gown made of the finest wool,
+Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
+Fair lined slippers for the cold,
+With buckles of the purest gold;
+
+A belt of straw and ivy-buds,
+With coral clasps and amber studs,
+And if these pleasures may thee move,
+Come live with me and be my love.
+
+The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
+For thy delight each May morning,
+If these delights thy mind may move,
+Then live with me and be my love.
+
+        _Christopher Marlowe._
+
+
+
+LOVELY NAN.
+
+
+Sweet is the ship, that, under sail
+Spreads her white bosom to the gale;
+  Sweet, oh! sweet's the flowing can;
+Sweet to poise the lab'ring oar
+That tugs us to our native shore,
+  When the boatswain pipes the barge to man;
+Sweet sailing with a fav'ring breeze;
+But oh! much sweeter than all these,
+  Is Jack's delight, his lovely Nan.
+
+The needle faithful to the north,
+To show of constancy the worth,
+  A curious lesson teaches man;
+The needle time may rust, a squall capsize the binnacle and all,
+Let seamanship do all it can;
+My love in worth shall higher rise!
+Nor time shall rust, nor squalls capsize,
+  My faith and truth to lovely Nan.
+
+I love my duty, love my friend,
+Love truth and merit to defend,
+  To moan their loss who hazard ran;
+I love to take an honest part.
+Love beauty with a spotless heart,
+  By manners love to show the man,
+To sail through life by honour's breeze;
+'Twas all along of loving these
+  First made me doat on lovely Nan.
+
+        _C. Dibdin._
+
+
+
+
+THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL.
+
+
+On Richmond Hill there lives a lass
+  More bright than May-day morn,
+Whose charms all other maids surpass--
+  A rose without a thorn.
+
+This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet.
+  Has won my right good-will;
+I'd crowns resign to call her mine--
+  Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.
+
+Ye zephyrs gay, that fan the air,
+  And wanton through the grove,
+Oh, whisper to my charming fair,
+  I'd die for her I love!
+
+How happy will the shepherd be
+  Who calls this nymph his own!
+Oh, may her choice be fix'd on me?
+  Mine's fix'd on her alone.
+
+        _James Upton._
+
+
+
+
+TELL ME NOT, SWEET.
+
+
+Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,
+  That from the nunnery
+Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,
+  To war and arms I fly.
+
+True, a new mistress now I chase,
+  The first foe in the field;
+And with a stronger faith embrace
+  A sword, a horse, a shield.
+
+Yet this inconstancy is such,
+  As you, too, shall adore;
+I could not love thee, dear, so much,
+  Loved I not honour more.
+
+        _Richard Lovelace._
+
+
+
+
+SHE WORE A WREATH OF ROSES.
+
+
+She wore a wreath of roses that night when first we met,
+Her lovely face was smiling beneath her curls of jet;
+Her footsteps had the lightness, her voice the joyous tone,
+The tokens of a youthful heart where sorrow is unknown.
+I saw her but a moment, yet methinks I see her now,
+With a wreath of summer flowers upon her snowy brow.
+
+A wreath of orange flowers when next we met she wore,
+The expression of her features was more thoughtful than before,
+And standing by her side, was one, who strove, and not in vain,
+To soothe her leaving that dear home she ne'er might view again.
+I saw her but a moment, yet methinks I see her now,
+With a wreath of orange blossoms upon her snowy brow.
+
+And once again I saw that brow, no bridal wreath was there,
+The widow's sombre cap conceal'd her once luxuriant hair;
+She weeps in silent solitude, for there is no one near,
+To press her hand within his own, and wipe away the tear!
+I see her broken-hearted, and methinks I see her now,
+In the pride of youth and beauty, with a wreath upon her brow.
+
+        _Thomas Haynes Bayly._
+
+
+
+
+O NANNY, WILT THOU GO WITH ME?
+
+
+O Nanny, wilt thou go with me,
+  Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town?
+Can silent glens have charms for thee,
+  The lowly cot and russet gown?
+No longer drest in silken sheen,
+  No longer deck'd with jewels rare,
+Say, can'st thou quit each courtly scene,
+  Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
+
+O Nanny, when thou'rt far away,
+  Wilt thou not cast a wish behind?
+Say, can'st thou face the parching ray,
+  Nor shrink before the wintry wind?
+Oh, can that soft and gentle mien
+  Extremes of hardship learn to bear,
+Nor sad regret each courtly scene,
+  Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
+
+O Nanny, can'st thou love so true,
+  Through perils keen with me go;
+Or when thy swain mishap shall rue,
+  To share with him the pang of woe?
+Say, should disease or pain befall,
+  Wilt thou assume the nurse's care,
+Nor wistful those gay scenes recall,
+  Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
+
+And when at last thy love shall die,
+  Wilt thou receive his parting breath,
+Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,
+  And cheer with smiles the bed of death?
+And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay
+  Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear,
+Nor then regret those scenes so gay,
+  Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
+
+        _Thomas Percy D.D._
+
+
+
+
+D'YE KEN JOHN PEEL?
+
+
+D'ye ken John Peel with his coat so gay?
+D'ye ken John Peel at the break of the day?
+D'ye ken John Peel when he's far, far away,
+With his hounds and his horn in the morning?
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+'Twas the sound of his horn brought me from my bed,
+And the cry of his hounds has me ofttimes led;
+For Peel's view holloa would 'waken the dead,
+Or a fox from his lair in the morning.
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+
+D'ye ken that hound whose voice is death?
+D'ye ken her sons of peerless faith?
+D'ye ken that a fox with his last breath
+Cursed them all as he died in the morning!
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+Yes, I ken John Peel and auld Ruby too,
+Ranter and Royal and Bellman so true;
+From the drag to the chase,
+From the chase to the view,
+From the view to the death in the morning.
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+And I've follow'd John Peel both often and far.
+O'er the rasper-fence, the gate, and the bar,
+From Low Denton side up to Scratchmere Scar,
+When we vied for the brush in the morning.
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+Then here's to John Peel with my heart and soul.
+Come fill, fill to him a brimming bowl:
+For we'll follow John Peel thro' fair or thro' foul,
+While we're wak'd by his horn in the morning.
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+        _John Woodstock Graves._
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Old Ballads, by Various
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11236 ***
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+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
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+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #11236 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11236)
diff --git a/old/11236-8.txt b/old/11236-8.txt
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Old Ballads, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Old Ballads
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: February 23, 2004 [EBook #11236]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD BALLADS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by The Internet Archive Children's Library, Ted Garvin and
+the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+OLD BALLADS
+
+
+_Illustrated by
+
+JOHN EYRE R.B.A._
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+COME, LASSES AND LADS
+COMIN' THRO' THE RYE
+CHERRY-RIPE
+ANNIE LAURIE
+ROBIN ADAIR
+MOLLY BAWN
+GO, HAPPY ROSE!
+THE ANCHOR'S WEIGH'D
+ALICE GRAY
+HOME, SWEET HOME
+JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO
+MY PRETTY JANE
+ROCK'D IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP
+THE MINSTREL BOY
+ON THE BANKS OF ALLAN WATER
+AULD LANG SYNE
+WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH TOWN
+THE NIGHT-PIECE TO JULIA
+TOM BOWLING
+MY LOVE IS LIKE THE RED RED ROSE
+WIDOW MALONE
+THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN
+CALLER HERRIN'
+A HUNTING WE WILL GO
+HEARTS OF OAK
+THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN
+THE BAY OF BISCAY O!
+BLACK-EYED SUSAN
+DUNCAN GRAY
+THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON
+THE MILLER OF DEE
+THE ANGEL'S WHISPER
+SIMON THE CELLARER
+AULD ROBIN GRAY
+BONNIE DUNDEE
+SALLY IN OUR ALLEY
+KITTY OF COLERAINE
+HERE'S TO THE MAIDEN OF BASHFUL FIFTEEN
+THE LEATHER BOTTEL
+WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE
+THE TOKEN
+O WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST
+THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE
+LOVELY NAN
+THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL
+TELL ME NOT, SWEET
+SHE WORE A WREATH OF ROSES
+O NANNY, WILT THOU GO WITH ME?
+D'YE KEN JOHN PEEL?
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+COME, LASSES AND LADS.
+
+
+Come, lasses and lads,
+                 get leave of your dads,
+  And away to the Maypole hie,
+For ev'ry fair has a sweetheart there,
+  And the fiddler's standing by;
+
+For Willy shall dance with Jane,
+  And Johnny has got his Joan,
+To trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it,
+  Trip it up and down!
+
+"You're out," says Dick; "not I," says Nick,
+  "'Twas the fiddler play'd it wrong;"
+"'Tis true," says Hugh, and so says Sue,
+  And so says ev'ry one.
+The fiddler than began
+  To play the tune again,
+And ev'ry girl did trip it, trip it,
+  Trip it to the men!
+
+Then, after an hour, they went to a bow'r,
+  And play'd for ale and cakes;
+And kisses too,--until they were due,
+  The lasses held the stakes.
+The girls did then begin
+  To quarrel with the men,
+And bade them take their kisses back,
+  And give them their own again!
+
+"Good-night," says Harry;
+                  "good-night," says Mary;
+  "Good-night," says Poll to John;
+"Good-night," says Sue
+                  to her sweetheart Hugh;
+  "Good-night," says ev'ry one.
+Some walk'd and some did run,
+  Some loiter'd on the way,
+And bound themselves by kisses twelve,
+  To meet the next holiday.
+
+         _Anon._
+
+
+
+
+COMING THRO' THE RYE.
+
+
+Gin a body meet a body
+  Comin' thro' the rye,
+Gin a body kiss a body,
+  Need a body cry?
+
+Ilka lassie has her laddie,
+  Nane, they say, hae I,
+Yet a' the lads they smile at me
+  When comin' thro' the rye.
+
+Gin a body meet a body
+  Comin' frae the town,
+Gin a body meet a body,
+  Need a body frown?
+    Ilka lassie has, etc.
+
+Amang the train there is a swain
+  I dearly lo'e mysel';
+But what his name, or whaur his hame,
+  I dinna care to tell.
+    Ilka lassie has, etc.
+
+               _Anon._
+
+
+
+
+CHERRY-RIPE.
+
+
+Cherry-Ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,
+  Full and fair ones, come and buy;
+If so be you ask me where
+They do grow? I answer, There,
+Where my Julia's lips do smile,
+There's the land or cherry isle,
+Whose plantations fully show
+All the year, where cherries grow.
+
+               _Herrick_.
+
+
+
+
+ANNIE LAURIE.
+
+
+Maxwelton braes are bonnie,
+  Where early fa's the dew;
+And it's there that Annie Laurie
+  Gied me her promise true;
+Gied me her promise true,
+  Which ne'er forgot will be;
+And for bonnie Annie Laurie
+  I'd lay me doun and dee.
+
+Her brow is like the snaw-drift,
+  Her throat is like the swan,
+Her face it is the fairest
+  That e'er the sun shone on;
+That e'er the sun shone on,
+  And dark blue is her ee;
+And for bonnie Annie Laurie
+  I'd lay me doun and dee.
+
+Like dew on the gowan lying,
+  Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;
+And like winds in summer sighing,
+  Her voice is low and sweet;
+Her voice is low and sweet,
+  And she's all the world to me;
+And for bonnie Annie Laurie
+  I'd lay me doun and dee.
+
+               _Trad._
+
+
+
+
+ROBIN ADAIR.
+
+
+What's this dull town to me?
+    Robin's not near.
+What was't I wish'd to see,
+    What wish'd to hear?
+Where's all the joy and mirth
+Made this town a heav'n on earth?
+Oh, they're all fled with thee,
+    Robin Adair.
+
+What made th' assembly shine?
+    Robin Adair.
+What made the ball so fine?
+    Robin was there.
+What when the play was o'er,
+What made my heart so sore?
+Oh, it was parting with
+    Robin Adair.
+
+But now thou'rt cold to me,
+    Robin Adair.
+But now thou'rt cold to me,
+    Robin Adair.
+Yet he I lov'd so well
+Still in my heart shall dwell;
+Oh, I can ne'er forget
+    Robin Adair.
+
+     _Anon._
+
+
+
+
+MOLLY BAWN.
+
+
+Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,
+  All lonely, waiting here for you?
+While the stars above are brightly shining,
+  Because they've nothing else to do.
+The flowers late were open keeping,
+  To try a rival blush with you;
+But their mother, Nature, set them sleeping,
+  With their rosy faces wash'd with dew.
+Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,
+  All lonely, waiting here for you?
+Now the pretty flowers were made to bloom, dear,
+  And the pretty stars were made to shine;
+And the pretty girls were made for the boys, dear,
+  And may be you were made for mine:
+The wicked watch-dog here is snarling,
+  He takes me for a thief, you see;
+For he knows I'd steal you, Molly, darling,
+  And then transported I should be.
+Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,
+  All lonely, waiting here for you?
+
+        _Samuel Lover_.
+
+
+
+
+GO, HAPPY ROSE!
+
+
+Go, happy Rose! and interwove
+  With other flowers, bind my love.
+Tell her, too, she must not be
+Longer flowing, longer free,
+That so oft has fetter'd me.
+
+Say, it she's fretful, I have bands
+Of pearl and gold to bind her hands;
+  Tell her, if she struggle still,
+  I have myrtle rods at will,
+  For to tame though not to kill.
+
+Take thou my blessing thus, and go,
+And tell her this,--but do not so!
+  Lest a handsome anger fly
+  Like a lightning from her eye,
+  And burn thee up as well as I.
+
+        _Herrick._
+
+
+
+
+THE ANCHOR'S WEIGH'D.
+
+
+The tear fell gently from her eye,
+  When last we parted on the shore;
+My bosom heav'd with many a sigh,
+  To think I ne'er might see her more.
+"Dear youth," she cried,
+              "and canst thou haste away?
+My heart will break; a little moment stay.
+Alas, I cannot, I cannot part from thee.
+The anchor's weigh'd,
+              farewell! remember me."
+
+"Weep not, my love," I trembling said,
+  "Doubt not a constant heart like mine;
+I ne'er can meet another maid,
+  Whose charms can fix
+               that heart like thine!"
+
+"Go, then," she cried, "but let thy constant mind
+  Oft think of her you leave in tears behind."
+"Dear maid, this last embrace my pledge shall be!
+The anchor's weigh'd!
+                farewell! remember me."
+
+               _S.J. Arnold._
+
+
+
+
+ALICE GRAY.
+
+
+She's all my fancy painted her,
+  She's lovely, she's divine;
+But her heart it is another's,
+  She never can be mine;
+Yet lov'd I as man never lov'd,
+  A love without decay,
+Oh! my heart, my heart is breaking
+  For the love of Alice Gray!
+
+Her dark brown hair is braided
+  O'er a brow of spotless white;
+Her soft blue eye now languishes,
+  Now flashes with delight;
+Her hair is braided not for me,
+  The eye is turned away;
+Yet, my heart, my heart is breaking
+  For the love of Alice Gray.
+
+I've sunk beneath the summer's sun,
+  And trembled in the blast;
+But my pilgrimage is nearly done,
+  The weary conflict's past:
+And when the green sod wraps my grave,
+  May pity haply say,
+Oh! his heart, his heart is broken
+  For the love of Alice Gray.
+
+        _William Mee_.
+
+
+
+
+HOME, SWEET HOME.
+
+
+'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
+Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!
+A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
+Which, seek thro' the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.
+  Home! home! sweet, sweet home!
+  There's no place like home!
+  There's no place like home!
+
+An exile from home splendour dazzles in vain,
+Oh I give me my lowly thatch'd cottage again!
+The birds singing gaily that came at my call,
+Give me them with the peace of mind dearer than all.
+  Home! home! sweet, sweet home!
+  There's no place like home!
+  There's no place like home!
+
+        _J. Howard Payne._
+
+
+
+
+JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.
+
+
+John Anderson, my Jo, John,
+  When we were first acquent,
+Your locks were like the raven,
+  Your bonnie brow was brent;
+But now your brow is beld, John,
+  Your locks are like the snaw;
+But blessings on your frosty pow,
+  John Anderson, my Jo.
+
+John Anderson, my Jo, John,
+  We clamb the hill thegither;
+And monie a canty day, John,
+  We've had wi' ane anither:
+Now we maun totter down, John,
+  But hand in hand we'll go,
+And sleep thegither at the foot,
+  John Anderson, my Jo.
+
+        _Burns (New Version)_.
+
+
+
+
+MY PRETTY JANE.
+
+
+My pretty Jane, my pretty Jane!
+  Ah! never, never look so shy;
+But meet me in the evening,
+  While the bloom is on the rye.
+The spring is waning fast, my love,
+  The corn is in the ear,
+The summer nights are coming, love,
+  The moon shines bright and clear.
+Then, pretty Jane, my dearest Jane!
+  Ah! never look so shy,
+But meet me in the evening,
+  While the bloom is on the rye.
+But name the day, the wedding day,
+  And I will buy the ring;
+The lads and maids in favours white
+  And village bells shall ring.
+The spring is waning fast, my love,
+  The corn is in the ear,
+The summer nights are coming, love,
+  The moon shines bright and clear.
+Then, pretty Jane, my dearest Jane!
+  Ah! never look so shy,
+But meet me in the evening,
+  While the bloom is on the rye.
+
+        _Edward Fitzball_.
+
+
+
+
+ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP.
+
+
+Rock'd in the cradle of the deep,
+I lay me down in peace to sleep;
+Secure, I rest upon the wave,
+For Thou, O Lord, hast pow'r to save.
+I know Thou wilt not slight my call,
+For Thou dost note the sparrow's fall,
+And calm and peaceful is my sleep,
+Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.
+
+And such the trust that still were mine,
+Tho' stormy winds swept o'er the brine;
+Or though the tempest's fiery breath
+Rous'd me from sleep to wreck and death!
+In ocean cave still safe with Thee,
+The germ of immortality;
+And calm and peaceful is my sleep,
+Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.
+
+        _Mrs. Willard._
+
+
+
+
+THE MINSTREL BOY.
+
+
+The Minstrel boy to the war is gone,
+  In the ranks of death you'll find him;
+His father's sword he has girded on,
+  And his wild harp slung behind him.--
+"Land of song!" said the warrior-bard,
+  "Though all the world betrays thee,
+_One_ sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
+  _One_ faithful harp shall praise thee!"
+The Minstrel fell!--but the foeman's chain
+  Could not bring his proud soul under;
+The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,
+  For he tore its cords asunder;
+And said, "No chains shall sully thee,
+  Thou soul of love and bravery!
+Thy songs were made for the brave and free,
+  They shall never sound in slavery!"
+
+        _Thomas Moore_.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE BANKS OF ALLAN WATER.
+
+
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  When the sweet Springtime did fall,
+Was the miller's lovely daughter,
+  The fairest of them all.
+For his bride a soldier sought her,
+  And a winning tongue had he:
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  None so gay as she.
+
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  When brown Autumn spreads its store,
+Then I saw the miller's daughter,
+  But she smiled no more;
+For the Summer grief had brought her,
+  And the soldier false was he;
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  None so sad as she.
+
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  When the Winter snow fell fast,
+Still was seen the miller's daughter,
+  Chilling blew the blast.
+But the miller's lovely daughter,
+  Both from cold and care was free:
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  There a corpse lay she.
+
+        _M.G. Lewis._
+
+
+
+
+AULD LANG SYNE.
+
+
+Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
+  And never brought to min'?
+Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
+  And days o' auld lang syne?
+
+        CHORUS.
+For auld lang syne, my dear,
+  For auld lang syne,
+We'll tak' a cup' o' kindness yet,
+  For auld lang syne.
+
+We twa hae run about the braes,
+  And pu'd the gowans fine;
+But we've wandered mony a weary foot
+  Sin auld lang syne.
+        For auld, etc.
+
+We twa hae paidl't i' the burn,
+  From mornin' sun till dine;
+But seas between us braid hae roar'd
+  Sin auld lang syne.
+        For auld, etc.
+
+And here's a hand, my trusty frien',
+  And gie's a hand o' thine;
+And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,
+  For auld lang syne.
+        For auld, etc.
+
+And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup,
+  And surely I'll be mine;
+And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
+  For auld lang syne.
+        For auld, etc.
+
+        _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH TOWN.
+
+
+'Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town,
+    In the rosy time of the year;
+Sweet flowers bloom'd,
+          and the grass was down,
+  And each shepherd woo'd his dear.
+    Bonnie Jocky, blythe and gay,
+    Kiss'd sweet Jenny making hay:
+The lassie blush'd, and frowning cried,
+      "No, no, it will not do;
+I canna, canna, wonna, wonna,
+              manna buckle to."
+
+Jocky was a wag that never would wed,
+  Though long he had follow'd the lass:
+Contented she earn'd
+          and eat her brown bread,
+  And merrily turn'd up the grass.
+    Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free,
+    Won her heart right merrily:
+Yet still she blush'd, and frowning cried,
+      "No, no, it will not do;
+I canna, canna, wonna, wonna,
+              manna buckle to."
+
+But when he vow'd he would
+          make her his bride,
+  Though his flocks and herds
+                were not few,
+She gave him her hand, and a kiss beside,
+  And vow'd she'd for ever be true.
+    Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free,
+    Won her heart right merrily:
+At church she no more frowning cried,
+      "No, no, it will not do;
+I canna, canna, wonna, wonna,
+              manna buckle to."
+
+        _Anon._
+
+
+
+
+THE NIGHT-PIECE TO JULIA.
+
+
+Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
+The shooting stars attend thee;
+  And the elves also,
+  Whose little eyes glow,
+Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
+
+No Will-o'-th'-Wisp mislight thee,
+Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee;
+  But on, on thy way,
+  Not making a stay,
+Since ghost there's none to affright thee.
+
+Let not the dark thee cumber;
+What though the moon does slumber?
+  The stars of the night
+  Will lend thee their light,
+Like tapers clear, without number.
+
+Then, Julia, let me woo thee,
+Thus, thus to come unto me;
+  And when I shall meet
+  Thy silv'ry feet,
+My soul I'll pour into thee.
+
+        _Herrick_.
+
+
+
+
+TOM BOWLING.
+
+
+Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,
+  The darling of our crew;
+No more he'll hear the tempest howling,
+  For death has broach'd him to.
+His form was of the manliest beauty,
+  His heart was kind and soft;
+Faithful below he did his duty.
+  But now he's gone aloft.
+
+Tom never from his word departed,
+  His virtues were so rare;
+His friends were many and true-hearted,
+  His Poll was kind and fair:
+And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly;
+  Ah, many's the time and oft!
+But mirth is turn'd to melancholy,
+  For Tom is gone aloft.
+
+Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
+  When He who all commands,
+Shall give, to call life's crew together,
+  The word to pipe all hands.
+Thus Death, who kings and tars dispatches,
+  In vain Tom's life has doff'd;
+For though his body's under hatches,
+  His soul is gone aloft.
+
+        _Charles Dibdin._
+
+
+
+
+MY LOVE IS LIKE THE RED RED ROSE.
+
+
+My love is like the red red rose
+  That's newly sprung in June;
+My love is like the melody
+  That's sweetly played in tune.
+
+As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
+  So deep in love am I;
+And I will love thee still, my dear,
+  Till a' the seas gang dry.
+
+Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
+  And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
+And I will love thee still, my dear,
+  While the sands of life shall run.
+
+But, fare thee weel, my only love,
+  And fare thee weel awhile;
+And I will come again, my dear,
+  Though 'twere ten thousand mile.
+
+        _Burns_.
+
+
+
+
+WIDOW MALONE.
+
+
+Did you hear of the Widow Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+Who lived in the town of Athlone!
+                        Ohone!
+  Oh, she melted the hearts
+  Of the swains in them parts,
+So lovely the Widow Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+So lovely the Widow Malone.
+
+Of lovers she had a full score,
+                        Or more,
+And fortunes they all had galore,
+                        In store;
+  From the minister down
+  To the clerk of the crown,
+All were courting the Widow Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+All were courting the Widow Malone.
+
+But so modest was Mistress Malone,
+                        'Twas known,
+That no one could see her alone,
+                        Ohone!
+  Let them ogle and sigh,
+  They could ne'er catch her eye,
+So bashful the Widow Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+So bashful the Widow Malone.
+
+Till one Mister O'Brien, from Clare,--
+                        How quare!
+It's little for blushing they care
+                        Down there,
+  Put his arm round her waist--
+  Gave ten kisses at laste--
+"Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone,
+                        My own!"
+"Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone."
+
+And the widow they all thought so shy,
+                        My eye!
+Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh,
+                        For why?
+  But "Lucius," says she,
+  "Since you've now made so free,
+You may marry your Mary Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+You may marry your Mary Malone."
+
+There's a moral contained in my song,
+                        Not wrong,
+And one comfort, it's not very long,
+                        But strong,--
+  If for widows you die,
+  Learn to kiss, not to sigh,
+For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+Oh, they're all like sweet Mistress Malone.
+
+        _Charles Lever_.
+
+
+
+
+THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN.
+
+
+And did you ne'er hear of a jolly young waterman,
+  Who at Blackfriars Bridge used for to ply?
+And he feathered his oars with such skill and dexterity,
+  Winning each heart and delighting each eye.
+He look'd so neat, and he row'd so steadily,
+  The maidens all flock'd in his boat so readily;
+And he eyed the young rogues with so charming an air,
+That this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.
+
+What sights of fine folks he oft row'd in his wherry!
+  'Twas clean'd out so nice, and so painted withal;
+He was always first oars when the fine city ladies
+  In a party to Ranelagh went, or Vauxhall.
+And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering,
+But 'twas all one to Tom their gibing and jeering;
+For loving or liking he little did care,
+For this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.
+
+And yet but to see how strangely things happen,
+  As he row'd along, thinking of nothing at all,
+He was ply'd by a damsel so lovely and charming,
+  That she smil'd, and so straightway in love he did fall.
+And would this young damsel but banish his sorrow,
+He'd wed her to-night, and not wait till to-morrow;
+And how should this waterman ever know care,
+When, married, was never in want of a _fair_.
+
+        _Charles Dibdin_.
+
+
+
+
+CALLER HERRIN'.
+
+
+Wha'll buy caller herrin'?
+  They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
+Buy my caller herrin',
+    new drawn frae the Forth.
+When ye were sleeping on your pillows,
+Dreamt ye aught o' our puir fellows,
+Darkling as they face the billows,
+A' to fill our woven willows.
+Buy my caller herrin',
+They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
+Buy my caller herrin',
+    new drawn frae the Forth.
+Caller herrin', caller herrin'.
+
+An' when the creel o' herrin' passes,
+Ladies clad in silks and laces,
+Gather in their braw pelisses,
+Toss their heads and screw their faces;
+Buy my caller herrin',
+They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
+Buy my caller herrin',
+    new drawn frae the Forth.
+
+Noo neebor wives, come, tent my tellin',
+When the bonnie fish ye're sellin'
+At a word be aye your dealin',
+Truth will stand when a' things failin';
+Buy my caller herrin',
+  They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
+Buy my caller herrin',
+    new drawn frae the Forth.
+Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
+  They're no brought here without brave darin',
+Buy my caller herrin',
+  Ye little ken their worth.
+Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
+  O ye may ca' them vulgar farin';
+Wives and mithers maist despairin',
+Ca' them lives o' men.
+Caller herrin', caller herrin'.
+
+        _Lady Nairne_.
+
+
+
+
+A HUNTING WE WILL GO.
+
+
+The dusky night rides down the sky,
+  And ushers in the morn;
+The hounds all join in glorious cry,
+  The huntsman winds his horn.
+    And a hunting we will go.
+
+The wife around her husband throws
+  Her arms to make him stay:
+"My dear, it rains, it hails, it blows;
+  You cannot hunt to-day."
+    Yet a hunting we will go.
+
+Away they fly to 'scape the rout,
+  Their steeds they soundly switch;
+Some are thrown in, and some thrown out,
+  And some thrown in the ditch.
+    Yet a hunting we will go.
+
+Sly Reynard now like lightning flies,
+  And sweeps across the vale;
+And when the hounds too near he spies,
+  He drops his bushy tail.
+    Then a hunting we will go.
+
+Fond echo seems to like the sport,
+  And join the jovial cry;
+The woods, the hills the sound retort,
+  And music fills the sky.
+    When a hunting we do go.
+
+At last his strength to faintness worn,
+  Poor Reynard ceases flight;
+Then hungry, homeward we return,
+  To feast away the night.
+    And a drinking we do go.
+
+Ye jovial hunters, in the morn
+  Prepare then for the chase;
+Rise at the sounding of the horn
+  And health with sport embrace.
+    When a hunting we do go.
+
+       _Henry Fielding_.
+
+
+
+
+HEARTS OF OAK.
+
+
+Come, cheer up, my lads!
+          'tis to glory we steer,
+To add something more
+          to this wonderful year:
+To honour we call you,
+          not press you like slaves:
+For who are so free
+          as the sons of the waves?
+  Hearts of oak are our ships,
+  Gallant tars are our men;
+    We always are ready:
+    Steady, boys, steady!
+We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.
+
+We ne'er see our foes
+          but we wish them to stay;
+They never see us but
+          they wish us away;
+If they run, why, we follow,
+          or run them ashore;
+For if they won't fight us,
+          we cannot do more.
+    Hearts of oak, etc.
+
+Britannia triumphant,
+          her ships sweep the sea;
+Her standard is Justice--
+          her watchword, "Be free!"
+Then cheer up, my lads!
+          with one heart let us sing,
+"Our soldiers, our sailors,
+          our statesmen, and king."
+    Hearts of oak, etc.
+
+        _David Garrick_.
+
+
+
+
+THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN.
+
+
+I'll sing you a good old song,
+  Made by a good old pate,
+Of a fine old English gentleman,
+  Who had an old estate;
+And who kept up his old mansion
+  At a bountiful old rate,
+With a good old porter to relieve
+  The old poor at his gate--
+Like a fine old English gentleman,
+  All of the olden time.
+
+His hall so old was hung around
+  With pikes, and guns, and bows,
+And swords and good old bucklers
+  That had stood against old foes;
+'Twas there "his worship" sat in state,
+  In doublet and trunk hose,
+And quaff'd his cup of good old sack
+  To warm his good old nose--
+Like a fine old English gentleman,
+  All of the olden time.
+
+When winter's cold brought frost and snow,
+  He open'd his house to all;
+And though three-score and ten his years,
+  He featly led the ball.
+Nor was the houseless wanderer
+  E'er driven from his hall;
+For while he feasted all the great,
+  He ne'er forgot the small--
+Like a fine old English gentleman,
+  All of the olden time.
+
+But time, though sweet, is strong in flight,
+  And years roll swiftly by;
+And autumn's falling leaves proclaim'd
+  The old man--he must die!
+He laid him down quite tranquilly,
+  Gave up his latest sigh;
+And mournful stillness reign'd around,
+  And tears bedew'd each eye--
+For this good old English gentleman,
+  All of the olden time.
+
+Now, surely this is better far
+  Than all the new parade
+Of theatres and fancy balls,
+  "At home" and masquerade!
+And much more economical,
+  For all his bills were paid,
+Then leave your new vagaries quite,
+  And take up the old trade--
+Of a fine old English gentleman,
+  All of the olden time.
+
+        _Anon_.
+
+
+
+
+THE BAY OF BISCAY O!
+
+
+Loud roared the dreadful thunder!
+   The rain a deluge showers!
+The clouds were rent asunder
+  By lightning's vivid powers!
+     The night, both drear and dark,
+     Our poor devoted bark,
+       Till next day, there she lay,
+         In the Bay of Biscay O!
+
+Now dashed upon the billow,
+  Our op'ning timbers creak;
+Each fears a wat'ry pillow,
+  None stop the dreadful leak!
+    To cling to slipp'ry shrouds,
+    Each breathless seaman crowds,
+      As she lay, till the day,
+        In the Bay of Biscay O!
+
+At length the wished-for morrow
+  Broke through the hazy sky;
+Absorbed in silent sorrow,
+  Each heaved the bitter sigh;
+    The dismal wreck to view,
+    Struck horror to the crew,
+      As she lay, on that day,
+        In the Bay of Biscay O!
+
+Her yielding timbers sever,
+  Her pitchy seams are rent;
+When Heaven, all-bounteous ever,
+  Its boundless mercy sent!
+A sail in sight appears,
+We hail her with three cheers!
+  Now we sail, with the gale,
+    From the Bay of Biscay O!
+
+        _Andrew Cherry._
+
+
+
+
+BLACK-EYED SUSAN.
+
+
+All in the Downs the fleet was moored,
+  The streamers waving in the wind,
+When black-eyed Susan came on board:
+  "Oh! where shall I my true love find?
+Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
+If my sweet William sails among your crew?"
+
+William, who high upon the yard,
+  Rocked by the billows to and fro,
+Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
+  He sighed, and cast his eyes below:
+The cord glides swiftly through his glowing hands,
+And, quick as lightning, on the deck he stands.
+
+So the sweet lark, high poised in air,
+  Shuts close his pinions to his breast
+(If, chance, his mate's shrill call he hear),
+  And drops at once into her nest:
+The noblest captain in the British fleet
+Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet.
+
+Oh, Susan! Susan! lovely dear!
+  My vows shall ever true remain;
+Let me kiss off that falling tear,
+  We only part to meet again:
+Change as ye list, ye winds! my heart shall be
+The faithful compass that still points to thee.
+
+Believe not what the landsmen say,
+  Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind;
+They tell thee--sailors when away
+  In every port a mistress find!
+Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
+For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
+
+If to fair India's coast we sail,
+  Thine eyes are seen in diamonds bright;
+Thy breath in Afric's spicy gale,
+  Thy skin in ivory so white:
+Thus every beauteous object that I view
+Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
+
+Though battle call me from thy arms,
+  Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
+Though cannons roar, yet free from harms,
+  William shall to his dear return:
+Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
+Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.
+
+The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
+  The sails their swelling bosoms spread;
+No longer must she stay on board:
+  They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head.
+Her lessening boat, unwilling, rows to land;
+"Adieu!" she cried, and waved her lily hand.
+
+        _J. Gay._
+
+
+
+
+DUNCAN GRAY.
+
+
+Duncan Grey came here to woo,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
+On blythe yule night when we were fou,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+Maggie coost' her head fu' high,
+Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,
+Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+
+Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd;
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
+Meg was deaf' as Ailsa Craig,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,
+Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',
+Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn;
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+
+Time and chance are but a tide,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
+Slighted love is sair to bide,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
+For a haughty hizzie dee?
+She may gae to--France for me,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+
+How it comes let doctors tell.
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
+Meg grew sick--as he grew well,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+Something in her bosom wrings,
+For relief a sigh she brings;
+And O, her een, they spak sic things!
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+
+Duncan was a lad o' grace,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
+Maggie's was a piteous case,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+Duncan couldna be her death,
+Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath;
+Now they're crouse and cantie baith,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+
+        _Burns_.
+
+
+
+
+THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.
+
+
+There was a youth, and a well-beloved youth,
+  And he was a squire's son;
+He loved the bailiff's daughter dear
+  That lived in Islington.
+
+Yet she was coy, and would not believe
+  That he did love her so.
+No; nor at any time would she
+  Any countenance to him show.
+
+But when his friends did understand
+  His fond and foolish mind,
+They sent him up to fair London
+  An apprentice for to bind.
+
+And when he had been seven long years,
+  And never his love could see:
+"Many a tear have I shed for her sake,
+  When she little thought of me."
+
+Then all the maids of Islington
+  Went forth to sport and play,
+All but the bailiff's daughter dear--
+  She secretly stole away.
+
+She pulled off her gown of green,
+  And put on ragged attire,
+And to fair London she would go,
+  Her true love to inquire.
+
+And as she went along the high road,
+  The weather being hot and dry,
+She sat her down upon a green bank,
+  And her true love came riding by.
+
+She started up, with a colour so red,
+  Catching hold of his bridle-rein;
+"One penny, one penny, kind sir," she said,
+  "Will ease me of much pain."
+
+"Before I give you one penny, sweetheart,
+  Pray tell me where you were born?"
+"At Islington, kind sir," said she,
+  "Where I have had many a scorn."
+
+"I pr'ythee, sweetheart, then tell to me,
+  O tell me, whether you know
+The bailiff's daughter of Islington?"
+  "She is dead, sir, long ago."
+
+"If she be dead, then take my horse,
+  My saddle and bridle also;
+For I will into some far countrie,
+  Where no man shall me know."
+
+O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth,
+  She standeth by thy side:
+She is here alive, she is not dead--
+  And ready to be thy bride.
+
+O farewell grief, and welcome joy,
+  Ten thousand times therefore!
+For now I have found my own true love,
+  Whom I thought I should never see more.
+
+
+
+
+THE MILLER OF DEE.
+
+
+There was a jolly miller once lived on the river Dee,
+He danced and sang from morn till night, no lark so blithe as he;
+And this the burden of his song for ever used to be:
+"I care for nobody, no, not I, if nobody cares for me.
+
+"I live by my mill, God bless her! she's kindred, child, and wife;
+I would not change my station for any other in life.
+No lawyer, surgeon, or doctor, e'er had a groat from me,
+I care for nobody, no, not I, if nobody cares for me."
+
+When spring begins his merry career, oh! how his heart grows gay;
+No summer's drought alarms his fears, nor winter's cold decay;
+No foresight mars the miller's joy, who's wont to sing and say:
+"Let others toil from year to year, I live from day to day."
+
+Thus, like the miller, bold and free, let us rejoice and sing,
+The days of youth are made for glee, and time is on the wing;
+This song shall pass from me to thee, along the jovial ring,
+Let heart and voice and all agree to say, "Long live the King!"
+
+_Isaac Bickerstaffe._
+
+
+
+
+THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.
+
+
+A baby was sleeping,
+  Its mother was weeping,
+For her husband was far on the wild raging sea,
+  And the tempest was swelling
+Round the fisherman's dwelling,
+And she cried, "Dermot, darling,
+            oh come back to me."
+
+  Her beads while she numbered,
+  The baby still slumbered.
+And smiled in her face, as she bended her knee;
+  Oh! bless'd be that warning,
+  My child, thy sleep adorning,
+For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.
+  And while they are keeping
+  Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,
+Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me,
+  And say thou would'st rather
+  They watch'd o'er thy father!
+For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.
+  The dawn of the morning
+  Saw Dermot returning,
+And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see,
+  And closely caressing
+  Her child with a blessing,
+Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee."
+
+        _Samuel Lover_.
+
+
+
+
+SIMON THE CELLARER.
+
+
+Old Simon the Cellarer keeps a large store
+Of Malmsey and Malvoisie,
+And Cyprus and who can say how many more?
+For a chary old soul is he,
+A chary old soul is he;
+Of Sack and Canary he never doth fail,
+And all the year round there is brewing of ale;
+Yet he never aileth, he quaintly doth say,
+While he keeps to his sober six flagons a day:
+But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew
+How oft the black Jack to his lips doth go;
+But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew
+How oft the black Jack to his lips doth go.
+
+Dame Margery sits in her own still-room.
+And a Matron sage is she;
+From thence oft at Curfew is wafted a fume,
+She says it is Rosemarie,
+She says it is Rosemarie;
+But there's a small cupboard behind the back stair,
+And the maids say they often see Margery there.
+Now, Margery says that she grows very old
+And must take a something to keep out the cold!
+But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know
+Where many a flask of his best doth go;
+But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know
+Where many a flask of his best doth go.
+
+Old Simon reclines in his high-back'd chair,
+And talks about taking a wife;
+And Margery often is heard to declare
+She ought to be settled in life,
+She ought to be settled in life;
+But Margery has (so the maids say) a tongue,
+And she's not very handsome, and not very young;
+So somehow it ends with a shake of the head,
+And Simon he brews him a tankard instead;
+While ho! ho! ho! he will chuckle and crow,
+What! marry old Margery? no no, no!
+While ho! ho! ho! he will chuckle and crow,
+What! marry old Margery? no, no, no!
+
+        _W. H. Bellamy_.
+
+
+
+
+AULD ROBIN GRAY.
+
+
+When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame,
+And a' the warld to sleep are gane,
+The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my ee,
+When my gudeman lies sound by me.
+
+Young Jamie loo'd me wed, and socht me for his bride;
+But, saving a croun, he had naething else beside.
+To mak that croun a pund young Jamie gaed to sea,
+And the croun and the pund were baith for me.
+
+He hadna been awa a week but only twa,
+When my mother she fell sick, and the cow was stown awa;
+My father brak his arm, and young Jamie at the sea,
+And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courtin' me.
+
+My father couldna work and my mother couldna spin;
+I toiled day and nicht, but their bread I couldna win;
+Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and, wi' tears in his ee,
+Said "Jennie, for their sakes, oh, marry me!"
+
+My heart it said nay, for I look'd for Jamie back;
+But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wreck;
+The ship it was a wreck--why didna Jamie dee?
+Or why do I live to say, Wae's me?
+
+My father argued sair, my mother didna speak,
+But she lookit in my face till my heart was like to break;
+Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart was in the sea;
+And auld Robin Gray was gudeman to me.
+
+I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
+When, sitting sae mournfully at the door,
+I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he,
+Till he said, "I'm come back for to marry thee."
+
+Oh, sair did we greet and muckle did we say,
+We took but ae kiss and we tore ourselves away;
+I wish I were dead! but I'm no like to dee;
+And why do I live to say, Wae's me?
+
+I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;
+I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin.
+But I'll do my best a gude wife to be,
+For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me.
+
+        _Lady Anne Lindsay._
+
+
+
+
+BONNIE DUNDEE.
+
+
+To the lords of Convention, 'twas Claverhouse spoke,
+Ere the king's crown go down there are crowns to be broke;
+Then each cavalier who loves honour and me,
+Let him follow the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.
+
+  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
+  Come saddle my horses and call out my men,
+  Unhook the west port, and let us gae free,
+  For it's up with the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.
+
+Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street,
+The bells they ring backward, the drums they are beat,
+But the Provost (douce man) said, "Just e'en let it be,
+For the town is well rid o' that deil o' Dundee."
+
+  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.
+
+There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth;
+If there's lords in the south, there are chiefs in the north,
+There are brave Dunevassals, three thousand times three,
+Will cry hey! for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.
+
+  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.
+
+Then awa' to the hills, to the lea, to the rocks:
+Ere I own an usurper I'll crouch wi' the fox;
+And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee
+Ye hae no seen the last of my bonnets and me.
+
+  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.
+
+        _Sir Walter Scott._
+
+
+
+
+SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.
+
+
+Of all the girls that are so smart,
+  There's none like pretty Sally;
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+There is no lady in the land
+  That's half so sweet as Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+Her father he makes cabbage-nets,
+  And through the streets does cry 'em;
+Her mother she sells laces long
+  To such as please to buy 'em.
+But sure such folks could ne'er beget
+  So sweet a girl as Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+When she is by, I leave my work
+  (I love her so sincerely),
+My master comes, like any Turk,
+  And bangs me most severely.
+But let him bang his belly full,
+  I'll bear it all for Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+Of all the days that's in the week,
+  I dearly love but one day;
+And that's the day that comes betwixt
+  A Saturday and Monday.
+For then I'm dress'd all in my best,
+  To walk abroad with Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+My master carries me to church,
+  And often am I blamed
+Because I leave him in the lurch
+  As soon as text is named.
+I leave the church in sermon time,
+  And slink away to Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+When Christmas comes about again,
+  Oh! then I shall have money;
+I'll hoard it up, and box and all
+  I'll give it to my honey.
+I would it were ten thousand pounds,
+  I'd give it all to Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+My master and the neighbours all
+  Make game of me and Sally;
+And (but for her) I'd better be
+  A slave, and row a galley.
+But when my seven long years are out,
+  Oh! then I'll marry Sally:
+Oh! then we'll wed, and then we'll bed,
+  But not in our alley.
+
+        _Henry Carey._
+
+
+
+
+KITTY OF COLERAINE.
+
+
+As beautiful Kitty one
+    morning was tripping
+With a pitcher of milk
+    from the fair of Coleraine,
+When she saw me she stumbled,
+    the pitcher it tumbled,
+And all the sweet buttermilk
+    water'd the plain.
+
+"Oh, what shall I do now?
+    'Twas looking at you, now;
+Sure, sure, such a pitcher
+    I'll ne'er meet again.
+'Twas the pride of my dairy,
+    O Barnay M'Leary,
+You're sent as a plague
+    to the girls of Coleraine!
+
+I sat down beside her,
+    and gently did chide her,
+That such a misfortune
+    should give her such pain.
+
+A kiss then I gave her,
+    before I did leave her,
+She vow'd for such pleasure
+    she'd break it again.
+'Twas haymaking season,
+    I can't tell the reason--
+Misfortunes will never come single,
+    that's plain--
+For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster
+The devil a pitcher
+    was whole in Coleraine.
+
+        _Edward Lysaght._
+
+
+
+
+HERE'S TO THE MAIDEN OF BASHFUL FIFTEEN.
+
+
+Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen,
+  Now to the widow of fifty;
+Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean,
+  And here's to the housewife that's thrifty:
+    Let the toast pass,
+    Drink to the lass--
+    I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
+
+Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize,
+  Now to the damsel with none, sir;
+Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
+  And now to the nymph with but one, sir:
+    Let the toast pass,
+    Drink to the lass--
+    I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
+
+Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow,
+  Now to her that's as brown as a berry;
+Here's to the wife with a face full of woe,
+  And now to the damsel that's merry:
+    Let the toast pass,
+    Drink to the lass--
+    I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
+
+For let her be clumsy, or let her be slim,
+  Young or ancient, I care not a feather;
+So fill up a bumper, nay, fill to the brim,
+  And let us e'en toast 'em together:
+    Let the toast pass,
+    Drink to the lass--
+    I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
+
+        _R. B. Sheridan._
+
+
+
+
+THE LEATHER BOTTÈL.
+
+
+'Twas God above that made all things,
+The heav'ns, the earth, and all therein:
+The ships that on the sea do swim
+To guard from foes that none come in;
+And let them all do what they can,
+'Twas for one end--the use of man.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+Now, what do you say to these cans of wood?
+Oh, no, in faith they cannot be good;
+For if the bearer fall by the way,
+Why, on the ground your liquor doth lay;
+But had it been in a leather bottèl,
+Although he had fallen all had been well.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+Then what do you say to these glasses fine?
+Oh, they shall have no praise of mine;
+For if you chance to touch the brim,
+Down falls the liquor and all therein.
+But had it been in a leather bottèl,
+And the stopple in, all had been well.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+Then what do you say to these black pots three?
+If a man and his wife should not agree,
+Why, they'll tug and pull till their liquor doth spill;
+In a leather bottèl they may tug their fill,
+And pull away till their hearts do ake,
+And yet their liquor no harm can take.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+Then what do you say to these flagons fine?
+Oh, they shall have no praise of mine;
+For when a lord is about to dine,
+And sends them to be filled with wine,
+The man with the flagon doth run away,
+Because it is silver most gallant and gay
+    So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+    That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+A leather bottèl we know is good,
+Far better than glasses or cans of wood;
+For when a man's at work in the field
+Your glasses and pots no comfort will yield;
+But a good leather bottèl standing by
+Will raise his spirits whenever he's dry.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+At noon the haymakers sit them down,
+To drink from their bottles of ale nut-brown;
+In summer, too, when the weather is warm,
+A good bottle full will do them no harm.
+Then the lads and the lasses begin to tottle,
+But what would they do without this bottle?
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+There's never a lord, an earl, or knight,
+But in this bottle doth take delight;
+For when he's hunting of the deer
+He oft doth wish for a bottle of beer.
+Likewise the man that works in the wood,
+A bottle of beer will oft do him good.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+And when the bottle at last grows old,
+And will good liquor no longer hold,
+Out of the side you may take a clout,
+To mend your shoes when they're worn out;
+Or take and hang it up on a pin,
+'Twill serve to put hinges and old things in.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottèl.
+
+
+
+
+WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.
+
+
+Woodman, spare that tree,
+  Touch not a single bough--
+In youth it shelter'd me,
+  And I'll protect it now.
+Twas my forefather's hand
+  That placed it near his cot.
+There, woodman, let it stand,
+  Thy axe shall harm it not.
+That old familiar tree,
+  Whose glory and renown
+Are spread o'er land and sea,
+  Say, wouldst thou hack it down?
+
+Woodman, forbear thy stroke,
+  Cut not its earth-bound ties--
+Oh, spare that aged oak,
+  Now, towering to the skies.
+Oft, when a careless child,
+  Beneath its shade I heard
+The wood-notes sweet and wild,
+  Of many a forest bird.
+By mother kiss'd me here,
+  My father press'd my hand,
+I ask thee, with a tear,
+  Oh, let that old oak stand.
+
+My heart-strings round thee cling,
+  Close at thy bark, old friend--
+Here shall the wild bird sing,
+  And still thy branches bend.
+Old tree, the storm still brave,
+  And, woodman, leave the spot--
+While I've a hand to save
+  Thy axe shall harm it not.
+
+        _General G.P. Morris._
+
+
+
+
+THE TOKEN
+
+
+The breeze was fresh, the ship in stays,
+Each breaker hush'd, the shore a haze.
+When Jack no more on duty call'd,
+His true love's tokens overhaul'd;
+The broken gold, the braided hair,
+The tender motto, writ so fair,
+Upon his 'bacco-box he views,
+Nancy the poet, love the muse.
+"If you loves I, as I loves you,
+No pair so happy as we two."
+
+The storm, that like a shapeless wreck,
+Had strew'd with rigging all the deck,
+That tars for sharks had giv'n a feast,
+And left the ship a hulk--had ceas'd:
+When Jack, as with his messmates dear,
+He shared the grog their hearts to cheer,
+Took from his 'bacco-box a quid,
+And spell'd for comfort on the lid
+"If you loves I, as I loves you,
+No pair so happy as we two."
+
+The voyage,--that had been long and hard,
+But that had yielded full reward,
+And brought each sailor to his friend
+Happy and rich--was at an end:
+When Jack, his toils and perils o'er,
+Beheld his Nancy on the shore:
+He then the 'bacco-box display'd,
+And cried, and seized the yielding maid,
+"If you loves I, as I loves you,
+No pair so happy as we two."
+
+        _C. Dibdin._
+
+
+
+
+O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST.
+
+
+O wert thou in the cauld blast,
+  On yonder lea,
+My plaidie to the angry airt,
+  I'd shelter thee.
+Or did misfortune's bitter storms
+  Around thee blaw,
+Thy bield should be my bosom,
+  To share it a'.
+Or were I in the wildest waste,
+  She bleak and bare,
+The desert were a paradise,
+  If thou wert there,
+Or were I monarch o' the globe,
+  Wi' thee to reign,
+The brightest jewel in my crown,
+  Wad be my queen.
+
+        _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.
+
+
+Come live with me and be my love,
+And we will all the pleasures prove,
+That valleys, groves, and hills and fields,
+The woods or steepy mountains yields.
+
+And we will sit upon the rocks,
+Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
+By shallow rivers, to whose falls
+Melodious birds sing madrigals.
+
+And I will make thee beds of roses,
+And a thousand fragrant posies;
+A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
+Embroider'd o'er with leaves of myrtle;
+
+A gown made of the finest wool,
+Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
+Fair lined slippers for the cold,
+With buckles of the purest gold;
+
+A belt of straw and ivy-buds,
+With coral clasps and amber studs,
+And if these pleasures may thee move,
+Come live with me and be my love.
+
+The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
+For thy delight each May morning,
+If these delights thy mind may move,
+Then live with me and be my love.
+
+        _Christopher Marlowe._
+
+
+
+LOVELY NAN.
+
+
+Sweet is the ship, that, under sail
+Spreads her white bosom to the gale;
+  Sweet, oh! sweet's the flowing can;
+Sweet to poise the lab'ring oar
+That tugs us to our native shore,
+  When the boatswain pipes the barge to man;
+Sweet sailing with a fav'ring breeze;
+But oh! much sweeter than all these,
+  Is Jack's delight, his lovely Nan.
+
+The needle faithful to the north,
+To show of constancy the worth,
+  A curious lesson teaches man;
+The needle time may rust, a squall capsize the binnacle and all,
+Let seamanship do all it can;
+My love in worth shall higher rise!
+Nor time shall rust, nor squalls capsize,
+  My faith and truth to lovely Nan.
+
+I love my duty, love my friend,
+Love truth and merit to defend,
+  To moan their loss who hazard ran;
+I love to take an honest part.
+Love beauty with a spotless heart,
+  By manners love to show the man,
+To sail through life by honour's breeze;
+'Twas all along of loving these
+  First made me doat on lovely Nan.
+
+        _C. Dibdin._
+
+
+
+
+THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL.
+
+
+On Richmond Hill there lives a lass
+  More bright than May-day morn,
+Whose charms all other maids surpass--
+  A rose without a thorn.
+
+This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet.
+  Has won my right good-will;
+I'd crowns resign to call her mine--
+  Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.
+
+Ye zephyrs gay, that fan the air,
+  And wanton through the grove,
+Oh, whisper to my charming fair,
+  I'd die for her I love!
+
+How happy will the shepherd be
+  Who calls this nymph his own!
+Oh, may her choice be fix'd on me?
+  Mine's fix'd on her alone.
+
+        _James Upton._
+
+
+
+
+TELL ME NOT, SWEET.
+
+
+Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,
+  That from the nunnery
+Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,
+  To war and arms I fly.
+
+True, a new mistress now I chase,
+  The first foe in the field;
+And with a stronger faith embrace
+  A sword, a horse, a shield.
+
+Yet this inconstancy is such,
+  As you, too, shall adore;
+I could not love thee, dear, so much,
+  Loved I not honour more.
+
+        _Richard Lovelace._
+
+
+
+
+SHE WORE A WREATH OF ROSES.
+
+
+She wore a wreath of roses that night when first we met,
+Her lovely face was smiling beneath her curls of jet;
+Her footsteps had the lightness, her voice the joyous tone,
+The tokens of a youthful heart where sorrow is unknown.
+I saw her but a moment, yet methinks I see her now,
+With a wreath of summer flowers upon her snowy brow.
+
+A wreath of orange flowers when next we met she wore,
+The expression of her features was more thoughtful than before,
+And standing by her side, was one, who strove, and not in vain,
+To soothe her leaving that dear home she ne'er might view again.
+I saw her but a moment, yet methinks I see her now,
+With a wreath of orange blossoms upon her snowy brow.
+
+And once again I saw that brow, no bridal wreath was there,
+The widow's sombre cap conceal'd her once luxuriant hair;
+She weeps in silent solitude, for there is no one near,
+To press her hand within his own, and wipe away the tear!
+I see her broken-hearted, and methinks I see her now,
+In the pride of youth and beauty, with a wreath upon her brow.
+
+        _Thomas Haynes Bayly._
+
+
+
+
+O NANNY, WILT THOU GO WITH ME?
+
+
+O Nanny, wilt thou go with me,
+  Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town?
+Can silent glens have charms for thee,
+  The lowly cot and russet gown?
+No longer drest in silken sheen,
+  No longer deck'd with jewels rare,
+Say, can'st thou quit each courtly scene,
+  Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
+
+O Nanny, when thou'rt far away,
+  Wilt thou not cast a wish behind?
+Say, can'st thou face the parching ray,
+  Nor shrink before the wintry wind?
+Oh, can that soft and gentle mien
+  Extremes of hardship learn to bear,
+Nor sad regret each courtly scene,
+  Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
+
+O Nanny, can'st thou love so true,
+  Through perils keen with me go;
+Or when thy swain mishap shall rue,
+  To share with him the pang of woe?
+Say, should disease or pain befall,
+  Wilt thou assume the nurse's care,
+Nor wistful those gay scenes recall,
+  Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
+
+And when at last thy love shall die,
+  Wilt thou receive his parting breath,
+Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,
+  And cheer with smiles the bed of death?
+And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay
+  Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear,
+Nor then regret those scenes so gay,
+  Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
+
+        _Thomas Percy D.D._
+
+
+
+
+D'YE KEN JOHN PEEL?
+
+
+D'ye ken John Peel with his coat so gay?
+D'ye ken John Peel at the break of the day?
+D'ye ken John Peel when he's far, far away,
+With his hounds and his horn in the morning?
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+'Twas the sound of his horn brought me from my bed,
+And the cry of his hounds has me ofttimes led;
+For Peel's view holloa would 'waken the dead,
+Or a fox from his lair in the morning.
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+
+D'ye ken that hound whose voice is death?
+D'ye ken her sons of peerless faith?
+D'ye ken that a fox with his last breath
+Cursed them all as he died in the morning!
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+Yes, I ken John Peel and auld Ruby too,
+Ranter and Royal and Bellman so true;
+From the drag to the chase,
+From the chase to the view,
+From the view to the death in the morning.
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+And I've follow'd John Peel both often and far.
+O'er the rasper-fence, the gate, and the bar,
+From Low Denton side up to Scratchmere Scar,
+When we vied for the brush in the morning.
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+Then here's to John Peel with my heart and soul.
+Come fill, fill to him a brimming bowl:
+For we'll follow John Peel thro' fair or thro' foul,
+While we're wak'd by his horn in the morning.
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+        _John Woodstock Graves._
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Old Ballads, by Various
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Old Ballads, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Old Ballads
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: February 23, 2004 [EBook #11236]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD BALLADS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by The Internet Archive Children's Library, Ted Garvin and
+the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+OLD BALLADS
+
+
+_Illustrated by
+
+JOHN EYRE R.B.A._
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+COME, LASSES AND LADS
+COMIN' THRO' THE RYE
+CHERRY-RIPE
+ANNIE LAURIE
+ROBIN ADAIR
+MOLLY BAWN
+GO, HAPPY ROSE!
+THE ANCHOR'S WEIGH'D
+ALICE GRAY
+HOME, SWEET HOME
+JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO
+MY PRETTY JANE
+ROCK'D IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP
+THE MINSTREL BOY
+ON THE BANKS OF ALLAN WATER
+AULD LANG SYNE
+WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH TOWN
+THE NIGHT-PIECE TO JULIA
+TOM BOWLING
+MY LOVE IS LIKE THE RED RED ROSE
+WIDOW MALONE
+THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN
+CALLER HERRIN'
+A HUNTING WE WILL GO
+HEARTS OF OAK
+THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN
+THE BAY OF BISCAY O!
+BLACK-EYED SUSAN
+DUNCAN GRAY
+THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON
+THE MILLER OF DEE
+THE ANGEL'S WHISPER
+SIMON THE CELLARER
+AULD ROBIN GRAY
+BONNIE DUNDEE
+SALLY IN OUR ALLEY
+KITTY OF COLERAINE
+HERE'S TO THE MAIDEN OF BASHFUL FIFTEEN
+THE LEATHER BOTTEL
+WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE
+THE TOKEN
+O WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST
+THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE
+LOVELY NAN
+THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL
+TELL ME NOT, SWEET
+SHE WORE A WREATH OF ROSES
+O NANNY, WILT THOU GO WITH ME?
+D'YE KEN JOHN PEEL?
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+COME, LASSES AND LADS.
+
+
+Come, lasses and lads,
+                 get leave of your dads,
+  And away to the Maypole hie,
+For ev'ry fair has a sweetheart there,
+  And the fiddler's standing by;
+
+For Willy shall dance with Jane,
+  And Johnny has got his Joan,
+To trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it,
+  Trip it up and down!
+
+"You're out," says Dick; "not I," says Nick,
+  "'Twas the fiddler play'd it wrong;"
+"'Tis true," says Hugh, and so says Sue,
+  And so says ev'ry one.
+The fiddler than began
+  To play the tune again,
+And ev'ry girl did trip it, trip it,
+  Trip it to the men!
+
+Then, after an hour, they went to a bow'r,
+  And play'd for ale and cakes;
+And kisses too,--until they were due,
+  The lasses held the stakes.
+The girls did then begin
+  To quarrel with the men,
+And bade them take their kisses back,
+  And give them their own again!
+
+"Good-night," says Harry;
+                  "good-night," says Mary;
+  "Good-night," says Poll to John;
+"Good-night," says Sue
+                  to her sweetheart Hugh;
+  "Good-night," says ev'ry one.
+Some walk'd and some did run,
+  Some loiter'd on the way,
+And bound themselves by kisses twelve,
+  To meet the next holiday.
+
+         _Anon._
+
+
+
+
+COMING THRO' THE RYE.
+
+
+Gin a body meet a body
+  Comin' thro' the rye,
+Gin a body kiss a body,
+  Need a body cry?
+
+Ilka lassie has her laddie,
+  Nane, they say, hae I,
+Yet a' the lads they smile at me
+  When comin' thro' the rye.
+
+Gin a body meet a body
+  Comin' frae the town,
+Gin a body meet a body,
+  Need a body frown?
+    Ilka lassie has, etc.
+
+Amang the train there is a swain
+  I dearly lo'e mysel';
+But what his name, or whaur his hame,
+  I dinna care to tell.
+    Ilka lassie has, etc.
+
+               _Anon._
+
+
+
+
+CHERRY-RIPE.
+
+
+Cherry-Ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,
+  Full and fair ones, come and buy;
+If so be you ask me where
+They do grow? I answer, There,
+Where my Julia's lips do smile,
+There's the land or cherry isle,
+Whose plantations fully show
+All the year, where cherries grow.
+
+               _Herrick_.
+
+
+
+
+ANNIE LAURIE.
+
+
+Maxwelton braes are bonnie,
+  Where early fa's the dew;
+And it's there that Annie Laurie
+  Gied me her promise true;
+Gied me her promise true,
+  Which ne'er forgot will be;
+And for bonnie Annie Laurie
+  I'd lay me doun and dee.
+
+Her brow is like the snaw-drift,
+  Her throat is like the swan,
+Her face it is the fairest
+  That e'er the sun shone on;
+That e'er the sun shone on,
+  And dark blue is her ee;
+And for bonnie Annie Laurie
+  I'd lay me doun and dee.
+
+Like dew on the gowan lying,
+  Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;
+And like winds in summer sighing,
+  Her voice is low and sweet;
+Her voice is low and sweet,
+  And she's all the world to me;
+And for bonnie Annie Laurie
+  I'd lay me doun and dee.
+
+               _Trad._
+
+
+
+
+ROBIN ADAIR.
+
+
+What's this dull town to me?
+    Robin's not near.
+What was't I wish'd to see,
+    What wish'd to hear?
+Where's all the joy and mirth
+Made this town a heav'n on earth?
+Oh, they're all fled with thee,
+    Robin Adair.
+
+What made th' assembly shine?
+    Robin Adair.
+What made the ball so fine?
+    Robin was there.
+What when the play was o'er,
+What made my heart so sore?
+Oh, it was parting with
+    Robin Adair.
+
+But now thou'rt cold to me,
+    Robin Adair.
+But now thou'rt cold to me,
+    Robin Adair.
+Yet he I lov'd so well
+Still in my heart shall dwell;
+Oh, I can ne'er forget
+    Robin Adair.
+
+     _Anon._
+
+
+
+
+MOLLY BAWN.
+
+
+Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,
+  All lonely, waiting here for you?
+While the stars above are brightly shining,
+  Because they've nothing else to do.
+The flowers late were open keeping,
+  To try a rival blush with you;
+But their mother, Nature, set them sleeping,
+  With their rosy faces wash'd with dew.
+Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,
+  All lonely, waiting here for you?
+Now the pretty flowers were made to bloom, dear,
+  And the pretty stars were made to shine;
+And the pretty girls were made for the boys, dear,
+  And may be you were made for mine:
+The wicked watch-dog here is snarling,
+  He takes me for a thief, you see;
+For he knows I'd steal you, Molly, darling,
+  And then transported I should be.
+Oh, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining,
+  All lonely, waiting here for you?
+
+        _Samuel Lover_.
+
+
+
+
+GO, HAPPY ROSE!
+
+
+Go, happy Rose! and interwove
+  With other flowers, bind my love.
+Tell her, too, she must not be
+Longer flowing, longer free,
+That so oft has fetter'd me.
+
+Say, it she's fretful, I have bands
+Of pearl and gold to bind her hands;
+  Tell her, if she struggle still,
+  I have myrtle rods at will,
+  For to tame though not to kill.
+
+Take thou my blessing thus, and go,
+And tell her this,--but do not so!
+  Lest a handsome anger fly
+  Like a lightning from her eye,
+  And burn thee up as well as I.
+
+        _Herrick._
+
+
+
+
+THE ANCHOR'S WEIGH'D.
+
+
+The tear fell gently from her eye,
+  When last we parted on the shore;
+My bosom heav'd with many a sigh,
+  To think I ne'er might see her more.
+"Dear youth," she cried,
+              "and canst thou haste away?
+My heart will break; a little moment stay.
+Alas, I cannot, I cannot part from thee.
+The anchor's weigh'd,
+              farewell! remember me."
+
+"Weep not, my love," I trembling said,
+  "Doubt not a constant heart like mine;
+I ne'er can meet another maid,
+  Whose charms can fix
+               that heart like thine!"
+
+"Go, then," she cried, "but let thy constant mind
+  Oft think of her you leave in tears behind."
+"Dear maid, this last embrace my pledge shall be!
+The anchor's weigh'd!
+                farewell! remember me."
+
+               _S.J. Arnold._
+
+
+
+
+ALICE GRAY.
+
+
+She's all my fancy painted her,
+  She's lovely, she's divine;
+But her heart it is another's,
+  She never can be mine;
+Yet lov'd I as man never lov'd,
+  A love without decay,
+Oh! my heart, my heart is breaking
+  For the love of Alice Gray!
+
+Her dark brown hair is braided
+  O'er a brow of spotless white;
+Her soft blue eye now languishes,
+  Now flashes with delight;
+Her hair is braided not for me,
+  The eye is turned away;
+Yet, my heart, my heart is breaking
+  For the love of Alice Gray.
+
+I've sunk beneath the summer's sun,
+  And trembled in the blast;
+But my pilgrimage is nearly done,
+  The weary conflict's past:
+And when the green sod wraps my grave,
+  May pity haply say,
+Oh! his heart, his heart is broken
+  For the love of Alice Gray.
+
+        _William Mee_.
+
+
+
+
+HOME, SWEET HOME.
+
+
+'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
+Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!
+A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
+Which, seek thro' the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.
+  Home! home! sweet, sweet home!
+  There's no place like home!
+  There's no place like home!
+
+An exile from home splendour dazzles in vain,
+Oh I give me my lowly thatch'd cottage again!
+The birds singing gaily that came at my call,
+Give me them with the peace of mind dearer than all.
+  Home! home! sweet, sweet home!
+  There's no place like home!
+  There's no place like home!
+
+        _J. Howard Payne._
+
+
+
+
+JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.
+
+
+John Anderson, my Jo, John,
+  When we were first acquent,
+Your locks were like the raven,
+  Your bonnie brow was brent;
+But now your brow is beld, John,
+  Your locks are like the snaw;
+But blessings on your frosty pow,
+  John Anderson, my Jo.
+
+John Anderson, my Jo, John,
+  We clamb the hill thegither;
+And monie a canty day, John,
+  We've had wi' ane anither:
+Now we maun totter down, John,
+  But hand in hand we'll go,
+And sleep thegither at the foot,
+  John Anderson, my Jo.
+
+        _Burns (New Version)_.
+
+
+
+
+MY PRETTY JANE.
+
+
+My pretty Jane, my pretty Jane!
+  Ah! never, never look so shy;
+But meet me in the evening,
+  While the bloom is on the rye.
+The spring is waning fast, my love,
+  The corn is in the ear,
+The summer nights are coming, love,
+  The moon shines bright and clear.
+Then, pretty Jane, my dearest Jane!
+  Ah! never look so shy,
+But meet me in the evening,
+  While the bloom is on the rye.
+But name the day, the wedding day,
+  And I will buy the ring;
+The lads and maids in favours white
+  And village bells shall ring.
+The spring is waning fast, my love,
+  The corn is in the ear,
+The summer nights are coming, love,
+  The moon shines bright and clear.
+Then, pretty Jane, my dearest Jane!
+  Ah! never look so shy,
+But meet me in the evening,
+  While the bloom is on the rye.
+
+        _Edward Fitzball_.
+
+
+
+
+ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP.
+
+
+Rock'd in the cradle of the deep,
+I lay me down in peace to sleep;
+Secure, I rest upon the wave,
+For Thou, O Lord, hast pow'r to save.
+I know Thou wilt not slight my call,
+For Thou dost note the sparrow's fall,
+And calm and peaceful is my sleep,
+Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.
+
+And such the trust that still were mine,
+Tho' stormy winds swept o'er the brine;
+Or though the tempest's fiery breath
+Rous'd me from sleep to wreck and death!
+In ocean cave still safe with Thee,
+The germ of immortality;
+And calm and peaceful is my sleep,
+Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.
+
+        _Mrs. Willard._
+
+
+
+
+THE MINSTREL BOY.
+
+
+The Minstrel boy to the war is gone,
+  In the ranks of death you'll find him;
+His father's sword he has girded on,
+  And his wild harp slung behind him.--
+"Land of song!" said the warrior-bard,
+  "Though all the world betrays thee,
+_One_ sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
+  _One_ faithful harp shall praise thee!"
+The Minstrel fell!--but the foeman's chain
+  Could not bring his proud soul under;
+The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,
+  For he tore its cords asunder;
+And said, "No chains shall sully thee,
+  Thou soul of love and bravery!
+Thy songs were made for the brave and free,
+  They shall never sound in slavery!"
+
+        _Thomas Moore_.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE BANKS OF ALLAN WATER.
+
+
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  When the sweet Springtime did fall,
+Was the miller's lovely daughter,
+  The fairest of them all.
+For his bride a soldier sought her,
+  And a winning tongue had he:
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  None so gay as she.
+
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  When brown Autumn spreads its store,
+Then I saw the miller's daughter,
+  But she smiled no more;
+For the Summer grief had brought her,
+  And the soldier false was he;
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  None so sad as she.
+
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  When the Winter snow fell fast,
+Still was seen the miller's daughter,
+  Chilling blew the blast.
+But the miller's lovely daughter,
+  Both from cold and care was free:
+On the banks of Allan Water,
+  There a corpse lay she.
+
+        _M.G. Lewis._
+
+
+
+
+AULD LANG SYNE.
+
+
+Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
+  And never brought to min'?
+Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
+  And days o' auld lang syne?
+
+        CHORUS.
+For auld lang syne, my dear,
+  For auld lang syne,
+We'll tak' a cup' o' kindness yet,
+  For auld lang syne.
+
+We twa hae run about the braes,
+  And pu'd the gowans fine;
+But we've wandered mony a weary foot
+  Sin auld lang syne.
+        For auld, etc.
+
+We twa hae paidl't i' the burn,
+  From mornin' sun till dine;
+But seas between us braid hae roar'd
+  Sin auld lang syne.
+        For auld, etc.
+
+And here's a hand, my trusty frien',
+  And gie's a hand o' thine;
+And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,
+  For auld lang syne.
+        For auld, etc.
+
+And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup,
+  And surely I'll be mine;
+And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
+  For auld lang syne.
+        For auld, etc.
+
+        _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH TOWN.
+
+
+'Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town,
+    In the rosy time of the year;
+Sweet flowers bloom'd,
+          and the grass was down,
+  And each shepherd woo'd his dear.
+    Bonnie Jocky, blythe and gay,
+    Kiss'd sweet Jenny making hay:
+The lassie blush'd, and frowning cried,
+      "No, no, it will not do;
+I canna, canna, wonna, wonna,
+              manna buckle to."
+
+Jocky was a wag that never would wed,
+  Though long he had follow'd the lass:
+Contented she earn'd
+          and eat her brown bread,
+  And merrily turn'd up the grass.
+    Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free,
+    Won her heart right merrily:
+Yet still she blush'd, and frowning cried,
+      "No, no, it will not do;
+I canna, canna, wonna, wonna,
+              manna buckle to."
+
+But when he vow'd he would
+          make her his bride,
+  Though his flocks and herds
+                were not few,
+She gave him her hand, and a kiss beside,
+  And vow'd she'd for ever be true.
+    Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free,
+    Won her heart right merrily:
+At church she no more frowning cried,
+      "No, no, it will not do;
+I canna, canna, wonna, wonna,
+              manna buckle to."
+
+        _Anon._
+
+
+
+
+THE NIGHT-PIECE TO JULIA.
+
+
+Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
+The shooting stars attend thee;
+  And the elves also,
+  Whose little eyes glow,
+Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
+
+No Will-o'-th'-Wisp mislight thee,
+Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee;
+  But on, on thy way,
+  Not making a stay,
+Since ghost there's none to affright thee.
+
+Let not the dark thee cumber;
+What though the moon does slumber?
+  The stars of the night
+  Will lend thee their light,
+Like tapers clear, without number.
+
+Then, Julia, let me woo thee,
+Thus, thus to come unto me;
+  And when I shall meet
+  Thy silv'ry feet,
+My soul I'll pour into thee.
+
+        _Herrick_.
+
+
+
+
+TOM BOWLING.
+
+
+Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,
+  The darling of our crew;
+No more he'll hear the tempest howling,
+  For death has broach'd him to.
+His form was of the manliest beauty,
+  His heart was kind and soft;
+Faithful below he did his duty.
+  But now he's gone aloft.
+
+Tom never from his word departed,
+  His virtues were so rare;
+His friends were many and true-hearted,
+  His Poll was kind and fair:
+And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly;
+  Ah, many's the time and oft!
+But mirth is turn'd to melancholy,
+  For Tom is gone aloft.
+
+Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
+  When He who all commands,
+Shall give, to call life's crew together,
+  The word to pipe all hands.
+Thus Death, who kings and tars dispatches,
+  In vain Tom's life has doff'd;
+For though his body's under hatches,
+  His soul is gone aloft.
+
+        _Charles Dibdin._
+
+
+
+
+MY LOVE IS LIKE THE RED RED ROSE.
+
+
+My love is like the red red rose
+  That's newly sprung in June;
+My love is like the melody
+  That's sweetly played in tune.
+
+As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
+  So deep in love am I;
+And I will love thee still, my dear,
+  Till a' the seas gang dry.
+
+Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
+  And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
+And I will love thee still, my dear,
+  While the sands of life shall run.
+
+But, fare thee weel, my only love,
+  And fare thee weel awhile;
+And I will come again, my dear,
+  Though 'twere ten thousand mile.
+
+        _Burns_.
+
+
+
+
+WIDOW MALONE.
+
+
+Did you hear of the Widow Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+Who lived in the town of Athlone!
+                        Ohone!
+  Oh, she melted the hearts
+  Of the swains in them parts,
+So lovely the Widow Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+So lovely the Widow Malone.
+
+Of lovers she had a full score,
+                        Or more,
+And fortunes they all had galore,
+                        In store;
+  From the minister down
+  To the clerk of the crown,
+All were courting the Widow Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+All were courting the Widow Malone.
+
+But so modest was Mistress Malone,
+                        'Twas known,
+That no one could see her alone,
+                        Ohone!
+  Let them ogle and sigh,
+  They could ne'er catch her eye,
+So bashful the Widow Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+So bashful the Widow Malone.
+
+Till one Mister O'Brien, from Clare,--
+                        How quare!
+It's little for blushing they care
+                        Down there,
+  Put his arm round her waist--
+  Gave ten kisses at laste--
+"Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone,
+                        My own!"
+"Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone."
+
+And the widow they all thought so shy,
+                        My eye!
+Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh,
+                        For why?
+  But "Lucius," says she,
+  "Since you've now made so free,
+You may marry your Mary Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+You may marry your Mary Malone."
+
+There's a moral contained in my song,
+                        Not wrong,
+And one comfort, it's not very long,
+                        But strong,--
+  If for widows you die,
+  Learn to kiss, not to sigh,
+For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone,
+                        Ohone!
+Oh, they're all like sweet Mistress Malone.
+
+        _Charles Lever_.
+
+
+
+
+THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN.
+
+
+And did you ne'er hear of a jolly young waterman,
+  Who at Blackfriars Bridge used for to ply?
+And he feathered his oars with such skill and dexterity,
+  Winning each heart and delighting each eye.
+He look'd so neat, and he row'd so steadily,
+  The maidens all flock'd in his boat so readily;
+And he eyed the young rogues with so charming an air,
+That this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.
+
+What sights of fine folks he oft row'd in his wherry!
+  'Twas clean'd out so nice, and so painted withal;
+He was always first oars when the fine city ladies
+  In a party to Ranelagh went, or Vauxhall.
+And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering,
+But 'twas all one to Tom their gibing and jeering;
+For loving or liking he little did care,
+For this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.
+
+And yet but to see how strangely things happen,
+  As he row'd along, thinking of nothing at all,
+He was ply'd by a damsel so lovely and charming,
+  That she smil'd, and so straightway in love he did fall.
+And would this young damsel but banish his sorrow,
+He'd wed her to-night, and not wait till to-morrow;
+And how should this waterman ever know care,
+When, married, was never in want of a _fair_.
+
+        _Charles Dibdin_.
+
+
+
+
+CALLER HERRIN'.
+
+
+Wha'll buy caller herrin'?
+  They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
+Buy my caller herrin',
+    new drawn frae the Forth.
+When ye were sleeping on your pillows,
+Dreamt ye aught o' our puir fellows,
+Darkling as they face the billows,
+A' to fill our woven willows.
+Buy my caller herrin',
+They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
+Buy my caller herrin',
+    new drawn frae the Forth.
+Caller herrin', caller herrin'.
+
+An' when the creel o' herrin' passes,
+Ladies clad in silks and laces,
+Gather in their braw pelisses,
+Toss their heads and screw their faces;
+Buy my caller herrin',
+They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
+Buy my caller herrin',
+    new drawn frae the Forth.
+
+Noo neebor wives, come, tent my tellin',
+When the bonnie fish ye're sellin'
+At a word be aye your dealin',
+Truth will stand when a' things failin';
+Buy my caller herrin',
+  They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
+Buy my caller herrin',
+    new drawn frae the Forth.
+Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
+  They're no brought here without brave darin',
+Buy my caller herrin',
+  Ye little ken their worth.
+Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
+  O ye may ca' them vulgar farin';
+Wives and mithers maist despairin',
+Ca' them lives o' men.
+Caller herrin', caller herrin'.
+
+        _Lady Nairne_.
+
+
+
+
+A HUNTING WE WILL GO.
+
+
+The dusky night rides down the sky,
+  And ushers in the morn;
+The hounds all join in glorious cry,
+  The huntsman winds his horn.
+    And a hunting we will go.
+
+The wife around her husband throws
+  Her arms to make him stay:
+"My dear, it rains, it hails, it blows;
+  You cannot hunt to-day."
+    Yet a hunting we will go.
+
+Away they fly to 'scape the rout,
+  Their steeds they soundly switch;
+Some are thrown in, and some thrown out,
+  And some thrown in the ditch.
+    Yet a hunting we will go.
+
+Sly Reynard now like lightning flies,
+  And sweeps across the vale;
+And when the hounds too near he spies,
+  He drops his bushy tail.
+    Then a hunting we will go.
+
+Fond echo seems to like the sport,
+  And join the jovial cry;
+The woods, the hills the sound retort,
+  And music fills the sky.
+    When a hunting we do go.
+
+At last his strength to faintness worn,
+  Poor Reynard ceases flight;
+Then hungry, homeward we return,
+  To feast away the night.
+    And a drinking we do go.
+
+Ye jovial hunters, in the morn
+  Prepare then for the chase;
+Rise at the sounding of the horn
+  And health with sport embrace.
+    When a hunting we do go.
+
+       _Henry Fielding_.
+
+
+
+
+HEARTS OF OAK.
+
+
+Come, cheer up, my lads!
+          'tis to glory we steer,
+To add something more
+          to this wonderful year:
+To honour we call you,
+          not press you like slaves:
+For who are so free
+          as the sons of the waves?
+  Hearts of oak are our ships,
+  Gallant tars are our men;
+    We always are ready:
+    Steady, boys, steady!
+We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.
+
+We ne'er see our foes
+          but we wish them to stay;
+They never see us but
+          they wish us away;
+If they run, why, we follow,
+          or run them ashore;
+For if they won't fight us,
+          we cannot do more.
+    Hearts of oak, etc.
+
+Britannia triumphant,
+          her ships sweep the sea;
+Her standard is Justice--
+          her watchword, "Be free!"
+Then cheer up, my lads!
+          with one heart let us sing,
+"Our soldiers, our sailors,
+          our statesmen, and king."
+    Hearts of oak, etc.
+
+        _David Garrick_.
+
+
+
+
+THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN.
+
+
+I'll sing you a good old song,
+  Made by a good old pate,
+Of a fine old English gentleman,
+  Who had an old estate;
+And who kept up his old mansion
+  At a bountiful old rate,
+With a good old porter to relieve
+  The old poor at his gate--
+Like a fine old English gentleman,
+  All of the olden time.
+
+His hall so old was hung around
+  With pikes, and guns, and bows,
+And swords and good old bucklers
+  That had stood against old foes;
+'Twas there "his worship" sat in state,
+  In doublet and trunk hose,
+And quaff'd his cup of good old sack
+  To warm his good old nose--
+Like a fine old English gentleman,
+  All of the olden time.
+
+When winter's cold brought frost and snow,
+  He open'd his house to all;
+And though three-score and ten his years,
+  He featly led the ball.
+Nor was the houseless wanderer
+  E'er driven from his hall;
+For while he feasted all the great,
+  He ne'er forgot the small--
+Like a fine old English gentleman,
+  All of the olden time.
+
+But time, though sweet, is strong in flight,
+  And years roll swiftly by;
+And autumn's falling leaves proclaim'd
+  The old man--he must die!
+He laid him down quite tranquilly,
+  Gave up his latest sigh;
+And mournful stillness reign'd around,
+  And tears bedew'd each eye--
+For this good old English gentleman,
+  All of the olden time.
+
+Now, surely this is better far
+  Than all the new parade
+Of theatres and fancy balls,
+  "At home" and masquerade!
+And much more economical,
+  For all his bills were paid,
+Then leave your new vagaries quite,
+  And take up the old trade--
+Of a fine old English gentleman,
+  All of the olden time.
+
+        _Anon_.
+
+
+
+
+THE BAY OF BISCAY O!
+
+
+Loud roared the dreadful thunder!
+   The rain a deluge showers!
+The clouds were rent asunder
+  By lightning's vivid powers!
+     The night, both drear and dark,
+     Our poor devoted bark,
+       Till next day, there she lay,
+         In the Bay of Biscay O!
+
+Now dashed upon the billow,
+  Our op'ning timbers creak;
+Each fears a wat'ry pillow,
+  None stop the dreadful leak!
+    To cling to slipp'ry shrouds,
+    Each breathless seaman crowds,
+      As she lay, till the day,
+        In the Bay of Biscay O!
+
+At length the wished-for morrow
+  Broke through the hazy sky;
+Absorbed in silent sorrow,
+  Each heaved the bitter sigh;
+    The dismal wreck to view,
+    Struck horror to the crew,
+      As she lay, on that day,
+        In the Bay of Biscay O!
+
+Her yielding timbers sever,
+  Her pitchy seams are rent;
+When Heaven, all-bounteous ever,
+  Its boundless mercy sent!
+A sail in sight appears,
+We hail her with three cheers!
+  Now we sail, with the gale,
+    From the Bay of Biscay O!
+
+        _Andrew Cherry._
+
+
+
+
+BLACK-EYED SUSAN.
+
+
+All in the Downs the fleet was moored,
+  The streamers waving in the wind,
+When black-eyed Susan came on board:
+  "Oh! where shall I my true love find?
+Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
+If my sweet William sails among your crew?"
+
+William, who high upon the yard,
+  Rocked by the billows to and fro,
+Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
+  He sighed, and cast his eyes below:
+The cord glides swiftly through his glowing hands,
+And, quick as lightning, on the deck he stands.
+
+So the sweet lark, high poised in air,
+  Shuts close his pinions to his breast
+(If, chance, his mate's shrill call he hear),
+  And drops at once into her nest:
+The noblest captain in the British fleet
+Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet.
+
+Oh, Susan! Susan! lovely dear!
+  My vows shall ever true remain;
+Let me kiss off that falling tear,
+  We only part to meet again:
+Change as ye list, ye winds! my heart shall be
+The faithful compass that still points to thee.
+
+Believe not what the landsmen say,
+  Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind;
+They tell thee--sailors when away
+  In every port a mistress find!
+Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
+For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
+
+If to fair India's coast we sail,
+  Thine eyes are seen in diamonds bright;
+Thy breath in Afric's spicy gale,
+  Thy skin in ivory so white:
+Thus every beauteous object that I view
+Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
+
+Though battle call me from thy arms,
+  Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
+Though cannons roar, yet free from harms,
+  William shall to his dear return:
+Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
+Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.
+
+The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
+  The sails their swelling bosoms spread;
+No longer must she stay on board:
+  They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head.
+Her lessening boat, unwilling, rows to land;
+"Adieu!" she cried, and waved her lily hand.
+
+        _J. Gay._
+
+
+
+
+DUNCAN GRAY.
+
+
+Duncan Grey came here to woo,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
+On blythe yule night when we were fou,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+Maggie coost' her head fu' high,
+Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,
+Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+
+Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd;
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
+Meg was deaf' as Ailsa Craig,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,
+Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',
+Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn;
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+
+Time and chance are but a tide,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
+Slighted love is sair to bide,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
+For a haughty hizzie dee?
+She may gae to--France for me,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+
+How it comes let doctors tell.
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
+Meg grew sick--as he grew well,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+Something in her bosom wrings,
+For relief a sigh she brings;
+And O, her een, they spak sic things!
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+
+Duncan was a lad o' grace,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
+Maggie's was a piteous case,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+Duncan couldna be her death,
+Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath;
+Now they're crouse and cantie baith,
+  Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
+
+        _Burns_.
+
+
+
+
+THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.
+
+
+There was a youth, and a well-beloved youth,
+  And he was a squire's son;
+He loved the bailiff's daughter dear
+  That lived in Islington.
+
+Yet she was coy, and would not believe
+  That he did love her so.
+No; nor at any time would she
+  Any countenance to him show.
+
+But when his friends did understand
+  His fond and foolish mind,
+They sent him up to fair London
+  An apprentice for to bind.
+
+And when he had been seven long years,
+  And never his love could see:
+"Many a tear have I shed for her sake,
+  When she little thought of me."
+
+Then all the maids of Islington
+  Went forth to sport and play,
+All but the bailiff's daughter dear--
+  She secretly stole away.
+
+She pulled off her gown of green,
+  And put on ragged attire,
+And to fair London she would go,
+  Her true love to inquire.
+
+And as she went along the high road,
+  The weather being hot and dry,
+She sat her down upon a green bank,
+  And her true love came riding by.
+
+She started up, with a colour so red,
+  Catching hold of his bridle-rein;
+"One penny, one penny, kind sir," she said,
+  "Will ease me of much pain."
+
+"Before I give you one penny, sweetheart,
+  Pray tell me where you were born?"
+"At Islington, kind sir," said she,
+  "Where I have had many a scorn."
+
+"I pr'ythee, sweetheart, then tell to me,
+  O tell me, whether you know
+The bailiff's daughter of Islington?"
+  "She is dead, sir, long ago."
+
+"If she be dead, then take my horse,
+  My saddle and bridle also;
+For I will into some far countrie,
+  Where no man shall me know."
+
+O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth,
+  She standeth by thy side:
+She is here alive, she is not dead--
+  And ready to be thy bride.
+
+O farewell grief, and welcome joy,
+  Ten thousand times therefore!
+For now I have found my own true love,
+  Whom I thought I should never see more.
+
+
+
+
+THE MILLER OF DEE.
+
+
+There was a jolly miller once lived on the river Dee,
+He danced and sang from morn till night, no lark so blithe as he;
+And this the burden of his song for ever used to be:
+"I care for nobody, no, not I, if nobody cares for me.
+
+"I live by my mill, God bless her! she's kindred, child, and wife;
+I would not change my station for any other in life.
+No lawyer, surgeon, or doctor, e'er had a groat from me,
+I care for nobody, no, not I, if nobody cares for me."
+
+When spring begins his merry career, oh! how his heart grows gay;
+No summer's drought alarms his fears, nor winter's cold decay;
+No foresight mars the miller's joy, who's wont to sing and say:
+"Let others toil from year to year, I live from day to day."
+
+Thus, like the miller, bold and free, let us rejoice and sing,
+The days of youth are made for glee, and time is on the wing;
+This song shall pass from me to thee, along the jovial ring,
+Let heart and voice and all agree to say, "Long live the King!"
+
+_Isaac Bickerstaffe._
+
+
+
+
+THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.
+
+
+A baby was sleeping,
+  Its mother was weeping,
+For her husband was far on the wild raging sea,
+  And the tempest was swelling
+Round the fisherman's dwelling,
+And she cried, "Dermot, darling,
+            oh come back to me."
+
+  Her beads while she numbered,
+  The baby still slumbered.
+And smiled in her face, as she bended her knee;
+  Oh! bless'd be that warning,
+  My child, thy sleep adorning,
+For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.
+  And while they are keeping
+  Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,
+Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me,
+  And say thou would'st rather
+  They watch'd o'er thy father!
+For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.
+  The dawn of the morning
+  Saw Dermot returning,
+And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see,
+  And closely caressing
+  Her child with a blessing,
+Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee."
+
+        _Samuel Lover_.
+
+
+
+
+SIMON THE CELLARER.
+
+
+Old Simon the Cellarer keeps a large store
+Of Malmsey and Malvoisie,
+And Cyprus and who can say how many more?
+For a chary old soul is he,
+A chary old soul is he;
+Of Sack and Canary he never doth fail,
+And all the year round there is brewing of ale;
+Yet he never aileth, he quaintly doth say,
+While he keeps to his sober six flagons a day:
+But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew
+How oft the black Jack to his lips doth go;
+But ho! ho! ho! his nose doth shew
+How oft the black Jack to his lips doth go.
+
+Dame Margery sits in her own still-room.
+And a Matron sage is she;
+From thence oft at Curfew is wafted a fume,
+She says it is Rosemarie,
+She says it is Rosemarie;
+But there's a small cupboard behind the back stair,
+And the maids say they often see Margery there.
+Now, Margery says that she grows very old
+And must take a something to keep out the cold!
+But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know
+Where many a flask of his best doth go;
+But ho! ho! ho! old Simon doth know
+Where many a flask of his best doth go.
+
+Old Simon reclines in his high-back'd chair,
+And talks about taking a wife;
+And Margery often is heard to declare
+She ought to be settled in life,
+She ought to be settled in life;
+But Margery has (so the maids say) a tongue,
+And she's not very handsome, and not very young;
+So somehow it ends with a shake of the head,
+And Simon he brews him a tankard instead;
+While ho! ho! ho! he will chuckle and crow,
+What! marry old Margery? no no, no!
+While ho! ho! ho! he will chuckle and crow,
+What! marry old Margery? no, no, no!
+
+        _W. H. Bellamy_.
+
+
+
+
+AULD ROBIN GRAY.
+
+
+When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame,
+And a' the warld to sleep are gane,
+The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my ee,
+When my gudeman lies sound by me.
+
+Young Jamie loo'd me wed, and socht me for his bride;
+But, saving a croun, he had naething else beside.
+To mak that croun a pund young Jamie gaed to sea,
+And the croun and the pund were baith for me.
+
+He hadna been awa a week but only twa,
+When my mother she fell sick, and the cow was stown awa;
+My father brak his arm, and young Jamie at the sea,
+And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courtin' me.
+
+My father couldna work and my mother couldna spin;
+I toiled day and nicht, but their bread I couldna win;
+Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and, wi' tears in his ee,
+Said "Jennie, for their sakes, oh, marry me!"
+
+My heart it said nay, for I look'd for Jamie back;
+But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wreck;
+The ship it was a wreck--why didna Jamie dee?
+Or why do I live to say, Wae's me?
+
+My father argued sair, my mother didna speak,
+But she lookit in my face till my heart was like to break;
+Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart was in the sea;
+And auld Robin Gray was gudeman to me.
+
+I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
+When, sitting sae mournfully at the door,
+I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he,
+Till he said, "I'm come back for to marry thee."
+
+Oh, sair did we greet and muckle did we say,
+We took but ae kiss and we tore ourselves away;
+I wish I were dead! but I'm no like to dee;
+And why do I live to say, Wae's me?
+
+I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;
+I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin.
+But I'll do my best a gude wife to be,
+For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me.
+
+        _Lady Anne Lindsay._
+
+
+
+
+BONNIE DUNDEE.
+
+
+To the lords of Convention, 'twas Claverhouse spoke,
+Ere the king's crown go down there are crowns to be broke;
+Then each cavalier who loves honour and me,
+Let him follow the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.
+
+  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
+  Come saddle my horses and call out my men,
+  Unhook the west port, and let us gae free,
+  For it's up with the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.
+
+Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street,
+The bells they ring backward, the drums they are beat,
+But the Provost (douce man) said, "Just e'en let it be,
+For the town is well rid o' that deil o' Dundee."
+
+  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.
+
+There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth;
+If there's lords in the south, there are chiefs in the north,
+There are brave Dunevassals, three thousand times three,
+Will cry hey! for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.
+
+  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.
+
+Then awa' to the hills, to the lea, to the rocks:
+Ere I own an usurper I'll crouch wi' the fox;
+And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee
+Ye hae no seen the last of my bonnets and me.
+
+  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, etc.
+
+        _Sir Walter Scott._
+
+
+
+
+SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.
+
+
+Of all the girls that are so smart,
+  There's none like pretty Sally;
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+There is no lady in the land
+  That's half so sweet as Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+Her father he makes cabbage-nets,
+  And through the streets does cry 'em;
+Her mother she sells laces long
+  To such as please to buy 'em.
+But sure such folks could ne'er beget
+  So sweet a girl as Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+When she is by, I leave my work
+  (I love her so sincerely),
+My master comes, like any Turk,
+  And bangs me most severely.
+But let him bang his belly full,
+  I'll bear it all for Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+Of all the days that's in the week,
+  I dearly love but one day;
+And that's the day that comes betwixt
+  A Saturday and Monday.
+For then I'm dress'd all in my best,
+  To walk abroad with Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+My master carries me to church,
+  And often am I blamed
+Because I leave him in the lurch
+  As soon as text is named.
+I leave the church in sermon time,
+  And slink away to Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+When Christmas comes about again,
+  Oh! then I shall have money;
+I'll hoard it up, and box and all
+  I'll give it to my honey.
+I would it were ten thousand pounds,
+  I'd give it all to Sally:
+She is the darling of my heart,
+  And she lives in our alley.
+
+My master and the neighbours all
+  Make game of me and Sally;
+And (but for her) I'd better be
+  A slave, and row a galley.
+But when my seven long years are out,
+  Oh! then I'll marry Sally:
+Oh! then we'll wed, and then we'll bed,
+  But not in our alley.
+
+        _Henry Carey._
+
+
+
+
+KITTY OF COLERAINE.
+
+
+As beautiful Kitty one
+    morning was tripping
+With a pitcher of milk
+    from the fair of Coleraine,
+When she saw me she stumbled,
+    the pitcher it tumbled,
+And all the sweet buttermilk
+    water'd the plain.
+
+"Oh, what shall I do now?
+    'Twas looking at you, now;
+Sure, sure, such a pitcher
+    I'll ne'er meet again.
+'Twas the pride of my dairy,
+    O Barnay M'Leary,
+You're sent as a plague
+    to the girls of Coleraine!
+
+I sat down beside her,
+    and gently did chide her,
+That such a misfortune
+    should give her such pain.
+
+A kiss then I gave her,
+    before I did leave her,
+She vow'd for such pleasure
+    she'd break it again.
+'Twas haymaking season,
+    I can't tell the reason--
+Misfortunes will never come single,
+    that's plain--
+For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster
+The devil a pitcher
+    was whole in Coleraine.
+
+        _Edward Lysaght._
+
+
+
+
+HERE'S TO THE MAIDEN OF BASHFUL FIFTEEN.
+
+
+Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen,
+  Now to the widow of fifty;
+Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean,
+  And here's to the housewife that's thrifty:
+    Let the toast pass,
+    Drink to the lass--
+    I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
+
+Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize,
+  Now to the damsel with none, sir;
+Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
+  And now to the nymph with but one, sir:
+    Let the toast pass,
+    Drink to the lass--
+    I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
+
+Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow,
+  Now to her that's as brown as a berry;
+Here's to the wife with a face full of woe,
+  And now to the damsel that's merry:
+    Let the toast pass,
+    Drink to the lass--
+    I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
+
+For let her be clumsy, or let her be slim,
+  Young or ancient, I care not a feather;
+So fill up a bumper, nay, fill to the brim,
+  And let us e'en toast 'em together:
+    Let the toast pass,
+    Drink to the lass--
+    I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
+
+        _R. B. Sheridan._
+
+
+
+
+THE LEATHER BOTTEL.
+
+
+'Twas God above that made all things,
+The heav'ns, the earth, and all therein:
+The ships that on the sea do swim
+To guard from foes that none come in;
+And let them all do what they can,
+'Twas for one end--the use of man.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottel.
+
+Now, what do you say to these cans of wood?
+Oh, no, in faith they cannot be good;
+For if the bearer fall by the way,
+Why, on the ground your liquor doth lay;
+But had it been in a leather bottel,
+Although he had fallen all had been well.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottel.
+
+Then what do you say to these glasses fine?
+Oh, they shall have no praise of mine;
+For if you chance to touch the brim,
+Down falls the liquor and all therein.
+But had it been in a leather bottel,
+And the stopple in, all had been well.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottel.
+
+Then what do you say to these black pots three?
+If a man and his wife should not agree,
+Why, they'll tug and pull till their liquor doth spill;
+In a leather bottel they may tug their fill,
+And pull away till their hearts do ake,
+And yet their liquor no harm can take.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottel.
+
+Then what do you say to these flagons fine?
+Oh, they shall have no praise of mine;
+For when a lord is about to dine,
+And sends them to be filled with wine,
+The man with the flagon doth run away,
+Because it is silver most gallant and gay
+    So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+    That first found out the leather bottel.
+
+A leather bottel we know is good,
+Far better than glasses or cans of wood;
+For when a man's at work in the field
+Your glasses and pots no comfort will yield;
+But a good leather bottel standing by
+Will raise his spirits whenever he's dry.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottel.
+
+At noon the haymakers sit them down,
+To drink from their bottles of ale nut-brown;
+In summer, too, when the weather is warm,
+A good bottle full will do them no harm.
+Then the lads and the lasses begin to tottle,
+But what would they do without this bottle?
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottel.
+
+There's never a lord, an earl, or knight,
+But in this bottle doth take delight;
+For when he's hunting of the deer
+He oft doth wish for a bottle of beer.
+Likewise the man that works in the wood,
+A bottle of beer will oft do him good.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottel.
+
+And when the bottle at last grows old,
+And will good liquor no longer hold,
+Out of the side you may take a clout,
+To mend your shoes when they're worn out;
+Or take and hang it up on a pin,
+'Twill serve to put hinges and old things in.
+  So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
+  That first found out the leather bottel.
+
+
+
+
+WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.
+
+
+Woodman, spare that tree,
+  Touch not a single bough--
+In youth it shelter'd me,
+  And I'll protect it now.
+Twas my forefather's hand
+  That placed it near his cot.
+There, woodman, let it stand,
+  Thy axe shall harm it not.
+That old familiar tree,
+  Whose glory and renown
+Are spread o'er land and sea,
+  Say, wouldst thou hack it down?
+
+Woodman, forbear thy stroke,
+  Cut not its earth-bound ties--
+Oh, spare that aged oak,
+  Now, towering to the skies.
+Oft, when a careless child,
+  Beneath its shade I heard
+The wood-notes sweet and wild,
+  Of many a forest bird.
+By mother kiss'd me here,
+  My father press'd my hand,
+I ask thee, with a tear,
+  Oh, let that old oak stand.
+
+My heart-strings round thee cling,
+  Close at thy bark, old friend--
+Here shall the wild bird sing,
+  And still thy branches bend.
+Old tree, the storm still brave,
+  And, woodman, leave the spot--
+While I've a hand to save
+  Thy axe shall harm it not.
+
+        _General G.P. Morris._
+
+
+
+
+THE TOKEN
+
+
+The breeze was fresh, the ship in stays,
+Each breaker hush'd, the shore a haze.
+When Jack no more on duty call'd,
+His true love's tokens overhaul'd;
+The broken gold, the braided hair,
+The tender motto, writ so fair,
+Upon his 'bacco-box he views,
+Nancy the poet, love the muse.
+"If you loves I, as I loves you,
+No pair so happy as we two."
+
+The storm, that like a shapeless wreck,
+Had strew'd with rigging all the deck,
+That tars for sharks had giv'n a feast,
+And left the ship a hulk--had ceas'd:
+When Jack, as with his messmates dear,
+He shared the grog their hearts to cheer,
+Took from his 'bacco-box a quid,
+And spell'd for comfort on the lid
+"If you loves I, as I loves you,
+No pair so happy as we two."
+
+The voyage,--that had been long and hard,
+But that had yielded full reward,
+And brought each sailor to his friend
+Happy and rich--was at an end:
+When Jack, his toils and perils o'er,
+Beheld his Nancy on the shore:
+He then the 'bacco-box display'd,
+And cried, and seized the yielding maid,
+"If you loves I, as I loves you,
+No pair so happy as we two."
+
+        _C. Dibdin._
+
+
+
+
+O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST.
+
+
+O wert thou in the cauld blast,
+  On yonder lea,
+My plaidie to the angry airt,
+  I'd shelter thee.
+Or did misfortune's bitter storms
+  Around thee blaw,
+Thy bield should be my bosom,
+  To share it a'.
+Or were I in the wildest waste,
+  She bleak and bare,
+The desert were a paradise,
+  If thou wert there,
+Or were I monarch o' the globe,
+  Wi' thee to reign,
+The brightest jewel in my crown,
+  Wad be my queen.
+
+        _Burns._
+
+
+
+
+THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.
+
+
+Come live with me and be my love,
+And we will all the pleasures prove,
+That valleys, groves, and hills and fields,
+The woods or steepy mountains yields.
+
+And we will sit upon the rocks,
+Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
+By shallow rivers, to whose falls
+Melodious birds sing madrigals.
+
+And I will make thee beds of roses,
+And a thousand fragrant posies;
+A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
+Embroider'd o'er with leaves of myrtle;
+
+A gown made of the finest wool,
+Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
+Fair lined slippers for the cold,
+With buckles of the purest gold;
+
+A belt of straw and ivy-buds,
+With coral clasps and amber studs,
+And if these pleasures may thee move,
+Come live with me and be my love.
+
+The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
+For thy delight each May morning,
+If these delights thy mind may move,
+Then live with me and be my love.
+
+        _Christopher Marlowe._
+
+
+
+LOVELY NAN.
+
+
+Sweet is the ship, that, under sail
+Spreads her white bosom to the gale;
+  Sweet, oh! sweet's the flowing can;
+Sweet to poise the lab'ring oar
+That tugs us to our native shore,
+  When the boatswain pipes the barge to man;
+Sweet sailing with a fav'ring breeze;
+But oh! much sweeter than all these,
+  Is Jack's delight, his lovely Nan.
+
+The needle faithful to the north,
+To show of constancy the worth,
+  A curious lesson teaches man;
+The needle time may rust, a squall capsize the binnacle and all,
+Let seamanship do all it can;
+My love in worth shall higher rise!
+Nor time shall rust, nor squalls capsize,
+  My faith and truth to lovely Nan.
+
+I love my duty, love my friend,
+Love truth and merit to defend,
+  To moan their loss who hazard ran;
+I love to take an honest part.
+Love beauty with a spotless heart,
+  By manners love to show the man,
+To sail through life by honour's breeze;
+'Twas all along of loving these
+  First made me doat on lovely Nan.
+
+        _C. Dibdin._
+
+
+
+
+THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL.
+
+
+On Richmond Hill there lives a lass
+  More bright than May-day morn,
+Whose charms all other maids surpass--
+  A rose without a thorn.
+
+This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet.
+  Has won my right good-will;
+I'd crowns resign to call her mine--
+  Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.
+
+Ye zephyrs gay, that fan the air,
+  And wanton through the grove,
+Oh, whisper to my charming fair,
+  I'd die for her I love!
+
+How happy will the shepherd be
+  Who calls this nymph his own!
+Oh, may her choice be fix'd on me?
+  Mine's fix'd on her alone.
+
+        _James Upton._
+
+
+
+
+TELL ME NOT, SWEET.
+
+
+Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,
+  That from the nunnery
+Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,
+  To war and arms I fly.
+
+True, a new mistress now I chase,
+  The first foe in the field;
+And with a stronger faith embrace
+  A sword, a horse, a shield.
+
+Yet this inconstancy is such,
+  As you, too, shall adore;
+I could not love thee, dear, so much,
+  Loved I not honour more.
+
+        _Richard Lovelace._
+
+
+
+
+SHE WORE A WREATH OF ROSES.
+
+
+She wore a wreath of roses that night when first we met,
+Her lovely face was smiling beneath her curls of jet;
+Her footsteps had the lightness, her voice the joyous tone,
+The tokens of a youthful heart where sorrow is unknown.
+I saw her but a moment, yet methinks I see her now,
+With a wreath of summer flowers upon her snowy brow.
+
+A wreath of orange flowers when next we met she wore,
+The expression of her features was more thoughtful than before,
+And standing by her side, was one, who strove, and not in vain,
+To soothe her leaving that dear home she ne'er might view again.
+I saw her but a moment, yet methinks I see her now,
+With a wreath of orange blossoms upon her snowy brow.
+
+And once again I saw that brow, no bridal wreath was there,
+The widow's sombre cap conceal'd her once luxuriant hair;
+She weeps in silent solitude, for there is no one near,
+To press her hand within his own, and wipe away the tear!
+I see her broken-hearted, and methinks I see her now,
+In the pride of youth and beauty, with a wreath upon her brow.
+
+        _Thomas Haynes Bayly._
+
+
+
+
+O NANNY, WILT THOU GO WITH ME?
+
+
+O Nanny, wilt thou go with me,
+  Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town?
+Can silent glens have charms for thee,
+  The lowly cot and russet gown?
+No longer drest in silken sheen,
+  No longer deck'd with jewels rare,
+Say, can'st thou quit each courtly scene,
+  Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
+
+O Nanny, when thou'rt far away,
+  Wilt thou not cast a wish behind?
+Say, can'st thou face the parching ray,
+  Nor shrink before the wintry wind?
+Oh, can that soft and gentle mien
+  Extremes of hardship learn to bear,
+Nor sad regret each courtly scene,
+  Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
+
+O Nanny, can'st thou love so true,
+  Through perils keen with me go;
+Or when thy swain mishap shall rue,
+  To share with him the pang of woe?
+Say, should disease or pain befall,
+  Wilt thou assume the nurse's care,
+Nor wistful those gay scenes recall,
+  Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
+
+And when at last thy love shall die,
+  Wilt thou receive his parting breath,
+Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,
+  And cheer with smiles the bed of death?
+And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay
+  Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear,
+Nor then regret those scenes so gay,
+  Where thou wert fairest of the fair?
+
+        _Thomas Percy D.D._
+
+
+
+
+D'YE KEN JOHN PEEL?
+
+
+D'ye ken John Peel with his coat so gay?
+D'ye ken John Peel at the break of the day?
+D'ye ken John Peel when he's far, far away,
+With his hounds and his horn in the morning?
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+'Twas the sound of his horn brought me from my bed,
+And the cry of his hounds has me ofttimes led;
+For Peel's view holloa would 'waken the dead,
+Or a fox from his lair in the morning.
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+
+D'ye ken that hound whose voice is death?
+D'ye ken her sons of peerless faith?
+D'ye ken that a fox with his last breath
+Cursed them all as he died in the morning!
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+Yes, I ken John Peel and auld Ruby too,
+Ranter and Royal and Bellman so true;
+From the drag to the chase,
+From the chase to the view,
+From the view to the death in the morning.
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+And I've follow'd John Peel both often and far.
+O'er the rasper-fence, the gate, and the bar,
+From Low Denton side up to Scratchmere Scar,
+When we vied for the brush in the morning.
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+Then here's to John Peel with my heart and soul.
+Come fill, fill to him a brimming bowl:
+For we'll follow John Peel thro' fair or thro' foul,
+While we're wak'd by his horn in the morning.
+  CHORUS.--D'ye ken, etc.
+
+        _John Woodstock Graves._
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Old Ballads, by Various
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