English Songs and Ballads

English Songs and Ballads

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About the sweet bag of a beeA chieftain to the Highlands boundAe fond kiss, and then we severAgincourt, AgincourtAh, my swete swetyngAlas! my love, you do me wrongAllen-a-Dale has no faggot for burningAll in the Downs the fleet was moor'dAll ye woods, and trees, and bowersAnd did you not hear of a jolly young WatermanAn old song made by an aged old pateA parrot from the Spanish mainArm, arm, arm, arm, the scouts are all come inA simple childAs I came thro' SandgateAsk me no more where Jove bestowsAsk me no more, the moon may draw the seaA spirit haunts the year's last hoursAs thro' the land at eve we wentA sweet disorder in the dressAttend all ye who list to hear our noble England's praiseA weary lot is thine, fair maidA Well there is in the west countryA wet sheet and a flowing sea

Beauty clear and fairBe it right or wrong, these men amongBelieve me, if all those endearing young charmsBird of the wildernessBlame not my Lute! for he must soundBlow, blow, thou winter windBlow high, blow low, let tempests tearBreak, break, breakBusk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny brideBut are ye sure the news is true

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wrenCherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cryCold's the wind, and wet's the rainCome all ye jolly shepherdsCome, cheerful day, part of my life to meCome, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steerCome follow, follow meCome into the garden, MaudCome live with me and be my loveCome not, when I am deadCome, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving

Dear is my little native valeDoubt thou the stars are fireDrink to me only with thine eyesDuncan Gray came here to woo

Faintly as tolls the evening chimeFair daffodils, we weep to seeFair pledges of a fruitful treeFair stood the wind for FranceFear no more the heat o' the sunFlow down, cold rivulet, to the seaFlow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braesFollow thy fair sun, unhappy shadowFor auld lang syne, my dearFour and twenty bonny boysFrom Oberon, in fairy landFrom the forests and highlandsFrom the white blossom'd sloe my dear Chloe requestedFull fathom five thy father lies

Gather the rose-buds while ye mayGod Lyaeus, ever youngGod prosper long our noble KingGod save our gracious KingGo fetch to me a pint o' wineGo, lovely RoseGood-morrow to the day so fairGood people all, of every sortGo where glory waits theeGreen fields of England, wheresoe'er

Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I beHang fear, cast away careHark! now everything is stillHark, hark, the lark at Heaven's gate singsHe is gone on the mountainHer arms across her breast she laidHere, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom BowlingHer eyes the glow-worm lend theeHere's a health unto His MajestyHere's to the maiden of bashful fifteenHide me, O twilight airHome they brought her warrior deadHo! why dost thou shiver and shakeHow should I your true love know

I arise from dreams of theeI cannot eat but little meatI come from haunts of coot and hernI come, I come! ye have called me longI knew an old wife lean and poorI lov'd a lass, a fair oneI'm lonesome since I cross'd the hillI'm sitting on the stile, MaryIn going to my naked bedIn good King Charles's golden daysIn her ear he whispered gailyIn the merry month of MayIn Wakefield there lives a jolly pinderI sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and heIs there for honest povertyI tell thee, Dick, where I have beenIt is an ancient MarinerIt is the miller's daughterI travelled among unknown menIt was a blind beggar had long lost his sightIt was a friar of orders grayIt was a lover and his lassIt was a summer eveningIt was the frog in the wellIt was the time when lilies blowI've seen the smilingI wander'd by the brook-side

John Anderson, my jo, JohnJohn Gilpin was a citizen

Kentish Sir Byng stood for his KingKing Death was a rare old fellow

Lassie wi' the lint-white locksLawn as white as driven snowLay a garland on my hearseLet me the canakin clink, clinkLet the bells ring, and let the boys singLithe and listen, gentlemenLong the proud Spaniards had vaunted to conquer usLord, thou hast given me a cellLove wakes and weeps

Maxwelltown braes are bonnieMen of England who inheritMine be a cot beside the hillMove eastward, happy earth, and leaveMy banks they are furnished with beesMy heart is sair, I darena tellMy heart is wasted with my woeMy mind to me a kingdom isO, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut

Napoleon's banners at BoulogneNo stir in the air, no stir in the seaNot a drum was heard, not a funeral noteNow glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories areNow, now the mirth comesNow ponder well, you parents dearNow sleeps the crimson petal, now the whiteNow the hungry lion roars

Of all the girls that are so smartOf a' the airts the wind can blawOf Nelson and the NorthOft I had heard of Lucy GrayOft in the stilly nightOh, call my brother back to meOh, Mary, go and call the cattle homeOh!...