1
Sing we and chant it
While love doth grant it
Not long youth lasteth
And old age hasteth
Now is best leisure
To take our pleasure
All things invite us
Now to delight us
Hence, care, be packing!
No mirth be lacking!
Let spare no treasure
To live in pleasure
2
Since first I saw your face
I resolv’d to honour and reknown ye,
If now I be disdained
I wish my heart had never known ye.
What! I that lov’d and you that lik’d
Shall we begin to wrangle?
No, no, no, my heart is fast
And cannot disentangle.
If I admire or praise you too much
That fault you may forgive me.
Or if my hands had stray’d a touch
Then justly might you leave me.
I ask’d you leave, you bade me love
Is’t now a time to chide me?
No, no, no, I’ll love you still
What fortune e’er betide me.
The sun, whose beams most glorious are
Rejecteth no beholder;
And your sweet beauty, past compare,
Made my poor eyes the bolder.
Where beauty moves and wit delights
And signs of kindness find me
There, oh there, where’er I go
I’ll leave my heart behind me.
Published in Music of Sundrie Kindes, Ford, 1607, Anon though often attributed to Ford
3
You stole my love; fy upon you, fy, a;
Guessed you but what a pain it is to prove,
You for your love would die, a;
And henceforth never longer,
Be such a crafty wronger:
But when deceit takes such a fall,
Then farewell, sly device and all.
Anthony Munday c1560-1633
4
Chorus: Come along, Come along, let us foot it out together,
Come along, Come along, be it fair or stormy weather.
With the hills of home before us and the purple of the heather,
Let us sing in happy chorus come along! Come along!
So gaily sings the lark and the sky is awake,
With the promise of a new day for the road we gladly take.
So it’s heel and toe and forward singing fairwell to the town,
And the welcome that awaits us e’re the sun goes down.
Chorus:
It’s the call of sea and shore; it’s the tang of bog and peat,
And the scent of briar and Myrtle that puts magic in our feet.
So it’s on we go rejoicing, over bracken over stile,
And it’s soon we will be tramping out the last long mile.
Chorus:
5
From out of a wood did a cuckoo fly
Cuckoo
He came to a manger with joyful cry
Cuckoo
He hopped, he curtsied, ’round he flew
And loud his jubilation grew
Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo
A pigeon flew over to Galilee
Vrer-croo
He strutted and cooed and was full of glee
Vrer-croo
And showed with jewelled wings unfurled
His joy that Christ was in the world
Vrer-croo, vrer-croo, vrer-croo
A dove settled down upon Nazareth
Tsu-croo
And tenderly chanted with all his breath
Tsu-croo
“O you,” he cooed
“So good and true
My beauty do I give to you!”
Tsu-croo, tsu-croo-, tsu-croo
Translated from the Czech by P. Dearmer
6
I’ve no sheep on the mountain, nor boat on the lake,
Nor coin in my coffer to keep me awake,
Nor corn in my garner, nor fruit on my tree
Yet the Maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.
Soft tapping at eve to her window I came,
And loud bayed the watch-dog, loud scolded the dame.
For shame, silly Lightfoot! what is it to thee,
Though the Maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me?
Rich Owen will tell you with eyes full of scorn,
Threadbare is my coat and my hosen are torn :
Scoff on, my rich Owen, for faint is thy glee
When the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.
The farmer rides proudly to market and fair,
And the clerk at the alehouse still claims the great chair,
But of all our proud fellows the proudest I’ll be,
While the Maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.
For blythe as the urchin at holyday play,
And meek as the matron in mantle of gray,
And trim as the lady of noble degree,
Is the Maid of Llanwellyn, who smiles upon me.
Joanna Baillie (1762-1851)