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Read Ebook: Old Songs by Spenser Edmund Contributor Wither George Contributor Abbey Edwin Austin Illustrator Parsons Alfred Illustrator
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Ebook has 73 lines and 10317 words, and 2 pages
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. Oh, Barney 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.
Old King Cole was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he; And he call'd for his pipe, And he call'd for his bowl, And he call'd for his fiddlers three. Then twedle, twedle, twedle, twedle, twedle went the fiddlers; Twedle, twedle, twedle, twedle, twedle, twedle twee. There's none so rare as can compare To King Cole and his fiddlers three.
Come, Roger and Nell; Come, Simkin and Bell; Each lad with his lass hither come, With singing and dancing, In pleasure advancing To celebrate harvest-home. 'Tis Ceres bids play And keep holiday To celebrate harvest-home.
Our labor is o'er, and our barns in full store Now swell with rich gifts of the land. Let each man then take, for the prong and the rake, His can and his lass in his hand. 'Tis Ceres bids play And keep holiday To celebrate harvest-home.
No courtiers can be so happy as we In innocent pastime and mirth,
While thus we carouse with our sweetheart or spouse, And rejoice o'er the fruits of the earth. 'Tis Ceres bids play And keep holiday To celebrate harvest-home.
'Twas down in Cupid's garden For pleasure I did go, To see the fairest flowers That in that garden grow. The first it was the jessamine, The lily, pink, and rose, And surely they're the fairest flow'rs That in that garden grows!
I'd not walked in that garden The part of half an hour, When there I saw two pretty maids Sitting under a shady bower. The first was lovely Nancy, So beautiful and fair; The other was a virgin Who did the laurel wear.
I boldly stepped up to her, And unto her did say, Are you engaged to any young man? Do tell to me, I pray!
I'm not engaged to any young man, I solemnly do swear; I mean to live a virgin, And still the laurel wear.
Then hand in hand together This lovely couple went; Resolved was the sailor boy To know her full intent-- To know if he would slighted be When to her the truth he told. Oh no! oh no! oh no! she cried; I love a sailor bold.
Oh, what a pain is love! How shall I bear it? She will unconstant prove; I greatly fear it. She so torments my mind That my strength faileth, And wavers with the wind As a ship saileth. Please her the best I may, She loves still to gainsay: Alack and well-a-day! Phillada flouts me.
All the fair yesterday She did pass by me; She looked another way And would not spy me. I woo'd her for to dine, But could not get her; Will had her to the wine-- He might intreat her. With Daniel she did dance; On me she looked askance: Oh, thrice unhappy chance! Phillada flouts me.
Fair maid! be not so coy; Do not disdain me! I am my mother's joy: Sweet! entertain me! She'll give me when she dies All that is fitting: Her poultry and her bees, And her goose sitting, A pair of mattress beds, And a bag full of shreds: And yet, for all this guedes, Phillada flouts me.
She hath a clout of mine, Wrought with blue coventry, Which she keeps for a sign Of my fidelity; But, 'faith, if she flinch, She shall not wear it; To Tib, my t'other wench, I mean to bear it. And yet it grieves my heart So soon from her to part: Death strike me with his dart! Phillada flouts me.
Thou shalt eat crudded cream All the year lasting, And drink the crystal stream Pleasant in tasting,
Whig and whey whilst thou lust, And ramble-berries, Pie-lid and pastry crust, Pears, plums, and cherries; Thy raiment shall be thin, Made of a weevil's skin-- Yet all's not worth a pin: Phillada flouts me.
Fair maiden! have a care, And in time take me; I can have those as fair, If you forsake me: For Doll the dairy-maid Laughed at me lately, And wanton Winifred Favors me greatly.
One throws milk on my clothes; T'other plays with my nose: What wanting signs are those! Phillada flouts me.
I cannot work nor sleep At all in season, Love wounds my heart so deep, Without all reason. I 'gin to pine away In my love's shadow, Like as a fat beast may Penned in a meadow. I shall be dead, I fear, Within this thousand year: And all for that my dear Phillada flouts me.
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