“Greensleeves” by Anonymous
Commonplace Book – Pages 134-136
Alas, my love, you do me wrong, To cast me off discourteously
2: I have been ready at your hand, To grant whatever you would crave,
3: I bought thee kerchers to thy head, That were wrought fine and gallantly
4: I bought thee petticoats of the best, The cloth so fine as might be;
5: Thy smock of silk, both fair and white, With gold embroidered gorgeously;
And I have lov-ed you so long, Delighting in your companie. – (chorus)
2: I have both waged life and land, Your love and good-will for to have. – (chorus)
3: I kept thee both boored and bed, Which cost my purse well favoredly – (chorus)
4: I gave thee jewels for thy chest, And all this cost I spent on thee. – (chorus)
5: Thy petticoat of sendal right, And these I bought thee gladly – (chorus)
6: Thy girdle of gold so red, With pearles bedecked sumptuously;
7: Thy crimson stockings all of silk, With golds all wrought above the knee;
8: Thy gown was of the grossie green, Thy sleeves of satten hanging by,
9: Thy garters fringed with the golde, And silver aglets hanging by,
10: My gayest gelding I thee gave, To ride where ever I liked thee,
6: The like no other lasses had, And yet thou wouldst not love me – (chorus)
7: Thy pumps as white as was the milk, And yet thou wouldst not love me – (chorus)
8: Why made thee be our harvest Queen, And yet thou wouldst not love me – (chorus)
9: Which made thee blithe for to beholde, And yet thou wouldst not love me – (chorus)
10: No Ladie ever was so brave, And yet thou wouldst not love me – (chorus)
11: My men were clothed all in green, And they did ever wait on thee;
12: They set thee up, they took thee downe, They served thee with humilitie,
13: For everie morning when thou rose, I sent thee dainties orderly;
14: Thou couldst desire no earthly thing, But still thou hadst it readily;
15: And who did pay for all this geare, That though didst spend when pleased thee,
16: When will I pray to God on high, That thou my constantly mayst see,
17: Greensleeves, now farewell! Adieu! God I pray to prosper thee,
11: All this was gallant to be seen, And yet thou wouldst not love me – (chorus)
12: Thy foote might not once touch the ground, And yet thou wouldst not love me – (chorus)
13: To cheare thy stomack from all woes, And yet thou wouldst not love me – (chorus)
14: Thy musicks still to play and sing, And yet thou wouldst not love me – (chorus)
15: Even I that am rejected here, And though disdainst to love me. – (chorus)
16: And that yet once before I die, Thou wilt vouchsafe to love me? – (chorus)
17: For I am still thy lover true, Come once again and love me. – (chorus)
CHORUS
Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was my delight
Greensleeves was my heart of gold, And who but my Ladie Greensleeves
“When I was Fair and Young, and Favor Graced Me” by Queen Elizabeth I and “An Ode to My Wife” by Anonymous
Commonplace Book – Pages 110-111
When I was Fair and Young, and Favor Graced Me… by Queen Elizabeth I
When I was fair and young, and favor graced me,
Of many I was sought their mistress for to be.
But I did scorn them all, and answered them therefore,
‘Go, go, seek some otherwhere
Importune me no more!’
How many weeping eyes I made to pine with woe; How many sighing hearts I have no skill to show.
Yet I the prouder grew, and answered them therefore,
‘Go, go, seek some otherwhere
Importune me no more.’
Then spake fair Venus’ son, that proud victorious boy,
And said, ‘Fine dame, since that you be so coy
I will so pluck your plumes that you shall say no more
‘Go, go, seek some otherwhere
Importune me no more.’
When he had spake these words, such charge grew in my breast
That neither night nor day since that, I could take any rest.
Then lo’ I did repent that I had said before,
‘Go, go, seek some otherwhere
Importune me no more.’
An Ode to My Wife by Anonymous
If I could just turn back the time
To when I heard you say,
That I could be your shining prince
And all the dragons slay.
I’d build a castle on the hill
So all the world could see,
The lovely princess that I chose,
To live and die with me.
If I could just turn back the time
And start my life anew,
I’d plant some roses near the paths
That I have led you through:
There’d be no thorns to pierce your heart
No tears to dim your eyes
I’d leave no stones to bruise your feet,
There’d be so sad goodbyes.
But Father Time will not turn back
The hours that passed away.
I can’t remove the thorns and rocks
From all those past gone days,
I cannot live my life again
But dragons I would slay,
If I could be your shining prince
For only one more day.
“English Monarchs” by Anonymous and “How Doth the Little Crocodile” by Lewis Carroll
Commonplace Book – Page 105
English Monarchs by Anonymous
Willie Willie Henry Stee
Harry Dick John Harry three;
One two three Neds, Richard two
Harrys four five six…then who?
Edwards four five, Dick the bad,
Harrys (twain), Ned six (the lad);
Mary, Bessie, James you Ken,
Then Charlie, Charlie, James again…
Will and Mary, Anna Gloria,
Georges four, Will four Victoria;
Edward seven next, and then
Came George the fifth in nineteen ten;
Ned the eighth soon abdicated
Then George six was coronated;
After which was Elizabeth
And that’s all folks until her death.
How Doth the Little Crocodile by Lewis Carroll
How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!
How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcome little fishes in,
With gently smiling jaws!
“Apples Trees” by Myrrdin Wyllt and “The Sick Bed of Cuchulainn” by Anonymous
Commonplace Book – Pages 91-92
‘Apple Trees’ by Myrrdin Wyllt
Sweet appletree that luxuriantly grows!
Food I used to take at is base to please a fair maid,
When, with my shield on my shoulder, and my sword on my thigh,
I slept all alone in the woods of Celyddon.
Hear, O Little pig! Now apply thyself to reason,
And listen to birds whose notes are pleasant,
Sovereigns across the sea will come on Monday;
Blessed will the Cymry be from that design.
Sweet appletree, which grows by the riverside!
With respect to it, the Keeper will not thrive on its splendid fruit,
While my reason was not aberrant, I used to be around its stem,
With a fair sportive maid, a paragon of splendid form.
With a fair sportive maid, a paragon, of splendid form.
Ten years and forty, as the toy of lawless ones,
Have I been wandering in gloom and among sprites…
Sweet appletree , and a tree of crimson hue,
which grew in concealment in the wood of Celyddon;
They sought for their fruit, it will be in vain,
Until Cadwaldyr comes form the conference of Rhyd Rheon,
And Cynon to meet him advances upon the Saxons;
The Cymry will be victorious, glorious will be their leader.
All shall have their rights, and the Brython will rejoice,
Sounding the horns of gladness, and chanting the song of peace and happiness!
The Sick-bed of Cuchulainn
I went in the twinkling of an eye
Into a marvellous country where I had been before.
I reached a cairn of twenty armies,
And there I found Labraid of the long hair.
I found him sitting on the cairn,
A great multitude of arms about him.
On his head his beautiful hair
Was decked with an apple of gold.
Although the time was long since my last visit
He recognized me by my five-fold purple mantle.
Said he, ‘Wilt thou come with me
Into the house where dwells Failbe the Fair?’
At the door toward the West,
On the side toward the setting sun,
There is a troop of grey horses with dappled manes,
And another troop of horses, purple-brown,
At the door toward the East
Are three trees of purple glass.
From their tops a flock of birds sing a sweet drawn-out song
For the children who live in the royal stronghold.
At the entrance to the enclosure is a tree
From whose branches comes beautiful and harmonious music.
It is a tree of silver, which the sun illuminates;
it glistens like gold.
There is a cauldron of invigorating mead,
For the use of the inmates of the house.
It never grows less; it is a custom
That it should be full forever.
There is a woman in the noble palace.
There is no woman like her in Erin.
When she goes forth you see her fair hair.
She is beautiful and endowed with many gifts.
‘The Homes of England’ by Felicia Hemans and ‘Lord Randal’ by Anonymous
The Homes of England (1825?) by Felicia Hemans (1793 – 1835)
The stately homes of England,
How beautiful they stand!
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O’er all the pleasant land.
The deer across their greensward bound
Through shade and sunny gleam,
And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.
The merry Homes of England!
Around their hearths by night,
What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light!
There woman’s voice flows forth in song,
Or childhood’s tale is told,
Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.
The blessed Homes of England!
How softly on their bowers
Is laid the holy quietness
That breathes from Sabbath hours!
Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell’s chime
Floats through their woods at morn;
All other sounds, in that still time,
Of breeze and leaf are born.
The Cottage Homes of England!
By thousands on her plains,
They are smiling o’er the silvery brooks,
And round the hamlet fanes.
Through glowing orchards forth they peep.
Each from its nook of leaves,
And fearless there the lowly sleep.
As the bird beneath their eaves.
The free, fair Homes of England!
Long, long, in hut and hall,
May hearts of native proof be rear’d
To guard each hallow’d wall!
And green for ever be the groves,
And bright the flowery sod,
Where first the child’s glad spirit loves
Its country and its God!
Lord Randal by Anonymous
“O where ha’ you been, Lord Randal, my son?
And where ha’ you been, my handsome young man?”
“I ha’ been at the greenwood; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m wearied wi’ huntin’, and fain wad lie down.”
“And who met ye there, Lord Randal my son?
And who met you there, my handsome young son?”
“O I met wi’ my true-love; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m wearied wi’ huntin’, and fain wad lie down”
“And what did she give you, Lord Randal, my son?
And what did she give you, my handsome young man?”
“My hawks and my hounds; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m wearied wi’ huntin’, and fain wad lie down.”
“And wha gat your leavin’s, Lord Randal, my son?
And wha gat your leavin’s, my handsome young man?”
“My hawks and my hounds; mother mak my bed soon,
For I’m wearied wi’ huntin’, and fain wad lie down.”
“And what becam of them, Lord Randal, my son?
And what becam of them, my handsome young man?”
“They stretched their legs out and died; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m wearied wi’ huntin’, and fain wad lie down.”
“O I fear you are poisoned, Lord Randal my son!
I fear you are poisoned, my handsome young man!”
“O yes, I am poisoned; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m sick at heart, and I fain wad lie down.”
“What d’ye leave to your mother, Lord Randal my son?
What d’ye leave to your mother, my handsome young man?”
“Four and twenty milk kye, mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m sick at heart, and I fain wad lie down.”
“What d’ye leave to your sister, Lord Randal my son?
What d’ye leave to your sister, my handsome young man?”
“My gold and my silver, mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m sick at heart, and I fain wad lie down.”
“What d’ye leave to your brother, Lord Randal my son?
What d’ye leave to your brother, my handsome young man?”
“My houses and my lands; mak my bed soon,
For I’m sick at heart, and I fain wad lie down.”
“What d’ye leave to your true-love, Lord Randal my son?
What d’ye leave to your true-love, my handsome young man?”
“I leave her hell and fire, mak my bed soon,
For I’m sick at heart, and I fain wad lie down.”
