The Three Knights (Traditional)

There did three Knights come from the west,

With the high and the lily oh!

And these three Knights courted one ladye,

As the rose was so sweetly blown.

The first Knight came was all in white,

And asked of her if she'd be his delight.

The next Knight came was all in green,

And asked of her if she'd be his queen.

The third Knight came was all in red,

And asked of her if she would wed.

'Then have you asked of my father dear?

Likewise of her who did me bear?

'And have you asked of my brother John?

And also of my sister Anne?'

'Yes, I've asked of your father dear,

Likewise of her who did you bear.

'And I've asked of your sister Anne,

But I've not asked of your brother John.'

Far on the road as they rode along,

There did they meet with her brother John.

She stooped low to kiss him sweet,

He to her heart did a dagger meet.

'Ride on, ride on,' cried the servingman,

'Methinks your bride she looks wondrous wan.'

'I wish I were on yonder stile,

For there I would sit and bleed awhile.

'I wish I were on yonder hill,

There I'd alight and make my will.'

'What would you give to your father dear?'

'The gallant steed which doth me bear.'

'What would you give to your mother dear?'

'My wedding shift which I do wear.

'But she must wash it very clean,

For my heart's blood sticks in every seam.'

'What would you give to your sister Anne?'

'My gay gold ring, and my feathered fan.'

'What would you give to your brother John?'

'A rope, and a gallows to hang him on.'

'What would you give to your brother John's wife?'

'A widow's weeds, and a quiet life.'

The Old Man and His Three Sons

There was an old man, and sons he had three,

Wind well, Lion, good hunter.

A friar he being one of the three,

With pleasure he ranged the north country,

For he was a jovial hunter.

As he went to the woods some pastime to see,

Wind well, Lion, good hunter,

He spied a fair lady under a tree,

Sighing and moaning mournfully.

He was a jovial hunter.

'What are you doing, my fair lady!'

Wind well, Lion, good hunter.

'I'm frightened, the wild boar he will kill me,

He has worried my lord, and wounded thirty,

As thou art a jovial hunter.'

Then the friar he put his horn to his mouth,

Wind well, Lion, good hunter.

And he blew a blast, east, west, north, and south,

And the wild boar from his den he came forth

Unto the jovial hunter.

The Life and Age of Man

In prime of years, when I was young,

I took delight in youthful ways,

Not knowing then what did belong

Unto the pleasures of those days.

At seven years old I was a child,

And subject then to be beguiled.

At two times seven I went to learn

What discipline is taught at school:

When good from ill I could discern,

I thought myself no more a fool:

My parents were contriving than,

How I might live when I were man.

At three times seven I waxed wild,

When manhood led me to be bold;

I thought myself no more a child,

My own conceit it so me told:

Then did I venture far and near,

To buy delight at price full dear.

At four times seven I take a wife,

And leave off all my wanton ways,

Thinking thereby perhaps to thrive,

And save myself from sad disgrace.

So farewell my companions all,

For other business doth me call.

At five times seven I must hard strive,

What I could gain by mighty skill;

But still against the stream I drive,

And bowl up stones against the hill;

The more I laboured might and main,

The more I strove against the stream.

At six times seven all covetise

Began to harbour in my breast;

My mind still then contriving was

How I might gain this worldly wealth;

To purchase lands and live on them,

So make my children mighty men.

At seven times seven all worldly thought

Began to harbour in my brain;

Then did I drink a heavy draught

Of water of experience plain;

There none so ready was as I,

To purchase bargains, sell, or buy.

At eight times seven I waxed old,

And took myself unto my rest,

Neighbours then sought my counsel bold,

And I was held in great request;

But age did so abate my strength,

That I was forced to yield at length.

At nine times seven take my leave

Of former vain delights must I;

It then full sorely did me grieve -

I fetched many a heavy sigh;

To rise up early, and sit up late,

My former life, I loathe and hate.

At ten times seven my glass is run,

And I poor silly man must die;

I looked up, and saw the sun

Had overcome the crystal sky.

So now I must this world forsake,

Another man my place must take.

Now you may see, as in a glass,

The whole estate of mortal men;

How they from seven to seven do pass,

Until they are threescore and ten;

And when their glass is fully run,

They must leave off as they begun.

England's Alarm; or the Pious Christian's Speedy Call To Repentence

For the many aggravating sins too much practised in our present mournful times: as Pride, Drunkenness, Blasphemous Swearing, together with the Profanation of the Sabbath; concluding with the sin of wantonness and disobedience; that upon our hearty sorrow and forsaking the same the Lord may save us for his mercy's sake.

[From the cluster of 'ornaments' alluded to in the ninth verse of the following poem, we are inclined to fix the date about 1653. The present reprint is from an old broadside, without printer's name or date, in possession of Mr. J. R. Smith.]

You sober-minded christians now draw near,

Labour to learn these pious lessons here;

For by the same you will be taught to know

What is the cause of all our grief and woe.

We have a God who sits enthroned above;

He sends us many tokens of his love:

Yet we, like disobedient children, still

Deny to yield submission to His will.

The just command which He upon us lays,

We must confess we have ten thousand ways

Transgressed; for see how men their sins pursue,

As if they did not fear what God could do.

Behold the wretched sinner void of shame,

He values not how he blasphemes the name

Of that good God who gave him life and breath,

And who can strike him with the darts of death!

The very little children which we meet,

Amongst the sports and pastimes in the street,

We very often hear them curse and swear,

Before they've learned a word of any prayer.

'Tis much to be lamented, for I fear

The same they learn from what they daily hear;

Be careful then, and don't instruct them so,

For fear you prove their dismal overthrow.

Both young and old, that dreadful sin forbear;

The tongue of man was never made to swear,

But to adore and praise the blessed name,

By whom alone our dear salvation came.

Pride is another reigning sin likewise;

Let us behold in what a strange disguise

Young damsels do appear, both rich and poor;

The like was ne'er in any age before.

What artificial ornaments they wear,

Black patches, paint, and locks of powdered hair;

Likewise in lofty hoops they are arrayed,

As if they would correct what God had made.

Yet let 'em know, for all those youthful charms,

They must lie down in death's cold frozen arms!

Oh think on this, and raise your thoughts above

The sin of pride, which you so dearly love.

Likewise, the wilful sinners that transgress

The righteous laws of God by drunkenness,

They do abuse the creatures which were sent

Purely for man's refreshing nourishment.

Many diseases doth that sin attend,

But what is worst of all, the fatal end:

Let not the pleasures of a quaffing bowl

Destroy and stupify thy active soul.

Perhaps the jovial drunkard over night,

May seem to reap the pleasures of delight,

While for his wine he doth in plenty call;

But oh! the sting of conscience, after all,

Is like a gnawing worm upon the mind.

Then if you would the peace of conscience find,

A sober conversation learn with speed,

For that's the sweetest life that man can lead.

Be careful that thou art not drawn away,

By foolishness, to break the Sabbath-day;

Be constant at the pious house of prayer,

That thou mayst learn the christian duties there.

For tell me, wherefore should we carp and care

For what we eat and drink, and what we wear;

And the meanwhile our fainting souls exclude

From that refreshing sweet celestial food?

Yet so it is, we, by experience, find

Many young wanton gallants seldom mind

The church of God, but scornfully deride

That sacred word by which they must be tried.

A tavern, or an alehouse, they adore,

And will not come within the church before

They're brought to lodge under a silent tomb,

And then who knows how dismal is their doom!

Though for awhile, perhaps, they flourish here,

And seem to scorn the very thoughts of fear,

Yet when they're summoned to resign their breath,

They can't outbrave the bitter stroke of death!

Consider this, young gallants, whilst you may,

Swift-winged time and tide for none will stay;

And therefore let it be your christian care,

To serve the Lord, and for your death prepare.

There is another crying sin likewise:

Behold young gallants cast their wanton eyes

On painted harlots, which they often meet

At every creek and corner of the street,

By whom they are like dismal captives led

To their destruction; grace and fear is fled,

Till at the length they find themselves betrayed,

And for that sin most sad examples made.

Then, then, perhaps, in bitter tears they'll cry,

With wringing hands, against their company,

Which did betray them to that dismal state!

Consider this before it is too late.

Likewise, sons and daughters, far and near,

Honour your loving friends, and parents dear;

Let not your disobedience grieve them so,

Nor cause their aged eyes with tears to flow.

What a heart-breaking sorrow it must be,

To dear indulgent parents, when they see

Their stubborn children wilfully run on

Against the wholesome laws of God and man!

Oh! let these things a deep impression make

Upon your hearts, with speed your sins forsake;

For, true it is, the Lord will never bless

Those children that do wilfully transgress.

Now, to conclude, both young and old I pray,

Reform your sinful lives this very day,

That God in mercy may his love extend,

And bring the nation's troubles to an end.

Lady Alice

Lady Alice was sitting in her bower window,

At midnight mending her quoif;

And there she saw as fine a corpse

As ever she saw in her life.

'What bear ye, what bear ye, ye six men tall?

What bear ye on your shoulders?'

'We bear the corpse of Giles Collins,

An old and true lover of yours.'

'O, lay him down gently, ye six men tall,

All on the grass so green,

And to-morrow when the sun goes down,

Lady Alice a corpse shall be seen.

'And bury me in Saint Mary's Church,

All for my love so true;

And make me a garland of marjoram,

And of lemon thyme, and rue.'

Giles Collins was buried all in the east,

Lady Alice all in the west;

And the roses that grew on Giles Collins's grave,

They reached Lady Alice's breast.

The priest of the parish he chanced to pass,

And he severed those roses in twain.

Sure never were seen such true lovers before,

Nor e'er will there be again.

Sir Arthur and Charming Mollee (TRADITIONAL)

As noble Sir Arthur one morning did ride,

With his hounds at his feet, and his sword by his side,

He saw a fair maid sitting under a tree,

He asked her name, and she said 'twas Mollee.

'Oh, charming Mollee, you my butler shall be,

To draw the red wine for yourself and for me!

I'll make you a lady so high in degree,

If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!

'I'll give you fine ribbons, I'll give you fine rings,

I'll give you fine jewels, and many fine things;

I'll give you a petticoat flounced to the knee,

If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!'

'I'll have none of your ribbons, and none of your rings,

None of your jewels, and other fine things;

And I've got a petticoat suits my degree,

And I'll ne'er love a married man till his wife dee.'

'Oh, charming Mollee, lend me then your penknife,

And I will go home, and I'll kill my own wife;

I'll kill my own wife, and my bairnies three,

If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!'

'Oh, noble Sir Arthur, it must not be so,

Go home to your wife, and let nobody know;

For seven long years I will wait upon thee,

But I'll ne'er love a married man till his wife dee.'

Now seven long years are gone and are past,

The old woman went to her long home at last;

The old woman died, and Sir Arthur was free,

And he soon came a-courting to charming Mollee.

Now charming Mollee in her carriage doth ride,

With her hounds at her feet, and her lord by her side:

Now all ye fair maids take a warning by me,

And ne'er love a married man till his wife dee.

Sir John Barleycorn

There came three men out of the West,

Their victory to try;

And they have taken a solemn oath,

Poor Barleycorn should die.

They took a plough and ploughed him in,

And harrowed clods on his head;

And then they took a solemn oath,

Poor Barleycorn was dead.

There he lay sleeping in the ground,

Till rain from the sky did fall:

Then Barleycorn sprung up his head,

And so amazed them all.

There he remained till Midsummer,

And looked both pale and wan;

Then Barleycorn he got a beard,

And so became a man.

Then they sent men with scythes so sharp,

To cut him off at knee;

And then poor little Barleycorn,

They served him barbarously.

Then they sent men with pitchforks strong

To pierce him through the heart;

And like a dreadful tragedy,

They bound him to a cart.

And then they brought him to a barn,

A prisoner to endure;

And so they fetched him out again,

And laid him on the floor.

Then they set men with holly clubs,

To beat the flesh from his bones;

But the miller he served him worse than that,

For he ground him betwixt two stones.

O! Barleycorn is the choicest grain

That ever was sown on land;

It will do more than any grain,

By the turning of your hand.

It will make a boy into a man,

And a man into an ass;

It will change your gold into silver,

And your silver into brass.

It will make the huntsman hunt the fox,

That never wound his horn;

It will bring the tinker to the stocks,

That people may him scorn.

It will put sack into a glass,

And claret in the can;

And it will cause a man to drink

Till he neither can go nor stand.

The Barley-Mow Song

Here's a health to the barley-mow, my brave boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

We'll drink it out of the jolly brown bowl,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

Cho. Here's a health to the barley-mow, my brave boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

We'll drink it out of the nipperkin, boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

The nipperkin and the jolly brown bowl,

Cho. Here's a health, &c.

We'll drink it out of the quarter-pint, boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

The quarter-pint, nipperkin, &c.

Cho. Here's a health, &c.

We'll drink it out of the half-a-pint, boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

The half-a-pint, quarter-pint, &c.

Cho. Here's a health, &c.

We'll drink it out of the pint, my brave boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

The pint, the half-a-pint, &c.

Cho. Here's a health, &c.

We'll drink it out of the quart, my brave boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

The quart, the pint, &c.

Cho. Here's a health, &c.

Well drink it out of the pottle, my boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

The pottle, the quart, &c.

Cho. Here's a health, &c.

We'll drink it out of the gallon, my boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

The gallon, the pottle, &c.

Cho. Here's a health, &c.

We'll drink it out of the half-anker, boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

The half-anker, gallon, &c.

Cho. Here's a health, &c.

We'll drink it out of the anker, my boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

The anker, the half-anker, &c.

Cho. Here's a health, &c.

We'll drink it out of the half-hogshead, boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

The half-hogshead, anker, &c.

Cho. Here's a health, &c.

We'll drink it out of the hogshead, my boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

The hogshead, the half-hogshead, &c.

Cho. Here's a health, &c.

We'll drink it out of the pipe, my brave boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

The pipe, the hogshead, &c.

Cho. Here's a health, &c.

We'll drink it out of the well, my brave boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

The well, the pipe, &c.

Cho. Here's a health, &c.

We'll drink it out of the river, my boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

The river, the well, &c.

Cho. Here's a health, &c.

We'll drink it out of the ocean, my boys,

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

The ocean, the river, the well, the pipe, the hogshead,

the half-hogshead, the anker, the half-anker,

the gallon, the pottle, the quart, the pint, the

half-a-pint, the quarter-pint, the nipperkin, and

the jolly brown bowl!

Cho. Here's a health to the barley-mow, my brave boys!

Here's a health to the barley-mow!

[The above verses are very much ad libitum, but always in the third line repeating the whole of the previously-named measures; as we have shown in the recapitulation at the close of the last verse.]

The Barley-Mow Song (Suffolk Version)

Here's a health to the barley mow!

Here's a health to the man

Who very well can

Both harrow and plow and sow!

When it is well sown

See it is well mown,

Both raked and gavelled clean,

And a barn to lay it in.

He's a health to the man

Who very well can

Both thrash and fan it clean!

Lord Bateman

Lord Bateman he was a noble lord,

A noble lord of high degree;

He shipped himself on board a ship,

Some foreign country he would go see.

He sailed east, and he sailed west,

Until he came to proud Turkey;

Where he was taken, and put to prison,

Until his life was almost weary.

And in this prison there grew a tree,

It grew so stout, and grew so strong;

Where he was chained by the middle,

Until his life was almost gone.

This Turk he had one only daughter,

The fairest creature my eyes did see;

She stole the keys of her father's prison,

And swore Lord Bateman she would set free.

'Have you got houses? have you got lands?

Or does Northumberland belong to thee?

What would you give to the fair young lady

That out of prison would set you free?'

'I have got houses, I have got lands,

And half Northumberland belongs to me

I'll give it all to the fair young lady

That out of prison would set me free.'

O! then she took him to her father's hall,

And gave to him the best of wine;

And every health she drank unto him,

'I wish, Lord Bateman, that you were mine!

'Now in seven years I'll make a vow,

And seven years I'll keep it strong,

If you'll wed with no other woman,

I will wed with no other man.'

O! then she took him to her father's harbour,

And gave to him a ship of fame;

'Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman,

I'm afraid I ne'er shall see you again.'

Now seven long years are gone and past,

And fourteen days, well known to thee;

She packed up all her gay clothing,

And swore Lord Bateman she would go see.

But when she came to Lord Bateman's castle,

So boldly she rang the bell;

'Who's there? who's there?' cried the proud porter,

'Who's there? unto me come tell.'

'O! is this Lord Bateman's castle?

Or is his Lordship here within?'

'O, yes! O, yes!' cried the young porter,

'He's just now taken his new bride in.'

'O! tell him to send me a slice of bread,

And a bottle of the best wine;

And not forgetting the fair young lady

Who did release him when close confine.'

Away, away went this proud young porter,

Away, away, and away went he,

Until he came to Lord Bateman's chamber,

Down on his bended knees fell he.

'What news, what news, my proud young porter?

What news hast thou brought unto me?'

'There is the fairest of all young creatures

That ever my two eyes did see!

'She has got rings on every finger,

And round one of them she has got three,

And as much gay clothing round her middle

As would buy all Northumberlea.

'She bids you send her a slice of bread,

And a bottle of the best wine;

And not forgetting the fair young lady

Who did release you when close confine.'

Lord Bateman he then in a passion flew,

And broke his sword in splinters three;

Saying, 'I will give all my father's riches

If Sophia has crossed the sea.'

Then up spoke the young bride's mother,

Who never was heard to speak so free,

'You'll not forget my only daughter,

If Sophia has crossed the sea.'

'I own I made a bride of your daughter,

She's neither the better nor worse for me;

She came to me with her horse and saddle,

She may go back in her coach and three.'

Lord Bateman prepared another marriage,

And sang, with heart so full of glee,

I'll range no more in foreign countries,

Now since Sophia has crossed the sea.'