English Songs and Ballads

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Title: English Songs and Ballads
Author: Various
Release Date: August 2, 2007 [EBook #22223]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
0. START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ENGLISH
SONGS AND BALLADS ***
Produced by Lewis Jones
Crosland, T.W.H. [ed.] (1903) "English Songs and Ballads"
(The
World's Classics Series)
(Produced by Lewis Jones)
ENGLISH SONGS AND BALLADS
COMPILED BY T W. H. CROSLAND
LONDON
GRANT RICHARDS
48 LEICESTER SQUARE

1903
Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE

First Impression April 1902
Second Impression April l903
NOTE
ENGLISH SONGS AND BALLADS' must not be
regarded as 'a
choice,' but simply as a
bringing together of poetical pieces which

are, presumably, well known to the average
person,--that is to say, the
compiler has
endeavoured to illustrate the general taste
rather than
his own preference.
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
(Transcriber's note: No author is cited for the first song in the collection,
"My Swete Sweting." Page references in the "Index of First Lines" and
in the "Index of Authors" have been expunged since they do not apply
to this electronic version; please use electronic searches to locate
poems.)
About the sweet bag of a bee
A chieftain to the Highlands bound

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever
Agincourt, Agincourt
Ah, my
swete swetyng
Alas! my love, you do me wrong
Allen-a-Dale has
no faggot for burning
All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd
All ye
woods, and trees, and bowers
And did you not hear of a jolly young
Waterman
An old song made by an aged old pate
A parrot from the
Spanish main
Arm, arm, arm, arm, the scouts are all come in
A
simple child
As I came thro' Sandgate
Ask me no more where Jove
bestows
Ask me no more, the moon may draw the sea
A spirit
haunts the year's last hours
As thro' the land at eve we went
A sweet
disorder in the dress
Attend all ye who list to hear our noble
England's praise
A weary lot is thine, fair maid
A Well there is in
the west country
A wet sheet and a flowing sea
Beauty clear and fair
Be it right or wrong, these men among

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms
Bird of the
wilderness
Blame not my Lute! for he must sound
Blow, blow, thou

winter wind
Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear
Break, break,
break
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride
But are ye sure the
news is true
Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren
Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry

Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain
Come all ye jolly shepherds

Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me
Come, cheer up, my lads,
'tis to glory we steer
Come follow, follow me
Come into the garden,
Maud
Come live with me and be my love
Come not, when I am
dead
Come, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving
Dear is my little native vale
Doubt thou the stars are fire
Drink to
me only with thine eyes
Duncan Gray came here to woo
Faintly as tolls the evening chime
Fair daffodils, we weep to see

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree
Fair stood the wind for France
Fear no
more the heat o' the sun
Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea
Flow
gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes
Follow thy fair sun,
unhappy shadow
For auld lang syne, my dear
Four and twenty
bonny boys
From Oberon, in fairy land
From the forests and
highlands
From the white blossom'd sloe my dear Chloe requested

Full fathom five thy father lies
Gather the rose-buds while ye may
God Lyaeus, ever young
God
prosper long our noble King
God save our gracious King
Go fetch
to me a pint o' wine
Go, lovely Rose
Good-morrow to the day so
fair
Good people all, of every sort
Go where glory waits thee

Green fields of England, wheresoe'er
Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be
Hang fear, cast away care

Hark! now everything is still
Hark, hark, the lark at Heaven's gate
sings
He is gone on the mountain
Her arms across her breast she
laid
Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling
Her eyes the
glow-worm lend thee
Here's a health unto His Majesty
Here's to the

maiden of bashful fifteen
Hide me, O twilight air
Home they
brought her warrior dead
Ho! why dost thou shiver and shake
How
should I your true love know
I arise from dreams of thee
I cannot eat but little meat
I come from
haunts of coot and hern
I come, I come! ye have called me long
I
knew an old wife lean and poor
I lov'd a lass, a fair one
I'm
lonesome since I cross'd the hill
I'm sitting on the stile, Mary
In
going to my naked bed
In good King Charles's golden days
In her
ear he whispered gaily
In the merry month of May
In Wakefield
there lives a jolly pinder
I sprang to the