English

Come, love, for now the night and day
Play with their pawns of black and white,
And what day loses in her play
Is won by the encroaching night.

The elematis grows old and clings
Grey-bearded to the roadside trees
And in the hedge the nightshade strings
Her berries in bright necklaces.

The fields are bare; the latest sheaf
Of barley, wheat and rusty rye
Is stacked long since; and every leaf
Burns like a sunset on the sky.

Come, love, for night and day, alas,
Are playing for a heavier stake

— Come live with me and be my love, —
He said, in substance. — There's no vine
We will not pluck the clusters of,
Or grape we will not turn to wine. —

It's autumn of their second year.
Now he, in seasonal pursuit,
With rich and modulated cheer,
Brings home the festive purple fruit;

And she, by passion once demented
— That woman out of Botticelli —
She brews and bottles, unfermented,
The stupid and abiding jelly.

1.

Come, listen to my tragedy, good people, young and old;
An awful story you shall hear, 'twill make your blood run cold;
Concerning a fair damsel; Mary Wyatt was her name—
She was poisoned by her husband, and he hung for the same.

2.

Mary Wyatt she was beautiful, not of a high degree,
And Henry Green was wealthy, as you may plainly see;
He said, “My dearest Mary, if you'll become my wife,
I will guard you and protect you, through all this gloom of life.”

3.

Come listen to my ditty
'Twill not detain you long
'Tis about one Baldy Green
And I'll tell you in my song.
For he could swing a whip so lightly
That he was sure to shine
He was a way-up six horse driver
On Ben Holladay's stage line.

As Baldy came driving into town
As lively as a coon,
Six men jumped into the middle of the road,
By the pale light of the moon.
The one he caught his leaders
Another his gun he cocks
Says he, " Baldy we're sorry to trouble you
But hand us down that box. "

Come listen to another song,
— Should make your heart beat high,
Bring crimson to your forehead,
— And the luster to your eye; —
It is the song of the olden time,
— Of days long since gone by,
And of a Baron stout and bold
— As e'er wore sword on thigh!
— — Like a brave old Scottish cavalier,
— — — All of the olden time!

He kept his castle in the north,
— Hard by the thundering Spey;
And a thousand vassals dwelt around,
— All of his kindred they.
And not a man of all that clan

Come listen, O Love, to the voice of the dove,
Come, hearken and hear him say,
There are many To-morrows, my Love, my Love, —
There is only one To-day.

And all day long you can hear him say
This day in purple is rolled,
And the baby stars of the milky-way —
They are cradled in cradles of gold.

Now what is thy secret, serene gray dove,
Of singing so sweetly alway?
" There are many To-morrows, my Love, my Love, —
There is only one To-day. "

or,

A Ballad New Which Doth Most Plainly Show

How Seventy-Nine Would Fain Be Forty-Two

Come listen, good people, to what I shall say
Concerning the blessing of this happy day;
The downfall of Perkin and joyful return
Of a prince that will make his electorate mourn.
Though Shaftesbury plotted
And Grey was besotted,
Though Armstrong to ground of artillery trotted —
Yet His Highness, God bless him, is safely come back
To the shame and confusion of Perkin Warbeck.

This Perkin's a prince whose excellency lies

Come listen, good neighbors of every degree,
Whose hearts, like your purses, are open and free,
Let this pole a monument ever remain,
Of the folly and arts of the time-serving train.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.

Its bottom, so artfully fix'd under ground,
Resembles their scheming, so low and profound;
The dark underminings, and base dirty ends.
On which the success of the faction depends.
Derry down, etc.

The vane, mark'd with freedom, may put us in mind,
As it varies, and flutters, and turns, with the wind,

Come listen awhile, and I'll sing you a song:
I am a young damsel just turned twenty-one.
I married a miser for gold, it is true,
And the age of his years were seventy-two.
Chorus

Will you live for ever, you silly old man?
I wish that your days they were all at an end!
To please a young woman is more than you can--
It's not in your power, you silly old man.

For every night when I go to bed
He lays by my side like one that is dead.
Such spitting and coughing, it makes me run wild,

Come listen a while, you gentlemen all,
With a hey down down a down down
That are in this bower within,
For a story of gallant bold Robin Hood
I purpose now to begin.

" What time of the day?" quoth Robin Hood then;
Quoth Little John, 'T is in the prime;
" Why then we will to the green wood gang,
For we have no vittles to dine."

As Robin Hood walkt the forrest along —
It was in the mid of the day —
There was he met of a deft young man
As ever walkt on the way.