English

Come and listen, you gentlemen all,
Hey down, down, an a down,
That mirth do love for to hear,
And a story true Ile tell unto you,
If that you will but draw near.

In elder times, when merriment was,
And archery was holden good,
There was an outlaw, as many " do" know,
Which men called Robin Hood.

Upon a time it chanced so,
Bold Robin was merry disposed,
His time for to spend he did intend
Either with friends or foes.

Then he got upon a gallant brave steed,

Come, let's to bed,
Says Sleepy-head;
Sit up awhile, says Slow;
Hang on the pot,
Says Greedy-gut,
Let's sup before we go.

Come let's begin to revel 't out,
And tread the hills and dales about,
That hills and dales and woods may sound
An echo to this warbling sound:
Fa la la la.

Lads merry be with music sweet,
And Fairies trip it with your feet,
Pan's pipe is dull; a better strain
Doth stretch itself to please your vein:

Come , let us make love deathless, thou and I,
Seeing that our footing on the Earth is brief —
Seeing that her multitudes sweep out to die
Mocking at all that passes our belief.
For standard of our love not theirs we take:
If we go hence to-day,
Fill the high cup that is so soon to break
With richer wine than they!

Ay, since beyond these walls no heavens there be,
Joy to revive or wasted youth repair,
I'll not bedim the lovely flame in thee,
Nor sully the sad splendor that we wear.

Come, let us join this festal lay —
Hurra, Hurra,
Come, let us join this festal lay,
And let our anthems all be gay,
And sing aloud for this glad day
Should brighten every heart: —

We'll sing of heroes who have fought —
Hurra, Hurra,
We'll sing of heroes who have fought,
Who to their country's altar brought,
And on her sacred ensign wrought,
The tree of liberty

We'll sing of martyrs who have died —
Hurra, Hurra,
We'll sing of martyrs who have died,
From severed ranks, as side by side

Come , let us find a cottage, love,
That's green for half a mile around;
To laugh at every grumbling bee,
Whose sweetest blossom's not yet found.
Where many a bird shall sing for you,
And in our garden build its nest:
They'll sing for you as though their eggs
Were lying in your breast,
My love —
Were lying warm in your soft breast.

'Tis strange how men find time to hate,
When life is all too short for love;
But we, away from our own kind,
A different life can live and prove.

Come let us drink away the time,
A Pox upon this pelting Rhyme,
When Wine runs high, Wit 's in the Prime:
Drink and stout Drinkers, are true Joys,
Odd Sonnets and such little Toys,
Are Exercises fit for Boys.

The whining Lover that doth place
His Fancy on a painted Face,
And wasts his Substance in the Chase
Would ne'er in Melancholy pine,
Had he Affections so Divine,
As once to fall in Love with Wine .

Then to our Liquor let us sit,
Wine makes the Soul for Action fit;

Come lasses and lads,
Take leave of your dads,
And away to the Maypole hey;
For every he
Has got him a she
With a minstrel standing by;
For Willy has gotten his Jill,
And Jenny has got his Jone,
To jig it, jig it, jig it, jig it,
Jig it up and down.

Strike up, says Wat,
Agreed, says Kate,
And I prithee, Fiddler, play,
Content, says Hodge,
And so, says Madge,
For this is a holiday,
For every man did put
His hat off to his lass,
And every girl did curchy,

Come lads and listen to my song, a song of honest toil;
'Tis of the English labourer, the tiller of the soil;
I'll tell you how he used to fare, and all the ills he bore,
Till he stood up in his manhood, resolved to bear no more.

This fine old English labourer,
One of the present time.

He used to take whatever wage the farmer used to pay,
And work as hard as any horse for eighteen pence a day;
And if he grumbled at the nine and dared to ask for ten,
The angry farmer cursed and swore, and sacked him there and then.

Come in the garden
And play in the snow,
A snowman we'll make,
See how quickly he'll grow!
Give him hat, stick, and pipe,
And make him look gay,
Such a fine game
For a cold winter day!