Can a Maid That is Well Bred by Martin Peerson

Can a maid that is well bred,
Hath a blush so lovely red,
Modest looks, wise, mild, discreet,
And a nature passing sweet,
Break her promise, untrue prove,
On a sudden change her love,
Or be won e’er to neglect
Him to whom she vow’d respect?

Such a maid, alas, I know.
Oh that weeds ‘mongst corn should grow,
Or a rose should prickles have,
Wounding where she ought to save!
I that did her parts extol,
Will my lavish tongue control.
Outward parts do blind the eyes,
Gall in golden pills oft lies.

Reason wake, and sleep no more,
Land upon some safer shore;
Think on her and be afraid
Of a faithless fickle maid.
Of a faithless flckle maid
Thus true love is still betray’d.
Yet it is some ease to sing
That a maid is light of wing.

From: https://tspace.library.utoronto.ca/html/1807/4350/poem1577.html

Date: 1620

By: Martin Peerson (?1571-1650)

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John Peel by John Woodcock Graves

D’ye ken John Peel, with his coat so gay?
D’ye ken John Peel at the break of the day?
D’ye ken John Peel, when he’s far far away,
With his hounds and his horn in the morning.

Chorus:
For the sound of his horn brought me from my bed.
And the cry of the hounds which he oft times led,
Peel’s view hol-loo would awaken the dead,
Or his fox from his lair in the morning.

Yes, I ken John Peel, and Ruby too,
Ranter and Ringwood, Bell-man and True,
From a find to a check, from a check to a view.
From a view to a death in the morning.

Chorus.

Then here’s to John Peel, from my heart and soul.
Let’s drink to his health let’s finish the bowl,
We’ll follow John Peel thro’ fair thro’ foul.
If we want a good hunt in the morning.

Chorus.

D’ye ken John Peel, with his coat so gay,
He lived at Trout-beck once on a day,
Now he has gone far far away,
We shall ne’er hear his voice in the morning.

Chorus.

From: https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Canadian_Soldiers%27_Song_Book/John_Peel

Date: 1824

By: John Woodcock Graves (1795-1886)

Abide with Me by Henry Francis Lyte

“Abide with us: for it is toward evening; and the day is far spent.” — St. Luke xxiv. 29

Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me!

Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim; its glories pass away:
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou, who changest not, abide with me!

Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word,
But as Thou dwell’st with Thy disciples, Lord,
Familiar, condescending, patient, free,
Come, not to sojourn, but abide, with me!

Come not in terrors, as the King of kings;
But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings:
Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea.
Come, Friend of sinners, and thus bide with me!

Thou on my head in early youth didst smile,
And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile,
Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee.
On to the close, O Lord, abide with me!

I need Thy presence every passing hour.
What but Thy grace can foil the Tempter’s power?
Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me!

I fear no foe with Thee at hand to bless:
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death’s sting? where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes:
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies:
Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee.
In life and death, O Lord, abide with me!

Berryhead, September 1847.

From: Lyte, Henry Francis, Miscellaneous Poems, 1868, Rivingtons: London, Oxford, and Cambridge, pp. 297-299.
(https://archive.org/details/miscellaneouspo00lyte)

Date: 1847

By: Henry Francis Lyte (1793-1847)

The Holly and the Ivy (Roud Folk Song 514) by Traditional

The holly and the ivy,
Now are both well grown,
Of all the trees that are in the wood,
The holly bears the crown.

 The rising of the sun,
The running of the deer,
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the choir.

The holly bears a blossom,
As white as the lilly flower,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ’
To be our Sweet Saviour.

The rising, &c.

The holly bears a berry,
As red as any blood;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,
To do poor sinners good.

The rising, &c.

The holly bears a prickle,
As sharp as any thorn,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,
On Christmas day in the morn,

The rising, &c.

The holly bears a bark,
As bitter as any gall,
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ,
For to redeem us all.

The rising, &c.

The holly and the ivy,
Now are well grown,
Of all the trees that are in the wood,
The holly bears the crown.

The rising, &c.

From: https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Holly_%26_the_Ivy,_and_Twelve_Articles/The_Holly_%26_the_Ivy

Date: c1711

By: Traditional

It Came Upon the Midnight Clear by Edmund Hamilton Sears

It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth
To touch their harps of gold;
“Peace on the earth, good will to men
From heaven’s all-gracious King” —
The world in solemn stillness lay
To hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come
With peaceful wings unfurled,
And still their heavenly music floats
O’er all the weary world;
Above its sad and lowly plains
They bend on hovering wing,
And ever o’er its Babel-sounds
The blessed angels sing.

But with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The love-song which they bring; —
Oh hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And hear the angels sing!

And ye, beneath life’s crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow,
Look now! for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing; —
Oh, rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing!

For lo! the days are hastening on
By prophet bards foretold,
When with the ever circling years
Comes round the age of gold;
When Peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendors fling,
And the whole world give back the song
Which now the angels sing.

From: https://tspace.library.utoronto.ca/html/1807/4350/poem1834.html

Date: 1849

By: Edmund Hamilton Sears (1810-1876)

How Coventry was Made Free by Godina, Countesse of Chester by Thomas Deloney

To the Tune of Prince Arthur died at Ludlow.

Leofricus, that Noble Earle
Of Chester, as I reade,
Did for the City of Coventry,
Many a noble deed.
Great priviledges for the towne.
This Nobleman did get,
And of all things did make it so,
That they tole-free did sit:
Save onley that for horses still,
They did some custome pay,
Which was great charges to the towne,
Full long and many a day.
Wherefore his wife, Godina faire,
Did of the Earl request,
That therefore he would make it free,
As well as all the rest.
So when the Lady long had sued,
Her purpose to obtaine:
Her Noble Lord at length she tooke,
Within a pleasant vaine,
And unto him with smiling cheare,
She did forthwith proceed,
Entreating greatly that he would
Performe that goodly deed.
You move me much, faire Dame (quoth he)
Your suit I faine would shunne:
But what would you performe and do,
To have this matter done?
Why any thing, my Lord (quoth she)
You will with reason crave,
I will performe it with good will,
If I my wish may have.
If thou wilt grant one thing (said he)
Which I shall now require,
So soone as it is finished,
Thou shalt have thy desire.
Command what you thinke good, my Lord,
I will thereto agree:
On this condition that this Towne
For ever may be free.
If thou wilt thy cloaths strip off,
And here wilt lay them downe,
And at noone day on horsebacke ride
Starke naked thorow the Towne,
They shall be free for evermore:
If thou wilt not do so,
More liberty than now they have,
I never will bestow.
The lady at this strange demand,
Was much abasht in mind:
And yet for to fulfil this thing,
She never a whit repinde.
Wherefore to all the Officers
Of all the Towne she sent:
That they perceiving her good will,
Which for the weale was bent,
That on the day that she should ride,
All persons thorow the Towne,
Should keepe their houses and shut their doores,
And clap their windowes downe,
So that no creature, yong or old
Should in the street be scene:
Till she had ridden all about,
Throughout the City cleane.
And when the day of riding came,
No person did her see,
Saving her Lord: after which time,
The towne was ever free.

From: Deloney, Thomas and Mann, Francis Oscar (ed.), The Works of Thomas Deloney, 1912, Clarendon Press: Oxford, pp. 309-311.
(https://archive.org/details/worksofthomasdel04delouoft

Date: c1580

By: Thomas Deloney (c1543-1600)

Sweet Suffolk Owl by Thomas Vautor

Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight
With feathers, like a lady bright,
Thou sing’st alone, sitting by night,
Te whit, te whoo!

Thy note that forth so freely rolls,
With shrill command the mouse controls,
And sings a dirge for dying souls,
Te whit, te whoo!

From: http://www.bartleby.com/331/566.html

Date: 1619

By: Thomas Vautor (?1580-1619)

Fain Would I Change That Note by Tobias Hume

Fain would I change that note
To which fond Love hath charm’d me
Long, long to sing by rote,
Fancying that that harm’d me:
Yet when this thought doth come
‘Love is the perfect sum
Of all delight!’
I have no other choice
Either for pen or voice
To sing or write.

O Love! they wrong thee much
That say thy fruit is bitter,
When thy rich fruit is such
As nothing can be sweeter.
Fair house of joy and bliss,
Where truest pleasure is,
I do adore thee:
I know thee what thou art,
I serve thee with my heart,
And fall before thee.

From: http://www2.cpdl.org/wiki/index.php/Fain_would_I_change_that_note_(Tobias_Hume)

Date: 1605

By: Tobias Hume (c1579-1645)

Sister, Awake! Close Not Your Eyes by Thomas Bateson

Sister, awake! close not your eyes,
The day her light discloses;
And the bright morning doth arise
Out of her bed of roses.

See the clear sun, the world’s bright eye,
In at our window peeping;
Lo, how he blusheth to espy
Us idle wenches sleeping!

Therefore awake, make haste I say,
And let us without staying
All in our gowns of green so gay
Into the park a maying.

From: https://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poems/sister-awake-close-not-your-eyes

Date: 1604

By: Thomas Bateson (c1570-1630)

Cansoneta 7 by Marcabru

Before the season turns green,
I will sing and I have the right!
Rejoice about Love who wants:
me, I have neither song nor complaint.
To a man who acts all courteous,
I don’t wish worse disease,
for he soon dies of starvation and cold
who is in the clutches of Love.

I do not want, nor desire, Love,
so much it knows how to deceive and lie.
For those reason I want to tell you
I never could feel the joy of love.
I wish it so much ill and hate it so,
that the remembrance alone makes me sick.
I was foolish in serving Love
but we have come to part.

For Love used to be gay,
but I will never be so
as one deceived me and betrayed me.
This is why I give up and renounce love.
He is loaded by quite a senseless burden
he who is in Love’s thrall.
Lord god, he was born in an evil hour
who feeds on such madness!

For Love is full of deception:
it changes its mind for money,
and turns the most valiant into despicable people,
for the wicked will have it before them.
And don’t go womanizing
without money, and by toiling!
Love that becomes a commodity:
the Devil may take it!

I’ll tell you how it is with Love:
if you were worth as much as a marquis,
do not dare court
after becoming poor.
It doesn’t matter how much you’ve given and provided:
you will not be considered worth a quarter.
One won’t even give you a thank
after you’ve ran out of money.

And I say to the suitors
who want to dream of love
not to make their desire apparent.
And I say this in their interest
because he is rather miserable
who is too eager to love
for he loves too much
soon turns from bad to worse.

The song is over:
I say no more to Sir Perman;
some, who act as lords of Love
should rather be cheating.
A lover who has himself compared to Bazan,
for Love, acts like a fool.
And let him not cross himself,
who will be deceived by Love!

From: http://www.trobar.org/troubadours/marcabru/mcbr7.php

Date: c1140 (original in Occitan); 2006 (translation in English)

By: Marcabru (fl. 1130-1150)

Translated by: Leonardo Malcovati (19??- )