Yarmouth Fair

Peter WARLOCK (1894-1930)
Text: Bruce Blunt

As I rode down to Yarmouth fair
The birds they sang “Good day, good day,”
And the birds they sang “Good day!”

O, I spied a maid with golden hair
A-walking along my way -
A tidy little maid so trim and fair,
And the birds they sang “Good day, good day,”
And the birds they sang “Good day!”
I said: “My dear, will you ride with me?”
And the birds they sang, “Go on, go on!”
And the birds they sang “Go on!”

She didn’t say “yes” and she didn’t say “no,”
And the birds they sang “Heigh ho, heigh ho!”
And the birds they sang “Heigh ho!”
I lifted her right on to my mare,
O light as a feather was she,
I’d never set eyes on a girl so fair,
So I kiss’d her bravely one, two, three,
O I kiss’d her one, two, three.

Then on we rode to Yarmouth fair
Past field and green hedge-row,
And in our hearts no fret nor care,
And the birds they sang “Hullo, hullo!”
And the birds they sang “Hullo!”
At the fair the fun was fast and free,
And the birds they sang “Hurray, hurray!”
And the birds they sang “Hurray!”

The band struck up a lively air
On fiddle and fife and drum.
The maid and me we made a pair,
And we danced to kingdom come,
Ho-ho! And we danced to kingdom come.
The lads and lasses cheer’d us on,
My bonny maid and me, we danced till stars were in the sky,
And the birds they sang “Goodbye, godbye!”
And the birds they sang “Goodbye!”

November 17th, 2005   |  Permalink  |  Filed under: Warlock, Peter

O my deir hert, young Jesus sweit

Peter WARLOCK (1894-1930)
Text: Bruce Blunt

O my deir hert, young Jesus sweit,
Prepare thy creddil in my spreit,
And I sall rock thee in my hert
And never mair from thee depart.

But I sall praise thee evermoir
With sangis sweit unto thy gloir;
The knees of my heart sall I bow,
And sing that richt Balulalow!

November 17th, 2005   |  Permalink  |  Filed under: Warlock, Peter

Sleep

Peter WARLOCK (1894-1930)
Text: John Fletcher

Come, sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving
Lock me in delight awhile;
Let some pleasing dreams beguile
All my fancies, that from thence
There may steal an influence,
All my powers of care bereaving.

Tho’ but a shadow, but a sliding,
Let me know some little joy.
We, that suffer long annoy,
Are contented with a thought
Thro’ an idle fancy wrought:
O let my joys have some abiding.

November 17th, 2005   |  Permalink  |  Filed under: Warlock, Peter

Thomas Hampson
generic cat