Songs We Sing, page 2
Songs in Latin
All
Among The Barley
Now
is come September, the Hunter’s moon begun
And through the wheat and stubble we turn the green to dun
The leaves of pale and yellow are kindlin’
into red
And
the ripe and bearded barley is hangin’ down his head.
Chorus:
All among the barley
Who could not be blithe?
When the ripe and bearded barley
Is smilin’ on the scythe.
The Spring is like a young man who does
not know his mind.
The
Summer she’s a tyrant, the most ungracious kind.
The Autumn is an old friend who loves where all she can,
For she brings the bearded barley to gladden the hearts
on man.
The wheat is like a rich
man, he’s sleek and well to do.
The oats are like a pack of girls, laughing and dancing, too.
The rye is like a miser, he’s sulky, lean and
small.
But
the ripe and bearded barley is monarch of them all.
The babe it knows no grief nor care, safe in its mothers breast.
The grown man, he must strive
and strain, it's seldom he can rest.
The grey beard sits and takes his ease, where care no more holds sway.
With
pipe, and dog, and clear brown ale, he dreams the time away.
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All Around My Hat
Chorus:
It’s all around my hat I will
wear the green willow,
It’s all around my hat, for a twelve month and a
day.
And
if anyone should ask me the reason why I’m wearin’
it:
I’m
wearin’ it for my true love who is far, far away.
Fare thee well cold winter, fare
thee well cold frost.
Nothing have I gained and my own true love I’ve lost.
I will sing and I’ll be merry, on occasion I do see
He’s a false, deluding young man.
Let him go, fare well he.
The other night he bought me a fine golden ring
He thought to deprive me of a far greater thing
But I am being careful, a s lovers ought
to be.
He’s
a false, deluding young man. Let him go, fare well he.
Take a half a pound of reason, a quarter pound of sense,
A small sprig of time, and as much of prudence.
You put it all together,
and you will plainly see,
He’s a false, deluding young man. Let him go, fare well he.
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The
Prickle-Holly Bush
“Oh,
slack your horse,” cries George,
“Come slack it for a while,
For I think I see my father there
Coming
over yonder style.”
“Did you bring gold?
Did you bring silver to
set me free?
For to save my body from the cold gaol wall
And my neck from the high gallows tree.”
“I've no gold,
And I've no silver to set you free,
But I have come to see thee hang,
Hang
upon the high gallows tree.”
Oh, the prickle-holly bush, it pricks, it pricks,
It
pricks my heart full sore
And if e’er I get out of the prickle-holly bush
I'll never go there no more.
[Repeat for his mother and sister; then his sweetheart, who responds:]
“I've
brought gold,
And I've brought silver to set you free,
For I can’t bear to see thee hang,
Hang upon
the high gallows tree.”
Oh, the prickle-holly bush, it pricks, it pricks,
Oh,
it pricks my heart full sore
And now that I'm out of the prickle-holly bush
I'll never go there no more.
