THE MERRY BELLS OF OXFORD.

From The Loyal Garland, or Poesie for Kings, 1624; reprinted by the Percy Society, 1850.

H the merry Christ-Church bells,

OH

One, two, three, four, five, six;

They troll so wondrous deep,

So woundy sweet,

And they chime so merrily, merrily.
Hark the first and second bell,

At every day by four and ten,

Cries, Come, come, come, come, come to prayers,
And the vergers troop before the deans:
Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, goes the little bell,
To call in every soul
But the devil a man
Will leave his can,
Till they hear the mighty toll.

LOVE IN THY YOUTH.

From Walter Porter's Madrigals and Airs, 1632.

OVE in thy youth, fair maid, be wise;

Lo

Old Time will make thee colder,
And though each morning new arise
Yet we each day grow older.
Thou as heaven art fair and young,
Thine eyes like twin stars shining:
But ere another day be sprung,
All these will be declining.

Then winter comes with all his fears

And all thy sweets shall borrow;
Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears,
And I too late shall sorrow.

PARTING.

From Egerton MS., 2013; printed in vol. iii. of Arber's Garner.

WE must not part, as others do,

With sighs and tears, as we were two.

Though with these outward forms we part,
We keep each other in our heart.
What search hath found a being where

I am not, if that thou be there?

True love hath wings, and can as soon
Survey the world, as sun and moon;
And everywhere our triumphs keep
Over absence, which makes others weep:
By which alone a power is given
To live on earth, as they in heaven.

HEY NONNY NO!

From Christ Church MS., i. 5. 49.

HEY nonny no!

Men are fools that wish to die!
Is 't not fine to dance and sing
When the bells of death do ring?
Is't not fine to swim in wine,

And turn upon the toe

And sing Hey nonny no,

When the winds blow and the seas flow?

Hey nonny no!

THE GREAT ADVENTURER.

Quoted in Brome's Sparagus Garden, acted 1635.

OVER

the mountains

And over the waves,

Under the fountains

And under the graves;

Under floods that are deepest,

Which Neptune obey;

Over rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way.

Where there is no place
For the glow-worm to lie;
Where there is no space
For receipt of a fly;

Where the midge dares not venture
Lest herself fast she lay;

If love come, he will enter,
And soon find out his way.

You may esteem him
A child for his might;

Or you may deem him

A coward from his flight;

But if she whom love doth honour

Be concealed from the day,

Set a thousand guards upon her,
Love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him
By having him confined;
And some do suppose him,
Poor thing, to be blind;

From Christ Church MS. K., 3. 43-5. (Music by Thomas Ford.)

YET if his majesty our sovereign lord

Should of his own accord

Friendly himself invite,

And say, "I'll be your guest to-morrow night", How should we stir ourselves, call and command "Let no man idle stand.

All hands to work!

Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall;

See they be fitted all;

Let there be room to eat,

And order taken that there want no meat.

See every sconce and candlestick made bright,
That without tapers they may give a light.
Look to the presence: are the carpets spread,
The dais o'er the head,

The cushions in the chairs,

And all the candles lighted on the stairs?
Perfume the chambers, and in any case

Let each man give attendance in his place!"

Thus if the king were coming would we do,
And 't were good reason too;

For 't is a duteous thing

To show all honour to an earthly king,
And after all our travail and our cost,

So he be pleased, to think no labour lost.
But at the coming of the King of Heaven
All's set at six and seven:

We wallow in our sin,

Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn.
We entertain Him always like a stranger,
And as at first still lodge Him in the manger.

WALY, WALY.

Printed in Thomson's Orpheus Caledonius, 1725. The original version of the song probably dates from circa 1675, where it is brought into the ballad of Jamie Douglas. It is possible, however, that it dates from the sixteenth century. See Prof. Child's English and Scottish Popular Ballads, part vii. (Boston, 1890).

WALY, waly, up the bank,

O waly, waly, doun the brae,
And waly, waly, yon burn-side,
Where I and my love wont to gae!
I lean'd my back unto an aik,
I thocht it was a trustie tree;

But first it bow'd and syne it brak',—
Sae my true love did lichtlie me.

O waly, waly, but love be bonnie
A little time while it is new!
But when 't is auld it waxeth cauld,
And fades awa' like morning dew
O wherefore should I busk my heid,
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?