Old Father Bald Pate,
Ring the bells Aldgate.
Maids in white aprons,
Ring the bells at St. Catherine`s.
Oranges and Lemons,
Ring the bells at St. Clement`s.
When will you pay me?
Ring the bells at the Old Bailey.
When I am rich,
Ring the bells at Fleetditch.
When will that be?
Ring the bells of Stepney.
When I am old,
Ring the great bell at Paul`s.
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ALL under the leaves and the leaves of life
And one of them was Mary mild,Our Lord’s mother of Heaven.‘O what are you seeking, you seven fair maids,All under the leaves of life?Come tell, come tell, what seek youAll under the leaves of life?’‘We’re seeking for no leaves, Thomas,But for a friend of thine;We’re seeking for sweet Jesus Christ,To be our guide and thine.’‘Go…
ON a time the amorous Silvy
Kiss me this once and then God be with ye,My sweetest dear!Kiss me this once and then God be with ye,For now the morning draweth near.’With that, her fairest bosom showing,Op’ning her lips, rich perfumes blowing,She said, ‘Now kiss me and be going,My sweetest dear!Kiss me this once and then be going,For now the morning…
A MAID, I dare not tell her name;
Tempted a young man for to comeOne night for to embrace her.When at the door he made a stop, he made a stop,Then she lay still, and snoring cry’d,‘The latch will up, the latch will up.’This young man, hearing of her words,Pull’d up the latch and entered;But in the room unfortunatelyTo her mother’s bed he…
AS I was walking all alane
The tane unto the tither did say,‘Whar sall we gang and dine the day?’‘–In behint yon auld fail dykeI wot there lies a new-slain knight;And naebody kens that he lies thereBut his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.‘His hound is to the hunting gane,His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,His lady ‘s ta’en anither…
QUHEN Flora had o’erfret the firth
Quhen merle and mavis singis with mirthSweet melling in the shawis sheen;Quhen all luvaris rejoicit beneAnd most desirous of their prey,I heard a lusty luvar mene–‘I luve, but I dare nocht assay!’‘Strong are the pains I daily prove,But yet with patience I sustene,I am so fetterit with the luveOnly of my lady sheen,Quhilk for her…
WEEP you no more, sad fountains;
Look how the snowy mountainsHeaven’s sun doth gently waste!But my Sun’s heavenly eyesView not your weeping,That now lies sleepingSoftly, now softly liesSleeping.Sleep is a reconciling,A rest that peace begets;Doth not the sun rise smilingWhen fair at even he sets?Rest you then, rest, sad eyes!Melt not in weeping,While she lies sleepingSoftly, now softly liesSleeping.