Old Ballads Part 8

Then the lads and the la.s.ses begin to tottle, But what would they do without this bottle?

So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell That first found out the leather bottel.

There's never a lord, an earl, or knight, But in this bottle doth take delight; For when he's hunting of the deer He oft doth wish for a bottle of beer.

Likewise the man that works in the wood, A bottle of beer will oft do him good.

So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell That first found out the leather bottel.

And when the bottle at last grows old, And will good liquor no longer hold, Out of the side you may take a clout, To mend your shoes when they're worn out; Or take and hang it up on a pin, 'Twill serve to put hinges and old things in.

So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell That first found out the leather bottel.

WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.

Woodman, spare that tree, Touch not a single bough-- In youth it shelter'd me, And I'll protect it now.

Twas my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot.

There, woodman, let it stand, Thy axe shall harm it not.

That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown Are spread o'er land and sea, Say, wouldst thou hack it down?

Woodman, forbear thy stroke, Cut not its earth-bound ties-- Oh, spare that aged oak, Now, towering to the skies.

Oft, when a careless child, Beneath its shade I heard The wood-notes sweet and wild, Of many a forest bird.

By mother kiss'd me here, My father press'd my hand, I ask thee, with a tear, Oh, let that old oak stand.

My heart-strings round thee cling, Close at thy bark, old friend-- Here shall the wild bird sing, And still thy branches bend.

Old tree, the storm still brave, And, woodman, leave the spot-- While I've a hand to save Thy axe shall harm it not.

_General G.P. Morris._

THE TOKEN

The breeze was fresh, the s.h.i.+p in stays, Each breaker hush'd, the sh.o.r.e a haze.

When Jack no more on duty call'd, His true love's tokens overhaul'd; The broken gold, the braided hair, The tender motto, writ so fair, Upon his 'bacco-box he views, Nancy the poet, love the muse.

"If you loves I, as I loves you, No pair so happy as we two."

The storm, that like a shapeless wreck, Had strew'd with rigging all the deck, That tars for sharks had giv'n a feast, And left the s.h.i.+p a hulk--had ceas'd: When Jack, as with his messmates dear, He shared the grog their hearts to cheer, Took from his 'bacco-box a quid, And spell'd for comfort on the lid "If you loves I, as I loves you, No pair so happy as we two."

The voyage,--that had been long and hard, But that had yielded full reward, And brought each sailor to his friend Happy and rich--was at an end: When Jack, his toils and perils o'er, Beheld his Nancy on the sh.o.r.e: He then the 'bacco-box display'd, And cried, and seized the yielding maid, "If you loves I, as I loves you, No pair so happy as we two."

_C. Dibdin._

O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST.

O wert thou in the cauld blast, On yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt, I'd shelter thee.

Or did misfortune's bitter storms Around thee blaw, Thy bield should be my bosom, To share it a'.

Or were I in the wildest waste, She bleak and bare, The desert were a paradise, If thou wert there, Or were I monarch o' the globe, Wi' thee to reign, The brightest jewel in my crown, Wad be my queen.

_Burns._

THE Pa.s.sIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.

Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, and hills and fields, The woods or steepy mountains yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses, And a thousand fragrant posies; A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroider'd o'er with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy-buds, With coral clasps and amber studs, And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May morning, If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my love.

_Christopher Marlowe._

LOVELY NAN.

Sweet is the s.h.i.+p, that, under sail Spreads her white bosom to the gale; Sweet, oh! sweet's the flowing can; Sweet to poise the lab'ring oar That tugs us to our native sh.o.r.e, When the boatswain pipes the barge to man; Sweet sailing with a fav'ring breeze; But oh! much sweeter than all these, Is Jack's delight, his lovely Nan.

The needle faithful to the north, To show of constancy the worth, A curious lesson teaches man; The needle time may rust, a squall capsize the binnacle and all, Let seamans.h.i.+p do all it can; My love in worth shall higher rise!

Nor time shall rust, nor squalls capsize, My faith and truth to lovely Nan.

I love my duty, love my friend, Love truth and merit to defend, To moan their loss who hazard ran; I love to take an honest part.

Love beauty with a spotless heart, By manners love to show the man, To sail through life by honour's breeze; 'Twas all along of loving these First made me doat on lovely Nan.

_C. Dibdin._

THE La.s.s OF RICHMOND HILL.

On Richmond Hill there lives a la.s.s More bright than May-day morn, Whose charms all other maids surpa.s.s-- A rose without a thorn.