when Beauty bright
Oh, the sweet contentment
Oh where, and oh where, is your Highland laddie gone
O Jenny's a' weet, poor body
O listen, listen, ladies gay
O mistress mine, where are you roaming
O, my luve 's like a red red rose
O Nanny, wilt thou go with me
On either side the river lie
On Linden when the sun was low,
On that deep-retiring shore
On the banks of Allan Water
Orpheus with his lute made trees
O sing unto my roundelay
O swallow, swallow, flying south
Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered
Over hill, over dale
O waly, waly up the bank
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms
O whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad
O world! O life! O time!
O, young Lochinvar is come out of the West

Pack clouds, away, and welcome, day
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu
Piping down the valleys wild
Proud Maisie in the wood

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair

Red rows the Nith 'tween bank and brae
Rich and rare were the gems she wore
Rose cheek'd Laura, come

Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled
Shall I, wasting in despair
She dwelt among untrodden ways
She is a winsome wee thing
She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps
She stood breast high among the corn
She walks in beauty like the night
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more
Sing his praises, that doth keep
Some asked me where the rubies grew
Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules
Some years of late, in eighty-eight
So now is come our joyfullest part
So, we'll go no more a-roving
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king
Still to be neat, still to be drest
Sweet and low, sweet and low
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright
Sweet Emma Moreland of yonder town

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind
Tell me, where is fancy bred
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold
The boy stood on the burning deck
The breaking waves dashed high
The bride cam' out o' the byre
The deil cam' fiddlin' thro' the toun
The feathered songster chanticleer
The fountains mingle with the river
The glories of our blood and state
The harp that once through Tara's halls
The King sits in Dunfermline town
The laird o' Cockpen, he's proud an' he 's great
The lawns were dry in Euston park
The minstrel boy to the war is gone
There be none of Beauty's daughters
There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,
There come seven gypsies on a day
There is a garden in her face
There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
There was a youth, a well beloved youth
There was three kings into the East
There were three ladies play'd at the ba'
There were three sailors of Bristol city
The splendour falls on castle walls
The stars are with the voyager
The stately homes of England
The time I've lost in wooing
They grew in beauty side by side
Three fishers went sailing out into the west
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
'Tis the last rose of summer
Toll for the brave
Turn, gentle hermit of the dale
'Twas in the prime of summer time

Under the greenwood tree

Was this fair face the cause, quoth she
Wha 'll buy my caller herrin'
When all among the thundering drums
When all is done and said
When Britain first, at Heaven's command
When cats run home, and light is come
When daffodils begin to peer,
When daisies pied and violets blue,
When Hercules did use to spin
When icicles hang by the wall
When love with unconfined wings
When o'er the hill the Eastern star
When the British warrior queen
When the sheep are in the fauld, when the kye 's come hame
When this old cap was new
When we two parted
Where gang ye, thou silly auld carle
Where the bee sucks, there lurk I
While larks with little wing
Who is Sylvia? what is she
Why does your brand so drop with blood
Why do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears
Why so pale and wan, fond lover
With fingers weary and worn

Ye gentlemen of England
Ye little birds that sit and sing
Ye mariners of England
You are old, father William, the young man cried
You spotted snakes with double tongue

INDEX OF AUTHORS

ANONYMOUS

BARNARD, LADY ANNE BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER BLAKE, WILLIAM BLOOMFIELD, ROBERT BRETON, NICHOLAS BROWNING, ROBERT BURNS, ROBERT BYRON, LORD

CAMPBELL, THOMAS CAMPION, THOMAS CAREW, THOMAS CAREY, HENRY CHALKHILL, JOHN CHATTERTON, THOMAS CLOUGH, ARTHUR HUGH COCKBURN, MRS COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR COWPER, WILLIAM CUNNINGHAM, ALLAN

DALRYMPLE, SIR DAVID DIBDIN, CHARLES DRAYTON, MICHAEL DUFFERIN, LADY

EDWARDES, RICHARD

FLETCHER, JOHN

GARRICK, DAVID GAY, JOHN GOLDSMITH, OLIVER

HAMILTON, WILLIAM HEMANS, FELICIA HERBERT, GEORGE HERRICK, ROBERT HEYWOOD, THOMAS HOGG, JAMES, HOLCROFT, THOMAS HOOD, THOMAS HOUGHTON, LORD

JONSON, BEN

KEATS, JOHN KINGSLEY, REV. CHARLES

LOVELACE, RICHARD

MACAULAY, LORD MARLOWE, CHRISTOPHER MICKLE, WILLIAM JULIUS MOORE, THOMAS

NAIRNE, LADY NASH, THOMAS

PARKER, MARTIN PERCY, THOMAS PROCTOR, B.W.

ROGERS, SAMUEL ROSS, ALEXANDER

SCOTT, SIR WALTER SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE SHENSTONE, WILLIAM SHIRLEY, JAMES SIDNEY, SIR PHILIP SOUTHEY, ROBERT STILL, JOHN SUCKLING, SIR JOHN

TENNYSON, LORD THACKERAY, WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THOMPSON, JAMES

VAUX, LORD

WALLER, EDMUND WEBSTER, JOHN WITHER, GEORGE WOLFE, CHARLES WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM WYATT, SIR THOMAS

SONGS AND BALLADS

MY SWETE SWETING

AH, my swete swetyng!
My lytyle prety swetyng,
My swetyng will I love wherever I go;
She is so proper and pure,
Full stedfast, stabill and demure,
There is none such, ye may be sure,
As my swete swetyng.

In all this world, as thynketh me,
Is none so pleasant to my eye,
That I am glad soe ofte to see,
As my swete swetyng.

When I behold my swetyng swete,
Her face, her hands, her minion fete,
They seme to me there is none so swete,
As my swete swetyng.

Above all other prayse must I,
And love my pretty pygsnye,
For none I fynd so womanly
As my swete swetyng.

LORD VAUX

THINKING

WHEN all is done and said,
In the end thus shall you find,
He most of all doth bathe in bliss
That hath a quiet mind:
And, clear from worldly cares,
To deem can be content
The sweetest time in all his life
In thinking to be spent.

The body subject is
To fickle Fortune's power,
And to a million of mishaps
Is casual every hour:
And Death in time doth change
It to a clod of clay;
Whenas the mind, which is divine,
Runs never to decay.

Companion none is like
Unto the mind alone;
For many have been harmed by speech
Through thinking, few, or none.
Fear oftentimes