Songs of a Savoyard - LightNovelsOnl.com
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[HE.] PRITHEE, pretty maiden - prithee, tell me true (Hey, but I'm doleful, willow, willow waly!) Have you e'er a lover a-dangling after you?
Hey, willow waly O!
I would fain discover If you have a lover?
Hey, willow waly O!
[SHE.] Gentle sir, my heart is frolicsome and free - (Hey, but he's doleful, willow, willow waly!) n.o.body I care for comes a-courting me - Hey, willow waly O!
n.o.body I care for Comes a-courting - therefore, Hey, willow waly O!
[HE.] Prithee, pretty maiden, will you marry me?
(Hey, but I'm hopeful, willow, willow waly!) I may say, at once, I'm a man of propertee - Hey, willow waly O!
Money, I despise it, But many people prize it, Hey, willow waly O!
[SHE.] Gentle sir, although to marry I design - (Hey, but he's hopeful, willow, willow waly!) As yet I do not know you, and so I must decline.
Hey, willow waly O!
To other maidens go you - As yet I do not know you, Hey, willow waly O!
Ballad: Life Is Lovely All The Year
When the buds are blossoming, Smiling welcome to the spring, Lovers choose a wedding day - Life is love in merry May!
Spring is green - Fal lal la!
Summer's rose - Fal lal la!
It is sad when Summer goes, Fal la!
Autumn's gold - Fal lal la!
Winter's grey - Fal lal la!
Winter still is far away - Fal la!
Leaves in Autumn fade and fall; Winter is the end of all.
Spring and summer teem with glee: Spring and summer, then, for me!
Fal la!
In the Spring-time seed is sown: In the Summer gra.s.s is mown: In the Autumn you may reap: Winter is the time for sleep.
Spring is hope - Fal lal la!
Summer's joy - Fal lal la!
Spring and Summer never cloy, Fal la!
Autumn, toil - Fal lal la!
Winter, rest - Fal lal la!
Winter, after all, is best - Fal la!
Spring and summer pleasure you, Autumn, ay, and winter, too - Every season has its cheer; Life is lovely all the year!
Fal la!
Ballad: The Usher's Charge
Now, Jurymen, hear my advice - All kinds of vulgar prejudice I pray you set aside: With stern judicial frame of mind - From bias free of every kind, This trial must be tried!
Oh, listen to the plaintiff's case: Observe the features of her face - The broken-hearted bride!
Condole with her distress of mind - From bias free of every kind, This trial must be tried!
And when amid the plaintiff's shrieks, The ruffianly defendant speaks - Upon the other side; What HE may say you need not mind - From bias free of every kind, This trial must be tried!
Ballad: The Great Oak Tree
There grew a little flower 'Neath a great oak tree: When the tempest 'gan to lower Little heeded she: No need had she to cower, For she dreaded not its power - She was happy in the bower Of her great oak tree!
Sing hey, Lackaday!
Let the tears fall free For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!
When she found that he was fickle, Was that great oak tree, She was in a pretty pickle, As she well might be - But his gallantries were mickle, For Death followed with his sickle, And her tears began to trickle For her great oak tree!
Sing hey, Lackaday!
Let the tears fall free For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!
Said she, "He loved me never, Did that great oak tree, But I'm neither rich nor clever, And so why should he?
But though fate our fortunes sever, To be constant I'll endeavour, Ay, for ever and for ever, To my great oak tree!"
Sing hey, Lackaday!
Let the tears fall free For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!
Ballad: King Goodheart
There lived a King, as I've been told In the wonder-working days of old, When hearts were twice as good as gold, And twenty times as mellow.
Good temper triumphed in his face, And in his heart he found a place For all the erring human race And every wretched fellow.
When he had Rhenish wine to drink It made him very sad to think That some, at junket or at jink, Must be content with toddy: He wished all men as rich as he (And he was rich as rich could be), So to the top of every tree Promoted everybody.
Amba.s.sadors cropped up like hay, Prime Ministers and such as they Grew like asparagus in May, And Dukes were three a penny: Lord Chancellors were cheap as sprats, And Bishops in their shovel hats Were plentiful as tabby cats - If possible, too many.
On every side Field-Marshals gleamed, Small beer were Lords-Lieutenants deemed, With Admirals the ocean teemed, All round his wide dominions; And Party Leaders you might meet In twos and threes in every street Maintaining, with no little heat, Their various opinions.
That King, although no one denies, His heart was of abnormal size, Yet he'd have acted otherwise If he had been acuter.
The end is easily foretold, When every blessed thing you hold Is made of silver, or of gold, You long for simple pewter.
When you have nothing else to wear But cloth of gold and satins rare, For cloth of gold you cease to care - Up goes the price of shoddy: In short, whoever you may be, To this conclusion you'll agree, When every one is somebody, Then no one's anybody!
Ballad: Sleep On!
