Seasons

We shepherds are the cleverest men that e’er trod England’s ground,
We’ll go into some alehouse and freely spend a pound.
We’ll call for liquor merrily and pay before we go,
For there’s no ale on the downs, where stormy winds do blow.

Blow, blow, where stormy winds do blow.

A man that is a shepherd must have a valiant heart;
He must not be faint-hearted but boldly play his part.
He must not be faint-hearted, in rain, or sleet, or snow,
When he works all on the downs, where stormy winds do blow.

Blow, blow, where stormy winds do blow.

As I walked o’er the snowy downs, the frost did cut my feet;
My ewes and lambs hung out their tongues and round me they did bleat.
So I took up my courage bold and o’er the hills did go
And I drove them all to the fold, where stormy winds do blow.

Blow, blow, where stormy winds do blow.

And now that we have folded them and they are safe again,
Into some jovial alehouse we’ll boldly enter in.
For drinking of strong ale, me boys, that’s what we love to do,
While our sheep they lie asleep, where stormy winds do blow.

Blow, blow, where stormy winds do blow.

So come all ye brisk young shepherds, wherever you do march,
On a cold and a rimy morning, did you ever feel the smart?
Did you ever feel the smart, me boys, in hail or frost or snow,
As you walked all on the downs, where stormy winds do blow?

Blow, blow, where stormy winds do blow.

The lark in the morning she rises from her nest
She flies into the air with the dew all on her breast,
And with the pretty ploughboy she’ll whistle and she’ll sing
And at night she returns to her own nest again.

Oh, Roger the ploughboy he is a dashing blade
He goes whistling and singing over yonder leafy shade
He met with dark haired Susan, she’s handsome I declare
She is far more enticing then the birds all in the air

One evening coming home from the rakes of the town
The meadows been all green and the grass had been cut down,
As I should chance to tumble all in the new-mown hay
Oh, it’s kiss me now or never love, this bonnie lass did say.

When twenty long weeks they were over and were past
Her mammy chanced to notice how she thickened round the waist,
It was the handsome ploughboy, the maiden she did say
For he caused for to tumble all in the new-mown hay

Here’s a health to y’all ploughboys wherever you may be
That likes to have a bonnie lass a sitting on his knee
With a jug of good strong porter you’ll whistle and you’ll sing,
For a ploughboy is as happy as a prince or a king.

On Christmas night all Christians sing
To hear the news the angels bring.   
On Christmas night all Christians sing
To hear the news the angels bring.
News of great joy, news of great mirth,   
News of our merciful King’s birth.    

Then why should men on earth be so sad 
Since our Redeemer made us glad
Then why should men on earth be so sad 
Since our Redeemer made us glad
When from our sin He set us free 
All for to gain our liberty? 

When sin departs before His grace
Then life and health come in its place.
When sin departs before His grace
Then life and health come in its place.
Angels and men with joy may sing
All for to see the newborn King.

All out of darkness we have light
Which made the angels sing this night.
All out of darkness we have light
Which made the angels sing this night.
“Glory to God and peace to men
Now and forever more, Amen!”

Rosebuds

Here’s the rosebuds in June and the violets are blooming
The small birds they warble on every green bough
Here’s the pink and the lily and the daffadown dilly
To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June

’Tis all before the plough the fat oxen go slow
And the lads and the bonnie lasses to the sheep-shearing go

Our shepherds rejoice in their fine heavy fleeces
And the frisky young lambs which their flocks do increase
Each lad takes his lass all on the green grass
To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June …

Our fine milking pails they are fouled with good ale
At the table there’s plenty of cheer to be found
We’ll whistle and sing and dance in a ring
To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June …

Now sheep-shearing’s over and the harvest draws nigh
We’ll prepare for the fields, our strength for to try
We’ll reap and we’ll mow, we’ll plough and we’ll sow
To adorn and perfume those sweet meadows in June …

Chorus
Oh I likes to rise when the sun she rises, Early in the morning And I likes to hear them small birds singing, Merrily upon their layland And hurrah for the life of a country boy, And to ramble in the new mown hay.

In Spring we sow, at the Harvest mow And that is how the seasons round they go But of all the times if choose I may I’d go rambling in the new mown hay.

For I likes to rise when the sun she rises, … In Summer when the sun is hot We sing and we dance and we drink a lot We spend all night in sport and play And go rambling in the new mown hay.

 

For I likes to rise when the sun she rises, …

In Autumn when the oak trees turn We gather all the wood that’s fit to burn We cut and stash and stow away And go rambling in the new mown hay.

For I likes to rise when the sun she rises, …

In Winter when the sky is grey We hedge and we ditch our time away, But in Summer when the sun shines gay We go rambling in the new mown hay.

For I likes to rise when the sun she rises, …

The trees all are bare not a leaf to be seen
And the meadows their beauty have lost.
Now winter has come and ’tis cold for man and beast,
And the streams they are,
And the streams they are all fast bound down with frost.

‘Twas down in the farmyard where the oxen feed on straw,
They send forth their breath like the steam.
Sweet Betsy the milkmaid now quickly she must go,
For flakes of ice she finds,
For flakes of ice she finds a-floating on her cream.

‘Tis now all the small birds to the barn-door fly for food
And gently they rest on the spray.
A-down the plantation the hares do search for food,
And lift their footsteps sure,
Lift their footsteps sure for fear they do betray.

Now Christmas is come and our song is almost done
For we soon shall have the turn of the year.
So fill up your glasses and let your health go round,
For we wish you all,
For we wish you all a joyful New Year.

It’s fifty long spring times since she was a bride,
But still you may see her at each Whitsuntide
In a dress of white linen with ribbons of green,
As green as her memories of loving. 

The feet that were nimble tread carefully now,
As gentle a measure as age will allow,
Through groves of white blossoms, and fields of green corn,
Where once she was pledged to her true-love. 

The fields they stand empty, the hedges grow free,
No young men to turn them or pastures go seed,
They are gone where the forests of oak trees,
Before Have gone to be wasted in battle.

Down from the green farmlands and from their loved ones
Marched husbands and brothers and fathers and sons.
There’s a fine roll of honour where the Maypole once stood,
And the ladies go dancing at Whitsun.

There’s a straight row of houses in these latter days
All covering the downs where the sheep used to graze.
There’s a field of red poppies and a wreath from the Queen)
But the ladies remember at Whitsun,
And the ladies go dancing at Whitsun.

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