Six "Songs" for Singing

A widow bird sate mourning for her love
  Upon a wintry bough,
The frozen wind crept on above;
  The freezing stream below.

There was no leaf upon the forest bare,
  No flower upon the ground
And little motion in the air,
  Except the mill-wheel's sound.

When as the rye reach to the chin,
And chop-cherry, chop-cherry ripe within,
Strawberries swimming in the cream,
And schoolboys playing in the stream;
Then, O, then O then O, my true love said,
Till that time come again 
She could not live a maid!

Pious Selinda goes to prayers
If I but ask a favour,
And yet the tender fool's in tears
When she believes I'll leave her.
Would I were free from this restraint,
Or else had hope to win her;
Would she could make of me a saint,
Or I of her a sinner!

 How happy a thing were a wedding
 And a bedding,
 If a man might purchase a wife
 For a twelve month and a day;
 But to live with her all a man's life,
 For ever and for ay,
 Till she grow as grey as a cat,
 Good faith, Mr. Parson, I thank you for that.

Time stands still with gazing on her face,
Stand still and gaze, for minutes, hours and years to her give place.
All other things shall change but she remains the same,
Till heavens changed have their course and Time hath lost his name.
Cupid doth hover up and down, blinded with her fair eyes,
And Fortune captive at her feet contemned and conquered lies.

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