Six Songs , opus 18

Hame, hame, hame, O hame fain wad I be --
O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree!
When the flower is i' the bud and the leaf is on the tree,
   The larks shall sing me hame in my ain countree;
Hame, hame, hame, O hame fain wad I be --
   O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree!

The green leaf o' loyaltie 's beginning for to fa',
   The bonnie White Rose it is withering an' a';
But I'll water 't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie,
   An' green it will graw in my ain countree.

O, there 's nocht now frae ruin my country can save,
   But the keys o' kind heaven, to open the grave;
That a' the noble martyrs wha died for loyaltie
   May rise again an' fight for their ain countree.

The great now are gane, a' wha ventured to save,
   The new grass is springing on the tap o' their grave;
But the sun through the mirk blinks blythe in my e'e,
   I'll shine on ye yet in your ain countree.

Hame, hame, hame, O hame fain wad I be --
O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree!

You gentle Nymphs, that on these meadows play
And oft relate the loues of Shepherds young:
Come, sit you downe; for, if you please to stay,
Now may you heare an vncouth Passion sung.
A Lad there is, and I am that poore Groome;
That faln in loue, & cannot tell with whom.

Oh doe not smile at sorrow as a Iest;
With others cares good Natures mooued be:
And, I should weepe, if you had my vnrest.
Then, at my griefe, how, can you merry be?
Ah, where is tender pitie now become?
I am in loue, and cannot tell with whom.

I, that haue oft the rarest features viewd,
And Beautie in her best perfection seene:
I, that haue laught at them that Loue pursude
And euer free, from such affections beene.
Lo now at last, so cruell is my doome;
I am in loue, and cannot tell with whom.

My heart is full nigh bursting with desire,
Yet cannot find from whence these longings flow:
My brest doth burne, but she that lights the fire,
I neuer saw, nor can I come to know.
So great a blisse my fortune keepes my from.
That though I dearly loue; I know not whō.

Ere I had twice foure Springs, renewed seene,
The force of Beautie I began to proue;
And, ere I nine yeares old, had fully beene,
It taught me how to frame a Song of Loue.
And, little thought I, this day should haue come,
Before that I to loue, had found out whom.

For, on my Chinn, the mossy downe you see,
And, in my vaines, well-heated blood doth glow:
Of Summers I haue seene twice three times three,
And, fast, my youthfull time away doth goe.
That much I feare, I aged shall become:
And still complaine; I loue I know not whom.

Oh! why had I, a heart bestow'd on me,
To cherish deare affections, so enclind?
Since, I am so vnhappy borne to be
No Obiect, for so true a Loue to find.
When I am dead, it will be mist of some:
Yet, now I liue; I loue, I know not whom.

I, to a thousand beautious Nymphs am knowne;
A hundred Ladies fauours doe I weare:
I, with as many, halfe in loue am growne;
Yet none of them (I find) can be my Deare.
Me thinks, I haue a Mistresse, yet to come;
Which makes me sing; I loue I know not whom

There liues no Swaine doth stronger passion proue,
For her, whom most he couets to possesse;
Then doth my heart, that being full of Loue,
Knowes not to whom, it may the same professe.
For, he that is despisd, hath sorrow, some:
But he hath more; that loues, and knowes not whom

Knew I my Loue, as many others doe,
To some one obiect might my thoughts be bent:
So, they diuided should not wandring goe,
Vntill the Soules vnited force be spent.
As his, that seekes, and neuer finds a Home:
Such is my rest; that loue, & know not whom.

Those, whom the frownes of iealous friends diuide,
May liue to meet, and descant on their woe:
And he, hath gaind a Lady for his Bride,
That durst not woe her Mayd, a while agoe.
But oh! what end vnto my Hopes can come?
That am in loue, and cannot tel with whom.

Poore Collin, grieues that he was late disdaind:
And Cloris, doth for Willy's absence pine.
Sad Thirsis, weeps, for his sicke Phaebe paind.
But, all their sorrowes cannot equall mine.
A greater care alas, on me is come:
I am in loue, and cannot tell with whom.

Narcissus-like, did I affect my shade;
Some shaddow yet, I had, to dote vpon.
Or, did I loue, some Image of the dead,
Whose substance had not breathed long agone;
I might dispaire, and so an end would come;
But, oh, I loue! and cannot tell you whom.

Once in a Dreame, me thought, my Loue I view'd;
But, neuer waking, could her face behold:
And doubtles, that Resemblance was but shew'd,
That more, my tyred heart torment it should.
For, since that time, more grieu'd I am become;
And more in loue; I cannot tell with whom.

When on my bed at night, to rest I lye,
My watchfull eyes, with teares bedew my cheeke:
And then, oh would it once were day, I crie;
Yet when it comes, I am as far to seeke.
For, who can tell, though all the earth he rome;
Or when, or where, to find hee knowes not whom?

Oh! if she be among the beautious traines,
Of all you Nymphs, that haunt the siluer •ills;
Or, if you know her, Ladies of the Plaines,
Or you, that haue your Bowers, on the Hills.
Tell if you can, who will my loue become:
Or I shal die, and neuer know for whom.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
Every nighte and alle,
Fire and [fleete]1 and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thy saule.

When thou from hence away [art]2 past,
Every nighte and alle,
To Whinnymuir thou com'st at last;
And Christe receive thy saule.

If ever thou gav'st hos'n and shoon,
Every nighte and alle,
Sit thee down and put them on;
And Christe receive thy saule.

If hos'n and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane,
Every nighte and alle,
The winnies shall prick thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thy saule.

From Whinnymuir when thou may'st pass,
Every nighte and alle,
To Brig o' Dread thou com'st at last;
And Christe receive thy saule.

From Brig o' Dread when thou may'st pass,
Every nighte and alle,
To Purgatory fire thou com'st at last;
And Christe receive thy saule.

If ever thou gav'st meat or drink,
Every nighte and alle,
The fire shall never make thee shrink;
And Christe receive thy saule.

If meat or drink thou ne'er gav'st nane,
Every nighte and alle,
The fire [will burn]3 thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thy saule.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
Every nighte and alle,
Fire and [fleete]1 and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thy saule.

I love the [jocund]1 dance, 
The softly breathing song, 
Where innocent eyes do glance,
[And where]2 lisps the maiden's tongue.  

I love the laughing vale, 
I love the echoing [hills]3, 
Where mirth does never fail, 
And the jolly swain laughs his fill. 

I love the pleasant cot,
I love the innocent bow'r,
Where white and brown is our lot,
Or fruit in the midday hour. 

I love the oaken seat,
Beneath the oaken tree,
Where all [the old]4 villagers meet,
And laugh [our]5 sports to see. 

I love our neighbors all,
But Kitty, I [better love thee]6;
And love them [I ever]7  shall;
But thou art all to me.

Is there, for honest poverty,
         That hings his head, an' a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
         We dare be poor for a' that!
                For a' that, an' a' that,
                        Our toils obscure, an' a' that;
                The rank is but the guinea's stamp;
                        The man's the gowd for a' that,

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
         Wear hoddin-gray, an' a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
         A man's a man for a' that.
                For a' that, an' a' that,
                        Their tinsel show an' a' that;
                The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
                        Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord
         Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
         He's but a coof for a' that:
                For a' that, an' a' that,
                        His riband, star, an' a' that,
                The man o' independent mind,
                        He looks and laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
         A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
         Guid faith he mauna fa' that!
                For a' that, an' a' that,
                        Their dignities, an' a' that,
                The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
                        Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
         As come it will for a' that,
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
         May bear the gree, an' a' that.
                For a' that, an' a' that,
                        It's coming yet, for a' that,
                That man to man, the warld o'er,
                        Shall brothers be for a' that.

GUIDERIUS
Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
[As chimney-sweepers,]1 come to dust.

ARVIRAGUS
Fear no more the frown o' the great;
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

GUIDERIUS
Fear no more the lightning flash,

ARVIRAGUS
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

GUIDERIUS
Fear not slander, censure rash;

ARVIRAGUS
Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:

GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS
[All]2 lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

GUIDERIUS
No exorciser harm thee!

ARVIRAGUS
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

GUIDERIUS
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

ARVIRAGUS
Nothing ill come near thee!

GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!