Songs and Psalms

Heigh ho! chill go to plough no more!
Sit down and take thy rest;
Of golden groats I have full store
To flaunt it with the best.
But I love and I love, and who thinks you?
The finest lass that e’er you knew,
Which makes me sing when I should cry
Heigh ho! for love I die.

Were I a king, I might command content;
Were I obscure, unknown should be my cares:
And were I dead, no thoughts should me torment,
Nor words, nor wrongs, nor loves, nor hopes, nor fears.
A doubtful choice, of three things one to crave;
A kingdom, or a cottage, or a grave.

In midst of woods or pleasant grove,
  Where all sweet birds do sing,
Methought I heard so rare a sound
  Which made the heavens to ring.

The charm was good, the noise full sweet,
  Each bird did play his part;
And I admired to hear the same,
  Joy sprang into my heart.

The black bird made the sweetest sound,
  Whose tunes did far excel;
Full pleasantly, and most profound
  Was all things placed well.

Thy pretty tunes, mine own sweet bird,
  Done with so good a grace,
Extolls thy name, prefers the same
  Abroad in every place.

Thy music grave, bedeckèd well
  With sundry points of skill,
Bewrays thy knowledge excellent
  Ingrafted in thy will.

My tongue shall speak, my pen shall write
  In praise of thee to tell;
The sweetest bird that ever was,
  In friendly sort farewell.

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain;
My life is fled, and yet I saw no sun;
And now I live, and now my life is done.

The Spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung!
The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves be green!
My youth is gone, and yet I am but young!
I saw the World and yet I was not seen!
My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun!
And now I live, and now my life is done.

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