The moon is full, and so am I ; The night is late, the ale was good ; And I must go two miles and more Along a country road. Now what is this that's drawing near ? It seems a man, and tall ; But where the face should show its white I see no white at all. Where is his face : or do I see The back part of his head, And, with his face turned round about, He walks this way ? I said. He's close at hand, but where's the face ? What devil is this I see ? I'm glad my body's warm with ale, There's trouble here for me. I clutch my staff, I make a halt, "His blood or mine," said I. "Good-night," the black man said to me, As he went passing by.
Four Bibulous Songs
Song Cycle by William (Southcombe) Lloyd Webber (1914 - 1982)
1. A strange meeting  [sung text not yet checked]
- by William Henry Davies (1871 - 1940), "A strange meeting", appears in Forty New Poems, first published 1918 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
2. Beggar's song  [sung text not yet checked]
Good people keep their holy day, They rest from labour on a Sunday; But we keep holy every day, And rest from Monday until Monday. And yet the noblest work on earth Is done when beggars do their part: They work, dear ladies, on the soft And tender feelings in your heart.
- by William Henry Davies (1871 - 1940), "Beggar's song", appears in True Travellers, first published 1923 [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
See other settings of this text.Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
3. You interfering ladies, you  [sung text not yet checked]
You interfering ladies, you That prove your minds enjoy less rest Than those poor mortals you advise
- by William Henry Davies (1871 - 1940), "You interfering ladies", appears in The Song of Life and Other Poems, first published 1920 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
4. They're taxing ale again  [sung text not yet checked]
Ale's no false liar; though his mind Has thoughts that are not clear, His honest heart speaks boldly out, Without reserve or fear. Though shaky as that bird the bat, In its first flight at night, Yet still old Ale will stand his ground For either wrong or right. Though Ale is poor, he's no man's slave, He'll neither fawn nor lick; He'd clap proud monarchs on the back, And call them Ned or Dick. They're taxing Ale again, I hear, A penny more the can : They're taxing poor old Ale again, The only honest man.
- by William Henry Davies (1871 - 1940), "They're taxing ale again", appears in Forty New Poems, first published 1918 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]