Produced by Lewis Jones Crosland, T.W.H. [ed.] (1903) "English Songs and Ballads" (The World's Classics Series) (Produced by Lewis Jones) ENGLISH SONGS AND BALLADS COMPILED BY T W. H. CROSLAND LONDON GRANT RICHARDS 48 LEICESTER SQUARE 1903 Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE First Impression April 1902 Second Impression April l903 NOTE ENGLISH SONGS AND BALLADS' must not be regarded as 'a choice,' but simply as a bringing together of poetical pieces which are, presumably, well known to the average person,--that is to say, the compiler has endeavoured to illustrate the general taste rather than his own preference. INDEX OF FIRST LINES (Transcriber's note: No author is cited for the first song in the collection, "My Swete Sweting." Page references in the "Index of First Lines" and in the "Index of Authors" have been expunged since they do not apply to this electronic version; please use electronic searches to locate poems.) About the sweet bag of a bee A chieftain to the Highlands bound Ae fond kiss, and then we sever Agincourt, Agincourt Ah, my swete swetyng Alas! my love, you do me wrong Allen-a-Dale has no faggot for burning All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd All ye woods, and trees, and bowers And did you not hear of a jolly young Waterman An old song made by an aged old pate A parrot from the Spanish main Arm, arm, arm, arm, the scouts are all come in A simple child As I came thro' Sandgate Ask me no more where Jove bestows Ask me no more, the moon may draw the sea A spirit haunts the year's last hours As thro' the land at eve we went A sweet disorder in the dress Attend all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise A weary lot is thine, fair maid A Well there is in the west country A wet sheet and a flowing sea Beauty clear and fair Be it right or wrong, these men among Believe me, if all those endearing young charms Bird of the wilderness Blame not my Lute! for he must sound Blow, blow, thou winter wind Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear Break, break, break Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride But are ye sure the news is true Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain Come all ye jolly shepherds Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me Come, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer Come follow, follow me Come into the garden, Maud Come live with me and be my love Come not, when I am dead Come, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving Dear is my little native vale Doubt thou the stars are fire Drink to me only with thine eyes Duncan Gray came here to woo