QUILTER: Folk Song Arrangements • Complete Part-Songs for Women's
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QUILTER: Folk Song Arrangements • Complete Part-Songs for Women’s Voices 8.557495 The Arnold Book of Old Songs – English Songs Come love be all my joy. [1] Drink to me only Thou alone art my delight. Text: Ben Jonson (1573–1637) Come love be my heart of gold And who but my Lady Greensleeves. Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Oh who is sweet as she is sweet Or leave a kiss within the cup Above all things that mortals prize: And I’ll not ask for wine. I’d lay a kingdom at her feet The thirst that from the soul doth rise Nor seek a richer merchandise. Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove’s nectar sup, Come love be all my joy I would not change for thine. Thou alone art my delight, Come love be my heart of gold, I sent thee late a rosy wreath, And who but my Lady Greensleeves. Not so much honouring thee, As giving it a hope that there Oh who is rare as she is rare It could not withered be. And who is such a charming maid. But thou thereon didst only breathe The lute shall tell her my despair And sent’st it back to me; And fill with song the myrtle shade. Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee. Come love be all my joy Thou alone art my delight, [2] Over the mountains Come love be my heart of gold, Text: From Percy’s Reliques, And who but my Lady Greensleeves. collected by Thomas Percy (1729–1811) Oh who is kind as she is kind Over the mountains Whose gentle heart could ne’er betray! And over the waves, If Argus prove himself but blind Under the fountains Yet she would have my constancy. And under the graves, Under floods that are deepest Come love be all my joy Which Neptune obey, Thou alone art my delight, Over rocks that are steepest, Come love be my heart of gold, Love will find out the way. And who but my Lady Greensleeves. Where there is no place 3 Songs from Love at the Inn For the glow-worm to lie, Text: Rodney Bennett (1890–1948) Where there is no space For receipt of a fly: [4] Little Moth Where the midge dare not venture Lest herself fast she lay, When a maiden goes a-wooing, If Love come he will enter And her feet incline to roam, And will find out the way. It may well be her undoing; She were wise to stay at home. Some think to lose him Ah! Love is a lighted candle, Or have him confined. And the maiden a moth flitting by; Some do suppose him, But go too near, Poor thing, to be blind; Poor pretty dear, But if ne’er so close ye wall him, She may fall in that flame and die! Do the best that ye may, Blind Love, if so ye call him, Little maiden, mark my story Soon will find out his way. And take warning while you may, Should you flutter anigh that candle bright, You may train the eagle Oh! turn in your airy, fairy flight, To stoop to your fist, And fly little moth, away. Or you may inveigle The phoenix of the East. [5] Love Calls Through the Summer Night The lioness you may move her To get o’er her prey, Far in the darkness a nightingale is singing But you’ll ne’er stop a lover, Singing his love and sorrow to the moon; Love shall find out the way. Lost in the branches, the nightwind, winging, Wakens the leaves to a low sweet tune. [3] My Lady Greensleeves Text: John Irvine (1903–1964) Oft have I heard them, nights unending, Heard them and loved them and gone my way; Oh who is fair as she is fair Now with their passion a new note is blending, And who can such a grace possess! Born of their beauty, but more than they. The rose itself could but compare Nor rob her of her comeliness. ⓟ & © 2005 Naxos Rights International Ltd. Page 1 of 7 QUILTER: Folk Song Arrangements • Complete Part-Songs for Women’s Voices 8.557495 Love calls through the summer night, Which I gaze on so fondly today, Love sings with a strange delight, Were to change by tomorrow, Calls our young hearts to find his way, And fleet in my arms, Let him lead us where’er he may. Like fairy gifts fading away, Dear heart, shall he call in vain, Thou would’st still be ador’d, as this moment thou art, When ne’er he may ask again? Let thy loveliness fade as it will, Ah! love, wherever you lead us, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart We follow the roadway of dreams tonight. Would entwine itself verdantly still. Swift to the dawn the enchanted hours are flying, It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, Bringing the time of waking all soon. And thy cheeks unprofan’d by a tear, Songs will be hushed, and the love-light, dying, That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known, Pass with the stars and the waning moon. To which time will but make thee more dear: No the heart that has truly lov’d never forgets, Come as it may with tears or laughter, But as truly loves on to the close, Bring as it will either rose or rue. As the sunflow’r turns on her god, when he sets, Why should we care for what may come after? The same look which she turn’d when he rose. Still for a while, only dreams are true. [9] Oh! ’tis sweet to think Love calls through the summer night, Text: Thomas Moore Love sings with a strange delight, Calls our young hearts to find his way, Oh! ’tis sweet to think that where’er we rove, Let him lead us where’er he may. We are sure to find something blissful and dear; Dear heart, shall he call in vain, And that when we’re far from the lips we love, When ne’er he may ask again? We have but to make love to the lips we are near! Ah! Love, together wherever you lead us, The heart like a tendril, accustom’d to cling, We follow the wonderful roadway of dreams. Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone, But will lean to the nearest and loveliest thing Follow, come follow, love of my heart tonight. It can twine with itself, And make closely its own. [6] If Love Should Pass Me By Then oh! what pleasure, One morning very early Where’er we rove, At the bud of the day, To be doom’d to find something, still, that is dear, I heard a maiden singing, And to know, when far from the lips we love, And this she did say: We have but to make love to the lips we are near. ‘Love may be false, ’Twere a shame, when flowers around us rise, And free of heart am I. To make light of the rest, I’ll say no word to him, heigh-ho! If the rose is not there; So, Love, go pass me by.’ And the world’s so rich in resplendent eyes, ’Twere a pity to limit one’s love to a pair. As homeward she was going Love’s wing and the peacock’s are nearly alike; At the close of the day, They are both of them bright, Again I heard her singing, But they’re changeable too: And this did she say: And wherever a new beam of beauty can strike, ‘Love may be false, It will tincture love’s plume with a different hue. Yet sad of heart am I... He may be false, and yet, heigh-ho! Then oh! what pleasure, If Love should pass me by!’ Where’er we rove, To be doom’d to find something, still, that is dear, [7] Irish Song – The Rose of Tralee And to know, when far from the lips we love, Text: Edward Mordaunt Spencer (?–1888), We have but to make love to the lips we are near. melody by Charles William Glover (1806–1863) Duets – 4 Part-Songs for Women’s Voices The pale moon was rising above the green mountains, The sun was declining beneath the blue sea, [10] Come Lady-Day When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain Text: May Pemberton (dates unknown) That stands in beautiful vale of Tralee; She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer When the snow is off the mountains Yet ’twas not her beauty alone that won me; Come Lady-Day, come Lady-Day! Oh, no! ’Twas the truth in her eye ever dawning And merrily flow the fountains That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee. Come Lady-Day, come Lady-Day! The cool shades of ev’ning their mantle were spreading I’ll deck me with a string o’ pearls, And Mary was smiling and list’ning to me. A silken mesh upon my curls, The moon through the valley her pale rays was shedding, For Love will come to me, When I won the heart of the Rose of Tralee. On Lady-Day, on Lady-Day! Though lovely and fair as the rose of the summer, Yet ’twas not her beauty alone that won me; When the daffodils are dancing Oh, no! ’Twas the truth in her eye ever dawning, Come Lady-Day, come Lady-Day! That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.