THE HUNT IS UP.

From Ravenscroft's A Brief Discourse in Music, 1614.

Chorus.

THE hunt is up, the hunt is up,
Sing merrily we, the hunt is up.

Verse

The birds they sing, the deer they fling,
Hey nony nony no.

The hounds they cry, the hunters fly,
Hey tro-li-lo-li lo.

The wood resounds to hear the hounds,
The rocks report this merry sport
Then hie apace unto the chase,

Whilst every thing doth sweetly sing.

From Thomas Ravenscroft's Brief Discourse, &c., 1614.

THE URCHINS' DANCE.

Y the moon we sport and play,

BY

With the night begins our day:

As we frisk the dew doth fall;
Trip it, little urchins all!

Lightly as the little bee,

Two by two, and three by three;

And about, about go we.

THE ELVES' DANCE.

OUND about in a fairy ring-a,

ROUND

Thus we dance and thus we sing-a;

Trip and go, to and fro,

Over this green-a;

All about, in and out,

Over this green-a,

THE FAIRIES' DANCE.

DARE you haunt our hallowed green?

None but fairies here are seen.

Down and sleep,

Wake and weep;

Pinch him black, and pinch him blue,
That seeks to steal a lover true!

When you come to hear us sing,
Or to tread our fairy ring,

Pinch him black, and pinch him blue!
O thus our nails shall handle you!

THE SATYRS' DANCE.

ROUND-A, round-a, keep your ring:
To the glorious sun we sing,—

Ho, ho!

He that wears the flaming rays,

And th' imperial crown of bays,

Him with shouts and songs we praise,—

Ho, ho!

That in his bounty he'd vouchsafe to grace
The humble sylvans and their shaggy race.

SWEET SUFFOLK OWL.

From Thomas Vautor's Songs of Divers Airs and Natures, 1619.

WEET Suffolk owl, so trimly dight

With feathers like a lady bright,
Thou sing'st alone, sitting by night,
Te whit, te whoo!

Thy note, that forth so freely rolls,

With shrill command the mouse controls,

And sings a dirge for dying souls,
Te whit, te whoo!

THE MERRY BELLS OF OXFORD.

From The Loyal Garland, or Poesie for Kings, 1624; reprinted by the Percy Society, 1850.

H the merry Christ-Church bells,

OH

One, two, three, four, five, six;

They troll so wondrous deep,

So woundy sweet,

And they chime so merrily, merrily.
Hark the first and second bell,

At every day by four and ten,

Cries, Come, come, come, come, come to prayers,
And the vergers troop before the deans:
Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, goes the little bell,
To call in every soul
But the devil a man
Will leave his can,
Till they hear the mighty toll.

LOVE IN THY YOUTH.

From Walter Porter's Madrigals and Airs, 1632.

OVE in thy youth, fair maid, be wise;

Lo

Old Time will make thee colder,
And though each morning new arise
Yet we each day grow older.
Thou as heaven art fair and young,
Thine eyes like twin stars shining:
But ere another day be sprung,
All these will be declining.

Then winter comes with all his fears
And all thy sweets shall borrow;
Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears,
And I too late shall sorrow.

PARTING.

From Egerton MS., 2013; printed in vol. iii. of Arber's Garner.

E must not part, as others do,

WE

With sighs and tears, as we were two.
Though with these outward forms we part,
We keep each other in our heart.
What search hath found a being where

I am not, if that thou be there?

True love hath wings, and can as soon
Survey the world, as sun and moon;
And everywhere our triumphs keep
Over absence, which makes others weep:
By which alone a power is given
To live on earth, as they in heaven.

HEY NONNY NO!

From Christ Church MS., i. 5. 49.

HEY nonny no!

Men are fools that wish to die!
Is 't not fine to dance and sing
When the bells of death do ring?
Is 't not fine to swim in wine,

And turn upon the toe

And sing Hey nonny no,

When the winds blow and the seas flow?

Hey nonny no!

THE GREAT ADVENTURER.

Quoted in Brome's Sparagus Garden, acted 1635.

OVER the mountains

And over the waves,

Under the fountains

And under the graves;

Under floods that are deepest,

Which Neptune obey;

Over rocks that are steepest,

Love will find out the way.

Where there is no place
For the glow-worm to lie;
Where there is no space
For receipt of a fly;

Where the midge dares not venture
Lest herself fast she lay;

If love come, he will enter,
And soon find out his way.

You may esteem him
A child for his might;

Or you may deem him

A coward from his flight;

But if she whom love doth honour

Be concealed from the day,

Set a thousand guards upon her,

Love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him
By having him confined;
And some do suppose him,
Poor thing, to be blind;