HIERUSALEM, my happy home,    When shall I come to thee? When shall my sorrows have an end,    Thy joys when shall I see? O happy harbour of the Saints!

SUMER is icumen in,    Lhude sing cuccu! Groweth sed, and bloweth med,    And springth the wude nu—    Sing cuccu!

She’ll be comin’ round the mountai… When she comes. She’ll be comin’ round the mountai… When she comes. She’ll be comin’ round the mountai…

QUHEN Flora had o’erfret the fi…    In May of every moneth queen; Quhen merle and mavis singis with…    Sweet melling in the shawis she…    Quhen all luvaris rejoicit bene

My Loue in her Attyre doth shew h… It doth so well become her: For eu’ry season she hath dressing… For Winter, Spring, and Summer. No Beautie shee doth misse,

O Death, O Death, rock me asleep… Bring me to quiet rest; Let pass my weary guiltless ghost Out of my careful breast. Toll on, thou passing bell;

Westron wind, when wilt thou blow That small rain down can rain? Christ, that my love were in my ar… And I in my bed again!

I SAW my Lady weep, And Sorrow proud to be advanced s… In those fair eyes where all perfe…    Her face was full of woe; But such a woe (believe me) as win…

I wish I were where Helen lies; Night and day on me she cries; Oh that I were where Helen lies On fair Kirconnell lea! Curst be the heart that thought th…

LATE at een, drinkin’ the wine,    And ere they paid the lawin’, They set a combat them between,    To fight it in the dawin’. ‘O stay at hame, my noble lord!

HERE lies a poor woman who was a… She lived in a house where help wa… Her last words on earth were: 'De… To where there’s no cooking, or wa… For everything there is exact to m…

IN somer when the shawes be sheyn…    And leves be large and long, Hit is full merry in feyre foreste    To here the foulys song. To se the dere draw to the dale

Phyllida. CORYDON, arise, my C…    Titan shineth clear. Corydon. Who is it that calleth C…    Who is it that I hear? Phyl. Phyllida, thy true love, ca…

LESTENYT, lordynges, both elde… How this rose began to sprynge; Swych a rose to myn lykynge    In al this word ne knowe I non… The Aungil came fro hevene tour,

God, that art of myghtis most, Fader and Sone and Holy Gost, That bought man on Rode so dere, Shilde us from the fowle fende, That is about mannys sowle to shen…