1.Rakish Paddy
2.Blue Lullaby
3.Hint
4.Lark in the Morning
The lark in the morning, she rises off her nest, goes home in
the evening with the dew all on her breast. And like the jolly
ploughboy, she whistles and she sings, goes home in the evening
with the dew all on her wings.
Roger the ploughboy, he is a dashing blade, goes whistling and
singing over yonder leafy shade. He met with pretty Susan,
beautiful and fair, far more enchanting than the birds all in
the air. One evening coming home from the rakes of he town, the
meadow'd been all green and the grass had been cut down. As I
should chance to tumble all in the new-mown hay, 'it's kiss me
now or never love,' this maiden she did say.
When twenty long weeks they were over and were past, her mommy
chanced to notice how she thickened round the waist. 'It was the
handsome ploughboy,' this maiden she did say, 'he caused for me
to tumble, all in the new-mown hay.'
So here's to all you ploughboys, wherever you may be, that likes
to have a bonnie-lass a-sitting on his knee. With a jug of good
strong porter, you'll whistle and you'll sing, for a ploughboy
is as happy as a prince or a king.
5.Noah's Wine
Old Noah he had an ostrich farm and fowl on the largest scale,
but all was smaller than the bottle he took when he set out to
sail. The soup he took was elephant soup and the fish he took
was whale, but all was smaller than the bottle he took when he
set out to sail. Noah, he said to his pretty wife, when he sat
down to dine, I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't
get into the wine, oh I don't care where the water goes if it
doesn't get into the wine.
The waterfall from the cliff of heaven fell blinding off the
brink, as though to wash the stars away as suds go down the
sink. The seven heavens came roaring down for the throats of
hell to drink, and Noah he cocked his eye and said, 'it looks
like rain I think.' Water has drowned the Mont-Royal as deep as
the deepest mine, but I don't care where the water goes, if it
doesn't get into the wine, oh I don't care where the water goes
if it doesn't get into the wine.
Noah he sinned as we have sinned, on tipsy feet we trod, til a
sober, nobler, teetotaller was sent to us for a nod. And you
can't get wine from a dyin' vine, a chapel, or Place des Arts,
for the Curse of Water has come again, because of the wrath of
God. Water has swallowed the highest cross and spilled o'er the
Holy Shrine, but I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't
get into the wine. Oh I don't care where the water goes if it
doesn't get into the wine.
6.Even the Sparrow Finds a Home
I am walking in the dark by a stone wall in the park. The empty
echo of my steps ties me up in knots and nets. I am wondering
where to knoc, or build my house upon a rock, I am wandering
round and round, I am wandering round and round.
There's a door without a lock, like a lake without a dock. Only
a path thin as a needle, smaller than a mustard seed. Oh, I must
leave my nets behind and keep my heart and soul and mind, like
the willow by the stream, like the willow by the stream.
Oh, lonesome soul, why are you cast down？ Why are you cast down？
Oh, lonesome soul, even the sparrow finds a home, even the
sparrow finds a home.
I am dwelling in the garden where the lips of sleepers speak, by
a tower and a fountain, and I find my heart awake. Rose on the
water, sun upon my skin! Eat, drink, and be merry in the castle
found within. Eat, drink, and be merry in the castle found
within.
7.Suggestion
8.Le Soleil Se Lève À L'ouest (Fair and Tender Ladies)
Come all you fair and tender ladies, take warning how you court
young men. They're like the stars of a summer's morning, first
they'll appear, and then they're gone.
They'll tell to you some loving story and make you think they
love you well, and then they'll go and love another, and leave
you in your grief to dwell.
Te souviens-tu d'nos jours d'amour, deux oisillons qui font la
sieste？ Si tu me disais, je te croirais que le solei se lève à
l'ouest.
So never cast your eye on beauty, for beauty it will soon decay.
The fairest flower in the garden will whither soon and fade
away.
9.The Scholar
10.Peter's Lament for the Death of the Duck
Peter is a punk, a bright and clever young (ster), stirrin' up
the ground with his sling-shot gun. His friends a re the duck
and the bird in the tree, when the cat came a-sneakin' they had
to flee.
What kind of bird are you, if you can't fly？ What kind of bird
are you, if you can't swim？ What kind of bird are you, if you
can't cry？ What kind of bird are you, if you can't win？
Peter doesn't swim and he doesn't fly, doesn't listen to his
grandpa, telling him why, 'keep out the forest of the wolf will
come, howlin' and runnin' from the hunter's gun.'
On a crisp autumn day, with his friends of feather, Peter set
out to show that he knew better. The wolf saw the pass and after
them stole-- the dear ol' duck, he swallowed her whole!
Fairest friend, where will you go？ Will you turn to dust, or the
ocean floor？ Will you fit through a needle as I fall on my
knees？ Will you wrestle, or rest in peace？ Will you wrestle, or
rest in peace？
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