1. |
Only The Sorrow
03:07
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Like truthless dreams, so are my joys expired,
And past return are all my dandled days;
My love misled, and fancy quite retired.
Of all which passed, the sorrow only stays, the sorry only stays.
My lost delights, now clean from sight of land,
Have left me all alone in unknown ways;
My mind to woe, my life in fortune's hand.
Of all which passed, the sorrow only stays, the sorrow only stays.
Only the sorrow, only the sorrow.
Whom care forewarns, ere age and winter cold,
To haste me hence to find my fortune's fold.
As in a country strange, without companion,
I only wail the wrong of death's delays,
Whose sweet spring spent, whose summer well-nigh done.
Of all which pass'd the sorrow only stays, the sorrow only stays.
Only the sorrow, only the sorrow
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2. |
Scallop Shell
02:57
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Give me my scallop shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation.
My gown of glory, hope’s true gage,
And thus I’ll take my pilgrimage.
Over the silver mountains
Where spring the nectar fountains.
There will I kiss the bowl of bliss,
And drink my eternal fill on every milken hill.
Give me my scallop shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation.
My gown of glory, hope’s true gage,
And thus I’ll take my pilgrimage
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3. |
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The wood, the weed, the wag.
The wood is that that makes the gallows tree.
The weed is that that strings the hangman’s bag.
The wag, you pretty knave, betokens thee.
The wood, the weed, the wag.
Green springs the tree, hemp grows, the wag is wild.
But when the three meet, it chokes the child.
The wood, the weed, the wag .
The wood is that that makes the gallows tree.
The weed is that that strings the hangman’s bag.
The wag, you pretty knave, betokens thee.
The wood, the weed, the wag.
Green springs the tree, hemp grows, the wag is wild.
But when the three meet, it chokes the child.
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4. |
Oh What is Love?
02:59
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Now what is love? I pray thee, tell.
It is that fountain and that well
Where pleasure and repentance dwell. It is perhaps the sauncing bell
That tolls all into heaven or hell:
And this is love, as I hear tell.
Yet what is love? I pray thee say. It is a work on holy-day;
It is December matched with May;
When lusty bloods, in fresh array,
Hear ten months after of the play:
And this is love, as I hear say.
Yet what is love? I pray thee sain.
It is a sunshine mixed with rain;
It is a tooth-ache, or like pain;
It is a game where none hath gain; The lass saith no, and would full fain: And this is love, as I hear sain.
Yet what is love? I pray thee say. It is a yea, it is a nay,
A pretty kind of sporting fray;
It is a thing will soon away;
Then take the vantage while you may:
And this is love, as I hear say.
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5. |
Short Light
03:16
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The sun may set, may set and rise,
But we, contrariwise
Sleep, oh sleep after our short light
An everlasting night,
One everlasting night.
The sun may set, may set and rise,
But we, contrariwise
Sleep, oh sleep after our short light
An everlasting night,
One everlasting night.
Sun set, sun rise. Sun set, sun rise. One short light.
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6. |
Come, Live With Me
03:30
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Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills and fields
Woods or steepy mountains yield.
If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we’d pull;
Fair-lined slippers for the cold
With buckles of the purest gold.
A belt of straw and ivy buds
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.
O could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then those delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.
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7. |
The Lie
04:41
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Tell men of high condition,
That manage the estate,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate:
And if they once reply, Then give them all the lie.
Say to the court, it glows
And shines like rotten wood;
Say to the church, it shows
What's good, and doth no good:
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lie.
Go, Soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand;
Fear not to touch the best;
The truth shall be thy warrant: Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie. Give the world the lie.
Tell fortune of her blindness;
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindness;
Tell justice of delay:
And if they will reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell arts they have no soundness,
But vary by esteeming;
Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming:
If arts and schools reply,
Give arts and schools the lie.
Tell zeal it wants devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it metes but motion;
Tell flesh it is but dust:
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.
Give them all the lie.
Thou must give the lie.
Give them all the lie.
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8. |
Walsingham
04:12
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As you came from the Holy Land Of Walsingham,
Met you not with my true love by the way as you came?
She is neither white nor brown but as the heavens fair.
There is none hath a form so divine in the earth or the air.
I have loved her all my youth but now old, as you see,
Love likes not the falling fruit from the withered tree.
Know that Love is a careless child
And forgets promise past.
He is blind, he is deaf when he list,
And in faith never fast.
His desire is a dureless content
And a trustless joy.
He is won with a world of despair
And is lost with a toy.
But true love is a durable fire in the mind ever-burning,
Never sick, never old, never dead, from itself never turning.
From itself never turning, from itself never turning.
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9. |
Cruel Time
03:02
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O cruel time, which takes in trust
Our youth, our joys and all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust,
Who in the dark and silent grave
When we have wandered all our ways
Shuts up the story of our days.
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10. |
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Give me my scallop shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation.
My gown of glory, hope’s true gage,
And thus I’ll take my pilgrimage.
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Edible Tent Leeds, UK
Edible Tent is the moniker for projects by Peter Spafford in collaboration with other artists. Peter Spafford is a writer and songwriter based in Leeds. He is also one half of Schwa.
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