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O hold thy tongue, thou forenoon bride,
you’re ne’er a whit the worse of me.
And for every penny I got with thee,
O here I’ll give to thee back three.
He took her by the milk white hand,
says, the half of my lands I'll give to thee,
If thou wilt marry my brother, Will,
who’s a sprightly youth in a lady’s eye.
I will not marry thy brother, Will,
for all the lands that I do see,
Give me my faith, and troth Beichan,
I wish I were in my own country.
I have the bride’s shoes on my feet,
likewise the bride’s gloves on my hand,
For I will neither eat nor drink,
till I come into my father’s lands.
He’s ta’en Susie Pye by the white hand,
and gently led her up and down,
And aye he kiss’d her red roly lips,
your welcome jewel to your own.
He’s ta’en her by the milk white hand,
and he’s led her to yonder green.
He’s chang’d her name from Susie Pye,
and he’s call’d her lovely Lady Jean.
Britannia's Call.
COME, ye lads, who wish to shine
Bright in future glory,
Haste to arms, and form the line
that leads to martial glory.
Charge the musket, point the lance,
brave the worst of dangers;
Tell the blustering sons of France,
that we to fear are strangers.
