1 Cuckoo Song
c. 1226
SUMER is icumen in,
Lhude1 sing cuccu!
Groweth sed, and bloweth med,
And springeth the wude nu—
Sing cuccu!
Awe2 bleteth after lomb,
Lhouth3 after calve cu;
Bulluc sterteth,4 bucke verteth,
Murie sing cuccu!
Cuccu, cuccu, well singes thu, cuccu:
Ne swike5 thu naver nu;
Sing cuccu, nu, sing cuccu,
Sing cuccu, sing cuccu, nu!
2 The Irish Dancer
c. 1300
ICH am of Irlaunde,
Ant of the holy londe
Of Irlande.
Gode sire, pray ich the,
For of saynte charité,
Come ant daunce wyth me
In Irlaunde.
3 Alison
c. 1300
BYTUENE Mershe and Averil
When spray biginneth to springe,
The lutel foul hath hire wyl
On hyre lud1 to synge:
Ich libbe2 in love-longinge
For semlokest3 of alle thynge,
He4 may me blisse bringe,
Ich am in hire baundoun5.
An hendy6 hap ichabbe y-hent,7
Ichot8 from hevene it is me sent,
From alle wymmen my love is lent
And lyht9 on Alysoun.
On heu hire her10 is fayr ynoh,
Hire browe broune, hire eye blake;
With lossum chere11 he on me loh;12
With middel smal and wel y-make;
Bote he13 me wolle to hire take
For to buen14 hire owen make,15
Long to lyven ichulle forsake
And feye16 fallen adoun.
An hendy hap, etc.
Nihtes17 when I wende18 and wake,
For-thi19 myn wonges waxeth won,20
Levedi,21 al for thine sake
Longinge is y-lent me on.22
In world nis non so wyter23 mon
That al hire bount é telle con;
Hire swyre24 is whittore than the swon,
And feyrest may25 in toune.
An hendy hap, etc.
Ich am for wowyng al for-wake,26
Wery so water in wore;27
Lest eny reve28 me my make
Ichabbe y-yerned yore.29
Betere is tholien30 whyle sore
Then mournen evermore.
Geynest under gore,31
Herkne to my roun.32
An hendy hap, etc.
4 Spring-tide
c. 1300
LENTEN ys come with love to toune,1
With blosmen and with briddes roune,
That al this blisse bryngeth;
Dayes-eyes in this dales,
Notes suete of nyhtegales,
Uch foul song singeth;
The threstelcoc him threteth oo,2
Away is huere3 wynter wo,
When woderove4 springeth;
Thise foules singeth ferly5 fele,
Ant wlyteth6 on huere wunne wele,
That al the wode ryngeth.
The rose rayleth hire rode,7
The leves on the lyhte wode
Waxen al with wille;
The mone mandeth hire bleo,8
The lilie is lossom to seo,9
The fenyl and the fille;10
Wowes11 thise wilde drakes,
Miles murgeth12 huere makes13
Ase strem that striketh14 stille.
Mody meneth;15 so doth mo16
(Ichot ych am on of tho17)
For loue that likes ille.