Quoth John to Joan, wilt thou have me?
I prithee now wilt? and I'll marry with thee
My cow, my calf, my house, my rents,
And all my lands and tenements.

O say, my Joan; say, my Joan; will that not do?

I cannot come every day to woo.
I've corn and hay in the barn hard by;
And three fat hogs pent up in the sty, —
I have a mare, and she is coal-black,
I ride on her tail, to save her back.

Then say, my Joan, &c.

I have a cheese upon the shelf,
And I cannot eat it all myself.
I've three good marks that lie in a rag
In a nook of the chimney, instead of a bag.

Then say, my Joan, &c.

To

marry I would have thy consent;
But, faith, I never could compliment,-
I can say nought but “hoy, gee ho!"
Words that belong to the cart and the plough.

Then say, my Joan; say, my Joan; will that not do?
I cannot come every day to woo.

The song "Quoth John to Joan," or“I cannot come every day to woo,” is certainly as old as the time of Henry VIII., because the first verse is to be found elaborately set to music in a manuscript of that date, formerly in the possession of Stafford Smith (who printed the song in Musica Antiqua, vol. i. page 32), and now in that of Dr. Rimbault. There are two copies of the words in vol. ii. of the Roxburghe Collection of Ballads, and it is in all the editions of “ Wit and Mirth, or Pills to purge Melancholy,” from 1698 to 1719. In Wit's Cabinet, 1731, it is called “The Clown's Courtship,” sung to the King at Windsor.- From Chappell’s “ Popular Music of the Olden Time."

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE, born 15—, died 1593.

COME, live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, and hills and fields,
The woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies ;
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroider'd o'er with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair linèd 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.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning.
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be

my

love.

This song, so well known to all readers of Izaak Walton, is sung to an old English melody—the author unknown,-and has been set as a glee by Webbe, and as a ballad-song by Dr. Arne.

THE NYMPH'S REPLY.*

Sir WALTER RALEIGH, born 1552, died 1618.
IF all the world and love were young,
And truth on every shepherd's tongue,
These pleasures might my passion move
To live with thee and be thy love.

But fading flowers in every

field
To winter floods their treasures yield:
A honey'd tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's

fall.
Thy gown, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Are all soon wither'd, broke, forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
Can me with no enticements move
To live with thee and be thy love.

But could youth last, could love still breed,
Had joy no date, had age no need;
Then those delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.

This song, as we learn from “Percy's Relics,” was sung before Queen Elizabeth at Elvetham in Hampshire, as she opened the casement of her gallery window in the morning, by "three excellent musicians disguised in ancient country attire.” Another version, slightly different, is given in England's “Helicon."

YE LITTLE BIRDS THAT SIT AND SING.

From THOMAS HEYWOOD'S “Faire Maide of the Exchange," 1615.

YE little birds that sit and sing
Amidst the shady valleys,
And see how Phillis sweetly walks
Within her garden alleys;
Go, pretty birds, about her bower,
Sing, pretty birds ; she may not lower.
Ah me! methinks I see her frown:

Ye pretty wantons, warble.