"Scarborough Fair" is a traditional English ballad about the Yorkshire town of Scarborough.
Male part
Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;
Remember me to the one who lives there,
For once she was a true love of mine.
Tell her to make me a cambric shirt,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;
Without any seam or needlework,
Then she shall be a true love of mine.
Tell her to wash it in yonder well,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;
Where never sprung water or rain ever fell,
And she shall be a true lover of mine.
Tell her to dry it on yonder thorn,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;
Which never bore blossom since Adam was born,
Then she shall be a true lover of mine.
Female part
Now he has asked me questions three,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;
I hope he'll answer as many for me,
Before he shall be a true lover of mine.
Tell him to buy me an acre of land,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;
Between the salt water and the sea sand,
Then he shall be a true lover of mine.
Tell him to plough it with a ram's horn,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;
And sow it all over with one pepper corn,
And he shall be a true lover of mine.
Tell him to sheer't with a sickle of leather,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;
And bind it up with a peacock's feather,
And he shall be a true lover of mine.
Tell him to thrash it on yonder wall,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,
And never let one corn of it fall,
Then he shall be a true lover of mine.
When he has done and finished his work.
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme:
Oh, tell him to come and he'll have his shirt,
And he shall be a true lover of mine.
вот еще из той же оперы (см. поднятое):
"The Unquiet Grave" is an English folk song in which a young man mourns his dead love too hard and prevents her from obtaining peace.
Cold blows the wind to my true love
And gently drops the rain
I only had but one true love
And in greenwood she lies slain
I'll do as much for my true love
As any young man may
I'll sit and mourn along her grave
For a twelve-month and a day
When the twelve months and one day was past
The ghost began to speak:
"Why sit thou'st here along my grave
And will not let me sleep?"
"There's one thing that I want sweetheart,
There's one thing that I crave
And that is a kiss from your lily white lips
Then I'll go from your grave"
"My lips they are as cold as clay
My breath smells earthy strong
And if you kiss my cold clay lips
Your days they won't be long
Go fetch me water from the desert
And blood from out of stone
Go fetch me milk from a fair maid's breast
That a young man never had known"
'Twas down in Cupid's Garden
Where you and I would walk
The finest flower that ever I saw
Is withered to a stalk
The stalk is withered and dry sweetheart
The flower will ne'er return
And since I lost my one true love
What can I do but mourn?
"When shall we meet again sweetheart?
When shall we meet again?"
"Ere the oaken leaves that fall from the trees
Are green and spring up again"
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