Sound the Trumpet – Text and Translations

Texts and translations

The Cry of London

Oyez, Oyez, Oyez!
If any man or woman can tell any tidings of a little maiden child,
About the age of six, or seven and forty,
This child was lost between the standard and the pissing conduit;
If any man can bring any news of her,
Let him come to the Crier and he shall have four-pence for his hire,
And that’s more than she’s worth! And God’s blessing.
New shades, new lamps and shades!
New mackerel, mackerel, mackerel!
Black, black, very fine black.
Buy a mop, a house-mop, a very fine mop!
Come buy my four ropes of onions,
I have hard onions, white onions, white Saint Thomas onions, white!
Salt, salt, Worcestershire salt!
Buy any aquavitae or good Rosasolis?
Buy my quarter of good smelts!
Will you buy my dish of great eels!
Will you go with oars, sir, will you go with oars?
Will you go with a sculler sir?
I am your first man, sir, will you go with me?
I will go with oars.
George, George, George, George, bring the boat to the stairs!
Cod, cod, great cod, buy my fresh cod!
Will you buy any scurvy grass?
Buy a brush, a very fine brush!
Buy my hassock, or a cover for a close-stool!
Buy a cloak sir, see a fair cloak, buy a very fair cloak, sir.
Oranges, oranges, fine Seville oranges, Portingal oranges,
Fine Seville oranges, lemons and oranges I have to sell,
But Portingal oranges bear the bell!
See for your love, and buy for your money, for there is good ale at the sign of the Coney!
Buy a hairline, a good hairline, or a rope for a jack!
Will you buy any whiting maids, whiting?
New sprats, great sprats, great sprats, new sprats, herrings fellows!
Buy a barrel of treacle, very good treacle!
Buy any good glasses, very fine Venice glasses!
Wassail, wassail, jolly wassail!
Master and mistress, if you be within, call for some of your merry men
to rise and let us in with our wassail, our jolly wassail.
Joy come to our jolly wassail, our jolly wassail!

Love’s Goddess Sure

Long may she reign over this isle,
Lov’d and ador’d in foreign parts;
But gentle Pallas shield the while
From her bright charms our single hearts.

May she to heaven late return,
And choirs of angels there rejoice
As much, as we below shall mourn
Our short, but their eternal choice.

The Bellman’s song

Maids to bed and cover coal,
Let the mouse, let the mouse out of her hole.
Crickets in the chimney sing,
While the little bell doth ring.
If fast asleep, who can tell
When the clapper, clapper hits the bell?

Who liveth so merry

Who liveth so merry in all this land
As doth the poor widow that selleth the sand
And ever she singeth, as I can guess
“Will you buy any sand, any sand mistress?”

The broom-man maketh his living most sweet
With carrying of brooms from street to street:
Who could desire a pleasanter thing
Than all the day long to do nothing but sing?

The chimney sweeper all the long day
He singeth and sweepeth the soot away:
Yet when he comes home, although he be weary,
With his sweet wife he maketh full merry.

The cobbler he sits cobbling till noon,
And cobbleth his shoes till they be done:
Yet doth he not fear, and so doth say,
For he knows that his work very soon will decay.

The husbandman all day goeth to plow,
And when he comes home he serveth his sow:
He moyleth and toyleth all the long year,
How can he be merry and make good cheer?
The servingman waiteth from street to street
With blowing his nails and beating his feet:
And serveth for forty shillings a year
That ’tis impossible to make good cheer.

Who liveth so merry and be of such sport
As those that be of the poorest sort?
The poorest sort whosoever they be
They gather together by one two and three.

And every man shall spend his penny,
What makes such a shot among a great a many?

Two daughters of this aged stream

Two daughters of this aged stream are we,
And both our sea-green locks have comb’d for ye.
Come, come bathe with us an hour or two;
Come, come naked in for we are so.
What danger from a naked foe?
Come, come bathe with us and share
What pleasures in the floods appear.
We’ll beat the waters till they bound,
And circle round, and circle round.

Bess of Bedlam

From silent shades and the Elysian groves
Where sad departed spirits mourn their loves;
From crystal streams and from that country where
Jove crowns the fields with flowers all the year,
Poor senseless Bess, cloth’d in her rags and folly,
Is come to cure her lovesick melancholy.

“Bright Cynthia kept her revels late
While Mab, the Fairy Queen, did dance,
And Oberon did sit in state
When Mars at Venus ran his lance.

In yonder cowslip lies my dear,
Entomb’d in liquid gems of dew;
Each day I’ll water it with a tear,
Its fading blossom to renew.

For since my love is dead and all my joys are gone
Poor Bess for his sake
A garland will make,
My music shall be a groan.

I’ll lay me down and die
Within some hollow tree,
The rav’n and cat,
The owl and bat
Shall warble forth my elegy.

Did you not see my love as he pass’d by you?
His two flaming eyes, if he comes nigh you,
They will scorch up your hearts!
Ladies beware ye,
Lest he should dart a glance that may ensnare ye!

Hark! Hark! I hear old Charon bawl,
His boat he will no longer stay;
The furies lash their whips and call
‘Come, come away, come, come away'”.

Poor Bess will return to the place whence she came,
Since the world is so mad she can hope for no cure.
For love’s grown a bubble, a shadow, a name,
Which fools do admire and wise men endure.

“Cold and hungry am I grown.
Ambrosia will I feed upon,
Drink nectar still and sing.”

Who is content,
Does all sorrow prevent?
And Bess in her straw,
Whilst free from the law,
In her thoughts is as great, great as a king.


Morpheus thou gentle god of soft repose,
The unruly tumults of my mind compose,
Allay the fury of my anxious care,
Drive hence black thoughts and chase away despair.

Here let indulgent fancy soothe my pain,
Here let me sleep and never wake again.
What’s this I feel; what’s this within my breast
Strikes such alarms and will not let me rest?
‘Tis jealousy, tormenting jealousy, the bane of love.

I rage, I rave, my soul on fire,
Tortured with wild despair and fierce desire.
My Strephon’s loss I cannot, will not bear;
I’ll be revenged, and more than woman dare.

Death, only death can now my thoughts employ:
I must my rival or myself destroy.

Come ye sons of art

Come, ye sons of art, away!
Tune all your voices, and instruments to play,
To celebrate this triumphant day.

Sound the trumpet, till around
You make the list’ning shores rebound.
On the sprightly hautboy play:
All the instruments of joy
That skillful numbers can employ
To celebrate the glories of this day.

Come, ye sons of art, away!
Tune all your voices, and instruments to play,
To celebrate this triumphant day.

Funeral Sentences

Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery.
He cometh up, and is cut down like a flow’r;
he flee’th as it were a shadow, and ne’er continueth in one stay.
In the midst of life we are in death: of whom may we seek for succour, but of thee, O Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased?
Yet, O Lord, most mighty, O holy and most merciful Saviour, deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death.
Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts: shut not thy merciful care unto our pray’rs, but spare us, Lord most holy, O God most mighty, O holy and most merciful Saviour, thou most worthy Judge eternal.
Suffer us not at our last hour for any pains of death to fall from thee.

Remember not, Lord, our offences

Remember not, Lord, our offences, nor the offences of our forefathers;
neither take thou vengeance of our sins, good Lord.
Spare thy people whom thou hast redeemed with thy most precious blood;
and be not angry with us for ever. Spare us, good Lord.
I will sing unto the Lord as long as I live;
I will praise my God while I have my being, and so shall my words please him.
My joy shall be in the Lord;
as for sinners, they shall be consumed out of the earth and the ungodly
shall come to an end.
But praise ye the Lord, O my soul, praise the Lord.

Jehova, quam multi sunt hostes mei

Jehova, quam multi sunt hostes mei!
Quam multi insurgunt contra me.
Quam multi dicunt de anima mea;
non est ulla salus isti in Deo plane.
At tu, Jehova, clypeus es circa me;
gloria mea, et extollens caput meum.
Voce mea ad Jehovam clamanti,
respondit mihi e monte sanctitatis suae maxime.
Ego cubui et dormivi, ego expergefeci me;
quia Jehova sustentat me.
Non timebo a myriadibus populi,
quas circumdisposuerint metatores contra me.
Surge, Jehova, fac salvum me Deus mi;
qui percussisti omnes inimicos meos maxilliam,
dentes improborum confregisti.
Jehova est salus:
super populum tuum sit benedictio tua maxime.

Jehovah, how many are my enemies,
How many rise up against me,
How many say of my soul:
Clearly there is no salvation for it in God.
But thou, Jehovah, art a shield around me,
My glory and the lifter up of my head.
With my voice crying to Jehovah,
He replied to me mightily from the mountain of his holiness.
I laid down and slept, I rose up again,
For Jehovah sustained me.
I will not be afraid for ten thousands of the people,
Whom surveyors have placed around against me.
Arise, Jehovah, help me, O my God;
For thou who smitest all mine enemies upon the cheek-bone,
Thou hast broken the teeth of the ungodly.
Jehovah is salvation:
May thy blessing be greatly upon thy people.

Lord, how long wilt thou be angry

Lord, how long wilt thou be angry; shall thy jealously burn like fire forever?
O remember not our old sins, but have mercy upon us, and that soon; for we are come to great misery.
Help us, O God of our salvation, for the glory of thy Name: O deliver us, and be merciful unto our sins, for thy Name’s sake.
So we, that are thy people, and the sheep of thy pasture, shall give theethanks for ever; and will always be shewing forth thy praise from one generation to another.

Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts

Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts; shut not thy merciful ears unto our prayer; but spare us, Lord most holy, O God most mighty, O holy and most merciful Saviour, thou most worthy Judge eternal, suffer us not, at our last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from thee. Amen.

Hear my prayer

Hear my prayer, O Lord, and let my crying come unto thee.