Songs from The Beggar’s Opera: Air XXVII-“Green Sleeves”
Since laws were made, for every degree,
To curb vice in others, as well as me,
I wonder we han’t better company
Upon Tyburn tree.
But gold from law can take out the sting;
And if rich men, like us, were to swing,
’Twould thin the land, such numbers to string
Upon Tyburn tree.
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The Invidious
Martial.
O Fortune! if my prayer of old
Was ne'er solicitous for gold,
With better grace thou may'st allow
My suppliant wish, that asks it now:
Yet think not, Goddess! I require it
For the same end your clowns desire it.
In a well made effectual string
Fain would I see Lovidio swing;
Hear him, from Tyburn's height haranguing;
But such a cur's not worth one's hanging.
Give me, O Goddess! store of pelf,
And he will tie the knot himself.
poem by William Shenstone
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The Description Of Tyburn
I Have heard sundry men oft times dispute
Of trees, that in one year will twice bear fruit.
But if a man note Tyburn, 'will appear,
That that's a tree that bears twelve times a year.
I muse it should so fruitful be, for why
I understand the root of it is dry,
It bears no leaf, no bloom, or no bud,
The rain that makes it fructify is blood.
I further note, the fruit which it produces,
Doth seldom serve for profitable uses:
Except the skillful Surgeons industry
Do make Dissection of Anatomy.
It blooms, buds, and bears, all three together,
And in one hour, doth live, and die, and wither.
Like Sodom Apples, they are in conceit,
For touched, they turn to dust and ashes straight.
Besides I find this tree hath never been
Like other fruit trees, walled or hedged in,
But in the highway standing many a year,
It never yet was robbed, as I could hear.
The reason is apparent to our eyes,
That what it bears, are dead commodities:
And yet sometimes (such grace to it is given)
The dying fruit is well prepared for heaven,
And many times a man may gather thence
Remorse, devotion, and true penitence.
And from that tree, I think more fools ascend
To that Celestial joy, which shall never end:
I say, more fools from thence to heaven do come,
Than from all Churchyards throughout Christendom.
The reason is, the bodies are all dead,
And all the fools to joy or woe are fled.
Perhaps a week, a day, or two, or three,
Before they in the Churchyards buried be.
But at this Tree, in twinkling of an eye,
The soul and body part immediately,
There death the fatal parting blow doth strike,
And in Churchyards is seldom seen the like.
Besides, they are assistant with the alms
Of peoples charitable prayers, and Psalms,
Which are the wings that lift the hov'ring spirit,
By faith, through grace, true glory to inherit.
Concerning this dead fruit, I noted it,
Instead of paste it's put into a pit,
And laid up carefully in any place,
Yet worm-eaten it grows in little space.
My understanding can by no means frame,
To give this Tyburn fruit a fitter name,
Than Medlers, for I find that great and small,
(To my capacity) are Medlers all.
Some say they are Choked pears, and some again
Do call them Hearty Chokes, but 'tis most plain,
It is a kind of Medler it doth bear,
Or else I think it never would come there.
Moreover where it grows, I find it true,
It often turns the Herb of grace to Rue.
Amongst all Pot-herbs growing on the ground,
Time is the least respected, I have found,
And most abused, and therefore one shall see
No branch or bud of it grow near this Tree:
For 'tis occasion of man's greatest crime,
To turn the use, into abuse, of Time.
When passions are let loose without a bridle,
Then precious Time is turned to Love and Idle:
And that's the chiefest reason I can show,
Why fruit so often doth on Tyburn grow.
There are inferior Gallows which bear
(According to the season) twice a year:
And there's a kind of watrish Tree at Wapping,
Whereas Sea-thieves or Pirates are catched napping:
But Tyburn doth deserve before them all
The title and addition capital,
Of Arch or great Grand Gallows of our Land,
Whilst all the rest like ragged Lackeys stand;
It hath (like Luna) full, and change, and quarters,
It (like a Merchant) monthly trucks and barters;
But all the other Gallows are fit,
Like Chapman, or poor Peddlers onto it.
Thus Jails and Jailers being here explained,
How both are good, and for good use ordained:
All sorts of Hanging which I could surmise,
I likewise have described before your eyes;
And further having showed what Tyburn is,
With many more inferior Gallows,
My pen from paper with this Prayer doth part,
God bless all people from their sins depart.
poem by John Taylor
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Laws
Laws created to curb the rise of domestic violence.
Laws created to curb the rise of racial tensions.
Laws created to curb interpretations,
Of what is and what is not politically correct.
But those who are corrupted and create the laws...
Can not see their own flaws,
That initiate the mess.
Laws created to curb a racial profiling on the rise.
Laws created to curb a greed that has affected lives.
Laws that limit freedoms to blatantly discriminate...
Those who do this anyway,
No matter what the laws are to perpetuate a hate.
Laws created to curb the rise of domestic violence.
Laws created to curb the rise of racial tensions.
Laws created to curb interpretations,
Of what is and what is not politically correct.
But those who are corrupted and create the laws...
Can not see their own flaws,
That initiate the mess.
And those upset by these laws,
Want more of them and yet neglect!
Like 'Commandments' given no respect.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Say There's A Tree, A Horizon
Big tree
right outside my room
tell me when your flowers will bloom
big tree
a wars'a comin soon
this war'll bring you alotta doom
big tree
spread your leaves and fly
cuz you dont wanna be here when your flowers die
big tree
uproot yourself and run
run from the bullets and run from the guns
war
from the oceans to the land
no more water to fill your hands
flowers
I'll try to water you
but theres salt in my tears and that jus' wont do
big tree
they dont understand
that what they do effects your land
big tree
by you I've made a bed
and I ask you how this war moves us ahead
big tree
my friend whats the cost
if only they could see the faces of the lost
pinecone
shaped like a grenade
the grass where you lay is all I could save
big tree
where have your sisters gone?
to make more boxes to lay flags on?
big tree
where have your brothers gone?
to make more boxes to carve names on?
poem by Chris Osterbrock
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When I was only three I planted a tree
When I was three I planted a tree. This was my tree and together we would always be. I gave it love and it to me, and so we were happy, me and my tree.
Then one day they came to see me and my tree. Men with no faces, and they said to me, you must go, and leave this tree.
Buy why I ask. For we've done no harm. Me and my tree, please let us be.
So they left us alone, me and my tree, but only for a while but I could not see.
Then one day they came and took me away. My tree was needed to save the day. Goods it will make it makes perfect sense. So we will take this tree, for wood we need. And so it was done, they took my tree.
And now I look around, my tree I no longer see. Taken from, this tree I planted when I was three.
poem by Brad Milner
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An Autumn Treasure-Trove
'Tis the time of the year's sundown, and flame
Hangs on the maple bough;
And June is the faded flower of a name;
The thin hedge hides not a singer now.
Yet rich am I; for my treasures be
The gold afloat in my willow-tree.
Sweet morn on the hillside dripping with dew,
Girded with blue and pearl,
Counts the leaves afloat in the streamlet too;
As the love-lorn heart of a wistful girl,
She sings while her soul brooding tearfully
Sees a dream of gold in the willow-tree.
All day pure white and saffron at eve,
Clouds awaiting the sun
Turn them at length to ghosts that leave
When the moon's white path is slowly run
Till the morning comes, and with joy for me
O'er my gold agleam in the willow-tree.
The lilacs that blew on the breast of May
Are an old and lost delight;
And the rose lies ruined in his careless way
As the wind turns the poplars underwhite,
Yet richer am I for the autumn; see
All my misty gold in the willow-tree.
poem by Eugene Field
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The Giddy Tree' by David Hart
'The Giddy Tree' by David Hart
Giddy tree, oh giddy tree
You tickle my funny bones
You see
Your branches swirl and twirl
And you look all gnarled and
Ready to unfurl
You creak and swing with
Ease
In a sweet swirling and
Affectionate breeze
Feisty tree, oh feisty tree
Butterflies dance
And fall in a frenzy
At your knees
Silly tree, oh silly tree
Ladybugs sunbath and linger
Giddy on your leaves
Limber tree, oh limber tree
You give and you live
A delight to the
Sight
and always you please
Dreamy tree, oh dreamy tree
Love birds surround you
and like adventurous ships sailing on
Sprite and dazzling seas
Charming tree, oh charming tree
Little children squeal and tickle
and swing on your arms in
the breeze oh so fickle
Mysterious tree, oh mysterious tree
The sparrows adore you
The squirrels they implore you
The owls ever asking you,
Who, who, who
The stars with certainty
Know you are no fool
You are a funny and twisty and
dreamy and mysterious and
wonderful and charming
tree, you.
poem by David Hart
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The Giving Tree
Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'
And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.
And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Mustard field
One day while walking in a mustard field,
I found a swing hanging on a mango tree,
mustard flowers were swirling with breeze,
birds were singing on tree,
there I found a swing on mango tree,
its ropes were long and thick,
I rode on it,
it moved up in the air like a bird,
and return back to move up there,
I saw a well from up there,
and bird nest on tree on back in the air,
the swing was moving here and there,
it was not aware of who I am,
just it was giving me feeling divine,
without any question or discrimination,
I found joy to fill my heart and I lived that moment like a bird!
poem by Hemu Gupta
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Sitting In My Tree
I often sit alone up in a tree
Waving to the ones that wave at me
I think well just how stupid can they be
Waving to a man up in a tree
What they dont know is I am counting them
I even count the ladies and the men
I put the numbers in my little book
And only me can ever have a look
All I ask is a piece of mind
Which I lost somewhere down amongst the mess
All I want is for people to be kind
And walk slower to be counted when they pass
I think well just how stupid can they be
Waving to a man up in a tree
I know that I will have to stop my fun
When I meet a girl who I can not count on
Maybe marry her and happy we would be
Not counting but a-sitting up a tree
I put the numbers in my little book
And only me can ever have a look
I think well just how stupid can they be
Waving to a man up in a tree
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Devil's Swing
Over the rushing river
Where shaggy fir-trees stand,
The devil himself is pushing
My swing with furry hand.
Pushing, he laughs away,
And up I go,
And down I go,
The seat creaks ominously,
The rope begins to fray,
Rubbing against a bough.
Prolonged the seat-board's creaking,
As up and down it glides.
With wheezy laughter shaking,
The devil holds his sides.
l hang on, swinging, gliding,
As up I go,
And down I go,
Slithering, slipping, sliding,
My dizzy gaze avoiding
The devil down below.
Above the shady fir-tree,
A voice laughs from the blue:
"You've landed on the swing, see! -
Swing, and to hell with you!"
And in the shaggy fir-tree,
A raucous hullabaloo:
"You've landed on the swing, see! -
Swing, and to hell with you!"
The devil will not leave it,
The swing will fly apace
Till with a violent buffet
I'm swept clean off my place,
Until the last few strands
Of hemp snap finally,
Until my native land
Comes flying up at me.
I'll soar above that fir-tree
And bang earth with my head.
So swing the swing on, devil,
Higher, higher... Aah!
poem by Fyodor Sologub
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Grass is easier?
Up on a windy hill a tree is
a grassy field wind is the breeze
birds and bee's play and play
long lost lovers sign there names
in the tree
a tire swing sways and sways
on this tree
children songs and voices
filled the air at the time
now and days the grass is dead
tree is bare and the birds and the bees
play else ware
long lost lovers are lost
the names wore and decay
on this tree
a tire swing once swayed
on this tree children played
now on this tree smoke and ash lay
songs and voices now all gone
for this is the tree we once plaid on
poem by Cody Lee Jones
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Which Tree Am I?
Which tree, Which tree, Which tree Am I?
Do gaunt limbs swing high upon my trunk-
Etching signals in the sky?
Maybe my roots are solid and firm,
Grounded in being, strong and thick,
Passing soil and grub worm?
Specifically-
Am I, perhaps, an evergreen?
Warm and welcoming- Sheltering,
Birds within my canopy?
Or-
Do I sag, like a willow,
Showcasing agony with each wind,
Whispering melancholic mellows?
Which tree, Which tree, Which tree, Am I?
Oak, Redwood, Willow…. Bonsai?
poem by Lazarus Knix
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On A Thin String
A tree with leaves helps all us breathe.
And they wont be obsolete,
In our lifetime.
Not in yours or mine.
But there are those who choose conflict,
To destroy what does exist.
In our lifetime.
Yours and mine.
Mighty is a kite that flies high in the sky.
On a thin string to delight imaginations...
And,
Some believe they have the right to turn off lights.
No matter where they are...
They think they made the Earth and stars.
A tree with leaves helps all us breathe.
And they wont be obsolete,
In our lifetime.
Not in yours or mine.
But there are those who choose conflict,
To destroy what does exist.
In our lifetime.
Yours and mine.
Mighty is a kite that flies high in the sky.
On a thin string to delight imaginations...
And,
Some believe they have the right to turn off lights.
No matter where they are...
They think they made the Earth and stars.
Oh and,
Mighty is a kite that flies high in the sky.
On a thin string to delight imaginations...
And,
Some believe they have the right to turn off lights.
No matter where they are...
They think they made the Earth and stars.
And on a thin string,
Imagine if all life broke apart!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Two Cats
Two Cats
One up a tree
One under the tree
The cat up a tree is he
The cat under the tree is she
The tree is witch elm, just incidentally.
He takes no notice of she, she takes no notice of he.
He stares at the woolly clouds passing, she stares at the tree.
There's been a lot written about cats, by Old Possum, Yeats and Company
But not Alfred de Musset or Lord Tennyson or Poe or anybody
Wrote about one cat under, and one cat up, a tree.
God knows why this should be left for me
Except I like cats as cats be
Especially one cat up
And one cat under
A witch elm
Tree.
poem by by unknown author
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The Strange Tree
There’s a strange tree which lives near me,
And this strange tree could not agree,
That if this tree could ever see,
A stranger tree it sure would be.
There’s a strange tree which topples me,
For this strange tree was tall, you see,
And then this tree would use its knee,
To break in three, the clouds who flee.
There’s a strange tree which lives near me,
The northern tree, its branches free,
The southern tree, no limb to see,
For this strange tree, was strange, you see?
There’s a strange tree which I can see,
And this strange tree (against my plea)
Was sent to sea, its roots now free,
And now this tree… A ship is he.
End.
A Poison Tree
the mom and dad
found a poison tree
did not realise
the land they are tilling
until a poison tree
sprouts in their midst
the tree from the seeds
of their sweats
the tree sheds leaves
of disappointments
flying away with their
most secret wishes, hope
and fun of life
the sweats are now tears
drenched with deep seated regrets
they never realised they would be
the farmers of the poison tree
but now they are not able
to do away with for whatever
reason, whatever price
the tree poisons their systems
the roots the tree has imbibed
its nutrients all these years
the tree clings over them
a parasite strangling
its parent tree slowly,
surely, despicably
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Tree please forgive me
Oh tree, oh tree
Please forgive me
Oh tree, oh tree
I hope you smile at me
Oh tree, oh tree
I will try to save you
Oh tree, oh tree
Become my friend because I am all alone here
poem by Lovely Girl
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Under The Laburnum Tree
(A simple tale)
Under the Laburnum tree
She saw his gentle face
Under the Laburnum tree
She knew their first embrace
Under the Laburnum tree
She gave to him her love
Under the Laburnum tree
Beneath the stars above
Under the Laburnum tree
He left her there to cry
Under the Laburnum tree
That`s where she chose to die
(Under the Laburnum tree
Were scattered all its seeds
Under the Laburnum tree
Amongst the growing weeds)
Under the Laburnum tree
The moon was shining bright
Under the Laburnum tree
Her silv`ry soul took flight
Under the Laburnum tree
At last she was set free
Under the Laburnum tree
She found eternity
poem by Valerie Dohren
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Remember The Oak Tree
Remember the oak tree?
Hovering over the yellow house,
In the midst of which we fell so free
That was useful to everyone including a mouse.
Remember the oak tree?
When we set up our tyre swing
While my mother and
your mother had some tea,
And listened across town for
the bells of the Church to ring.
Remember the oak tree?
Sheltering us from all the harsh weather
And providing us shade while we shelled the peas
During the long hot summer we spent together
Remember the oak tree?
Under which we would always play and sit.
Can’t you see
I can never forget it.
Remember the Oak Tree?
poem by Nilesh Roy
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