Martin Pippin in the Apple Orchard
THE LADIES You may not come into our orchard, singer, Because we must guard the Emperor's Daughter Who hides in her hair at the windows there With her thoughts a thousand leagues over the water, Singer, singer, Wandering singer, O my honey-sweet singer!
THE WANDERING SINGER Lady, lady, my spring-green lady, But will you not hear an Alba, lady? I'll play for you now neath the apple-bough And you shall dance on the lawn so shady, Lady, lady, My fair lady, O my spring-green lady!
THE LADIES O if you play us an Alba, singer, How can that harm the Emperor's Daughter? No word would she say though we danced all day, With her thoughts a thousand leagues over the water, Singer, singer, Wandering singer, O my honey-sweet singer!
THE WANDERING SINGER But if I play you an Alba, lady, Get me a boon from the Emperor's Daughter-- The flower from her hair for my heart to wear Though hers be a thou