William Byrd - Pop

In fields abroad

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In fields abroad, wher Trumpets shrill do sound Wher glaves & shields, do give & take the knocks Wher bodies dead, doe overspred the ground: & friends to foes, are common butchers blocks A gallant shot well managing his peece In my conceit deserves a golden fleece Amid the seas, a gallant ship set out Where in nor men nor yet munitions lacks In greatest winds that spareth not a clout But cuts the waves in spight of wethers wracks Would force a swain that comes of cowards kinde To change him selfe and be of noble minde Who makes his seat a stately stamping stead Whose neighes & playes are princely to behold Whose courage stout, whose eyes are fiery red Whose joints well knit, whose harnes all of gold Doth well deserve to be no meaner thing Then Percian knight whose horse made him a king By that beside where sits a gallant Dame Who casteth of her brave and rich attire Whose petecote sets forth as faire a frame As mortall men or gods can well desire Who sits and sees her petecote unlast I say no more, the rest are all disgrast

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Writers: William Byrd

In fields abroad

In fields abroad

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