Country Dance - Louis Fremaux, City Of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, Уильям Уолтон

That hobnailed goblin

The bob-tailed Hob

Said, «It is time I began to rob.»

For strawberries bob

Hob-nob with the pearls

Of cream

(like the curls of the dairy girls)

And flushed with the heat and

Fruitish ripe

Are the gowns of the maids who

Dance to the pipe

Chase a maid?

She’s afraid!

«Go gather a bob-cherry kiss from a tree

But don’t, I prithee, come

Bothering me!»

She said —

As she fled

The snouted satyrs drink clouted

Cream

'Neath the chestnut-trees is thick as

A dream;

So I went

And leant

Where none but the doltish coltish wind

Nuzzled my hand for what could find

As I neighed

I said

«Don't touch me, sir

Don’t touch me, I say

You’ll tumble my strawberries

Into the hay

Those snow-mounds of silver that

Bee, the spring

Has sucked his sweetness from

I will bring

With fair-haired plants and with

Apples chill

For the great god Pan’s high altar

…I'll spill

Not one!»

So, in fun

We rolled on the grass and began to

Run

Chasing that gaudy satyr the Sun;

Over the haycocks, away we ran

Crying, «Here be berries as

Sunburnt as Pan!»

But Silenus

Has seen us…

He runs like the rough satyr Sun

Come away!