O never say that I was false of heart, D1 D2 O never say that I was false of heart, D3 Gm/D Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify: Am Gm As easy might I from myself depart A Dm As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie; A Dm That is my home of love; if I have ranged, Bb - Gm - Dm - A7 - Dm Like him that travels, I return again, Em Dm-F E7 Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, Am G - F E7 So that myself bring water for my stain. Never believe, though in my nature reign'd All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, That it could so preposterously be stain'd To leave for nothing all thy sum of good: Am F C For nothing this wide universe I call, Dm E7 Am - G Am Save thou, my rose: in it thou art my all. William Shakespeare D1: xx0568 D2: xx0535 D3: xx0435 Gm/D: xx0333

The Crow Sat On The Willow - Poem by John Clare Am F/A-Am The crow sat on the willow tree Fmaj7 - Am Em A-lifting up his wings, Am F/A-Am And glossy was his coat to see, Fmaj7 - Am Em And loud the ploughman sings, Dm C - G 'I love my love because I know Em-C Em The milkmaid she loves me'; F/A Am - Em And hoarsely croaked the glossy crow F/A G - Am Upon the willow tree. F C 'I love my love' the ploughman sung, F C G Dm And all the fields with music rung. 'I love my love, a bonny lass, She keeps her pails so bright, And blythe she trips the dewy grass At morning and at night. A cotton dress her morning gown, Her face was rosy health: She traced the pastures up and down And nature was her wealth.' He sung, and turned each furrow down, His sweetheart's love in cotton gown. 'My love is young and handsome As any in the town, She's worth a ploughman's ransom In the drab cotton gown.' He sang and turned his furrow oer And urged his team along, While on the willow as before The old crow croaked his song: The ploughman sung his rustic lay And sung of Phoebe all the day. The crow he was in love no doubt And [so were] many things: The ploughman finished many a bout, And lustily he sings, 'My love she is a milking maid With red rosy cheek; Of cotton drab her gown was made, I loved her many a week.' His milking maid the ploughman sung Till all the fields around him rung. John Clare F/A: x035x5

The New Vestments - Poem by Edward Lear Dm There lived an old man in the kingdom of Tess, Gm Dm Who invented a purely original dress; Dm And when it was perfectly made and complete, Gm A7 He opened the door, and walked into the street. D7 Em By way of a hat, he'd a loaf of Brown Bread, C G A B7 In the middle of which he inserted his head;-- D7 Em His Shirt was made up of no end of dead Mice, C G D7 The warmth of whose skins was quite fluffy and nice;-- E Am B7 His Drawers were of Rabit-skins, -- but it is not known whose;-- Em A His Waistcoat and Trowsers were made of Pork Chops;-- Em A His Buttons were Jujubes, and Chocolate Drops;-- C G F E7 His Coat was all Pancakes with Jam for a border, C G A D7 And a girdle of Biscuits to keep it in order; C G F E7 And he wore over all, as a screen from bad weather, C G A D7 A Cloak of green Cabbage-leaves stitched all together. [A] He had walked a short way, when he heard a great noise, Of all sorts of Beasticles, Birdlings, and Boys;-- And from every long street and dark lane in the town Beasts, Birdles, and Boys in a tumult rushed down. [B] Two Cows and a half ate his Cabbage-leaf Cloak;-- Four Apes seized his Girdle, which vanished like smoke;-- Three Kids ate up half of his Pancaky Coat,-- And the tails were devour'd by an ancient He Goat;-- [A] An army of Dogs in a twinkling tore up his Pork Waistcoat and Trowsers to give to their Puppies;-- and while they were growling, and mumbling the Chops, Ten boys prigged the Jujubes and Chocolate Drops.-- [B] He tried to run back to his house, but in vain, Four Scores of fat Pigs came again and again;-- They rushed out of stables and hovels and doors,-- They tore off his stockings, his shoes, and his drawers;-- [Dx2] And now from the housetops with screechings descend, Striped, spotted, white, black, and gray Cats without end, They jumped on his shoulders and knocked off his hat,-- When Crows, Ducks, and Hens made a mincemeat of that;-- [E] They speedily flew at his sleeves in trice, And utterly tore up his Shirt of dead Mice;-- They swallowed the last of his Shirt with a squall,-- Whereon he ran home with no clothes on at all. E Am And he said to himself as he bolted the door, E Am 'I will not wear a similar dress any more, Am G F E7 Am 'Any more, any more, any more, never more!' Edward Lear

Jabberwocky (Lewis Carroll) Em 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. D Em “Beware the Jabberwock, my son! Am Bb D Em The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! F-Am G Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun Am-G B7 The frumious Bandersnatch!” He took his vorpal sword in hand; Long time the manxome foe he sought— So rested he by the Tumtum tree And stood awhile in thought. And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! C G B7 One, two! One, two! And through and through G D A7 The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! G D Em He left it dead, and with its head C G B7 He went galumphing back. “And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” He chortled in his joy. ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.

The White Knight's Song - Poem by Lewis Carroll Asus4 A I'll tell thee everything I can; D9 Bm There's little to relate. Asus4 A I saw an aged, aged man, D9 Bm A-sitting on a gate. Asus4 A 'Who are you, aged man?' I said. D9 Bm 'And how is it you live?' Asus4 A And his answer trickled through my head D9 Bm Like water through a sieve. Em Bm He said 'I look for butterflies Em Bm That sleep among the wheat; G A I make them into mutton-pies, Bm And sell them in the street. Em Bm I sell them unto men,' he said, Em Bm 'Who sail on stormy seas; G A And that's the way I get my bread-- C#7 A trifle, if you please.' But I was thinking of a plan To dye one's whiskers green, And always use so large a fan That it could not be seen. So, having no reply to give To what the old man said, I cried, 'Come, tell me how you live!' And thumped him on the head. His accents mild took up the tale; He said, 'I go my ways, And when I find a mountain-rill, I set it in a blaze. And thence they make a stuff they call Rowland's Macassar Oil-- Yet twopence-halfpenny is all They give me for my toil.' Bm Em But I was thinking of a way G Bm To feed oneself on batter, D A G A And so go on from day to day G A Bm Getting a little fatter. Bm Em I shook him well from side to side, G Bm Until his face was blue; D A G A 'Come, tell me how you live,' I cried G A C#7 'And what it is you do!' He said, 'I hunt for haddocks' eyes Among the heather bright, And work them into waistcoat-buttons In the silent night. And these I do not sell for gold Or coin of silvery shine, But for a copper halfpenny, And that will purchase nine. 'I sometimes dig for buttered rolls, Or set limed twigs for crabs; I sometimes search the grassy knolls For wheels of hansom-cabs. And that's the way' (he gave a wink) 'By which I get my wealth-- And very gladly will I drink Your Honor's noble health.' I heard him then, for I had just Completed my design To keep the Menai bridge from rust By boiling it in wine. I thanked him much for telling me The way he got his wealth, But chiefly for his wish that he Might drink my noble health. A E And now, if e'er by chance I put F#m D My fingers into glue, A Bm Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot A Bm Into a left-hand shoe, C#m E Or if I drop upon my toe D-E F#m A very heavy weight, A Bm I weep, for it reminds me so A Bm Of that old man I used to know-- C#m E Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow, D-E F#m Whose hair was whiter than the snow, G#m C#m Whose face was very like a crow G#m C#m With eyes, like cinders, all aglow, Asus4 A D9 Bm Who seemed distracted with his woe, Asus4 A D9 Bm Who rocked his body to and fro, Fmaj7 C And muttered mumblingly and low, Em F - G As if his mouth were full of dough, Asus4 A D9 Bm Who snorted like a buffalo-- Asus4 A D9 Bm That summer evening long ago E7 A-sitting on a gate. Lewis Carroll Asus4: x077xx A: x076xx D9: xx055x Bm: xx043x

“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more” By William Shakespeare (from Henry V, spoken by King Henry) C G Am Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; F Em Dm Or close the wall up with our English dead. Bb C Dm In peace there's nothing so becomes a man G C D7 As modest stillness and humility: Gm Dm But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Eb - Bb - C - D7 Then imitate the action of the tiger; Gm - Bb - C - D7 Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Gm - C D7 Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Bm Em Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Bm Em Let pry through the portage of the head G D Em A Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it Em D F#7 As fearfully as doth a galled rock D C O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, G F Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Am D Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, Am B7 Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit Em A To his full height. On, on, you noblest English. Em A Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! C G - D Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, Am B7 Have in these parts from morn till even fought [A] And sheathed their swords for lack of argument: Dishonour not your mothers; now attest That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, [B] And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; [C] For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: G D A7 Follow your spirit, and upon this charge G D A7 Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

It Was Upon - Poem by Edward Thomas Gm Fm9 It was upon a July evening. F/D Gm/D At a stile I stood, looking along a path Am7 Gm Over the country by a second Spring Am Bsus4 Drenched perfect green again. 'The lattermath Em Bm Will be a fine one.' So the stranger said, C - G Bsus4 A wandering man. Albeit I stood at rest, D F/D Fmaj7 Em Flushed with desire I was. The earth outspread, Bb Am Dm Like meadows of the future, I possessed. And as an unaccomplished prophecy The stranger's words, after the interval Of a score years, when those fields are by me Never to be recrossed, now I recall, This July eve, and question, wondering, What of the lattermath to this hoar Spring? Edward Thomas Gm: xx5033 Fm9: xx3011 F/D: xx0565

No Man Is An Island - Poem by John Donne D Am No man is an island, C Em Entire of itself, D Am Every man is a piece of the continent, C Em A part of the main. B7 Em - A If a clod be washed away by the sea, C Em Europe is the less. B7 Em - A As well as if a promontory were. C Em As well as if a manor of thy friend's B7 Or of thine own were: C#dim C Any man's death diminishes me, G# C Fm Bb Am Because I am involved in mankind, E7 Am Dm And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; Am E7 Am It tolls for thee. C#dim: x430xx John Donne

The Unreturning - Poem by Wilfred Owen Am+ Am Am79 Am Suddenly night crushed out the day and hurled E Bm7 F#m7 Her remnants over cloud-peaks, thunder-walled. Am+ Am Am79 Am Then fell a stillness such as harks appalled E Bm7 F#m7 When far-gone dead return upon the world. A7 F#m There watched I for the Dead; but no ghost woke. Bm A G F#m Bm Each one whom Life exiled I named and called. A G F#m Bm But they were all too far, or dumbed, or thralled, A G F#m And never one fared back to me or spoke. Then peered the indefinite unshapen dawn With vacant gloaming, sad as half-lit minds, The weak-limned hour when sick men's sighs are drained. And while I wondered on their being withdrawn, A7 F#m Gagged by the smothering Wing which none unbinds, Bm A G F#m Bm A G C#7 I dreaded even a heaven with doors so chained. Wilfred Owen

The Chalk-Pit - Poem by Edward Thomas Am Em F Is this the road that climbs above and bends C G Round what was once a chalk-pit: now it is Am Em By accident an amphitheatre. C#m Bm A Some ash trees standing ankle-deep in briar And bramble act the parts, and neither speak Nor stir,' 'But see: they have fallen, every one, And briar and bramble have grown over them.' 'That is the place. As usual no one is here. C#m D A Bm Hardly can I imagine the drop of the axe, E Bm And the smack that is like an echo, sounding here.' C#m D A Bm 'I do not understand.' 'Why, what I mean is D A C#m That I have seen the place two or three times At most, and that its emptiness and silence And stillness haunt me, as if just before It was not empty, silent, still, but full Of life of some kind, perhaps tragical. Has anything unusual happened here?' 'Not that I know of. It is called the Dell. They have not dug chalk here for a century. That was the ash trees' age. But I will ask.' 'No. Do not. I prefer to make a tale, Or better leave it like the end of a play, Actors and audience and lights all gone; For so it looks now. In my memory D G#m Again and again I see it, strangely dark, C#m B And vacant of a life but just withdrawn. Bm A We have not seen the woodman with the axe. C#7 Some ghost has left it now as we two came,' 'And yet you doubted if this were the road?' 'Well, sometimes I have thought of it and failed To place it. No. And I am not quite sure, Even now, this is it. For another place, Real or painted, may have combined with it. Or I myself a long way back in time…' 'Why, as to that, I used to meet a man - I had forgotten, - searching for birds' nests Along the road and in the chalk-pit too. The wren's hole was an eye that looked at him For recognition. Every nest he knew. He got a stiff neck, by looking this side or that, Spring after spring, he told me, with his laugh - A sort of laugh. He was a visitor, A man of forty, - smoked and strolled about. At orts and crosses Pleasure and Pain had played On his brown features; - I think both had lost; - Mild and yet wild too. You may know the kind. And once or twice a woman shared his walks, A girl of twenty with a brown boy's face, And hair brown as a thrush or as a nut, Thick eyebrows, glinting eyes -' 'You have said enough. A pair, - free thought, free love, - I know the breed: I shall not mix my fancies up with them.' 'You please yourself. I should prefer the truth Or nothing. Here, in fact, is nothing at all Except a silent place that once rang loud, And trees and us - imperfect friends, we men And trees since time began; and nevertheless Between us we still breed a mystery.' Edward Thomas

Act III SCENE II. Another part of the heath. Storm still. Enter KING LEAR and Fool KING LEAR Em B7 Em Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! D B7 Em You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Em B7 Em Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! D C Em You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, B7 Em Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, C G B7 Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, C D Am Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world! G F Crack nature's moulds, an germens spill at once, B7 That make ingrateful man! Fool D Bm Em A O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry D Bm Em A house is better than this rain-water out o' door. D Bm Em A Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing: D Bm Em A Bm A G here's a night pities neither wise man nor fool. KING LEAR Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain! Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness; I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, You owe me no subscription: then let fall Your horrible pleasure: here I stand, your slave, A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man: But yet I call you servile ministers, Am Em That have with two pernicious daughters join'd Am Em Your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head D C B7 So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul! Fool He that has a house to put's head in has a good head-piece. The cod-piece that will house Before the head has any, The head and he shall louse; So beggars marry many. The man that makes his toe What he his heart should make Shall of a corn cry woe, D Em And turn his sleep to wake. D Em For there was never yet fair woman but she made Bm A G mouths in a glass. KING LEAR No, I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say nothing.

King Lear Act III Scene IV Am/D Dmaj7 Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm F#7 G Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee; Gm Bm But where the greater malady is fix'd, A G The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'ldst shun a bear; But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, Thou'ldst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the mind's free, Bb Dm F C Dm The body's delicate: the tempest in my mind Eb A Dm C Doth from my senses take all feeling else E7 Save what beats there. Am C#m Filial ingratitude! D A G C#7 F#m Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand Bm A G F#m For lifting food to't? But I will punish home: No, I will weep no more. In such a night To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure. In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril! Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,-- O, that way madness lies; let me shun that; No more of that.

King Lear Act V Scene III KING LEAR Em Bm/D C B7 Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones: Em Bm/D C D Had I your tongues and eyes, I'ld use them so Em D G D That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever! Em D B7 I know when one is dead, and when one lives; Am G D She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass; C D If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, Em Why, then she lives. KENT Em Is this the promised end EDGAR Am Or image of that horror? ALBANY B7 Em Fall, and cease! KING LEAR G C Em This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, F G It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows Am That ever I have felt. KENT [Kneeling] O my good master! KING LEAR Prithee, away. EDGAR 'Tis noble Kent, your friend. KING LEAR A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all! I might have saved her; now she's gone for ever! Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman. I kill'd the slave that was a-hanging thee.

The Calls - Poem by Wilfred Owen Dusu4/A D/A A dismal fog-hoarse siren howls at dawn. Csus4-C Gm I watch the man it calls for, pushed and drawn Bbmaj7/A Asus4-A Backwards and forwards, helpless as a pawn. Dm Am But I'm lazy, and his work's crazy. Quick treble bells begin at nine o'clock, Scuttling the schoolboy pulling up his sock, Scaring the late girl in the inky frock. I must be crazy; I learn from the daisy. Em Am G B7 Stern bells annoy the rooks and doves at ten. Am7 Am6# Am6 Am I watch the verger close the doors, and when Em Am B7 Em I hear the organ moan the first amen, G D C B7 Sing my religion's-same as pigeons'. A blatant bugle tears my afternoons. Out clump the clumsy Tommies by platoons, Trying to keep in step with rag-time tunes, But I sit still; I've done my drill. Gongs hum and buzz like saucepan-lids at dusk, I see a food-hog whet his gold-filled tusk To eat less bread, and more luxurious rusk. Then sometimes late at night my window bumps From gunnery-practice, till my small heart thumps And listens for the shell-shrieks and the crumps, But that's not all. C G Am B7 For leaning out last midnight on my sill Am7 Am6# Am6 Am I heard the sighs of men, that have no skill Am7 Am6# Am6 Am To speak of their distress, no, nor the will! G D Em A voice I know. And this time I must go. Wilfred Owen Dsus4/A: x0778x D/A: x0775x Csus4: x3556x Bbmaj7/A: x0323x Am7 Am6# Am6 Am: x055xx/ x045xx/0035xx/x025xx