I Have a Song to Sing-O
(W.S. Gilbert and Sir Arthur Sullivan)

I have a song to sing, O!
Sing me your song, O!
It is sung to the moon by a love-lorn loon
Who fled from the mocking throng, O!
It's the song of a merryman, moping mum,
Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum
Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb
As he sighed for the love of a la-dye.

cho: Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackaday dee
He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb
As he sighed for the love of a la-dye.

I have a song to sing, O!
What is your song, O?
It is sung with the ring of the songs maids sing
Who love with a love lifelong, O!
It's the song of a merrymaid, peerly proud
Who loved a lord and who laughed aloud
At thge moan of the merryman, moping mum
Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum
Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb
As he sighed for the love of a la-dye.

cho: Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackaday dee
He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb
As he sighed for the love of a la-dye.

I have a song to sing, O!
Sing me your song, O!
It is sung to the knell of a churchyard bell
And a doleful dirge ding dong, O!
It's a song of a popinjay, bravely born,
Who turned up his noble nose with scorn
At the humble merrymaid, peerly proud
Who lov'd a lord and who laugh'd aloud
At the moan of the merryman, moping mum,
Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum
Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb
As he sighed for the love of a la-dye.

cho: Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackaday dee
He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb
As he sighed for the love of a la-dye.

I have a song to sing, O!
Sing me your song, O!
It is sung with a sigh and a tear in the eye
For it tells of a righted wrong, O!
It's a song of a merrymaid, once so gay,
Who turned on her heel and tripped away
From the peacock popinjay, bravely born,
Who turned up his noble nose with scorn
At the humble heart that he did not prize;
So she begged on her knees, with downcast eyes,
For the love of the merryman, moping mum,
Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum
Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb
As he sighed for the love of a la-dye.

cho: Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackaday dee
His pains were o'er and he sighed no more
For he lived in thr love of a la-dye.

Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackaday dee
His pains were o'er and he sighed no more
For he lived in thr love of a la-dye.

From The Yeomen of the Guard
AJS
Apr98