This is a modern-English version of Songs of the West: Folk Songs of Devon & Cornwall Collected from the Mouths of the People, originally written by Baring-Gould, S. (Sabine), Bussell, F. W. (Frederick William), Sheppard, H. Fleetwood (Henry Fleetwood).
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Transcriber's Notes
Transcriber's Notes
Printer errors as well as inconsistencies in punctuation and diacriticals have been corrected without note. Inconsistencies in song titles as listed in the Contents and the Alphabetical Index have been left as they appear in the original.
Printer errors and inconsistencies in punctuation and diacritics have been corrected without mention. Inconsistencies in song titles as listed in the Contents and the Alphabetical Index have been left as they were in the original.
SONGS
OF THE WEST
FOLK SONGS OF DEVON & CORNWALL
Folk Songs of Devon & Cornwall
COLLECTED FROM THE MOUTHS OF THE PEOPLE
COLLECTED FROM THE VOICES OF THE PEOPLE
BY
BY
S. BARING-GOULD, M.A.
S. Baring-Gould, M.A.
H. FLEETWOOD SHEPPARD, M.A.
H. Fleetwood Sheppard, M.A.
AND
AND
F.W. BUSSELL, MUS. DOC. D.D.
F.W. BUSSELL, MUS. DOC. D.D.
UNDER THE MUSICAL EDITORSHIP OF
UNDER THE MUSICAL DIRECTION OF
CECIL J. SHARP
CECIL J. SHARP
PRINCIPAL OF THE HAMPSTEAD CONSERVATOIRE
Principal of the Hampstead Conservatory
FIFTH EDITION IN ONE VOLUME
Fifth Edition in One Volume
METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
| Originally issued in Four Parts in | 1890 |
| First Published in One Volume in | 1892 |
| New and Revised Edition October | 1905 |
| Reprinted April | 1913 |
TO
THE MEMORY OF
THE LATE
D. RADFORD, Esq., J.P.,
OF MOUNT TAVY,
AT WHOSE HOSPITABLE TABLE THE
MAKING OF THIS COLLECTION
WAS FIRST PLANNED
ALSO
TO THAT OF
THE REV. H. FLEETWOOD SHEPPARD, M.A.,
MY FELLOW WORKER IN THIS FIELD FOR TWELVE YEARS
TO
THE MEMORY OF
THE LATE
D. RADFORD, Esq., J.P.,
OF MOUNT TAVY,
WHERE THE IDEA FOR THIS
COLLECTION WAS FIRST TALKED ABOUT
ALSO
TO THAT OF
THE REV. H. FLEETWOOD SHEPPARD, M.A.,
MY COLLEAGUE HAS BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR TWELVE YEARS
CONTENTS
ALPHABETICAL INDEX OF SONGS
PREFACE
IN this Edition of "Songs of the West," some considerable changes have been made. When the first edition was issued, we had to catch the public taste, and to humour it. Accordingly the choruses were arranged in four parts, and some of the Songs were set as duets and quartettes. But now that real interest in Folk airs has been awakened, we have discarded this feature.
IN this Edition of "West Coast Tunes," some significant changes have been made. When the first edition was released, we needed to appeal to the public's taste and cater to it. As a result, the choruses were arranged in four parts, and some of the songs were set as duets and quartets. But now that genuine interest in folk music has been sparked, we have removed this aspect.
Moreover, a good many accompanists complained that the arrangements were too elaborate, except for very skilled pianoforte players. We have now simplified the settings.
Moreover, many accompanists complained that the arrangements were too complicated, except for very skilled pianists. We have now simplified the settings.
Then, we have omitted twenty-two songs, and have supplied their places with others, either because the others are intrinsically better, or that they have earlier and more characteristic melodies, or again because the songs though sung by the people, did not seem to us to have been productions of the folk-muse.
Then, we have left out twenty-two songs and replaced them with others, either because those are simply better, or because they have earlier and more distinctive melodies, or because the songs, while popular, didn’t seem to us to be creations of the folk muse.
Again, when our first edition was published, modal melodies were not appreciated, and we had regretfully to put many aside and introduce more of the airs of a modern character. Public taste is a little healthier now, and musicians have multiplied who can value these early melodies. Consequently we have not felt the same reserve now that we did in 1889.
Again, when our first edition was published, modal melodies weren't appreciated, and we had to reluctantly set many aside to include more of the modern tunes. Public taste is a bit healthier now, and there are many more musicians who can appreciate these early melodies. As a result, we don’t feel the same hesitation now as we did in 1889.
INTRODUCTION
DOROTHY OSBORNE, in a letter to Sir William Temple, in 1653, thus describes her daily home life. "The heat of the day is spent in reading or working, and about six or seven o'clock I walk out into a common that lies hard by the house, where a great many young wenches keep sheep or cows, and sit in the shade singing ballads. I go to them and compare their voices and beauties to some ancient shepherdesses that I have read of, and find a vast difference there; but trust me these are as innocent as those could be. I talk to them, and find they want nothing to make them the happiest people in the world but the knowledge that they are so. Most commonly, when we are in the midst of our discourse, one looks about her, and spies her cows going into the corn, and then away they all run as if they had wings to their heels." ("Letters of Dorothy Osborne," London, 1888, p. 103.)
DOROTHY OSBORNE, in a letter to Sir William Temple, in 1653, describes her daily home life: "I spend the hot part of the day reading or working, and around six or seven o'clock, I take a walk to a common area nearby where many young girls tend sheep or cows and sit in the shade singing ballads. I join them and compare their voices and looks to some ancient shepherdesses I’ve read about, and there's a huge difference; but believe me, these girls are just as innocent as those could be. I chat with them and discover that the only thing they lack to be the happiest people in the world is the awareness that they are. Usually, during our conversation, one of them looks around and notices her cows heading into the corn, and then they all take off as if they had wings on their heels." ("Letters of Dorothy Osborne," London, 1888, p. 103.)
Before that Sir Thomas Overbury, in his "Character of a Milkmaid," had written: "She dares go alone and unfold her sheep in the night, and fears no manner of ill, because she means none: yet, to say truth, she is never alone, she is still accompanied with old songs, honest thoughts, and prayers, but short ones."
Before that, Sir Thomas Overbury, in his "Character of a Milkmaid," wrote: "She’s brave enough to go out alone and tend to her sheep at night, and she doesn’t fear any harm because she means no harm. But to be honest, she’s never really alone; she’s always accompanied by old songs, good thoughts, and brief prayers."
During the reign of Queen Mary, the Princess Elizabeth was kept under close guard and restraint, but was suffered to walk in the palace grounds. "In this situation," says Holinshed, "no marvel if she, hearing upon a time, out of her garden at Woodstock, a certain milkmaid singing pleasantlie, wished herself to be a milkmaid as she was; saying that her case was better, and life merrier." So Viola, in Fletcher's play, "The Coxcombe," 1647:
During Queen Mary's reign, Princess Elizabeth was kept under tight guard but was allowed to walk in the palace grounds. "In this situation," Holinshed says, "it's no wonder that one day, from her garden at Woodstock, she heard a milkmaid singing happily and wished she could be a milkmaid too, saying her life was better and happier." Similarly, in Fletcher's play, "The Coxcombe," 1647:
"Would to God, my father
Had lived like one of these, and bred me up
To milk, and do as they do! Methinks 'tis
A life that I would chuse, if I were now
To tell my time again, above a prince's."
"I wish my dad"
Had lived like one of these and raised me
To milk and do what they do! I think it’s
A life I would choose if I could live my time over, better than being a prince."
The milkmaid, and the girls guarding sheep and cows are things of the past, and with them have largely departed their old ballads and songs. Tusser, in his "Points on Huswifry," in 1570, recommends the country housewife to select her maids from those who sing at their work as being usually the most painstaking and the best.
The milkmaid and the girls watching over sheep and cows are relics of the past, and with them, their old ballads and songs have mostly faded away. Tusser, in his "Points on Huswifry," in 1570, advises the country housewife to choose her maids from those who sing while they work, as they are generally the most diligent and the best.
"Such servants are oftenest painsfull and good,
That sing at their labours, like birds in a wood."
"Such servants are often a pain and a blessing,
Who sing while they work, like birds in a forest."
Nowadays, domestic servants sing nothing but hymns, and the use of ballads and folksongs has died out among farm girls, and these are to be recovered only where there are village industries as basket weaving, glove sewing, and the like.
Nowadays, domestic servants only sing hymns, and the use of ballads and folk songs has faded away among farm girls. These songs can only be revived where there are local crafts like basket weaving, glove making, and similar activities.
But the old men sing their ancient ditties, or did so till within the last fifty years. Now they are no longer called on for them, but they remember them, and with a little persuasion can be induced to render them up. When I was a boy, I was wont to ride over and about Dartmoor, and to put up at little village taverns. There I was sure in the evening to hear one or two men sing, and should it be a pay day, sing hour after hour, one song following another with little intermission.
But the old men used to sing their traditional songs, or they did until about fifty years ago. Now nobody asks them to sing anymore, but they still remember the songs, and with a bit of encouragement, they can be convinced to share them. When I was a boy, I would ride around Dartmoor and stay at small village inns. In the evenings, I would always hear one or two men singing, and if it was payday, they would sing for hours on end, one song after another with hardly any breaks.
There was an institution at mines and quarries called a fetching. It occurred every fortnight. The men left work early, and went to the changing room; stone jars of ale were brought thither from the nearest public house. Each man filled his mug, and each in turn, before emptying it, was required to sing. On such occasions many a fine old ballad was to be picked up. There was also the farm-supper after harvest, at which the workmen sang. Now the suppers have been discontinued. Ringer's feasts, happily, still remain, and at them a good old ditty may be heard. But most of the old singers with their traditional ballads set to ancient modal melodies have passed away.
There was an event at the mines and quarries called a fetching. It happened every two weeks. The men would leave work early and head to the changing room; stone jars of ale were brought in from the nearest pub. Each man filled his mug, and one by one, before drinking, they were expected to sing. These gatherings often featured many great old ballads. There was also a farm supper after the harvest where the workers would sing. Now, the suppers have been stopped. Fortunately, Ringer's feasts still happen, and at those, you can still hear a good old song. But most of the traditional singers with their classic ballads and ancient melodies are gone.
In "Poems, etc.," by Henry Incledon Johns, published by subscription, Devonport, 1832, is the following interesting passage. He is describing a night spent in an inn on the borders of Dartmoor; he met farmers and labourers. "One of the party I observed never took any share in the conversation, but appeared to have been invited there for the sole purpose of singing to them. He sang a great number of ballads, making up in loudness for what he lacked in melody. I thought it betrayed rather a want of courtesy that his auditors continued to talk while he sang, and no less remarkable, that they never expressed either applause or disapprobation of his strains. Now and then, one or two of them would join in a line of chorus, but it seemed to be done in a sort of parenthesis, and the thread of the conversation was immediately resumed as vehemently as ever.... I gleaned the following scraps of the border minstrelsy of Dartmoor:
In "Poems, etc.," by Henry Incledon Johns, published by subscription, Devonport, 1832, is the following interesting passage. He is describing a night spent in an inn on the borders of Dartmoor; he met farmers and laborers. "One of the group I noticed never joined in the conversation, but seemed to have been invited there just to sing for them. He sang a lot of ballads, making up for what he lacked in melody with volume. I thought it was quite rude that his audience kept talking while he sang, and it was even more surprising that they never showed any signs of appreciation or disapproval of his singing. Now and then, one or two of them would chime in for a line of the chorus, but it felt like an afterthought, and they jumped right back into their conversation as vigorously as before.... I gathered the following bits of the border minstrelsy of Dartmoor:
'There was an old man as blind as blind could be,
He swore he saw the fox go up a great tree.'
There was an old man who was completely blind,
He claimed he saw the fox climb a huge tree.
'There was one among them all
That's slender, fair and tall,
With a black and rolling eye,
And a skin of lily dye.'
'There was one among them all
Who was slender, fair, and tall,
With dark, expressive eyes,
And skin like lily white.'
'A bonny lass I courted full many a long day,
And dearly I loved to be in her sweet company.'
'I dated a lovely girl for many long days,
And I truly enjoyed being in her sweet company.'
(The lover then describes the progress of his suit, which proves unsuccessful, and concludes thus:—)
(The lover then describes the progress of his attempt to win her over, which turns out to be unsuccessful, and concludes like this:—)
'Go, dig me a pit, that is long, large, and deep,
And I'll lay myself down, and take a long sleep.
And that's the way to forget her.'
'Go, dig me a pit that’s long, big, and deep,
And I’ll lie down and take a long nap.
And that's how to move on from her.
"The air to the latter was rather plaintive, and from the lips of some siren might have been entitled to an encore, but the voice which now gave it utterance only added another to many previous proofs that the English are not a musical people. The minstrel was in appearance one of the most athletic men I have ever seen, and although seventy-five years of age, would still, as I subsequently learnt, perform a day's work better than most of the young men of the parish. He was a pauper, but in great respect among the neighbouring rustics for his vocal powers. His auditory were moor-farmers with countenances as rugged and weather-beaten as the rocks among which they live."
"The tune was pretty sad, and if it came from some siren, it could have earned an encore, but the voice that brought it forth just confirmed that the English aren’t really a musical people. The singer looked like one of the most athletic men I've ever seen, and even at seventy-five years old, as I later found out, he could still do a day's work better than most of the young guys in the area. He was a pauper, but the local farmers held him in high regard for his singing talent. His audience were moor-farmers with faces as rough and weathered as the stones in the land they worked."
It is not a little interesting to know that some seventy years after this recorded evening we were able to recover two of the songs which Mr. Johns gives somewhat inaccurately; and both are included in this collection. The first is "The Three Jovial Welshmen," No. 75; and the last is "The False Bride," No. 97.
It’s quite interesting to note that around seventy years after this recorded evening, we were able to recover two of the songs that Mr. Johns describes somewhat inaccurately; both are included in this collection. The first is "The Three Jovial Welshmen," No. 75; and the last is "The False Bride," No. 97.
One of my old singers, James Olver, was the son of very strict Wesleyans. When he was a boy, he was allowed to hear no music save psalm and hymn tunes. But he was wont to creep out of his window at night, and start away to the tavern where the miners congregated, and listen to and heap up in his memory the songs he there heard. As these were forbidden fruit they were all the more dearly prized and surely remembered, and when he was a white-haired old man, he poured them out to us.
One of my old singers, James Olver, was the son of very strict Wesleyans. When he was a boy, he was only allowed to hear psalm and hymn tunes. But he used to sneak out of his window at night and head to the tavern where the miners gathered, listening to and memorizing the songs he heard there. Since these were forbidden, they were cherished and unforgettable, and when he became a white-haired old man, he shared them with us.
Some forty or fifty years ago, it was customary when the corn was cut, for the young men of a parish to agree together, and without telling the farmer of their intention, to invade his harvest field, work all night and stack his corn, whilst he slept. It was allowed to leak out who had done him this favour, and in return, he invited them with their lasses to sup and dance and make merry in a lighted barn. Then famous old songs were sung. But all that good feeling is at an end, and in its place exists a rankling hostility between the tiller of the soil and his employer. Blame assuredly attaches to the farmer for this condition of affairs, in that he has done away with the farmhouse festivities in which workmen and employer took part.
About forty or fifty years ago, it was common for the young men in a parish to come together and, without telling the farmer, sneak into his cornfield after it was harvested. They would work all night to stack his corn while he slept. Word would get out about who had done this good deed, and in return, the farmer would invite them and their girlfriends to eat, dance, and have fun in a lit barn. They would sing famous old songs. But all that goodwill is gone now, replaced by a deep resentment between the farmer and his workers. The farmer is certainly to blame for this situation, as he has eliminated the festive gatherings that brought workers and employers together.
One evening in 1888, I was dining with the late Mr. Daniel Radford, of Mount Tavy, when the conversation turned to old Devonshire songs. Some of those present knew "Widdecombe Fair," others remembered "Arscott of Tetcott"; and all had heard many and various songs sung at Hunt-suppers, at harvest and sheep-shearing feasts. My host turned to me and said: "It is a sad thing that our folk-music should perish. I wish you would set to work and collect it—gather up the fragments that remain before all is lost!"
One evening in 1888, I was having dinner with the late Mr. Daniel Radford of Mount Tavy when the conversation shifted to old Devonshire songs. Some of the people there remembered "Widdecombe Fair," while others recalled "Arscott of Tetcott"; and everyone had heard various songs sung at hunt suppers, harvest celebrations, and sheep-shearing festivals. My host looked at me and said, "It's a shame that our folk music might disappear. I wish you would start collecting it—gather up the pieces that are left before it's all gone!"
I undertook the task. I found that it was of little use going to most farmers and yeoman. They sang the compositions of Hooke, Hudson, and Dibden. But I learned that there were two notable old singing men at South Brent, and I was aware that there was one moorland singing farmer at Belstone, I was informed of this by J.D. Prickman, Esq., of Okehampton. This man, Harry Westaway, knew many old songs. Moreover, in my own neighbourhood was a totally illiterate hedger, in fact, he could neither read nor write. He enjoyed no little local celebrity as a song-man. His name was James Parsons, aged seventy-four, and a son of a still more famous singer called "The Singing-machine," and grandson of another of the same fame. In fact, the profession of song-man was hereditary in the family. At every country entertainment, in olden times, at the public-house almost nightly, for more than a century, one of these men of the Parsons' family had not failed to attend, to sing as required for the entertainment of the company. The repertoire of the grandfather had descended to old James. For how many generations before him the profession had been followed I could not learn. James Parsons' ballad tunes were of an early and archaic character. In fact, with few exceptions his melodies were in the Gregorian modes. At one time Parsons and a man named Voysey were working on the fringe of Dartmoor, and met in the evening at the moorland tavern.-viii- Parsons boasted of the number of songs he knew, and Voysey promised to give him a glass of ale for every fresh one he sang. Parsons started with "The Outlandish Knight," one song streamed forth after another, one glass after another was emptied, and these men sat up the whole night, till the sun rose, and the song-man's store was not then exhausted, but Voysey's pocket was. I could hardly credit this tale when told me, so I questioned Voysey, who had worked for my father and was working for me. He laughed and confirmed the tale. "I ought to remember it," he said, "for he cleared me clean out."
I took on the task. I found that talking to most farmers and small landowners didn’t yield much. They were singing the works of Hooke, Hudson, and Dibden. However, I discovered there were two well-known old singers in South Brent, and I knew of a moorland singing farmer in Belstone, which I learned from J.D. Prickman, Esq., of Okehampton. This man, Harry Westaway, knew a lot of old songs. Additionally, in my own neighborhood was a completely illiterate hedger who couldn’t read or write at all. He was quite popular locally as a song performer. His name was James Parsons, aged seventy-four, and he was the son of an even more famous singer known as "The Singing-machine," as well as the grandson of another well-known singer. The profession of song performer had been passed down in the family. For more than a century, at every country event and almost every night at the pub, one of the Parsons family members had shown up to sing as needed for the entertainment of the crowd. The repertoire of the grandfather had been handed down to old James. I couldn't find out how many generations before him had been in the same profession. James Parsons’ ballad tunes had an old and archaic style. In fact, with few exceptions, his melodies were in the Gregorian modes. At one time, Parsons and a man named Voysey worked on the edge of Dartmoor, and they met one evening at a moorland tavern.-viii- Parsons boasted about how many songs he knew, and Voysey promised to buy him a glass of ale for every new one he sang. Parsons began with "The Outlandish Knight," and one song followed another. With each song, a glass was emptied, and the two men stayed up all night until the sun came up, and the song man still had songs left, but Voysey's pocket was empty. I could hardly believe this story when I first heard it, so I asked Voysey, who had worked for my father and was working for me. He laughed and confirmed the story. "I should remember it," he said, "because he completely cleaned me out."
Many a pleasant evening have I spent with old Parsons, he in the settle, sitting over the hall fire, I taking down the words of his ballads, Mr. Sheppard or Mr. Bussell noting down his melodies.
Many enjoyable evenings have I spent with old Parsons, him in the settle, sitting by the hall fire, me jotting down the words of his ballads, Mr. Sheppard or Mr. Bussell recording his melodies.
But one day I heard that an accident had befallen Parsons. In cutting "spears," i.e., pegs for thatching, on his knee he had cut into the joint; and the village doctor told me he feared Parsons at his age would never get over it. I sent for Mr. Bussell, and said to him: "We shall lose our old singer, before we have quite drained him. Come with me, and we will visit his cottage, and see what more we can get from him." We went, and very pleased he was to sing to us from his bed. "Old Wichet," No. 30, was one of the songs we then acquired from him. Happily, the sturdy constitution of the man caused his recovery, and he lived on for three years after this accident.
But one day I heard that something had happened to Parsons. While cutting "spears," i.e., pegs for thatching, he accidentally cut into his knee joint; the village doctor told me he was worried that Parsons, at his age, might not recover. I called for Mr. Bussell and said to him, "We're going to lose our old singer before we've really gleaned everything from him. Come with me, and let's visit his cottage to see what else we can get from him." We went, and he was very happy to sing to us from his bed. "Old Wichet," No. 30, was one of the songs we then got from him. Fortunately, the man's strong constitution helped him recover, and he lived on for three more years after this incident.
One day in November, I got a letter from the Vicar of South Brent, in which he informed me that Robert Hard, a crippled stone-breaker there, and one of my song-men, was growing very feeble. Without delay I took the train, and arrived at South Brent Vicarage, just as the party had finished breakfast. "Now," said I to the Vicar, "Lend me your drawing room and the piano, and send for old Hard."
One day in November, I received a letter from the Vicar of South Brent, informing me that Robert Hard, a disabled stone-breaker from there and one of my singers, was getting very weak. Without hesitation, I took the train and arrived at South Brent Vicarage just as the group was finishing breakfast. "Now," I said to the Vicar, "please let me use your drawing room and the piano, and have old Hard come over."
The stone breaker arrived, and I spent almost the whole day, that is, till the dusk of evening fell, taking down his songs and melodies. From him then, I had "The Cuckoo," that I have published in my "Garland of Country Songs." A month later, poor old Hard was found dead in a snowdrift by the roadside.
The stone breaker showed up, and I spent nearly the entire day, until evening fell, recording his songs and melodies. From him, I got "The Cuckoo," which I published in my "Garland of Country Songs." A month later, poor old Hard was found dead in a snowdrift by the roadside.
I had enlisted the services of such excellent musicians as the late Rev. H. Fleetwood Sheppard, of Thurnscoe, Yorkshire, and Mr., now the Rev. Doctor Bussell, Mus. Doc., and Vice-principal of Brazennose College, Oxford, and we worked at collecting, at South Brent, where besides Robert Hard, was John Helmore, a miller, who died in the Ivy Bridge Workhouse in 1900; also at Belstone, and we worked through the length and breadth of Dartmoor. James Coaker,[1] a blind man of 89, in the heart of the moor, very infirm, and able to leave his bed for a few hours of the day only, was unable to sing, but could recite the words of ballads; but Mr. J. Webb, captain of a mine hard by, knew his tunes, and could very sweetly pipe them. On Blackdown, Mary Tavy, lived a mason, Samuel Fone, he died in 1898. He had an almost inexhaustible supply. Further songs were yielded by a singing blacksmith, John Woodrich, of Woolacott Moor, Thrushleton, commonly known as "Ginger Jack"; also by Roger Luxton, of Halwell, by James Olver, Tanner, Launceston, a native of S. Kewe, Cornwall; by John Masters, of Bradstone, aged 83; by William Rice and John Rickards, both of Lamerton; by William Friend, labourer, Lydford; Edmund Fry, thatcher, a native of Lezant, Cornwall; Roger Hannaford, Widdecombe; Will and Roger Huggins, Lydford; W. Bickle, Bridestowe; Matthew Baker, a poor cripple, Lew Down; John Dingle, Coryton; J. Peake, tanner, Liskeard; and Mr. S. Gilbert, the aged innkeeper of the "Falcon," Mawgan, in Pyder. More were obtained from old singers at Two Bridges and Post Bridge on Dartmoor, from others at Chagford, at Holne, and at South Brent. From others again at Menheniot, Cornwall, and at Fowey. Some songs taken down from moor men on Dartmoor, in or about 1868, were sent me by W. Crossing, Esq., who knows Dartmoor better than any man living; others by T.S. Cayzer, Esq., taken down in 1849. Miss Bidder, of Stoke Flemming, most kindly searched her neighbourhood for old women who knew ancient songs, and sent me what she obtained. We had several rare old melodies from Sally Satterley,[2] now dead, of Huccaby Bridge, Dartmoor. She had acquired them from her father, a crippled fiddler.
I had hired some amazing musicians like the late Rev. H. Fleetwood Sheppard from Thurnscoe, Yorkshire, and Mr., now Rev. Dr. Bussell, Mus. Doc., Vice-Principal of Brazennose College, Oxford. We worked on collecting songs in South Brent, where we were joined by Robert Hard and John Helmore, a miller who passed away in the Ivy Bridge Workhouse in 1900. We also worked in Belstone and traveled everywhere across Dartmoor. James Coaker,[1], a blind man of 89 living deep in the moor, was quite frail and could only get out of bed for a few hours each day. While he couldn’t sing, he could recite the lyrics of ballads. Mr. J. Webb, the captain of a nearby mine, knew the tunes and could play them beautifully. On Blackdown in Mary Tavy, there lived a mason named Samuel Fone, who died in 1898 and had an almost endless supply of songs. More songs came from a singing blacksmith, John Woodrich, known as "Ginger Jack," from Woolacott Moor in Thrushleton; also from Roger Luxton in Halwell; James Olver, a tanner from Launceston, originally from S. Kewe, Cornwall; John Masters of Bradstone, who was 83; William Rice and John Rickards from Lamerton; William Friend, a laborer from Lydford; Edmund Fry, a thatcher from Lezant, Cornwall; Roger Hannaford from Widdecombe; Will and Roger Huggins from Lydford; W. Bickle from Bridestowe; Matthew Baker, a poor cripple from Lew Down; John Dingle from Coryton; J. Peake, a tanner from Liskeard; and Mr. S. Gilbert, the aged innkeeper of the "Falcon" in Mawgan, in Pyder. We got more songs from old singers at Two Bridges and Post Bridge on Dartmoor, as well as from others in Chagford, Holne, and South Brent. We also gathered songs from additional sources at Menheniot, Cornwall, and Fowey. Some songs collected from moor men on Dartmoor in or around 1868 were sent to me by W. Crossing, Esq., who knows Dartmoor better than anyone else; others were sent by T.S. Cayzer, Esq., collected in 1849. Miss Bidder from Stoke Flemming kindly searched her neighborhood for old women who knew traditional songs and sent me what she found. We received several rare old melodies from Sally Satterley,[2], now deceased, of Huccaby Bridge, Dartmoor. She learned these songs from her father, who was a crippled fiddler.
Of the vast quantities of tunes that we have collected, perhaps a third are very good, a third are good, and the remainder indifferent. The singers are almost invariably illiterate and aged, and when they die the tradition will be lost, for the present generation will have nothing to do with these songs, especially such as are modal, and supplant them with the vulgarest music hall compositions. The melodies are far more precious than the words, and we have been more concerned to rescue these than the words, which are often common-place, and may frequently be found on broadside ballad sheets. The words-ix- are less frequently of home growth than the airs, and over and over again we came upon ballads already in print, but not to the tunes to which they are sung elsewhere. There are, in fact, only a few, such as "Cupid's Garden," "Bold General Wolf," "Lord Thomas and the Fair Eleanor," "Barbara Allen," "Outward Bound," "The Mermaid," that retain the melodies to which sung in other parts of England. But, "Tobacco is an Indian Weed," "Joans' Ale is New," "The Fox," and many others have tunes to which sung in Devon and Cornwall that are quite different and local. A remarkable instance is that of "Sweet Nightingale." This appeared in 1761 with music by Dr. Arne. The words travelled down to Cornwall, not so Arne's tune, and they were there set to an entirely independent melody. Then again, when a tune did travel West, and was heard by some of the peasant singers, if it did not commend itself to their taste, they altered it, perhaps quite unconsciously into a form more satisfactory to their minds. I have given a very curious example of this, "Upon a Sunday Morning."
Of the many songs we've collected, maybe a third are really great, another third are decent, and the rest are just okay. The singers are usually old and can't read, and once they pass away, the tradition will disappear because the current generation doesn’t care about these songs, especially the more traditional ones, and replace them with the most basic music hall hits. The melodies are way more valuable than the lyrics, so we focused more on preserving these than the words, which are often ordinary and can usually be found on broadside ballad sheets. The lyrics-ix- are less often original than the melodies, and we repeatedly encountered ballads that were already published but didn’t match the tunes used elsewhere. In fact, there are only a few, like "Cupid's Garden," "Bold General Wolf," "Lord Thomas and the Fair Eleanor," "Barbara Allen," "Outward Bound," "The Mermaid," that keep the same melodies sung in other parts of England. But, "Tobacco is an Indian Weed," "Joans' Ale is New," "The Fox," and many others have tunes sung in Devon and Cornwall that are quite different and local. A notable example is "Sweet Nightingale." This was published in 1761 with music by Dr. Arne. The lyrics made their way to Cornwall, but not Arne's tune, and were set to a completely different melody there. Then again, when a tune did travel West and was heard by some peasant singers, if it didn’t appeal to them, they changed it, maybe without realizing, into a version they preferred. I’ve provided a really interesting example of this, "Upon a Sunday Morning."
Our folk music is a veritable moraine of rolled and ground fragments from musical strata far away. It contains melodies of all centuries from the days of the minstrels down to the present time, all thrown together in one heap. It must be borne well in mind that to the rustic singer, melody is everything. It was so in the days before Elizabeth. The people then did not want harmony; to them harmony is quite a modern invention and need.
Our folk music is a true mix of bits and pieces from different musical traditions far and wide. It has melodies from all centuries, starting from the days of minstrels to today, all tossed together in one collection. It's important to remember that for the rural singer, melody is everything. It was like that long before Elizabeth's time. Back then, people didn’t care about harmony; they saw harmony as a relatively new concept and need.
At the present day, we are so accustomed to choral and concerted music that we have come to care little for formal melody, and Wagner has taught us to be content with musical phrases alone. Melody is a musical idea worked out in successive notes of our scale. Modern music is constructed in but two of the seven diatonic modes, in which melodies may be cast, the major and the minor; with the result that the modern ear entertains no appreciation of an air that is not in the Ionian scale, the "tonus lascivus" of the ancients.
Nowadays, we are so used to choral and ensemble music that we hardly pay attention to formal melody, and Wagner has shown us how to be satisfied with musical phrases by themselves. Melody is a musical concept expressed through a series of notes from our scale. Modern music is built primarily using just two of the seven diatonic modes, the major and the minor; as a result, the modern ear has little appreciation for a melody that isn't in the Ionian scale, the "tonus lascivus" of the ancients.
The jongleur or minstrel had but the rudest of instruments; the peasant singer had none at all. What interest he can create, what effect he can produce, must be through melody alone. Now, I venture to assert that the folk music of the English peasantry has been surpassingly rich in melodiousness, and that no tune has had a chance of living and being transmitted from generation to generation, unless it have a distinct individuality in it, in a word, contains a melodious idea. Moreover, not having been framed only in the common major or minor key, it is abundantly varied. It has been a well-spring from which hitherto we have not drawn.
The jongleur or minstrel had only the simplest instruments; the peasant singer had none at all. Any interest or effect he can create must come from melody alone. Now, I confidently say that the folk music of the English peasantry has been incredibly rich in melody, and that no tune has had a chance to survive and be passed down through generations unless it has a distinct personality, in other words, a memorable melody. Additionally, since it hasn’t just been made in the usual major or minor key, it is quite varied. It has been a source we haven’t fully tapped into yet.
In former times, that strongly defined dividing line which separates the cultured from the uncultured did not exist. The music of the peasant was also the music of the court; the ballad was the delight of the cottager and of the noble lady in her bower. But the separation began, in music, in the Elizabethan days; in ballads, in those of James I., when nearly every old ballad was re-written to fresh metres, unsingable to the traditional airs. The skilled musician scorned folk melodies, and revelled in counter-point.
In the past, there wasn’t a clear distinction between the cultured and the uncultured. The music of the peasants was also enjoyed by the court; ballads were loved by both the common folk and noble ladies in their gardens. However, this divide started to emerge during the Elizabethan era in music and continued in the time of James I, when almost every old ballad was rewritten into new meters that couldn't be sung to the traditional tunes. Skilled musicians dismissed folk melodies and focused on counterpoint.
It is a mistake to suppose that all mediæval music was in the Gregorian modes other than our major and minor. Even in the 13th century, the modern major mode was used, so that some of our traditional airs, which seem to be modern may really be old.
It’s a mistake to think that all medieval music was in the Gregorian modes and not in our major and minor scales. Even in the 13th century, the modern major scale was used, so some of our traditional tunes that seem modern might actually be old.
M. Tiersot notes that among the melodies extant of three trouvères of the Thirteenth century, a certain number are modern in character. Of twenty-two airs by the Chatelain de Coucy, three are frankly in the major; five others in the 7th or the 8th tone, give the impression of the major. Of nine melodies by the King of Navarre, four are in the major, a fifth in the 7th tone, is of the same nature as those of De Coucy. Of thirty-four chansons by Adam de la Hall, twenty-one are in the major.
M. Tiersot points out that among the melodies from three trouvères of the Thirteenth century, several have a modern feel. Out of twenty-two tunes by the Chatelain de Coucy, three are clearly in the major key; five others in the 7th or 8th tone also have a major-like impression. Of nine melodies by the King of Navarre, four are in the major key, and a fifth in the 7th tone is similar to those of De Coucy. From thirty-four chansons by Adam de la Hall, twenty-one are in the major key.
The folk airs that we give in our collection may not please at first, certainly will not please all; but when once a relish for them has been acquired, then hearers will turn with weariness from the ordinary concert hall feebleness, as we turn from the twaddle of a vacuous female. We have found it necessary to take down all the variants of the same air that we have come across.
The folk tunes in our collection might not appeal to everyone right away; in fact, some may not like them at all. However, once you develop a taste for them, you'll likely find yourself bored with the blandness of standard concert performances, just like we turn away from the nonsense of an empty-headed woman. We've decided to include every version of the same tune that we've encountered.
M. Bourgault Ducoudray, in his introduction to "Mélodies populaires de Basse Bretagne," Paris, 1885, says: "When a song has been transmitted from mouth to mouth, without having been fixed by notation, it is exposed to alterations. One is sometimes obliged to collect as many as twenty variants of the same air, before finding one that is good. This is the greatest difficulty to the seeker; it is as hard to lay the hand on the veritable typal form of a melody as it is to meet with an intact specimen among the shells that have been rolled on the sea shore." When a party of singers is assembled, or when one man sings a succession of ballads, the memory becomes troubled; the first few melodies are given correctly, but-x- after that, the airs become deflected and influenced by the airs last sung. At Two Bridges one old singer, G. Kerswell, after giving us "The Bell-ringers," sang us half-a-dozen ballads but the melody of the bells went through them all, and vitiated them all so as to render them worthless. On another occasion, we took down four or five airs all beginning alike, because one singer had impressed this beginning on the minds of the others. At another time, when this impression was worn off, they would sing correctly, and then the beginnings would be different. Experience taught us never to take down too much at one sitting.
M. Bourgault Ducoudray, in his introduction to "Mélodies populaires de Basse Bretagne," Paris, 1885, says: "When a song is passed down orally, without being written down, it’s susceptible to changes. Sometimes, you might have to collect up to twenty versions of the same tune before finding one that’s good. This is the biggest challenge for anyone looking for the truth; it’s as difficult to pinpoint the original form of a melody as it is to find an unblemished shell among those washed up on the beach." When a group of singers comes together, or when one person sings a series of ballads, memory can get muddled; the first few tunes are usually sung correctly, but-x- after that, the melodies can become skewed and influenced by the most recent songs. At Two Bridges, one old singer, G. Kerswell, sang "The Bell-ringers" and then gave us half a dozen ballads, but the melody of the bells affected them all, ruining them to the point of being worthless. On another occasion, we recorded four or five tunes that all started the same way because one singer had impressed this beginning on the others. Later, when that influence faded, they would sing correctly, and then the beginnings would differ. Experience taught us never to gather too much material in one sitting.
In a very few years all this heritage of traditional folk music will be gone; and this is the supreme moment at which such a collection can be made. Already, nearly every one of my old singers from whom these melodies were gathered, is dead. They are passing away everywhere. Few counties of England have been worked. Sussex has been well explored by the late Rev. John Broadwood, and then by Miss Lucy Broadwood[3]; Yorkshire, by Mr. Frank Kidson; Northumberland, by Dr. Collingwood Bruce and Mr. John Stokoe. Mr. Cecil Sharp is now engaged on Somersetshire, and Dr. Vaughan Williams on Essex. Who will undertake Lincolnshire, Dorset, Hampshire, and other counties? The purely agricultural districts are most auriferous. In manufacturing counties modern music has driven out the traditional folk melodies.
In just a few years, all this traditional folk music heritage will disappear, and this is the perfect time to collect it. Almost all my old singers who shared these melodies with me are gone. They're fading away everywhere. Few counties in England have been thoroughly studied. Sussex was well documented by the late Rev. John Broadwood and then by Miss Lucy Broadwood[3]; Yorkshire was worked on by Mr. Frank Kidson; Northumberland, by Dr. Collingwood Bruce and Mr. John Stokoe. Mr. Cecil Sharp is currently working in Somerset, and Dr. Vaughan Williams in Essex. Who will take on Lincolnshire, Dorset, Hampshire, and other counties? The more rural areas are rich in these songs. In industrial counties, modern music has replaced the traditional folk melodies.
With regard to the approximate dates of the airs we give, all that we can say is that such as are in the ancient modes are not later than the reign of James I. How much more ancient they may be, it is impossible to determine. The melodies of the Handel and Arne, and then those of the Hooke and Dibden periods can be at once detected. Some few of the melodies we have taken down were certainly originally in one or other of the ancient modes, but in process of time have been subjected to alteration, to accommodate them to the modern ear.
Regarding the approximate dates of the tunes we provide, all we can say is that those in the ancient modes date back no later than the reign of James I. It's impossible to pinpoint how much older they might be. You can easily recognize the melodies from the Handel and Arne eras, as well as those from the Hooke and Dibden periods. A few of the melodies we've recorded were definitely originally in one of the ancient modes, but over time, they've been modified to suit modern tastes.
Although some seventy per cent. of the airs noted from the very old singers are modal, we have not given too many of these, as the popular taste is not sufficiently educated to relish them. But such as can not perceive the beauty of the tunes that go, for instance, to "The Trees they are so high," in the rarely used Phrygian mode, "Flora, the Flower of the West," in F, "Henry Martyn," "On a May morning so early," etc., are indeed to be pitied. We have not been able to give those lengthy ballads, such as, "The Outlandish Knight," "The Brown Girl," "By the Banks of Green Willow," "The Baffled Knight," "William and the Shepherd's Daughter," "Captain Ward," "The Golden Glove," "The Maid and the Box," "The Death of Queen Jane," etc., which are too long to be sung and listened to with patience now-a-days.
Although about seventy percent of the songs recorded from very old singers are modal, we haven’t included many of them because the general audience isn't educated enough to appreciate them. However, those who can't see the beauty in tunes like "The Trees they are so high," in the rarely used Phrygian mode, "Flora, the Flower of the West," in F, "Henry Martyn," "On a May morning so early," etc., should truly be pitied. We haven't been able to include those long ballads such as "The Outlandish Knight," "The Brown Girl," "By the Banks of Green Willow," "The Baffled Knight," "William and the Shepherd's Daughter," "Captain Ward," "The Golden Glove," "The Maid and the Box," "The Death of Queen Jane," etc., since they are too lengthy to sing and listen to with patience these days.
In some instances we have set other words to a ballad tune, as XXXVI. One of my old singers said to me concerning this ballad, "When my little sister, now dead, these twenty years, was a child, and went up from Exeter to London with me in a carrier's van, Lor bless'y, afore railways was invented, I mind that she sang this here ballet in the waggon all the way up. We was three days about it. She was then about six years old." The ballet, by the way, is not particularly choice and suitable for a child or a grown-up girl to sing, according to our ideas.
In some cases, we've set different words to a ballad tune, like XXXVI. One of my old singers told me about this ballad, saying, "When my little sister, who passed away twenty years ago, was a child, she traveled with me from Exeter to London in a carrier's van. Goodness, this was back before railways were invented! I remember she sang this ballad the whole way. It took us three days to get there. She was only about six years old at the time." By the way, this ballad isn’t really appropriate for a child or a young girl to sing, according to today’s standards.
In giving these songs to the public, we have been scrupulous to publish the airs precisely as noted down, choosing among the variants those which commended themselves to us as the soundest. But we have not been so careful with regard to the words. These are sometimes in a fragmentary condition, or are coarse, contain double entendres, or else are mere doggerel. Accordingly, we have re-written the songs wherever it was not possible to present them in their original form. This was done by the Scotch. Many an old ballad is gross, and many a broadside is common-place. Songs that were thought witty in the Caroline and early Georgian epochs, are no longer sufferable; and broadside ballads are in many cases vulgarised versions of earlier ballads that have been lost in their original forms.
In sharing these songs with the public, we've made sure to publish the melodies exactly as they were recorded, selecting those variants that we felt were the most reliable. However, we haven't been as meticulous with the words. Sometimes they are incomplete, crude, contain double entendres, or are simply poorly written. As a result, we have rewritten the songs where we couldn't present them in their original form. This was done by the Scots. Many old ballads are offensive, and a lot of broadside songs are pretty basic. Songs that were once considered clever in the Caroline and early Georgian periods are now unbearable; and broadside ballads often present vulgarized versions of earlier ballads that have been lost in their original forms.
What a change has taken place in public feeling with regard to decency may be judged by the way in which Addison speaks of D'Urfey in "The Guardian," 1713, No. 29. "A judicious author, some years since, published a collection of sonnets, which he very successfully called "Laugh and be Fat; or, Pills to purge Melancholy." I can not sufficiently admire the facetious title of these volumes, and must censure the world of ingratitude, while they are so negligent in rewarding the jocose labours of my friend, Mr. D'Urfey, who was so large a contributor to this treatise, and to whose numerous productions so many rural squires in the remotest parts of the island are obliged for the dignity and state which corpulency gives them." And again, in No. 67, "I must heartily-xi- recommend to all young ladies, my disciples, the case of my old friend, who has often made their grand-mothers merry, and whose sonnets have perhaps lulled to sleep many a present toast, when she lay in her cradle." Why—D'Urfey's Pills must now-a-days be kept under lock and key. The fun so commended by the pious and grave Addison is filth of the most revolting description. And yet the grand-mothers of the ladies of his day, according to him, were wont to sing them over the cradles of their grand-children!
What a change has happened in public perception about decency can be seen in how Addison talks about D'Urfey in "The Guardian," 1713, No. 29. "A judicious author, some years ago, published a collection of sonnets, which he cleverly titled 'Laugh and be Fat; or, Pills to purge Melancholy.' I can’t praise the witty title of these volumes enough, and I must criticize the world's ingratitude because they are so careless in rewarding the humorous efforts of my friend, Mr. D'Urfey, who contributed so much to this work, and to whose many creations so many country gentry in the furthest reaches of the island owe the dignity and stature that being overweight gives them." And again, in No. 67, "I must wholeheartedly-xi- recommend to all young ladies, my students, the case of my old friend, who has often entertained their grandmothers, and whose sonnets have perhaps lulled many a current darling to sleep while they were in their cribs." Nowadays, D'Urfey's Pills must be kept under lock and key. The humor that the pious and serious Addison praised is now seen as the most disgusting filth. Yet, according to him, the grandmothers of the ladies of his time used to sing these over their grandchildren's cradles!
So when a "Collection of Old Ballads" was published 1723-5, the Editor, after giving a series of historical and serious pieces, in a later volume apologises to the ladies for their gravity, and for their special delectation furnishes an appendix of songs that are simply dirty.
So when a "Collection of Old Ballads" was published between 1723 and 1725, the Editor, after presenting a series of historical and serious pieces, later apologizes to the ladies for their seriousness, and for their enjoyment, includes an additional section of songs that are just plain vulgar.
A good many of the ditties in favour with our rural song-men, are, it must be admitted, of the D'Urfey type; and what is more some of the very worst are sung to the daintiest early melodies. Two courses lay open to us. One that adopted Dr. Barrett and Mr. Kidson to print the words exactly as given on the broadsides, with asterisks for the undesirable stanzas. But this would simply have killed the songs. No one would care to warble what was fragmentary. On the other hand, there is that adopted by the Scotch and Irish collectors, which consists in re-writing or modifying where objectionable or common-place. This has been the course we have pursued. It seemed a pity to consign the lovely old melodies to the antiquary's library, by publishing them with words which were fatal to the success of the songs in the drawing room or the concert hall. We resolved where the old words were good, or tolerable, to retain them. Where bad, to re-write, adhering as closely as possible to the original. Where the songs were mere broadside ballads, we have had no scruple in doing this, for we give reference to the press-mark in the British Museum, where the original text may be found. But the broadside itself is often a debased form of a fine early ballad. The broadside publishers were wont to pay a shilling to any ballad mongers who could furnish them with a new ditty. These men were destitute of the poetic faculty and illiterate, and they contented themselves with taking old ballads and recomposing them, so as to give to them a semblance of novelty, sufficient to qualify their authors to claim the usual fee. Here are some lines by one of the fraternity:
A lot of the songs popular with our rural singers are, it has to be said, of the D'Urfey variety; and what's more, some of the very worst are sung to the most charming early melodies. We had two options. One was to take Dr. Barrett and Mr. Kidson's approach of printing the words exactly as they appeared on the broadsides, with asterisks for the unwanted stanzas. But that would have ruined the songs. No one would want to sing something that was incomplete. On the other hand, there's the method used by Scottish and Irish collectors, which is to rewrite or tweak the lyrics where they are objectionable or clichéd. This is the approach we've taken. It seemed a shame to relegate the beautiful old melodies to a collector's library by publishing them with lyrics that would ruin their appeal in a drawing room or concert hall. We decided to keep the old words when they were good or at least acceptable. When they were bad, we rewrote them while sticking as closely as possible to the original. When the songs were just broadside ballads, we felt no hesitation in doing this, since we provide a reference to the press mark in the British Museum where the original text can be found. However, the broadside itself is often a degraded version of a fine early ballad. The broadside publishers used to pay a shilling to any ballad sellers who could give them a new song. These guys lacked poetic talent and were mostly illiterate, so they were satisfied with taking old ballads and reworking them to give a sense of novelty enough for their authors to claim the usual fee. Here are some lines from one of those writers:
"I'm Billy Nuts wot always cuts
A dash through all the town, sir,
With lit'rary men, my clever pen
In grammar gains renown, sir,
In song, and catch, and ditty.
And then to each, with dying speech
I do excite their pity.
So all agree to welcome me,
With drum and fife and whiols, (sic for viols)
A cause my name stands fast in fame,
The Bard of Seven Dials."
(B.M., 11,621, K. 4)
"I'm Billy Nuts who always cuts
A quick run through the whole town, sir,
With literary guys, my clever pen
In grammar earns respect, sir,
In song, and catch, and ditty.
And then to each, with dying speech
I do stir up their pity.
So everyone agrees to welcome me,
With drums and flutes and viols, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
A reason my name is well-known,
The Poet of Seven Dials.
(B.M., 11,621, K. 4)
Our object was not to furnish a volume for consultation by the musical antiquary alone, but to resuscitate, and to popularise the traditional music of the English people. As, however, to the antiquary everything is important, exactly as obtained, uncleansed from rust and unpolished, I have deposited a copy of the songs and ballads with their music exactly as taken down, for reference, in the Municipal Free Library, Plymouth.
Our goal wasn't just to create a book for music historians, but to revive and make the traditional music of the English people popular. However, since everything is significant to historians, exactly as it was recorded—uncleaned from dust and unrefined—I have placed a copy of the songs and ballads with their music, exactly as they were collected, for reference in the Municipal Free Library, Plymouth.
The Rev. H.F. Sheppard, who worked with me for twelve years in rescuing these old songs, and in bringing them before the public, is now no more. A new edition has been called for, and in this some exclusions and some additions have been made. We do not think that the pieces we have removed are not good, but that we are able to supply their places with others that are better. Mr. Sheppard entertained a very strong objection to arranging any song he had not himself "pricked down" from the lips of the singers, and as Mr. Bussell had noted down hundreds as well, these, for the most part, had to be laid on one side. Mr. Sheppard was, doubtless, right in his assertion, that unless he had himself heard the song sung, he could not catch its special character, and so render it justly.
The Rev. H.F. Sheppard, who worked with me for twelve years to preserve these old songs and share them with the public, has unfortunately passed away. A new edition has been requested, and in this version, we have made some cuts and added some new material. We don’t believe that the pieces we removed are lacking in quality, but we think we can replace them with better options. Mr. Sheppard was very firm on the point that he wouldn’t arrange any song he hadn't personally noted down from the singers, and since Mr. Bussell had recorded hundreds as well, many of those had to be set aside. Mr. Sheppard was certainly correct in his belief that unless he had heard the song performed, he couldn’t capture its unique character and therefore couldn’t present it accurately.
Acting on the advice of Mr. Cecil Sharp, of the Conservatoire, Hampstead, who has kindly undertaken the musical editorship of this edition, I have introduced several interesting ballads and songs that, for the reason above given, were excluded from the first. Mr. F. Kidson has kindly afforded us information relative to such songs as he has come across in Yorkshire.
Acting on the advice of Mr. Cecil Sharp from the Conservatoire in Hampstead, who has generously taken on the role of musical editor for this edition, I have included several interesting ballads and songs that were left out of the first edition for the reasons mentioned above. Mr. F. Kidson has kindly provided us with information about the songs he has discovered in Yorkshire.
In conclusion I give a few particulars relative to the Rev. H.F. Sheppard, my-xii- fellow-worker, and Mr. D. Radford, the instigator of the collection, both of whom have passed away.
In conclusion, I have a few details to share about Rev. H.F. Sheppard, my-xii- fellow-worker, and Mr. D. Radford, the person who initiated the collection, both of whom have passed away.
Henry Fleetwood Sheppard was a graduate of Trinity Hall, Cambridge, and had been appointed Travelling Batchelor to the University. Through the whole of his clerical career he was closely associated with sacred music, especially with Plain-song, of which he was an enthusiastic admirer. As precentor of the Doncaster Choral Union from 1864 to 1884, he became the pioneer of improved church music in that part of Yorkshire. In the year 1868 he was presented to the Rectory of Thurnscoe, which at that time was an agricultural village numbering about 180 inhabitants, where he remained until 1898, when he resigned his living on account of his advancing years which precluded his coping satisfactorily with the population swelling to 3,366 souls, owing to the opening of coal mines in the parish. In 1888, as already intimated, he was associated along with myself in the collection of Devon and Cornish folk songs.
Henry Fleetwood Sheppard was a graduate of Trinity Hall, Cambridge, and had been appointed Travelling Bachelor to the University. Throughout his entire clerical career, he was closely involved with sacred music, especially Plain-song, which he passionately admired. As the precentor of the Doncaster Choral Union from 1864 to 1884, he became a leader in enhancing church music in that part of Yorkshire. In 1868, he was appointed to the Rectory of Thurnscoe, which at the time was a small agricultural village with about 180 residents, where he stayed until 1898 when he resigned due to his old age making it difficult for him to manage the growing population of 3,366 people, a result of the opening of coal mines in the parish. In 1888, as mentioned earlier, he collaborated with me on the collection of Devon and Cornish folk songs.
When he resigned the incumbency of Thurnscoe, he retired to Oxford, where, in his declining years, he might, at his leisure, dip into those store houses of classical and musical literature in which his soul delighted.
When he stepped down from his position in Thurnscoe, he moved to Oxford, where, in his later years, he could leisurely explore the vast resources of classical and musical literature that brought him joy.
Three days before Christmas, 1901, a slight stroke of paralysis gave warning of possibly serious mischief. A sudden and fatal collapse ensued on S. John's Day, without further warning. He was laid to rest at Oxford on New Year's Eve. An inscription in the Vestry wall at Thurnscoe, was cut by one who was in Mr. Sheppard's choir for nearly forty years before his death. "Pray for the peace of Henry Fleetwood Sheppard, Rector of this Parish Church, 1868-1898, who went to rest, December 27th, 1901, aged 77 years."
Three days before Christmas in 1901, a mild stroke served as a warning of potentially serious issues. A sudden and fatal collapse occurred on St. John's Day, with no further warning. He was buried in Oxford on New Year's Eve. An inscription on the Vestry wall at Thurnscoe was made by someone who sang in Mr. Sheppard's choir for nearly forty years before his passing: "Pray for the peace of Henry Fleetwood Sheppard, Rector of this Parish Church, 1868-1898, who went to rest on December 27, 1901, at the age of 77."
Mr. Daniel Radford, of Mount Tavy, was an enthusiastic lover of all that pertained to his county. He knew that a number of traditional songs and ballads still floated about, and he saw clearly that unless these were at once collected, they would be lost irretrievably, and he pressed on me the advisability of making a collection, and of setting about it at once. I began to do so in 1888, and continued at it, working hard for twelve years, assisted by Mr. Sheppard and Mr. Bussell. Mr. Radford was one for whom I entertained the deepest affection, inspired by his high character; and I knew that what he judged to be advisable should be undertaken in no perfunctory way.
Mr. Daniel Radford, of Mount Tavy, was passionate about everything related to his county. He was aware that many traditional songs and ballads were still around, and he understood that if they weren't collected quickly, they would be lost forever. He urged me to start gathering them right away. I began this project in 1888 and worked hard on it for twelve years, with help from Mr. Sheppard and Mr. Bussell. I had a deep affection for Mr. Radford, inspired by his strong character, and I knew that anything he deemed important should be pursued wholeheartedly.
Mr. Radford died January 3rd, 1900, at the age of seventy-two, and was buried in Lydford churchyard. The beautiful rood-screen in the church has been erected by his sons to his memory.
Mr. Radford passed away on January 3, 1900, at the age of seventy-two and was buried in Lydford churchyard. His sons have erected the beautiful rood-screen in the church in his memory.
In the collection, the music initialed H.F.S. has the accompaniment arranged for the piano by Mr. Sheppard, that initialed C.J.S. by Mr. C.J. Sharp; that F.W.B. by Dr. Bussell.
In the collection, the music labeled H.F.S. has the piano arrangement done by Mr. Sheppard, the one labeled C.J.S. by Mr. C.J. Sharp; and that F.W.B. by Dr. Bussell.
No 1 BY CHANCE IT WAS
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
By chance it was I met my love,
It did me much surprise,
Down by a shady myrtle grove,
Just as the sun did rise.
The birds they sang right gloriously,
And pleasant was the air;
And there was none, save she and I,
Among the flowers fair.
By chance, I met my love,
I was so surprised.
Down by a shady myrtle grove,
Just as the sun was coming up.
The birds sang beautifully,
And the air was nice;
And there was no one else, just she and I,
Among the beautiful flowers.
2
2
In dewy grass and green we walk'd,
She timid was and coy;
"How can'st thou choose but pity me,
My pretty pearl, my joy?
How comes it that thou stroll'st this way?
Sweet maiden, tell me true,
Before bright Phœbus' glittering ray
Has supped the morning dew?"
In the dewy grass and greenery, we walked,
She was introverted and quiet;
"How can you not feel sorry for me,
My beautiful pearl, my happiness?
What brings you to stroll this way?
Sweet girl, please tell me the truth,
Before bright Apollo's shining light
"Has eaten the morning dew?"
3
3
"I go to tend the flocks I love
The ewes and tender lambs,
That pasture by the myrtle grove,
That gambol by their dams;
There I enjoy a pure content
At dawning of the day,"
Then, hand in hand, we lovers went
To see the flock at play.
"I go to care for the flocks I love
The ewes and sweet lambs,
That graze by the myrtle grove,
That fun time with their moms;
There I find true happiness
At dawn,
Then, hand in hand, we lovers went
To watch the group having fun.
4
4
And as we wended down the road,
I said to her, "Sweet Maid,
Three years I in my place abode
And three more must be stayed.
The three that I am bound so fast,
O fairest wait for me.
And when the weary years are past
Then married we will be."
And as we walked down the road,
I told her, "Sweet girl,
I’ve stayed in my place for three years
"And I have to wait another three."
The three years I’m stuck here,
Oh, beautiful one, please wait for me.
And when the long years are over,
"Then we’ll get married."
5
5
"Three years are long, three times too long,
Too lengthy the delay."
O then I answered in my song,
"Hope wastes them quick away.
Where love is fervent, fain and fast,
And knoweth not decay.
There nimbly fleet the seasons past
Accounted as one day."
"Three years are a long time, three times too long,
"The wait feels endless."
So I responded with my song,
"Hope makes them vanish quickly."
Where love is strong, eager, and constant,
And doesn’t know decay.
There, the seasons pass swiftly
"Counted as only one day."
No 2 THE HUNTING OF ARSCOTT OF TETCOTT
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
In the month of November, in the year fifty-two,
Three jolly Fox-hunters, all Sons of the Blue,
They rode from Pencarrow, not fearing a wet coat,
To take their diversion with Arscott of Tetcott.
Sing fol-de-rol, lol-de-rol, la-de, heigh-ho!
Sing fol-de-rol, lol-de-rol, la-de, heigh-ho!
In November of fifty-two,
Three cheerful fox hunters, all Sons of the Blue,
They rode from Pencarrow, not worried about getting wet,
To enjoy their time with Arscott of Tetcott.
Sing fol-de-rol, lol-de-rol, la-de, heigh-ho!
Sing fol-de-rol, lol-de-rol, la-de, heigh-ho!
2
2
The day-light was dawning, right radiant the morn,
When Arscott of Tetcott he winded his horn;
He blew such a flourish, so loud in the hall,
The rafters re-sounded, and danced to the call.
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
The daylight was breaking, and the morning was bright,
When Arscott of Tetcott blew his horn with all his might;
He played such a flourish, so loud in the hall,
The rafters echoed back and seemed to dance to the call.
Sing fol-de-rol, etc.
3
3
In the kitchen the servants, in kennel the hounds,
In the stable the horses were roused by the sounds,
On Black-Bird in saddle sat Arscott, "To day
I will show you good sport, lads, Hark! follow, away!"
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
In the kitchen, the staff were busy, in the kennel the dogs,
In the stable, the horses woke up to the noise,
On Black-Bird, Arscott sat in the saddle, "Today
I’ll show you some great fun, guys, listen up, let’s go!"
Sing nonsense, etc.
4
4
They tried in the coppice, from Becket to Thorn,
There were Ringwood and Rally, and Princess and Scorn;
Then out bounded Reynard, away they all went,
With the wind in their tails, on a beautiful scent.
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
They chased in the thicket, from Becket to Thorn,
There were Ringwood and Rally, and Princess and Scorn;
Then out sprang Reynard, and off they all ran,
With the wind at their tails, on an incredible scent.
Sing nonsense, etc.
5
5
"Hark, Vulcan!" said Arscott, "The best of good hounds!
Heigh Venus!" he shouted, "How nimbly she bounds!
And nothing re-echoes so sweet in the valley,
As the music of Rattler, of Fill-pot, and Rally."
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
"Hear me, Vulcan!" said Arscott, "The best of good dogs!
Hey Venus!" he shouted, "How quickly she leaps!
And nothing sounds as sweet in the valley,
As the music of Rattler, Fill-pot, and Rally."
Sing fol-de-rol, etc.
6
6
They hunted o'er fallow, o'er field and on moor,
And never a hound, man or horse would give o'er.
Sly Reynard kept distance for many a mile,
And no one dismounted for gate or for stile.
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
They hunted over fields, through open land, and on moors,
And not a single hound, man, or horse would give up.
Sly Reynard stayed far ahead for many miles,
And no one got off their horse for gates or styles.
Sing fol-de-rol, etc.
7
7
"How far do you make it?" said Simon, the Son,
"The day that's declining will shortly be done."
"We'll follow till Doom's day," quoth Arscott. Before
They hear the Atlantic with menacing roar.
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
"How far do you think you can go?" said Simon, the Son,
"The day that's fading will soon be over."
"We'll keep going until Judgment Day," said Arscott. Before
They hear the Atlantic with its threatening roar.
Sing fol-de-rol, etc.
8
8
Thro' Whitstone and Poundstock, St. Gennys they run,
As a fireball, red, in the sea set the sun.
Then out on Penkenner—a leap, and they go,
Full five hundred feet to the ocean be-low.
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
Through Whitstone and Poundstock, they run to St. Gennys,
Like a fireball, red, as the sun sets in the sea.
Then out on Penkenner—a leap, and they go,
Five hundred feet down to the ocean below.
Sing nonsense, etc.
9
9
When the full moon is shining as clear as the day,
John Arscott still hunteth the country, they say;
You may see him on Black-Bird, and hear, in full cry
The pack from Pencarrow to Dazard go by.
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
When the full moon shines as bright as day,
John Arscott is still hunting in the countryside, they say;
You can spot him on Black-Bird, and hear, in full cry,
The pack running from Pencarrow to Dazard passing by.
Sing fol-de-rol, etc.
10
10
When the tempest is howling, his horn you may hear,
And the bay of his hounds in their headlong career;
For Arscott of Tetcott loves hunting so well,
That he breaks for the pastime from Heaven—or Hell.
Sing fol-de-rol, &c.
When the storm is raging, you can hear his horn,
And the barking of his hounds in their wild run;
For Arscott of Tetcott loves hunting so much,
That he leaves Heaven—or Hell—for the thrill of it.
Sing fol-de-rol, & c.
No 3 UPON A SUNDAY MORNING
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
Upon a Sunday morning, when Spring was in its prime,
Along the Church-lane tripping, I heard the Church-bells chime,
And there encountered Reuben, astride upon the stile,
He blocked the way, so saucy, upon his lips a smile.
On a Sunday morning, with spring in full bloom,
Walking along the church lane, I heard the church bells ringing,
I came across Reuben, sitting on the fence,
He was blocking the way, looking cheeky, with a smile on his face.
2
2
Upon a Sunday morning, there came a rush of bells,
The wind was music-laden, in changeful fall and swells;
He would not let me over, he held, he made me stay,
And promise I would meet him again at close of day.
On a Sunday morning, a series of bells chimed,
The wind carried the sound of music, rising and falling;
He wouldn’t let me cross; he insisted I stay.
And promised I would see him again at the end of the day.
3
3
Upon a Sunday evening, the ringers in the tower,
Were practising their changes, they rang for full an hour;
And Reuben by me walking, would never let me go,
Until a Yes I answered, he would not take a No.
On a Sunday evening, the bell ringers in the tower,
Practiced their changes; they rang for a whole hour;
And Reuben, walking next to me, wouldn’t let me go,
Until I finally said Yes; he wouldn't accept a No.
4
4
Again a Sunday morning, and Reuben stands by me,
Not now in lane, but chancel, where all the folks may see.
A golden ring he offers, as to his side I cling,
O happy Sunday morning, for us the Church-bells ring.
Another Sunday morning, and Reuben is standing next to me,
Not in the lane now, but at the chancel, where everyone can see.
He gives a golden ring while I cling to his side,
Oh, joyful Sunday morning, for us the church bells chime.
No 4 THE TREES THEY ARE SO HIGH
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
All the trees they are so high,
The leaves they are so green,
The day is past and gone, sweet-heart,
That you and I have seen.
It is cold winter's night,
You and I must bide alone:
Whilst my pretty lad is young
And is growing.
All the trees are so tall,
The leaves are really green.
The day has passed, sweetheart,
That you and I have experienced.
It’s a chilly winter night,
You and I need to be alone:
While my handsome boy is still young
And is expanding.
2
2
In a garden as I walked,
I heard them laugh and call;
There were four and twenty playing there,
They played with bat and ball.
O the rain on the roof,
Here and I must make my moan:
Whilst my pretty lad is young
And is growing.
In a garden as I strolled,
I heard them laughing and shouting;
There were twenty-four kids playing there,
They played with a bat and ball.
Oh, the rain on the roof,
Here I am, feeling bad.
While my sweet boy is still young
Still growing.
3
3
I listened in the garden,
I looked o'er the wall;
Amidst five and twenty gallants there
My love exceeded all.
O the wind on the thatch,
Here and I alone must weep:
Whilst my pretty lad is young
And is growing.
I listened in the garden,
I peered over the wall;
Among twenty-five guys there
My love stood out the most.
Oh, the wind on the roof,
Here, I must cry alone:
While my adorable guy is still young
And is maturing.
4
4
O father, father dear,
Great wrong to me is done,
That I should married be this day,
Before the set of sun.
At the huffle of the gale,
Here I toss and cannot sleep:
Whilst my pretty lad is young
And is growing.
O father, dear father,
You've done me a huge injustice,
That I should get married today,
Before sunset.
In the wind's gusts,
I can't sleep and feel restless.
While my sweet boy is still little
And is expanding.
5[4]
5 __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
My daughter, daughter dear,
If better be, more fit,
I'll send him to the court awhile,
To point his pretty wit.
But the snow, snowflakes fall,
O and I am chill as dead:
Whilst my pretty lad is young
And is growing.
My daughter, my dear,
If it's better to be more fitting,
I'll send him to court for a bit,
To demonstrate his cleverness.
But the snow, the snowflakes are falling,
And I feel as cold as ice:
While my good-looking boy is still young
And is expanding.
To let the lovely ladies know
They may not touch and taste,
I'll bind a bunch of ribbons red
About his little waist.
But the raven hoarsely croaks,
And I shiver in my bed;
Whilst my pretty lad is young
And is growing.
To let the lovely ladies know
They can't feel or taste,
I'll tie a bunch of red ribbons
Around his tiny waist.
But the raven caws harshly,
And I shiver in
7
7
I married was, alas,
A lady high to be,
In court and stall and stately hall,
And bower of tapestry,
But the bell did only knell,
And I shuddered as one cold:
When I wed the pretty lad
Not done growing.
I married, unfortunately,
A woman of high status,
In court and stall and grand hall,
And a room adorned with tapestries,
But the bell just rang,
I shivered like someone cold:
When I married the attractive guy
Not fully grown yet.
8
8
At seventeen he wedded was,
A father at eighteen,
At nineteen his face was white as milk,
And then his grave was green;
And the daisies were outspread,
And buttercups of gold,
O'er my pretty lad so young
Now ceased growing.
At seventeen he got married,
A dad at 18,
At nineteen his face was pale as milk,
And then his grave was covered in green.
And the daisies were laid out,
And golden buttercups,
Over my handsome young boy
Now stopped growing.
No 5 PARSON HOGG
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Mess Parson Hogg shall now maintain,
The burden of my song, Sir,
A single life, perforce he led,
Of constitution strong, Sir.
Sing, tally-ho! sing, tally-ho!
Sing, tally-ho! why zounds, Sir,
He mounts his mare, to hunt the hare,
Sing tally-ho! the hounds, Sir.
Mess Parson Hogg will now take the stage,
The theme of my song, Sir,
He lived the life of a single man,
With a strong constitution, Sir.
Sing, let’s go! Sing, let’s go!
Sing, let’s go! Good heavens, Sir,
He rides his horse to hunt the hare,
Sing hooray! the hounds, Sir.
2
2
And every day he goes to Mass,
He first draws on the boot, Sir,
That should the beagles chance to pass,
He might join in pursuit, Sir!
Sing tally-ho! &c.
And every day he goes to Mass,
He first puts on his boot, Sir,
That if the hounds happen to pass by,
He can join the chase, Sir!
Sing hooray! &c.
3
3
That Parson little loveth prayer,
And Pater, night and morn, Sir,
For bell and book, hath little care
But dearly loves the horn, Sir.
Sing tally-ho! &c.
That Parson doesn’t really love prayer,
And Father, night and day, Sir,
He doesn't care much for bell and book,
But he loves the horn, sir.
Sing hooray! &c.
4
4
S. Stephen's Day, this holy man
He went a pair to wed, Sir,
When as the Service he began
Puss by the Church-yard sped, Sir.
Sing tally-ho! &c.
S. Stephen's Day, this holy man
He went off to get married, Sir.
When he started the service
A cat rushed past the churchyard, Sir.
Sing hooray! &c.
5
5
He shut his book, Come on, he said,
I'll pray and bless no more, Sir,
He drew his surplice o'er his head
And started for the door, Sir
Sing tally-ho! &c.
He closed his book. "Come on," he said,
"I won't pray or give blessings anymore, Sir,"
He pulled his robe over his head
And went towards the door, Sir.
Sing tally-ho! &c.
6
6
In pulpit Parson Hogg was strong,
He preached without a book, Sir,
And to the point, and never long,
And this the text he took, Sir,
"O tally-ho! O tally-ho!
Dearly beloved—zounds, Sir
I mount my mare to hunt the hare,
Singing tally-ho! the hounds, Sir!"
In the pulpit, Parson Hogg was powerful,
He spoke without notes, Sir,
And got straight to the point, never dragged it out,
And this was the text he selected, Sir,
"Oh wow! Oh wow!"
Dearly beloved—wow, Sir
I ride my horse to chase the rabbit,
"Sing tally-ho! the hounds, Sir!"
No 6 “COLD BLOWS THE WIND, SWEET-HEART”
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
"Cold blows the wind of night, sweet-heart,
Cold are the drops of rain;
The very first love that ever I had,
In green-wood he was slain.
"Cold blows the night wind, sweetheart,
Cold raindrops;
The very first love I ever had,
He was killed in the green woods.
2
2
"I'll do as much for my true-love
As any fair maiden may;
I'll sit and mourn upon his grave
A twelvemonth and a day."
"I'll do as much for my true love
As any beautiful woman would;
I'll sit and grieve by his grave
"For an entire year and a day."
3
3
A twelvemonth and a day being up,
The ghost began to speak;
"Why sit you here by my grave-side
From dusk till dawning break?"
A year and a day being up,
The ghost began to speak;
"Why are you sitting here by my grave
"From evening until morning?"
4
4
"O think upon the garden, love,
Where you and I did walk.
The fairest flower that blossomed there
Is withered on its stalk."
"O think about the garden, love,
Where we walked together.
The most beautiful flower that bloomed there
Is wilted on its stem."
5
5
"What is it that you want of me,
And will not let me sleep?
Your salten tears they trickle down
My winding sheet to steep."
"What do you want from me,
That won't let me rest?
Your salty tears are dripping down
To soak my burial shroud.
6
6
"Oh I will now redeem the pledge
The pledge that once I gave;
A kiss from off thy lily white lips
Is all of you I crave."
"Oh, I will now fulfill the promise
The promise I made long ago;
A kiss from your soft, white lips
Is all I want."
7
7
"Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart,
My breath is earthy strong.
If you do touch my clay-cold lips,
Your time will not be long."
"Cold are my lips in death, sweetheart,
My breath is filled with the scent of the earth.
If you touch my clay-cold lips,
"Your time is limited."
8
8
Then through the mould he heaved his head,
And through the herbage green.
There fell a frosted bramble leaf,
It came their lips between.
Then he lifted his head through the mold,
And through the green grass.
A frosted bramble leaf fell,
It got stuck between their lips.
9
9
"Now if you were not true in word,
As now I know you be,
I'd tear you as the withered leaves,
Are torn from off the tree.
"Now if you weren't honest with your words,
Now that I know who you are,
I'd rip you apart like the dead leaves,
Are taken from the tree.
10
10
"And well for you that bramble-leaf
Betwixt our lips was flung.
The living to the living hold,
Dead to the dead belong."
"And it's good for you that bramble-leaf
Was tossed between our lips.
The living connect with the living,
"Dead people belong to the dead."
No 7 THE SPRIG OF THYME
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
In my garden grew plenty of Thyme,
It would flourish by night and by day;
O'er the wall came a lad, he took all that I had,
And stole my thyme away.
In my garden, there was a lot of thyme,
It flourished both day and night;
A boy climbed over the wall, took everything I had,
And took my thyme away.
2
2
My garden with heartsease was bright,
The pansy so pied and so gay;
One slipped through the gate, and alas! cruel fate,
My heartsease took away.
My garden with heartsease was bright,
The pansy is so colorful and cheerful;
One slipped through the gate, and unfortunately! harsh fate,
My peace of mind was taken away.
3
3
My garden grew self-heal and balm,
And speedwell that's blue for an hour,
Then blossoms again, O grievous my pain!
I'm plundered of each flower.
My garden grew self-heal and balm,
And the blue speedwell that lasts for an hour,
Then blooms again, oh how I ache!
I've had every flower taken from me.
4
4
There grows in my garden the rue,
And Love-lies-a-bleeding droops there,
The hyssop and myrrh, the teazle and burr,
In place of blossoms fair.
There’s rue growing in my garden,
And Love Lies A Bleeding hangs there,
The hyssop and myrrh, the teazle and burr,
Instead of beautiful flowers.
5
5
The willow with branches that weep,
The thorn and the cypress tree,
O why were the seeds of such dolorous weeds,
Thus scattered there by thee?
The willow with branches that droop,
The thorn and the cypress tree,
O why were the seeds of such sorrowful weeds,
So, you scattered them there?
No 8 ROVING JACK
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Young Jack he was a journey-man
That roved from town to town,
And when he'd done a job of work,
He lightly sat him down.
With his kit upon his shoulder, and
A grafting knife in hand,
He roved the country round about,
A merry journey-man.
Young Jack was a journeyman
Who traveled from one town to another,
And when he finished a job,
He would casually take a seat.
With his bag on his shoulder, and
With a grafting knife in hand,
He roamed the countryside,
A happy tradesperson.
2
2
And when he came to Exeter,
The maidens leaped for joy;
Said one and all, both short and tall,
Here comes a gallant boy.
The lady dropt her needle, and
The maid her frying-pan,
Each plainly told her mother, that
She loved the journey-man.
And when he arrived in Exeter,
The girls were ecstatic;
Everyone said, short and tall,
Here comes a good-looking guy.
The lady dropped her needle, and
The maid with her frying pan,
Each clearly told her mother that
She loved the contractor.
3
3
He had not been in Exeter,
The days were barely three,
Before the Mayor, his sweet daughter.
She loved him desperately;
She bid him to her mother's house,
She took him by the hand,
Said she, "My dearest mother, see
I love the journey-man!"
He had only been in Exeter,
It had hardly been three days,
When the Mayor, along with his lovely daughter,
She was crazy about him;
She invited him to her mother’s house,
She grabbed his hand,
And said, "My dearest mother, look
I love the worker!
4
4
Now out on thee, thou silly maid!
Such folly speak no more:
How can'st thou love a roving man,
Thou ne'er hast seen before?
"O mother sweet, I do entreat,
I love him all I can;
Around the country glad I'll rove
With this young journey-man.
Now listen to me, you foolish girl!
Stop discussing such nonsense:
How can you love a wandering man,
You’ve never met before?
"O sweet mother, I beg you,
I love him completely;
I’ll happily roam the countryside
With this young traveler.
5
5
"He need no more to trudge afoot,
He'll travel coach and pair;
My wealth with me—or poverty
With him, content I'll share."
Now fill the horn with barleycorn,
And flowing fill the can:
Here let us toast the Mayor's daughter
And the roving journey-man.
"He doesn’t have to walk anymore,
He'll travel in a horse-drawn carriage.
With my wealth—or in poverty
"I'm happy to share with him."
Now fill the horn with barleycorn,
And let’s fill the jar:
Here’s to the Mayor's daughter
And the roaming traveler.
No 9 BRIXHAM TOWN
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
All ye that love to hear
Music performed in air,
Pray listen, and give ear,
To what I shall perpend.
Concerning music, who'd,—
If rightly understood—
Not find 'twould do him good
To hearken and attend.
All of you who enjoy
Music played in the air,
Please listen and pay attention,
To what I will think about.
About music, who wouldn't—
If understood properly—
Find it beneficial
Listen and engage.
2
2
In Brixham town so rare
For singing sweet and fair,
Few can with us compare,
We bear away the bell.
Extolled up and down
By men of high renown,
We go from town to town;
And none can us excell.
In the town of Brixham, so unique
For singing sweet and fair,
Few can compare with us,
We stand out as one of the best.
Praised far and wide
By famous people,
We travel from town to town;
And no one can outdo us.
3
3
There's a man in Brixham town
Of office, and in gown,
Strove to put singing down,
Which most of men adore.
For House of God unmeet,
The voice and organ sweet!
When pious men do meet,
To praise their God before.
There's a guy in Brixham town
In a suit and gown,
Who tried to stop singing,
Which most men enjoy.
Not suitable for the House of God,
The sweet voice and organ!
When devout men gather,
To worship their God together.
4
4
Go question Holy writ,
And you will find in it,
That seemly 'tis and fit,
To praise and hymn the Lord.
On cymbal and on lute,
On organ and on flute,
With voices sweet, that suit;
All in a fair concord.
Go ahead and question sacred texts,
And you’ll discover in them,
That it’s proper and right,
To worship and praise the Lord.
With cymbals and lutes,
With organs and flutes,
And sweet voices that blend;
All in perfect harmony.
5
5
In Samuel you may read
How one was troubled,
Was troubled indeed,
Who crown and sceptre bore;
An evil spirit lay
On his mind both night and day,
That would not go away,
And vexed him very sore.
In Samuel, you can read
About someone who was troubled,
Truly troubled,
Who held the crown and scepter;
An evil spirit
Haunted his mind day and night,
And just wouldn't leave,
And troubled him a lot.
6
6
Then up and uttered one,
Said, "Jesse hath a son,
Of singers next to none;
David his name they say."
"So send for David, fleet,
To make me music sweet,
That the spirit may retreat,
And go from me away."
Then someone stood up and said, "Jesse has a son, one of the best singers around; they say his name is David." "So send for David quickly, to play me some sweet music so that the spirit may calm down and leave me alone."
7
7
Now when that David, he
King Saul had come to see,
And playèd merrily.
Upon his stringèd harp,
The Devil in all speed,
With music ill agreed,
From Saul the King, he fleed,
Impatient to depart.
Now when David, he
King Saul had come to see,
And played happily.
On his guitar,
The Devil quickly,
With music that didn't fit,
Fled from King Saul,
Ready to go.
8
8
Now there be creatures three
As you may plainly see
With music can't agree
Upon this very earth
The swine, the fool, the ass,
And so we let it pass
And sing, O Lord, thy praise
Whilst we have breath.
Now there are three creatures
As you can clearly see
They can't agree on music
On this planet
The pig, the fool, the donkey,
And so we let it go
And sing, O Lord, your praise
As long as we're alive.
9
9
So now, my friends, adieu!
I hope that all of you
Will pull most strong and true,
In strain to serve the Lord.
God prosper us, that we
Like angels may agree,
In singing merrily
In tune and in accord.
So now, my friends, goodbye!
I hope that all of you
Will work hard and genuinely,
In our effort to serve God.
May God bless us, so that we
Can get along like angels,
Singing joyfully
In peace and togetherness.
No 10 GREEN BROOM
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
There was an old man lived out in the wood,
His trade was a-cutting of Broom, green Broom;
He had but one son without thrift, without good,
Who lay in his bed till 'twas noon, bright noon.
There was an old man who lived in the woods,
His job was to cut green broom;
He had only one son, who was lazy and no good,
Who stayed in bed until it was bright noon.
2
2
The old man awoke, one morning and spoke,
He swore he would fire the room, that room,
If his John would not rise and open his eyes,
And away to the wood to cut Broom, green Broom.
The old man woke up one morning and said,
He promised he would set that room on fire, that room,
If his John didn’t get up and open his eyes,
And go out to the woods to cut green Broom.
3
3
So Johnny arose, and he slipped on his clothes,
And away to the wood to cut Broom, green Broom,
He sharpened his knives, for once he contrives
To cut a great bundle of Broom, green Broom.
So Johnny got up, and he put on his clothes,
And off to the woods to gather Broom, fresh Broom,
He sharpened his knives, hoping that this time
He'd cut a big bundle of green broom.
4
4
When Johnny passed under a lady's fine house,
Passed under a lady's fine room, fine room,
She called to her maid, "Go fetch me," she said,
"Go fetch me the boy that sells Broom, green Broom."
When Johnny walked by a lady's beautiful house,
Passed by a lady's beautiful room, beautiful room,
She called to her maid, "Go get me," she said,
"Go get me the boy who sells broom, green broom."
5
5
When Johnny came into the lady's fine house,
And stood in the lady's fine room, fine room,
"Young Johnny," she said, "Will you give up your trade,
And marry a lady in bloom, full bloom?"
When Johnny entered the lady's beautiful house,
And stood in the woman's beautiful room, beautiful room,
"Young Johnny," she said, "Will you give up your job,
"And marry a woman in her prime, at the height of her youth?"
6
6
Johnny gave his consent, and to church they both went,
And he wedded the lady in bloom, full bloom.
At market and fair, all folks do declare,
There is none like the Boy that sold Broom, green Broom.
Johnny agreed, and off to church they went,
And he married the woman at the peak of her beauty.
At the market and the fair, everyone says,
There's no one quite like the Boy who sold Broom, green Broom.
No 11 AS JOHNNY WALKED OUT
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
As Johnny walked out one day
It was a summer morn,
Himself he laid beneath the shade
All of a twisted thorn,
And as he there lay lazily
A shepherdess pass'd by;
And 'twas down in yonder valley, love,
Where the water glideth by.
As Johnny stepped outside one day
It was a summer morning,
He found a spot under the shade
All of a twisted thorn,
And while he lay there relaxing
A shepherdess walked past;
And it was down in that valley, dear,
Where the water flows by.
2
2
"O have you seen a pretty ewe
That hath a tender lamb,
A strayed from the orchard glade
That little one and dam?"
"O pretty maid" he answered,
"They passed as here I lie!"
And 'twas down in yonder valley, love,
Where the water glideth by.
"O have you seen a cute ewe
With a soft lamb,
That wandered away from the orchard glade
"That little one and its mom?"
"O pretty girl," he replied,
"They walked by while I was here!"
And it was down in that valley over there, love,
Where the water flows gently by.
She wandered o'er the country wide
The sheep she could not find;
And many times she did upbraid
Young Johnny in her mind.
She sought in leafy forest green
She sought them low and high,
And 'twas down in yonder valley, love,
Where the water glideth by.
She traveled across the wide countryside
But she couldn’t find the sheep;
And many times she scolded
Young Johnny on her mind.
She looked in the leafy green forest
She looked everywhere,
And it was down in that valley, love,
Where the water flows.
4
4
"Oh silly maid," young Johnny said,
"Alone why did you seek?"
Her heart was full of anger, and
The flush was in her cheek.
"Where one alone availeth not,
There two your sheep may spie,
And 'tis down in yonder valley, love,
Where the water glideth by."
"Oh silly girl," young Johnny said,
"Why did you go searching on your own?"
Her heart was filled with anger, and
Her cheeks were rosy.
"Where one alone can't do much,
There, you can see your sheep.
And it’s down in that valley over there, love,
"Where the water flows."
5
5
vThen lo! they both forgot their quest,
They found what neither sought,
Two loving hearts long kept apart
Together now were brought.
He found the words he long had lacked,
He found and held her eye;
And 'twas down in yonder valley, love,
Where the water glideth by.
Then suddenly! they both forgot their mission,
They found something that neither of them was searching for,
Two loving hearts that had been separated
We're now brought together.
He found the words he had always needed,
He caught her eye and held her gaze;
And it was down in that valley, love,
Where the water flows.
Now married were this loving pair,
And joined in holy band,
No more they go a seeking sheep,
Together hand in hand.
Around her feet play children sweet,
Beneath the summer sky,
And 'tis down in yonder valley, love,
Where the water glideth by.
Now this loving couple is married,
And united in a sacred bond,
They no longer go searching for sheep,
Together, hand in hand.
Children play sweetly around her feet,
Under the summer sky,
And it’s down in that valley over there, love,
Where the water flows.
No 12 THE MILLER AND HIS SONS
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
There was a miller, as you shall hear,
Long time he lived in Devonshire,
He was took sick and deadly ill,
And had no time to write his will!
He was took sick and deadly ill,
And had no time to write his will.
There was a miller, as you will hear,
He lived in Devonshire for a long time,
He got very sick and was close to death,
And he didn't have time to write his will!
He got very sick and was close to death,
And he didn't have time to write his will.
2
2
So he call'd up his eldest son,
Said he, "My glass is almost run.
If I to thee my mill shall give,
Tell me what toll thou'lt take to live?"
So he called up his oldest son,
He said, "My time is almost up.
If I give you my mill,
Tell me what toll you’ll take to live?"
3
3
"Father," said he, "My name is Jack,
From every bushel I'll take a peck.
From every grist that I do grind,
That I may thus good living find."
"Father," he said, "My name is Jack,
From every bushel I’ll take a peck.
From every grain that I grind,
So I can earn a good living."
4
4
"Thou art a fool," the old man said,
"Thou hast not half acquired thy trade.
My mill to thee I ne'er will give
For by such toll no man can live."
"You’re a fool," the old man said,
"You haven't even mastered your craft.
I will never give you my mill
Because no one can survive on such toll."
5
5
Then he call'd up his second son,
Said he, "My glass is almost run.
If I to thee my mill shall make,
Tell me what toll to live thou'lt take?"
Then he called up his second son,
He said, "My time is almost up.
If I give you my mill,
Tell me what toll you'll take to live?"
6
6
"Father you know my name is Ralph,
From every bushel I'll take a half
From every grist that I do grind,
That I may thus a living find."
"Father, you know my name is Ralph,
I'll take half from every bushel
And from every grain that I grind,
So that I can make a living."
7
7
"Thou art a fool," the old man said;
"Thou hast not half acquired thy trade.
My mill to thee I will not give,
For by such toll no man may live."
"You’re a fool," the old man said;
"You haven't even mastered your craft.
I won't give you my mill,
Because no one can survive on such tolls."
8
8
Then he call'd up his youngest son,
Says he, "My glass is almost run.
If I to thee my mill shall make
Tell me what toll, to live, thou'lt take?"
Then he called up his youngest son,
He said, "My time is almost up.
If I let you run my mill,
Tell me what toll you’ll take to live?"
9
9
"Father I am your youngest boy.
In taking toll is all my joy.
Before I would good living lack,
I'd take the whole—forswear the sack."
"Father, I am your youngest son.
It's all my joy to take my share.
Before I would live poorly,
I'd take it all—give up the drink."
10
10
"Thou art the boy," the old man said,
"For thou hast full acquired the trade.
The mill is thine," the old man cried,
He laugh'd, gave up the ghost, and died.
"You are the boy," the old man said,
"For you have fully learned the trade.
The mill is yours," the old man shouted,
He laughed, took his last breath, and died.
No 13 ORMOND THE BRAVE
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
I am Ormond the brave, did ye never hear of me?
Who lately was driven from my own country.
They tried me, condemned me, they plundered my estate,
For being so loyal to Queen Anne the Great,
Crying, O! I am Ormond, you know.
I am Ormond the brave, have you never heard of me?
I was recently forced out of my own country.
They put me on trial, convicted me, and seized my property,
For being so loyal to Queen Anne the Great,
Crying, Oh! I am Ormond, just so you know.
2
2
O to vict'ry I led, and I vanquished every foe,
Some do call me James Butler, I'm Ormond, you know,
I am Queen Anne's darling, and old England's delight,
A friend to the Church, in Fanatic's despite,
Crying, O! I am Ormond, you know.
Oh, to victory I led, and I defeated every enemy,
Some call me James Butler, I'm Ormond, you know,
I'm Queen Anne's favorite, and old England's pride,
A friend to the Church, despite the Fanatics,
Crying, Oh! I'm Ormond, you know.
3
3
Then awake Devon dogs, and arise you Cornish cats,
And follow me a chasing the Hanoverian rats,
They shall fly from the country, we'll guard the British throne,
Have no German electors with a king, sirs, of our own.
Crying, O! I am Ormond, you know.
Then wake up, Devon dogs, and get up, you Cornish cats,
And follow me to chase the Hanoverian rats,
They’ll flee the country, we'll protect the British throne,
We don’t want German electors with a king, sirs, of our own.
Crying, oh! I'm Ormond, you know.
4
4
O I wronged not my country as Scottish peers do,
Nor my soldiers defrauded, of that which is their due.
All such deeds I do abhor, by the powers that are above,
I've bequeath'd all my fortune to the country I love.
Crying, O! I am Ormond, you know.
O I didn't betray my country like other Scottish nobles,
Nor did I cheat my soldiers out of what they deserve.
I despise such acts, by the powers above,
I've given all my fortune to the country I care about.
Crying, Oh! I am Ormond, just so you know.
No 14 SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
There came three men from out the West
Their victory to try;
And they have ta'en a solemn oath,
Poor Barleycorn should die.
With a Ri-fol-lol-riddle-diddle-dol
Ri fol, ri fol dee.
Three men came from the West
To celebrate their victory;
And they took a solemn oath,
Poor Barleycorn has to go.
With a Ri-fol-lol-riddle-diddle-dol
Ri fol, ri fol dee.
2
2
They took a plough and ploughed him in,
Clods harrowed on his head;
And then they took a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
With a Ri-fol &c.
They took a plow and buried him in,
Clods flipped over on his head;
And then they made a serious vow
John Barleycorn is dead.
With a Ri-fol & etc.
3
3
There he lay sleeping in the ground
Till rain did on him fall;
Then Barleycorn sprung up his head,
And so amazed them all.
With a Ri-fol &c.
There he lay sleeping in the ground
Until the rain began to fall on him;
Then Barleycorn raised his head,
And shocked everyone.
With a Ri-fol &c.
4
4
There he remained till Midsummer
And look'd both pale and wan;
Then Barleycorn he got a beard
And so became a man.
With a Ri-fol &c.
There he stayed until Midsummer
Looking pale and weak;
Then Barleycorn grew a beard
And that’s how he became a man.
With a Ri-fol &c.
5
5
Then they sent men with scythes so sharp
To cut him off at knee;
And then poor Johnny Barleycorn
They served most barbarouslie.
With a Ri-fol &c.
Then they sent guys with really sharp scythes
To undermine him completely;
And then poor Johnny Barleycorn
They were treated very cruelly.
With a Ri-fol &c.
6
6
Then they sent men with pitch forks strong
To pierce him through the heart;
And like a doleful Tragedy
They bound him in a cart.
With a Ri-fol &c.
Then they sent men with pitchforks strong
To stab him in the heart;
And like a sad tragedy
They tied him to a cart.
With a Ri-fol &c.
7
7
And then they brought him to a barn
A prisoner to endure;
And so they fetched him out again,
And laid him on the floor.
With a Ri-fol &c.
And then they took him to a barn
A suffering prisoner;
And then they brought him back again,
And placed him on the ground.
With a Ri-fol &c.
8
8
Then they set men with holly clubs,
To beat the flesh from th' bones;
But the miller served him worse than that
He ground him 'twixt two stones.
With a Ri-fol &c.
Then they put men with holly clubs,
To strip the flesh from the bones;
But the miller treated him even worse
He crushed him between two stones.
With a Ri-fol & c.
9
9
O! Barleycorn is the choicest grain
That 'ere was sown on land
It will do more than any grain,
By the turning of your hand.
With a Ri-fol &c.
O! Barleycorn is the best grain
That was always planted in the ground.
It can do more than any grain,
By the movement of your hand.
With a Ri-fol &c.
10
10
It will make a boy into a man,
A man into an ass;
To silver it will change your gold,
Your silver into brass.
With a Ri-fol &c.
It will turn a boy into a man,
A man as a fool;
It will turn your gold into silver,
Your silver turns to brass.
With a Ri-fol &c.
11
11
It will make the huntsman hunt the fox,
That never wound a horn;
It will bring the tinker to the stocks
That people may him scorn.
With a Ri-fol &c.
It will make the hunter chase the fox,
Who never played a horn;
It will bring the handyman to the stocks
So people can make fun of him.
With a Ri-fol &c.
12
12
O! Barleycorn is th' choicest grain,
That e'er was sown on land.
And it will cause a man to drink
Till he neither can go nor stand.
With a Ri-fol &c.
O! Barleycorn is the best grain,
That was always planted in the ground.
And it will make a man drink
Until he can no longer walk or stand.
With a Ri-fol &c.
No 15 SWEET NIGHTINGALE
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
My sweet-heart, come along.
Don't you hear the fond song
The sweet notes of the Nightingale flow?
Don't you hear the fond tale,
Of the sweet nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below?
My sweetheart, come on.
Don't you hear the beautiful song?
The sweet notes of the nightingale flow?
Don't you hear the beautiful story,
Of the lovely nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below?
2
2
Pretty Betty, don't fail,
For I'll carry your pail
Safe home to your cot as we go;
You shall hear the fond tale
Of the sweet nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below.
Pretty Betty, don't worry,
Because I'm taking your bucket
Safely home to your place as we walk;
You’ll hear the heartfelt story
Of the beautiful nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below.
3
3
Pray let me alone,
I have hands of my own,
Along with you Sir, I'll not go,
To hear the fond tale
Of the sweet nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below.
Pray let me be,
I have my own hands.
I won't go with you, Sir,
To hear the lovely story
Of the beautiful nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below.
4
4
Pray sit yourself down
With me on the ground,
On this bank where the primroses grow,
You shall hear the fond tale
Of the sweet nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below.
Please take a seat
With me on the lawn,
On this bank where the primroses bloom,
You will hear the beautiful story.
Of the lovely nightingale,
As she sings in the valleys below.
5
5
The couple agreed,
And were married with speed,
And soon to the church they did go;
No more is she afraid
For to walk in the shade,
Nor sit in those valleys below.
The couple agreed,
And got married fast,
And soon headed to the church;
She's not afraid anymore.
To stroll in the shade,
Nor to sit in those valleys below.
No 16 WIDDECOMBE FAIR
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
"Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me your grey mare,
All along, down along, out along, lee.
For I want for to go to Widdecombe Fair,
Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon,
Harry Hawk, old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all,"
CHORUS: Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all.
"Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, can I borrow your grey mare,
All the way, down the way, out the way, sheltered.
I want to go to Widdecombe Fair,
With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, and Dan'l Whiddon,
"Harry Hawk, old Uncle Tom Cobbley, and everyone else,"
CHORUS: Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and everyone else.
2
2
"And when shall I see again my grey mare?"
All along, &c.
"By Friday soon, or Saturday noon,
Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, &c."
"And when will I see my grey mare again?"
All the while, &c.
"By Friday morning, or Saturday noon,
With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, and others.
3
3
Then Friday came, and Saturday noon,
All along, &c.
But Tom Pearce's old mare hath not trotted home,
Wi' Bill Brewer, &c.
Then Friday came, and Saturday noon,
All along, etc.
But Tom Pearce's old mare hasn't trotted home,
With Bill Brewer, etc.
4
4
So Tom Pearce he got up to the top o' the hill
All along, &c.
And he seed his old mare down a making her will
Wi' Bill Brewer, &c.
So Tom Pearce climbed to the top of the hill
All along, etc.
And he saw his old mare writing her will
With Bill Brewer, etc.
5
5
So Tom Pearce's old mare, her took sick and died.
All along, &c.
And Tom he sat down on a stone, and he cried
Wi' Bill Brewer, &c.
So Tom Pearce's old mare got sick and died.
All along, etc.
And Tom sat down on a rock and cried
With Bill Brewer, etc.
6
6
But this isn't the end o' this shocking affair,
All along, &c.
Nor, though they be dead, of the horrid career
Of Bill Brewer, &c.
But this isn't the end of this shocking situation,
All the way, etc.
Nor, even though they are dead, of the horrific journey
Of Bill Brewer, etc.
7
7
When the wind whistles cold on the moor of a night
All along, &c.
Tom Pearce's old mare doth appear, gashly white,
Wi' Bill Brewer, &c.
When the cold wind blows across the moor at night
All along, etc.
Tom Pearce's old horse shows up, ghostly white,
With Bill Brewer, etc.
8
8
And all the long night be heard skirling and groans,
All along, &c.
From Tom Pearce's old mare in her rattling bones,
And from Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon,
Harry Hawk, old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all.
CHORUS: Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and all.
And all through the long night, you could hear shrieks and groans,
All the way, etc.
From Tom Pearce's old mare with her creaking bones,
And from Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon,
Harry Hawk, old Uncle Tom Cobbley, and everyone else.
CHORUS: Old Uncle Tom Cobbley and everyone.
No 17 YE MAIDENS PRETTY
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Ye maidens pretty
In town and city,
I pray you pity
My mournful strain.
A maiden weeping,
Her night-watch keeping,
In grief unsleeping
Makes her complain:
In tower I languish
In cold and sadness,
Heart full of anguish,
Eye full of tear.
Whilst glades are ringing
With maidens singing,
Sweet roses bringing
To crown the year.
You pretty maidens
In town and city,
I ask you to feel
My sad song.
A maiden weeping,
Keeping watch at night,
Unable to sleep
Makes her scream:
In this tower, I slowly wither away.
In cold and sorrow,
Heart full of pain,
Tears in their eyes.
While the glades are echoing
With ladies singing,
Bringing nice roses
To wrap up the year.
2
2
Thro' hills and vallies
Thro' shaded alleys,
And pleached palis—
Ading of grove;
Among fair bowers,
Midst fragrant flowers,
Pass sunny hours,
And sing of love.
In tower I languish, &c.
Through hills and valleys
Through shaded pathways,
And woven fences—
Singing in the grove;
Among beautiful arbors,
Amid fragrant flowers,
I spend sunny hours,
And sing about love.
In the tower, I suffer, etc.
3
3
My cruel father
Gave straitest order,
By watch and warder,
I barr'd should be.
All in my chamber,
High out of danger,
From eye of ranger,
In misery.
In tower I languish, &c.
My harsh father
Gave strict orders,
By watch and guard,
I should be locked up.
All in my room,
High and out of danger,
From the watchful eye,
In distress.
In the tower, I suffer, etc.
4
4
Enclosed in mortar,
By wall and water,
A luckless daughter
All white and wan;
Till day is breaking
My bed forsaking,
I all night waking
Sing like the swan.
In tower I languish,
In cold and sadness,
Heart full of anguish,
Eye full of tear,
Whilst glades are ringing
With maidens singing
Sweet roses bringing,
To crown the year.
Trapped in stone,
Behind walls and water,
A hopeless daughter
All pale and tired;
Until dawn breaks
Leaving my bed,
While all night I stay awake
Singing like a pro.
In a tower, I’m wasting away,
Cold and gloomy,
Heart filled with pain,
Tear-filled eyes,
While the fields echo
With young women performing vocals
Bringing beautiful roses,
To celebrate the year.
No 18 THE SILLY OLD MAN
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
Aw! Come now, I'll sing you a song,
'Tis a song of right merry intent,
Concerning a silly old man,
Who went for to pay his rent,
Singing, Too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo.
Aw! Come on, I'll sing you a song,
It’s a song with a cheerful vibe,
About a silly old man,
Who went out to pay his rent,
Singing, Too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo.
2
2
And as this here silly old man,
Was riding along the lane,
A Gentleman thief overtook him,
Saying "Well over-taken old man."
And while this silly old man,
Riding down the path,
A gentleman thief caught up to him,
"Great to see you, old friend."
3
3
"What! well over-taken, do'y say?"
"Yes, well over-taken," quoth he.
"No, no," said the silly old man.
"I don't want thy company.
"What! You've really caught up, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I've really caught up," he said.
"No, no," said the foolish old man.
"Don't want your company."
4
4
"I am only a silly old man,
I farm but a parcel of ground.
And I am going to the landlord to pay,
My rent which is just forty pound."
"I’m just a silly old man,
I only farm a small plot of land.
And I’m heading to the landlord to pay,
My rent is only forty pounds.
5
5
"But supposing a highway-man stopped you?
For the rascals are many, men say,
And take all the money from off you
As you ride on the king's highway?"
"But what if a highway robber stopped you?
Because there are many troublemakers, people say,
And they take all your money
"Are you traveling on the king's highway?"
6
6
"What! supposing some fellow should stop me?
Why badly the thief would be sped.
For the money I carry about me
In the quilt o' my saddle is hid."
"What! What if someone were to stop me?
Then the thief would be in serious trouble.
For the money I have with me
"Is hidden in the quilt of my saddle."
7
7
And as they were riding along,
Along and along the green lane,
The Gentleman thief rode afore him
And summoned the old man to stand.
And as they were riding along,
Down the green path,
The gentleman thief rode ahead of him
And asked the old man to stop.
8
8
But the old man was crafty and cunning,
As, I wot, in the world there be many,
Pitched his saddle clean over the hedge,
Saying, "Fetch'n if thou would'st have any,"
Singing, Too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo.
But the old man was clever and shrewd,
I know there are many people in the world,
Tossed his saddle right over the hedge,
Saying, "Come and take it if you want some,"
Singing, too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo.
9
9
Then the thief being thirsty for gold,
And eager to get at his bags,
He dra'ed out his rusty old sword,
And chopped up the saddle to rags.
Then the thief, craving gold,
And excited to reach his bags,
He pulled out his rusty old sword,
And cut the saddle into strips.
10
10
The old man slipped off his old mare,
And mounted the thief's horse astride,
Clapp'd spur, and put him in a gallop,
Saying "I, without teaching, can ride."
The old man got off his old mare,
And jumped on the thief's horse,
Kicked in the spurs and took off running,
Saying, "I can ride without instruction."
11
11
When he to his landlord's had come,
That old man was almost a-spent,
Says he, "Landlord, provide me a room.
I be come for to pay up my rent."
When he arrived at his landlord's place,
The old man was almost out of breath,
He said, "Landlord, get me a room.
"I’ve come to pay my rent."
12
12
He opened the thief, his portmantle
And there was a sight to behold,
There were five hundred pounds in silver,
And five hundred pounds in gold.
He opened the thief's bag,
And it was quite a sight to see,
There were five hundred pounds in silver,
And five hundred pounds of gold.
13
13
And as he was on his way home,
And riding along the same lane,
He seed—his silly old mare,
Tied up to the hedge by the mane.
And as he was on his way home,
And traveling down the same road,
He saw—his silly old mare,
Tied to the hedge by the mane.
14
14
He loosed his old mare from the hedge,
As she of the grass there did crib,
He gi'ed her a whack o' the broad o' the back,
Saying "Follow me home, old Tib."
He freed his old mare from the hedge,
Since she was eating the grass there,
He gave her a slap on the back,
"Come home with me, old Tib."
15
15
Aw! When to his home he were come
His daughter he dress'd like a duchess,
And his ol' woman kicked and she capered for joy,
And at Christmas danced jigs on her crutches.
Singing, Too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo.
Aw! When he got home
He dressed his daughter like a princess,
And his wife was so happy she kicked and danced with joy,
And at Christmas, she danced jigs on her crutches.
Singing, Tura Lura Loo.
No 19 THE MONTHS OF THE YEAR
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
First comes January
When the sun lies very low;
I see in the farmer's yard
The cattle feed on stro';
The weather being so cold
While the snow lies on the ground,
There will be another change of moon
Before the year comes round.
First comes January
When the sun is almost setting;
I see in the farmer's yard
The cattle eating hay;
The weather is so cold
While the snow is on the ground,
There will be another full moon
Before the year ends.
2
2
Next is February,
So early in the spring;
The Farmer ploughs the fallows
The rooks their nests begin.
The little lambs appearing
Now frisk in pretty play.
I think upon the increase,
And thank my God, to-day.
Next is February,
So early in spring;
The farmer plows the fields
The crows begin constructing their nests.
The little lambs are arriving
Now playing joyfully.
I reflect on the growth,
And thank my God today.
3
3
March it is the next month,
So cold and hard and drear.
Prepare we now for harvest,
By brewing of strong beer.
God grant that we who labour,
May see the reaping come,
And drink and dance and welcome
The happy Harvest Home.
March is the next month,
So cold, harsh, and dreary.
Let's prepare for the harvest,
By making some strong beer.
God grant that we who work,
May see the harvest arrive,
And drink and dance and celebrate
The joyful Harvest Festival.
4
4
Next of Months is April,
When early in the morn
The cheery farmer soweth
To right and left the corn.
The gallant team come after,
A-smoothing of the land.
May Heaven the Farmer prosper
Whate'er he takes in hand.
Next up is April,
In the early morning
The cheerful farmer sows
Corn on both sides.
The brave team follows after,
Preparing the site.
May Heaven help the farmer succeed
In everything he does.
5
5
In May I go a walking
To hear the linnets sing.
The blackbird and the throstle
A-praising God the King.
It cheers the heart to hear them
To see the leaves unfold,
The meadows scattered over
With buttercups of gold.
In May, I go for a walk
To listen to the linnets sing.
The blackbird and the thrush
Praising God the King.
It lifts the spirits to hear them
To watch the leaves unfold,
The meadows dotted with
Golden buttercups.
6
6
Full early in the morning
Awakes the summer sun,
The month of June arriving,
The cold and night are done,
The Cuckoo is a fine bird
She whistles as she flies,
And as she whistles, Cuckoo,
The bluer grow the skies.
Full early in the morning
Wakes up the summer sun,
June has arrived,
The cold and night are gone,
The Cuckoo is a lovely bird
She sings while flying,
And as she chirps, Cuckoo,
The skies get bluer.
7
7
Six months I now have named,
The seventh is July.
Come lads and lasses gather
The scented hay to dry,
All full of mirth and gladness
To turn it in the sun,
And never cease till daylight sets
And all the work is done.
Six months I have named,
The seventh is July.
Come on, guys and girls, gather
The sweet-smelling hay to dry,
All filled with joy and happiness
To turn it toward the sun,
And don’t stop until the day ends
And everything is taken care of.
8
8
August brings the harvest,
The reapers now advance,
Against their shining sickles
The field stands little chance.
Well done! exclaims the farmer.
This day is all men's friend.
We'll drink and feast in plenty
When we the harvest end.
August brings the harvest,
The reapers are now here,
With their shiny sickles
The competition doesn’t stand a chance.
Well done! cheers the farmer.
This day is friendly to everyone.
We'll drink and feast generously
When we complete the harvest.
9
9
By middle of September,
The rake is laid aside.
The horses wear the breeching
Rich dressing to provide,
All things to do in season,
Me-thinks is just and right.
Now summer season's over
The frosts begin at night.
By mid-September,
The rake is stored.
The horses are in their harnesses
Great gear to provide,
Everything is done in time,
I believe that's fair and just.
Now that summer is over,
Frosts begin at night.
10
10
October leads in winter.
The leaves begin to fall.
The trees will soon be naked
No flowers left at all.
The frosts will bite them sharply
The Elm alone is green.
In orchard piles of apples red
For cyder press are seen.
October ushers in winter.
The leaves begin to fall.
The trees will soon be bare
No flowers available.
The frosts will sting them hard
Only the elm stays green.
In the orchard, heaps of red apples
For making cider are visible.
11
11
The eleventh month, November,
The nights are cold and long,
By day we're felling timber,
And spend the night in song.
In cozy chimney corner
We take our toast and ale,
And kiss and tease the maidens,
Or tell a merry tale.
The eleventh month, November,
The nights are cold and lengthy,
By day we're cutting wood,
And spend the night singing.
In a comfy corner by the fire
We enjoy our toast and beer,
And flirt and joke with the girls,
Or share a humorous story.
12
12
Then comes dark December,
The last of months in turn.
With holly, box, and laurel,
We house and Church adorn.
So now, to end my story,
I wish you all good cheer.
A merry, happy Christmas,
A prosperous New Year.
Then comes dark December,
The final month in the cycle.
With holly, box, and laurel,
We decorate our homes and the church.
So now, to wrap up my tale,
I wish you all happiness.
A merry, joyful Christmas,
Happy New Year!
No 20 THE CHIMNEY SWEEP
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Oh! sweep chimney, sweep!
You maidens shake off sleep
If you my cry can follow.
I climb the chimney top,
Without ladder without rope;
Aye and there! aye and there! aye and there you shall hear me halloo!
Oh! Clean the chimney, please!
You young women, wake up!
If you can hear my call.
I climb to the top of the chimney,
Without a ladder, without a rope;
Yes, and there! yes, and there! yes, and there you will hear me shout!
2
2
Arise! maids, arise!
Unseal and rub your eyes.
Arise and do your duty.
I summon yet again
And do not me disdain,
That my call—that my call—that my calling's poor and sooty.
Wake up! Ladies, rise and shine!
Open your eyes and wipe the sleep away.
Get up and do your job.
I'm calling you again.
And don't underestimate me,
That my call—that my call—that my calling is humble and dirty.
3
3
Behold! here I stand!
With brush and scrape in hand.
As a soldier that stands on his sentry.
I work for the better sort,
And well they pay me for't.
O I work, O I work, O I work for the best of gentry.
Look! I'm here!
With a brush and scraper ready.
Like a soldier on watch duty.
I work for the elite,
And they pay me a good amount for it.
Oh, I work, oh, I work, oh, I work for the finest people.
4
4
Oh! sweep chimney, sweep!
The hours onward creep.
As the lark I am alert, I
Clear away, and take
The smut that others make.
O I clean, O I clean, O I clean what others dirty.
Oh! Clean the chimney, please!
Time drags on.
Just like the lark, I’m awake, I
Clear it out and take it.
The soot others create.
Oh, I clean, oh, I clean, oh, I clean what others mess up.
No 21 THE SAUCY SAILOR
(For two Voices)
(For Two Voices)
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
He: "Come my fairest, come my dearest
Love with me.
Come and you shall wed a sailor
From the sea."
She: Faith I want none of your sailors,
I must say.
So begone you saucy creature.
So begone from me, I pray.
He: "Come, my beautiful, come, my dearest
Love me.
Come marry a sailor
From the ocean.
She: Honestly, I don't want any of your sailors,
I gotta say.
So leave, you rude person.
Just leave me alone, please.
2
2
"You are ragged, you are dirty,
Smell of tar.
Get you gone to foreign countries,
Hence afar."
He: "If I'm ragged, if I'm dirty,
Of tar I smell,
Yet there's silver in my pockets,
And of gold, a store as well."
"You look messy, you look disheveled,
"You smell like asphalt."
"Travel to distant places,"
"Out of here."
He: "If I look shabby, if I look unkempt,
If I smell like asphalt,
I still have silver in my pockets,
"And a stash of gold as well."
3
3
She: "Now I see the shining silver,
See the gold;
Down I kneel, and very humbly
Hands will fold;
Saying O forgive the folly
From me fell,
Tarry, dirty, ragged sailors,
I love more than words can tell."
She: "Now I see the shining silver,
Check out the gold;
I kneel down, and very humbly
Hands will close;
Please forgive the mistakes.
That I've created,
Scruffy, dirty, ragged sailors,
"I love you more than words can express."
4
4
He: "Do not think, you changeful maiden,
I am mad.
That I'll take you, when there's others
To be had.
Not the outside coat and waistcoat
Make the man.
You have lost the chance that offered.
Maidens snap—when e'er you can."
He: "Don’t think, you fickle girl,
I’m insane.
That I'll settle for you when there are other options.
In stock.
It's not just about the fancy clothes.
That makes the man.
You missed your chance.
Girls should take action promptly—whenever possible.
No 22 BLUE MUSLIN
(For two Voices)
(For Two Voices)
H.F.S.
HFS
1
1
"O will you accept of the mus-e-lin so blue,
To wear all in the morning, and to dabble in the dew?"
"No, I will not accept of the mus-e-lin so blue,
To wear all in the morning, and to dabble in the dew,
Nor I'll walk, nor I'll talk with you."
"O will you accept the blue muslin,
"To put on in the morning and play in the dew?"
"No, I will not accept the blue muslin,
To put on in the morning and play in the dew,
"I won’t walk or talk with you."
2
2
"O will you accept of the pretty silver pin,
To pin your golden hair with the fine mus-e-lin?"
"No, I will not accept of the pretty silver pin,
To pin my golden hair with the fine mus-e-lin.
Nor I'll walk, nor I'll talk with you."
"O will you take this pretty silver pin,
"Are you going to tie up your golden hair with the delicate muslin?"
"No, I will not take this pretty silver pin,
To fasten my blonde hair with the delicate muslin.
"I won't walk or talk with you."
3
3
"O will you accept of a pair of shoes of cork,
The one is made in London, the other's made in York?"
"No, I will not accept of a pair of shoes of cork,
The one that's made in London, the other's made in York,
Nor I'll walk, nor I'll talk with you."
"O will you take a pair of cork shoes,
"One made in London and the other made in York?"
"No, I will not take a pair of cork shoes,
One that's made in London, and the other that's made in York,
"I won't walk or talk with you."
4
4
"O will you accept of the keys of Canterbury,
That all the bells of England may ring, and make us merry?"
"No, I will not accept of the keys of Canterbury,
That all the bells of England may ring, and make us merry,
Nor I'll walk, nor I'll talk with you."
"O, will you accept the keys of Canterbury,
"To let all the bells of England ring and lift our spirits?"
"No, I will not accept the keys of Canterbury,
So that all the bells in England can ring and lift our spirits,
"And I won't walk or talk with you."
5
5
"O will you accept of a kiss from loving heart;
That we may join together and never more may part?"
"Yes, I will accept of a kiss from loving heart,
That we may join together and never more may part,
And I'll walk, and I'll talk with you."
"When you might you would not;
Now you will you shall not,
So fare you well, my dark eyed Sue."
"O will you accept a kiss from a loving heart;
"Can we come together and never be apart again?"
"Yes, I will accept a kiss from a loving heart,
So we can unite and never separate again,
And I'll walk and talk with you."
"When you had the chance, you didn't;
Now you want to, but you can't,
So goodbye, my dark-eyed Sue."
The song then turns back in reverse order, with the "shoes of cork" the "Silver pin" and the "blue muslin," always with to each "When you could you would not," &c.
The song then plays in reverse order, mentioning the "shoes of cork," the "Silver pin," and the "blue muslin," always followed by "When you could, you would not," etc.
No 23 THE DEATH OF PARKER
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Ye Powers above protect the Widow,
And with pity look on me!
O help me, help me out of trouble
And out of my calamity.
For by the death of my brave Parker
Fortune to me has prov'd unkind.
Tho' doomed by law his death to suffer,
I can not cast him from my mind.
Oh Powers above, watch over the Widow,
And show me some empathy!
Please help me, help me out of this mess
And from my distress.
Because with the loss of my brave Parker,
Life has been harsh to me.
Even though the law has sentenced him to death,
I can't stop thinking about him.
2
2
O Parker was the truest husband,
Best of friends, whom I love dear.
Yet when he was a-called to suffer,
To him I might not then draw near.
Again I ask'd, again I pleaded,
Three times entreating, all in vain,
They ever that request refused me,
And ordered me ashore again.
O Parker was the best husband,
My best friend, whom I love very much.
Yet when he was called to suffer,
I couldn’t get near him back then.
Again I asked, again I pleaded,
Three times I asked, all in vain,
They always refused my request,
And sent me back to the shore again.
3
3
The yellow flag I saw was flying,
A signal for my love to die,
The gun was fir'd, as was requir'd
To hang him on the yardarm high.
The boatswain did his best endeavour,
I on the shore was put straightway,
There I tarried, watching, weeping,
My husband's corpse to bear away.
The yellow flag I saw was waving,
A signal for my love to end,
The gun went off, as expected,
To hang him high on the yardarm.
The boatswain did his best,
I was sent directly to the shore,
There I stayed, watching and crying,
To remove my husband's body.
4
4
Then farewell Parker best belov-ed
That was once the Navy's pride.
And since we might not die together,
We separate henceforth abide.
His sorrows now are past and over,
Now he resteth free from pain.
Grant O God his soul may enter,
Where one day we may meet again.
Then goodbye, Parker, my dearest
You used to be the Navy's pride.
And since we might not die together,
We go our separate ways from here.
His sorrows are now past and done,
Now he rests without pain.
Please, O God, may his soul find peace,
Where we might meet again someday.
No 24 THE HAL-AN-TOW or
HELSTON FURRY DANCE
Arranged by J. Matthews.
Arranged by J. Matthews.
1
1
Robin Hood and little John
They both are gone to the fair, O!
And we will to the merry green-wood,
To see what they do there O!
And for to chase, O, to chase the buck and doe!
With Hal-an-tow, jolly rumble, O, to chase the buck and doe!
CHORUS. And we were up as soon as the day,
For to fetch the Summer home, O!
The Summer, and the May,
Now the Winter is a gone, O!
Robin Hood and Little John
They both have gone to the fair!
And we will head to the merry green-wood,
To check out what they're doing there, oh!
And to pursue, oh, to pursue the male and female deer!
With Hal-an-tow, cheerful noise, oh, let's go after the buck and doe!
CHORUS. And we were up as soon as the day,
To bring summer home, oh!
The summer and May
Now that winter is over, oh!
2
2
Where are those Spaniards,
That make so great a boast, O!
Why, they shall eat the grey goose feathers,
And we will eat the roast, O!
In every land, O, the land where'er we go,
With Hal-an-tow, jolly rumble O, the land where'er we go.
CHORUS. And we were up, &c.
Where are those Spaniards,
That talk is so big, wow!
Why, they will eat the grey goose feathers,
And we will eat the roast, oh!
In every place, wherever we go,
With Hal-an-tow, cheerful rumble O, wherever we go.
CHORUS. And we were up, &c.
3
3
As for that good Knight, S. George,
S. George he was a Knight, O!
Of all the knights in Christendom!
S. George he is the right, O!
In every land, O! the land where'er we go,
With Hal-an-tow, jolly rumble, O, the land where'er we go.
CHORUS. And we were up, &c.
As for that good Knight, St. George,
St. George was a knight, oh!
Of all the knights in Christendom!
St. George is the one, oh!
In every country, oh! the place wherever we travel,
With Hal-an-tow, cheerful sound, oh, the land wherever we go.
CHORUS. And we were up, &c.
4
4
God bless Aunt Mary Moses[8]
And all her power and might, O!
And send us peace in merry England,
Send peace by day and night, O!
To merry England, O! both now and ever mo'
With Hal-an-tow, jolly rumble, O, both now and ever mo!
CHORUS. And we were up, &c.
God bless Aunt Mary Moses[8]
And all her strength and power, oh!
And bring us peace in joyful England,
Send peace both day and night, oh!
To joyful England, oh! now and always
With Hal-an-tow, joyful noise, oh, now and always!
CHORUS. And we were up, &c.
No 25 BLOW AWAY YE MORNING BREEZES
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Blow away, ye morning breezes,
Blow, ye winds, Heigh-ho!
Blow away the morning kisses,
Blow, blow, blow.
"O thou shalt rue the very hour,
That e'er thou knew'st the man,
For I will bake the wheaten flour,
And thou shalt bake the bran."
CHORUS. Blow away, ye morning breezes, &c.
Blow away, you morning breezes,
Blow, you winds, hey!
Blow away the morning kisses,
Blow, blow, blow.
"Oh, you'll regret the very hour,
When you first met the guy,
Because I will bake the wheat flour,
"And you will bake the bran."
CHORUS. Blow away, you morning breezes, etc.
2
2
"O thou shalt sorrow thro' thy soul
Thou stood'st to him so near.
For thou shalt drink the puddle foul,
And I the crystal clear."
CHORUS. Blow away ye morning breezes, &c.
"O you will grieve deeply in your soul
You were standing so close to him.
For you will drink the dirty puddle,
And I the crystal clear.
CHORUS. Blow away, you morning breezes, etc.
3
3
"O thou shalt rue that e'er thou wo'ld
Behold a love of mine.
For thou shalt sup the water cold,
But I will sup red wine."
CHORUS. Blow away ye morning breezes, &c.
"Oh, you will regret ever wanting
To see someone I love.
For you will drink cold water,
"But I will drink red wine."
CHORUS. Blow away, you morning breezes, etc.
4
4
"Thou shalt lament in grief and doubt,
Thou spake'st with him at all,
For thou shalt wear the sorry clout,
And I the purple pall."
CHORUS. Blow away ye morning breezes, &c.
"You're going to mourn in grief and uncertainty,
You actually talked to him at all,
Because you're going to wear the sorry rags,
And I wear the purple cloak."
CHORUS. Blow away, you morning breezes, etc.
5
5
"O thou shalt curse thy day of birth,
And curse thy dam and sire,
For I shall warm me at the hearth,
And thou shalt feed the fire."
CHORUS. Blow away ye morning breezes, &c.
"Oh, you will regret the day you were born,
And you'll curse your mom and dad,
Because I will stay warm by the fire,
"And you will keep the fire alive."
CHORUS. Blow away, morning breezes, etc.
Note. In the original of the above Ballad each verse is repeated with the variation of "I shall not," for "I shall" &c. thus after the first verse comes,
Note. In the original of the above Ballad, each verse is repeated with the variation of "I shall not" for "I shall," etc. So, after the first verse, comes,
I shall not rue the very hour
That e'er I knew the man
But I will bake the wheaten flour
And thou shalt bake the bran.
I will not regret the time
When I first met the man
But I will make the wheat flour
And you will make the bran.
It seems unnecessary to print these repetitions.
It seems pointless to print these repetitions.
No 26 THE HEARTY GOOD FELLOW
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
I saddled my horse, and away I did ride
Till I came to an ale-house hard by the road-side,
I call'd for a pot of ale frothing and brown,
And close by the fireside I sat myself down,
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I in my pocket had ONE PENNY.
I saddled my horse and rode off
Until I reached a pub right by the road,
I ordered a pint of frothy, brown ale,
And sat down close to the fireside,
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I had one penny in my pocket.
2
2
I saw there two gentlemen playing at dice,
They took me to be some nobleman nice.
With my swagger, and rapier, and countenance bold,
They thought that my pockets were well lined with gold,
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I in my pocket had ONE PENNY.
I saw two guys playing dice,
They assumed I was some fancy nobleman.
With my swagger, sword, and bold look,
They thought my pockets were full of cash,
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
But all I had in my pocket was ONE PENNY.
3
3
"A hearty good fellow," they said, "loveth play."
"That lies with the stakes, pretty sirs, that you lay."
Then one said "A guinea," but I said "Five Pound,"
The bet it was taken—no money laid down,
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I in my pocket had ONE PENNY.
"A cheerful guy," they said, "loves to have fun."
"That depends on the stakes, my good sirs, that you set."
Then one said "A guinea," but I said "Five pounds,"
The bet was accepted—no money was put down,
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I had only ONE PENNY in my pocket.
4
4
I took up the dice, and I threw them the main,
It was my good fortune, that evening, to gain;
If they had a won, sirs, there'd been a loud curse,
When I threw in naught save a moneyless purse.
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I in my pocket had ONE PENNY.
I picked up the dice and rolled them hard,
That evening was lucky for me, I scored;
If they had won, gentlemen, there would’ve been a loud shout,
When I rolled nothing but an empty wallet out.
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I had just ONE PENNY in my pocket.
5
5
Was ever a mortal a quarter as glad,
With the little of money at first that I had!
A hearty good fellow, as most men opine
I am; so my neighbours pray pour out the wine,
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I in my pocket had FIVE POUNDS, free.
Was there ever a person as happy,
With the little bit of money I had at first?
A genuinely good guy, as most people think
I am; so my neighbors ask me to pour the wine,
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I had FIVE POUNDS in my pocket, no obligations.
6
6
I tarried all night, and I parted next day,
Thinks I to myself, I'll be jogging away!
I asked of the landlady what was my bill,
"O naught save a kiss of your lips, if you will."
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I in my pocket had FIVE POUNDS, free.
I stayed all night, and I left the next day,
I thought to myself, I’ll be on my way!
I asked the landlady what I owed,
“Oh, nothing but a kiss from you, if you’d be so bold.”
Singing, whack, fal-de-dee, whack, fal-de-dee!
And I had five pounds in my pocket, you see.
No 27 THE BONNY BUNCH OF ROSES
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
Beside the rolling ocean
One morning in the month of June,
The feathered warbling songsters
Were sweetly changing note and tune.
I overheard a damsel fair
Complain in words of bitter woe,
With tear on cheek, she thus did speak,
O for the bonny Bunch of Roses, O!
Beside the rolling ocean
One morning in June,
The singing birds
They were sweetly changing their melodies and tunes.
I heard a gorgeous girl
Expressing feelings of profound sadness,
With a tear on her cheek, she said,
Oh, how I miss the beautiful bunch of roses!
2
2
Then up and spake her lover
And grasped the maiden by the hand,
Have patience, fairest, patience!
A legion I will soon command.
I'll raise ten thousand soldiers brave
Thro' pain and peril I will go
A branch will break, for thy sweet sake,
A branch of the bonny Bunch of Roses, O!
Then her lover spoke up
And took the girl by the hand,
"Be patient, my fairest, be patient!
"I'll be leading a legion soon."
"I'll gather ten thousand brave soldiers __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__."
I will fight through pain and danger.
A branch will break, for your sake,
A stem from the beautiful Bunch of Roses, oh!
3
3
Then sadly said his mother,
As tough as truest heart of oak,
That stem that bears the roses,
And is not easy bent or broke
Thy father he essayed it first
And now in France his head lies low;
For sharpest thorn, is ever borne
O by the bonny Bunch of Roses, O!
Then his mother sadly said,
As tough as the strongest oak heart,
That stem that holds the roses,
And is not easily twisted or damaged.
Your dad tried it first.
And now his head lies low in France;
For the sharpest thorn is always carried.
Oh, by the beautiful bunch of roses, oh!
4
4
He raised a mighty army
And many nobles joined his throng
With pipe and banner flying
To pluck the rose, he march'd along:
The stem he found was far too tough
And piercing sharp, the thorn, I trow.
No blossom he rent from the tree
All of the bonny Bunch of Roses, O!
He gathered a powerful army
And many nobles joined his cause.
With pipes and banners flying
He marched on to pick the rose:
The stem he found was way too hard.
And the thorns were really sharp, I swear.
He didn't pick any blossoms from the tree.
All of the beautiful bunch of roses, oh!
5
5
O mother, dearest mother!
I lie upon my dying bed,
And like my gallant father
Must hide an uncrowned, humbled head.
Let none henceforth essay to touch
That rose so red, or full of woe,
With bleeding hand he'll fly the Land
The land of the bonny Bunch of Roses, O!
O mother, sweetest mother!
I'm lying here on my deathbed,
And like my brave father
Must cover a head that isn't crowned, feeling modest.
Let no one attempt to touch
That rose, so red, or filled with sorrow,
With a bleeding hand, they'll leave this land.
The land of the stunning Bunch of Roses, oh!
No 28 THE LAST OF THE SINGERS
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
I reckon the days is departed,
When folks 'ud a listened to me,
And I feels like as one broken-hearted,
A-thinking o' what used to be.
And I don't know as much be amended,
Than was in them merry old Times,
When, wi' pipes and good ale, folks attended,
To me and my purty old rhymes,
CHORUS: To me and my purty old rhymes.
I think the days have passed,
When people would have listened to me,
And I feel like I'm heartbroken,
Reflecting on the past.
And I don’t know if much can be fixed,
Than what was in those happy old days,
When, with pipes and good ale, people showed up,
To appreciate me and my charming old verses,
CHORUS: To me and my beautiful old poems.
2
2
'Tis true, I be cruel asthmatic
I've lost every tooth i' my head;
And my limbs be that crim'd wi' rheumatic
D'rsay I were better in bed.
Oh my! all the world be for reading
Newspapers, and books and what not;
Sure—'tis only conceitedness breeding,
And the old singing man is forgot.
CHORUS: And the old singing man is forgot.
It's true, I'm a cruel asthmatic
I've lost all the teeth in my mouth;
And my limbs are so stiff with rheumatism
They say I'd be better off in bed.
Oh my! Everyone's into reading
Newspapers, books, and more;
Sure—it's just arrogance that's breeding,
And the old singer is forgotten.
CHORUS: And the old singing man is forgotten.
3
3
I reckon that wi' my brown fiddle
I'd go from this cottage to that;
All the youngsters 'ud dance in the middle,
Their pulses and feet, pit-a-pat.
I cu'd zing, if you'd stand me the liquor,
All the night, and 'ud never give o'er
My voice—I don't deny it getting thicker,
But never exhausting my store.
CHORUS: But never exhausting my store.
I guess that with my brown fiddle
I would travel from this cottage to that one;
All the kids would dance in the middle,
Their hearts and feet, patting.
I could sing, if you’d get me the drinks,
All night long, and I would never stop.
My voice—I won't deny it's getting thicker,
But I never run out of what I have.
CHORUS: But I never run out of what I have.
4
4
'Tis politics now is the fashion
As sets folks about by the ear.
And slops makes the poorest of lushing,
No zinging for me wi'out beer.
I reckon the days be departed
For such jolly gaffers as I,
Folks never will be so light-hearted
As they was in the days that's gone by.
CHORUS: As they was in the days that's gone by.
Politics is the trend these days
That's got people arguing everywhere.
And cheap drinks make the poorest drunkards,
It’s no fun for me without beer.
I think those days are long gone
For cheerful people like me,
People will never be so carefree
Just like they were back in the day.
CHORUS: Just like they used to be.
5
5
O Lor! what wi' their edication,
And me—neither cypher nor write;
But in zinging the best in the nation
And give the whole parish delight.
I be going, I reckon, full mellow
To lay in the Churchyard my head;
So say—God be wi' you, old fellow!
The last o' the Zingers is dead.
CHORUS: The last o' the Zingers is dead.
Oh Lord! With their education,
And I—can neither read nor write;
But by singing the best in the nation
And bringing happiness to the entire parish.
I think I'm going, feeling quite mellow
To lay my head down in the churchyard;
So say—God be with you, old friend!
The last of the singers is gone.
CHORUS: The last of the singers has left.
No 29 THE TYTHE PIG
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
All you that love a bit of fun, come listen here awhile,
I'll tell you of a droll affair, will cause you all to smile.
The Parson dress'd, all in his best,
Cock'd hat and bushy wig,
He went into a farmer's house, to choose a sucking pig.
Good morning, said the Parson; good morning, sir, to you!
I'm come to take a sucking pig, a pig that is my due.
All of you who enjoy a good time, come gather around for a bit,
I’ll share a funny story that will make you all laugh a bit.
The Parson wore his best outfit,
Wearing a tricorn hat and a fuzzy wig,
He went to a farmer's house to pick out a piglet.
Good morning, said the Parson; good morning to you, sir!
I’m here to get a piglet, one that I deserve.
2
2
Then went the farmer to the stye, amongst the piglings small,
He chose the very wee-est pig, the wee-est of them all;
But when the Parson saw the choice,
How he did stamp and roar!
He snorted loud, he shook his wig, he almost-cursed and swore.
Good morning &c.
Then the farmer went to the pigpen, among the tiny piglets,
He picked the smallest pig, the tiniest of them all;
But when the Parson saw the selection,
How he stomped and shouted!
He snorted loudly, shook his head, and nearly cursed and swore.
Good morning, etc.
3
3
O then out spake the Farmer, Since my offer you refuse
Pray step into the stye yourself, that you may pick and choose.
So to the stye the Priest did hie,
And there without ado,
The old sow ran with open mouth, and grunting at him flew.
Good morning &c.
O then the Farmer spoke up, "Since you’re turning down my offer,
Why don’t you step into the pen yourself, so you can pick and choose."
So the Priest rushed to the pen,
And without any drama,
The old sow ran towards him with her mouth open, grunting as she came.
Good morning, etc.
4
4
She caught him by the breeches black, that loudly he did cry
O help me! help me from the sow! or surely I shall die.
The little pigs his waistcoat tore,
His stockings and his shoes,
The Farmer said, with bow and smile, You're welcome, sir, to choose.
Good morning &c.
She grabbed him by his black pants, and he cried out loud,
"Oh help me! Help me from the pig! If not, I'm not going to last."
The little pigs tore his vest,
His socks and shoes,
The Farmer said, with a bow and a smile, "Feel free to choose, sir."
Good morning, etc.
5
5
Away the Parson scamper'd home, as fast as he could run,
His wife was standing at the door, expecting his return,
But when she saw him in such plight
She fainted clean away,
Alas! alas! the Parson said, I bitter rue this day.
Good morning &c.
Away the Parson hurried home as quickly as he could,
His wife was standing at the door, waiting for him to come back,
But when she saw him like that
She totally passed out.
Oh no! Oh no! the Parson said, I deeply regret this day.
Good morning, etc.
6
6
Go fetch me down a suit of clothes, a sponge and soap, I pray,
And bring me, too, my greasy wig, and rub me down with hay.
Another time, I won't be nice,
When a gathering my dues;
Another time in sucking pigs, I will not pick and choose.
Good morning, said the Parson, good morning, sirs, to you,
I will not pick a sucking pig—I leave the choice to you.
Go grab me a suit of clothes, a sponge, and some soap, please,
And also bring my greasy wig and rub me down with hay.
Next time, I won't be choosy,
When it comes to getting what I'm owed;
Next time with piglets, I won't be selective.
Good morning, said the Parson. Good morning, everyone.
I won't choose a piglet—I’ll let you decide.
No 30 OLD WICHET
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
I went into my stable to see what I might see,
And there I saw three horses stand, by one, by two, by three.
I call'd unto my loving wife, and "Coming Sir!" said she,
"O what do these three horses here without the leave of me?"
"Why, old fool, blind fool! can't you very well see,
That these are three milking cows my mother sent to me?"
"Hey boys! Fill the cup! Milking cows with saddles up,
The like was never known, the like was never known."
Old Wichet went a noodle out, a noodle he came home.
I walked into my stable to see what I could find,
And there I saw three horses standing, one, two, three.
I called out to my loving wife, and she replied, "I'm coming, Sir!"
"Oh, what are these three horses doing here without my permission?"
"Why, you foolish old man! Can’t you see, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__?"
"Are these the three milking cows my mom sent me?"
"Hey guys! Fill the cup! Milking cows with saddles on,
That’s something we’ve never seen before, never seen before."
Old Wichet went out as a fool, and a fool he came back home.
2
2
I went into the kitchen, to see what I might see,
And there I saw three swords hung up, by one, by two, by three.
I call'd unto my loving wife, and "Coming Sir!" said she,
"O what do these three swords hang here without the leave of me?"
"Why, old fool, blind fool! can't you very well see,
That these are three toasting forks, my mother sent to me?"
"Hey boys! Well done! Toasting forks with scabbards on!
The like," &c.
I went into the kitchen to see what was there,
And there I saw three swords hanging up, one, two, and three.
I called out to my loving wife, and "Coming, Sir!" she replied,
"O why do these three swords hang here without my permission?"
"Why, you old fool, blind fool! Can't you see, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__?"
"Are these the three toasting forks my mom sent me?"
"Hey boys! Nice job! Toasting forks with covers on!
Just like," &c.
3
3
I went into the pantry, to see what I might see,
And there I saw three pair of boots, by one, by two, by three.
I called unto my loving wife, and "Coming Sir!" said she,
"O what do these three pair of boots without the leave of me?"
"Why, old fool, blind fool! can't you very well see,
That these are three pudding bags, my mother sent to me?"
"Hey boys! Well done! Pudding bags with steel spurs on,
The like," &c.
I went into the pantry to see what I could find,
And there I saw three pairs of boots, one, two, and three.
I called to my loving wife, and she replied, "Coming, sir!"
"Oh, what are these three pairs of boots doing here without my permission?"
"Why, you old fool, blind fool! Can't you see, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__?"
"Are these three pudding bags that my mom sent me?"
"Hey guys! Great job! Pudding bags with steel spurs on,
The same," &c.
4
4
I went into the dairy, to see what I might see,
And there I saw three beavers, by one, by two, by three.
I call'd unto my kind wife, and "Coming Sir!" said she,
"O what do these three beavers here without the leave of me?"
"Why, old fool, blind fool! can't you very well see,
That these are three milking pails, my mother sent to me?"
"Hey boys! Well done! Milking pails with ribbons on,
The like," &c.
I went into the dairy to see what I could find,
And there I saw three beavers, one, two, and then three.
I called to my dear wife, and she replied, "I’m coming, sir!"
"O what are these three beavers doing here without my permission?"
"Why, you silly old fool! Can't you see, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__?"
"Are these the three milking pails my mom sent to me?"
"Hey boys! Nice job! Milking pails with ribbons on,
Just like that," &c.
5
5
I went into the chamber, to see what I might see,
And there I saw three men in bed, by one, by two, by three.
I called unto my kind wife, and "Coming Sir!" said she,
"O why sleep here three gentlemen without the leave of me?"
"Why old fool, blind fool! can't you very well see,
That these are three milking maids, my mother sent to me?"
"Hey boys! Well done! Milking maids with beards on,
The like," &c.
I walked into the room to see what I could find,
And there I found three men in bed, one, two, and three.
I called for my dear wife, and she replied, "Coming, sir!"
"O why are there three gentlemen sleeping here without my permission?"
"Why, you old fool, blind fool! Can't you see clearly,
"Are these the three milkmaids my mom sent to me?"
"Hey boys! Well done! Milkmaids with beards on,
The same," &c.
6
6
I went about the chamber, as quick as quick might be,
I kicked the three men down the stairs, by one, by two, by three.
"Without your hats and boots be off, your horses leave and flee,
Your purses 'neath your pillows left; they too belong to me.
Why old wife, blind wife! can't you very well see,
That these are three highwaymen from justice hid by thee?"
"Hey boys! purses left! knaves they be, and away are flown.
The like was never known, the like was never known."
Old Wichet went a noodle out, a wise man he came home.
I rushed around the room as fast as I could,
I kicked the three men down the stairs, one by one, then the next, then the last.
"Without your hats and boots, your horses have run off,
Your wallets left under your pillows; they belong to me too.
Why, elderly woman, blind woman! Can't you see,
"Are these three robbers hiding from justice because of you?"
"Hey guys! wallets left! they're scoundrels, and they've flown away.
This has never happened before, this has never happened before."
Old Wichet went out a fool, but a wise man he returned.
No 31 JAN’S COURTSHIP
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Come hither, son Jan! since thou art a man,
I'll gi'e the best counsel in life,
Come, sit down by me, and my story shall be,
I'll tell how to get thee a wife.
Iss, I will! man, I will!
Zure I will!
I'll tell how to get thee a wife! Iss, I will!
Come over here, son Jan! Now that you're a man,
I'll share the best advice for life,
Come, sit down with me, and I'll share my story,
I'll explain how to find you a wife.
Yes, I will! Seriously, I will!
Of course, I will!
I'll show you how to find a wife! Yes, I will!
2
2
Thy self thou must dress in thy Sunday-go-best;
They'll at first turn away and be shy.
But boldly, kiss each purty maid that thou see'st,
They'll call thee their Love, by-and-bye.
Iss, they will! man, they will!
Zure they will!
They'll call thee their love by-and-bye! Iss, they will!
You have to dress in your best outfit;
They'll be shy and look away at first.
But boldly, kiss each pretty girl you see,
They'll eventually call you their love.
Yes, they definitely will! Seriously, they will!
Of course they will!
They'll eventually call you their love! Yes, they will!
3
3
So a courting Jan goes in his holiday clothes,
All trim, nothing ragged and torn,
From his hat to his hose; with a sweet yellow rose,
He looked like a gentleman born.
Iss, he did! man he did!
Zure he did!
He looked like a gentleman born! Iss he did!
So a suitor named Jan shows up in his holiday clothes,
Everything is tidy, nothing worn out or ripped,
From his hat to his socks; with a pretty yellow rose,
He looked like a real gentleman.
Yeah, he did! Wow, he really did!
Of course he did!
He looked like a real gentleman! Yes, he did!
4
4
The first pretty lass that Jan did see pass,
A farmer's fat daughter called Grace.
He'd scarce said 'How do?' and a kind word or two,
Her fetched him a slap in the face.
Iss, her did! man, her did!
Zure her did!
Her fetched him a slap in the face! Iss, her did!
The first attractive girl Jan saw walk by,
A farmer's plump daughter named Grace.
He had barely said 'Hi' and a couple of nice things,
When she hit him in the face.
Yeah, she really did!
Definitely, she did!
She slapped him in the face! Yeah, she really did!
5
5
As Jan, never fearing o' nothing at all
Was walking adown by the locks,
He kiss'd the parson's wife, which stirred up a strife
And Jan was put into the stocks.
Iss, he was! man, he was!
Zure he was!
And Jan was put into the stocks! Iss, he was!
As Jan, who never feared anything at all
Strolling by the locks,
He kissed the parson's wife, which caused a fight
Jan was put in stocks.
Yeah, he definitely was! For sure, he was!
Definitely he was!
And Jan was put in the stocks! Yep, he was!
6
6
'If this be the way, how to get me a wife,'
Quoth Jan, 'I will never have none.
I'd rather live single the whole of my life
And home to my mammy I'll run.
Iss, I will! man, I will
Zure I will!
And home to my mammy I'll run! Iss, I will.'
'If this is how it is, how am I supposed to find a wife?'
Jan said, "I'll never have one."
I'd rather stay single my whole life
And run back home to my mom.
Absolutely, I will! Seriously, I will!
Definitely, I will!
"And I’ll run back home to my mom! Yes, I will."
No 32 THE DROWNED LOVER
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
As I was a-walking down by the sea-shore,
Where the winds whistled high, and the waters did roar,
Where the winds whistled high, and the waves raged around,
I heard a fair maid make a pitiful sound,
Crying, O! my love is drowned!
My love must I deplore!
And I never, O! never
Shall see my love more!
As I was walking by the seashore,
Where the winds whistled loudly and the waters roared,
Where the winds whistled loudly and the waves crashed around,
I heard a beautiful woman make a sorrowful sound,
Crying, oh! my love is gone!
I must grieve my love!
And I will never, oh! never
See my love again!
2
2
I never a nobler, a truer did see
A lion in courage, but gentle to me,
An eye like an eagle, a heart like a dove,
And the song that he sang me was ever of love.
Now I cry, O! my love is drowned!
My love must I deplore!
And I never, O! never
Shall see my love more!
I never saw a nobler, truer man
A lion in bravery, yet gentle with me,
An eye like an eagle, a heart like a dove,
And the song he sang to me was always about love.
Now I cry, Oh! my love is gone!
I must grieve my love!
And I never, oh! never
Will see my love again!
3
3
He is sunk in the waters, there lies he asleep,
I will plunge there as well, I will kiss his cold feet,
I will kiss the white lips, once coral-like red,
And die at his side, for my true love is dead.
Now I cry, O! my love is drowned.
My love must I deplore
And I never, O! never
Shall see my love more!
He is submerged in the water, there he lies asleep,
I will dive in too, I will kiss his cold feet,
I will kiss the pale lips, once coral-like red,
And die by his side, for my true love is gone.
Now I cry, Oh! my love has drowned.
I must grieve my love
And I will never, oh! never
See my love again!
No 33 CHILDE THE HUNTER
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Come, listen all, both great and small
To you a tale I'll tell,
What on this bleak and barren moor,
In ancient days befell.
It so befell, as I've heard tell,
There came the hunter Childe,
All day he chased on heath and waste,
On Dart-a-moor so wild.
Come, everyone, both big and small
I have a story to tell,
About what happened on this desolate moor,
In the distant past.
It happened, as I've been told,
That hunter Childe arrived,
He spent all day chasing through heath and wilderness,
On Dartmoor, so wild.
2
2
The winds did blow, then fell the snow,
He chased on Fox-tor mire;
He lost his way, and saw the day,
And winter's sun expire.
Cold blew the blast, the snow fell fast,
And darker grew the night;
He wandered high, he wandered low,
And nowhere saw a light.
The winds blew, and then the snow fell,
He ran across Fox-tor swamp;
He got lost, and saw the day,
And winter's sun fades away.
The cold wind blew hard, and the snow fell quickly,
And the night got darker;
He wandered high, he wandered low,
And saw no light anywhere.
3
3
In darkness blind, he could not find
Where he escape might gain,
Long time he tried, no track espied,
His labours all in vain.
His knife he drew, his horse he slew,
As on the ground it lay;
He cut full deep, therein to creep,
And tarry till the day.
In total darkness, he couldn't find
A way to break free,
He searched for a long time, saw no sign,
His efforts were all in vain.
He drew his knife, killed his horse,
As it rested on the ground;
He cut deep, to hide inside,
And wait until dawn.
4
4
The winds did blow, fast fell the snow,
And darker grew the night,
Then well he wot, he hope might not
Again to see the light.
So with his finger dipp'd in blood,
He scrabbled on the stones,—
"This is my will, God it fulfil,
And buried be my bones.
The winds were howling, the snow was falling fast,
And the night grew darker,
Then he knew well, he hoped he might not
See the light once more.
So with his finger dipped in blood,
He scratched on the rocks,—
"This is my will, may God fulfill it,
And bury my remains.
5
5
"Whoe'er he be that findeth me
And brings me to a grave,
The lands that now to me belong,
In Plymstock he shall have."
There was a cross erected then,
In memory of his name;
And there it stands, in wild waste lands,
To testify the same.
"Whoever finds me
And leads me to a grave,
The lands that now belong to me,
In Plymstock, they'll have.
A cross was put up then,
In memory of him;
And there it stands, in wild wasteland,
To testify to this.
No 34 THE COTTAGE THATCHED WITH STRAW
F.W.B.
F.W.B.
1
1
In the days of yore, there sat at his door,
An old farmer and thus sang he,
'With my pipe and my glass, I wish every class
On the earth were as well as me!'
For he en-vi-ed not any man his lot,
The richest, the proudest, he saw,
For he had home-brew'd—brown bread,
And a cottage well thatch'd with straw,
A cottage well thatch'd with straw,
And a cottage well thatch'd with straw;
For he had home-brew'd, brown bread,
And a cottage well thatch'd with straw.
In the old days, there sat at his door,
An old farmer who sang,
'With my pipe and my drink, I wish everyone
"On this earth, no one is as happy as I am!"
He didn’t envy any man his fate,
Not the wealthiest or the most arrogant, he realized,
Because he had home-brewed—brown bread,
And a cottage that has a nice straw roof,
A quaint cottage with a lovely straw thatched roof,
And a cozy cottage topped with thatched straw;
Because he had made brown bread at home,
And a charming cottage with a thatched straw roof.
2
2
'My dear old dad this snug cottage had,
And he got it, I'll tell you how.
He won it, I wot, with the best coin got,
With the sweat of an honest brow.
Then says my old dad, Be careful lad
To keep out of the lawyer's claw.
So you'll have home-brew'd—brown bread,
And a cottage well thatch'd with straw.
A cottage well thatch'd with straw, &c.
'My dear old dad had this cozy cottage,
And I'll explain how he got it.
He won it, you see, with the best money earned,
Through the diligent effort of honest work.
Then my old dad says, "Be careful, son,
"To avoid getting caught by the lawyer."
So you'll enjoy home-brewed beer—brown bread,
And a cottage with a well thatched roof made of straw.
A cottage with a well thatched roof made of straw, etc.
3
3
'The ragged, the torn, from my door I don't turn,
But I give them a crust of brown;
And a drop of good ale, my lad, without fail,
For to wash the brown crust down.
Tho' rich I may be, it may chance to me,
That misfortune should spoil my store,
So—I'd lack home-brew'd—brown bread,
And a cottage well thatch'd with straw,
A cottage well thatch'd with straw, &c.
'The ragged and torn, I don't turn them away from my door,
But I give them a slice of brown bread;
And a sip of good ale, my friend, for sure,
To go with the brown bread.
Though I may be rich, it's possible for me,
That bad luck could strip me of my wealth,
So—I’d miss homemade brew—brown bread,
And a cozy cottage with a thatched roof,
A cozy cottage with a thatched roof, etc.
4
4
'Then in frost and snow to the Church I go,
No matter the weather how.
And the service and prayer that I put up there,
Is to Him who speeds the plough.
Sunday saints, i' feck, who cheat all the week,
With a ranting and a canting jaw,
Not for them is my home-brew'd—brown bread,
And my cottage well thatch'd with straw.
My cottage well thatch'd with straw
My cottage well thatch'd with straw.
Not for them is my home-brew'd—brown bread,
And my cottage well thatch'd with straw.'
'Then in frost and snow, I head to church,
Regardless of the weather.
And the service and prayer that I offer there,
Is for the one who guides the plow.
Sunday hypocrites, I swear, who cheat all week,
Through their complaints and sermonizing,
Not for them is my home-brewed—brown bread,
And my cottage is nicely thatched with straw.
My cottage is nicely thatched with straw.
My cottage has a nice thatched roof made of straw.
My homemade brown bread isn't for them,
And my cottage is nicely thatched with straw.
No 35 CICELY SWEET
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
He: Cicely sweet, the morn is fair,
Wilt thou drive me to despair?
Oft have I sued in vain
And now I'm come again,
Wilt thou be mine, or Yes or No?
Wilt thou be mine, or No?
She: Prithee, Simon quit thy suit,
All thy pains will yield no fruit;
Go booby, get a sack,
To stop thy ceaseless clack.
Go for a booby, go, go, go!
Go for a booby, go!
He: Cicely, my dear, the morning is lovely,
Are you going to drive me crazy?
I've often asked without success
And now I'm back again,
Will you be my partner, yes or no?
Will you be mine, or not?
She: Seriously, Simon, stop your pursuit,
All your efforts will amount to nothing;
Leave, grab a bag,
To stop your nonstop talking.
Just leave, go, go, go!
Just go away!
2
2
He: Cicely sweet, if thou'lt love me,
Mother'll do a deal for thee.
Her'd rather sell her cow,
Than I should die for thou.
Wilt thou be mine, or Yes or No?
Wilt thou be mine, or No?
She: Mother thine had best by half,
Keep her cow and sell her calf;
No, never for a crown;
Will I marry with a clown;
Go for a booby, go, go, go!
Go for a booby, go!
He: Cicely, my sweet, if you’ll love me,
Mom will do a lot for you.
She'd rather sell her cow.
Then let me die for you.
Will you be mine, yes or no?
Will you be mine, or not?
She: Your mother would be better off,
Raising her cow and selling her calf;
No, never for a crown;
Will I marry a fool?
Go for a fool, go, go, go!
Choose a simpleton, go!
3
3
He: Cicely sweet, you do me wrong,
My legs be straight, my arms be strong
I'll carry thee about,
Thou'lt go no more afoot,
Wilt thou be mine or Yes, or No?
Wilt thou be mine, or No?
She: Keep thy arms to fight in fray,
Keep thy legs to run away;
Ne'er will I—as I'm a lass,
Care to ride upon an ass.
Go for a booby, go, go, go!
Go for a booby, go!
He: Cicely sweet, you're doing me wrong,
My legs are straight, and my arms are strong.
I’ll carry you around.
You won't walk again,
Will you be mine, yes or no?
Will you be mine or not?
She: Save your arms for fighting,
Save your legs for getting away;
I won't—I'm a girl,
Definitely ride a donkey.
Go on, you fool, just go, go, go!
Go ahead, you fool, go!
No 36 A SWEET PRETTY MAIDEN SAT UNDER A TREE
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
A sweet pretty maiden sat under a tree,
She sighed and said, 'Oh! that I married might be,
My daddy is so crabbed and my mammy is so cross,
That a husband for certain could never be worse.'
A sweet, beautiful girl sat under a tree,
She sighed and said, 'Oh! I wish I could get married,
My dad is always in a bad mood, and my mom is really upset,
"That a husband could never be worse for sure."
2
2
Young Johnny he heard what the damsel did say.
He came to her side, and said smiling, 'Today
I have a little cottage and I have a little horse
I have a pleasant temper that will not grow worse.
Young Johnny heard what the girl said.
He came to her side and smiled, 'Today
I have a small cottage and a little horse.
I have a good temperament that won't change for the worse.
3
3
'If you will be mine, and to that will agree,
We'll travel together in sweet amity.
There never will be wrangle, there never can be strife,
Between a good husband and his pretty wife.'
'If you’ll be mine and agree to that,
We’ll travel together in sweet harmony.
There won't be any arguments, there won't be any conflicts,
"Between a good husband and his beautiful wife."
4
4
The maiden replied, 'I am not very sure,
That fond matrimony my trouble will cure,
From daddy and from mammy I quickly run away
And go into service for a year and a day.
The girl replied, 'I'm not really sure,
That loving marriage will fix my issues,
I quickly get away from my dad and mom.
"And work as a servant for a year and a day."
5
5
'The ring that you hold is a link in a chain,
Will fetter my freedom, my tongue will restrain
I cannot run away, and I never shall be free,
So take your kind offer to others than me.'
'The ring you have is part of a chain,
It will trap my freedom, and silence my voice
I can't escape, and I'll never be free,
So show your kindness to someone else.
No 37 THE WHITE COCKADE
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Alas! my love's enlisted,
He wears a white cockade,
He is as gay a gallant,
As any roving blade.
He's gone the king a serving,
The white cockade to wear,
Whilst my poor heart is breaking,
For the love to him I bear.
Oh no! My love has joined up,
He wears a white ribbon,
He's as cheerful as any charming guy,
Like any wandering soldier.
He's off to serve the king,
Wearing the white badge,
While my poor heart is breaking,
Because of the love I have for him.
2
2
"Leave off your grief and sorrow,
And quit this doleful strain,
The white cockade adorns me
Whilst marching o'er the plain.
When I return I'll marry,
By this cockade I swear.
Your heart from grief must rally,
And my departure bear."
"Stop your grief and sadness,
And stop this sad song,
The white cockade is on me
As I walk across the field.
When I come back I’ll marry,
By this badge I swear.
Your heart must heal from sorrow,
"Please accept my departure."
3
3
"Fair maid, I bring bad tidings."
So did the Sergeant say;
"Your love was slain in battle,
He sends you this to-day,
The white cockade he flourished
Now dabbled in his gore.
With his last kiss he sends it,
The white cockade he wore."
"Fair lady, I have some bad news."
That’s what the Sergeant said;
"Your love was killed in battle,
He's sending you this today,
The white cockade he waved
Now stained with his blood.
With his last kiss, he gives it to you,
"The white cockade he wore."
4
4
She spoke no word—her tears,
They fell a salten flood;
And from the draggled ribbons
Washed out the stains of blood.
"O mother I am dying!
And when in grave I'm laid,
Upon my bosom, mother!
Then pin the white cockade."
She didn't say a word—her tears,
They poured down like a salty flood;
And from the tangled ribbons
Cleaned off the bloodstains.
"O mom, I am dying!
And when I'm in the grave,
On my chest, mom!
"Then pin the white ribbon."
No 38 THE SAILOR’S FAREWELL
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Farewell! farewell, my Polly dear!
A thousand times adieu!
'Tis sad to part; but never fear,
Your sailor will be true.
And must I go, and leave you so—
While thund'ring billows roar?
I am afraid, my own sweet maid,
Your face I'll see no more.
Goodbye! Goodbye, my dear Polly!
A thousand goodbyes!
It's hard to say goodbye; but don’t worry,
Your sailor will stay true.
Do I really have to go and leave you like this—
While the crashing waves crash?
I'm afraid, my sweet girl,
I won't see your face again.
2
2
The weavers and the tailors
Are snoring fast asleep,
While we poor 'jolly sailors'
Are tossing on the deep:
Are tossing on the deep, dear girl,
In tempest rage and foam;
When seas run high, and dark the sky,
We think on those at home.
The weavers and the tailors
Are sleeping well,
While we poor 'jolly sailors'
Swaying on the waves:
Are swaying on the waves, dear girl,
In the storm's rage and spray;
When the seas are rough and the sky is dark,
We think about those who are back home.
3
3
When Jack's ashore, safe home once more,
We lead a merry life;
With pipe and glass, and buxom lass,
A sweetheart or a wife;
We call for liquor merrily,
We spend our money free,
And when our money's spent and gone,
Again we go to sea.
When Jack's back on land, safe at home again,
We live a happy life;
With a drink in hand and a lively girl,
A partner or a wife;
We shout for drinks cheerfully,
We spend our money freely,
And when our money's all gone,
We go back out to sea.
4
4
You'll not know where I am, dear girl,
But when I'm on the sea,
My secret thoughts I will unfurl
In letters home to thee.
The secrets, aye! of heart, I say,
And best of my good will.
My body may lay just where it may
My heart is with you still.
You'll never know where I am, dear girl,
But when I'm out at sea,
I’ll share my secret thoughts
In the letters I send you.
The secrets of my heart, I swear,
With all my best intentions.
My body may rest wherever it will,
But my heart is still with you.
No 39 A MAIDEN SAT A WEEPING
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
A maiden sat a-weeping
Down by the sea shore,
What ails my pretty mistress?
What ails my pretty mistress?
And makes her heart sore!
A young woman sat crying
At the beach,
What's wrong with my lovely lady?
What's wrong with my lovely lady?
And why does her heart hurt!
2
2
Because I am a-weary,
A-weary in mind,
No comfort, and no pleasure, love,
No comfort, and no pleasure, love,
Henceforth can I find.
Because I'm tired,
Mentally exhausted,
No comfort and no joy, love,
No comfort and no joy, love,
From now on, I can find it.
3
3
I'll spread my sail of silver,
I'll loose my rope of silk,
My mast is of the cypress-tree,
My mast is of the cypress-tree,
My track is as milk.
I'll spread my silver sail,
I'll untie my silk rope,
My mast is made of cypress wood,
My mast is made of cypress wood,
My path is smooth.
4
4
I'll spread my sail of silver
I'll steer toward the sun
And thou, false love wilt weep for me,
And thou, false love wilt weep for me,
For me—when I am gone.
I'll spread my silver sail
I’ll head toward the sun.
And you, false love, will cry for me,
And you, false love, will cry for me,
For me—when I’m gone.
No 40 THE BLUE KERCHIEF
F.W.B.
FWB
1
1
I saw a sweet maiden trip over the lea,
Her eyes were as loadstones attracting of me.
Her cheeks were the roses, that Cupid lurks in,
With a bonny blue kerchief tied under her chin.
I saw a lovely girl stumble across the meadow,
Her eyes were like magnets drawing me in.
Her cheeks were the roses where Cupid hides,
With a pretty blue scarf tied under her chin.
2
2
O where are you going, my fair pretty maid?
O whither so swift through the dew drops? I said,
I go to my mother, kind sir, for to spin.
O the bonny blue kerchief tied under her chin.
O where are you going, my lovely maid?
O where are you rushing through the dew drops? I asked,
I'm heading to my mom, kind sir, to spin.
O the pretty blue kerchief tied under her chin.
Why wear you that kerchief tied over your head?
'Tis the country girls' fashion, kind sir, then she said.
And the fashion young maidens will always be in
So I wear a blue kerchief tied under my chin.
Why are you wearing that scarf tied over your head?
It's the style of country girls, good sir, she replied.
And the style that young women will always follow
So I wear a blue scarf tied under my chin.
4
4
To kiss her sweet lips then I sought to begin,
O nay Sir! she said, 'ere a kiss you would win,
Pray show me a ring, tho' of gold the most thin.
O slyest blue kerchief tied under the chin!
To kiss her sweet lips, I tried to start,
Oh no, sir! she said, 'before you get a kiss,
Please show me a ring, even if it’s the thinnest gold.
Oh sly little blue kerchief tied under the chin!
5
5
Why wear a blue kerchief, sweet maiden, I said,
Because the blue colour is one not to fade,
As a sailor's blue jacket who fights for the king,
So's my bonny blue kerchief tied under the chin.
Why wear a blue bandana, sweet girl, I said,
Because the blue color won't fade away,
Like a sailor's blue jacket who battles for the king,
So's my pretty blue bandana tied under my chin.
6
6
The love that I value is certain to last,
Not fading and changing, but ever set fast,
That only the colour, my love sir to win,
So goodbye from the kerchief tied under the chin.
The love I cherish is sure to endure,
Not fading or shifting, but always secure,
That only the hue, my love for you to gain,
So farewell from the handkerchief tied under the chin.
No 41 COME TO MY WINDOW
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Come to my window, my Love, O my Love,
Come to my window, my Dear.
For my mammy is asleep,
And my daddy snoreth deep,
Then come, e'er the day-light appear.
Come to my window, my Love, oh my Love,
Come to my window, my dear.
Because my mom is asleep,
And my dad snores loudly,
So come before the sun rises.
2
2
Come to my window, my Love, O my Love,
Come to my window, I pray.
O the hours so quickly pass,
And the dew falls on the grass.
Dear Love come, e'er dawneth the day.
Come to my window, my Love, oh my Love,
Please come to my window, I ask.
Oh, the hours pass by so quickly,
And the dew falls on the grass.
Beloved, come before dawn.
3
3
Come to my window, my Love, O my Love,
Come or my heart strings will break.
For the night is speeding by,
Soon will morning streak the sky,
And my dad and my mam will awake.
Come to my window, my love, oh my love,
Come, or my heart will shatter.
The night is moving by fast,
Soon the morning will brighten the sky,
And my mom and dad will wake up.
4
4
Come to my window, my Love, O my Love,
Come e'er the stars cease to shine.
For my heart is full of fears,
And my voice is chok'd with tears,
I am Thine, O thou know'st I am Thine.
Come to my window, my Love, oh my Love,
Come before the stars stop shining.
Because my heart is filled with fear,
And my voice is filled with tears,
I belong to you, oh you know I belong to you.
No 42 TOMMY A’ LYNN
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Tommy a' Lynn was a Dutchman born,
His head was bald and his chin was shorn;
He wore a cap made of rabbit's skin
With the skin side out and the wool within.
All to my tooth and my link-a-lum-lee
Tommy a ranter and a rover,
Tommy a bone of my stover,
Brew, screw, rivet the tin,
O a rare old man was Tommy a' Lynn.
Tommy a' Lynn was a Dutchman born,
His head was bald and his chin was shaved;
He wore a cap made of rabbit skin
With the fur outside and the lining in.
All to my liking and my link-a-lum-lee
Tommy is a traveler and a nomad,
Tommy is part of my crew,
Brew, screw, seal the tin,
Oh, what a great old man was Tommy a' Lynn.
2
2
Tommy a' Lynn had no boots to put on,
But two calves hides with the hair all gone.
They were split at the side and the water ran in,
I must wear wet feet, said Tommy a' Lynn.
All to my tooth, &c.
Tommy a' Lynn had no boots to wear,
Just two cowhides with the hair all stripped bare.
They were split at the sides and the water poured in,
I guess I'll have wet feet, said Tommy a' Lynn.
All to my tooth, etc.
3
3
Tommy a' Lynn has a hunting gone.
A saddle of urchin's skins he put on.
The urchin's prickles were sharp as a pin,
I've got a sore seat, said Tommy a' Lynn.
All to my tooth, &c.
Tommy a' Lynn has gone hunting.
He put on a saddle made of urchin skins.
The urchin's spikes were sharp as a pin,
"I've got a sore backside," said Tommy a' Lynn.
All to my tooth, etc.
4
4
Tommy a' Lynn has a hunting gone.
A bridle of mouse tails has he put on.
The bridle broke and the horse ran away,
I'm not well bridled, said Tommy, to-day.
All to my tooth, &c.[10]
Tommy a' Lynn has gone hunting.
He put on a bridle made of mouse tails.
The bridle broke and the horse ran off,
"I'm not well bridled," said Tommy today.
All to my tooth, etc. __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
5
5
Tom a' Lynn's daughter, she sat on the stair,
O Father I fancy I'm wondrous fair!
The stairs they broke, and the maid fell in,
You're fair enough now, said Tommy a' Lynn.
All to my tooth, &c.
Tom a' Lynn's daughter, she sat on the stair,
O Father, I think I'm really beautiful!
The stairs gave way, and the girl fell in,
You're beautiful enough now, said Tommy a' Lynn.
All to my tooth, etc.
6
6
Tommy a' Lynn, his wife and her mother
They all fell into the fire together.
Ow yow! said the upper-most, I've a hot skin,
It's hotter below! said Tommy a' Lynn.
All to my tooth, &c.
Tommy a' Lynn, his wife, and her mother
They all fell into the fire together.
Ouch! said the one on top, I'm burning up,
It's even hotter down here! said Tommy a' Lynn.
All to my tooth, &c.
No 43 THE GREEN BUSHES
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
As I was a walking one morning in May,
To hear the birds whistle, see lambkins at play,
I spied a fair damsel, O sweetly sang she—
'Down by the green bushes he thinks to meet me.'
As I was walking one morning in May,
To hear the birds chirping, see lambs playing,
I spotted a beautiful girl, oh how she sang—
'Down by the green bushes he thinks he’ll meet me.'
2
2
'O where are you going, my sweet pretty maid?'
'My lover I'm seeking, kind sir', she said.
'Shall I be your lover, and will you agree,
To forsake the old love, and forgather with me?
'O where are you going, my sweet pretty maid?' 'I'm looking for my lover, kind sir,' she said. 'Should I be your lover, and will you agree, To leave behind the old love and be with me?'
3
3
'I'll buy you fine beavers, a gay silken gown,
With furbelowed petticoats flounced to the ground,
If you'll leave your old love, and following me,
Forsake the green bushes, where he waits for thee?'
'I'll buy you nice beavers, a fancy silken dress,
With frilly petticoats that touch the ground,
If you'll leave your old love and come with me,
Forget the green bushes where he’s waiting for you?'
4
4
'Quick, let us be moving, from under the trees,
Quick, let us be moving, kind sir, if you please;
For yonder my true love is coming, I see,
Down by the green bushes he thinks to meet me.'
'Quick, let’s get going, away from the trees,
Quick, let’s get going, kind sir, if you don’t mind;
For over there, I see my true love is coming,
Down by the green bushes, he plans to meet me.'
5
5
The old love arrived, the maiden was gone
He sighed very deeply, he sighed all alone,
'She is on with another, before off with me,
So, adieu ye green bushes for ever!' said he.
The old love came back, the girl was gone
He sighed deeply, he was all alone,
'She’s with someone else now, before she was with me,
So, goodbye to the green bushes forever!' he said.
6
6
'I'll be as a schoolboy, I'll frolic and play,
No false hearted maiden shall trouble my day,
Untroubled at night, I will slumber and snore,
So, adieu, ye green bushes! I'll fool it no more.'
'I’ll be like a schoolboy, I’ll have fun and play,
No deceitful girl will ruin my day,
Peaceful at night, I’ll sleep and snore,
So, goodbye, you green bushes! I won’t mess around anymore.'
No 44 THE BROKEN TOKEN
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
One summer evening, a maiden fair
Was walking forth in the balmy air,
She met a sailor upon the way;
'Maiden stay' he whispered,
'Maiden stay' he whispered
'O pretty maiden, stay!'
One summer evening, a beautiful girl
Was walking out in the warm air,
She ran into a sailor on the path;
"Girl, please stay," he whispered,
"Girl, please stay," he whispered.
'Oh beautiful girl, stay!'
2
2
'Why art thou walking abroad alone?
The stars are shining, the day is done,'
O then her tears they began to flow;
For a dark eyed sailor,
For a dark eyed sailor
Had filled her heart with woe.
'Why are you out walking alone?
The stars are shining, the day is over,'
O then her tears started to fall;
For a sailor with dark eyes,
For a sailor with dark eyes
Had filled her heart with sadness.
3
3
'Three years are pass'd since he left this land,
A ring of gold he took off my hand,
He broke the token, a half to keep,
Half he bade me treasure,
Half he bade me treasure,
Then crossed the briny deep.'
'Three years have passed since he left this land,
He took a gold ring off my hand,
He broke the token, keeping half,
He told me to value it,
He told me to cherish it,
Then crossed the salty sea.
4
4
'O drive him damsel from out your mind,
For men are changeful as is the wind,
And love, inconstant will quickly grow
Cold as winter morning
Cold as winter morning
When lands are white with snow.'
'Remove that guy from your thoughts,
Because men are as unpredictable as the wind,
And love, being fickle, will soon become
Cold like a winter day
Chilly like a winter morning
When the ground is covered with snow.
5
5
'Above the snow is the holly seen,
In bitter blast it abideth green,
And blood-red drops it as berries bears
So my aching bosom,
So my aching bosom,
Its truth and sorrow wears.'
'Above the snow is the holly seen,
In bitter blast it stays green,
And blood-red drops it bears as berries
So my broken heart,
So my aching heart,
Its truth and sorrow reveal.
6
6
Then half the ring did the sailor show,
Away with weeping and sorrow now!
'In bands of marriage united we
Like the broken Token
Like the broken Token
In one shall welded be.'
Then half the ring did the sailor show,
Away with weeping and sorrow now!
'In marriage united we
Like the broken token
Like the broken token
In one, we will join.
No 45 THE MOLE-CATCHER.
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
A mole-catcher am I, and that is my trade,
I potters about wi' my spunt and my spade,
On a moon-shiny night, O! 'tis my delight,
A-catching o' moles.
I'm a mole-catcher, and that's my job,
I mess around with my tools and my spade,
On a moonlit night, oh! That's my happiness,
Trapping moles.
2
2
The traps that I set for the mole in his run,
There's never a night, sirs, but I catches one.
On a moon-shiny night, O! 'tis my delight,
A-catching o' moles.
The traps I set for the mole in his tunnel,
There's never a night, gentlemen, that I don't catch one.
On a night with a full moon, oh! I'm happy to help,
Trapping moles.
3
3
Along of the lanes as by night-time I go,
There's things that I see, as the folks don't know,
On a moon-shiny night, &c.
Along the lanes as I walk at night,
There are things I see that others don't know about,
On a moonlit night, etc.
4
4
There's frolic and lark in the field and the park,
For others than moles will be out in the dark,
On a moon-shiny night, &c.
There's fun and games in the field and the park,
For more than just moles will be out in the dark,
On a moonlit night, etc.
5
5
The maiden by day that's too modest to speak
Is gadding abroad, by the night all the week,
On a moon-shiny night, &c.
The girl who’s too shy to talk by day
Is out partying at night all week,
On a moonlit night, etc.
6
6
The 'prentice who should be a lying in bed
Is rambling over the meadows instead,
On a moon-shiny night, &c.
The apprentice who should be lying in bed
Is wandering through the meadows instead,
On a moonlit night, etc.
I light on the poacher wi' sniggle and snare,
But that I'll not peach he is surely aware,
On a moon-shiny night, &c.
I catch the poacher with hook and trap,
But he knows I won't rat him out, that's a fact,
On a moonlit night, etc.
8
8
The doctor and lawyer as drunk as a dog,
Are wallowing into a ditch or a bog,
On a moon-shiny night, &c.
The doctor and lawyer, drunk as a dog,
Are rolling around in a ditch or a swamp,
On a moonlit night, etc.
9
9
There's many a sight; and there's many a sound
Wot maketh me laugh as I'm making my round,
On a moon-shiny night, &c.
There's a lot to see; and there's a lot to hear
That makes me laugh as I go about here,
On a moonlit night, etc.
10
10
But nothing I sez for I'm mum as a bell,
You certainly know that no tales will I tell,
On a moon-shiny night, O! 'tis my delight,
A-catching o' moles
Not human souls.
But nothing I say, for I'm as quiet as a bell,
You definitely know I won't share any stories,
On a moonlit night, it makes me happy,
Mole trapping
Not human spirits.
No 46 THE KEENLY LODE
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Old Uncle Pengerric a Captain was,
A dowser shrewd was he;
Who feathered his nest from the keenly lode
That ruined you and me.
The Captain was traversing Brandy Moor,
With hazel twig in hand,
The hazel twisted and turned about
And brought him to a stand.
CHORUS. Oh! the keenly lode, the keenly lode
Of bâlls the best, my boys;
Old Uncle Pengerric very well know'd
How to feather his nest, my boys.
Old Uncle Pengerric was a Captain,
He was a skilled dowser;
He filled his pockets from the rich mine
That brought us down, you know.
The Captain was walking across Brandy Moor,
Holding a hazel twig,
The hazel twisted and turned around
And made him stop right there.
CHORUS. Oh! the treasure trove, the treasure trove
Of the best balls, my friends;
Old Uncle Pengerric was well aware
How to fill his pockets, my friends.
2
2
Old Uncle Pengerric so big did brag
Of ore in Brandy Bâll,
"Come fork out your money my Christian friends,
Your fortunes treble all."
Now Uncle was reckoned a preacher stout,
A burning and shining light.
The people all said, "What he has in head
Will surely turn out right."
CHORUS. Oh! the keenly lode, &c.
Old Uncle Pengerric bragged so much
Regarding the ore in Brandy Bâll, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
"Come, dig into your pockets, my Christian friends,
"Your fortunes will triple after all."
Now Uncle was known as a strong preacher,
A bright and shining light.
Everyone said, "What he thinks is right
"Will definitely turn out great."
CHORUS. Oh! the rich vein, etc.
3
3
The Company floated, the Shares up paid,
The gold came flowing in.
He set up a whim, and began to sink
For the keenly lode of tin.
He had not burrowed but five foot six
'Ere he came to a buried hoss.
Said Uncle Pengerric, "No fault of mine,
Tho't turn out some one's loss."
CHORUS. Oh! the keenly lode, &c.
The company launched, the shares all paid,
The money started rolling in.
He set up a whim and began to dig
For the abundant supply of tin.
He hadn’t dug but five feet six
Before he discovered a buried horse.
Uncle Pengerric said, "Not my fault,
"Although it ends up being someone else's loss."
CHORUS. Oh! the abundant source, &c.
4
4
The shaft descended, but ne'er a grain
Of ore was brought to ground.
And presently Uncle Pengerric too,
Was not in Cornwall found.
But wherever he goes, and whenever he talks,
He says:—"The rod told true,
It brought to me luck, but it turn'd and struck
At nought but an old horse-shoe."
CHORUS. Oh! the keenly lode, &c.
The shaft went down, but not a single grain
No ore was ever found.
And soon Uncle Pengerric was also,
Not seen in Cornwall anymore.
But wherever he goes and whenever he speaks,
He says, "The rod was correct,
It brought me luck, but it ended up
"All I found was an old horseshoe."
CHORUS. Oh! the wealthy source, etc.
Note: A Keenly Lode is a Lode that promises well.
Note: A Keenly Lode is a Lode that looks promising.
A Bâll is the Cornish for a mine.
A Bâll is the Cornish word for a mine.
No 47 MAY-DAY CAROL
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Awake, ye pretty maids, awake,
Refreshed from drowsy dream,
And haste to dairy house, and take
For us a dish of cream.
Awake, you lovely girls, awake,
Woken from your sleepy dreams,
And hurry to the dairy house, and get
Give us a bowl of cream.
2
2
If not a dish of yellow cream,
Then give us kisses three;
The woodland bower is white with flower,
And green is every tree.
If it's not a plate of yellow cream,
Then give us three kisses.
The forest shelter is white with flowers,
And every tree is green.
3
3
A branch of May we bear about
Before the door it stands;
There's not a sprout unbudded out,
The work of God's own hands.
A branch of May we carry around
It stands before the door;
There's not a sprout left unbudded,
The work of God's own hands.
4
4
Awake, awake ye pretty maids,
And take the May-bush in,
Or 'twill be gone ere tomorrow morn,
And you'll have none within.
Awake, awake you pretty girls,
And bring in the May bush,
Or it’ll be gone by tomorrow morning,
And you won't have any remaining.
5
5
Throughout the night, before the light,
There fell the dew or rain,
It twinkles bright on May bush white,
It sparkles on the plain.
Throughout the night, before the light,
Dew or rain fell,
It twinkles brightly on the white mayflower,
It sparkles across the field.
6
6
The heavenly gates are open wide
To let escape the dew,
And heavenly grace falls on each place
It drops on us and you.
The heavenly gates are wide open
To allow the dew to flow freely,
And heavenly grace falls on every place
It comes down to you and me.
7
7
The life of man is but a span,
He blossoms as a flower,
He makes no stay, is here to-day,
And vanish'd in an hour.[12]
The life of a person is just a short time,
They bloom like a flower.
They don’t linger, are here today,
And gone in an hour. [12]
8
8
My song is done, I must be gone,
Nor make a longer stay.
God bless you all, both great and small,
And send you gladsome May.
My song is finished, I have to leave,
And can't stay any longer.
God bless all of you, both big and small,
And may you have a joyful May.
No 48 THE LOVER’S TASKS
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
He: O buy me, my Lady, a cambric shirt
Whilst every grove rings with a merry antine (antienne
anthem)
And stitch it without any needle work
And thou shalt be a true lover of mine.
He: O buy me, my Lady, a fine shirt
While every grove is filled with a joyful song (antienne
anthem)
And sew it without any stitching.
And you will be a true lover of mine.
2
2
O thou must wash it in yonder well,
Whilst every grove &c.
Where never a drop of water in fell,
And thou shalt &c.
You need to wash it in that well,
While every grove, etc.
Where no drop of water has ever fallen,
And you will, etc.
3
3
And thou must bleach it on yonder grass,
Whilst every grove &c.
Where never a foot or hoof did pass.
And thou shalt &c.
And you need to bleach it on that grass,
While every grove, etc.
Where no foot or hoof has ever stepped.
And you shall etc.
4
4
And thou must hang it upon a white thorn,
Whilst every grove &c.
That never blossom'd since Adam was born
And thou shalt &c.
And you have to hang it on a white thorn,
While every grove, etc.
That has never bloomed since Adam was born.
And you will etc.
5
5
And when these works are finished and done
Whilst every grove &c.
I'll take and marry thee under the sun.
And thou shalt &c.
And when these tasks are done
While every grove, etc.
I'll take you and marry you in the sunshine.
And you will etc.
She: Thou must buy for me an acre of land,
Whilst every grove &c.
Between the salt sea and the yellow sand
And thou shalt &c.
She: You have to buy me an acre of land,
While every grove and similar places.
Between the salty ocean and the golden beach
And you will, etc.
7
7
Thou must plough it o'er with a horses horn
Whilst every grove &c.
And sow it over with a pepper corn,
And thou shalt &c.
You need to plow it again with a horse's horn.
While every orchard, etc.
And plant it with a peppercorn,
And you will, etc.
8
8
Thou must reap it, too, with a piece of leather,
Whilst every grove &c.
And bind it up with a peacock's feather,
And thou shalt &c.
You also need to harvest it with a piece of leather,
While every grove, etc.
And fasten it with a peacock's feather,
And you will etc.
9
9
Thou must take it up in a bottomless sack,
Whilst every grove &c.
And bear it to the mill on a butterfly's back.
And thou shalt &c.
You have to carry it in a bottomless bag,
While every grove and so on.
And carry it to the mill on the back of a butterfly.
And you will, and so on.
10
10
And when these works are finished and done
Whilst every grove &c.
I'll take and marry thee under the sun.
And thou shalt &c.
And when these tasks are done
While every orchard, etc.
I'll marry you under the sun.
And you will, etc.
No 49 LULLABY
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
Sleep, baby sleep!
Dad is not nigh,
Tossed on the deep,
Lul-lul-a-by!
Moon shining bright,
Dropping of dew.
Owls hoot all night
To-whit! to-whoo!
Sleep, baby, sleep!
Dad's not around,
Tossed in the deep,
Lullaby!
Moon shining bright,
Dew drops.
Owls hoot all night
Hoot! Hoot!
2
2
Sleep, baby sleep!
Dad is away,
Tossed on the deep,
Looking for day.
In the hedge row
Glow-worms alight,
Rivulets flow,
All through the night.
Sleep, baby sleep!
Dad's away,
Tossed in the deep,
Searching for the day.
In the hedgerow
Glow-worms light up,
Streams flow,
All night long.
3
3
Sleep, baby sleep!
Dad is afar,
Tossed on the deep,
Watching a star.
Clock going—tick,
Tack—in the dark.
On the hearth-brick,
Dies the last spark.
Sleep, baby sleep!
Dad is far away,
Tossed in the deep,
Stargazing.
Clock going—tick,
Tack—blindly.
On the hearth-brick,
Fades the final spark.
4
4
Sleep, baby sleep!
What! not a wink!
Dad on the deep,
What will he think?
Baby dear, soon
Daddy will come,
Bringing red shoon
For baby at home.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
What! Not even a glance!
Dad's in deep sleep,
What will he think?
Baby dear, soon
Dad will be back,
Bringing red shoes
For the baby at home.
No 50 THE GIPSY COUNTESS
PART I.
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
There came an Earl a riding by,
A gipsy maid espyed he;
"O nut-brown maid, from green-wood glade,
O prithee come along with me."
"In green-wood glade, fair Sir!" she said,
"I am so blythe, as bird so gay.
In thy castle tall, in bower and hall,
I fear for grief I'd pine away."
There rode an Earl,
A gypsy girl caught his attention;
"O brown-haired maid, from the greenwood glade,
"Please come with me."
"In the greenwood glade, kind Sir!" she replied,
"I'm as cheerful as a happy bird."
In your tall castle, in the chambers and halls,
"I'm afraid I would just fade away."
2
2
"Thou shalt no more be set in stocks,
And tramp about from town to town,
But thou shalt ride in pomp and pride
In velvet red and broidered gown."
"My brothers three no more I'd see,
If that I went with thee, I trow.
They sing me to sleep, with songs so sweet,
They sing as on our way we go."
"You won't be put in stocks anymore,
And travel from town to town,
But you'll ride in style and pride
"In red velvet and an elegant dress."
"I won't see my three brothers again,
If I go with you, I believe.
They sing me to sleep with their sweet songs,
"They sing as we go."
3
3
"Thou shalt not be torn by thistle and thorn,
With thy bare feet all in the dew.
But shoes shall wear of Spanish leather
And silken stockings all of blue."
"I will not go to thy castle high,
For thou wilt weary soon, I know,
Of the gipsy maid, from green-wood glade,
And drive her forth in rain and snow."
"You won't be pricked by thistle and thorn,
With your bare feet in the dew.
But shoes will be made of Spanish leather
"And blue silk stockings."
"I won't go to your high castle,
Because I know you’ll get tired of me soon,
The gypsy girl from the green wood glade,
"And send her out in the rain and snow."
4
4
"All night you lie neath the starry sky
In rain and snow you trudge all day,
But thy brown head, in a feather bed,
When left the gipsies, thou shalt lay."
"I love to lie 'neath the starry sky,
I do not heed the snow and rain,
But fickle as wind, I fear to find
The man who now my heart would gain."
"All night you lie under the starry sky
You walk all day in the rain and snow,
But your brown head, in a fluffy bed,
"When you leave the gypsies, you'll find peace."
"I love to lie under the starry sky,
I don't have a problem with the snow and rain,
But as changeable as the wind, I fear to find
"The man who will now win my heart."
5
5
"I will thee wed, sweet maid," he said,
"I will thee wed with a golden ring,
Thy days shall be spent in merriment;
For us the marriage bells shall swing."
The dog did howl, and screech'd the owl,
The raven croaked, the night-wind sighed;
The wedding bell from the steeple fell,
As home the Earl did bear his bride.
"I will marry you, sweet girl," he said,
"I will marry you with a golden ring,
Your days will be filled with joy;
"For us, the wedding bells will ring."
The dog howled, and the owl screeched,
The raven cawed, and the night wind blew softly;
The wedding bell from the steeple fell,
As the Earl brought his bride home.
No 50 THE GIPSY COUNTESS
PART II.
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Three Gipsies stood at the Castle gate,
They sang so high, they sang so low,
The lady sate in her chamber late,
Her heart it melted away as snow,
Away as snow,
Her heart it melted away as snow.
Three Gypsies stood at the castle gate,
They sang really high, they sang really low,
The lady sat in her room late,
Her heart melted like snow,
Like snow,
Her heart melted like snow.
2
2
They sang so sweet; they sang so shrill,
That fast her tears began to flow.
And she laid down her silken gown,
Her golden rings, and all her show,
All her show &c.
They sang so sweetly; they sang so sharply,
In an instant, her tears began to fall.
And she took off her silky dress,
Her gold rings and all her glitz,
All her glamour, etc.
She plucked off her high-heeled shoes,
A-made of Spanish leather, O.
She would in the street; with her bare, bare feet;
All out in the wind and weather, O.
Weather, O! &c.
She took off her high-heeled shoes,
Made from Spanish leather, oh.
She walked in the street with her bare feet;
All exposed to the wind and rain, oh.
Weather, oh! & etc.
4
4
She took in hand but a one posie,
The wildest flowers that do grow.
And down the stair went the lady fair,
To go away with the gipsies, O!
The gipsies, O! &c.
She only picked one small bouquet,
The wildest flowers that bloom.
And down the stairs went the lovely lady,
To run away with the gypsies, oh!
The gypsies, oh! & etc.
5
5
At past midnight her lord came home,
And where his lady was would know;
The servants replied on every side,
She's gone away with the gipsies, O!
The gipsies, O! &c.
At past midnight, her husband returned home,
And he wanted to know where his wife was at;
The servants replied from all directions,
She's run away with the gypsies, oh!
The gypsies, oh! &c.
Then he rode high, and he rode low,
And over hill and vale, I trow,
Until he espied his fair young bride,
Who'd gone away with the gipsies, O!
The gipsies, O! &c.
Then he rode high, and he rode low,
And across hills and valleys, I believe,
Until he spotted his beautiful young bride,
Who left with the gypsies, oh!
The gypsies, oh! &c.
O will you leave your house and lands,
Your golden treasures for to go,
Away from your lord that weareth a sword,
To follow along with the gipsies, O!
The gipsies, O! &c.
O will you leave your home and property,
Your golden treasures to take,
Away from your lord who wears a sword,
To keep up with the gypsies, oh!
The Romani, O! &c.
8
8
O I will leave my house and lands,
My golden treasures for to go,
I love not my lord that weareth a sword,
I'll follow along with the gipsies, O!
The gipsies, O! &c.
O I will leave my home and property,
My golden treasures are ready to go,
I do not love my lord who wears a sword,
I'll follow the travelers, O!
The gypsies, O! &c.
9
9
'Nay, thou shalt not!' then he drew, I wot,
The sword that hung at his saddle bow,
And once he smote on her lily-white throat,
And there her red blood down did flow
Down did flow, &c.
'No, you won’t!' then he pulled out,
The sword hanging from his saddle,
And he struck her lily-white throat,
And her red blood flowed down.
Flowed down, etc.
10
10
Then dipp'd in blood was the posie good,
That was of the wildest flowers that blow.
She sank on her side, and so she died,
For she would away with the gipsies, O!
The gipsies, O!
For she would away with the gipsies O!
Then dipped in blood was the good flower,
That was made from the wildest blooming flowers.
She fell to her side, and so she died,
Because she wanted to leave with the gypsies, oh!
The Roma, oh!
Because she wanted to leave with the gypsies, oh!
No 51 THE GREY MARE
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Young Roger, the Miller, went courting of late
A farmer's sweet daughter called Beautiful Kate;
Now Kitty was buxom, and bonny and fair,
Had plenty of humour, of frolic a share,
And her father possessed an uncommon grey mare,
A grey mare, a grey mare,
An uncommon grey mare.
Young Roger, the Miller, has recently been dating
A farmer's lovely daughter named Beautiful Kate;
Now Kitty was lively, charming, and sweet,
With a great sense of humor and a playful streak,
And her father owned a very unusual grey mare,
A gray mare, a gray mare,
A rare gray mare.
2
2
So Roger he dressed himself up as a beau,
He comb'd down his locks, and in collars of snow,
He went to the farmer, and said, "How d'y do?
I love pretty Kitty, to her I'll prove true;
Will you give me the grey mare and Katherine too,
The grey mare, the grey mare &c.
So Roger got himself all dressed up like a dandy,
He combed his hair down and wore a white collar,
He went to the farmer and said, "How are you?
I love pretty Kitty, and I’ll always be true to her;
Will you give me the gray mare and Katherine as well,
The gray mare, the gray mare, etc.
3
3
"She's a very nice maiden, a-courting I'm come.
Lawks! how I would like the grey mare to ride home!
I love your sweet daughter so much I declare,
I'm ready my mill—and my stable—to share,
With Kitty the charming, and with the grey mare,
The grey mare, the grey mare &c."
"She's a really nice young woman, and I've come to court her.
Wow! How much I wish to ride home on the grey mare!
I love your lovely daughter so much, I swear,
I'm ready to share my mill—and my stable—
With charming Kitty, and with the grey mare,
"The gray mare, the gray mare, etc."
4
4
"You're welcome to her, to her hand and her heart,
But from the grey mare, man, I never will part."
So said the old farmer,—then Roger, "I swear,
It is up with my courting, for Kate I don't care,
Unless I be given as well the grey mare.
The grey mare, the grey mare &c."
"You're welcome to her, to her hand and her heart,
But I’ll never give up on the grey mare, man."
So said the old farmer,—then Roger, "I swear,
I’m done with my courting, I don’t care about Kate,
Unless I also get the grey mare."
"The gray mare, the gray mare, etc."
5
5
The years had pass'd swiftly, when withered and grey,
Old Roger, the Miller, met Katherine one day,
Said he, "I remember you, buxom and fair,
As roses your cheeks and as broom was your hair
And I came a courting!—Ah, Kate! the grey mare,
The grey mare, the grey mare &c."
The years had passed quickly when withered and gray,
Old Roger, the Miller, ran into Katherine one day.
He said, "I remember you, lively and beautiful,
Your cheeks were like roses and your hair, like broom's pull.
And I came to court you!—Ah, Kate! the gray mare,
"The gray mare, the gray mare, etc."
6
6
"I remember your coming to court the grey mare
Very well, Mr. Roger, when golden my hair,
And cheeks were as roses that bloom on the wall.
But, lawks! Mr. Roger,—I can not recall
That e'er you came sweet-hearting me, man, at all,
But the mare, the grey mare
That uncommon grey mare."
"I remember when you brought the grey mare to court
Very well, Mr. Roger, when my hair was golden,
And my cheeks were like roses blooming on the wall.
But, gosh! Mr. Roger—I can't remember
Ever you coming to sweet-talk me at all,
But the mare, the gray mare
That awesome gray mare.
No 52 THE WRECK OFF SCILLY
H.F.S.
HFS
1
1
Come all you brisk young sailors bold
That plough the raging main,
A tragedy I will unfold
In story sad and plain.
From my true love 'twas pressed was I
The gallant ship to steer
To Indies west,—each heart beat high
With confidence and cheer.
Come all you lively young sailors bold
Who navigates the wild sea,
I will share a tragedy
In a story that’s both sad and straightforward.
From my true love's wishes, I
Took the courageous ship to navigate
To the western Indies,—each heart raced high
With confidence and positivity.
2
2
A year was gone, and home at last,
We turn'd with swelling sail,
When—'ere the Scilly over-passed
There broke on us a gale.
The boatswain up aloft did go.
He went aloft so high.
More angry did the ocean grow,
More menacing the sky.
A year had passed, and we were finally home,
With our sails full and soaring,
When—just as we passed the Scilly Isles,
A storm hit us hard.
The boatswain climbed up high.
He climbed to the top.
The ocean grew angrier,
The sky grew more ominous.
3
3
To make the stripe in vain we tried
The Scilly rocks to clear,
The thunder of the furious tide
Was filling every ear.
There came a sharp and sudden shock,—
Each thought of wife and home!
The gallant ship was on a rock,
And swept with wave and foam.
To make the effort pointless, we tried
To navigate the Scilly rocks,
The roar of the raging tide
Was ringing in everyone's ears.
There came a sudden and jarring shock,—
Every thought of wife and home!
The brave ship was on a rock,
And carried away by the waves and foam.
4
4
Of eighty seamen 'prised the crew,
But one did reach the shore,
The gallant vessel, good and true,
Was shattered aft and fore.
The news to Plymouth swift did fly,
That our good ship was gone;
And wet with tears was many an eye,
And many a widow lone.
Of eighty sailors who made up the crew,
Only one made it to the shore,
The brave ship, strong and true,
Was damaged from front to back.
The news flew quickly to Plymouth,
That our cherished ship was lost;
And many a eye was filled with tears,
And many widows were left alone.
5
5
And when I came to Plymouth sound
Alive, of eighty dead,
My pretty love, then false I found
And to a landsman wed.
O gentles all that live on land
Be-think the boys at sea,
Lo! here I stand with cap in hand,
And crave your charity.
And when I arrived at Plymouth sound
Alive, out of eighty deceased,
I discovered my lovely partner was unfaithful
And married to a guy from the land.
Oh, everyone who lives on land
Please keep the boys at sea in your thoughts,
Look! Here I stand with my hat in hand,
And request your kindness.
No 53 HENRY MARTYN
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
In merry Scotland, in merry Scotland,
There lived brothers three,
They all did cast lots which of them should go,
A robbing upon the salt sea.
In cheerful Scotland, in cheerful Scotland,
Three brothers lived together,
They all drew lots to see who would go,
Stealing on the salty sea.
2
2
The lot it fell upon Henry Martyn,
The youngest of the three,
That he should go rob on the salt, salt sea,
To maintain his brothers and he.
The lot fell on Henry Martyn,
The youngest of the three,
That he should go steal on the salty, salty sea,
To support his brothers and himself.
3
3
He had not a sailed a long winter's night,
Nor yet a short winter's day,
Before he espied the King's gallant ship,
Come sailing along that way.
He hadn't sailed a long winter night,
Nor a brief winter day,
Before he spotted the King's impressive ship,
Heading that way.
4
4
How far, how far, cried Henry Martyn,
How far are you going? said he
For I am a robber upon the salt seas,
To maintain my brothers and me.
How far, how far, cried Henry Martyn,
"How far are you going?" he asked.
For I am a thief on the open seas,
To support my brothers and me.
5
5
Stand off, stand off! the Captain he cried,
The lifeguards they are aboard.
My cannons are loaden with powder and shot;
And every man hath a sword.
Stand back, stand back! the Captain shouted,
The lifeguards are present.
My cannons are loaded with powder and shot;
And every man has a sword.
6
6
For three long hours they merrily fought,
For hours they fought full three.
And many a blow it dealt many a wound,
As they fought on the salt, salt sea.
For three long hours, they joyfully battled,
They fought for a full three hours.
And with each hit, they caused many a wound,
As they battled on the salty sea.
7
7
Twas broadside against a broadside then,
And at it, the which should win,
A shot in the gallant ship bored a hole,
And then did the water rush in.
It was side by side then,
And whoever wins,
A shot in the brave ship made a hole,
And then the water came flooding in.
8
8
Bad news! bad news, for old England
Bad news has come to the town,
The king his vessel is wrecked and lost,
An all his brave soldiers drown.
Bad news! Bad news for old England
Bad news has come to town,
The king's ship has been wrecked and is gone,
And all his courageous soldiers have drowned.
9
9
Bad news! bad news through the London street!
Bad news has come to the King,
The lives of his guard they be all a lost,
O the tidings be sad that I bring.
Bad news! Bad news in the streets of London!
The King has received some bad news,
The lives of his guards are all lost,
Oh, the news I have is really sad.
10
10
O had I a twisted rope of hemp,
A bowstring strong though thin;
I'd soon hang him up to his middle yard arm,
And have done with Henry Martyn.
O if I had a twisted hemp rope,
A bowstring that is strong yet thin;
I’d quickly hang him up by his middle yard arm,
And be finished with Henry Martyn.
No 54 PLYMOUTH SOUND
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
O the fair town of Plymouth is by the sea-side,
The Sound is so blue, and so still and so wide,
Encircled with hills and with forests all green,
As a crown of fresh leaves on the head of a queen,
O dear Plymouth town, and O blue Plymouth Sound!
O where is your equal on Earth to be found.
O the beautiful town of Plymouth is by the seaside,
The Sound is so blue, so calm, and so wide,
Surrounded by hills and lush green forests,
Like a crown of fresh leaves on a queen’s head,
Oh dear Plymouth town, and oh blue Plymouth Sound!
Oh, where can you find anything like you on Earth?
2
2
O the maidens of Plymouth are comely and sweet,
So mirthful of eye and so nimble of feet,
I love all the lasses of Plymouth so well,
That the which I love best not a prophet can tell.
O dear Plymouth town, &c.
Oh, the girls of Plymouth are lovely and sweet,
So cheerful in their eyes and so quick on their feet,
I adore all the ladies of Plymouth so much,
That the one I love the most, not even a prophet can touch.
Oh dear Plymouth town, etc.
3
3
O the bells of old Plymouth float over the bay,
My heart it does melt, as I'm sailing away.
O be they a ringing when I do return,
With thoughts matrimonial my bosom will burn.
O dear Plymouth town, &c.
O, the bells of old Plymouth ring out over the bay,
My heart melts as I sail away.
Oh, will they be ringing when I come back,
With thoughts of marriage that my heart will lack.
O dear Plymouth, &c.
4
4
For the maidens of Plymouth my love is so hot,
With a bushel of rings I would marry the lot.
But as I can't marry them all, well-a-day!
Perhaps it's as well that I'm sailing away.
O dear Plymouth town, &c.
For the girls of Plymouth, my love is so strong,
With a bushel of rings, I’d marry them all.
But since I can't marry them all, oh dear!
Maybe it's for the best that I'm leaving here.
O dear Plymouth town, etc.
No 55 THE FOX
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
The fox went out one winter night,
And prayed the moon to give him light,
For he'd many a mile to go that night,
Before he reached his den, O!
Den, O! Den, O!
For he'd many a mile to go that night,
For he'd many a mile to go that night,
Before he reached his den, O!
The fox stepped out on a winter night,
And asked the moon to shine its light,
Because he had a long way to travel that night,
Before he reached his den, oh!
Den, oh! Den, oh!
Because he had a long way to travel that night,
Because he had a long way to travel that night,
Before he reached his den, oh!
2
2
At last he came to a farmer's yard,
Where ducks and geese were all afear'd,
"The best of you all shall grease my beard,
Before I leave the Town O!
Town, O! Town, O!
The best of you all &c."
At last, he arrived at a farmer's yard,
Where ducks and geese were all scared,
"The best of you all shall grease my beard,
Before I leave the town!
Town, oh! Town, oh!
The best of you all &c."
3
3
He took the grey goose by the neck,
He laid a duck across his back,
And heeded not their quack! quack! quack!
The legs of all dangling down, O!
Down, O! Down, O!
And heeded not &c.
He grabbed the grey goose by the neck,
He laid a duck on his back,
And didn’t pay any attention to their quack! quack! quack!
The legs are all hanging down, oh!
Down, oh! Down!
And didn’t pay any attention, etc.
4
4
Then old mother Slipper Slopper jump'd out of bed
And out of the window she pop't her head,
Crying "Oh! John, John! the grey goose is dead,
And the fox is over the down, O!"
Down, O! Down, O!
Crying "O John, John &c."
Then old mother Slipper Slopper jumped out of bed
And poked her head out of the window,
Crying "Oh! John, John! the gray goose is dead,
"And the fox is over the hill, oh!"
Hill, oh! Hill, oh!
Crying "O John, John &c."
5
5
Then John got up to the top o' the hill,
And blew his horn both loud and shrill,
"Blow on" said Reynard, "your music still,
Whilst I trot home to my den, O!"
Den, O! Den, O!
"Blow on" said Reynard &c.
Then John climbed to the top of the hill,
And blew his horn, loud and sharp,
"Keep playing," said Reynard, "while I head back to my den, O!"
Den, Oh! Den, Oh!
"Keep playing," said Reynard, etc.
6
6
At last he came to his cosy den,
Where sat his young ones, nine or ten.
Quoth they, "Daddy, you must go there again,
For sure, 'tis a lucky town, O!"
Town, O! Town, O!
Quoth they, "Daddy, &c."
At last he arrived at his cozy den,
Where his little ones sat, around nine or ten.
They said, "Daddy, you need to go back there,
"Because it's definitely a lucky town, oh!"
Town, oh! Town, oh!
They said, "Daddy, &c."
7
7
The fox and wife without any strife,
They cut up the goose without fork or knife,
And said 'twas the best they had eat in their life,
And the young ones pick'd the bones, O!
Bones, O! Bones, O!
And said 'twas the best, &c.
The fox and his wife got along just fine,
They shared the goose without fork or knife,
And said it was the best meal they'd ever had in their life,
And the kids picked the bones, oh!
Bones, oh! Bones, oh!
And said it was the best, &c.
No 56 FURZE BLOOM
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
There's not a cloud a sailing by,
That does not hold a shower;
There's not a furze-bush on the moor,
That doth not put forth flower.
About the roots we need not delve,
The branches need not prune,
The yellow furze will ever flower,
And ever love's in tune!
When the furze is out of flower,
Then love is out of tune.
There's not a cloud passing by,
That doesn’t bring rain;
There's not a gorse bush on the moor,
That doesn’t bloom with flowers.
We don’t need to dig at the roots,
The branches don't need trimming,
The yellow gorse will always bloom,
And love will always be in harmony!
When the gorse isn't blooming,
Then love is off-key.
2
2
There's not a season of the year,
Nor weather hot nor cold,
In windy spring, in watery fall,
But furze is clad in gold.
It blossoms in the falling snow,
It blazes bright in June,
And love, like it, is always here,
And ever opportune.
When the furze is out of flower,
Then love is out of tune.
There's no season of the year,
Whether it's hot or cold,
In windy spring or rainy fall,
The gorse is covered in gold.
It blooms even in the falling snow,
It shines bright in June.
And love, like that, is always around,
And always perfectly timed.
When the gorse isn't blooming,
Then love feels off.
There's not a saucy lad I wot,
With light and roguish eye,
That doth not love a pretty lass,
And kiss her on the sly,
There's not a maiden in the shire
From Hartland Point to Brent,
In velvet, or in cotton gown,
That will his love resent.
When the furze is out of flower,
Then love is out of tune.
There's not a cheeky guy I know,
With a playful, cheeky look,
Who doesn't love a pretty girl,
And give her a discreet kiss,
There's not a girl in the county
From Hartland Point to Brent,
In velvet or cotton dress,
Who would reject his love?
When the gorse isn’t blooming,
Then love is out of tune.
4
4
Beside the fire with toasted crabs,
We sit and love is there,
In merry spring, with apple flowers,
It flutters in the air.
At harvest when we toss the sheaves,
Then Love with them is toss't.
At fall when nipp'd and sere the leaves,
Unnipp't is Love by frost.
When the furze is out of flower,
Then love is out of tune.
Beside the fire with grilled crabs,
We sit here, and love is present.
In cheerful spring, with apple blossoms,
It moves gracefully in the air.
At harvest, when we toss the bundles,
Then love gets thrown around.
In fall, when the leaves are crisp and dry,
Love isn't affected by cold.
When the gorse isn't blooming,
Then love feels off.
No 57 THE OXEN PLOUGHING
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
Prithee lend your jocund voices,
For to listen we're agreed:
Come sing of songs the choicest,
Of the life the ploughboys lead.
There are none that live so merry
As the ploughboy does in Spring
When he hears the sweet birds whistle
And the nightingales to sing.
With my Hump-a-long! Jump-a-long!
Here drives my lad along!
Pretty, Sparkle, Berry
Good-luck, Speedwell, Cherry!
We are the lads that can follow the plough.
Please lend your cheerful voices,
For we all agree to pay attention:
Come sing the best of songs,
About the lives that farm boys lead.
There’s no one living as joyfully
As the farm boy does in spring
When he hears the sweet birds chirping
And the nightingales are singing.
With my Hump-a-long! Jump-a-long!
Here comes my friend!
Pretty, Sparkle, Berry
Good luck, Speedwell, Cherry!
We are the people who can handle the plow.
2
2
For it's, O my little ploughboy
Come awaken in the morn,
When the cock upon the dunghill
Is a-blowing of his horn.
Soon the sun above Brown Willy,[18]
With his golden face will show;
Therefore hasten to the linney
Yoke the oxen to the plough.
With my Hump-a-long! &c.
For it's, O my little ploughboy
Come wake up in the morning,
When the rooster on the manure pile
Is crowing loud and clear.
Soon the sun above Brown Willy,[18]
He will appear with his golden face;
So hurry to the barn
Hitch the oxen to the plow.
With my Hump-a-long! &c.
3
3
In the heat of the daytime
It's but little we can do.
We will lie beside our oxen
For an hour, or for two.
On the banks of sweet violets,
I'll take my noontide rest,
And it's I can kiss a pretty girl
As hearty as the best.
With my Hump a long! &c.
In the heat of the day
There's not a lot we can do.
We’ll lie next to our oxen
For an hour or two.
By the banks of sweet violets,
I’ll take my lunch break.
And I can kiss a pretty girl
As passionately as anyone else.
With my Hump a long! &c.
4
4
When the sun at eve is setting
And the shadows fill the vale,
Then our throttles we'll be wetting,
With the farmer's humming ale.
And the oxen home returning
We will send into the stall.
Where the logs and turf are burning,
We'll be merry ploughboys all.
With my Hump a long! &c.
When the sun is setting in the evening
And the shadows fill the valley,
Then we’ll be wetting our whistles,
With the farmer's craft beer.
And as the oxen come back home,
We'll send them to the booth.
Where the logs and turf are burning,
We'll all be happy farmers.
With my Hump a long! &c.
5
5
O the farmer must have seed, sirs,
Or I swear he cannot sow.
And the miller with his mill wheel
Is an idle man also.
And the huntsman gives up hunting,
And the tradesman stands aside,
And the poor man bread is wanting,
So 'tis we for all provide.
With my Hump a long! &c.
Oh, the farmer needs seed, guys,
Or I swear he can't plant anything.
And the miller with his mill wheel
Just sitting around, too.
And the huntsman has given up hunting,
And the merchant steps back,
And the poor man needs bread,
We take care of everyone.
With my Hump a long! &c.
No 58 FLORA, THE LILY OF THE WEST
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
'Twas when I came to England, some pleasures for to find,
There I espied a damsel most pleasing to my mind;
Her rosy cheeks and shining eyes as arrows pierced my breast,
Her name was lovely Flora, the Lily of the West.
It was when I arrived in England, looking for some enjoyment,
There I spotted a girl who caught my interest;
Her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes hit me like arrows,
Her name was lovely Flora, the Lily of the West.
2
2
Her golden hair in ringlets hung, her dress was spangled o'er;
She'd rings on every finger, brought from a foreign shore;
'Twould ruin kings and princes, so richly was she dress'd,
She far excelleth Venus, this Lily of the West.
Her golden hair hung in curls, her dress was covered in sparkles;
She wore rings on every finger, all brought from faraway lands;
It could ruin kings and princes, her outfit was so lavish,
She far surpassed Venus, this Lily of the West.
3
3
I courted her a fortnight, in hopes her love to gain,
But soon she turn'd against me, which caused all my pain.
She robb'd me of my freedom, she robb'd me of my rest,
I roam, forsook of Flora, the Lily of the West.
I dated her for two weeks, hoping to win her love,
But soon she turned on me, which brought all my pain.
She took away my freedom, she took away my peace,
I wander, abandoned by Flora, the Lily of the West.
4
4
Alas! where'er I wander, however much I will,
The thought of that fair maiden abideth with me still;
For ever I am downcast, for ever sore oppress'd,
An outcast e'er from Flora, the Lily of the West.
Alas! wherever I go, no matter how hard I try,
The thought of that beautiful girl stays with me;
I am always downcast, always deeply burdened,
Forever an outcast from Flora, the Lily of the West.
No 58 FLORA, THE LILY OF THE WEST
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
'Twas when I came to England, some pleasure for to find,
There I espied a damsel most pleasing to my mind;
Her rosy cheeks and shining eyes as arrows pierced my breast,
Her name was Lovely Flora, the Lily of the West.
It was when I arrived in England, hoping to find some joy,
There I saw a girl who captured my attention;
Her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes struck me like arrows,
Her name was Lovely Flora, the Lily of the West.
2
2
Her golden hair in ringlets hung, her dress was spangled o'er;
She'd rings on every finger, brought from a foreign shore;
'Twould ruin kings and princes, so richly was she dress'd,
She far excelleth Venus, this Lily of the West.
Her golden hair fell in curls, her dress was covered in sparkles;
She wore rings on every finger, brought from a distant land;
It could ruin kings and princes, her outfit was so lavish,
She far surpasses Venus, this Lily of the West.
3
3
I courted her a fortnight, in hopes her love to gain,
But soon she turn'd against me, which caused all my pain.
She robb'd me of my freedom, she robb'd me of my rest,
I roam, forsook of Flora, the Lily of the West.
I dated her for two weeks, hoping to win her love,
But soon she turned on me, which brought all my pain.
She took away my freedom, she took away my peace,
Now I wander, abandoned by Flora, the Lily of the West.
4
4
Alas! where'er I wander, however much I will
The thought of that fair maiden abideth with me still;
For ever I am downcast, for ever am oppress'd,
An outcast e'er from Flora, the Lily of the West.
Alas! wherever I go, no matter how hard I try
The thought of that beautiful woman stays with me still;
I am always downcast, I am always weighed down,
An outcast forever from Flora, the Lily of the West.
No 59 THE SIMPLE PLOUGHBOY
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
O the Ploughboy was a ploughing
With his horses on the plain,
And was singing of a song as on went he.
"Since that I have fall'n in love,
If the parents disapprove,
'Tis the first thing that will send me to the sea."
O the Ploughboy was plowing
With his horses on the field,
He was singing a song as he walked along.
"Since I've fallen in love,
If the parents don’t approve,
"That's the first thing that will take me to the sea."
2
2
When the parents came to know
That their daughter loved him so,
Then they sent a gang, and pressed him for the sea.
And they made of him a tar,
To be slain in cruel war;
Of the simple Ploughboy singing on the lea.
When the parents found out
That their daughter loved him so,
They sent a group and pushed him to the sea.
And they turned him into a sailor,
To be killed in a brutal war;
Of the simple farm boy singing in the meadow.
3
3
The maiden sore did grieve,
And without a word of leave,
From her father's house she fled secretlie,
In male attire dress'd,
With a star upon her breast,
All to seek her simple Ploughboy on the sea.
The young woman was upset,
And without saying goodbye,
She secretly left her father's house,
Dressed as a man,
With a star on her chest,
All to search for her humble Ploughboy at sea.
4
4
Then she went o'er hill and plain,
And she walked in wind and rain,
Till she came to the brink of the blue sea.
Saying, "I am forced to rove,
For the loss of my true love,
Who is but a simple Ploughboy from the lea."
Then she went over hill and plain,
And she walked in wind and rain,
Until she got to the edge of the blue sea.
Saying, "I have to wander,
Because of the loss of my true love,
"Who is just an ordinary farmer from the field."
Now the first she did behold,
O it was a sailor bold,
"Have you seen my simple ploughboy?" then said she.
"They have press'd him to the fleet,
Sent him tossing on the deep,
Who is but a simple Ploughboy from the lea."
Now the first person she saw,
Oh, it was a brave sailor,
"Have you seen my simple farm boy?" she asked.
"They've drafted him into the navy,
Sent him out into the rough sea,
"He's just an ordinary farm boy from the fields."
6
6
Then she went to the Captain,
And to him she made complain,
"O a silly Ploughboy's run away from me!"
Then the Captain smiled and said,
"Why Sir! surely you're a maid!
So the Ploughboy I will render up to thee."
Then she went to the Captain,
And she complained to him,
"Oh, a silly Ploughboy has dashed away from me!"
Then the Captain smiled and said,
"Well! surely you're a young lady!
"I'll bring the Ploughboy back to you."
7
7
Then she pullèd out a store,
Of five hundred crowns and more,
And she strewed them on the deck, did she,
Then she took him by the hand,
And she rowed him to the land,
Where she wed the simple Ploughboy back from sea.
Then she pulled out a stash,
Of five hundred crowns or more,
And she spread them on the deck,
Then she took him by the hand,
And she rowed him to the shore,
Where she married the humble Ploughboy who had returned from the sea.
No 60 FAIR LADY, PITY ME
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Dear love, regard my grief,
Do not my suit disdain;
O yield me some relief,
That am with sorrows slain.
Pity my grievous pain
Long suffer'd for thy sake,
Do not my suit disdain
No time I rest can take.
These seven long years and more
Still have I loved thee;
Do thou my joys restore
Fair lady, pity me.
Dear love, consider my sorrow,
Don't ignore my plea;
Oh, please give me some relief,
I'm overwhelmed with sadness.
Have compassion for my deep pain
That I've gone through for you,
Don’t disregard my plea
I'm struggling to find peace.
For seven long years and more
I still love you;
Please restore my happiness,
Lovely lady, please have mercy on me.
2
2
While that I live I love
So fancy urgeth me;
My mind can not remove
Such is my constancy.
My mind is nobly bent
Tho' I'm of low degree;
Sweet lady, give consent
To love and pity me.
These seven long years and more
Still have I loved thee;
Do thou my joys restore
Fair lady, pity me.
While I live, I love
So my heart compels me;
I can’t change my mind
That's my loyalty.
My heart is nobly set
Even though I have a humble background;
Sweet lady, please agree
To love me and show me kindness.
These past seven years and more
I still love you;
Restore my joys
Beautiful lady, please show me some kindness.
No 61 THE PAINFUL PLOUGH
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
O Adam was a ploughboy, when ploughing first begun,
The next that did succeed him was Cain, his eldest son;
Some of the generation the calling still pursue,
That bread may not be wanting, they labour at the plough.
O Adam was a farmer when farming first started,
The next to take over was Cain, his oldest son;
Some of the descendants still follow this trade,
So that food is never lacking, they work at the plough.
2
2
Samson was the strongest man, and Solomon was wise,
And Alexander conquering, he made the world his prize,
King David was a valiant man, and many thousands slew,
Yet none of all these heroes bold could live without the plough.
Samson was the strongest guy, and Solomon was wise,
And Alexander, conquering, made the world his prize,
King David was brave, and he took down many foes,
Yet none of these bold heroes could survive without the plough.
3
3
Behold the wealthy merchant, that trades on foreign seas,
And brings home gold and treasure, for such as live at ease,
With spices and with cinnamon, and oranges also,
They're brought us from the Indies, by virtue of the plough.
Look at the rich merchant, who trades on distant seas,
And brings back gold and riches, for those who live comfortably,
With spices and cinnamon, and oranges too,
They're brought to us from the Indies, thanks to the hard work of farming.
4
4
I hope there's none offended at me for singing this,
For never I intended to sing you ought amiss.
And if you well consider, you'll find the saying true,
That all mankind dependeth upon the painful plough.
I hope no one is offended by my singing this,
Because I never meant to sing anything wrong.
And if you think about it, you'll see that it’s true,
That all of humanity relies on the hard work of the plough.
No 62 AT THE SETTING OF THE SUN
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Come all you young fellows that carry a gun,
Beware of late shooting when daylight is done;
For 'tis little you reckon what hazards you run,
I shot my true love at the setting of the sun
In a shower of rain as my darling did hie
All under the bushes to keep herself dry,
With her head in her apron I thought her a swan,
And I shot my true love at the setting of the sun.
Come all you young guys who carry a gun,
Watch out for late shooting when the day's done;
You really don't realize the dangers you face,
I shot my true love right at the setting sun.
In a heavy rainstorm as my love rushed past
Hiding under the bushes to stay dry,
With her head in her apron, I thought she was a swan.
And I shot my true love right at the sunset.
2
2
I'll fly from my country, I nowhere find rest
I've shot my true love, like a bird in her nest.
Like lead on my heart lies the deed I have done,
I shot my true love at the setting of the sun.
In a shower, etc.
I'll fly from my country; I can't find peace anywhere.
I've shot my true love, like a bird in her nest.
The weight of what I've done sits heavily on my heart,
I shot my true love at sunset.
In the shower, etc.
3
3
In the night the fair maid as a white swan appears,
She says, O my true love, quick dry up your tears,
I freely forgive you, I have Paradise won,
I was shot by my love at the setting of the sun.
In a shower, etc.
In the night, the beautiful maiden appears like a white swan,
She says, "Oh my true love, quickly dry your tears,
I forgive you completely, I've found Paradise,
I was shot by my love at sunset."
In the shower, etc.
4
4
O the years as they pass leave me lonely and sad,
I can ne'er love another, and naught makes me glad.
I wait and expect till life's little span done
I meet my true love at the rising of the sun
In a shower, etc.
Oh, the years that go by leave me lonely and sad,
I can never love another, and nothing makes me happy.
I wait and hope until life’s brief time is over
I meet my true love at the break of dawn.
In the shower, etc.
No 63 JOLLY FELLOWS THAT FOLLOW THE PLOUGH
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
'Twas early one morning at breaking of day,
The cocks were a crowing, the farmer did say,
Come, arise, my good fellows, arise with good will,
For your horses want something their bellies to fill.
With rubbing and scrubbing, I swear and I vow,
That we're all jolly fellows that follow the plough.
It was early one morning at daybreak,
The roosters were crowing, the farmer said,
Come on, my good friends, get up cheerfully,
Because your horses need something to eat.
With rubbing and scrubbing, I promise it’s true,
That we’re all happy people who work the fields.
2
2
We jump'd out of bed and slipp'd into our clothes,
Away to the stable each merrily goes.
When six o'clock cometh, to breakfast we go,
To good bread and cheese and the best of stingo.
With rubbing and scrubbing, I swear and I vow,
That we're all jolly fellows that follow the plough.
We jumped out of bed and slid into our clothes,
Off to the stable we happily go.
When six o'clock comes, we head to breakfast,
With good bread, cheese, and the best of ale.
With scrubbing and cleaning, I swear and promise,
That we're all happy people who work the land.
3
3
When seven o'clock soundeth to work we do go,
We hitch up our horses and halloo Wee Woo!
At eight o' clock, lads, we are merry and bold,
To see of us which the best furrow can hold.
With rubbing and scrubbing, I swear and I vow,
That we're all jolly fellows that follow the plough.
When seven o'clock rings, we head to work,
We hitch up our horses and call out Wee Woo!
By eight o'clock, guys, we're cheerful and brave,
To see who among us can make the best furrow.
With scrubbing and cleaning, I promise and declare,
That we're all cheerful people who work hard.
4
4
The farmer came to us, and thus did he say,
"What have you been doing lads, all the long day?
You've not ploughed your acre, I swear and I vow,
You are all lazy fellows that follow the plough."
With rubbing and scrubbing, I swear and I vow,
That we're all jolly fellows that follow the plough.
The farmer came up to us and said,
"What have you guys been up to all day long?
You haven't plowed your field, I swear it's true,
You’re all lazy people who work the plow."
With scrubbing and cleaning, I promise it's true,
That we’re all happy people who work the land.
5
5
The carter turns round with a twinkling eye,
"We have all ploughed our acre, I tell you no lie,
We have all ploughed our acre, I swear and I vow,
So we're the right fellows that follow the plough."
With rubbing and scrubbing, I swear and I vow,
That we're all jolly fellows that follow the plough.
The driver turns around with a sparkling eye,
"We’ve all worked our share, I’m not lying to you,
We’ve all worked our share, I promise you,
So we're the right guys who work with the plough."
With scrubbing and cleaning, I assure you,
That we're all happy people who work with the plow.
6
6
The farmer he laughed for he lovèd a joke
"It is past two o'clock, boys, 'tis time to unyoke.
Unharness your horses and rub them down well,
And so I will give you a jug of brown ale."
With rubbing and scrubbing, I swear and I vow,
That we're all jolly fellows that follow the plough.
The farmer laughed because he loved a joke.
"It’s past two o'clock, guys, it’s time to unyoke.
Take off your horses' harnesses and groom them well,
And then I’ll treat you to a jug of brown ale."
With rubbing and scrubbing, I promise, it's true,
We’re all happy people who work with the plow.
7
7
So, all my fine fellows, wherever you be,
Come take my advice and be rulèd by me.
Draw your furrows aright; plough your acre and know
That such are the fellows to follow the plough.
With rubbing and scrubbing, I swear and I vow,
That we're all jolly fellows that follow the plough.
So, all my good friends, wherever you are,
Come take my advice and let me guide you.
Plow your fields properly; take care of your land and understand
That these are the people to follow in farming.
With hard work and commitment, I assure you,
That we're all happy people who work the land.
No 64 THE GOLDEN VANITY
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
A ship I have got in the North Country
And she goes by the name of the Golden Vanity,
O I fear she'll be taken by a Spanish Ga-la-lie,
As she sails by the Low-lands low.
A ship I have in the North Country
And she goes by the name of the Golden Vanity,
Oh, I fear she'll be captured by a Spanish Ga-la-lie,
As she sails past the Lowlands.
2
2
To the Captain then upspake the little Cabin-boy,
He said, What is my fee, if the galley I destroy?
The Spanish Ga-la-lie, if no more it shall annoy,
As you sail by the Low-lands low.
To the Captain then spoke the little Cabin-boy,
He said, What do I get if I take down the galley?
The Spanish Ga-la-lie, if it won't bother us anymore,
As you walk through the lowlands.
3
3
Of silver and gold I will give to you a store;
And my pretty little daughter that dwelleth on the shore,
Of treasure and of fee as well, I'll give to thee galore,
As we sail by the Low-lands low.
I will give you a stash of silver and gold;
And my sweet little daughter who lives by the shore,
I’ll give you plenty of treasure and wealth, for sure,
As we sail past the lowlands.
4
4
Then the boy bared his breast, and straightway leaped in,
And he held all in his hand, an augur sharp and thin,
And he swam until he came to the Spanish galleon,
As she lay by the Low-lands low.
Then the boy took off his shirt and jumped in right away,
And he held everything in his hand, an auger sharp and thin,
And he swam until he reached the Spanish galleon,
As it lay by the low-lying lands.
5
5
He bored with the augur, he bored once and twice,
And some were playing cards, and some were playing dice,
When the water flowed in it dazzled their eyes,
And she sank by the Low-lands low.
He got tired of the fortune-teller, he yawned once and twice,
And some were playing cards, and some were rolling dice,
When the water flowed in, it blinded their eyes,
And she settled in the lowlands.
So the Cabin-boy did swim all to the larboard side,
Saying Captain! take me in, I am drifting with the tide!
I will shoot you! I will kill you! the cruel Captain cried,
You may sink by the Low-lands low.
So the cabin boy swam over to the left side,
Saying, “Captain! Let me in, I’m floating with the tide!”
“I’ll shoot you! I’ll kill you!” the harsh captain shouted,
"You could drown in the low areas."
7
7
Then the Cabin-boy did swim all to the starboard side
Saying, Messmates take me in, I am drifting with the tide!
Then they laid him on the deck, and he closed his eyes and died,
As they sailed by the Low-lands low.
Then the cabin boy swam over to the right side
Saying, "Guys, let me in, I'm being carried away by the current!"
They laid him on the deck, and he closed his eyes and died,
As they sailed past the flatlands.
They sewed his body up, all in an old cow's hide,
And they cast the gallant cabin-boy, over the ship's side,
And left him without more ado adrifting with the tide,
And to sink by the Low-lands low.
They stitched his body up in an old cowhide,
And tossed the brave cabin boy over the side of the ship,
Leaving him without hesitation, drifting with the tide,
And to settle in the low-lying areas.
No 65 THE BOLD DRAGOON
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
A bold dragoon from out of the North,
To a lady's house came riding;
With clank of steel, and spur at his heel,
His consequence noways hiding.
"Bring forth good cheer, tap claret and beer,
For here I think of abiding,
Abiding, Abiding.
A brave soldier from the North,
Rode up to a woman's house;
With the sound of metal and spurs on his heels,
His status is clear with no pretenses.
"Bring out the drinks, pour claret and beer,
Since I intend to stay here,
Stay here.
2
2
"The chamber best with arras be dress'd
I intend to be comfortable.
Such troopers as we always make ourselves free,
Heigh!—lead my horse to the stable!
Give him corn and hay, but for me Tockay,
We'll eat and drink whilst able,
Able, aye! Able.
"The room is best dressed with tapestries
I'm planning to chill.
We always act like we own the place,
Hey! Take my horse to the stable!
Feed him grain and hay, but for me Tockay,
We'll eat and drink as long as we can,
Sure, definitely!
3
3
"The daintiest meat upon silver plate,
And wine that sparkles and fizzes.
Wax candles light, make the chamber bright,
And—as soldiers love sweet Misses,
My moustache I curl with an extra twirl,
The better to give you kisses,
Kisses, aye! Kisses."
"The finest meat on a silver plate,
And wine that fizzes and sparkles.
Wax candles glow, brightening the room,
And—just like soldiers love beautiful girls,
I curl my mustache with an extra twist,
To give you even better kisses,
"Kisses, yes! Kisses."
4
4
"There's cake and wine," said the lady fine,
"There's oats for the horse, and litter.
There's silver plate, there are servants to wait,
And drinks, sweet, sparkling, bitter.
Tho, bacon and pease, aye! and mouldy cheese,
For such as you were fitter,
Fitter aye! Fitter.
"There's cake and wine," said the classy lady,
"There are oats for the horse and bedding."
There's silver dishes, and servants to assist,
And drinks, sweet, fizzy, bitter.
Sure, bacon and peas, definitely! And moldy cheese,
For those like you would be more suited,
Definitely a better fit!
5
5
"Your distance keep, I esteem you cheap
Tho' your wishes I've granted, partly.
But no kisses for me from a Chimpanzee,"
The lady responded tartly.
"Why! a rude dragoon is a mere Baboon."
And she boxed his ears full smartly,
Smartly, aye! smartly.
"Keep your distance; I value you less
Even though I've partially fulfilled your wishes.
But I won’t accept kisses from a Chimpanzee,"
The woman replied sharply.
"After all, a rude soldier is just a Baboon."
And she slapped his ears pretty hard,
Hard, yes! Tough.
No 66 TRINITY SUNDAY
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
When bites the frost and winds are a blowing,
I do not heed, I do not care;
If Johnny's by me, what if it be snowing.
'Tis summer time with me all the year.
When the frost hits and the winds are howling,
I don't pay attention, and I don't care.
If Johnny's with me, what if it’s snowing.
I feel like it's summer all year round.
2
2
The icicles they may hang on the fountain,
And frozen over the farm yard pool.
The bleak wind whistle across the mountain,
No wintry blast our love can cool.
The icicles might dangle from the fountain,
And freeze the farmyard pond.
The harsh wind whistles across the mountain,
No cold wind can freeze our love.
3
3
O what to me the wind and the weather?
O what to me the wind and the rain?
My Johnny loves me, and being together,
Why let it bluster—it blows in vain.
O what do the wind and the weather mean to me?
What do the wind and the rain mean to me?
My Johnny loves me, and as long as we're together,
Why let it go on—it's all useless.
4
4
I never tire, I never am weary,
I drudge and think it is only play;
As Johnny loves me, and I am his deary,
Why—all the year it is holiday.
I never get tired, I never feel worn out,
I put in a lot of effort and see it as just having a good time;
Since Johnny loves me and I’m his sweetheart,
Why—it's a celebration all year round.
5
5
I shall be wed upon Trinity Sunday,
And then adieu to my holiday.
Come frost and frown the following Monday.
Why then beginneth my workaday.
I will get married on Trinity Sunday,
And then it's goodbye to my time off.
Come frost and gloom the next Monday.
That's when my daily life starts.
6
6
If drudge and smudge begins on the Monday,
If scold and grumble—I do not care,
My winter follow Trinity Sunday.
I can't have summertime all the year.
If work and mess start on Monday,
If there's complaining and whining—I don't care,
My winter follows Trinity Sunday.
I can’t have summer all year long.
No 67 THE BLUE FLAME
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
All under the stars, and beneath the green tree,
All over the sward, and along the cold lea,
A little blue flame
A fluttering came,
It came from the churchyard for you or for me.
All under the stars and beneath the green tree,
All over the grass and along the cold field,
A small blue flame
A fluttering sound came,
It came from the graveyard for you or for me.
2
2
I sit by the cradle, my baby's asleep,
And rocking the cradle, I wonder and weep.
O little blue light,
In the dead of the night,
O prithee, O prithee no nearer to creep.
I sit by the crib, my baby’s asleep,
And rocking the crib, I wonder and weep.
O little blue light,
In the middle of the night,
O please, O please don’t come any closer.
3
3
Why follow the church path, why steal you this way?
Why halt in your journey, on threshold why stay?
With flicker and flare,
Why dance up my stair!
O I would, O I would, it were dawning of day.
Why follow the church path, why take this route?
Why stop in your journey, why linger about?
With flicker and flare,
Why dance up my stairs!
Oh, I wish, oh, I wish, it were the dawn of day.
4
4
All under the stars, and along the green lane,
Unslaked by the dew, and unquenched by the rain,
Of little flames blue
To the churchyard steal two,
The soul of my baby! now from me is ta'en.
All under the stars, and down the green path,
Unhindered by the dew, and undampened by the rain,
Of tiny blue flames
To sneak into the churchyard,
The spirit of my child! now from me is taken.
No 68 STRAWBERRY FAIR
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
As I was going to Strawberry Fair,
Singing, singing, Butter-cups and Daisies
I met a maiden taking her ware,
Fol-de-dee!
Her eyes were blue and golden her hair,
As she went on to Strawberry Fair,
Ri-fol, Ri-fol, Tol-de-riddle-li-do,
Ri-fol, Ri-fol, Tol-de-riddle-dee.
As I was heading to Strawberry Fair,
Singing, singing, Buttercups and Daisies
I ran into a girl selling her goods,
Fol-de-dee!
Her eyes were blue, and her hair was golden,
As she continued on to Strawberry Fair,
Ri-fol, Ri-fol, Tol-de-riddle-li-do,
Ri-fol, Ri-fol, Tol-de-riddle-dee.
2
2
"Kind Sir, pray pick of my basket!" she said,
Singing, &c.
"My cherries ripe, or my roses red,
Fol-de-dee!
My strawberries sweet, I can of them spare,
As I go on to Strawberry Fair."
Ri-fol &c.
"Kind sir, please choose from my basket!" she said,
Singing, etc.
"My cherries are ripe, or my roses are red,
Fol-de-dee!
I have sweet strawberries that I can share,
As I head to Strawberry Fair."
Ri-fol etc.
3
3
Your cherries soon will be wasted away,
Singing, &c.
Your roses wither and never stay,
Tol-de-dee!
'Tis not to seek such perishing ware,
That I am tramping to Strawberry Fair.
Ri-fol &c.
Your cherries will soon be gone,
Singing, etc.
Your roses fade and never last,
Toodles!
I’m not here to look for such temporary stuff,
That’s why I’m walking to Strawberry Fair.
Ri-fol etc.
4
4
I want to purchase a generous heart,
Singing, &c.
A tongue that neither is nimble nor tart.
Tol-de-dee!
An honest mind, but such trifles are rare
I doubt if they're found at Strawberry Fair.
Ri-fol &c.
I want to buy a kind heart,
Singing, etc.
A tongue that's neither quick nor sharp.
Tol-de-dee!
An honest mind, but such things are hard to find
I wonder if they're at Strawberry Fair.
Ri-fol &c.
5
5
The price I offer, my sweet pretty maid
Singing, &c.
A ring of gold on your finger displayed,
Tol-de-dee!
So come make over to me your ware,
In church today at Strawberry Fair.
Ri-fol &c.
The price I offer, my sweet pretty maid
Singing, etc.
A gold ring on your finger to show,
Tol-de-dee!
So come and trade with me your goods,
In church today at Strawberry Fair.
Ri-fol &c.
No 69 THE COUNTRY FARMER’S SON
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
I would not be a monarch great;
With crown upon my head,
And Earls to wait upon my state,
In broidered robes of red.
For he must bear full many a care,
His toil is never done,
'Tis better I trow behind the plough,
A Country Farmer's Son.
I wouldn't want to be a great king;
With a crown on my head,
And Earls to attend to my needs,
In stylish red robes.
Because he has to handle so many worries,
His work is never done,
It's better, I think, to be behind the plow,
A Farmer's Son.
I would not be the Pope of Rome,
And sit in Peter's chair;
With priests to bow and kiss my toe,
No wife my throne to share.
And never know what 'tis to go,
With beagles for a run;
'Tis better for me at liberty
A Country Farmer's Son.
I wouldn’t want to be the Pope of Rome,
And sit in Peter's chair;
With priests who bow and kiss my toe,
No wife to share my throne with me.
And never experience freedom to go,
Running with dogs;
It’s better for me to be free
As a farmer's son.
3
3
I would not be a merchant rich,
And eat off silver plate.
And ever dread, when laid abed
Some freakish turn of fate.
One day on high, then ruin nigh,
Now wealthy, now undone,
'Tis better for me at ease to be
A Country Farmer's Son.
I wouldn't want to be a wealthy merchant,
Dining on silver plates.
And always fearing, when I’m in bed,
A weird twist of fate.
One day up high, then close to ruin,
Rich one moment, broke the next,
It’s better for me to be comfortable
As a country farmer's kid.
4
4
I trudge about the farm, all day,
To know that all things thrive.
A maid I see that pleaseth me,
Why then I'm fain to wive.
Not over rich, I do not itch,
For wealth, but what is won,
By honest toil, from out the soil,
A Country Farmer's Son.
I walk around the farm all day,
Just to see everything thrive.
There's a maid I like,
I'm eager to get married.
I'm not super rich, and I don't crave,
Wealth, but what is gained,
From honest work in the dirt,
A Farmer's Son.
No 70 THE HOSTESS’ DAUGHTER
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
The Hostess of the Ring of Bells
A daughter hath with auburn hair;
Go where I will, o'er plain and hill,
I do not find a maid more fair;
She welcomes me with dimpled smiles,
And e'en a kiss will not deny
O! would for us the bells did ring!
And we were wed—that maid and I!
The Hostess of the Ring of Bells
She's a daughter with reddish-brown hair;
Wherever I go, across fields and hills,
I can't find a girl more beautiful than this.
She greets me with dimpled smiles,
And she won't even refuse a kiss.
Oh! I wish the bells would ring for us!
And we got married—that girl and I!
2
2
But as I travelled down the road,
There went by me a packer-train;
'Twas Roger Rawle, and Sandy Paul,
And Hunchback Joe, and Philip Mayne.
Says Roger, I have had a kiss,
From that sly maiden at the Bell,
And I, said Joe, and Paul said so,
And so did Philip Mayne as well.
But as I was walking down the road,
A packer train went by me;
It was Roger Rawle, Sandy Paul,
Hunchback Joe and Philip Mayne.
Roger said, "I got a kiss,
From that smart girl at the Bell,
And I did too, said Joe, and Paul agreed,
Philip Mayne did the same.
3
3
Till weather-beaten as the sign
That doth before the tavern swing,
That maid will stay, and none essay,
To make her his with bell and ring.
Methinks I'll take another road,
Where hap some modest maiden dwells,
No saucy miss, with ready kiss,
And then for us shall ring the Bells.
Till weathered like the sign
That swings in front of the pub,
That girl will stay, and no one will try,
To win her over with gifts and tokens.
I think I'll take another path,
Where a humble girl lives,
Not a cheeky girl, quick to kiss,
And then the bells will ring for us.
No 71 THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
I sat on a bank in trifle and play,
With my jolly goss-hawk, and her wings were grey;
She flew to my breast, And she there built her nest,
I am sure pretty bird you with me will stay.
I sat on a bank, messing around and having fun,
With my happy hawk, and her wings were gray;
She flew to my chest, and she built her nest there,
I'm sure you, lovely bird, will stay with me.
2
2
She builded within, and she builded without,
My jolly goss-hawk, and her wings were grey;
She fluttered her wings, And she jingled her rings,
So merry was she, and so fond of play.
She built inside and outside,
My cheerful gossiping hawk, and her wings were gray;
She flapped her wings, and she jingled her rings,
She was really happy and totally into playing.
3
3
I got me a bell, to tie to her foot,
My jolly goss-hawk, and her wings were grey;
She mounted in flight, And she flew out of sight,
My bell and my rings she carried away.
I got a bell to tie to her foot,
My cheerful goss-hawk, and her wings were gray;
She took off in flight, and she flew out of sight,
She took my bell and my rings with her.
4
4
I ran up the street, with nimblest feet,
My jolly goss-hawk, and her wings were grey;
I whooped and hallo'd, But never she shewed,
And I lost my pretty goss-hawk that day.
I sprinted up the street, light on my feet,
My happy falcon, her wings were gray;
I shouted and called out, but she never appeared,
And I lost my beautiful falcon that day.
5
5
In a meadow so green, the hedges between,
My jolly goss-hawk, and her wings were grey;
Upon a man's hand, She perch'd did stand,
In sport, and trifle, and full array.
In a lush green meadow, with hedges in between,
My happy hawk, with her gray wings;
She perched on a man's hand,
Having fun, goofing around, and looking good.
6
6
Who's got her may keep her as best he can,
My jolly goss-hawk, and her wings were grey;
To every man she is frolic and free,
I'll cast her off if she come my way.
Who's got her can keep her as best as he can,
My happy maid, and her wings were gray;
To every guy, she's playful and free,
I'll let her go if she approaches me.
No 72 THE SONG OF THE MOOR
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
'Tis merry in the Spring-time
'Tis blithe upon the moor,
Where every man is equal,
For every man is poor.
I do what I've a mind to,
And none can say me Nay,
I go where I'm inclin'd to,
On all sides right of way.
O the merry Dartamoor!
O the merry moor!
I would not be where I'm not free,
As I am upon the moor.
It's joyful in the springtime
It's bright on the moor,
Where every man is equal,
Because every man is broke.
I do what I want to,
And no one can refuse,
I go where I'm inclined to,
With open paths everywhere.
Oh the joyful Dartmoor!
Oh the happy moor!
I wouldn't want to be anywhere I'm not free.
I feel like I'm on the moor.
2
2
'Tis merry in the Summer,
When furze is out and sweet,
The bees about it humming,
In honey bathe their feet.
The plover and the peewit
How cheerily they pipe,
And underfoot the whortle
Is waxing blue and ripe.
O the merry &c.
It’s cheerful in the summer,
When gorse is in bloom and fragrant,
The bees buzzing around it,
Soaking their feet in honey.
The plover and the peewit
How joyfully they sing,
And beneath our feet the whortle
Is turning blue and ready.
Oh the cheerful etc.
3
3
'Tis merry in the Fall-time
When snipe and cock appear,
And never see a keeper
To say, No shooting here!
The turf we stock for fuel
And ask no better fire,
And never pay a farthing,
For all that we require.
O the merry &c.
It's joyful in the fall
When snipe and pheasants appear,
And there's never a gamekeeper
No hunting allowed here!
We gather turf for warmth
And need no better vibe,
And never spend a penny,
For all our needs.
Oh the joy, etc.
4
4
'Tis merry in the Winter
The wind is on the moor,
For twenty miles to leeward
The people hear the roar.
'Tis merry in the ingle
Beside a Moorland lass,
When watching turves a-glowing,
The brimming bumpers pass.
O the merry &c.
It's joyful in the winter
The wind is blowing across the moor,
For twenty miles downwind
The crowd hears the roar.
It's joyful by the fire
With a girl from the moors,
When watching glowing coals,
The full mugs are shared.
Oh the joy, etc.
No 73 ON A MAY MORNING SO EARLY
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
As I walked out one May morning,
One May morning so early;
I there espied a fair pretty maid,
All on the dew so pearly.
O! 'twas sweet, sweet spring,
Merry birds did sing,
All in the morning early.
As I stepped outside one May morning,
One morning in early May;
I spotted a beautiful young woman,
All on the sparkling dew.
Oh! It was sweet, sweet spring,
Happy birds were singing,
All in the morning.
2
2
Stay, fair one, stay! Thus did I say,
On a May morning so early;
My tale of love, your heart will move,
All on the dew so pearly.
O! 'tis sweet, sweet spring,
Merry birds do sing,
All in the morning early.
Stay, beautiful one, stay! That's what I said,
On a May morning that was very early;
My story of love will touch your heart,
All on the wet grass.
Oh! it's sweet, sweet spring,
Happy birds are singing.
All in the early morning.
3
3
No tales for me, Kind sir, said she
On a May morning so early;
My swain is true, I don't want two
All on the dew so pearly.
O! 'twas sweet, sweet spring,
Merry birds did sing,
All in the morning early.
No stories for me, kind sir, she said
On a May morning that was very early;
My love is faithful, I don’t need another
All on the damp grass.
Oh! It was a lovely, lovely spring,
Happy birds sang,
All in the early morning.
4
4
With lightsome tread, away she sped,
This May morning so early;
To meet her lad, and left me sad,
All on the dew so pearly.
O! 'twas sweet, sweet spring,
Merry birds did sing,
All in the morning early.
With a light step, she rushed away,
On this early May morning;
To meet her guy, and left me feeling blue,
All on the shiny, dewy grass.
Oh! It was a beautiful, lovely spring,
Happy birds were singing,
All in the early morning.
No 74 THE SPOTTED COW
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
One morning so gay, in the glad month of May,
When I from my cottage strayed;
As broke the ray of awakening day,
I met a pretty maid.
A neat little lass on the twinkling grass,
To see, my foot I stayed.
One cheerful morning in the lovely month of May,
When I strayed away from my cottage;
As the first light of day began to shine,
I met a cute girl.
A tidy little girl on the sparkling grass,
It caught my attention, so I stopped.
2
2
"My fair pretty maid, why wander?" I said,
"So early, tell me now?"
The maid replied, "Pretty Sir!" and sighed,
"I've lost my Spotted Cow.
She's stolen," she said, many tears she shed,
"Or lost, I can't tell how."
"My lovely young lady, why are you wandering?" I asked,
"Is it too early for you to tell me?"
The girl replied, "Dear Sir!" and sighed,
"I've lost my Spotted Cow."
She's either been taken," she said, shedding many tears,
"Or lost, I can't really explain how."
3
3
"No further complain in dolorous strain,
I've tidings will you cheer.
I know she's strayed, in yonder green glade,
Come, love! I'll shew you where.
So dry up your tears and banish fears,
And bid begone despair."
"No more complaining in a sad tone,
I have some news that will make you happy.
I know she’s wandered, in that green field,
Come, my love! I’ll show you the way.
So wipe your tears and get rid of your fears,
"And tell despair to leave."
4
4
"I truly confess in my bitter distress,
You are most good," said she.
"With help so kind, I am certain to find
My cow, so I'll with thee.
Four eyes, it is true, are better than two,
And friend, four eyes have we."
"I honestly admit in my deep sorrow,
"You're so kind," she said.
"With such helpfulness, I know I'll find
I'm coming with you, my cow.
It's true that four eyes are better than two,
"And buddy, we have four eyes."
5
5
Through meadow and grove, we together did rove,
We crossed the flow'ry dale,
Both morn and noon, we strayed till the moon
Above our heads did sail.
The old Spotted Cow, clean forgotten was now,
For love was all our tale.
We wandered through meadows and woods together,
We crossed the flower-filled valley,
We roamed both morning and noon until the moon
Flew above.
The old Spotted Cow, completely forgotten now,
Because love was all we discussed.
6
6
Now never a day, do I go my way,
To handle flail or plough.
She comes again, and whispers, "Sweet swain,
I've lost my Spotted Cow."
I pretend not to hear, she shouts, "My dear,
I've lost my Spotted Cow."
Now not a single day goes by without me,
Using the flail or the plow.
She shows up again and whispers, "Hey, you,
"I've lost my Spotted Cow."
I act like I don’t hear her, she yells, "My love,
"I've lost my Spotted Cow."
No 75 THREE JOVIAL WELSHMEN
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
There were three jovial Welshmen
They would go hunt the fox.
They swore they saw old Reynard
Run over yonder rocks;
With a whoop, whoop, whoop and a hel-lo,
And a blast of my bugle horn;
With my twank, twank, twank and my twank-i-diddle O,
And thro' the woods we'll ride, brave boys,
And thro' the woods we'll ride.
With my bugle, bugle, bugle,
And a blast of my bugle horn;
With my fal-lal-lal and my fal-de-riddle O,
And thro' the woods we'll ride, brave boys,
And thro' the woods we'll ride.
There were three cheerful Welshmen
They would go hunt for the fox.
They claimed they saw old Reynard
Drive over those rocks;
With a whoop, whoop, whoop and a hello,
And a blast from my bugle horn;
With my twank, twank, twank and my twank-i-diddle O,
And through the woods, we'll ride, brave guys,
And we’ll ride through the woods.
With my trumpet, trumpet, trumpet,
And a blast from my bugle horn;
With my fal-lal-lal and my fal-de-riddle O,
And through the woods we'll ride, brave boys,
And we'll ride through the woods.
2
2
The first they espied was a woman,
A combing up her locks.
She swore she saw old Reynard
Among the geese and ducks.
With a &c.
The first they saw was a woman,
Brushing her hair.
She claimed she saw old Reynard
Among the geese and ducks.
With etc.
3
3
The second he was a Parson,
And he was dressed in black,
He swore he saw old Reynard
Hang on a huntsman's back.
With a &c.
The moment he became a Parson,
And he dressed in all black,
He claimed he saw old Reynard
Riding on a hunter's back.
With etc.
4
4
The third he was a Miller
Was grinding at his mill,
He swore he saw old Reynard
Run over yonder hill.
With a &c.
The third was a Miller
Working at his mill,
He claimed he saw old Reynard
Running over that hill.
With etc.
5
5
The fourth he was a blind man,
As blind as blind could be,
He swore he saw old Reynard
Run up a hollow tree.
With a &c.
The fourth was a blind man,
As blind as ever,
He claimed he saw old Reynard
Run up an empty tree.
With etc.
6
6
There never was a Reynard
Run out that day at all,
'Twas naught but one grey pussy
Sat purring on a wall.
With a &c.
There was never a Reynard
That ran out that day.
It was just one grey cat
Purring on a wall.
With etc.
7
7
O what a world of liars
This is, as well appears.
Henceforth I'll trust my own eyes,
And none but mine own ears.
With a &c.
O what a world of deceivers
This is, as it clearly indicates.
From now on, I'll trust my own eyes,
And only my own ears.
With etc.
No 76 WELL MET! WELL MET
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Well met, well met, my own true love!
Long time am I seeking of thee.
I am lately come from the salt, salt wave,
And all for the sake, sweet love, of thee.
Well met, well met, my true love!
I've been searching for you for a while.
I just arrived from the salty sea,
All of this is for you, my dear love.
2
2
I might have had a king's daughter,
She fain would have married me,
But I did not hold for her crown of gold,
And all for the sake, sweet love, of thee.
I could have had a king's daughter,
She really wanted to marry me,
But I didn't care about her crown of gold,
And all for the sake of you, my sweet love.
3
3
I have seven ships that sail on the sea,
It was one brought me to the land;
I have mariners many to wait on thee
To be all, sweet love, at thy command.
I have seven ships that sail on the sea,
One of them took me to your place;
I have many sailors ready for you
To be completely, my dear, at your service.
4
4
A pair of slippers, love, thou shalt have,
They are made of the beaten gold,
They are lined within with a coney's skin,
To keep thy feet, sweet love, from cold.
A pair of slippers, my love, you shall have,
They are made of hammered gold,
They're lined inside with rabbit fur,
To keep your sweet love's feet warm.
5
5
A gilded boat thou too shalt have,
And the oars be gilded also,
And the mariners they shall pipe and sing
As through the salt waves, sweet love, we go.
A fancy boat you will have too,
And the oars will look fancy too,
And the sailors will play music and sing
As we navigate the salty waves, dear love, we move forward together.
6
6
A way of gold lies over the sea
Where the sun doth set in the west.
And along that way thou shalt sail with me,
To the land of lands, sweet love, that's best.
A golden path stretches across the sea
Where the sun goes down in the west.
On that path, you’ll sail with me,
To the best place of all, my sweet love, that’s what I love the most.
No 77 POOR OLD HORSE
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
O once I lay in stable, a hunter, well and warm,
I had the best of shelter, from cold and rain and harm;
But now in open meadow, a hedge I'm glad to find,
To shield my sides from tempest, from driving sleet and wind.
Poor old horse, let him die!
O once I lay in a stable, a hunter, safe and warm,
I had the best shelter from cold, rain, and harm;
But now in an open meadow, I’m happy to find a hedge,
To protect my sides from the storm, from driving sleet and wind.
Poor old horse, just let him die!
2
2
My shoulders once were sturdy, were glossy, smooth and round,
But now, alas! they're rotten, I'm not accounted sound.
As I have grown so aged, my teeth gone to decay,
My master frowns upon me; I often hear him say,
Poor old horse, let him die!
My shoulders used to be strong, shiny, smooth, and round,
But now, unfortunately, they’re weak, I’m considered unsound.
As I’ve gotten older, my teeth have started to rot,
My owner looks down on me; I often hear him say,
Poor old horse, just let him die!
A groom upon me waited, on straw I snugly lay,
When fields were full of flowers, the air was sweet with hay;
But now there's no good feeding prepared for me at all,
I'm forced to munch the nettles upon the kennel wall.
Poor old horse, let him die!
A groom was waiting for me while I lay comfortably on the straw,
When the fields were filled with flowers and the air smelled sweet like hay;
But now there's no good food prepared for me at all,
I have to nibble on the nettles growing on the kennel wall.
Poor old horse, just let him go!
4
4
My shoes and skin, the huntsman, that covets them shall have,
My flesh and bones the hounds, Sir! I very freely give,
I've followed them full often, aye! many a score of miles,
O'er hedges, walls and ditches, nor blinked at gates and stiles.
Poor old horse, let him die!
My shoes and skin, the hunter who wants them can take,
My flesh and bones, sir! I gladly give them up,
I've chased them many times, yes! countless miles,
Over hedges, walls, and ditches, without flinching at gates and fences.
Poor old horse, just let him go!
5
5
Ye gentlemen of England, ye sportsmen good and bold,
All you that love a hunter, remember him when old,
O put him in your stable, and make the old boy warm,
And visit him and pat him, and keep him out of harm,
Poor old horse, till he die!
You gentlemen of England, you brave and good sportsmen,
All of you who love a hunter, remember him when he gets old,
Oh, take care of him in your stable, and keep him warm,
And visit him and give him some affection, and keep him safe,
Poor old horse, until he passes away!
No 78 THE DILLY SONG
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Come, and I will sing you.
What will you sing me?
I will sing you One, O!
What is your One, O?
One of them is all alone, and ever will remain so.
Come, and I'll sing for you.
What will you sing for me?
I'll sing you One, O!
What’s your One, O?
One of them is all alone and will always stay that way.
2
2
Come, and I will sing you.
What will you sing me?
I will sing you Two, O!
What is your Two, O?
Two of them are lily-white babes, and dress'd all in green, O.
Come, and I will sing to you.
What will you sing for me?
I will sing you Two, oh!
What’s your Two, oh?
Two of them are pure white babies, and dressed all in green, oh.
3
3
Come, &c.
I will sing you Three, O!
What is your Three, O?
Three of them are strangers, o'er the wide world they are rangers.
Come, etc.
I will sing you Three, O!
What is your Three, O?
Three of them are strangers, wandering across the vast world.
4
4
Come, &c.
I will sing you Four, O!
What is your Four, O?
Four it is the Dilly Hour, when blooms the gilly flower.
Come, &c.
I will sing you Four, O!
What's your Four, O?
Four is the Dilly Hour, when the gilly flower blooms.
5
5
Come, &c.
I will sing you Five, O!
What is your Five, O?
Five it is the Dilly Bird, that's never seen, but heard, O!
Come, etc.
I will sing you Five, oh!
What's your Five-oh?
Five is the Dilly Bird, that's never seen, but only heard, oh!
6
6
Come, &c.
I will sing you Six, O!
What is your Six, O?
Six the Ferryman in the Boat, that doth on the river float, O!
Come, etc.
I will sing you Six, oh!
What's your status, oh?
Six the Ferryman in the boat, who floats on the river, oh!
7
7
Come, &c.
I will sing you Seven, O!
What is your Seven, O?
Seven it is the crown of Heaven, the shining stars be seven, O!
Come, &c.
I will sing you Seven, O!
What’s your Seven, O?
Seven is the crown of Heaven, the shining stars are seven, O!
8
8
Come, &c.
I will sing you Eight, O!
What is your Eight, O?
Eight it is the morning break, when all the world's awake, O!
Come, &c.
I will sing you Eight, O!
What’s your Eight, O?
Eight is the morning break, when the whole world is awake, O!
9
9
Come, &c.
I will sing you Nine, O!
What is your Nine, O?
Nine it is the pale moonshine, the pale moonlight is nine, O!
Come, &c.
I will sing you Nine, O!
What’s your Nine, O?
Nine is the soft glow of the moon, the soft moonlight is nine, O!
10
10
Come, &c.
I will sing you Ten, O!
What is your Ten, O?
Ten forbids all kind of sin, from ten again begin, O!
Come, &c.
I will sing you Ten, O!
What's your Ten, O?
Ten forbids all kinds of sin, let's start again with Ten, O!
No 79 A COUNTRY DANCE
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
When lambkins skip, and apples are growing,
Grass is green, and roses ablow,
When pigeons coo, and cattle are lowing,
Mist lies white in valleys below,
Why should we be all the day toiling?
Lads and lasses, along with me!
Done with drudgery, dust and moiling
Haste away to the green-wood tree.
When little lambs jump, and apples are ripening,
The grass is green and the roses are blooming,
When pigeons are cooing, and cows are mooing,
Mist hangs white in the valleys below,
Why should we spend all day working hard?
Hey everyone, come with me!
Done with the grind, dust, and struggle
Let’s hurry to the green-wood tree.
2
2
The cows are milked, the team's in the stable,
Work is over, and play begun,
Ye farmer lads all lusty and able,
Ere the moon rises, we'll have our fun,
Why should we, &c.
The cows are milked, the team's in the stable,
Work is finished, and it's time to have some fun,
You farmer guys, strong and able,
Before the moon rises, we’ll have our fun,
Why should we, &c.
The glow-worm lights, as day is afailing,
Dew is falling over the field,
The meadow-sweet its scent is exhaling,
Honeysuckles their fragrance yield.
Why should we, &c.
The glow-worms shine as day is fading,
Dew is falling on the field,
The meadow-sweet releases its scent,
Honeysuckles release their fragrance.
Why should we, &c.
4
4
There's Jack o'lantern lustily dancing
In the marsh with flickering flame,
And Daddy-long-legs, spinning and prancing,
Moth and midge are doing the same,
Why should we, &c.
There's Jack o'lantern happily dancing
In the marsh with a flickering flame,
And Daddy-long-legs, twirling and prancing,
Moths and midges are doing the same thing,
Why should we, &c.
5
5
So Bet and Prue, and Dolly and Celie,
With milking pail 'tis time to have done.
And Ralph and Phil, and Robin and Willie,
The threshing flail must sleep with the sun.
Why should we, &c.
So Bet and Prue, and Dolly and Celie,
It's time to wrap things up with the milking pail.
And Ralph and Phil, and Robin and Willie,
The threshing flail should be put down with the sunset.
Why should we, &c.
6
6
Upon the green beginneth our pleasure,
Whilst we dance we merrily sing.
A country dance, a jig, and a measure,
Hand in hand we go in a ring.
Why should we, &c.
Upon the green starts our fun,
As we dance, we joyfully sing.
A country dance, a jig, and a beat,
Together, we walk in a circle.
Why should we, &c.
7
7
O sweet it is to foot on the clover,
Ended work and revel begun.
Aloft the planets never give over,
Dancing, circling round of the sun.
Why should we, &c.
O how sweet it is to walk on the clover,
The work is finished, and the celebration has begun.
Above, the planets keep on moving,
Dancing, orbiting the sun.
Why shouldn’t we, etc.
8
8
So Ralph and Phil, and Robin and Willie,
Take your partners each of you now.
And Bet and Prue, and Dolly and Celie,
Make a curtsey; lads! make a bow.
Why should we, &c.
So Ralph and Phil, and Robin and Willie,
Gather your partners, everyone.
And Bet and Prue, and Dolly and Celie,
Ladies, do a curtsy; gentlemen, bow.
Why should we, & etc.
No 80 CONSTANT JOHNNY
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Charming Molly, I do love thee,
There's none other I adore;
Pierced by your beauteous eyes,
My heart transfixed lies,
Say, dearest Molly, you'll be mine for evermore.
Charming Molly, I love you,
There's no one else I adore;
Caught by your beautiful eyes,
My heart is stuck,
Say, dearest Molly, you'll be mine forever.
2
2
Constant Johnny, I reject thee,
I thy fruitless suit deplore,
Your love I do decline,
I will be no love of thine
No, Johnny, Constant Johnny, ne'er I'll see thee more.
Constant Johnny, I reject you,
I regret your useless pursuit,
I decline your love,
I won’t be any love of yours
No, Johnny, Constant Johnny, I’ll never see you again.
3
3
Canst thou see young Johnny bleeding
Down in Cupid's rosy bower,
See his transfixed heart,
Full of grief and full of smart,
Say, dearest Molly, thou'lt be mine for evermore.
Can you see young Johnny bleeding
Down in Cupid's rosy bower,
See his pierced heart,
Full of grief and full of pain,
Say, dearest Molly, you'll be mine forever.
4
4
Now the lovers are united,
Fast in wedlock's chains secure,
Happy as the livelong day,
Often she to him doth say,
O! Johnny, dearest Johnny, now we part no more.
Now the lovers are together,
Bound in the chains of marriage,
Happy throughout the whole day,
She often tells him,
Oh! Johnny, dear Johnny, we won’t be apart anymore.
No 81 THE DUKE’S HUNT
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
All in a morning very fair
As I rode out to take the air
I heard some to halloo clearly.
There rode the Duke of Buckingham,
And many a squire and yeoman came,
Dull sleep they had banished so early.
There was Dido, Spendigo
Gentry too, and Hero,
And Traveller that never looks behind him
Countess and Towler,
Bonny-lass and Jowler,
Were some of the hounds that did find him.
All on a beautiful morning
As I rode out to enjoy the fresh air
I definitely heard someone calling.
There was the Duke of Buckingham,
And many squires and farmers came,
They had driven away boring sleep so early.
There was Dido, Spendigo
Gentry and Hero too,
And a traveler who never looks back
Countess and Towler,
Bonny girl and Jowler,
Some of the hounds that discovered him.
2
2
Old Jack he courses o'er the plain,
Unwearied tries it back again,
His horse and his hounds fail never.
Our hearty huntsman he will say,
For ever and for e'er a day,
Hark! Forward! gallant hounds together.
There was Dido, &c.
Old Jack runs across the field,
Never tiring, he comes back again,
His horse and his dogs never let him down.
Our dedicated huntsman will say,
Forever and ever, every day,
Hey! Let's go! Courageous pups together.
There was Dido, etc.
3
3
The fox we followed, being young,
Our sport today is scarce begun,
Ere out of the cover breaking,
Away he runs o'er hill and dale,
Away we followed without fail.
Hark! Forward! sleeping echoes awaking!
There was Dido, &c.
The young fox we followed,
Our fun today has just started,
Before coming out of hiding,
He runs away over hills and valleys,
We followed closely without fail.
Listen up! Move forward! Awaken the dormant echoes!
There was Dido, etc.
4
4
Shy Reynard being well nigh spent,
His way he to the water bent,
And speedily crossed the river.
To save his life he sought to swim,
But Dido sharp went after him,
Heigh! Traveller destroyed his life for ever.
There was Dido, &c.
Shy Reynard, nearly out of strength,
Made his way towards the water,
And swam quickly across the river.
To save his life, he tried to swim,
But Dido was hot on his trail,
Hey! The traveler lost his life for good.
There was Dido, etc.
5
5
So, whoo-too-hoo! we did proclaim
God bless the Duke of Buckingham,
Our hounds they have gained great glory.
This maketh now the twentieth fox,
We've killed in river, dale and rocks,
So here's an end to my story.
There was Dido, &c.
So, whoo-too-hoo! we proclaimed
God bless the Duke of Buckingham,
Our dogs have accomplished amazing things.
This marks the twentieth fox,
We've hunted in river, valley, and rocks,
So that's the conclusion of my story.
There was Dido, etc.
No 82 THE BELL RINGING
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
One day in October,
Neither drunken nor sober,
O'er Broadbury Down I was wending my way.
When I heard of some ringing,
Some dancing and singing,
I ought to remember that Jubilee Day.
Refrain
'Twas in Ashwater Town,
The bells they did soun'
They rang for a belt and a hat laced with gold.
But the men of North Lew
Rang so steady and true,
That never were better in Devon, I hold.
One day in October,
Neither drunk nor sober,
I was walking across Broadbury Down.
When I heard some ringing,
Some dancing and singing,
I should remember Jubilee Day.
Stop
It was in Ashwater.
The bells were ringing loudly
They called for a belt and a hat decorated with gold.
But the guys from North Lew
Rang so consistently and accurately,
I believe you couldn't find anything better in Devon.
2
2
'Twas misunderstood,
For the men of Broadwood,
Gave a blow on the tenor should never have been.
But the men of North Lew,
Rang so faultlessly true,
A difficult matter to beat them I ween.
'Twas in Ashwater Town &c.
It was misunderstood,
For the guys from Broadwood,
Hit a note on the tenor that should never have occurred.
But the guys from North Lew,
Rang so perfectly true,
I think it's tough to find anyone as good as they are.
It was in Ashwater Town, etc.
3
3
They of Broadwood being naughty
Then said to our party,
We'll ring you a challenge again in a round,
We'll give you the chance,
At St. Stephen's or Launce-
-ston the prize to the winner's a note of five pound.
'Twas in Callington Town
The bells next did soun'
They rang, &c.
They from Broadwood are being mischievous
Then said to our group,
We'll challenge you again in a round,
We'll give you a chance,
At St. Stephen's or Launce-
-ston the winner gets a note for five pounds.
It was in Callington Town
The bells rang next
They called, etc.
4
4
When the match it came on,
At good Callington,
The bells they rang out o'er the valleys below.
Then old and young people,
The hale and the feeble,
They came out to hear the sweet bell music flow.
'Twas at Callington town
The bells then did soun'
They rang, &c.
When the match started,
At good Callington,
The bells chimed across the valleys below.
Then young and old,
The strong and the weak,
They came together to listen to the lovely sound of the bells.
It was in Callington
That the bells rang
They rang, etc.
5
5
Those of Broadwood once more,
Were obliged to give o'er,
They were beaten completely and done in a round.
For the men of North Lew
Pull so steady and true,
That no better then they in the West can be found.
'Twas at Ashwater town
Then at Callington town
They rang, &c.
Those from Broadwood once again,
Had to give up,
They were completely defeated and done in one round.
Because the guys from North Lew
Pull so steadily and accurately,
You won't find anyone better than them in the West.
Then at Callington.
They called, etc.
No 83 A NUTTING WE WILL GO
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
'Tis of a jolly ploughing-man,
Was ploughing of his land,
He called, Ho! he called, Wo!
And bade his horses stand.
Upon his plough he sat, I trow,
And loud began to sing,
His voice rang out, so clear and stout,
It made the horse bells ring.
For a nutting we will go, my boys,
A nutting we will go,
From hazel bush, loud sings the thrush,
A nutting we will go!
There’s a cheerful farmer,
Farming his fields,
He shouted, Hey! he shouted, Whoa!
And told his horses to halt.
He sat on his plow, I swear,
And began singing loudly,
His voice was so clear and strong,
It made the bells on the horses jingle.
We’re going for nuts, guys,
We're going for nuts,
From the hazel bush, the thrush sings loudly,
We’re going for nuts!
2
2
A maiden sly was passing by
With basket on her arm,
She stood to hear his singing clear,
To listen was no harm.
The ploughboy stayed that pretty maid,
And clasped her middle small,
He kissed her twice, he kissed her thrice
Ere she could cry or call.
For a nutting &c.
A sly young woman was walking by
With a basket on her arm,
She paused to hear his clear singing,
It was fine to listen.
The farmer's son approached that lovely girl,
And put his arms around her waist,
He kissed her twice, he kissed her three times
Before she could scream or call out.
For a nutting etc.
3
3
Now all you pretty maidens that
Go nutting o'er the grass
Attend my rede, and give good heed,
Of ploughboys that you pass.
When lions roar, on Afric's shore,
No mortal ventures near,
When hoots the owl, and bears do growl,
The heart is full of fear.
For a nutting &c.
Now all you beautiful young women that
Go collect nuts on the grass.
Listen to my advice, and pay attention,
To the farm boys you encounter.
When lions roar on the shores of Africa,
No one has the courage to get close,
When the owl hoots and bears growl,
It makes the heart feel scared.
For a nutting etc.
4
4
And yet, 'tis said, to pretty maid,
There is a graver thing,
In any clime, at any time,—
A ploughboy that doth sing.
So all you maidens, young and fair
Take lesson from my lay,
When you do hear a ploughman sing,
Then lightly run away.
For a nutting &c.
And yet, it’s said, to pretty girls,
There’s a more important issue,
In any place, at any time,—
A singing farm boy.
So all you young and beautiful girls,
Take a lesson from my song,
When you hear a farmhand singing,
Then walk away lightly.
For a nutting, etc.
No 84 DOWN BY A RIVER SIDE
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Down by a River-side,
A fair maid I espied,
Lamenting for her own true love;
Lamenting, crying, sighing, dying;
Dying for her own true love.
Down by a riverside,
I saw a beautiful girl,
Sorrowing for her true love;
Sorrowing, crying, sighing, dying;
Dying for her true love.
2
2
Did you not promise me,
That I your wife should be?
Yet I deserted here must mourn;
I who believed, now bereaved, grieved;
I who believed, now bereaved, tarry here in tears forlorn.
Did you not promise me,
That I would be your wife?
Yet here I must mourn alone;
I who believed, now heartbroken, grieved;
I who believed, now heartbroken, stay here in tears, lost.
3
3
Dry up your briny tears,
And banish all your fears,
For faithful I to you will prove;
So now she's singing, clinging, Church Bells ringing,
So now she's singing, Church bells ringing, married to her own true love.
Wipe away your salty tears,
And let go of all your fears,
For I will always be true to you;
Now she’s singing, holding on, church bells ringing,
Now she’s singing, church bells ringing, married to her true love.
No 85 THE BARLEY RAKING
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
'Twas in the prime of summer time,
When hay it was a making;
And harvest tide was coming on,
And barley wanted raking;
Two woeful lovers met one day,
With sighs their sad farewell to say,
For John to place must go away,
And Betty's heart was breaking.
Lovers oft have proved untrue;
'las! what can poor maidens do?
It was the height of summer,
When the hay was being harvested;
And harvest time was approaching,
And the barley needed raked;
Two unhappy lovers met one day,
With sighs to say their sad goodbye,
For John had to go away,
And Betty's heart was shattered.
Lovers often cheat;
Oh no! What can poor young women do?
2
2
But hardly was her sweet-heart gone,
With vows of ne'er forsaking;
The foolish wench did so take on,
To ease her bosom's aching—
She sent a letter to her love,
Invoking all the powers above,
If he should e'er inconstant prove,
To her and the Barley raking.
Lovers oft have proved untrue;
'las! what can poor maidens do?
But hardly had her sweetheart left,
With promises to stay forever;
The silly girl began to fret,
To ease her heart's profound sorrow—
She wrote a letter to her love,
Calling on all the powers above,
If he should ever be unfaithful,
To her and the barley field being raked.
Lovers have often been dishonest;
"Unfortunately! What can poor maidens do?"
3
3
Now when this letter reached the youth,
It put him in a taking;
Sure of each other's love and truth,
Why such a fuss be making?
But being a tender hearted swain,
From hasty words he did refrain,
And wrote to her in gentle strain,
To bid her cease from quaking.
Lovers oft have proved untrue;
'las! what can poor maidens do?
Now when this letter got to the young man,
It really bothered him;
Sure of each other's love and honesty,
Why make such a fuss?
But being a kind-hearted guy,
He held back his quick words,
And wrote to her in a gentle way,
To tell her to stop stressing.
Lovers have often cheated;
Oh no! What can poor girls do?
4
4
"I've got as good a pair of shoes
As e'er were made of leather;
I'll pull my beaver o'er my nose,
And face all wind and weather;
And when the year has run its race,
I'll seek a new and nearer place;
And hope to see your bonnie face
At time of the Barley raking."
Lovers oft have proved untrue;
'las! what can poor maidens do?
"I've got a great pair of shoes
That were skillfully made from leather;
I'll pull my hat down over my face,
And face any wind and weather;
And when the year has come to an end,
I'll look for a new place to stay;
And hope to see your lovely face
"When it's time for the barley harvest."
Cheaters have always existed;
Oh, what can poor young women do?
5
5
So when the year was past and gone,
And hay once more was making;
Back to his love came faithful John,
To find a rude awaking:
For Betty thought it long to wait,
So she had ta'en another mate,
And left her first love to his fate,
In spite of the Barley raking.
Damsels oft have proved untrue;
'las! what can poor lovers do?
So when the year had passed,
And hay was being made again;
Faithful John returned to his love,
Only to face a harsh realization:
For Betty thought it was taking too long to wait,
So she had taken another partner,
And left her first love to his fate,
Despite the haymaking.
Women have often been unfaithful;
Oh no! What can struggling lovers do?
No 86 A SHIP CAME SAILING
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
A ship came sailing over the sea
As deeply laden as she could be;
My sorrows fill me to the brim,
I care not if I sink or swim.
A ship came sailing across the sea
As heavily loaded as it could be;
My sorrows fill me to the top,
I don't care if I sink or float.
Ten thousand ladies in the room,
But my true love's the fairest bloom,
Of stars she is my brightest sun,
I said I would have her or none.
Ten thousand women in the room,
But my true love is the fairest bloom,
Of all the stars, she's my brightest sun,
I said I would have her or none.
3
3
I leaned my back against an oak,
But first it bent and then it broke,
Untrusty as I found that tree,
So did my love prove false to me.
I leaned my back against an oak,
But first it bent and then it broke,
Untrustworthy as I found that tree,
So did my love prove false to me.
4
4
Down in a mead the other day,
As carelessly I went my way,
And plucked flowers red and blue,
I little thought what love could do.
Down in a meadow the other day,
As I wandered without a care,
And picked flowers, red and blue,
I had no idea what love could do.
5
5
I saw a Rose with ruddy blush,
And thrust my hand into the bush,
I pricked my fingers to the bone,
I would I'd left that rose alone!
I saw a rose with a deep red blush,
And reached my hand into the bush,
I pricked my fingers to the bone,
I wish I'd left that rose alone!
6
6
I wish! I wish! but 'tis in vain,
I wish I had my heart again!
With silver chain and diamond locks,
I'd fasten it in a golden box.
I wish! I wish! but it's pointless,
I wish I had my heart back!
With a silver chain and diamond locks,
I'd secure it in a golden box.
No 87 THE RAMBLING SAILOR
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
I toss my cap up into the air,
And away whil'st all are sleeping,
The host may swear, and the hostess stare,
And the pretty maids be weeping:
There is never a place that I do grace,
Which a second time shall see my face;
For I travel the world from place to place,
And still am a Rambling Sailor.
I throw my cap up into the air,
And while everyone is asleep,
The host may curse, and the hostess may stare,
And the beautiful girls might be crying:
There’s never a place that I visit twice,
Where I’ll show my face again;
For I travel the world from place to place,
And I'm still a wandering sailor.
2
2
O when I come to London town,
Or enter any city,
I settle down at the Bell or Crown,
And court each lass that's pretty.
And I say, "My dear, be of good cheer,
I'll never depart, you need not fear!"
But I traveled the country far and near
And still am a Rambling Sailor.
Oh, when I arrive in London,
Or any other city,
I find a spot at the Bell or Crown,
And flirt with every cute girl.
And I say, "My dear, don’t worry,
"I'll never leave; you don't have to worry!"
But I've traveled all over the country
And I’m still just a wandering sailor.
3
3
And if that you would know my name,
I've any that you fancy,
'Tis never the same, as I change my flame,
From Bet, to Joan, or Nancy.
I court maids all, marry none at all,
My heart is round, and rolls as a ball,
And I travel the land from Spring to Fall,
And still am a Rambling Sailor.
And if you want to know my name,
I have whatever you want,
It's never the same, as I change my style,
From Bet to Joan or Nancy.
I date all the girls, but I don't marry any,
My heart is free and bounces like a ball,
And I roam the land from Spring to Fall,
And I'm still a wandering sailor.
No 88 WILLY COOMBE
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
'Twas in the month of May, when flowers spring,
When pretty lambkins play, and thrushes sing.
When young men do resort
To walk about in sport
Not thinking any harm, at Crantock games.
It was in the month of May, when flowers bloom,
When cute little lambs frolic, and thrushes sing.
When young men gather
To stroll around for fun
Not thinking anything bad, at Crantock games.
2
2
Crantock and Newlyn men, all in one room,
The first mark that was made, it proved my doom.
My name is Willy Coombe,
Just twenty, in my bloom;
Just twenty in my bloom when I was shot.
Crantock and Newlyn guys, all in one room,
The first mark that was made, it sealed my fate.
My name is Willy Coombe,
Just twenty, in my prime;
I was just twenty and in my prime when I got shot.
3
3
'Twas by a musket ball so swift did fly
Which pierced my body through, so I must die.
My brother swift did ride;
To Truro Town he hied.
Alas! alack-a-day, my cruel lot!
It was by a musket ball that flew so fast
It pierced my body, so I have to die.
My brother rode quickly;
He hurried to Truro Town.
Oh no! What a horrible fate, my awful situation!
4
4
The surgeon said 'twas o'er, none could me cure,
Bleeding all night, great pains I did endure.
Coroner and jury true
My body well did view.
And from this wound I die at Crantock games.
The surgeon said it was over, no one could cure me,
Bleeding all night, I suffered great pain.
The coroner and jury examined my body well.
And from this injury, I’m dying at the Crantock games.
5
5
Father, your son is dead, your sorrow bear
Mother, don't break your heart, O mother dear!
Sister, don't cry nor grieve,
It will not you relieve
No warning was I giv'n when I was shot.
Father, your son has died, please hold your sorrow
Mother, don’t let your heart break, oh dear mother!
Sister, don’t cry or be sad,
It won’t help you feel better
I didn’t get any warning before I was shot.
No 89 MIDSUMMER CAROL
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
'Twas early I walked on a midsummer morning,
The fields and the meadows were deckèd and gay,
The small birds were singing, the woodlands a-ringing,
'Twas early in the morning, at breaking of day,
I will play on my pipes, I will sing thee my lay!
It is early in the morning, at breaking of day.
It was early when I walked on a midsummer morning,
The fields and meadows were vibrant and lively,
The little birds were singing, the woods were alive with sound,
It was early in the morning, at dawn,
I will play my pipes, I will sing you my song!
It is early in the morning, at the break of day.
2
2
O hark! and O hark! to the nightingales wooing,
The lark is aloft piping shrill in the air.
In every green bower the turtle-doves cooing,
The sun is just gleaming, arise up my fair!
Arise, love, arise! none fairer I spie!
Arise, love, arise! O why should I die?
O listen! O listen! to the nightingales singing,
The lark is high up, singing loudly in the sky.
In every green shelter, the turtledoves are cooing,
The sun is shining, come on, my love!
Get up, my love, get up! I see no one more beautiful!
Get up, my love, get up! O why should I perish?
3
3
Arise, love, arise! go and get your love posies,
The fairest of flowers in garden that grows,
Go gather me lilies, carnations and roses,
I'll wear them with thoughts of the maiden I chose.
I stand at thy door, pretty love, full of care,
O why should I languish so long in despair?
Get up, my love, get up! Go pick some flowers for me,
The most beautiful flowers in the garden that is growing,
Go gather lilies, carnations, and roses,
I'll wear them with thoughts of the girl I picked.
I’m standing at your door, sweet love, feeling anxious,
O why should I suffer in despair for so long?
O why love, O why, should I banished be from thee?
O why should I see my own chosen no more?
O why look your parents so slightingly on me?
It is all for the rough ragged garments I wore,
But dress me with flowers, I'm gay as a king,
I'm glad as a bird, when my carol I sing.
O why love, O why, should I be banished from you?
Oh, why can't I see the one I've chosen anymore?
O why do your parents look at me so dismissively?
It’s all because of the worn-out, torn clothes I wore,
But dress me in flowers, I’m as happy as a king,
I’m as joyful as a bird when I sing my song.
5
5
Arise, love, arise! in song and in story,
To rival thy beauty was never a may,
I will play thee a tune on my pipes of ivory,
It is early in the morning, at breaking of day,
I will play on my pipes, I will sing thee my lay!
It is early in the morning, at breaking of day.
Arise, love, arise! in song and in story,
Matching your beauty was never a challenge,
I will play you a tune on my ivory pipes,
It's early in the morning, at daybreak,
I will play on my pipes, I will sing you my song!
It’s early in the morning, at the break of day.
No 90 THE BLACKBIRD IN THE BUSH
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
Three fair maidens a milking did go,
Three maidens a milking did go,
And the wind it did blow high,
And the wind it did blow low,
And it tossed their pails to and fro.
Three lovely young women went out to milk,
Three women went out to milk,
And the wind blew strong,
And the wind blew softly,
And it tossed their buckets to and fro.
2
2
Then they met with a man they did know,
O they met with a man they did know,
And they said, Have you the skill,
And they said, Have you the will,
For to catch us a small bird or two?
Then they met a man they recognized,
Oh, they met a man they recognized,
And they asked, "Do you have the skill?"
And they asked, "Do you have the will?"
To catch us a small bird or two?
3
3
Here's a health to the blackbird in the bush,
Likewise to the merry wood-do'e (dove).
If you'll go along with me
Unto yonder flow'ring tree,
I will catch you a small bird or two.
Here's a toast to the blackbird in the bush,
And also to the cheerful dove.
If you come with me
To that blooming tree over there,
I'll catch you a little bird or two.
4
4
So they went till they stayèd at a bush,
So they went till they stayèd at two.
And the birds they flew about,
Pretty birds flew in and out
And he caught them by one and by two.
So they went until they stopped at a bush,
So they went until they stopped at two.
And the birds flew around.
Beautiful birds flew in and out.
And he caught them one by one.
5
5
So my boys we will drink down the sun,
So my boys we will drink down the moon!
For we birds are of one feather,
And we surely flock together,
Let the people say little or none.
So, my guys, we’ll drink up the sun,
So, my guys, we’ll drink up the moon!
Since we're all in this together,
We're definitely sticking together,
Let the people say little or nothing.
No 91 THE GREEN BED
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
Young Sailor Dick, as he stepped on shore,
To his quarters of old return'd,
The hostess glad, cries "Dick my lad!
What prize money have you earn'd?"
"Poor luck! poor luck! yet Molly, my duck,
Your daughter I've come to see:
Get ready some supper, with pipes and grog,
And the best Green Bed for me."
Young Sailor Dick, as he stepped on shore,
Back to his old room,
The happy hostess exclaims, "Dick, my boy!
"What prize money did you earn?"
"Not much luck! not much luck! but Molly, my dear,
I've come to see your daughter:
Get some supper ready, with drinks and a pipe,
"And the best Green Bed for me."
2
2
"My daughter, she's gone out for a walk;
My beds are all bespoken;
My larder's bare, like the rum-keg there,
And my baccy pipes all are broken."
Says Dick, "I'll steer for another berth,
I fear I have made too bold:
But I'll pay for the beer that I've just drunk here,"
And he pulled out a hand-ful of gold.
"My daughter went out for a walk;
All my beds are reserved;
My pantry's empty, just like that rum barrel there,
"And all my tobacco pipes are broken."
Dick says, "I’ll look for another place,
I think I’ve been too direct:
But I’ll pay for the beer I just had here,"
He pulled out a handful of gold.
3
3
"Come down Molly, quick! here's your sweetheart Dick
Has just come back from sea:
He wants his supper, his grog and a bed,
The best Green Bed it must be."
"No bed," cries Dick, "no supper, no grog,
No sweetheart for me I swear!
You shewed me the door when you thought me poor,
So I'll carry my gold elsewhere."
"Come down, Molly, quick! Your sweetheart Dick
Just returned from the ocean:
He wants his dinner, his drink, and a bed,
"It must be the best Green Bed."
"No bed," cries Dick, "no dinner, no drink,
No sweetheart for me, I promise!
You showed me the door when you thought I was broke,
"So I’m going to spend my money somewhere else."
No 92 THE LOYAL LOVER
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
I'll weave my love a garland,
It shall be dressed so fine;
I'll set it round with roses,
With lilies, pinks and thyme.
And I'll present it to my love
When he comes back from sea,
For I love my love, and I love my love,
Because my love loves me.
Blow summer breeze, o'er the sea
Bring my pretty love to me.
I'll make my love a garland,
It will be beautifully organized;
I'll surround it with roses,
With lilies, pinks, and thyme.
And I'll give it to my love
When he comes back from the sea,
Because I love my love, and I love my love,
Because my partner loves me.
Blow a warm summer breeze over the ocean.
And bring my beloved back to me.
2
2
I wish I were an arrow,
That sped into the air;
To seek him as a sparrow,
And if he was not there,
Then quickly I'd become a fish
To search the raging sea;
For I love my love, and I love my love,
Because my love loves me.
Blow &c.
I wish I were an arrow,
That soared into the sky;
To look for him like a sparrow,
And if he wasn't around,
Then I’d quickly turn into a fish
To explore the open sea;
Because I love my love, and I love my love,
Since my partner loves me.
Blow, etc.
3
3
I would I were a reaper,
I'd seek him in the corn;
I would I were a keeper,
I'd hunt him with my horn.
I'd blow a blast, when found at last,
Beneath the green-wood tree,
For I love my love, and I love my love,
Because my love loves me.
Blow &c.
I wish I were a reaper,
I’d look for him in the corn;
I wish I were a keeper,
I'd chase him with my horn.
I'd blow a horn when I finally found him,
Under the greenwood tree,
Because I love my love, and I love my love,
Since my partner loves me.
Blow, etc.
No 93 THE STREAMS OF NANTSIAN
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
O the Streams of Nant-si-an
In two parts divide,
Where the young men in dancing
Meet sweetheart and bride.
They will take no denial,
We must frolic and sing.
And the sound of the viol
O it makes my heart ring.
O the Streams of Nant-si-an
They split into two parts,
Where the young men dance
With their partner and bride.
They won't accept no for an answer,
We need to have fun and sing.
And the sound of the violin
Oh, it makes my heart resonate.
2
2
On the rocky cliff yonder
A castle up-stands;
To the seamen a wonder
Above the black sands.
'Tis of ivory builded
With diamonds glazed bright,
And with gold it is gilded,
To shine in the night.
On the rocky cliff over there
A castle stands;
It's a wonder to the sailors
Above the black sands.
It's built of ivory
With sparkling diamonds,
And it's covered in gold,
To glow at night.
3
3
Over yonder high mountain
The wild fowl do fly;
And in ocean's deep fountain,
The fairest pearls lie.
On eagle's wings soaring,
I'll speed as the wind;
Ocean's fountain exploring,
My true love I'll find.
Over there on the high mountain
Wild birds fly;
And in the ocean's deep waters,
The best pearls are found.
Soaring on eagle's wings,
I'll move as quickly as the wind;
Exploring the ocean's depths,
I'll find my soulmate.
4
4
O the streams of Nant-si-an
Divide in two parts,
And rejoin as in dancing
Do lads their sweethearts.
So the streams, bright and shining
Tho' parted in twain,
Re-unite, intertwining,
One thenceforth remain.
O the streams of Nant-si-an
Divided into two sections,
And come back together like
Guys with their girlfriends.
So the streams, bright and shining
Though apart,
Rejoin, intertwining,
To remain united from that point on.
No 94 THE DRUNKEN MAIDENS
F.W.B.
F.W.B.
1
1
There were three drunken maidens,
Came from the Isle of Wight.
They drank from Monday morning,
Nor stayed till Saturday night.
When Saturday night did come, Sirs!
They would not then go out;
Not the three drunken maidens,
As they pushed the jug about.
There were three tipsy girls,
Who came from the Isle of Wight.
They drank from Monday morning,
And didn't stop until Saturday night.
When Saturday night finally came, guys!
They still didn't want to go;
Not the three tipsy girls,
As they passed the bottle around.
2
2
Then came in Bouncing Sally,
With cheeks as red as bloom.
"Make space, my jolly sisters,
Now make for Sally room.
For that I will be your equal,
Before that I go out."
So now four drunken maidens,
They pushed the jug about.
Then Bouncing Sally walked in,
With cheeks as red as roses.
"Make some space, my cheerful sisters,
Now clear space for Sally.
I’ll match your fun,
"Before I leave."
So now four tipsy girls,
They passed the bottle around.
3
3
It was woodcock and pheasant,
And partridges and hare,
It was all kinds of dainties,
No scarcity was there.
It was four quarts of Malaga,
Each fairly did drink out,
So the four drunken maidens,
They pushed the jug about.
It was woodcock and pheasant,
And partridges and rabbits,
It was all kinds of treats,
There was more than enough.
It was four quarts of Malaga,
Each of them drank their portion,
So the four tipsy maidens,
They passed the bottle around.
4
4
Then down came the landlord,
And asked for his pay.
O! a forty-pound bill, Sirs!
The damsels drew that day.
It was ten pounds apiece, Sirs!
But yet, they would not out.
So the four drunken maidens,
They pushed the jug about.
Then the landlord came down,
And asked for his payment.
Oh! a forty-pound bill, folks!
The young women left that day.
It was ten pounds each, folks!
But still, they wouldn't settle the payment.
So the four drunk maidens,
They passed the bottle around.
5
5
"O where be your spencers?
Your mantles rich and fine?"
"They all be a swallowed
In tankards of good wine."
"O where be your characters
Ye maidens brisk and gay?"
"O they be a swallowed!
We've drunk them clean away."
"O where are your spencers?
"Your luxurious and elegant coats?"
"They're all gone
In mugs of good wine.
"O where are your characters
Are you lively and cheerful, ladies?
"O they've all disappeared!
"We've drunk them all."
No 95 TOBACCO IS AN INDIAN WEED
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Tobacco is an Indian weed,
Grows green at morn, is cut down at eve;
It shows our decay;
We fade as hay.
Think on this,—when you smoke tobacco.
Tobacco is a plant from India,
It grows green in the morning, is cut down by evening;
It shows our decline;
We fade away like hay.
Remember this—when you smoke tobacco.
2
2
The pipe that is so lily-white,
Wherein so many take delight,
Gone with a touch;
Man's life is such,
Think on this,—when you smoke tobacco.
The pipe that's so pure and bright,
Where many find their delight,
Disappears with a touch;
Life is just like that.
Keep this in mind—when you smoke tobacco.
3
3
The pipe that is so foul within,
Shews how the soul is stained with sin;
It doth require
The purging fire.
Think on this,—when you smoke tobacco.
The pipe that’s so dirty inside,
Shows how the soul is marked by sin;
It needs
The purifying fire.
Keep this in mind—when you smoke tobacco.
4
4
The ashes that are left behind,
Do serve to put us all in mind,
That unto dust,
Return we must.
Think on this,—when you smoke tobacco.
The ashes left behind,
Remind us all,
That we turn to dust,
And that’s essential.
Keep this in mind when you smoke tobacco.
5
5
The smoke that doth so high ascend,
Shows that our life must have an end;
The vapours' gone,
Man's life is done.
Think on this,—when you smoke tobacco.
The smoke that rises so high,
Shows that our life must end;
When the fumes are gone,
A man's life is over.
Keep this in mind—when you smoke tobacco.
No 96 FAIR SUSAN
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Fair Susan slumbered in shady bower,
Safe hid, she thought, from every eye;
Nor dreamed she in that tranquil hour
Her own true love was passing by.
Fair Susan slept in a shady nook,
Believing she was out of sight from everyone;
Nor did she imagine in that peaceful moment
That her true love was passing by.
2
2
He gazed in rapture upon her beauty,
Sleep did her charms but more reveal;
He deemed it sure a lover's duty
From those sweet lips a kiss to steal.
He looked in awe at her beauty,
Sleep only made her beauty more noticeable;
He felt it was definitely a lover's duty
To sneak a kiss from those lovely lips.
3
3
In shame and anger poor Susan started,
With eyes aflame she bade him go;
"Return no more!—for ever parted;
Cruel and base to use me so!"
In shame and anger, poor Susan started,
With fiery eyes, she told him to go.
"Don't come back!—we're done forever;
"How cruel and low to treat me this way!"
4
4
"By too much love I have offended,
Forgive me if I cause you pain;
But if indeed our love be ended,
Pray give me back my kiss again."
"By loving you too much, I’ve messed up,
I'm really sorry if I hurt you;
But if our love is truly over,
Then please give me back my kiss."
No 97 THE FALSE BRIDE
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
I courted a maiden both buxom and gay,
Unheeding what people against her did say,
I thought her as constant and true as the day.
But now she is going to be married.
I dated a girl who was attractive and cheerful,
Ignoring what people said against her,
I believed she was as loyal and reliable as the daylight.
But now she’s getting married.
2
2
O when to the church I my fair love saw go,
I followed her up with a heart full of woe,
And eyes that with tears of grief did o'erflow,
To see how my suit had miscarried.
O when I saw my beautiful love go to church,
I followed her, my heart heavy with sorrow,
And my eyes overflowing with tears of grief,
To see how my request had failed.
3
3
O when in the chancel I saw my love stan',
With ring on her finger, and true love in han',
I thought that for certain 'twas not the right man,
Although 'twas the man she was taking.
O when in the chancel I saw my love stand,
With a ring on her finger, and true love in hand,
I thought for sure it wasn't the right man,
Even though he was the man she was marrying.
4
4
O when I my fair love saw sit in her seat
I sat myself by her, but nothing could eat;
Her company, thought I, was better than meat,
Although my heart sorely was aching.
O when I saw my beautiful love sitting in her seat
I sat next to her, but I couldn't eat a thing;
I thought her company was better than food,
Even though my heart was in pain.
5
5
O woe be the day that I courted the maid,
That ever I trusted a word that she said,
That with her I wander'd along the green glade,
Accurs'd be the day that I met her.
Oh, what a shame that I ever dated that girl,
That I ever believed a single word she said,
That I walked with her through the green meadow,
Cursed be the day I met her.
6
6
O make me a grave that is long, wide and deep,
And cover me over with flowers so sweet,
That there I may lie, and may take my last sleep;
For that is the way to forget her.
O make me a grave that is long, wide, and deep,
And cover me with sweet flowers so neat,
So I can lie here and take my final sleep;
Because that's how to move on from her.
No 98 THE BARLEY STRAW
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
As Jan was hurrying down the glade,
He met his sweetheart Kit;
"O whither so fast?" the maiden ask'd,
"Let's bide and talk a bit."
"I'm going to the barn, and if you'll come,
And help me thresh the stro',
That task complete, why then my sweet,
A ramble we will go."
As Jan rushed down the path,
He ran into his girlfriend Kit;
"O where are you off to in such a hurry?" the girl asked,
"Let’s hang out and talk for a bit."
"I'm heading to the barn, and if you'll join me,
And help me with the threshing,
Once that's done, then my dear,
"Let's go for a walk."
2
2
She gave consent, to work they went,
As if 'twere only play;
The flail he plied, whilst Kit untied,
The sheaves, and cleared away.
O willing hands made labour light,
And 'ere the sun was low,
With arms entwined, these lovers kind,
Did down the vallies go.
She agreed, and off they went to work,
As if it were just for fun;
He swung the flail while Kit untied,
They gathered the bundles and removed them.
Oh, eager hands made the work feel easy,
And before the sun set low,
With arms intertwined, these kind lovers,
Walked through the valleys.
3
3
Said Jan, "Thou art a helpful lass,
Wilt thou be mine for life?"
"For sure!" she said. To church they sped,
And soon were man and wife.
A lesson then, for all young men
Who would a courting go,
Your sweetheart ask to share your task,
And thresh the Barley Stro'.
Said Jan, "You are a helpful girl,
"Will you be mine forever?"
"Of course!" she said. They hurried to church,
And before long, they were husband and wife.
A lesson then, for all young men
Who are trying to date,
Ask your sweetheart to share your work,
And thresh the Barley Song.
4
4
Now many a year, this couple dear,
They lived in harmony;
And children had, both lass and lad,
I think 'twas thirty-three.
The sons so hale did wield the flail,
And like their father grow;
The maidens sweet, like mother were neat:
And clean as the Barley Stro'.
Now for many years, this beloved couple lived in harmony; And they had children, both girls and boys, I think it was thirty-three. The strong sons worked with the flail, And grew up just like their father; The sweet daughters, like their mother, were tidy: And as clean as the Barley Stro'.
No 99 DEATH AND THE LADY
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
As I walked out one day, one day,
All in the merry month of May,
When lambs did skip and thrushes sing,
And ev'ry bush with buds did spring.
As I walked out one day, one day,
All in the cheerful month of May,
When lambs were leaping and thrushes sang,
And every bush was sprouting buds.
2
2
I met an old man by the way,
His head was bald, his beard was grey,
His coat was of the Myrtle-green,
But underneath his ribs were seen.
I met an old man on the road,
His head was bald, his beard was gray,
His coat was Myrtle green,
But his ribs were visible underneath.
3
3
He in his hand a glass did hold,
He shook as one that shakes with cold.
I asked of him what was his name,
And what strange place from which he came.
He held a glass in his hand,
He shook like someone who’s cold.
I asked him what his name was,
And what strange place he came from.
4
4
"My name is Death, fair maiden, see
Lords, Dukes and Squires bow down to me;
For of the Branchy Tree[27] am I
And you, fair maid, with me must hie."
"My name is Death, beautiful lady, see
Lords, Dukes, and Squires kneel before me;
For I am of the Branchy Tree[27]
And you, lovely lady, must come with me."
5
5
"I'll give you gold, if me you'll spare,
I'll give you costly robes to wear!"
"O no, sweet maid, make no delay
Your sand is run, you must away!"
"I'll give you gold, if you'll let me go,
I'll give you fancy clothes to show!"
"O no, sweet girl, don't waste any time
Your hour is up, you need to climb!"
6
6
Alas! alack! the fair maid died,
And these the last sad words she cried:
"Here lies a poor, distressed maid,
By Death—and Death alone betrayed."
Alas! Sadly, the beautiful girl passed away,
And these are the last sorrowful words she spoke:
"Here lies a poor, troubled girl,
Betrayed only by Death."
No 100 BOTH SEXES GIVE EAR
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
Both sexes give ear to my fancy,
In praise of sweet woman I sing,
Confined not to Doll, Sue, or Nancy,
The mate of the beggar or king.
When Adam was first a-created,
And lord of the universe crown'd,
His happiness was not completed,
Until that a helpmate was found.
Both men and women listen to my thoughts,
I sing praises for beautiful women,
Not limited to Doll, Sue, or Nancy,
The companion of a beggar or a king.
When Adam was first created,
And crowned as the ruler of the universe,
His happiness wasn't complete,
Until a friend was found.
2
2
A garden was planted by Nature,
Man could not produce in his life,
But no rest had he till his Creator
Discovered he wanted a wife.
He had horses and foxes for hunting
Which most men love dearly as life,
No relishsome food was a wanting
But still—he was short of a wife.
A garden was created by Nature,
Man couldn't create one in his lifetime,
But he never rested until his Creator
Realized he wanted a partner.
He had horses and foxes for hunting
Which most men hold dear in life,
There was no lack of tasty food
But still—he needed a wife.
3
3
As Adam was resting in slumber,
He lost a small rib from his side,
And when he awoke—'twas in wonder,
To see a most beautiful bride.
In transport he gazèd upon her,
His happiness now was complete.
He praisèd the bountiful Donor,
Who to him had given a mate.
As Adam slept,
He lost a small rib from his side,
And when he woke—he was amazed,
To see a beautiful bride.
In awe, he gazed at her,
He was completely happy now.
He praised the generous Giver,
Who had given him a partner.
4
4
She was not taken out of his head, sir,
To rule and to triumph in man.
Nor was she took out of his foot, sir,
By him to be trampled upon.
But she was took out of his side, sir,
His equal co-partner to be;
So, united is man with his bride, sir,
Yet man is the top of the tree.
She wasn’t taken from his head, sir,
To dominate and control humanity.
Nor was she taken from his foot, sir,
To be stepped on by him.
But she was taken from his side, sir,
To be his equal.
So, man is united with his bride, sir,
Yet humans are at the top of the tree.
5
5
Then let not the fair be despisèd
By man, as she's part of himself.
Let woman by man be a-prizèd
As more than the world full of wealth.
A man without woman's a beggar,
Tho' by him the world were possess'd
But a beggar that's got a good woman
With more than the world is he bless'd.
Then let no one underestimate the fair
Because she is a part of him.
Let a woman be valued by a man
As greater than all the riches in the world.
A man without a woman is a beggar,
Even if he owns the whole world.
But a beggar who has a good woman
Is more blessed than the wealthiest person.
No 101 I RODE MY LITTLE HORSE
F.W.B.
FWB
1
1
I rode my little horse, from London town I came,
I rode into the country, to seek myself a dame,
And if I meet a pretty maid, be sure I'll kiss her then;
And swear that I will marry her—but will not tell her when!
I rode my little horse, I came from London town,
I rode out to the countryside, looking for a girl to meet,
And if I spot a pretty woman, you can bet I'll kiss her then;
And promise that I'll marry her—but I won't say when!
2
2
I found a buxom widow, with many tons of gold,
I lived upon her fortune, as long as it would hold.
Of pounds I took five hundred, bestrode my horse, and then,
I promised I would marry her—but never told her when!
I found an attractive widow with a fortune of gold,
I lived off her wealth for as long as I could.
I took five hundred pounds, hopped on my horse, and then,
I promised I would marry her—but never said when!
3
3
A vintner had a daughter, the Golden Sun his sign,
I tarried at his tavern, I drank his choicest wine;
I drank out all his cellar, bestrode my horse, and then,
I said the maid I'd marry,—but never told him when!
A winemaker had a daughter, the Golden Sun was his sign,
I stayed at his tavern, enjoying his finest wine;
I drank all his stock, got on my horse, and then,
I said I’d marry the maid—but never mentioned when!
4
4
The guineas are expended, the wine is also spent;
The widow and the maiden, they languish and lament.
And if they come to seek me, I'll pack them back again,
With promises of marriage,—but never tell them when.
The money is gone, the wine is also finished;
The widow and the young woman, they suffer and complain.
And if they come to find me, I'll send them away again,
With promises of marriage,—but never tell them when.
5
5
My little horse I mounted, the world that I might see,
I found a pretty maiden—as poor as poor could be.
My little horse neglected, to London ran away,
I asked if she would marry, and bade her name the day.
I got on my little horse to see the world,
I came across a lovely girl—so poor, it was sad.
My little horse ran off to London, ignored me,
I asked her to marry me and told her to pick a date.
No 102 AMONG THE NEW-MOWN HAY
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
As I walked out one morn betime,
To view the fields in May, Sir,
There I espied a fair sweet maid,
Among the new-mown hay, Sir.
Among the new-mown hay.
As I stepped out one morning early,
To see the fields in May, Sir,
I spotted a beautiful young girl,
In the fresh-cut hay, Sir.
In the freshly cut hay.
2
2
I said: 'Good morning, pretty maid,
How come you here so soon, say?'
'To keep my father's sheep,' she said,
'A thing that must be done, aye!
Among the new-mown hay.
I said: 'Good morning, beautiful maid,
"What brings you here so early? Tell me."
'To tend my father's sheep,' she replied,
"Something that needs to be done, definitely!"
Among the freshly mowed grass.
3
3
'While they be feeding mid the dew,
To pass the time away, Sir!
I sit me down to knit and sew,
Among the new-mown hay, Sir!
Among the new-mown hay.'
'While they are eating in the dew,
To pass the time, Sir!
I sit down to knit and sew,
Among the freshly cut hay, Sir!
Among the freshly cut hay.
4
4
I ask'd if she would wed with me,
All on that sunny day, Sir!
The answer that she gave to me
Was surely not a nay, Sir!
Among the new-mown hay.
I asked if she would marry me,
Everything on that sunny day, Sir!
The answer she gave me
That was definitely not a no, Sir!
In the freshly cut hay.
5
5
Then to the church we sped with speed
And Hymen join'd our hands, Sir!
No more the ewes and lambs she'll feed
Since she did make her answer,
Among the new-mown hay.
Then we rushed to the church
And got married, dude!
No longer will she tend the ewes and lambs
Since she answered,
In the freshly cut hay.
6
6
A lord I be, a lady she,
To town we sped straightway, Sir!
To bless the day, we both agree,
We met among the hay, Sir!
Among the new-mown hay.
A lord I am, and she’s a lady,
We headed to town immediately, Sir!
To celebrate the day, we both agree,
We met in the freshly cut hay, Sir!
In the freshly cut hay.
No 103 I’LL BUILD MYSELF A GALLANT SHIP
(Solo or Quartette)
(Solo or Quartet)
F.W.B.
FWB
1
1
I'll build myself a gallant ship,
A ship of noble fame;
And four and twenty mariners,
Shall box and man the same;
And I will stand, with helm in hand,
To urge them o'er the main.
I'll build myself a bold ship,
A famous ship;
And twenty-four sailors,
Will crew and operate her;
And I will stand, with helm in hand,
To help them navigate the ocean.
2
2
No scarf shall o'er my shoulders go,
I will not comb my hair;
The pale moonlight, the candle bright
Shall neither tell I'm fair.
Beside the mast I stand so fast,
Unresting in despair.
No scarf will hang over my shoulders,
I'm not going to brush my hair;
The pale moonlight and the bright candle
Won't reveal that I'm nice.
Beside the mast, I stand firmly,
Stuck in despair.
3
3
The rain may beat, and round my feet
The waters wash and foam,
O thou North wind lag not behind
But bear me far from home!
My hands I wring, and sobbing sing,
As over seas I roam.
The rain may pour down, and around my feet
The waves crash and foam,
O North wind, don’t hold back
But take me away from home!
I wring my hands and sing through my tears,
As I travel across the seas.
4
4
The moon so pale shall light my sail,
As o'er the sea I fly,
To where afar the Eastern star
Is twinkling in the sky.
I would I were with my love fair,
Ere ever my love die!
The pale moon will light my sail,
As I fly over the ocean,
To where the Eastern star
Is sparkling in the sky.
I wish I were with my beautiful love,
Before my love fades!
No 104 COLLY, MY COW
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
A story, a story, I'll tell you just now,
It's all about killing of Colly, my cow.
Ah! my pretty Colly, poor Colly, my cow!
Poor Colly will give no more milk to me now.
And that is the way my fortune doth go!
A story, a story, I'll share with you now,
It’s all about the death of Colly, my cow.
Oh! my lovely Colly, dear Colly, my cow!
Poor Colly won’t provide any more milk for me now.
And that’s how my luck is going!
2
2
Says little Tom Dicker, Pray what do you mean,
By killing your Colly when she was so lean?
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.
Says little Tom Dicker, "What do you mean,
By killing your Collie when she was so lean?
Ah! my pretty Collie, etc."
3
3
Then cometh the Tripeman so trim and so neat,
He bids me three ha'pence for belly and feet;
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.
Then comes the Tripeman, all tidy and neat,
He charges me three pence for a meal and a seat;
Ah! my lovely Colly, &c.
4
4
Then cometh the Tanner with sword at his side,
He bids me three shillings for Colly, her hide;
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.
Then comes the Tanner with a sword at his side,
He offers me three shillings for Colly, her hide;
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.
5
5
Then cometh the Horner who roguery scorns,
He bids me three ha'pence for Colly, her horns;
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.
Then comes the Horn player who scorns trickery,
He offers me three pence for Colly, her horns;
Ah! my pretty Colly, etc.
6
6
The skin of my Colly was softer than silk,
And three times a day did my Colly give milk;
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.
The skin of my Colly was softer than silk,
And three times a day my Colly gave milk;
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.
7
7
Here's an end to my Colly, she's gone past recall,
I have sold my poor Colly, hide, horns, feet and all.
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.
Here's an end to my Colly, she's gone past recall,
I have sold my poor Colly, hide, horns, feet and all.
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.
8
8
Three shillings and three pence are all for my pains,
I've lost my poor Colly, my milk and my gains.
Ah! my pretty Colly, &c.
Three shillings and three pence are all I've earned,
I've lost my poor Colly, my milk and my profits.
Ah! my lovely Colly, &c.
No 105 WITHIN A GARDEN
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
Within a garden a maiden lingered,
When soft the shades of evening fell,
Expecting, fearing,
A footstep hearing,
Her love appearing,
To say farewell.
Within a garden, a young woman waited,
As the soft evening shadows fell,
Feeling anxious,
Hearing a footstep,
Hoping her partner would arrive,
To say farewell.
2
2
With sighs and sorrow their vows they plighted
One more embrace, one last adieu;
Tho' seas divide, love,
In this confide, love,
Whate'er betide, love,
To thee I'm true.
With deep sighs and sadness, they promised each other
One last hug, one final goodbye;
Even though the ocean keeps us apart, love,
In this, trust me, babe,
No matter what happens, love,
I will always be loyal to you.
3
3
Long years are over, and still the maiden
Seeks oft at eve the trysting tree;
Her promise keeping,
And, faithful, weeping,
Her lost love sleeping
Across the sea.
Long years have passed, and still the girl
Often at dusk, I search for the meeting tree;
Sticking to her promise,
And, crying sincerely,
Her lost love lies here
Across the ocean.
No 106 THE BONNY BIRD
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
I once lov'd a bird, and a bonny bird,
And I thought to make him my own;
But he loves a she far better than me,
And has taken his flight and is flown.
I once loved a bird, a beautiful bird,
And I thought he would be with me;
But he loves a female much more than me,
And has taken off and is gone.
2
2
I once lov'd a bird, and a bonny bird,
O I lovèd I vow and protest.
I lovèd him well, and O! so very well
I built him a nest in my breast.
I once loved a bird, and a beautiful bird,
Oh, I really loved him, I swear and promise.
I loved him deeply, and oh! so very much
I created a special place for him in my heart.
3
3
O since he is gone, I will let him alone,
Although that I ache and I burn.
If he loves a she far better than me,
Then I hope he will not return.
O since he is gone, I will let him be,
Even though I hurt and feel on fire.
If he loves someone else much more than me,
I really hope he doesn't come back.
4
4
I lookèd to East and I lookèd to West
The weather was hot and was calm.
And then I did spy my own bonny bird
Was perch'd on another maid's arm.
I looked to the East and I looked to the West
The weather was warm and still.
And then I spotted my lovely bird
Sitting on another girl's lap.
5
5
Then up the green valley and down the green grove,
As one distracted in mind,
With whoop and halloo, in sorrow I rove
No other such bird will I find.
Then up the green valley and down the green grove,
Like someone deep in thought,
Shouting and calling, in sadness I wander
I won't find another bird like this.
6
6
Now if she have gotten my bonny bird,
I never shall get him again.
But though I have lost him for ever a day,
I'll think of him still in my pain.
Now if she has taken my beautiful bird,
I’ll never get him back.
But even though I’ve lost him for what feels like forever,
I’ll continue to think of him in my sadness.
No 107 THE LADY AND PRENTICE
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
'Twas of a brisk young lady
And of a 'prentice boy.
They courted one another,
And he was all her joy;
The 'prentice boy was banish'd
Unto a foreign shore,
And sad at heart he fancied
He'd never see her more.
It was about a lively young woman
And a trainee boy.
They dated each other,
And he was her entire happiness;
The apprentice boy was sent away
To a faraway place,
And feeling heartbroken, he thought
He would never see her again.
2
2
There came that way a squire
A man of high degree,
Said he: 'I'll give you wages
Be servant unto me.'
But oh! the fair young lady
She piteously did cry
All for the love she bore him
She thought that she must die.
There came a squire
A man of high status,
He said, 'I'll pay you
To be my assistant.'
But oh! the beautiful young lady
She shouted in distress
All for the love she had for him
She thought she would die.
3
3
Now first he was in stable,
With horses at the stall,
And then advanced to table,
And servèd in the hall.
And next he was advancèd
As butler to the same
And for his good behaviour
A steward last became.
Now first he was in the stable,
With horses in their pens,
And then he moved to the table,
And was served in the dining hall.
And next he was promoted
To assist with the same
And for his good behavior
He finally became a server.
4
4
O then into a lottery
He put his money down,
He drew a prize and gainèd
Full twenty thousand pound.
'Farewell, farewell my master!
Farewell, my lady kind!
For I must seek my own true love
That tarrieth behind.'
O then into a lottery
He put his money down,
He drew a prize and won
Twenty thousand pounds.
'Goodbye, goodbye my master!
Goodbye, my lovely lady!
For I must find my true love
Who’s waiting behind?
5
5
He dress'd himself in velvet,
In gold and silver braid;
And so returned to England
To his true love with speed.
And when he did espy her
T'embrace her did essay,
But from his arms she started
And frightened drew away.
He dressed himself in velvet,
With gold and silver accents;
And so he went back to England
To his true love fast.
And when he saw her
He tried to hug her,
But she pulled away from his arms
And stepped back in fear.
6
6
'Your gold and shining silver
Your velvets I defy
I love a humble 'prentice
I'll love him till I die.'
'O lady fair! my only,
Return unto my arms.
I many years was banish'd
And might not see your charms.'
'Your gold and shiny silver
I refuse your wealth.
I love a humble apprentice
And I'll love him until I die.
'O beautiful lady! my only,
Come back to me.
I was banished for many years
And couldn't see your beauty.
7
7
Then closely she observed him,
And knew him now again.
Her smiles dispelled her fears
As sun disperseth rain.
With kisses out of measure
She clasped him to her heart,
'O now we meet together,
We never more shall, part.'
Then she looked at him closely,
And recognized him once more.
Her smiles chased away her worries
Just like the sun breaks through the rain.
With kisses that were endless
She held him close to her heart,
'Oh now we're together,
We'll never be apart.
No 108 PAUL JONES
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
An American frigate, the "Richard" by name,
Mounted guns forty four and from New York she came,
To cruise in the channel of old English fame,
With a noble commander, Paul Jones was his name.
An American frigate named the "Richard,"
Had forty-four guns and came from New York,
To sail in the waters of old English glory,
With a great captain, Paul Jones was his name.
2
2
We had not cruised long ere two sails we espies,
A large forty four, and a twenty likewise.
Some fifty bright shippers, well loaden with store,
And the convoy stood in for the old Yorkshire shore.
We hadn't been sailing for long when we saw two ships,
A big 44-gun ship and a smaller 20-gun one too.
About fifty shiny vessels, fully loaded with goods,
And the escort moved in towards the old Yorkshire coast.
3
3
['Bout twelve was the hour when we came alongside,
With long speaking trumpet: 'Whence came you?' he cried.
'Ho! answer me quickly, I'll hail you no more,
Or a thundering broadside I'll into you pour.'][28]
'We got close around twelve o'clock,
With a long speaking trumpet: 'Where did you come from?' he shouted.
'Hey! Respond quickly, I won't call out to you again,
Or I'll unleash a thundering broadside on you.'][28]
4
4
We fought them four glasses, four glasses so hot,
Till forty bold seamen lay dead on the spot.
And fifty five wounded lay drenched in their gore,
While loudly the cannons of Paul Jones did roar.
We fought them for four rounds, four rounds so intense,
Until forty brave sailors fell right where they stood.
And fifty-five more were left bleeding and hurt,
As the cannons of Paul Jones thundered loudly.
5
5
[Our carpenter frightened, to Paul Jones he came,
Our ship she leaks water, is likewise aflame.
Paul Jones he made answer, thus to him replied,
'If we can do no better, we'll sink alongside.'][29]
Our carpenter, frightened, went to Paul Jones,
Our ship is leaking and also on fire.
Paul Jones replied to him, saying,
'If we can't do any better, we might as well sink together.'][29]
6
6
The Serapis wore round, our vessel to rake
O then the proud hearts of the English did ache.
The shot flew so frequent, so fierce and so fast,
That the bold British colours were haul'd down at last.
The Serapis turned, prepared to attack our ship.
Oh, how the proud hearts of the English ached.
The cannon fire came so often, so strong, and so quick,
That the brave British flag was finally brought down.
7
7
Oh! now my brave boys, we have taken a prize,
A large forty four, and a twenty likewise.
God help the poor mothers, bereavèd who weep
For the loss of their sons in the unfathom'd deep.
Oh! Now my brave boys, we've caught a prize,
A big forty-four, and a twenty too.
God help the poor mothers, grieving and weeping
For the loss of their sons in the endless deep.
No 109 THE MERRY HAYMAKERS
H.F.S.
H.F.S.
1
1
The golden sun is shining bright,
The dew is off the field;
To us it is our main delight,
The fork and rake to wield.
The pipe and tabor both shall play,
The viols loudly ring,
From morn till eve each summer day,
As we go hay-making.
CHORUS: The pipe and tabor, &c.
The golden sun is shining bright,
The dew is gone from the field;
For us, it's our greatest joy,
To use the fork and rake.
The flute and drum will play,
The violins will sound loudly,
From morning until evening every summer day,
While we work.
CHORUS: The flute and drum, &c.
2
2
As we my boys hay-making go,
All in the month of June,
Both Tom and Bet, and Jess and Joe
Their happy hearts in tune.
O up come lusty Jack and Will,
With pitchfork and with rake,
And up come dainty Doll and Jill,
The sweet, sweet hay to make.
CHORUS: The pipe and tabor, &c.
As we, my boys, make hay,
Throughout the month of June,
Both Tom and Bet, and Jess and Joe,
Their hearts are in sync.
Oh, here come strong Jack and Will,
With pitchfork and rake,
And here come lovely Doll and Jill,
To create the delightful, fragrant hay.
CHORUS: The pipe and tabor, &c.
3
3
O when the haysel all is done,
Then in the arish grass,
The lads shall have their fill of fun,
Each dancing with his lass.
The good old farmer and his wife,
Shall bring the best of cheer,
I would it were, aye, odds my life!
Hay-making all the year.
CHORUS: The pipe and tabor, &c.
O when the hay harvest is complete,
Then in the freshly cut grass,
The guys will have their share of fun,
Each dancing with his partner.
The good old farmer and his wife,
Will bring the best of cheer,
I wish it were, oh, I'd bet my life!
Year-round haymaking.
CHORUS: The pipe and drum, & etc.
No 110 IN BIBBERLEY TOWN
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
In Bibberley town a maid did dwell,
A buxom lass, as I've heard tell;
As straight as a wand, just twenty two,
And many a bachelor had her in view.
Ri fal de ral diddle, ri fal de ral dee,
What ups and downs in the world there be!
In Bibberley town, there lived a maid,
A lively girl, or so I've heard;
As slim as a stick, just twenty-two,
And many a bachelor had his eye on her.
Ri fal de ral diddle, ri fal de ral dee,
What highs and lows there are in the world!
2
2
This maid so beautiful fair and free,
Was sought by a squire of high degree;
He courted her honestly for his wife,
But she couldn't venture so high in life.
Ri fal de ral &c.
This beautiful, charming, and carefree maid
Was pursued by a wealthy squire;
He sincerely asked her to be his wife,
But she felt she couldn't rise so high in life.
Ri fal de ral &c.
3
3
A tinker there came to mend the kettle,
She fell in love with the man of metal;
His songs and his jokes won her heart and her hand,
And she promised with him in the church to stand.
Ri fal de ral &c.
A handyman showed up to fix the kettle,
She fell for the guy who worked with metal;
His songs and his jokes made her heart and her hand,
And she promised to stand with him in the church.
Ri fal de ral &c.
4
4
They wed, and this jovial mender of pots
Proved only a brute and the prince of sots;
He beat her, he starved her, she gave him the slip,
And back to Bibberley town did trip.
Ri fal de ral &c.
They got married, and this cheerful pot repairman
Turned out to be a brute and a total drunk;
He hit her, he neglected her, she escaped,
And made her way back to Bibberley town.
Ri fal de ral &c.
5
5
She found that the Squire her former flame
Had wooed and married a wealthy dame;
But a vacant place in the house she took,
And, instead of his wife, she became his cook.
Ri fal de ral diddle, ri fal de ral dee;
What ups and downs in the world there be!
She discovered that the Squire, her old love,
Had courted and married a rich woman;
But she took a vacant spot in the house,
And instead of being his wife, she became his cook.
Ri fal de ral diddle, ri fal de ral dee;
What highs and lows there are in the world!
No 111 THE MARIGOLD
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
'Twas East North East, so near the line
So near as we could lie,
We'd had scarcely left our loading port,
'Ere ten sail of Turks we spy.
"Come strike your colours ye English dogs,
Strike colours presently,
Come strike your colours ye English dogs,
Or they shall be struck by we."
It was East North East, so close to the equator
As close as we could manage,
We had barely left our loading port,
When we saw ten Turkish ships.
"Come lower your flags, you English dogs,
Lower your flags now,
Come lower your flags, you English dogs,
"Or we'll take them down ourselves."
2
2
Our captain being a valiant man,
On quarterdeck did stand,
"It ne'er shall be said that we did run
While we have aboard a hand."
O! then out spake our boatswain bold,
To the gunner then spake he,
"Come plant your guns while they are cold
Both powder and shot are free."
Our captain, a brave man,
Stood on the deck,
"It will never be said that we ran away
While there's someone on board.
Then our bold boatswain spoke up,
He spoke to the gunner,
"Come set up your guns while they're still cool,
"Both the powder and shot are ready."
3
3
Broadside to broadside we return'd
From morn till day was done
Till three we sank, and three we burn'd
And three away did run,
Till three we sank, and three we burn'd
And three did sail away;
And one we brought to merry England
To show we'd won the day.
Broadside to broadside we returned
From morning until the day was over
Until three we sank, and three we burned
And three set sail,
Until three we sank, and three we burned
And three set sail;
And one we brought to merry England
To prove that we had come out on top.
4
4
Now if you'd know our goodly ship
And know our captain's name;
Sir Thomas Merrifield captain was
Of the Marigold, ship of fame.
A gallant man Sir Thomas was
Of famous Bristow town
A gallant crew were we aboard
We gained us great renown.
Now if you want to know about our fine ship
And our captain's name is;
Sir Thomas Merrifield was the captain
Of the Marigold, a well-known ship.
Sir Thomas was a brave man
From the well-known city of Bristol
We were a bold crew aboard
And gained great fame.
No 112 ARTHUR LE BRIDE
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
I once had a cousin called Arthur Le Bride,
And he and I wandered adown the sea side,
For our pleasure and pastime a watching the tide;
O the weather was pleasant and charming.
I once had a cousin named Arthur Le Bride,
And he and I strolled along the beach,
Enjoying ourselves as we watched the tide;
Oh, the weather was nice and lovely.
2
2
So gaily and gallant we went on a tramp,
We met Sergeant Napier and Corp'ral Demant,
And the neat little drummer that tended the camp,
To beat the row-dow in the morning.
So cheerfully and boldly we set off on a hike,
We ran into Sergeant Napier and Corporal Demant,
And the tidy little drummer who took care of the camp,
To set the morning alarm.
3
3
Good morning young fellows, the sergeant did cry,
And the same to you sergeant we made a reply,
There was nothing more spoken, we made to pass by.
'Twas all on a Christmas day morning.
Good morning, young men, the sergeant shouted,
And we replied the same, Sergeant,
There was nothing more said, we just continued on.
It was all on a Christmas morning.
4
4
Come! come my fine fellows, I pray you enlist,
Ten guineas in gold I will slap in your fist,
And a crown in the bargain to kick up a dust,
For to drink the king's health in the morning.
Come on! Come on, my good friends, I urge you to join,
I'll give you ten guineas in gold right in your hands,
And a crown on top of that to make some noise,
To raise a glass to the king's health in the morning.
O, no! Mr. Sergeant, we are not for sale
We make no such bargain—your bribe won't avail,
Not tired of our country we care not to sail,
Tho' your offers look pleasant and charming.
O, no! Mr. Sergeant, we’re not for sale
We don’t make deals like that—your bribe won’t work,
We’re not tired of our country and we’re not going anywhere,
Even if your offers look good and attractive.
Hah! if you insult me, without other words
I swear by the king we will draw out our swords,
And thrust thro' your bodies, as strength us affords,
And leave you without further warning.
Hah! If you insult me without saying anything else,
I swear by the king we will pull out our swords,
And stab through your bodies, as much as we can,
And leave you with no additional warning.
7
7
We beat the bold drummer as flat as his shoe,
We made a football of his row-de-dow-do,
And the sergeant and corporal, knocked down the two,
O we were the boys in the morning.
We took down the brave drummer like his worn-out shoe,
We turned his song into a game to play, too,
And the sergeant and corporal knocked out the two,
Oh, we were the ones in the morning.
8
8
The two little weapons that hung at their side,
As we trotted away we threw into the tide,
May old Harry be with you, said Arthur Le Bride
For staying our walk in the morning.
The two small guns that dangled at their side,
As we walked away, we tossed them into the tide,
"May old Harry be with you," said Arthur Le Bride,
For halting our morning walk.
No 113 THE KEEPER
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
O there was a keeper, a shooting did go,
And under his arm he did carry a bow,
And that for to bring down the buck and the doe;
All in the green forest, the forest so green,
Where the red roses blossom to crown my queen.
Oh, there was a keeper, a shot was fired,
And under his arm, he carried a bow,
To bring down the buck and the doe;
All in the green forest, the forest so green,
Where the red roses bloom to crown my queen.
2
2
The very first doe that he shot at he miss'd,
The second escaped by the breadth of his fist.
The third doe was young, so he caught her and kiss'd;
All in the green forest, the forest so green,
Where the red roses blossom to crown my queen.
The very first doe he shot at, he missed,
The second got away by the width of his fist.
The third doe was young, so he caught her and kissed;
All in the green forest, the forest so green,
Where the red roses bloom to crown my queen.
3
3
"My fair pretty doe, you no longer shall roam,
For certainly henceforth with me you shall come,
To tarry securely in my little home;
All in the green forest, the forest so green,
Where the red roses blossom to crown my queen.
"My lovely doe, you won’t wander anymore,
Because from now on, you'll stay with me,
Safe and sound in my little home;
All in the green forest, the forest so lush,
Where the red roses bloom to honor my queen."
4
4
"Aside I will cast now my billets and bow,
I'll tarry at home with my own pretty doe,
As proud as a king of his sceptre, I trow;
All in the green forest, the forest so green,
Where the red roses blossom to crown my queen."
"Now I'll throw out my logs and bow,
I'll stay at home with my own lovely doe,
As proud as a king with his scepter, I bet;
All in the green forest, the forest so green,
Where the red roses bloom to crown my queen."
No 114 THE QUEEN OF HEARTS
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
To the Queen of Hearts he's the Ace of sorrow,
He is here to-day, he is gone to-morrow;
Young men are plenty, but sweet-hearts few,
If my love leave me, what shall I do?
To the Queen of Hearts, he's the Ace of sorrow,
He's here today, he's gone tomorrow;
There are plenty of young men, but few sweethearts,
If my love leaves me, what will I do?
2
2
When my love comes in I gaze not around,
When my love goes out, I fall in a swound;
To meet is pleasure, to part is sorrow,
He is here to-day, he is gone to-morrow.
When my love comes in, I don’t look around,
When my love leaves, I faint and feel down;
Meeting is joy, parting is pain,
He’s here today, he’s gone again tomorrow.
3
3
Had I the store in yonder mountain,
Where gold and silver is had for counting,
I could not count, for the thought of thee,
My eyes so full that I could not see.
Had I the store in that mountain over there,
Where gold and silver can be counted,
I wouldn't be able to count, because of thoughts of you,
My eyes so full that I couldn't see.
4
4
I love my father, I love my mother,
I love my sister, I love my brother;
I love my friends, my relations too,
But I'd leave them all for the love of you.
I love my dad, I love my mom,
I love my sister, I love my brother;
I love my friends, and my family too,
But I'd leave them all for your love.
5
5
My father left me both house and land,
And servants many at my command;
At my commandment they ne'er shall be,
I'll forsake them all for to follow thee.
My father left me both a house and land,
And many servants at my command;
But I won’t command them, set them free,
I’ll leave them all behind to follow you.
6
6
An Ace of sorrow to the Queen of Hearts,
O how my bosom bleeds and smarts;
Young men are plenty, but sweet-hearts few,
If my love leave me, what shall I do?
An Ace of sorrow to the Queen of Hearts,
Oh how my heart aches and burns;
Young men are many, but sweethearts are rare,
If my love leaves me, what will I do?
No 115 THE OWL
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Of all the birds that ever I see,
The owl is the fairest in her degree.
For all the day long she sits in a tree,
And when the night cometh, away flies she.
To-whit! To-who! says she, To-who!
Cinamon, ginger, nutmegs and cloves,
And brandy gave me my jolly red nose.
Of all the birds I've ever seen,
The owl is the prettiest in her own way.
All day long she perches in a tree,
And when night comes, she flies away.
To-whit! To-who! she says, To-who!
Cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and cloves.
And brandy gave me my happy red nose.
2
2
The lark in the morn ascendeth on high
And leaves the poor owl to sob and to sigh;
And all the day long, the owl is asleep,
While little birds blithely are singing, cheep! cheep!
To-whit! To-who! says she, To-who!
Cinamon, ginger, &c.
The lark in the morning flies high up
And leaves the sad owl to weep and to sigh;
And all day long, the owl is sleeping,
While little birds happily are singing, cheep! cheep!
To-whit! To-who! she says, To-who!
Cinnamon, ginger, etc.
3
3
There's many a brave bird boasteth awhile,
And proves himself great, let Providence smile,
Be hills and be vallies all covered with snow,
The poor owl will shiver and mock with Ho! Ho!
To-whit! To-who! says she, To-who!
Cinamon, ginger, &c.
There's a lot of brave birds that brag for a bit,
And show off when luck is on their side,
Whether the hills or valleys are all covered in snow,
The poor owl will shiver and laugh with Ho! Ho!
To-whit! To-who! she says, To-who!
Cinnamon, ginger, etc.
No 116 MY MOTHER DID SO BEFORE ME
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
I am a brisk and bonny lass,
A little over twenty.
And by my comely air and dress,
Of sweethearts I've got plenty.
But I'll beware of wedlock's snare,
Tho' dying swains adore me,
The men I'll tease, myself to please,
My mother did so before me.
I’m a lively and cheerful girl,
Just a little over twenty.
And with my pretty looks and style,
I have lots of fans.
But I’ll be cautious of marriage traps,
Even though lovestruck guys are crazy about me,
I’ll keep men guessing, just for fun,
Just like my mom did before me.
2
2
With fine brocade and diamonds bright,
Like merry Spring delighting,
My heart, my humours all delight,
For my sweet face's inviting.
I take delight, both day and night,
To be talked of in story.
I'll have it said: Here shines a maid!
My mother did so before me.
With beautiful brocade and sparkling diamonds,
Like joyful spring bringing happiness,
My heart and my feelings are all happy,
Because my sweet face is so appealing.
I take pleasure in being talked about, day and night,
In stories and narratives.
I want it to be said: Here shines a maiden!
My mother used to say it to me.
3
3
To parks and plays I often go,
I'll waste each leasure hour;
I'll walk and talk with every beau,
And make them feel my power.
If e'er a spark should fire my heart,
From one who does adore me,
I'll wed and kiss, in married bliss,
My mother did so before me.
To parks and shows, I often go,
I’ll use every free hour;
I’ll walk and chat with every guy,
And let them feel my power.
If ever a spark should ignite my heart,
From someone who loves me,
I’ll marry and kiss, in wedded bliss,
My mom did that before I did.
4
4
So well I'll manage when I'm wed,
My husband to perfection,
And as good wives have always said,
Keep husbands in subjection.
No snarling fool me e'er shall rule,
Nor e'er eclipse my glory,
I'll let him see, mistress I'll be,
My mother did so before me.
So well I'll manage when I'm married,
My husband is perfect,
And as good wives have always said,
Keep husbands in check.
No annoying fool will ever control me,
Nor ever dim my glory,
I'll let him see, I'll be the one in charge,
My mom did that before me.
No 117 A WEEK’S WORK WELL DONE
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
On Monday morn I married a wife,
I thought to live a sober life.
As it fell out I were better dead,
Than mark the time when I was wed.
Laddy-heigh-ho! Laddy-heigh-ho!
Fal-de-ral-li-do! Laddy-heigh-ho!
On Monday morning, I got married,
I thought I would live a responsible life.
As it turns out, I’d be better off dead,
Than remember the time that I got married.
Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho!
Fal-de-ral-li-do! Laddy-heigh-ho!
2
2
On Tuesday morning to my surprise,
A little before the sun did rise,
She rattled her clapper, and scolded more,
Than ever I heard in my life before.
Laddy-heigh-ho! &c.
On Tuesday morning, to my surprise,
A little before the sun came up,
She shook her clapper and yelled more,
Than I’d ever heard in my life before.
Laddy-heigh-ho! &c.
3
3
On Wednesday morning I went to the wood,
I thought to do my wife some good.
I cut me a twig of holly green,
I trust the toughest I'd ever seen.
Laddy-heigh-ho! &c.
On Wednesday morning, I went to the woods,
I thought I’d do something nice for my wife.
I picked a sturdy twig of bright green holly,
I believe it’s the toughest I’ve ever found.
Lad heigh-ho! &c.
4
4
I hung the stick up well to dry,
I thought on Thursday it to try,
I laid it about her head and back,
Before my twig began to crack.
Laddy-heigh-ho! &c.
I hung the stick up to dry properly,
I planned to give it a try on Thursday,
I placed it around her head and back,
Before my twig started to crack.
Laddy-heigh-ho! &c.
5
5
On Friday morning to my surprise,
A little before the sun did rise,
She rattled her clapper in scolding tone,
I turn'd my back and left her alone.
Laddy-heigh-ho! &c.
On Friday morning, to my surprise,
A little before the sun had risen,
She shook her bell in a scolding tone,
I turned my back and left her alone.
Lad, hey there! &c.
6
6
On Saturday morn, as I may say,
As she on her pillow consulting lay,
A Bogie arrived in fume and flame,
And carried her off both blind and lame.
Laddy-heigh-ho! &c.
On Saturday morning, as I might say,
As she lay on her pillow thinking,
A monster arrived in smoke and fire,
And took her away both blind and lame.
Laddy-ho! &c.
7
7
On Sunday, neighbours, I dine without
A scolding wife and a brawling rout;
Enjoy my bottle, and my best friend,
And surely this is a brave week's end.
Laddy-heigh-ho! &c.
On Sunday, neighbors, I eat without
A nagging wife and a noisy crowd;
Enjoy my drink and my best friend,
And surely this is a great weekend.
Laddy-heigh-ho! &c.
No 118 THE OLD MAN CAN’T
KEEP HIS WIFE AT HOME
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
The old man can't keep his wife at home,
She dearly loves abroad to roam,
She will but eat the choicest meat,
And leave th'old man the bone.
Herself must have good cheer,
Herself drink humming beer.
A merry life lives she,
For her heart is full of glee.
CHORUS: The old man can't keep his wife at home,
She dearly loves abroad to roam, &c.
The old man can't keep his wife at home,
She really loves to travel around,
She will only eat the best food,
And leave the old man with the scraps.
She must be having fun.
She drinks her go-to beer.
She lives a joyful life,
Because her heart is filled with joy.
CHORUS: The old man can't keep his wife at home,
She really loves to travel around, etc.
2
2
The old man's wife went out to dine,
And left him tuck'd in bed at home.
She dressed so fine, drank red red wine,
Her face with pleasure shone.
She capered and she danc'd,
She like an ostrich pranc'd,
And sang There's none so free,
As old men's wives may be.
CHORUS: The old man can't keep his wife at home,
She dearly loves abroad to roam, &c.
The old man's wife went out for dinner,
Leaving him tucked in bed at home.
She looked so good, enjoyed her red wine,
Her face was glowing with happiness.
She spun and danced,
Like an ostrich, she danced,
And sang, "No one is as free,
As old men's wives often are.
CHORUS: The old man can't keep his wife at home,
She really loves to explore, etc.
3
3
The old man began to crawl and cough'd;
Above the door he set a stone,
Then sat and quaff'd thin beer and laugh'd,
Till spasms made him groan.
His wife so late came home,
Then clatter'd down the stone,
It fell upon her head,
It knocked her flat and dead.
CHORUS: The old man don't keep a wife at home,
Not one who dearly loves to roam.
Odds bobs, of strife, and gadding wife
The old man now has none.
The old man started to crawl and cough;
He placed a stone above the door,
Then sat and drank thin beer and laughed,
Until spasms made him groan.
His wife just arrived home,
Then knocked the stone over,
It landed on her head,
It knocked her down and killed her.
CHORUS: The old man doesn’t have a wife at home,
Not someone who enjoys wandering.
Wow, with all the chaos and a wife who wanders around.
The old man doesn’t have any now.
No 119 SWEET FAREWELL
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Will by Mary sad reposes
On a bank of prim-a-roses.
Sore is William's heart at leaving,
Tears that flow tell Mary's grieving,
Sweet, Farewell! Dearest, farewell, farewell!
I'm in the marching order.
Will by Mary sadly rests
On a bank of primroses.
William's heart aches at leaving,
Tears that fall show Mary's grieving,
Bye, sweetie! Love you, bye!
I'm in line.
2
2
Hark! I hear the Colonel crying,
Drums are beating, colours flying.
Colours flying, drums are beating,
Boys! advance, there's no retreating
Sweet, farewell! &c.
Listen! I hear the Colonel shouting,
Drums are pounding, flags are waving.
Flags are waving, drums are pounding,
Guys! move forward, there's no turning back
Sweet, goodbye! &c.
3
3
Gallant boys! be stiff and steady,
Each man have his flint-lock ready!
Each man have his flask and powder!
And his fire stock o'er his shoulder!
Sweet, farewell! &c.
Gallant boys! Stand firm and strong,
Each man have his flintlock ready!
Each man should have his flask and powder!
And his fire stock over his shoulder!
Sweet, goodbye! &c.
4
4
Mary said, Do not bereave me!
Do not break my heart and leave me!
If you do, I will torment you,
When I'm dead, my ghost will ha'nt you
Sweet, farewell! &c.
Mary said, Don't leave me!
Don't break my heart and walk away!
If you do, I will haunt you,
When I'm gone, my ghost will torment you.
Sweet, goodbye! &c.
5
5
Nay, said William, my dear Mary
I with you nowise can tarry.
Duty calls—that naught can alter
At its summons none must falter.
Sweet, farewell! &c.
No, said William, my dear Mary
I can’t stay with you at all.
Duty calls—and nothing can change that
At its summons, no one should hesitate.
Sweet, goodbye! &c.
No 120 OLD ADAM THE POACHER
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Old Adam was a poacher,
Went out one day at Fall,
To catch a hare for roasting
And eating bones and all,
In the sun
Expecting fun
Old Adam smiling lay.
O hare it is good eating,
Thus did old Adam say.
Old Adam was a poacher,
Went out one day at Fall,
To catch a hare for roasting,
And eating, bones and all.
Old Adam was a poacher,
I went out one day in the fall,
To catch a hare to roast
And eat, bones and all,
In the sunlight
Looking for some fun
Old Adam lay there grinning.
Oh, rabbit is such good eating,
That's what old Adam said.
Old Adam was a poacher,
I went out one day in the fall,
To catch a hare to roast,
And eat, bones and all.
2
2
A keeper that was passing,
Peer'd slyly through the brake
Saw Adam with his springle;
Proceeded both to take.
Hare not his'n,
So in prison
Old Adam groaning lay.
O hare it is good eating
But not for him to-day,
Old Adam was a poacher
Went out one day at Fall
Went out that morning looking big
Returnèd, looking small.
A gamekeeper who was passing by,
Slyly peeked through the bushes
Saw Adam with his snare;
They both went to get.
The hare isn't his.
So in prison
Old Adam was groaning.
Oh, rabbit is great eating
But not for him today,
Old Adam was a poacher
Went out one day in the autumn
Went out that morning looking confident
Came back, looking defeated.
No 121 THE EVENING PRAYER
C.J.S.
C.J.S.
1
1
Matthew, Mark and Luke and John
Bless the bed that I lie on.
Four angels to my bed
Two to bottom, two to head,
Two to hear me when I pray,
Two to bear my soul away.
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John
Bless this bed I lie on.
Four angels by my bed
Two at my feet, two at my head,
Two to listen when I pray,
Two to carry my soul away.
2
2
Monday morn the week begin,
Christ deliver our souls from sin.
Tuesday morn, nor curse nor swear,
Christes Body that will tear.
Wednesday, middle of the week,
Woe to the soul Christ does not seek.
Monday morning the week starts,
Christ, deliver our souls from sin.
Tuesday morning, don't curse or swear,
Christ’s Body, that will tear.
Wednesday, the middle of the week,
Woe to the soul Christ does not seek.
3
3
Thursday morn, Saint Peter wrote
Joy to the soul that heaven hath bote,
Friday Christ died on the tree
To save other men as well as me.
Saturday, sure, the evening dead,
Sunday morn, the Book's outspread.
Thursday morning, Saint Peter wrote
Joy to the soul that heaven has bought,
Friday, Christ died on the cross
To save others just like me, no loss.
Saturday, surely, the evening's still,
Sunday morning, the Book is unveiled.
4
4
God is the branch and I the flower,
Pray God send me a blessed hour.
I go to bed, some sleep to take,
The Lord, he knows if I shall wake.
Sleep I ever, sleep I never,
God receive my soul for ever.
God is the branch, and I am the flower,
I pray that God sends me a blessed hour.
I go to bed to get some sleep,
The Lord knows if I'll wake from my deep.
Sleep I always, sleep I never,
God, please take my soul forever.
NOTES ON THE SONGS
1. BY Chance it was. Music and words dictated by James Parsons, hedger, Lew Down; he had learned it from his father, "The Singing Machine."
1. BY Take a risk. Music and lyrics created by James Parsons, a hedger, and Lew Down; he had learned it from his father, "The Singing Machine."
A second version of the melody was obtained from Bruce Tyndall, Esq., of Exmouth, who had learned it from a Devonshire nurse in 1839 or 1840. The melody was but a variant. It had lost the E♮ that comes in so pleasantly.
A second version of the melody was obtained from Bruce Tyndall, Esq., of Exmouth, who had learned it from a Devonshire nurse in 1839 or 1840. The melody was just a variation. It had lost the E♮ that fits in so nicely.
The tune was certainly originally in the Dorian mode, the E♭ being an alteration of a modern singer. We did not, however, feel justified in restoring the air to its early form, as we had no authority for so doing.
The tune was definitely originally in the Dorian mode, with the E♭ being a change made by a modern singer. However, we didn't feel it was right to revert the melody to its original form, as we had no authority to do so.
The words of the song are to be found in a collection of early ballad books in the British Museum, entitled "The Court of Apollo." There it consists of six verses, the first three of which are almost word for word the same as ours. In "The Songster's Favourite Companion," a later collection, the same song occurs. There it is in three verses only, and in a very corrupt form.
The lyrics of the song can be found in a collection of early ballad books at the British Museum called "The Court of Apollo." It includes six verses, the first three of which are nearly identical to ours. In "The Songster's Favourite Companion," a later collection, the same song appears but only in three verses and in a much distorted version.
We are inclined to think that the song dates from the time of James I. or Charles I.
We tend to believe that the song comes from the era of James I or Charles I.
2. The Hunting of Arscott of Tetcott. This song, once vastly popular in North Devon, and at all hunting dinners, is now nearly forgotten. The words have been published in "John Arscott of Tetcott" by Luke, Plymouth, N.D. A great many variations of the text exist. An early copy, dating from the end of the 18th century, was supplied me by R. Kelly, Esq., of Kelly; another by a gentleman, now dead, in his grandmother's handwriting (1820), with explanatory notes. The date given in the song varies; sometimes it is set down as 1752, sometimes as 1772.
2. The Hunt for Arscott of Tetcott. This song, once hugely popular in North Devon and at hunting dinners, is now almost forgotten. The lyrics were published in "John Arscott of Tetcott" by Luke, Plymouth, N/A There are many variations of the text. An early version from the late 18th century was provided to me by R. Kelly, Esq., of Kelly; another was from a gentleman, now deceased, in his grandmother's handwriting (1820), complete with explanatory notes. The date mentioned in the song varies; it is sometimes noted as 1752 and other times as 1772.
John Arscott, the last of his race, died in 1788. The "Sons of the Blue" are taken to have been Sir John Molesworth of Pencarrow, Bart., William Morshead of Blisland, and Braddon Clode of Skisdon. But neither Sir John Molesworth nor Mr. Morshead was, as it happens, a naval man. If the date were either 1652 or 1672, it would fit John Arscott of Tetcott, who died in 1708, and Sir John Molesworth of Pencarrow, who was Vice-admiral of Cornwall; and the "Sons of the Blue" would be Hender, Sparke, and John, sons of Sir John. The second John Molesworth married Jane, daughter of John Arscott of Tetcott, in 1704. It seems probable, accordingly, that the song belonged originally to the elder John Arscott, and was adapted a century later to the last John Arscott. The date is not given with precision in the song; it is left vague as to the century—"In the year '52."
John Arscott, the last of his line, passed away in 1788. The "Sons of the Blue" are thought to refer to Sir John Molesworth of Pencarrow, Bart., William Morshead of Blisland, and Braddon Clode of Skisdon. However, neither Sir John Molesworth nor Mr. Morshead was actually a naval officer. If the date were either 1652 or 1672, it would match John Arscott of Tetcott, who died in 1708, and Sir John Molesworth of Pencarrow, who was the Vice-admiral of Cornwall; and the "Sons of the Blue" would be Hender, Sparke, and John, the sons of Sir John. The second John Molesworth married Jane, the daughter of John Arscott of Tetcott, in 1704. It seems likely, then, that the song originally belonged to the elder John Arscott and was adapted a century later to refer to the last John Arscott. The date isn't specified precisely in the song; it's left vague regarding the century—"In the year '52."
The author of the version of the song as now sung is said to have been one Dogget, who was wont to run after the foxhounds of the last Arscott. He probably followed the habit of all rural bards of adapting an earlier ballad to his purpose, and spoiling it in so doing. I think this, because along with much wretched stuff there occur traces of something better, and smacking of an earlier period. As Dogget's doggerel has been printed, and as I have taken down a dozen variants, I have retained only what I deemed worthy of retention, and have entirely recast the conclusion of the song.
The author of the current version of the song is said to be one Dogget, who used to chase after the foxhounds of the last Arscott. He likely followed the typical pattern of rural poets by adapting an earlier ballad for his own needs, ultimately ruining it in the process. I believe this because, despite a lot of poor writing, there are hints of something better that belong to an earlier time. Since Dogget's crude verses have been published, and I've gathered a dozen different versions, I've kept only what I thought was worth keeping and completely rewritten the ending of the song.
John Arscott is still believed to hunt the country, and there are men alive who declare positively that they have seen him and his hounds go by, and have heard the winding of his horn, at night, in the park at Tetcott.
John Arscott is still thought to roam the countryside, and there are people alive who insist that they’ve seen him and his hounds pass by, and heard the sound of his horn echoing at night in the park at Tetcott.
Mr. Frank Abbott, gamekeeper at Pencarrow, but born at Tetcott, informed me, concerning Dogget: "Once they unkennelled in the immediate neighbourhood of Tetcott, and killed at Hatherleigh. This runner was in at the death, as was his wont. John Arscott ordered him a bed at Hatherleigh, but to his astonishment, when he returned to Tetcott, his wife told him all the particulars of the run. 'Then,' said Arscott, 'this must be the doing of none other than Dogget; where is he?' Dogget was soon found in the servants' hall, drinking ale, having outstripped his master and run all the way home."
Mr. Frank Abbott, the gamekeeper at Pencarrow who was born in Tetcott, told me about Dogget: "They once unkennelled right near Tetcott and ended up killing at Hatherleigh. This runner was at the finish, as he usually was. John Arscott arranged for him to have a bed at Hatherleigh, but when he got back to Tetcott, his wife filled him in on all the details of the chase. 'Then,' Arscott said, 'this must be the work of none other than Dogget; where is he?' Dogget was quickly found in the servants' hall, drinking ale, having outrun his master and made it home first."
In the MS. copy of 1820, the names of the "Sons of the Blue" were Bob (Robt. Dennis of S. Breock), Bill (Bill Tickell), and Britannia (Sir J. Molesworth). The tune, which is in the Æolian mode, was obtained through the assistance of Mr. W.C. Richards, schoolmaster at Tetcott. We also had it from John Benney, labourer, Menheniot.
In the manuscript from 1820, the names of the "Sons of the Blue" were Bob (Robt. Dennis of S. Breock), Bill (Bill Tickell), and Britannia (Sir J. Molesworth). The tune, which is in the Aeolian mode, was obtained with the help of Mr. W.C. Richards, the schoolmaster at Tetcott. We also got it from John Benney, a laborer from Menheniot.
Mr. Richards writes:—"This song is sung annually at the Rent-audit of the Molesworth estate at Tetcott. Thirty years ago an old man sang it, and the version I send you is as near the original, as sung by him, as can be secured. Workmen on the estate often hum the air, and always sing it at their annual treats." The Arscott property at Tetcott passed by inheritance to the Molesworths.
Mr. Richards writes:—"This song is sung every year at the Rent-audit of the Molesworth estate in Tetcott. Thirty years ago, an old man sang it, and the version I’m sending you is as close to the original, as sung by him, as possible. Workers on the estate often hum the tune and always sing it at their annual celebrations." The Arscott property in Tetcott was inherited by the Molesworths.
Half of the tune was employed by D'Urfey, a Devonshire man, in his "Pills to Purge Melancholy," to the words, "Dear Catholic Brother" (vi. p. 277, ed. 1719-20). From D'Urfey it passed into the "Musical Miscellany," 1731, vi. p. 171, to the words, "Come take up your Burden, ye Dogs, and away." From England the same half-tune was carried into Wales, and Jones, in his "Musical Relicks of the Welsh Bards," 1794, i. p. 129, gives it set to the words of "Difarwch gwyn Dyfl."
Half of the tune was used by D'Urfey, a man from Devonshire, in his "Pills to Purge Melancholy," to the words, "Dear Catholic Brother" (vi. p. 277, ed. 1719-20). From D'Urfey, it made its way into the "Musical Miscellany," 1731, vi. p. 171, with the lyrics, "Come take up your Burden, ye Dogs, and away." From England, the same half-tune was taken to Wales, and Jones, in his "Musical Relicks of the Welsh Bards," 1794, i. p. 129, presents it set to the words of "Difarwch gwyn Dyfl."
As Benny's variant is interesting, I give it here—
As Benny's version is intriguing, I’m sharing it here—
[ [XML]
[audio controls="controls" title="">
3. Upon a Sunday Morning. The melody taken down from Robert Hard, South Brent. This is the song to which reference has been made in the Introduction. It is not a genuine folk melody, but it is an interesting example of the way in which the folk muse reshapes an air.
3. On a Sunday morning. The melody recorded from Robert Hard, South Brent. This is the song mentioned in the Introduction. It's not a true folk melody, but it’s a fascinating example of how folk inspiration transforms a tune.
Hard sang the words of Charles Swan—
Hard sang the words of Charles Swan—
"'Twas on a Sunday morning, before the bells did peal,
A note came through the window, with Cupid as the seal."
"It was a Sunday morning, before the bells rang,
A note came through the window, sealed with Cupid's mark."
These words were set to music by Francis Mori in 1853. I give Mori's tune, and advise that with it should be compared Hard's variation of it. I have written fresh words to this variation—
These words were set to music by Francis Mori in 1853. I’m sharing Mori's tune and suggest comparing it with Hard's variation of it. I’ve written new lyrics to this variation—
4. The Trees they are so High. Words and melody taken down in 1888 first from James Parsons, then from Matthew Baker. Again in 1891 from Richard Broad, aged 71, of Herodsfoot, near S. Keyne, Cornwall. Again, the words, to a different air, from Roger Hannaford. Another version from William Aggett, a paralysed labourer of 70 years, at Chagford. Mr. Sharp has also obtained it in Somersetshire. A fragment was sung at the Folk-Song Competition at Frome in April 1904. Mr. Kidson has noted a version in Yorkshire, Miss Broadwood another in Surrey, see Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 214. Apparently there exist two distinct variants of the ballad, each to its proper melody.
4. The trees are really tall. The lyrics and melody were first recorded in 1888 from James Parsons, then from Matthew Baker. Again in 1891, they were collected from Richard Broad, who was 71 years old, in Herodsfoot, near S. Keyne, Cornwall. The words were also noted, set to a different tune, from Roger Hannaford. Another version was captured from William Aggett, a 70-year-old paralyzed laborer in Chagford. Mr. Sharp has also collected it in Somersetshire. A fragment was performed at the Folk-Song Competition in Frome in April 1904. Mr. Kidson has documented a version in Yorkshire, and Miss Broadwood noted another in Surrey, see Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 214. It appears there are two distinct variants of the ballad, each with its own melody.
Johnson, in his "Museum," professed to give a Scottish version—
Johnson, in his "Museum," claimed to present a Scottish version—
"O Lady Mary Ann looks owre the Castle wa',
She saw three bonny boys playing at the ba',
The youngest he was the flower among them a';
My bonny laddie's young, but he's growing yet."
"O Lady Mary Ann looks over the castle wall,
She saw three handsome boys playing soccer,
The youngest was the best-looking of them all;
"My beautiful boy is young, but he's still growing."
But of his version only three of the stanzas are genuine, and they are inverted; the rest are a modern composition.
But only three of the stanzas in his version are genuine, and they are rearranged; the rest are a modern creation.
A more genuine Scottish form is in Maidment's "North Country Garland," Edinburgh, 1874; but there the young man is fictitiously converted into a Laird of Craigstoun. It begins—
A more authentic Scottish version can be found in Maidment's "North Country Garland," Edinburgh, 1874; but in that one, the young man is made into a fictional Laird of Craigstoun. It starts—
"Father, said she, you have done me wrong,
For ye have married me on a childe young man,
And my bonny love is long
Agrowing, growing, deary,
Growing, growing, said the bonny maid."
"Father," she said, "you've wronged me,
For you've married me to a young man,
And my beautiful love is extensive
As we grow, dear,
"Growing, growing," said the beautiful girl.
But the most genuine form is on an Aberdeen Broadside, B.M., 1871, f. This, the real Scottish ballad, has verses not in the English, and the English ballad has a verse or two not in the Scottish.
But the most authentic version is on an Aberdeen Broadside, B.M., 1871, f. This, the true Scottish ballad, includes verses that aren’t in the English version, and the English ballad has a verse or two that aren’t in the Scottish.
I have received an Irish version as sung in Co. Tipperary; it is in six verses, but that about the "Trees so High" is lacking. The rhyme is more correct than that of any of the printed versions, and the lines run in triplets. One verse is—
I’ve gotten an Irish version sung in Co. Tipperary; it has six verses, but the one about the "Trees so High" is missing. The rhyme is more accurate than any of the published versions, and the lines are in triplets. One verse is—
"O Father, dear Father, I'll tell you what we'll do,
We'll send him off to college for another year or two,
And we'll tie round his college cap a ribbon of the blue,
To let the maidens know he is married."
"O Father, dear Father, here’s what we’ll do,
We’ll send him off to college for another year or two,
And we'll tie a blue ribbon around his college cap,
"To make it clear to the girls that he’s married."
In one of the versions I have taken down (Hannaford's and Aggett's) there were traces of the triplet very distinct, and the tune was akin to the Irish melody sent me, as sung by Mary O'Bryan, Cahir, Tipperary. Portions of the ballad have been forced into that of "The Cruel Mother" in-N3- Motherwell's MS., Child's "British and Scottish Ballads," i. p. 223. In this a mother gives birth to three sons at once and murders them; but after they are murdered—
In one of the versions I've noted down (Hannaford's and Aggett's), there were clear traces of the triplet, and the tune resembled the Irish melody sent to me, sung by Mary O'Bryan from Cahir, Tipperary. Parts of the ballad have been incorporated into "The Cruel Mother" in-N3- Motherwell's manuscript, Child's "British and Scottish Ballads," i. p. 223. In this version, a mother gives birth to three sons at the same time and then kills them; but after they are killed—
"She lookit over her father's wa',
And saw three bonnie boys playing at the ba'."
"She looked over her father's wall,
And saw three cute boys playing ball."
Our melody is in the Phrygian mode, a scale which is extremely scarce in English folk-song. The only other example we know is in Ducoudray's book of the "Folk Melodies of Brittany."
Our melody is in the Phrygian mode, a scale that is very rare in English folk songs. The only other example we know of is in Ducoudray's book of "Folk Melodies of Brittany."
The Scotch have two airs, one in Johnson's "Museum," the other in "The British Minstrel," Glasgow, 1844, vol. ii. p. 36, both totally distinct from ours.
The Scots have two tunes, one in Johnson's "Museum," the other in "The British Minstrel," Glasgow, 1844, vol. ii. p. 36, both completely different from ours.
That the ballad is English and not originally Scotch is probable, for Fletcher quotes it in "The Two Noble Kinsmen," 1634. He makes the crazy jailer's daughter sing us a snatch of an old ballad—
That the ballad is English and not originally Scottish seems likely, because Fletcher references it in "The Two Noble Kinsmen," 1634. He has the insane jailer's daughter sing a part of an old ballad—
"For I'll cut my green coat, a foot above my knee,
And I'll clip my yellow locks, an inch below my eye,
Hey ninny, ninny, ninny;
He's buy me a white cut (stick) forth for to ride,
And I'll go seek him, through the world that is so wide,
Hey ninny, ninny, ninny."
"For I’ll trim my green coat, a foot above my knee,
And I’ll cut my yellow hair, an inch below my eye,
Hey silly!
He’s going to buy me a white horse to ride,
And I’ll go look for him, across this wide world,
Hey silly!
In the ballad as taken down from Aggett—
In the ballad recorded from Aggett—
"I'll cut my yellow hair away by the root,
And I will clothe myself all in a boy's suit,
And to the college high, I will go afoot."
"I'll chop off my blonde hair at the root,
And I'll dress myself in a boy's outfit,
And I'll walk to the college up high."
I have had versions also from Mary Langworthy, Stoke Flemming, in the Hypodorian mode, and from W.S. Vance, Penarth, as sung by an old woman at Padstow in 1863, now dead.
I’ve also had versions from Mary Langworthy in Stoke Flemming, in the Hypodorian mode, and from W.S. Vance in Penarth, as sung by an old woman in Padstow in 1863, who has since passed away.
Mr. Sharp gives a version in "Folk Songs from Somerset," No. 15.
Mr. Sharp presents a version in "Folk Songs from Somerset," No. 15.
5. Parson Hogg. This was sung by my great-uncle, Thomas Snow, Esq., of Franklyn, near Exeter, when I was a child. I have received it also from Mr. H. Whitfeld, brushmaker, Plymouth. The words may be found, not quite the same, but substantially so, in "The New Cabinet of Love," circ. 1810, as "Doctor Mack." In Oliver's "Comic Songs," circ. 1815, it is "Parson Ogg, the Cornish Vicar." It is also in "The Universal Songster" (1826), ii. p. 348. It is found on Broadsides.
5. Pastor Hogg. This was sung by my great-uncle, Thomas Snow, Esq., from Franklyn, near Exeter, when I was a kid. I've also got it from Mr. H. Whitfeld, a brushmaker in Plymouth. The lyrics can be found, not exactly the same but basically the same, in "The New Cabinet of Love," circa 1810, as "Doctor Mack." In Oliver's "Comic Songs," circa 1815, it's labeled "Parson Ogg, the Cornish Vicar." It's also in "The Universal Songster" (1826), ii. p. 348. It appears on Broadsides.
6. Cold blows the Wind. The words originally reached me as taken down by the late Mrs. Gibbons, daughter of Sir W.L. Trelawney, Bart., from an old woman, who, in 1830, was nurse in her father's house. Since then we have heard it repeatedly, indeed there are few old singers who do not know it. There are two melodies to which it is sung, that we give here, and that to which "Childe the Hunter" is set in this collection. The ballad is always in a fragmentary condition. The ballad, under the title of "The Unquiet Grave," is in Professor Child's "British Ballads," No. 78. He gives various forms of it. The idea on which it is based is that if a woman has plighted her oath to a man, she is still bound to him, after he is dead, and that he can claim her to follow him into the world of spirits, unless she can redeem herself by solving riddles he sets her. See further on this topic under "The Lover's Tasks," No. 48. Verses 8 and 10 are not in the original ballad. I have supplied them to reduce the length and give a conclusion.
6. Cold wind blows. These words originally came to me from the late Mrs. Gibbons, daughter of Sir W.L. Trelawney, Bart., who learned them from an old woman who was a nurse in her father's household back in 1830. Since then, we've heard it many times; in fact, there are very few old singers who don’t know it. There are two melodies to which it is sung, which we present here, including the one used for "Childe the Hunter" in this collection. The ballad is usually found in a fragmentary state. The ballad, titled "The Unquiet Grave," appears in Professor Child's "British Ballads," No. 78. He provides various versions of it. The central idea is that if a woman has promised her loyalty to a man, she is still tied to him even after his death, and he can summon her to join him in the afterlife unless she can free herself by solving riddles he gives her. See more on this subject under "The Lover's Tasks," No. 48. Verses 8 and 10 are not present in the original ballad. I’ve added them to shorten the text and provide a conclusion.
7. The Sprig of Thyme. Taken down from James Parsons. After the second verse he broke away into "The Seeds of Love." Joseph Dyer, of Mawgan in Pyder, sang the same ballad or song to the same tune, and in what I believe to be the complete form of words—
7. The Thyme Sprig. Adapted from James Parsons. After the second verse, he switched to "The Seeds of Love." Joseph Dyer, from Mawgan in Pyder, sang the same ballad or song to the same tune, and in what I think is the full version of the lyrics—
"O once I had plenty of thyme,
It would flourish by night and by day,
Till a saucy lad came, return'd from the sea,
And stole my thyme away.
"O and I was a damsel fair,
But fairer I wish't to appear;
So I wash'd me in milk, and I clothed me in silk,
And put the sweet thyme in my hair.
"With June is the red rose in bud,
But that was no flower for me,
I plucked the bud, and it prick'd me to blood,
And I gazed on the willow tree.
"O the willow tree it will twist,
And the willow tree it will twine,
I would I were fast in my lover's arms clasp't,
For 'tis he that has stolen my thyme.
"O it's very good drinking of ale,
But it's better far drinking of wine,
I would I were clasp't in my lover's arms fast,
For 'tis he that has stolen my thyme."
"Once I had plenty of thyme,
It would thrive day and night,
Until a cheeky guy came back from the sea,
And took my thyme away.
"Oh, and I was a beautiful girl,
But I wanted to be even more lovely;
So I bathed in milk, dressed in silk,
And put the sweet thyme in my hair.
"In June, the red rose was in bud,
But that wasn’t the flower for me,
I picked the bud, and it pricked me to blood,
And I stared at the willow tree.
"Oh, the willow tree will twist,
And the willow tree will twine,
I wish I were wrapped in my lover's arms,
For he’s the one who stole my thyme.
"Oh, it's nice to drink ale,
But it’s even better to drink wine,
I wish I were wrapped in my lover's arms,
For he’s the one who stole my thyme."
The song, running as it does on the same theme and in the same metre as "The Seeds of Love," is very generally mixed up with it, and Miss Broadwood calls her version of it, in "English County Songs," p. 58, "The Seeds of Love, or The Sprig of Thyme." The "Seeds of Love" is attributed by Dr. Whittaker, in his "History of Whalley," to Mrs. Fleetwood Habergham, who died in 1703. He says: "Ruined by the extravagance and disgraced by the vices of her husband, she soothed her sorrows by some stanzas yet remembered among the old people of her neighbourhood." See "The New Lover's Garland," B.M. (11,621, b 6); a Northumbrian version in "Northumbrian Minstrelsy," 1882, p. 90; a Scottish version in "Albyn's Anthology," 1816, i. p. 40; a Somersetshire in "Folk Songs from Somerset," No. 1; a Yorkshire in Kidson's "Traditional Tunes," p. 69. As the two songs are so mixed up together, I have thought it best to re-write the song.
The song, which shares the same theme and meter as "The Seeds of Love," is often confused with it, and Miss Broadwood refers to her version in "English County Songs," p. 58, as "The Seeds of Love, or The Sprig of Thyme." Dr. Whittaker attributes "The Seeds of Love" to Mrs. Fleetwood Habergham, who passed away in 1703, in his "History of Whalley." He mentions, "Ruined by the extravagance and disgraced by the vices of her husband, she soothed her sorrows by writing some stanzas that are still remembered by the older generations in her community." See "The New Lover's Garland," B.M. (11,621, b 6); a Northumbrian version in "Northumbrian Minstrelsy," 1882, p. 90; a Scottish version in "Albyn's Anthology," 1816, i. p. 40; a Somersetshire version in "Folk Songs from Somerset," No. 1; and a Yorkshire version in Kidson's "Traditional Tunes," p. 69. Since the two songs are so intertwined, I thought it best to rewrite the song.
The melody was almost certainly originally in the Æolian mode, but has got altered.
The melody was probably originally in the Aeolian mode, but it has been changed.
8. Roving Jack. Taken down, words and melody, from William Aggett, Chagford, and from James Parsons, Lew Down. An inferior version of the words is to be found among Catnach's Broadsheets, Ballads, B.M. (1162, b, vol. vii.), also one printed in Edinburgh, Ballads (1750-1840), B.M. (1871, f). Note what has been said relative to this tune, which is in the Æolian mode, under 1, "By chance it was," with which it is closely related.
8. Roving Jack. The words and melody were gathered from William Aggett in Chagford and James Parsons in Lew Down. A lesser version of the lyrics can be found among Catnach's Broadsheets, Ballads, B.M. (1162, b, vol. vii.), and also one printed in Edinburgh, Ballads (1750-1840), B.M. (1871, f). Keep in mind what has been said about this tune, which is in the Æolian mode, under 1, "By chance it was," with which it has a close connection.
9. Brixham Town. Words taken down from Jonas Coaker, aged 85, and blind. The melody was given us by Mr. John Webb, who had heard him sing it in former years. Another version to the same air was obtained from North Tawton. Again, another was given me by the Hon. A.F. Northcote, who took it down in 1877 from an itinerant pedlar of 90 years at Buckingham.
9. Brixham. Words recorded from Jonas Coaker, aged 85 and blind. The melody was provided by Mr. John Webb, who had heard him sing it in the past. Another version of the same tune was collected from North Tawton. Additionally, I received another one from the Hon. A.F. Northcote, who noted it down in 1877 from a 90-year-old traveling pedlar in Buckingham.
The words and tune were clearly composed at the time of the Commonwealth, 1649-1661.
The words and melody were definitely created during the Commonwealth period, 1649-1661.
10. Green Broom. Words and melody taken down from John Woodrich, blacksmith; he learned both from his grandmother when he was a child. The Hon. J.S. Northcote sent me another version taken down from an old woman at Upton Pyne. Again, another from Mr. James Ellis of Chaddlehanger, Lamerton; another from Bruce Tyndall, Esq., of Exmouth, as taken down from a Devonshire cook in 1839 or 1840. This, the same melody as that from Upton Pyne. Woodrich's tune is the brightest, the other the oldest. The same ballad to different tune in "Northumbrian Minstrelsy," 1882, p. 98. The song is in D'Urfey's "Pills to Purge Melancholy," 1720, vi. p. 100, in 14 verses, with a different conclusion. Broadside versions by Disley and Such. Also in "The Broom Man's Garland," in "LXXXII. Old Ballads" collected by J. Bell, B.M. (11,621, c 2). Bell was librarian to the Society of Antiquaries, Newcastle-on-Tyne, 1810-20. Mr. Kidson has obtained a version in North Yorkshire. Another is in "English County Songs," p. 88. In "Gammer Gurton's Garland," circ. 1783, are three verses.
10. Green Broom. The words and melody were collected from John Woodrich, a blacksmith; he learned both from his grandmother when he was a child. The Hon. J.S. Northcote sent me another version he collected from an elderly woman in Upton Pyne. Additionally, Mr. James Ellis from Chaddlehanger, Lamerton, provided another version, and another came from Bruce Tyndall, Esq., of Exmouth, based on a song learned from a Devonshire cook in 1839 or 1840. This version features the same melody as the one from Upton Pyne. Woodrich's tune is the most lively, while the others are the oldest. The same ballad with a different tune appears in "Northumbrian Minstrelsy," 1882, p. 98. The song is also included in D'Urfey's "Pills to Purge Melancholy," 1720, vi. p. 100, in 14 verses, featuring a different ending. Broadside versions by Disley and Such are available as well. It's also found in "The Broom Man's Garland," in "LXXXII. Old Ballads" collected by J. Bell, B.M. (11,621, c 2). Bell served as the librarian for the Society of Antiquaries, Newcastle-on-Tyne, from 1810 to 1820. Mr. Kidson has acquired a version from North Yorkshire. Another version is in "English County Songs," p. 88. In "Gammer Gurton's Garland," circa 1783, there are three verses.
11. As Johnny Walked Out. Words and melody from James Parsons. The original words are in six stanzas, and these I have compressed. The words with some verbal differences as "set by Mr. Dunn" are in "Six English Songs and Dialogues, as they are performed in the Public Gardens," N.D., but about 1750. Then in The London Magazine, 1754; in "Apollo's Cabinet," Liverpool, 1757; in "Clio and Euterpe," London, 1758. Our melody was obtained also by Mr. T.S. Cayzer, at Post Bridge, in 1849, and we have taken down four or five versions. The tune is totally different from that by "Mr. Dunn."
11. As Johnny walked out. Words and melody by James Parsons. The original lyrics have six stanzas, which I've shortened. The lyrics, with some wording changes as presented by Mr. Dunn, can be found in "Six English Songs and Dialogues, as performed in the Public Gardens," N.D., around 1750. They also appeared in The London Magazine, 1754; in "Apollo's Cabinet," Liverpool, 1757; and in "Clio and Euterpe," London, 1758. Our melody was also collected by Mr. T.S. Cayzer at Post Bridge in 1849, and we've documented four or five different versions. The tune is completely different from the one by "Mr. Dunn."
12. The Miller and his Sons. Taken down, music and words, from J. Helmore, miller, South Brent. The words occur in the Roxburgh Collection, iii. p. 681. It is included in Bell's "Songs of the English Peasantry," p. 194; and is in the "Northumbrian Minstrelsy," Newcastle, 1882. In the North of England it is sung to the air of "The Oxfordshire Tragedy," Chappell, p. 191. Our air bears no resemblance to this.
12. The Miller and His Sons. Taken down, music and lyrics, from J. Helmore, miller, South Brent. The lyrics appear in the Roxburgh Collection, iii. p. 681. It's included in Bell's "Songs of the English Peasantry," p. 194; and is in the "Northumbrian Minstrelsy," Newcastle, 1882. In Northern England, it's sung to the tune of "The Oxfordshire Tragedy," Chappell, p. 191. Our melody has no similarity to this.
13. Ormond the Brave. This very interesting Ballad was taken down, words and music, from J. Peake, tanner, Liskeard; it was sung by his father about 1830. It refers to the Duke of Ormond's landing in Devon in 1714. Ormond fled to France in the first days of July, "a duke without a duchy," as Lord Oxford termed him, when it was manifest that the country was resolved on having the Hanoverian Elector as King, and was unwilling to summon the Chevalier of St. George to the throne. At the end of October the Duke of Ormond landed in Devon at the head of a few men, hoping that the West would rise in the Jacobite cause, but not a single adherent joined his standard, and he returned to France. The Devonshire squires were ready to plant Scotch pines in token of their Jacobite sympathies, but not to jeopardise their heads and acres in behalf of a cause which their good sense told them was hopeless. I have met with the ballad in a Garland, B.M. (11,621, b 16). This, however, is imperfect. It runs thus—
13. Ormond the Bold. This fascinating ballad was recorded, words and music, from J. Peake, a tanner in Liskeard; his father sang it around 1830. It mentions the Duke of Ormond’s landing in Devon in 1714. Ormond fled to France in early July, described as "a duke without a duchy" by Lord Oxford, when it became clear that the country was set on having the Hanoverian Elector as King and wasn’t willing to call upon the Chevalier of St. George to the throne. By the end of October, the Duke of Ormond arrived in Devon with a small group, hoping the West would back the Jacobite cause, but not a single supporter came forward, and he went back to France. The Devonshire squires were prepared to plant Scotch pines as a sign of their Jacobite sympathies but weren’t willing to risk their lives and estates for a cause they knew was doomed. I found the ballad in a Garland, B.M. (11,621, b 16). However, this version is incomplete. It goes like this—
"I am Ormond the brave, did you ever hear of me?
Who lately was banished from my own country.
They sought for my life and plundered my estate,
For being so loyal to Queen Anne the Great.
I am Ormond, etc.
"Says Ormond, If I did go, with Berwick I stood,
And for the Crown of England I ventured my blood,
To the Boyne I advanced, to Tingney (Quesnoy?) also,
I preserved King William from Berwick his foe.-N5-
"I never sold my country as cut-purses do,
Nor never wronged my soldiers of what was their due.
Such laws I do hate, you're witness above,
I left my estate for the country I love.
"Although they degrade me, I value it not a straw,
Some call me Jemmy Butler, I'm Ormond you know.
(Rest of verse missing.)
"But in the latter days our late Mistress Anne,
Disprove my loyalty if you can,
I was Queen Anne's darling, old England's delight,
Sacheverel's friend, and Fanatic's spite."
"I am Ormond the Brave. Have you heard of me?
I was recently banished from my own country.
They sought my life and stole my possessions,
For being so loyal to Queen Anne the Great.
I’m Ormond, etc.
"Ormond says, If I had to leave, I stood with Berwick,
And for the Crown of England, I risked my life,
I advanced to the Boyne, and to Tingney (Quesnoy?) as well,
I protected King William from his enemy Berwick.-N5-
"I never sold my country like thieves do,
Nor did I ever cheat my soldiers out of what was rightfully theirs.
I hate such laws; you're my witness above,
I left my fortune for the country I love.
"Although they put me down, I don't care at all,
Some call me Jemmy Butler, but I'm Ormond, you know.
(Rest of verse missing.)
"But in the later days, our late Mistress Anne,
Disprove my loyalty if you can,
I was Queen Anne's favorite, England's joy,
Sacheverel's ally, and a target for Fanatic's wrath."
When Peake sang the song to Mr. Sheppard and me, he converted German Elector into German lecturers.
When Peake sang the song to Mr. Sheppard and me, he turned German Elector into German lecturers.
The impeachment and attainder of the Duke in 1715 was a cruel and malicious act. When he was in the Netherlands acting in concert with Prince Eugene, he was hindered from prosecuting the war by secret instructions from Queen Anne. When Quesnoy was on the point of capitulating, he was forced to withdraw, as he had received orders to proclaim a cessation of arms for two months. After the death of Queen Anne, the new Whig Ministry was resolved on his destruction, and he fled to France, where, although he had been loyal to William of Orange, and had fought under him at the Boyne, and had also been one of the first to welcome George I., he threw himself into the cause of the Pretender, in a fit of resentment at the treatment he had received. He died on 16th November 1745 at Avignon, but his body was brought to England and buried in Henry VII.'s Chapel, Westminster. Swift, writing in the hour of his persecution, gives his character at great length. "The attainder," says he, "now it is done, looks like a dream to those who will consider the nobleness of his birth; the great merits of his ancestors, and his own; his long, unspotted loyalty; his affability, generosity, and sweetness of nature.... I have not conversed with a more faultless person; of great justice and charity; a true sense of religion, without ostentation; of undoubted valour; thoroughly skilled in his trade of a soldier; a quick and ready apprehension; with a good share of understanding, and a general knowledge of men and history."
The impeachment and condemnation of the Duke in 1715 was a cruel and malicious act. While he was in the Netherlands working with Prince Eugene, he was kept from advancing the war due to secret orders from Queen Anne. When Quesnoy was on the verge of surrendering, he had to pull back because he received orders to declare a two-month ceasefire. After Queen Anne died, the new Whig government was determined to see him ruined, and he fled to France. Despite having been loyal to William of Orange and fighting with him at the Boyne, and also being one of the first to welcome George I., he aligned himself with the Pretender out of frustration over how he had been treated. He died on November 16, 1745, in Avignon, but his body was returned to England and buried in Henry VII's Chapel at Westminster. Swift, writing during his time of persecution, describes his character in detail. "The condemnation," he says, "now that it has happened, seems like a dream to those who consider the nobility of his birth; the significant achievements of his ancestors and his own; his long, unblemished loyalty; his friendliness, generosity, and kind nature…. I have not met a more faultless person; of great fairness and kindness; a sincere sense of religion without showiness; of undeniable courage; highly skilled in his craft as a soldier; quick-witted and ready to understand; possessing a good amount of intelligence, and a broad knowledge of people and history."
Mackay, in his "Characters of the Court of Great Britain," says of him when Governor in Ireland:—"He governs in Ireland with more affection from the people, and his court is in the greatest splendour ever known in that country. He certainly is one of the most generous, princely, brave men that ever was, but good-natured to a fault."
Mackay, in his "Characters of the Court of Great Britain," says of him when he was Governor in Ireland:—"He rules in Ireland with a lot of affection from the people, and his court is more splendid than ever seen in that country. He is definitely one of the most generous, noble, brave men who has ever lived, but he's too good-natured for his own good."
14. John Barleycorn. This famous old song has gone through several recastings. The earliest known copy is of the age of James I. in the Pepysian Collection, i. 426, printed in black letter by H. Gosson (1607-1641). Other copies of Charles II.'s reign in the same Collection, i. 470, and the Ewing Collection, by the publishers Clarke, Thackeray, and Passenger, to the tune of "Shall I lye beyond thee." Chappell concludes that this was a very early ballad. "The language is not that of London and its neighbourhood during James's reign. It is either northern dialect—which, according to Puttenham, would commence about 60 miles from London—or it is much older than the date of the printers," Roxburgh Ballads, ii. p. 327.
14. John Barleycorn. This well-known old song has been reinterpreted multiple times. The earliest version we know of dates back to the time of James I, found in the Pepysian Collection, i. 426, printed in black letter by H. Gosson (1607-1641). Other versions from the reign of Charles II can be found in the same Collection, i. 470, and the Ewing Collection, published by Clarke, Thackeray, and Passenger, set to the tune of "Shall I lye beyond thee." Chappell concludes that this was a very early ballad. "The language is not that of London and its surrounding areas during James's reign. It is either from a northern dialect—which, according to Puttenham, would start about 60 miles from London—or it is much older than the date of the printers," Roxburgh Ballads, ii. p. 327.
This ballad begins—
This song starts—
"As I went through the North Country
I heard a merry greeting,
A pleasant toy and full of joy—
Two noblemen were meeting."
"As I traveled through the North Country
I heard a happy greeting,
A cheerful moment full of joy—
Two nobles were meeting.
These two noblemen are Sir John Barleycorn and Thomas Goodale.
These two nobles are Sir John Barleycorn and Thomas Goodale.
The sixth verse runs—
The sixth verse goes—
"Sir John Barlycorne fought in a boule
Who wonne the victorie,
And made them all to fume and sweare
That Barlycorne should die.
"Some said kill him, some said drowne,
Others wisht to hang him hie;
For as many as follow Barlycorne
Shall surely beggars die.
"Then with a plough they plow'd him up,
And thus they did devise,
To burie him quicke within the earth,
And sware he should not rise.
"With harrowes strong they combèd him
And burst clods on his head,
A joyfull banquet then they made
When Barlycorne was dead."
"Sir John Barlycorne fought in a brawl
Who won the win,
And made them all fume and swear
Barlycorne should die.
"Some said to kill him, some said to drown,
Some wanted to hang him from a great height;
For as many as followed Barlycorne
Will definitely die as beggars.
"Then with a plow they dug him up,
And so they planned,
To bury him alive in the earth,
And promised he wouldn't get up.
"With strong harrows they combed him
And threw dirt on his head,
A joyful feast then they had
When Barlycorne passed away.
Then the ballad runs on the same as ours. Burns got hold of this ballad, and tinkered it up into the shape in which it appears in his collected works, altering some expressions, and adding about six stanzas. He in no way improved it. Jameson, in his "Popular Ballads," Edinburgh, 1806, tells us that he had heard it sung in Morayshire before that Burns' songs were published.
Then the ballad continues just like ours. Burns found this ballad and tweaked it into the version that appears in his collected works, changing some phrases and adding about six stanzas. He didn't really make it better. Jameson, in his "Popular Ballads," Edinburgh, 1806, mentions that he heard it sung in Morayshire before Burns' songs were published.
Dixon, in his collection of the "Songs of the English Peasantry," 1846, says that "John Barleycorn" was sung throughout England to the tune of "Stingo, or Oil of Barley," which may be found in Chappell, from the "Dancing Master," in which it occurs from 1650 to 1690. But this is not the air to which it is set in the Broadsides above referred to, nor is it that to which it is sung in the West of England.
Dixon, in his collection of the "Songs of the English Peasantry," 1846, states that "John Barleycorn" was sung all over England to the tune of "Stingo, or Oil of Barley," which can be found in Chappell, from the "Dancing Master," where it appears from 1650 to 1690. However, this is not the melody to which it is set in the Broadsides mentioned earlier, nor is it the one sung in the West of England.
Dr. Barrett has given a different "John Barleycorn" in his "English Folk-Songs," and another is in the Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 81.
Dr. Barrett has provided a different version of "John Barleycorn" in his "English Folk-Songs," and another one can be found in the Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 81.
The words as now sung may be found in "The Mountain of Hair Garland," B.M. (1162, c 4), circ. 1760. It is also among Such's broadsides. Words and air were taken down by Mr. Bussell, from James Mortimore, a cripple, at Princetown, in 1890.
The lyrics currently sung can be found in "The Mountain of Hair Garland," B.M. (1162, c 4), circa 1760. It’s also included in Such's broadsides. The words and melody were recorded by Mr. Bussell from James Mortimore, a disabled man, in Princetown, in 1890.
A version taken down in Sussex, to a different tune, is seen in the Folk-Song Journal. This begins—
A version recorded in Sussex, to a different tune, can be found in the Folk-Song Journal. It starts—
"There were three men came out of the West,
They sold their wheat for rye;
They made an oath and a solemn oath,
John Barleycorn should die."
"There were three men who came out of the West,
They traded their wheat for rye;
They made an oath and a serious oath,
"John Barleycorn needs to die."
One verse is not in our version—
One verse is missing from our version—
"And in the mash-tub he was put,
And they scalded him stark blind.
And then they served him worse than that
They cast him to the swine."
"And in the mash-tub he was put,
And they burned him completely blind.
And then they treated him even worse
They fed him to the pigs."
15. Sweet Nightingale. In "Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England," by Robert Bell, London, 1857, the author says: "This curious ditty, which may be confidently assigned to the 17th century ... we first heard in Germany at Marienberg on the Moselle. The singers were four Cornish miners, who were at that time, 1854, employed at some lead mines near the town of Zell. The leader, or captain, John Stocker, said that the song was an established favourite with the miners of Cornwall and Devonshire, and was always sung on the pay-days and at the wakes; and that his grandfather, who died thirty years before, at the age of a hundred years, used to sing the song, and say it was very old. The tune is plaintive and original." Unfortunately Mr. Bell does not give the tune. The air was first sent me by E.F. Stevens, Esq., of the Terrace, St. Ives, who wrote that the melody "had run in his head any time these eight and thirty years." We have since had it from a good many old men in Cornwall, and always to the same air. They assert that it is a duet, and was so set in our first edition.
15. Sweet Nightingale. In "Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England," by Robert Bell, London, 1857, the author writes: "This interesting song, which can be confidently traced back to the 17th century ... we first heard in Germany at Marienberg on the Moselle. The performers were four miners from Cornwall, who were working at some lead mines near the town of Zell in 1854. The leader, John Stocker, mentioned that this song was a well-loved favorite among miners in Cornwall and Devonshire, often sung on paydays and at wakes. He also noted that his grandfather, who passed away thirty years earlier at the age of one hundred, used to sing it and claimed it was very old. The melody is sad and unique." Unfortunately, Mr. Bell does not provide the tune. The melody was first shared with me by E.F. Stevens, Esq., of the Terrace, St. Ives, who noted that the tune "has been stuck in his head for the past thirty-eight years." Since then, we've received it from many elderly men in Cornwall, and it has always been to the same tune. They claim it is a duet, as it was presented in our first edition.
Mr. Bell did not know much of the subject, or he would have been aware that so far from the song being of the 17th century, it was composed by Bickerstaff for "Thomas and Sally" in 1760, and was set to music by Dr. Arne. I have, however, adopted Bell's words instead of those of Bickerstaff, as shorter. The Cornish melody is quite distinct from that by Arne, and is not earlier or later than the second half of the 18th century.
Mr. Bell didn't know much about the topic, or he would have realized that instead of being from the 17th century, the song was actually written by Bickerstaff for "Thomas and Sally" in 1760 and set to music by Dr. Arne. However, I've used Bell's words instead of Bickerstaff's because they're shorter. The Cornish melody is completely different from Arne's, and it dates to the second half of the 18th century.
16. Widdecombe Fair. At present the best known and most popular of Devonshire songs, though the melody is without particular merit. The original "Uncle Tom Cobley" lived in a house near Yeoford Junction, in the parish of Spreyton. His will was signed on January 20, 1787, and was proved on March 14, 1794. He was a genial old bachelor. Mr. Samuel Peach, his oldest relation living, tells me, "My great-uncle, who succeeded him, with whom I lived for some years, died in 1843, over eighty years of age; he married, but left no children." We have obtained numerous variants of the air, one taken down from R. Bickle, Two Bridges, is an early form of the melody; but as that we give is familiar to most Devonshire men, we have retained it. The names in the chorus all belonged to residents at Sticklepath.
16. Widdecombe Fair. Right now, this is the most well-known and popular song from Devonshire, even though the tune isn’t particularly special. The original "Uncle Tom Cobley" lived in a house near Yeoford Junction, in the Spreyton parish. His will was signed on January 20, 1787, and proved on March 14, 1794. He was a friendly old bachelor. Mr. Samuel Peach, his oldest living relative, tells me, "My great-uncle, who took over after him and with whom I lived for several years, passed away in 1843 at over eighty years old; he got married but had no children." We’ve gathered many versions of the tune, one recorded from R. Bickle at Two Bridges, which is an early form of the melody; however, since the version we provide is familiar to most Devonshire folks, we’ve kept it. The names in the chorus all belonged to people who lived in Sticklepath.
Mr. C. Sharp has taken down a variant as "Midsummer Fair" in Somersetshire. The words so far as they went were the same, but each verse ended in a jingle instead of names.
Mr. C. Sharp recorded a version called "Midsummer Fair" in Somersetshire. The lyrics were the same up to a point, but each verse ended in a jingle instead of names.
17. Ye Maidens Pretty. The words and melody from James Parsons. The fullest Broadside version, but very corrupt, is one published at Aberdeen, Ballads, B.M. (1871, f, p. 61); another, shorter, by Williams of Portsea. In both great confusion has been made by some ignorant poetaster in enlarging and altering, so that in many of the verses the rhymes have been lost. This is how the Aberdeen Broadside copy begins—
17. You lovely ladies. The words and melody are from James Parsons. The most complete Broadside version, although very flawed, is one published in Aberdeen, Ballads, B.M. (1871, f, p. 61); another, shorter version, is by Williams of Portsea. In both, a lot of confusion has been caused by some unskilled poet trying to expand and change the text, resulting in many verses losing their rhymes. This is how the Aberdeen Broadside copy begins—
"You maidens pretty
In country and city
With pity hear,
My mournful tale;
A maid confounded,
In sorrow drownded,
And deeply wounded,
With grief and pain."
"You pretty young women
In the countryside and the city
Please listen with compassion,
To my sad story;
A girl in distress,
Drowned in sadness,
Deeply hurt,
With sorrow and pain.
In the third line the "pity" has got misplaced, and "sad complain" has been turned into "mournful tale," to the loss of the rhyme. Verse 4 has fared even worse. It runs—
In the third line, the "pity" is out of place, and "sad complain" has been changed to "mournful tale," losing the rhyme. Verse 4 has fared even worse. It reads—
"My hardened parents
Gave special order
That I should be
Close confined be (sic.)-N7-
Within my chamber
Far from all danger,
Or lest that I
Should my darling see."
"My tough parents
Gave a strict order
That I should be
Kept closely confined.-N7-
In my room
Far from any danger,
Or else that I
"Maybe I'll see my love."
A parody on the song was written by Ashley, of Bath, and sung in "Bombastes Furioso," Rhodes' burlesque, in 1810, to the Irish tune of "Paddy O'Carrol." This appears also in "The London Warbler," 3 vols., N.D., but about 1826, vol. i. p. 80—
A parody of the song was created by Ashley from Bath and performed in "Bombastes Furioso," Rhodes' burlesque, in 1810, to the Irish tune of "Paddy O'Carrol." This also appears in "The London Warbler," 3 vols., N/A, but around 1826, vol. i. p. 80—
"My love is so pretty, so gay, and so witty,
All in town, court, and city, to her must give place.
My Lord on the woolsack, his coachman did pull back,
To have a look, full smack, at her pretty face," etc.
"My love is so beautiful, so cheerful, and so clever,
In the whole town, court, and city, everyone must give way to her.
My Lord on the judge's seat had his coachman hold back,
To get a full view of her lovely face," etc.
A Catnach Broadside, "The Cruel Father and the Affectionate Lovers," is a new version of the original ballad. Words and melody are probably of the Elizabethan age; an air to which this ballad has been recovered from tradition in Surrey resembles ours, and is a corruption of the earlier melody.
A Catnach Broadside, "The Cruel Father and the Affectionate Lovers," is a modern take on the original ballad. The words and melody likely date back to the Elizabethan era; a tune related to this ballad, which has been passed down through tradition in Surrey, is similar to ours and is a variation of the earlier melody.
The ballad goes back to a remote antiquity. The French have it, a "complainte romanesque," of which Tiersot says: "It was known in past ages, as is shown by a semi-literary imitation, published in a song-book of the beginning of the 17th century. And in our own day, poets and literary men, such as Gerard de Nerval, Prosper Mérimée, M. Auguste Vitu, have given their names to it, having picked it up as a precious thing from oral recitations by the peasants of our provinces." It is the ballad of a princess loving a knight, "qu' n'a pas vaillant six deniers." The King Loys, her father, has imprisoned her in the highest of his towers—
The ballad dates back to deep antiquity. The French have a "romantic lament," of which Tiersot says: "It was known in earlier times, as shown by a semi-literary imitation published in a songbook from the early 17th century. And even today, poets and writers like Gerard de Nerval, Prosper Mérimée, and M. Auguste Vitu have adopted it, having discovered it as a treasure from the oral stories of our region's peasants." It's the ballad of a princess who loves a knight, "who doesn't have at least six pennies." King Loys, her father, has locked her in the tallest of his towers—
"Elle y fut bien sept ans passés
Sans qu' son pèr' vint la visiter;
Et quand l'y eut sept ans passés,
Son père la fut visiter."—Tiersot, op. cit. p. 20.
"She spent a little more than seven years there
Without her father visiting her;
And after she had spent a little over seven years,
Her father came to visit her."—Tiersot, op. cit. p. 20.
There can, I think, be no doubt that it is an old troubadour lay which has been re-composed in Elizabethan times, and has since been somewhat degraded.
There’s no doubt, in my opinion, that it’s an old troubadour song that was reworked during the Elizabethan era and has since lost some of its original quality.
18. The Silly Old Man. A ballad that was sung by the late Rev. G. Luscombe something over half a century ago. He was curate of Bickleigh, and by ancestry belonged to a good old Devonshire family, and he was particularly fond of ancient West of England songs. Another version, from old Suey Stephens, a charwoman at Stowford; another, as sung in 1848, received from Dr. Reed in Tiverton. Miss Mason, in her "Nursery Rhymes and Country Songs," 1877, gives a slight variant, also from Devonshire.
18. The Funny Old Man. A ballad that was sung by the late Rev. G. Luscombe over fifty years ago. He was the curate of Bickleigh and came from a well-respected old Devonshire family. He had a particular fondness for traditional West of England songs. Another version comes from old Suey Stephens, a cleaner at Stowford; another, sung in 1848, was passed down from Dr. Reed in Tiverton. Miss Mason, in her "Nursery Rhymes and Country Songs," 1877, provides a slightly different version, also from Devonshire.
The ballad is in Dixon's "Songs of the English Peasantry," 1846, as taken down by him from oral recitation in Yorkshire in 1845. It exists in a chap-book, under the title of "The Crafty Farmer," published in 1796. In Yorkshire the song goes by the name of "Saddle to Rags"; there, and elsewhere in the North of England, it is sung to the tune of "The Rant," better known as "How happy could I be with either." It has been published as a Scottish ballad in Maidment's "Ballads and Songs," Edinburgh, 1859. It is given in Kidson's "Traditional Tunes." The words also in "A Pedlar's Pack," by Logan, Edinburgh, 1849. The tune to which this ballad is sung in Devonshire is quite distinct.
The ballad is found in Dixon's "Songs of the English Peasantry," 1846, recorded from oral tradition in Yorkshire in 1845. It appears in a chapbook titled "The Crafty Farmer," published in 1796. In Yorkshire, the song is known as "Saddle to Rags"; there, and in other parts of Northern England, it's sung to the tune of "The Rant," also known as "How happy could I be with either." It has been published as a Scottish ballad in Maidment's "Ballads and Songs," Edinburgh, 1859. It's included in Kidson's "Traditional Tunes." The lyrics are also found in "A Pedlar's Pack," by Logan, Edinburgh, 1849. The tune used for this ballad in Devonshire is quite different.
19. The Months of the Year. Still a popular song among farm labourers. Three versions of the air and words were taken down—one at South Brent, one at Belstone, one at Post Bridge. The air is clearly an old dance tune. The version we preferred was that given us by J. Potter, farmer, of Merripit, Post Bridge. For like songs, see "English County Songs," p. 143, and Barrett's "Folk-Songs." Barrett has the same air as ours, but in triple time. That a similar song should be found on the Continent is not wonderful; see "Les Douze Mois de l'année" in Coussemaker: "Les Flamands de France," p. 133.
19. The Months of the Year. Still a popular song among farm workers. We recorded three versions of the melody and lyrics—one at South Brent, one at Belstone, and one at Post Bridge. The melody is clearly an old dance tune. The version we liked best was the one provided by J. Potter, a farmer from Merripit, Post Bridge. For similar songs, see "English County Songs," p. 143, and Barrett's "Folk-Songs." Barrett has the same melody as ours, but in triple time. It’s not surprising that a similar song can be found on the Continent; see "The Twelve Months of the Year" in Coussemaker: "The Flemings of France," p. 133.
20. The Chimney Sweep. Taken down from J. Helmore, miller, South Brent. The first verse occurs in one of James Catnach's chap-books: "The Cries of London," circ. 1815.
20. The Chimney Cleaner. Recorded from J. Helmore, miller, South Brent. The first verse appears in one of James Catnach's chap-books: "The Cries of London," circa 1815.
The tune is possibly based on one used by the Savoyard sweeps, for Tiersot refers to one such: "Avec sa bizarre vocalise descendante, d'un accent si étrange dans sa rudesse montagnarde—
The tune might be inspired by one used by the Savoyard chimney sweeps, as Tiersot mentions one like it: "With its strange descending vocalization, with an accent so odd in its rugged mountain quality—
"Ramonez-ci, ramonez-là,
Sh-a-a-a-ah
La cheminée du haut en bas."
"Sweep here, sweep there,
Sh-a-a-a-ah
The chimney, from top to bottom."
And this corresponds with the passage, "Aye and there," with its curious descent in our tune: Tiersot, "Hist. de la Chanson Populaire en France," Paris, 1889, p. 143.
And this matches the line, "Aye and there," with its interesting drop in our song: Tiersot, "History of Popular Song in France," Paris, 1889, p. 143.
21. The Saucy Sailor. Words and melody taken from James Parsons. A Broadside with a different ending printed by Disley, Pitts, Such & Hodges. Also Tozer's "Forty Sailors' Songs," Boosey, No. 33. The usual air to which this song is sung in Devon is of a much earlier character; but we give this as more agreeable to modern ears. Barrett gives the song in his "English Folk-Songs," No. 32, to a different tune.
21. The Sassy Sailor. Words and melody taken from James Parsons. A Broadside with a different ending printed by Disley, Pitts, Such & Hodges. Also Tozer's "Forty Sailors' Songs," Boosey, No. 33. The usual tune for this song in Devon is much older; however, we present this version as it suits modern tastes better. Barrett includes the song in his "English Folk-Songs," No. 32, set to a different melody.
22. Blue Muslin. Taken down, words and music, from John Woodrich, blacksmith. Muslin was introduced into England in 1670, and cork in 1690. Both are spoken of as novelties, and muslin is sung to the old form of the word, mous-el-ine.
22. Blue Muslin. Recorded, words and music, from John Woodrich, blacksmith. Muslin was brought to England in 1670, and cork in 1690. Both are referred to as novelties, and muslin is sung to the old pronunciation of the word, mous-el-ine.
Miss F. Crossing sent me another version of the words, taken down from an old woman in South Devon, in or about 1850—
Miss F. Crossing sent me another version of the words, recorded from an old woman in South Devon, around 1850—
"'My man John, what can the matter be?'
'I love a lady, and she won't love me.'
'Peace, sir, peace, and don't despair,
The lady you love will be your only care;
And it must be gold to win her.'
"'Madam, will you accept of this pretty golden ball,
To walk all in the garden, or in my lady's hall?'
'Sir, I'll accept of no pretty golden ball,' etc.
"'Madam, will you accept of a petticoat of red,
With six golden flounces around it outspread?'
"'Madam, will you accept of the keys of my heart,
That we may join together, and never, never part?'
"'Madam, will you accept of the keys of my chest,
To get at all my money, and to buy what you think best?'
"'Sir, I will accept of the keys of your chest,
To get at all your money, and to buy what I think best;
And I'll walk and I'll talk with you.'
"'My man John, there's a box of gold for you,
For that which you told me has come true,
And 'twas gold, 'twas gold that did win her.'"
"'My buddy John, what's wrong?'
'I love a girl, and she doesn't love me.'
'Silence, man, silence, and don't lose hope,
The girl you love will be your only focus;
"And you have to be rich to win her over."
"'Ma'am, will you accept this lovely golden ball,
To stroll through the garden or in my lady's hall?'
'No, sir, I won’t accept any pretty golden ball,' etc.
"'Ma'am, will you accept a red petticoat,
With six golden trim flounces all around it?'
"'Ma'am, will you accept the keys to my heart,
So we can be together and never, ever part?'
"'Ma'am, will you accept the keys to my chest,
So you can access all my money and buy what you think is best?'
'Yes, I will take the keys to your chest,
To access all your money and buy what I think is best;
"And I’ll walk and talk with you."
"'My buddy John, there's a box of gold for you,
For what you told me has come true,
And it was gold; it was gold that attracted her.
Another version comes from Yorkshire ("Halliwell Nursery Rhymes," 4th ed., 1846); another from Cheshire (Broadwood, "English County Songs," p. 32); another in Mason's "Nursery Rhymes" (Metzler, 1877, p. 27). Melodies different from ours.
Another version comes from Yorkshire ("Halliwell Nursery Rhymes," 4th ed., 1846); another from Cheshire (Broadwood, "English County Songs," p. 32); another in Mason's "Nursery Rhymes" (Metzler, 1877, p. 27). The melodies are different from ours.
23. The Death of Parker. Words and melody taken down from Samuel Fone, mason, Blackdown. It is identical with one obtained in Yorkshire by Mr. Kidson. "The Death of Parker" is found on Broadsides, and is in "The Lover's Harmony," N.D., printed by Pitts, of Seven Dials. It is in Logan's "Pedlar's Pack," p. 58, and in Ashton's "Modern Street Ballads," London, 1888, p. 218.
23. The Death of Parker. Words and melody taken from Samuel Fone, a mason from Blackdown. It is the same as one collected in Yorkshire by Mr. Kidson. "The Death of Parker" appears on broadsides and is included in "The Lover's Harmony," N.D., printed by Pitts of Seven Dials. It can also be found in Logan's "Pedlar's Pack," p. 58, and in Ashton's "Modern Street Ballads," London, 1888, p. 218.
On April 15, 1797, when Admiral Bridport, commanding the line-of-battle ships at Portsmouth and Spithead, signalled for the fleet to prepare for sea, the men, by a preconcerted agreement, refused to raise anchors till they had obtained redress for their grievances, which had been sent in the form of a petition to Lord Howe, two months before, and which had remained unnoticed. The Lords of the Admiralty endeavoured for some days, but ineffectually, to reduce the men to obedience. At last the grievances complained of were redressed by the action of Lord Bridport, who also obtained his Majesty's pardon for the offenders. However, in May, the sailors at Portsmouth, thinking that the Government did not intend to keep faith with them, came ashore and committed great excesses. Shortly after this the fleet at Sheerness exhibited a mutinous spirit, and this broke out into open mutiny at the Nore. At the head of the men was Richard Parker, a Devonshire man. The obnoxious officers were sent ashore, and the red flag was hoisted. Altogether twenty-five ships were included in the mutiny. The mutineers seized certain store-ships, fired on some frigates that were about to put to sea, and blockaded the mouth of the Thames. All attempts at conciliation having failed, it became necessary to resort to stringent measures. Ships and gunboats were armed, batteries were erected on shore; the mutineers were prevented from landing to obtain fresh water and provisions; and all buoys and beacons were removed, so as to render egress from the Thames impossible. One by one the ships engaged in the mutiny began to drop off, and at last the Sandwich, Parker's flagship, ran in under the batteries and delivered up the ringleader. Parker was hung at the yard-arm on June 30. The ballad was composed at the time, and obtained a wide circulation by appearing on Broadsides.
On April 15, 1797, when Admiral Bridport, in charge of the battleships at Portsmouth and Spithead, signaled for the fleet to get ready for sea, the crew, following a prior agreement, refused to raise the anchors until they received a resolution for their issues. These grievances had been presented in a petition to Lord Howe two months earlier and had gone ignored. The Admiralty tried for several days to force the crew into compliance but failed. Eventually, Lord Bridport addressed the complaints, and he also secured a pardon from the King for those involved. However, in May, the sailors in Portsmouth, believing the Government would not keep its promises, came ashore and caused major disturbances. Shortly after, the fleet at Sheerness showed signs of unrest, which escalated into outright mutiny at the Nore, led by Richard Parker from Devon. The disliked officers were sent ashore, and the red flag was raised. In total, twenty-five ships participated in the mutiny. The mutineers took control of some supply ships, fired on frigates preparing to leave port, and blockaded the Thames. After all efforts to negotiate failed, strict measures were required. Ships and gunboats were armed, batteries were set up on land; the mutineers were kept from landing to get fresh water and supplies, and all buoys and beacons were removed to make it impossible to leave the Thames. One by one, the ships involved in the mutiny began to depart, and finally, the Sandwich, Parker's flagship, came under the batteries and surrendered its leader. Parker was hanged at the yardarm on June 30. A ballad was written at the time and spread widely through Broadsides.
At the Exeter Assizes in 1828, John C. Parker, son of Richard Parker, obtained a verdict against his aunts for the possession of an estate called Shute, which had belonged to his father's elder brother. The question turned upon the legitimacy of the plaintiff, which was proved by his mother, a woman who exhibited the remains of uncommon beauty, and who was a Scottish woman, married to Richard Parker in 1793.
At the Exeter Assizes in 1828, John C. Parker, son of Richard Parker, won a verdict against his aunts for the ownership of an estate called Shute, which had belonged to his father's older brother. The case focused on the legitimacy of the plaintiff, which was established by his mother, a woman who still showed signs of extraordinary beauty, and who was a Scottish woman married to Richard Parker in 1793.
24. The Helston Furry Dance. On May 8, annually, a festival is held at Helston, in Cornwall, to celebrate the incoming of spring. Very early in the morning a party of youths and maidens go into the country, and return dancing through the streets to a quaint tune, peculiar to the day, called the "Furry Dance." At eight o'clock the "Hal-an-tow" is sung by a party of from twenty to thirty men and boys who come into the town bearing green branches, with flowers in their hats, preceded by a single drum, on which a boy beats the Furry Dance. They perambulate the town for many hours, stopping at intervals at some of the principal houses.
24. The Helston Furry Dance. Every year on May 8, a festival takes place in Helston, Cornwall, to celebrate the arrival of spring. Early in the morning, a group of youth and young women head into the countryside and return dancing through the streets to a unique tune known as the "Furry Dance." At eight o'clock, the "Hal-an-tow" is performed by a group of about twenty to thirty men and boys who come into town carrying green branches and wearing flowers in their hats, led by a single drummer, with a boy playing the Furry Dance. They walk around the town for several hours, taking breaks at some of the main houses.
At one o'clock a large party of ladies and gentlemen, in summer attire—the ladies decorated with garlands of flowers, the gentlemen with nosegays and flowers in their hats, assemble at the Town Hall, and proceed to dance after the band, playing the traditional air. They first trip in couples, hand in hand, during the first part of the tune, forming a string of from thirty to forty couples, or perhaps more; at the second part of the tune the first gentleman turns with both hands the lady behind him,-N9- and her partner turns in like manner with the first lady; then each gentleman turns his own partner, and then they trip on as before. The other couples, of course, pair and turn in the same way, and at the same time.
At one o'clock, a big group of ladies and gentlemen, dressed for summer—ladies wearing flower crowns and gentlemen sporting nosegays and flowers in their hats—gather at the Town Hall and begin dancing to the live band playing traditional music. They start by dancing in pairs, hand in hand, during the first part of the tune, forming a line of thirty to forty couples, or maybe even more. In the second part of the tune, the first gentleman turns the lady behind him with both hands,-N9- and her partner does the same with the first lady; then each gentleman turns his own partner, and they continue dancing as before. The other couples, of course, pair up and turn in the same way at the same time.
The dancing is not confined to the streets; the house doors are thrown open, and the train of dancers enters by the front, dances through the house, and out at the back, through the garden, and back again. It is considered a slight to omit a house. Finally the train enters the Assembly Room and there resolves itself into an ordinary waltz.
The dancing isn’t just happening in the streets; the house doors are wide open, and the group of dancers flows in through the front, dances around the house, and exits at the back, through the garden, and returns again. It’s seen as a slight to skip over a house. Eventually, the group makes its way into the Assembly Room and then turns into a regular waltz.
As soon as the first party is finished, another goes through the same evolutions, and then another, and so on, and it is not till late at night that the town returns to its peaceful propriety.
As soon as the first party ends, another goes through the same routines, and then another, and so on, until late at night when the town finally goes back to its calm normalcy.
There is a general holiday in the town on Flora Day, and so strictly was this formerly adhered to, that anyone found working on that day was compelled to jump across Pengella, a wide stream that discharges its waters into Loo Pool. As this feat was almost impracticable, it involved a sousing. The festival has by no means ceased to be observed; it has rather, of late years, been revived in energetic observance.
There’s a public holiday in the town on Flora Day, and it used to be so strictly enforced that anyone caught working on that day had to jump across Pengella, a wide stream that flows into Loo Pool. Since this was nearly impossible, it usually ended in a soaking. The festival hasn’t died out; in fact, it has been revived in recent years with a lot of enthusiasm.
The "Helston Furry Dance" is a relic of part of the Old English May Games. These originally comprised four entirely distinct parts. 1st. The election and procession of the King and Queen of the May, who were called the Summer King and Queen. 2nd. The Morris Dance, performed by men disguised, with swords in their hands. 3rd. The "Hobby Horse." 4th. The "Robin Hood."
The "Helston Furry Dance" is a remnant of the Old English May Games. These originally included four completely separate parts. 1st. The election and parade of the King and Queen of the May, known as the Summer King and Queen. 2nd. The Morris Dance, performed by men in disguise, wielding swords. 3rd. The "Hobby Horse." 4th. The "Robin Hood."
In the Helston performance we have a fragment only of the original series of pageants; at Padstow the Hobby-horse still figures. I have given the two Padstow songs in "A Garland of Country Song," 1895, No. 42.
In the Helston performance, we only have a fragment of the original series of pageants; at Padstow, the Hobby-horse is still part of it. I included the two Padstow songs in "A Garland of Country Song," 1895, No. 42.
The Helston Furry Dance tune was printed in Davies Gilbert's "Christmas Carols," 2nd ed., 1823. His form is purer than ours, which is as now sung. Edward Jones had already published it in his "Bardic Museum," vol. ii. (1802) as "The Cornish May Song," and George Johnson in his "Welsh Airs," vol. ii. (1811).
The Helston Furry Dance tune was published in Davies Gilbert's "Christmas Carols," 2nd ed., 1823. His version is cleaner than the one we sing today. Edward Jones had already released it in his "Bardic Museum," vol. ii. (1802) as "The Cornish May Song," and George Johnson included it in his "Welsh Airs," vol. ii. (1811).
25. Blow away, ye Morning Breezes. Taken down, words and music, from Robert Hard. This curious song was to be sung by two sopranos; that is to say, one voice taunts the other, and the second replies, then both unite in the chorus. We have omitted the retort, which consists simply in the application of the same words to the first singer. It is certainly an early composition. One passage in it occurs in "The Knight and the Shepherd's Daughter," in Percy's "Relicks," and Child's "English and Scotch Ballads"—
25. Blow away, you morning breezes. Taken down, words and music, from Robert Hard. This unique song was meant to be sung by two sopranos; in other words, one voice teases the other, and the second responds, then both join in the chorus. We have left out the reply, which simply repeats the same words directed at the first singer. It’s definitely an early piece. One part of it appears in "The Knight and the Shepherd's Daughter," found in Percy's "Relicks," and Child's "English and Scotch Ballads"—
"Would I had drunk the water cleare
When I had drunk the wine,
Rather than any shepherd's brat
Should be a lady of mine.
Would I had drunk the puddle foule
When I had drunk the ale," etc.
"Would I had drunk the clear water
After I had drunk the wine,
Rather than any shepherd's brat
She should be a lady of mine.
Would I had drunk the dirty puddle
"When I had finished the ale," etc.
The burden or chorus, "Blow away," etc., occurs also in the ballad of "The Baffled Knight."
The refrain, "Blow away," etc., is also found in the ballad of "The Baffled Knight."
26. The Hearty Good Fellow. Taken down, words and music, from Robert Hard. This ballad is found on a Broadside by Pitts, entitled "Adventures of a Penny." The first verse there runs—
26. The Friendly Good Guy. Written down, words and music, from Robert Hard. This song appears on a Broadside by Pitts, titled "Adventures of a Penny." The first verse there goes—
"Long time I've travelled the North Country
Seeking for good company.
Good company I always could find,
But none was pleasing to my mind.
Sing whack, fal de ral, etc.,
I had one Penny."
"Long time I've traveled the North Country
Looking for good company.
I could always find good company,
But none was satisfying to my mind.
Sing whack, fal de ral, etc.,
I had a penny.
The rest is very much the same as our version. I also heard it sung by a worker at the Aller Potteries, near Newton Abbot. Mr. Kidson has obtained a traditional version in Yorkshire, and Mr. C. Sharp one in Somersetshire from Eliza Hutchins of Langport. As the accent came wrong in the version we received from Hard, we have adopted that as given by Eliza Hutchins.
The rest is pretty much the same as our version. I also heard it sung by a worker at the Aller Potteries, near Newton Abbot. Mr. Kidson got a traditional version from Yorkshire, and Mr. C. Sharp got one from Eliza Hutchins of Langport in Somerset. Since the accent was off in the version we got from Hard, we've gone with the one provided by Eliza Hutchins.
27. The Bonny Bunch of Roses. Of this we have taken down a great number of versions. The melody is always the same. The youth in the printed Broadside copies is always Napoleon Bonaparte. History does not agree with what is said of the hero in the song. It is almost certainly an anti-Jacobite production, adapted to Napoleon, with an additional verse relative to Moscow. In the Broadside versions the song is given "To the tune of the Bunch of Roses, O!" indicating that there was an earlier ballad of the same nature.
27. The Bonny Bunch of Roses. We have collected many versions of this song. The melody always stays the same. In the printed Broadside copies, the young man is always Napoleon Bonaparte. History doesn’t match up with what the song portrays about the hero. It’s likely an anti-Jacobite piece, adapted to include Napoleon, with an extra verse about Moscow. In the Broadside versions, the song is labeled "To the tune of the Bunch of Roses, O!" suggesting there was an earlier ballad with a similar theme.
This was a favourite fo'castle song in the middle of the nineteenth century. There is a version of it in Christie's "Traditional Ballads." One has also been recovered by Mr. Kidson in Yorkshire. The song was such a favourite that a public-house near Wakefield bears "The Bonny Bunch of Roses, O!" as its sign.
This was a favorite forecastle song in the mid-nineteenth century. There's a version of it in Christie's "Traditional Ballads." Another one was found by Mr. Kidson in Yorkshire. The song was so popular that a pub near Wakefield has "The Bonny Bunch of Roses, O!" as its sign.
28. The Last of the Singers. The melody taken down from William Huggins, mason, of Lydford, who died in March 1889. He had been zealously engaged that winter going about among his ancient musical friends collecting old songs for me, when he caught a chill and died. The words he gave were those of the ballad, "The Little Girl down the Lane," and were of no merit. I have therefore discarded them and written fresh words, and dedicate them to the memory of poor old Will.
28. The Last of the Singers. The melody was recorded from William Huggins, a mason from Lydford, who passed away in March 1889. He had been enthusiastically visiting his old musical friends that winter, gathering old songs for me, when he caught a chill and died. The lyrics he provided were from the ballad, "The Little Girl down the Lane," and weren't very good. So, I've discarded them and written new lyrics, dedicating them to the memory of dear old Will.
29. The Tythe Pig. Words and air taken from Robert Hard. Sung also by J. Helmore. The song appears on Broadsides by Disley, Jackson of Birmingham, Harkness of Preston, Catnach, and others. There are ten verses in the original. I have cut them down to seven.
29. The Tax Pig. Words and music credited to Robert Hard. Sung by J. Helmore as well. The song is found on Broadsides by Disley, Jackson of Birmingham, Harkness of Preston, Catnach, and others. The original has ten verses, but I’ve shortened it to seven.
30. Old Wichet. Taken from Thomas Darke of Whitstone. He had learned it in 1835 from a fellow labourer. Sung also by James Parsons, Samuel Fone, and J. Woodrich. It is said to be still popular in the North of England. A Scottish version in Herd's Collection, 1769, and in Johnson's "Musical Museum," Edinburgh, 1787-1803, vol. v. p. 437. "Old Wichet" is in the Roxburgh Collection, and Bell has printed it in his "Ballads and Songs of the English Peasantry."
30. Old Wichet. This was taken from Thomas Darke of Whitstone. He learned it in 1835 from a fellow worker. It was also sung by James Parsons, Samuel Fone, and J. Woodrich. It’s said to still be popular in the North of England. A Scottish version can be found in Herd's Collection, 1769, and in Johnson's "Musical Museum," Edinburgh, 1787-1803, vol. v. p. 437. "Old Wichet" is included in the Roxburgh Collection, and Bell has published it in his "Ballads and Songs of the English Peasantry."
Dr. Arnold recast the song to a tune of his own in "Auld Robin Gray," 1794. The Scottish version begins—
Dr. Arnold rewrote the song to a tune of his own in "Auld Robin Gray," 1794. The Scottish version starts—
"The good man cam hame at e'en
And hame cam he.
And there he saw a saddle horse
Where nae horse should be."
"The good man came home in the evening
And he came home.
And there he saw a saddle horse
"Where no horse belongs."
Dr. Arnold begins—
Dr. Arnold starts—
"'Twas on Christmas day, my father he did wed,
Three months after that, my mother was brought to bed."
"On Christmas Day, my father got married,
Three months later, my mother gave birth."
In the original English song the final line to each stanza runs—
In the original English song, the last line of each verse goes—
"Old Wichet went a cuckold out, and a cuckold he came home."
"Old Wichet went out a cheated man, and a cheated man he came home."
But in one version taken down—
But in one recorded version—
"When honest men went out, under a horned moon."
"When honest people went out under a crescent moon."
I have thought it advisable to modify the last line of each stanza, and to compose a last stanza, so as to give to the song a less objectionable character. A somewhat similar ballad exists in France, as "Marianne," in Lemoine, "Chansons du Limousin," Limoges, 1890; in Daymard, "Vieux chants populaires de Quercy," Cahors, 1889; "Le Jaloux," in Bladé, "Poésies populaires de Gascogne," 1881. But, in fact, all these songs are the versification of an old troubadour tale, that is given in Barbazan, "Fabliaux et contes des poètes François xi.-xiv. siècles," as the "Chevalier à la robe vermeille," t. iii. p. 296. Alphonse Daudet, in "Numa Roumestan," introduces a great portion of the ballad. He says, "C'est sur un air grave comme du plain-chant." In the midst of the song, the person reciting it breaks off, and transported by enthusiasm exclaims: "Ça, voyez-vous, mes enfants, c'est bo (beau) comme du Shakespeare."
I thought it would be a good idea to change the last line of each stanza and create a final stanza to give the song a more acceptable feel. A somewhat similar ballad exists in France, called "Marianne," in Lemoine's "Songs of Limousin," Limoges, 1890; in Daymard's "Old folk songs from Quercy," Cahors, 1889; and "The Jealous One," in Bladé's "Popular Poems of Gascony"," 1881. But actually, all these songs are versions of an old troubadour tale found in Barbazan's "Fabliaux and tales from the French poets of the 11th to the 14th centuries," known as the "Knight in a crimson robe," t. iii. p. 296. Alphonse Daudet includes a large part of the ballad in "Numa Roumestan." He mentions, "It's to a serious tune like plainchant.." In the middle of the song, the narrator stops and, filled with excitement, exclaims: "You see, my children, it’s bo (beautiful) like Shakespeare.."
31. Jan's Courtship. Words and air from Mr. R. Rowe, Longabrook, Milton Abbot. Another set, slightly different, from Mr. Crossing; another, practically identical, from Mr. Chowen, Brentor. As "Robin's Courtship," the song was recovered by Mr. E.T. Wedmore of Bristol, in Somersetshire. It has also been noted in the same county by Mr. Sharp as "William the Rose," sung to the tune of "Lillibulero." It is found in "The Universal Songster," circ. 1830, as "Poor Bob." In the "Roxburgh Ballads," vi. pp. 216-7, is what is probably the earliest form—"Come hither my dutiful son, and take counsel of me." This was sung to the air "Grim King of the Ghosts." Another version is referred to in the "Beggars' Opera," Act III. Sc. viii., "Now Roger I'll tell thee, because thou'rt my son."
31. Jan's Dating Journey. Words and melody from Mr. R. Rowe, Longabrook, Milton Abbot. Another version, slightly different, comes from Mr. Crossing; and another, nearly identical, from Mr. Chowen, Brentor. The song, known as "Robin's Courtship," was recovered by Mr. E.T. Wedmore of Bristol, Somerset. It has also been noted in the same county by Mr. Sharp as "William the Rose," sung to the tune of "Lillibulero." It appears in "The Universal Songster," circa 1830, as "Poor Bob." In the "Roxburgh Ballads," vi. pp. 216-7, there's likely the earliest form—"Come here, my obedient son, and take advice from me." This was sung to the tune "Grim King of the Ghosts." Another version is mentioned in the "Beggars' Opera," Act III. Sc. viii., "Now Roger, I'll tell you, because you're my son."
Our tune is rugged, and Somersetshire in character. It is in the Æolian mode.
Our melody is rough and reflects the character of Somersetshire. It's in the Aeolian mode.
32. The Drowned Lover. Taken down from James Parsons. This is a very early song. It first appears as "Captain Digby's Farewell," in the "Roxburgh Ballads," iv. p. 393, printed in 1671. In Playford's "Choice Ayres," 1676, i. p. 10, it was set to music by Mr. Robert Smith. Then it came to be applied to the death of the Earl of Sandwich, after the action in Sole Bay, 1673. A black letter ballad, date circ. 1676, is headed, "To the tune of the Earl of Sandwich's Farewell." The original song consisted of three stanzas only; it became gradually enlarged and somewhat altered, and finally Sam Cowell composed a burlesque on it, which has served more or less to corrupt the current versions of the old song, printed on Broadsides by Catnach, Harkness, and others.
32. The Drowned Lover. Adapted from James Parsons. This is a very early song. It first appeared as "Captain Digby's Farewell" in the "Roxburgh Ballads," iv. p. 393, published in 1671. In Playford's "Choice Ayres," 1676, i. p. 10, it was set to music by Mr. Robert Smith. Then it became associated with the death of the Earl of Sandwich after the battle at Sole Bay in 1673. A black letter ballad, dated circa 1676, is titled, "To the tune of the Earl of Sandwich's Farewell." The original song had only three stanzas; it was gradually expanded and altered, and eventually, Sam Cowell wrote a parody of it, which has somewhat distorted the current versions of the old song, printed on Broadsides by Catnach, Harkness, and others.
The black letter ballad of 1673 begins—
The black letter ballad of 1673 starts—
"One morning I walked by myself on the shoar
When the Tempest did cry and the Waves they did roar,
Yet the music of the Winds and the Waters was drownd
By the pitiful cry, and the sorrowful sound,
Oh! Ah! Ah! Ah! my Love's dead.
There is not a bell
But a Triton's shell,
To ring, to ring, to ring my Love's knell."
"One morning, I walked alone along the shore
When the storm cried out and the waves roared,
Yet the music of the winds and the water was drowned
By the pitiful cry and the sorrowful sound,
Oh! Ah! Ah! Ah! My love has died.
No bell available
Just a Triton's shell,
To ring, to ring, to ring my Love's farewell bell.
"Colonel Digby's Lament," 1671, begins—
"Colonel Digby's Lament," 1671, starts—
"I'll go to my Love, where he lies in the Deep,
And in my Embrace, my dearest shall sleep.
When we wake, the kind Dolphins together shall throng,
And in chariots of shells shall draw us along.
Ah! Ah! My Love is dead.
There was not a bell, but a Triton's shell,
To ring, to ring out his knell."
"I'll go to my love, where he lies in the depths,
And in my arms, my dearest will sleep.
When we wake, the friendly dolphins will gather around,
And in chariots made of shells, they’ll pull us along.
Ah! Ah! My love has left.
There was no bell, only a Triton's shell,
"To express his farewell."
A second version of the melody, but slightly varied from that we give, was sent us by Mr. H. Whitfeld of Plymouth, as sung by his father. Our air is entirely different from that given by Playford, and is probably the older melody, which was not displaced by the composition of Mr. R. Smith. The song is sung to the same melody, but slightly varied, in Ireland.
A second version of the melody, but a bit different from the one we provided, was sent to us by Mr. H. Whitfeld of Plymouth, as sung by his father. Our tune is completely different from the one given by Playford and is likely the older melody, which wasn't replaced by Mr. R. Smith's composition. The song is sung to the same melody, but with slight variations, in Ireland.
33. Childe the Hunter. Words taken in a fragmentary form from Jonas Coaker. He had used up the material of the ballad, incorporating it into a "poem" he had composed on Dartmoor, and vastly preferred his own doggerel to what was traditional. The Æolian melody given is that to which the Misses Phillips, who were born and reared at Shaw, on Dartmoor, informed me that they had heard the ballad sung about 1830. We also obtained this air to "Cold blows the wind." It is unquestionably an early harp tune, not later than the reign of Henry VII. For the story of Childe of Plymstock, see Murray's "Handbook of Devon," ed. 1887, p. 208; more fully and critically in W. Crossing's "Ancient Crosses of Dartmoor," 1887, p. 51.
33. Childe the Hunter. The words are taken in a fragmented form from Jonas Coaker. He exhausted the material of the ballad, blending it into a "poem" he wrote on Dartmoor, and greatly preferred his own crude version to the traditional one. The Æolian melody provided is the one that the Misses Phillips, who grew up at Shaw on Dartmoor, told me they heard the ballad sung around 1830. We also received this tune for "Cold blows the wind." It's undoubtedly an early harp tune, dating back to the reign of Henry VII. For the story of Childe of Plymstock, see Murray's "Handbook of Devon," ed. 1887, p. 208; more fully and critically in W. Crossing's "Ancient Crosses of Dartmoor," 1887, p. 51.
34. The Cottage Thatched with Straw. Taken down, words and melody, from John Watts, quarryman, Alder, Thrushleton. This is one of the best known and, next to "Widdecombe Fair," most favourite songs of the Devon peasantry. Mr. Kidson has noted the song from a Worcestershire man. So far we have not been able to trace either words or melody, though neither can be earlier than the beginning of the nineteenth century, and the song has all the character of a published composition, and no spontaneous composition of a peasant.
34. The Straw Thatched Cottage. The lyrics and melody were taken from John Watts, a quarry worker from Alder, Thrushleton. This is one of the best-known and, next to "Widdecombe Fair," most loved songs among the Devon peasantry. Mr. Kidson has recorded the song from a man in Worcestershire. So far, we haven't been able to trace the lyrics or melody, though neither can be from before the early nineteenth century, and the song has all the qualities of a published work, rather than being an impromptu creation by a peasant.
35. Cicely Sweet. Words and air sent me by J.S. Hurrell, Esq., Kingsbridge, who had learned them in the middle of last century from Mr. A. Holoran, a Devonshire schoolmaster. It has already been published as "Sylvia Sweet" in Dale's "Collection," circ. 1790. Two verses are given by Halliwell as traditional in his "Nursery Rhymes," 4th ed., 1846, p. 223.
35. Cicely Sweet. Lyrics and melody sent to me by J.S. Hurrell, Esq., from Kingsbridge, who learned them in the mid-18th century from Mr. A. Holoran, a schoolteacher in Devonshire. It has previously been published as "Sylvia Sweet" in Dale's "Collection," circa 1790. Two verses are noted by Halliwell as traditional in his "Nursery Rhymes," 4th ed., 1846, p. 223.
36. A Sweet, Pretty Maiden. Melody taken down from James Parsons. The words of his ballad were interesting and poetical, but did not fit the tune. It began—
36. A Sweet, Cute Girl. Melody taken down from James Parsons. The lyrics of his song were intriguing and poetic, but they didn’t match the tune. It began—
"A maiden sweet went forth in May,
Nor sheet nor clout she bare,
She went abroad all on the day
To breathe the fresh spring air.
Before that she came back again
The maiden bore a pretty son,
And she roll'd it all up in her apron."
"A young woman went out in May,
Without a veil or any cloth at all,
She wandered around all day
To enjoy the fresh spring breeze.
Before she returned once more
The young woman had a beautiful son,
And she bundled him up in her apron.
The theme is the same as "She roun't in her apron" in Johnson's "Musical Museum," v. p. 437; and as it was quite impossible for us to print it, I have set to the air another song.
The theme is the same as "She roun't in her apron" in Johnson's "Musical Museum," v. p. 437; and since it was impossible for us to print it, I've created another song to go with the melody.
37. The White Cockade. Words and tune from Edmund Fry. The words of this ballad are often mixed up with those of "It was one summer morning, as I went o'er the grass." The song used to be well known in Lancashire and Yorkshire. Several versions are given in Kidson's "Traditional Tunes." As we heard the song, the cockade was described as green, but there never was a green cockade. I have somewhat altered the words. The Jacobite song of the "White Cockade" is totally distinct. A Barnstaple ware punch-bowl with cover I have seen in the parish of Altarnon, Cornwall, has on the cover the figure of a piper with his dog, and the inscription, "Piper, play us the White Cockade." This can hardly refer to the Scottish song and tune.
37. The White Cockade. Words and tune from Edmund Fry. The lyrics of this ballad are often confused with those of "It was one summer morning, as I walked over the grass." This song used to be popular in Lancashire and Yorkshire. Several versions are included in Kidson's "Traditional Tunes." When we heard the song, the cockade was described as green, but there has never actually been a green cockade. I have made some changes to the lyrics. The Jacobite song of the "White Cockade" is completely different. I saw a Barnstaple ware punch-bowl with a cover in the parish of Altarnon, Cornwall, which has a figure of a piper with his dog on the cover, along with the inscription, "Piper, play us the White Cockade." This probably doesn't refer to the Scottish song and tune.
In "Stray Garlands," B.M. (71621, a, b), is "The Blue Cockade," but this is a fusion of the two ballads.
In "Stray Garlands," B.M. (71621, a, b), is "The Blue Cockade," but this is a blend of the two ballads.
38. The Sailor's Farewell. Words and music from J. Helmore. A Broadside version by Williams of Portsea, Wright of Birmingham, B.M. (1876, c 2). As Helmore and his wife sang the verses alternately, we have so arranged it.
38. The Sailor's Goodbye. Words and music by J. Helmore. A Broadside version by Williams of Portsea, Wright of Birmingham, B.M. (1876, c 2). Since Helmore and his wife sang the verses back and forth, we've arranged it that way.
39. A Maiden Sat a-Weeping. Words and melody from James Parsons. Again, from Will Aggett, Chagford, identically the same. In our opinion a delicately beautiful song. The tune probably of the sixteenth century.
39. A Girl Sat Crying. Words and melody by James Parsons. Again, from Will Aggett, Chagford, exactly the same. We believe it to be a beautifully delicate song. The tune likely dates back to the sixteenth century.
40. The Blue Kerchief. Words and melody from John Woodrich, locally known as "Ginger Jack." The words have appeared, with slight variations, on Broadsides in ten verses. Catnach issued a parody on it, "The Bonny Blue Jacket." In Dr. Barrett's "English Folk-Songs," he uses this tune for "Paul Jones."
40. The Blue Bandana. Lyrics and melody by John Woodrich, known in the area as "Ginger Jack." The lyrics have appeared, with minor differences, on Broadsides in ten verses. Catnach released a parody titled "The Bonny Blue Jacket." In Dr. Barrett's "English Folk-Songs," he uses this tune for "Paul Jones."
41. Come to My Window. This is a very early song, and the melody is found substantially the same from the time of Queen Elizabeth.
41. Come to My Window. This is a very early song, and the melody is largely unchanged since the time of Queen Elizabeth.
In Beaumont and Fletcher's "Knight of the Burning Pestle," printed in 1613 and again in 1635, the merchant sings snatches of the song—
In Beaumont and Fletcher's "Knight of the Burning Pestle," published in 1613 and again in 1635, the merchant sings bits of the song—
"Go from my window, love, go;
Go from my window, my dear;
The wind and the rain
Will drive you back again,
You can not be lodged here.
"Begone, begone, my Juggy, my Puggy,
Begone, my love, my dear!
The weather is warm,
'Twill do thee no harm,
Thou canst not be lodged here."—Act III.
"Leave my window, love, leave;
Leave my window, my dear;
The wind and rain
Will bring you back later,
You can’t stay here.
"Go away, go away, my Juggy, my Puggy,
Go away, my love, my dear!
The weather is nice,
It won't harm you,
"You can't stay here."—Act III.
In Fletcher's "Monsieur Thomas," 1639, a maid sings—
In Fletcher's "Monsieur Thomas," 1639, a maid sings—
"Come to my window, love, come, come, come!
Come to my window, my dear:
The wind and the rain
Shall trouble thee again,
But thou shalt be lodged here."—Act III. Sc. iii.
"Come to my window, love, come, come, come!
Come to my window, my dear:
The wind and rain
I'll bother you again,
"But you’ll be safe here."—Act III. Scene iii.
In Fletcher's "The Woman's Prize," 1640, Jaques says—
In Fletcher's "The Woman's Prize," 1640, Jaques says—
"A moral, sir; the ballad will express it:
The wind and the rain
Have turn'd you back again,
And you cannot be lodged there."—Act I. Sc. iii.
"A moral, sir; the ballad will express it:
The wind and rain
Have turned your back again,
"And you can't stay there now."—Act I. Sc. iii.
It is evident that this ballad was very familiar in the latter part of the 16th century, and we find that on March 4, 1587-8, John Wolfe had a licence to print a ballad, entitled "Goe from my Window." It was one of those early songs parodied in "Ane compendious booke of Godly and Spirituall Songs," Edinburgh, 1590. This begins—
It’s clear that this ballad was well-known in the late 16th century. On March 4, 1587-8, John Wolfe was granted a license to print a ballad called "Goe from my Window." It was one of those early songs that was parodied in "Ane compendious booke of Godly and Spirituall Songs," Edinburgh, 1590. This begins—
"Quho (who) is at my windo, who, who?
Goe from my windo; goe, goe.
Quha calls there, so like a strangere?
Goe from my windo, goe!"
"Who is at my window, who, who?
Leave my window; just go.
Who calls there, sounding like a stranger?
"Leave my window, okay?"
At the end of Heywood's "Rape of Lucrece," 1638, is—
At the end of Heywood's "Rape of Lucrece," 1638, is—
"Begone, begone, my Willie, my Billie,
Begone, begone, my deere;
The weather is warm, 'twill doe thee no harm,
Thou canst not be lodged here."
"Go away, go away, my Willie, my Billie,
Leave me alone, dear;
The weather is warm, it won't hurt you,
"You can't stay here."
And in this form it appears in "Wit and Drollery," 1661, p. 25.
And in this form, it appears in "Wit and Drollery," 1661, p. 25.
In "Pills to Purge Melancholy," 1719, iv. 44, is another version of the song, beginning, "Arise arise, my juggy, my puggy." The tune is found in what is erroneously called Queen Elizabeth's "Virginal Book," and in "A New Book of Tablature," 1596; and in Morley's "First Book of Concert Lessons," 1599; and in Robinson's "Schoole of Musick," 1603. In the "Dancing Master," from 1650 to 1680, the tune is given under the title of "The New Exchange, or Durham Stable," but altered into 6-4 time to fit it for dancing.
In "Pills to Purge Melancholy," 1719, iv. 44, there's another version of the song that starts with, "Arise arise, my juggy, my puggy." The melody appears in what's mistakenly called Queen Elizabeth's "Virginal Book," and also in "A New Book of Tablature," 1596; in Morley's "First Book of Concert Lessons," 1599; and in Robinson's "Schoole of Musick," 1603. In the "Dancing Master," from 1650 to 1680, the tune is listed as "The New Exchange, or Durham Stable," but it's been changed to 6-4 time to make it suitable for dancing.
The tune in its original form may be seen in Chappell, i. p. 141.
The original version of the tune can be found in Chappell, i. p. 141.
Chappell has also given a traditional form of the air as obtained at Norwich. Dr. Barrett has given another in his "English Folk-Songs," No. 46, but without saying where he picked it up.
Chappell has also provided a traditional version of the melody as collected in Norwich. Dr. Barrett has offered another one in his "English Folk-Songs," No. 46, but he hasn't mentioned where he found it.
We obtained ours from John Woodrich; he heard it in an ale-house near Bideford in 1864, from an old man, who recited a tale, in which the song comes in in snatches. He had been soaked by the rain, and he told the tale as he dried himself by the kitchen fire. The story is this—
We got ours from John Woodrich; he heard it in a pub near Bideford in 1864, from an old man who told a story where the song comes in bits and pieces. He had been caught in the rain and shared the tale while warming up by the kitchen fire. The story is as follows—
Two men courted a pretty maid; one was rich, the other poor; and the rich man was old, but she loved the young poor man. Her father, in spite of her tears, forced her to marry the rich man; but her other suitor came under her window and tapped, and when the husband was away she admitted him. So passed a twelvemonth, and she had a little child. Then, one night, the lover came under the window, thinking her goodman was from home. With his tapping the husband awoke, and asked what the sound was. She said that an ivy leaf, fluttered by the wind, struck the pane.
Two men were interested in a beautiful maid; one was wealthy, and the other was poor. The rich man was old, but she loved the young, poor man. Despite her tears, her father forced her to marry the rich man. However, her other suitor would come to her window and knock, and when her husband was away, she let him in. A year went by, and she had a baby. Then, one night, the lover came to the window, thinking her husband was out. The husband woke up from the knocking and asked what the noise was. She said it was an ivy leaf being blown against the window by the wind.
But fearing lest the lover should continue to tap, she began to sing, as she rocked the cradle—
But worried that the lover might keep tapping, she started to sing as she rocked the cradle—
"Begone, begone, my Willie, my Billy,
Begone my love and my dear.
O the wind is in the west
And the cuckoo's in his nest,
And you cannot have a lodging here."
"Go away, go away, my Willie, my Billy,
Leave now, my love and dear.
Oh, the wind is blowing from the west.
And the cuckoo is in its nest,
"And you can't stay here."
Again the lover tapped, and the husband asked what that meant. She said that a bat had flown against the window. Then she sang—
Again, the lover tapped, and the husband asked what that meant. She said that a bat had flown into the window. Then she sang—
"Begone, begone, my Willie, my Billy,
Begone, my love and my dear.
O the weather it is warm
And it cannot do thee harm,
And thou canst not have a lodging here."
"Go away, go away, my Willie, my Billy,
Get out of here, my love and my dear.
The weather is nice.
And it won’t hurt you,
"And you can't stay here."
Then the lover called, and the husband asked what that was. She said it was the hooting of an owl; and then she sang—
Then the lover called, and the husband asked what that was. She said it was the hooting of an owl; and then she sang—
"Begone, begone, my Willie, my Billy,
Begone my love and my dear.
O the wind and the rain
Have brought him back again,
But thou canst not have a lodging here."
"Leave, leave, my Willie, my Billy,
Go on, my love and dear.
Oh, the wind and the rain
Brought him back again,
But you can't stay here.
Again the lover rapped; then she sprang out of bed, threw abroad the casement, and sang—
Again the lover knocked; then she jumped out of bed, opened the window, and sang—
"Begone, begone, my Willy, you silly,
Begone, my Fool and my Dear.
O the Devil's in the man,
And he cannot understan',
That to-night he cannot have a lodging here."
"Go away, go away, my Willy, you silly,
Leave me alone, my Fool and my Dear.
Oh, the Devil's in the guy,
And he doesn't understand,
"That he can't stay here tonight."
This is almost certainly the original framework to which these snatches of song belong. But there was another version of the story in a ballad entitled "The Secret Lover, or the Jealous Father beguil'd, to a West Country tune, or Alack! for my love and I must dye," printed by P. Brooksby, between 1672 and 1682, given by Mr. Ebsworth in the "Roxburgh Ballads," vi. p. 205. This begins—
This is likely the original framework to which these snippets of song belong. However, there was another version of the story in a ballad called "The Secret Lover, or the Jealous Father beguiled, to a West Country tune, or Alack! for my love and I must die," printed by P. Brooksby, between 1672 and 1682, as cited by Mr. Ebsworth in the "Roxburgh Ballads," vi. p. 205. This begins—
"A dainty spruce young Gallant, that lived in the West,
He courted a young Lady, and real love professt,
And coming one night to her, his mind he thus exprest—
And sing, Go from my window, love, go!
"'What, is my love a sleeping? or is my love awake?'
'Who knocketh at the window, who knocketh there so late?'
'It is your true love, Lady, that for your sake doth wait.'
And sing, Go from my window, love, go!"
"A charming young man from the West,
He was in love with a young lady, and he declared his love for her,
And one night he came to her and expressed his feelings—
And sing, Leave my window, my love, leave!
"'Is my love sleeping? Or is my love awake?'
'Who’s knocking at the window, who’s knocking so late?'
'It’s your true love, my lady, who waits for you.'
And sing, "Leave my window, my love, leave!"
Here the father, and not the husband, is the person who is troublesome to the lovers.
Here, it's the father, not the husband, who is an obstacle for the lovers.
That this is an adaptation, and not the original form of the story, is obvious from the line—
That this is an adaptation, and not the original version of the story, is clear from the line—
"And the cuckoo's in his nest,"
"And the cuckoo's in its nest,"
a play on the word cuckold.
a play on the word cuckold.
A still later version, circ. 1770, is given by Ebsworth, "Roxburgh Ballads," vi. p. 205.
A later version, circa 1770, is provided by Ebsworth in "Roxburgh Ballads," vi. p. 205.
Messrs. Moffat and Kidson have given the song in the "Minstrelsy of England," N.D., but 1903, p. 24. So also Dr. Barrett in his "English Folk-Songs," No. 26. I have recast the words. The song may derive from a tale used by Boccaccio in his "Decameron," vii. 1.
Messrs. Moffat and Kidson included the song in the "Minstrelsy of England," N.D., but 1903, p. 24. Dr. Barrett also featured it in his "English Folk-Songs," No. 26. I've rewritten the lyrics. The song may come from a story used by Boccaccio in his "Decameron," vii. 1.
42. Tommy a Lynn. This song is alluded to in the "Complaynt of Scotland," 1549; it is probably the "Ballett of Tomalin," licensed to be printed in 1557-8. A snatch of it occurs in Wager's play: "The longer thou livest the more fool thou art," circ. 1560—
42. Tommy and Lynn. This song is mentioned in the "Complaynt of Scotland," 1549; it likely refers to the "Ballett of Tomalin," which was licensed for printing in 1557-8. A fragment of it appears in Wager's play: "The longer you live, the more foolish you become," circa 1560—
"Tom a Lin and his wife and his wife's mother
They got over the bridge all three together.
The bridge was broken, and they fell in,
The Devill go with you all, quoth Tom a Lin."
"Tom a Lin, his wife, and his wife's mother
All three of them crossed the bridge together.
The bridge was broken, and they fell in.
'May the devil take you all,' said Tom a Lin."
It was printed in Ritson's "North Country Chorister," Durham, 1802; and it occurs in "The Distracted Sailor's Garland," B.M. (11,621, c 3). "Bryan o' Lynn was a gentleman born," as sung by "Mr. Purcell's celebrated Irish vocalists," is in the "Dublin Comic Songster," Dublin, 1841. Halliwell gives the song in his "Popular Rhymes," 1849, p. 271, and one verse in his "Nursery Rhymes," No. 61.
It was published in Ritson's "North Country Chorister," Durham, 1802; and it appears in "The Distracted Sailor's Garland," B.M. (11,621, c 3). "Bryan o' Lynn was a gentleman born," as performed by "Mr. Purcell's famous Irish vocalists," is in the "Dublin Comic Songster," Dublin, 1841. Halliwell includes the song in his "Popular Rhymes," 1849, p. 271, and one verse in his "Nursery Rhymes," No. 61.
Mr. J. Phillips, who founded the Aller Vale potteries, in a lecture on the condition of Dartmoor in 1837, says: "For roughing it on the moor, warm waterproof coats were made by using a sheep's skin, the wool on the inside. Warm caps of rabbit skin were common, with lappets over the ears. An old rhyme sung by the boys was—
Mr. J. Phillips, who started the Aller Vale potteries, in a talk about the state of Dartmoor in 1837, says: "For roughing it on the moor, warm waterproof coats were made from sheep's skin, with the wool on the inside. Warm rabbit skin caps were common, with flaps over the ears. An old rhyme sung by the boys was—
"Old Harry Trewin, no breeches to wear,
He stole a ram's skin to make a new pair.
The shiny side out and the woolly side in,
And thus doth go old Harry Trewin."
"Old Harry Trewin, with no pants to wear,
He stole a ram's skin to make a fresh pair.
The shiny side out and the woolly side in,
And so goes old Harry Trewin."
We have taken down the song twice from Thomas Dart and from James Parsons. What "A Bone of my stover" signifies I am unable to say.
We have removed the song twice from Thomas Dart and from James Parsons. I'm not sure what "A Bone of my stover" means.
43. The Green Bushes. Words and melody taken down from Robert Hard. Another sent me by Mr. Crossing, heard by him on Dartmoor from a labouring man in 1869. The same as this taken down from James Parsons. This latter sent by me to Miss Broadwood, who has published it in her "County Songs," p. 170. In Buckstone's play of "The Green Bushes," 1845, Nelly O'Neil sings snatches of this song, one verse, "I'll buy you fine petticoats," etc., in Act I., and that and the following verse in Act III. Nowhere is the complete ballad given. That, however, owing to the popularity of the drama, was published soon after as a "popular Irish ballad sung by Mrs. FitzWilliam." Later it was attributed to the husband of that lady, Mr. E.F. FitzWilliam, but it was not published in his lifetime. The words are substantially old, in this form are a softening down of an earlier ballad which has its analogue in Scotland, "My daddie is a cankered carle," each verse of which ends—
43. The Green Bushes. The lyrics and melody were collected from Robert Hard. Another version was sent to me by Mr. Crossing, which he heard from a laborer in Dartmoor in 1869. This is the same as what I gathered from James Parsons. I sent this latter version to Miss Broadwood, who published it in her "County Songs," p. 170. In Buckstone's play "The Green Bushes," 1845, Nelly O'Neil sings snippets of this song, including a verse that goes, "I'll buy you fine petticoats," in Act I, and that verse along with the next one in Act III. The complete ballad, however, is never presented in full. Due to the play's popularity, it was published shortly after as a "popular Irish ballad sung by Mrs. FitzWilliam." Later, it was credited to her husband, Mr. E.F. FitzWilliam, but it wasn't published during his lifetime. The lyrics are essentially old, and in this form, they reflect a softened version of an earlier ballad that has a counterpart in Scotland, "My daddie is a cankered carle," with each verse ending—
"For he's low down, he's in the broom
That's waiting for me."
"For he's low down, he's in the broom
That's waiting for me.
The English form is "Whitsun Monday," an early copy of which is in one of the collections in the British Museum, date about 1760. Each verse ends—
The English term is "Whitsun Monday," with an early example found in one of the collections at the British Museum, dated around 1760. Each verse ends—
"And 'tis low down in the broom
She's waiting there for me."
"And it’s low down in the broom
She’s waiting for me."
Broadsides by Disley and Such. In a collection of early ballad books in the British Museum is "The Lady's Book of Pleasure," printed in Cow Lane, circ. 1760. This contains a ballad that begins—
Broadsides by Disley and Such. In a collection of early ballad books at the British Museum, there's "The Lady's Book of Pleasure," printed in Cow Lane, circa 1760. This includes a ballad that starts—
"As I was a walking one morning in May,
I heard a young damsel to sigh and to say,
My love is gone from me, and showed me foul play,
It was down in the meadow, among the Green Hay."
"As I was walking one morning in May,
I heard a young woman sigh and say,
My love is gone from me, and it caused me distress,
It was down in the meadow, among the green hay."
Another, with Green Bushes in place of Green Hay, published by Hodges of Seven Dials, B.M. (1875, b 19). For other versions, see Kidson's "Traditional Tunes"; Joyce's "Ancient Irish Music," 1873; Petrie's "Ancient Music of Ireland," 1855. The Irish air is not the same as ours.
Another, with Green Bushes instead of Green Hay, published by Hodges of Seven Dials, B.M. (1875, b 19). For other versions, see Kidson's "Traditional Tunes"; Joyce's "Ancient Irish Music," 1873; Petrie's "Ancient Music of Ireland," 1855. The Irish air is not the same as ours.
44. The Broken Token. Words and melody from Robert Hard. Broadside forms as "The Brisk Young Sailor," or as "Fair Phœbe"; as "The Dark Eyed Sailor," by Such, and Wheeler of Manchester; and as "The Sailor's Return," by Catnach. A version is published in Christie's "Traditional Ballads," and Mr. Kidson obtained it in Yorkshire to a tune different from ours. The same as ours was noted down by Mr. S. Reay about 1830-5 from a ballad singer at Durham.
44. The Broken Token. Words and melody by Robert Hard. It appears in broadside forms as "The Brisk Young Sailor," or "Fair Phœbe"; as "The Dark Eyed Sailor," by Such, and Wheeler of Manchester; and as "The Sailor's Return," by Catnach. A version is published in Christie's "Traditional Ballads," and Mr. Kidson obtained it in Yorkshire with a different tune than ours. The same version as ours was recorded by Mr. S. Reay around 1830-5 from a ballad singer in Durham.
45. The Mole Catcher. Taken down from J. Hockin, South Brent, by H. Fleetwood Sheppard in 1888. The original words were very gross, and I did not note them. In the British Museum is an early Garland, and in the list of contents on the cover is "The Mole Catcher," but the song has been torn out, probably for the same reason that prevented me from taking it down. All I copied was the beginning of the song. I have supplemented this with fresh words.
45. The Mole Catcher. Taken down from J. Hockin, South Brent, by H. Fleetwood Sheppard in 1888. The original lyrics were quite vulgar, and I didn't record them. In the British Museum, there's an early Garland, and the list of contents on the cover includes "The Mole Catcher," but the song has been removed, likely for the same reason that stopped me from noting it down. All I copied was the beginning of the song. I've added new lyrics to this.
46. The Keenly Lode. Mr. Bussell and I spent a week in 1894 at the Lugger Inn, Fowey, collecting songs. We met there one day an old miner, who asked us if we knew "The Keenly Lode," and on our saying that we did not, he gave us a long song on mining, that, however, lacked point. I have therefore re-composed the song. The air is that employed for "The Crocodile," an extravagant ballad, which has been published by Miss Broadwood in her "County Songs." Her tune is practically the same as ours, but there are some differences. "The Crocodile" is a very popular ballad among old song-men, but no one would care to sing it in a drawing-room or at a concert, because it is vastly silly.
46. The Keenly Lode. Mr. Bussell and I spent a week in 1894 at the Lugger Inn, Fowey, collecting songs. One day, we encountered an old miner who asked if we knew "The Keenly Lode." When we said we didn't, he shared a long mining song with us, but it didn’t have much substance. So, I rewrote the song. The melody is the one used for "The Crocodile," a whimsical ballad published by Miss Broadwood in her "County Songs." Her tune is almost identical to ours, though there are a few differences. "The Crocodile" is quite popular among older singers, but nobody would want to perform it in a drawing-room or concert because it's pretty silly.
"A Keenly Lode" is a lode that promises well. A "Bâll" is a mine in Cornish. In Cornwall every old man is termed "Uncle."
"A Keenly Lode" is a vein that shows a lot of potential. A "Bâll" is a mine in Cornish. In Cornwall, every older man is called "Uncle."
We have taken down "The Meat Pie" to the same air.
We have taken down "The Meat Pie" to the same vibe.
47. May Day Carol. Melody and words noted down a good many years ago by J.S. Cayzer, Esq. It was sung, till of late years, in my neighbourhood, where a bunch of flowers at the end of a stick was carried about by children. It was customary in England for a lover on May morning to take a green bough to the house of the beloved. If she opened the door and took it in, this was a token of acceptance. At the Puritan epoch this custom was altered, and the song was converted into a carol with a moral to it, see "Notes and Queries," Third Series, ix. p. 380; Hone's "Every Day Book," 1826, i. p. 567; Chambers' "Book of Days," i. p. 578. Herrick refers to the custom of youths bringing their May bushes to the maids of their choice:—
47. May Day Song. Melody and words recorded many years ago by J.S. Cayzer, Esq. This was sung, until recent years, in my neighborhood, where kids carried around a bunch of flowers on a stick. It was a common practice in England for a lover on May morning to bring a green branch to their beloved's house. If she opened the door and accepted it, it meant she was accepting his affection. During the Puritan period, this tradition changed, and the song became a carol with a moral message, see "Notes and Queries," Third Series, ix. p. 380; Hone's "Every Day Book," 1826, i. p. 567; Chambers' "Book of Days," i. p. 578. Herrick mentions the custom of young men bringing their May bushes to the women they fancy:—
"A deale of youth ere this is come
Back, and with white thorn laden home,
Some have dispatched their cakes and cream,
Before that we have left to dream."
"A lot of young people have come back
And brought home white thorn,
Some have finished their cakes and cream,
Before we've even woken up from dreaming."
The melody is a very early one in the Dorian mode, and resembles that of the carol, "The Moon shines bright," Broadwood's "County Songs," p. 108. The carol is still sung in Cornwall.
The melody is a very early one in the Dorian mode and is similar to that of the carol, "The Moon Shines Bright," from Broadwood's "County Songs," p. 108. The carol is still sung in Cornwall.
48. The Lovers' Tasks. This very curious song belongs, as I was told, in Cornwall, to a sort of play that was wont to be performed in farmhouses at Christmas. One performer, a male, left the room, and entered again singing the first part. A girl, seated on a chair, responded with the second part. The story was this. She had been engaged to a young man who died. His ghost returned to claim her. She demurred to this, and he said that he would waive his claim if she could perform a series of tasks he set her. To this she responded that he must, in the first place, accomplish a set of impossible tasks she would set him. Thus was he baffled.
48. The Lovers' Duties. This really interesting song, as I was told, comes from Cornwall and was part of a kind of play that used to be performed in farmhouses during Christmas. One performer, a guy, would leave the room and then come back singing the first part. A girl, sitting in a chair, would reply with the second part. The story went like this: she had been engaged to a young man who died. His ghost came back to claim her. She hesitated, and he said he would let go of his claim if she could complete a series of tasks he set for her. She then replied that he needed to accomplish a set of impossible tasks that she would give him first. And so he was stumped.
"In all stories of this kind," says Professor Child, "the person upon whom a task is imposed stands acquitted if another of no less difficulty is devised which must be performed first."
"In all stories like this," says Professor Child, "the person assigned a task is off the hook if another task of equal difficulty is created that must be done first."
This ballad and dramatic scene corresponds with that in "Cold blows the wind" (No. 6). There, in the original, the ghost desires to draw the girl underground, when she is seated on his grave. She objects, and he sets her a task—
This ballad and dramatic scene is similar to the one in "Cold blows the wind" (No. 6). In the original, the ghost wants to pull the girl underground while she’s sitting on his grave. She protests, and he gives her a task—
"Go fetch me a light from dungeon deep,
Wring water from a stone,
And likewise milk from a maiden's breast,
That never babe had none."
"Go get me a light from the deep dungeon,
Squeeze water from a stone.
And also milk from a maiden's breast,
"Who hasn’t had a baby?"
She answers the requirement—
She meets the requirement—
"She stroke a light from out a flint,
An icebell squeezed she,
And likewise milk from a Johnnis' wort,
And so she did all three."
"She struck a spark from a flint,
An icebell she gripped,
And also milk from a St. John's wort,
"So she did all three."
Icebell is icicle. By this means she was quit. In the version I have given I have altered this to suit the song for modern singing.
Icebell is an icicle. This way, she was free. In the version I've provided, I've changed this to fit the song for contemporary singing.
In "The Elfin Knight," Child's "British Ballads," No. 2, an elf appears to the damsel and sets her tasks. If she cannot accomplish these, she must accompany him to the elf world. Here we have a substitution of a fairy for a ghost.
In "The Elfin Knight," Child's "British Ballads," No. 2, an elf shows up to the damsel and gives her tasks to complete. If she can't finish them, she'll have to go with him to the elf world. This is where we see a fairy taking the place of a ghost.
In an Ulster Broadside in the British Museum (1162, k 5) we have a later substitution. A low-born gamekeeper gets a damsel of high degree into his power, and will not release her unless she can solve a series of riddles. This she does, and so makes her escape.
In a later Ulster Broadside at the British Museum (1162, k 5), we find a revised story. A low-born gamekeeper takes a noblewoman captive and won't let her go unless she can solve a series of riddles. She manages to solve them, which allows her to escape.
Of the Northumbrian ballad, "Lay the Bent to the Bonny Broom," Child, No. 1, there are two versions. In one given by Miss Mason, "Nursery Rhymes and Country Songs," a stranger comes to the door of a house where are three sisters, and demands that one shall follow him or answer a series of riddles. Then ensues a contest of wit, and the girl escapes the obligation of following the mysterious stranger. Who he is is not ascertained. In the other version it is different; he is a knight, and he offers to marry the girl who can solve his riddles. The youngest sister effects this, so he marries her. It is the same in the corresponding Cornish ballad of "Genefer Gentle and Rosemarie," originally given by Gilbert in his "Cornish Christmas Carols," 2nd ed., p. 65, and reprinted by Child.
Of the Northumbrian ballad, "Lay the Bent to the Bonny Broom," Child, No. 1, there are two versions. In one version provided by Miss Mason in "Nursery Rhymes and Country Songs," a stranger knocks on the door of a house with three sisters and demands that one of them follow him or answer a series of riddles. This leads to a battle of wits, and the girl manages to avoid the obligation of going with the mysterious stranger. His identity remains unknown. In the other version, things are different; he is a knight who offers to marry the girl who can solve his riddles. The youngest sister succeeds in this, and he marries her. This is similar to the corresponding Cornish ballad "Genefer Gentle and Rosemarie," which was first presented by Gilbert in his "Cornish Christmas Carols," 2nd ed., p. 65, and later reprinted by Child.
To the same category belongs the song, "Go no more a-rushing, Maids, in May," that we have taken down from several singers, and which is given as well by Miss Mason, and by Chappell, i. p. 158, where the task is to solve riddles—
To the same category belongs the song, "Go no more a-rushing, Maids, in May," that we have collected from various singers, and which is also presented by Miss Mason and by Chappell, i. p. 158, where the task is to solve riddles—
"I'll give you a chicken that has no bone,
I'll give you a cherry without a stone,
I'll give you a ring that has no rim,
I'll give you an oak that has no limb."
"I'll give you a chicken with no bone,
I'll give you a cherry without a pit,
I'll give you a ring that has no edge,
I'll give you an oak that has no branch."
The solution is—
The solution is—
"When the chicken is in the egg it has no bone,
When the cherry is in bloom it has no stone,
When the ring is a-melting it has no rim,
When the oak is in the acorn it has no limb."
"When the chicken's inside the egg it has no bone,
When the cherry's in bloom it has no pit,
When the ring's melting it has no edge,
When the oak's in the acorn it has no branch."
But the story about the setting of the puzzle has fallen away.
But the story about how the puzzle was set up has been lost.
We did obtain a ballad in Cornwall about the ghost visiting the damsel and demanding that she should keep her engagement, but the metre was not the same as that of the "Lovers' Tasks."
We got a ballad in Cornwall about a ghost visiting a girl and insisting that she should stick to her engagement, but the rhythm wasn't the same as that of the "Lovers' Tasks."
Apparently at some remote period a maiden who was pledged to a man was held to belong to him after he was dead, and to be obliged to follow her lover into the world of spirits, unless she could evade the obligation by some clever contrivance. When this idea fell away, either an elf was substituted or a man of low birth, or else the whole story was dropped; or, again, it was so altered that a knight was put in the place of the ghost, and it became the privilege of the shrewd girl who could answer the riddles to be taken as his wife.
Apparently, at some point in the distant past, a woman who was engaged to a man was considered to belong to him even after he died, and she was expected to join him in the afterlife unless she could find a clever way to avoid this duty. When this belief faded away, either an elf took the man's place, or a lowborn man was substituted, or the entire story was discarded; alternatively, it was changed so that a knight replaced the ghost, and it became a privilege for a clever girl who could solve the riddles to be chosen as his wife.
The setting of hard tasks occurs in German folk-tales, as in "Rumpelstiltskin," where the girl has to spin straw into gold.
The setting of difficult challenges is found in German fairy tales, like "Rumpelstiltskin," where the girl must spin straw into gold.
In the "Gesta Romanorum," ed. Osterley, p. 374, one of the most popular collections of stories in the Middle Ages, is a corrupt reminiscence of the tale. A king delayed to take a wife till he could find one sagacious enough to make him a shirt without seam out of a scrap of linen three inches square. She retorts that she will do this when he sends her a vessel in which she can do the work. Jacques de Voragine wrote his "Golden Legend" in or about 1260. In that he tells this tale. A bishop was about to succumb to the blandishments of the devil in female form, when a pilgrim arrived. Either the damsel or the palmer must leave, and which it should be was to be determined by the solution of riddles. The pilgrim solved two. Then the fiend in female form asked: "How far is it from heaven to earth?" "That you know best, for you fell the whole distance," replied the palmer, and the fiend vanished. Then the pilgrim revealed himself as St. Andrew, to whom the bishop had a special devotion.
In the "Gesta Romanorum," ed. Osterley, p. 374, one of the most popular story collections of the Middle Ages, there's a twisted version of the tale. A king postponed marrying until he could find a woman clever enough to make him a seamless shirt from a piece of linen just three inches square. She responds that she'll do it when he sends her a container to work with. Jacques de Voragine wrote his "Golden Legend" around 1260, where he recounts this story. A bishop was about to give in to the temptations of a female devil when a pilgrim showed up. Either the lady or the pilgrim had to leave, and it would be decided by solving riddles. The pilgrim answered two correctly. Then the female devil asked, "How far is it from heaven to earth?" The pilgrim replied, "You know that best, since you fell the whole distance," and the devil disappeared. The pilgrim then revealed himself as St. Andrew, to whom the bishop was especially devoted.
The classic tale of Œdipus and the Sphinx will be remembered in connection with delivery from death by solving riddles. In Norse mythology we have the contest in conundrums between Odin and the giant Vafthrudnir. The Rabbis tell of the Queen of Sheba proving Solomon with hard questions, which are riddles.
The classic story of Oedipus and the Sphinx will be remembered for saving himself from death by solving riddles. In Norse mythology, we have the challenge of riddles between Odin and the giant Vafthrudnir. The Rabbis tell of the Queen of Sheba testing Solomon with difficult questions, which are riddles.
The historians of Tyre, as Josephus informs us, recorded that an interchange of riddles went on constantly between Solomon and Hiram, each being under an engagement to pay a forfeit of money for every riddle that he could not solve. Solomon got the best of Hiram, till Hiram set a Tyrian boy to work, who both solved the riddles of Solomon, and set others which Solomon could not answer. We have a later version of this story in the ballad of King John and the Abbot of Canterbury, who, unable to solve the king's riddles, set his cowherd to do this, and he accomplished it successfully.
The historians of Tyre, as Josephus tells us, recorded that there was a constant exchange of riddles between Solomon and Hiram, with each one agreeing to pay a fine of money for every riddle they couldn’t solve. Solomon had the upper hand on Hiram until Hiram had a Tyrian boy work on it, who not only solved Solomon’s riddles but also created ones that Solomon couldn’t answer. We have a later version of this story in the ballad of King John and the Abbot of Canterbury, who, unable to solve the king's riddles, had his cowherd take a shot at it, and he succeeded.
We took down the ballad and air from Philip Symonds of Jacobstow, Cornwall, also from John Hext, Two Bridges, and from James Dyer of Mawgan. The burden, "And every grove rings with a-N16- merry antine," is curious; antine is antienne—anthem. In "Gammer Gurton's Garland," 1783, the burden is "Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme." In one of Motherwell's MSS. it stands, "Every rose grows merry wi' thyme." These are attempts made to give sense where the meaning of the original word was lost.
We got the song and melody from Philip Symonds of Jacobstow, Cornwall, also from John Hext, Two Bridges, and from James Dyer of Mawgan. The line, "And every grove rings with a-N16- merry antine," is interesting; antine refers to antienne—anthem. In "Gammer Gurton's Garland," 1783, the line is "Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme." In one of Motherwell's manuscripts, it appears as "Every rose grows merry wi' thyme." These are attempts to make sense where the original word's meaning has been lost.
In Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 83, is a version from Sussex: "Sing Ivy, Sing Ivy."
In Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 83, there's a version from Sussex: "Sing Ivy, Sing Ivy."
49. Lullaby. Noted by me from recollection, as sung by a nurse, Anne Bickle of Bratton Clovelly, about 1842. James Olver of Launceston also knew the tune. The words I have re-composed to the best of my ability.
49. Lullaby. I remembered this from when a nurse, Anne Bickle from Bratton Clovelly, sang it around 1842. James Olver from Launceston also knew the tune. I've reworked the lyrics as best as I could.
50. The Gipsy Countess. The melody of the first part from James Parsons, that of the second from John Woodrich. Versions also from Peter Cheriton, shoemaker, Oakford, near Tiverton; William Setter and George Kerswell, Two Bridges, Dartmoor. Robert Browning composed on this theme his poem, "The Flight of the Duchess," having heard a beggar woman sing the ballad. Mrs. Gibbons told me she heard the whole ballad sung by her nurse in Cornwall, about 1830.
50. The Gypsy Countess. The melody of the first part from James Parsons, and the second from John Woodrich. There are also versions by Peter Cheriton, a shoemaker in Oakford near Tiverton; William Setter and George Kerswell from Two Bridges, Dartmoor. Robert Browning wrote a poem called "The Flight of the Duchess" inspired by this theme after hearing a beggar woman sing the ballad. Mrs. Gibbons told me she heard her nurse sing the entire ballad in Cornwall around 1830.
The Scottish version of the ballad is that of "Johnny Faa," in Allan Ramsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany," 1724, from which it passed into all collections of Scottish songs. Allan Ramsay's version turns on a story—utterly unhistorical—that Lady Jean Hamilton, married to the grim Covenanter, John, Earl of Cassilis, fell in love with, and eloped with, Sir John Faa of Dunbar, who came to the castle disguised as a gipsy along with some others. She was pursued, and Faa and his companions were hung. No such an event took place. The Scotch are wont to take an old ballad, give it local habitation and name, and so make it out to be purely Scottish. My impression is that this was an old English ballad dealt with by Ramsay. It may have been so adapted for political purposes, as a libel on Lady Cassilis, who was the mother of Bishop Burnet's wife. An Irish form of the ballad in the British Museum (1162, k 6). For a full account of the "Johnny Faa" ballad, see Child's "English and Scottish Ballads," No. 200. He is of opinion that the English ballad is taken from the Scottish. I think the reverse is the case. Parsons sang right through without division of parts. I have made the division, so as to allow of the use of both airs; but actually the second is a modern corruption of the first, and is interesting as showing how completely a melody may undergo transformation. Mr. Sharp has given a Somersetshire version of the ballad in his "Folk Songs from Somerset," No. 9.
The Scottish version of the ballad is "Johnny Faa," found in Allan Ramsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany," published in 1724, from which it made its way into all collections of Scottish songs. Ramsay’s version tells a story—completely fictional—about Lady Jean Hamilton, who was married to the stern Covenanter, John, Earl of Cassilis. She fell in love with and eloped with Sir John Faa of Dunbar, who came to the castle disguised as a gypsy along with a few others. She was pursued, and Faa and his friends were hanged. No such event actually happened. Scots often take an old ballad, give it a local twist and name, and claim it as purely Scottish. I suspect this was originally an old English ballad that Ramsay adapted. It might have been altered for political reasons, as a slander against Lady Cassilis, who was the mother of Bishop Burnet's wife. There is an Irish version of the ballad in the British Museum (1162, k 6). For a complete account of the "Johnny Faa" ballad, see Child’s "English and Scottish Ballads," No. 200. He believes the English ballad derives from the Scottish one. I think it’s the other way around. Parsons sang it straight through without separating the parts. I made the division to allow for the use of both melodies; however, the second one is actually a modern version of the first, which is interesting as it shows how completely a melody can change. Mr. Sharp has provided a Somerset version of the ballad in his "Folk Songs from Somerset," No. 9.
51. The Grey Mare. The melody and a fragment of the song were taken down from J. Hockin, South Brent, and again from James Olver. Neither could recall all the words. There are two forms of the ballad on Broadsides. Both are printed by Mr. Kidson in his "Traditional Tunes." Mr. Sheppard recast the words.
51. The Gray Mare. The melody and part of the song were recorded from J. Hockin, South Brent, and again from James Olver. Neither could remember all the lyrics. There are two versions of the ballad on Broadsides. Both are published by Mr. Kidson in his "Traditional Tunes." Mr. Sheppard reworked the lyrics.
52. The Wreck off Scilly. Words and melody from James Parsons. The ballad as sung consisted of seven verses. Broadside by Catnach. The last verse in this is nonsense, and I have re-written this verse. Under the title "The Rocks of Scilly," it occurs, in twenty-two verses, in "The Sailor's Tragedy," Glasgow, 1802.
52. The Scilly Wreck. Words and melody by James Parsons. The ballad as performed had seven verses. Printed by Catnach. The last verse of this version is nonsense, so I've rewritten it. Under the title "The Rocks of Scilly," it appears in twenty-two verses in "The Sailor's Tragedy," Glasgow, 1802.
53. Henry Martyn. Words and melody from Roger Luxton, Halwell. Again, from Matthew Baker, James Parsons, and from a shepherd on Dartmoor. The versions slightly differed, as far as words went. In one, Henry Martyn receives his death-wound; in another, it is the king's ship that is sunk by the pirate.
53. Henry Martyn. Words and melody from Roger Luxton, Halwell. Again, from Matthew Baker, James Parsons, and from a shepherd on Dartmoor. The versions varied a bit in terms of the lyrics. In one, Henry Martyn gets his fatal injury; in another, the king's ship is sunk by the pirate.
Mr. Kidson has printed two versions of the song in his "Traditional Tunes," from Yorkshire sources. Miss Broadwood has also collected it, Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 162, in Sussex.
Mr. Kidson has published two versions of the song in his "Traditional Tunes," sourced from Yorkshire. Miss Broadwood has also gathered it, Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 162, in Sussex.
Henry Martyn is a corruption of Andrew Barton. In 1476, a Portuguese squadron seized a richly laden ship, commanded by John Barton, in consequence of which letters of reprisal were granted by James IV. to the three sons, Andrew, Robert, and John, and these were renewed in 1506. Hall, in his "Chronicle," under 1511, says that King Henry VIII. being at Leicester, tidings reached him that Andrew Barton so stopped the king's ports that the merchant vessels could not pass out, and he seized their goods, pretending that they were Portuguese. Sir Edward Howard, Lord High Admiral, and Sir Thomas Howard were sent against him. Their two ships were separated, but a fight ensued, in which Andrew was wounded, and his vessel, the Lion, was taken. He died of his wounds.
Henry Martyn is a variation of Andrew Barton. In 1476, a Portuguese squadron captured a heavily loaded ship commanded by John Barton, which led to James IV granting letters of reprisal to his three sons, Andrew, Robert, and John, with these being renewed in 1506. Hall, in his "Chronicle," states that in 1511, while King Henry VIII was in Leicester, he received news that Andrew Barton was blocking the king's ports, preventing merchant vessels from getting out, and was seizing their goods, claiming they were Portuguese. Sir Edward Howard, the Lord High Admiral, and Sir Thomas Howard were sent to confront him. Their two ships became separated, but a battle broke out, in which Andrew was wounded, and his ship, the Lion, was captured. He died from his injuries.
The ballad was re-composed in the reign of James I., and this is published in Percy's "Relicks" and in Evans' "Old Ballads." For an account of Sir Andrew Barton, see Child's "English and Scottish Ballads," No. 167. The ballad in full in Percy's MS. book is in sixty-four stanzas. Our form of the ballad is probably earlier, but it is incomplete. I have added the last verse to give a finish to the story. The tune is in the Æolian mode.
The ballad was rewritten during the reign of James I, and it is published in Percy's "Relicks" and in Evans' "Old Ballads." For information about Sir Andrew Barton, see Child's "English and Scottish Ballads," No. 167. The full version of the ballad in Percy's manuscript spans sixty-four stanzas. Our version of the ballad is likely older, but it's not complete. I added the last verse to wrap up the story. The tune is in the Æolian mode.
54. Plymouth Sound. Melody taken down from Roger Luxton to a song of this name. There are three songs that go by the title of "Plymouth Sound" on Broadsides, by Keys, of Devonport, and by Such; but all are coarse and undesirable. I have therefore written fresh words to this delicious air.
54. Plymouth Sound. A melody recorded from Roger Luxton to a song of this name. There are three versions of "Plymouth Sound" available on Broadsides, by Keys from Devonport and by Such; however, all are crude and unappealing. Therefore, I've created new lyrics for this lovely tune.
55. The Fox. In the early part of last century this song was sung at all harvest suppers in the West of England. It is known elsewhere, but not to the same tune. A version of "The Fox" in the tenth volume of "Notes and Queries," 1854, is spoken of as "an old Cornish Song." In "Gammer Gurton's Garland," circ. 1783, is one verse of the song. It occurs in "The Opera, or Cabinet of Song," Edinburgh, 1832. Halliwell, in his "Nursery Rhymes," Percy Soc., 1842, gives a fuller version than ours. He begins—
55. The Fox. In the early part of the last century, this song was performed at all the harvest suppers in the West of England. It's recognized in other places, but not to the same melody. A version of "The Fox" found in the tenth volume of "Notes and Queries," 1854, is referred to as "an old Cornish Song." In "Gammer Gurton's Garland," circa 1783, there is one verse of the song. It appears in "The Opera, or Cabinet of Song," Edinburgh, 1832. Halliwell, in his "Nursery Rhymes," Percy Soc., 1842, presents a more complete version than ours. He starts—
"The fox and his wife they had a great strife,
They never eat mustard in all their life;
They eat their meat without fork or knife,
And loved to be picking a bone, e-no!"
"The fox and his wife had a big fight,
They never ate mustard in their whole life;
They ate their meat without fork or knife,
"And loved to gnaw on a bone, no way!"
In a collection of songs in the British Museum is the ballad on a Broadside by Harkness of Birmingham. It begins—
In a collection of songs in the British Museum is the ballad on a Broadside by Harkness of Birmingham. It begins—
"The fox went out of a moon-shiny night,
When the moon and the stars they shined so bright;
I hope, said the Fox, we'll have a good night,
When we go to yonder town, O!
Mogga, mogga, Reynard.
The wheel it goes round, and we'll tally-ho th' hounds,
And I wish I was through the town, O!"
"The fox set out on a moonlit night,
With the moon and stars shining so bright;
I hope, said the Fox, we’ll have a great night,
When we go to that town over there, oh!
Mogga, mogga, Reynard.
The wheel keeps turning, and we’ll go after the hounds,
"And I wish I were already out of the town, O!"
The tune we give was taken down from James Parsons. There were two other airs to which it was sung in other parts of England. These I give—
The melody we provided was taken from James Parsons. There were two other tunes to which it was sung in different parts of England. Here they are—
56. Furze Bloom. The melody from Roger Luxton to the words of the ballad, "Gosport Beach," which could not possibly be inserted here. I have accordingly written fresh words to it, embodying the folk-saying in Devon and Cornwall—
56. Gorse Flower. The tune from Roger Luxton for the ballad, "Gosport Beach," can’t really be included here. So, I've written new lyrics for it, reflecting the folk saying in Devon and Cornwall—
"When the Furze is out of bloom,
Then Love is out of tune."
"When the furze isn’t blooming,
Then love is off-key."
57. The Oxen Ploughing. This song was known throughout Devon and Cornwall at the beginning of the 19th century. It went out of use along with the oxen at the plough. We found every old singer had heard it in his boyhood, but none could recall more than snatches of the tune and some of the words. We were for three years on its traces, always disappointed. Then we heard that there was an old man at Liskeard who could sing the song through. Mr. Sheppard and I hastened thither, to find that he had been speechless for three days, and that his death was hourly expected. One day I found an old white-headed and white-bearded man cutting ferns in the hedges at Trebartha in Cornwall. His name was Adam Landry. We got into conversation. I had heard he was a singer, and I asked after this especial song. He knew it. I sat down among the cut fern and learned it from him, singing it over and over till I had it by heart, and then drove home eighteen miles, warbling it the whole way, and went to my piano and fixed it. Later we found a labouring man, Joseph Dyer, at Mawgan-in-Pyder, who could sing the song through.
57. The Oxen Plowing. This song was well-known across Devon and Cornwall at the start of the 19th century. It faded into obscurity along with the oxen used for plowing. We discovered that every old singer had heard it in their youth, but none could remember more than snippets of the tune and a few of the lyrics. We searched for three years, always feeling let down. Then we heard about an old man in Liskeard who could sing the whole song. Mr. Sheppard and I hurried there, only to find that he had been unable to speak for three days and was expected to pass away at any moment. One day I met an old man with white hair and a white beard cutting ferns in the hedges at Trebartha in Cornwall. His name was Adam Landry. We started chatting, and when I heard he was a singer, I asked him about this particular song. He knew it. I sat down among the cut ferns and learned it from him, singing it repeatedly until I had memorized it. Then I drove home eighteen miles, humming it the whole way, and went straight to my piano to write it down. Later, we found a laborer, Joseph Dyer, in Mawgan-in-Pyder, who could sing the song in its entirety.
Mr. Sharp has also taken this down note for note in North Devon from an old farmer, Mr. Lake of Worlington, who remembered the use of oxen ploughing.
Mr. Sharp has also recorded this exactly as it was told to him in North Devon by an old farmer, Mr. Lake of Worlington, who recalled the use of oxen for plowing.
A very similar folk-song is found in France, with its refrain, naming the oxen—
A very similar folk song is found in France, with its chorus naming the oxen—
"Aronda, Vironda,
Charbonné, Maréchaô,
Motet et Roget,
Mortaigne et Chollet,
Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! mon mignon,
He! he! he! he! he! he! mon valet."
"Aronda, Vironda,
Charbonné, Maréchaô,
Motet and Roget,
Mortaigne and Chollet,
Hey! hey! hey! hey! hey! my love,
Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! my helper."
See George Sand's account of the song in "Le mare au diable," c. 2; Tiersot, op. cit., p. 157.
See George Sand's account of the song in "The Devil's Pond," ch. 2; Tiersot, op. cit., p. 157.
58. Flora, The Lily of The West. Two melodies have been noted down to this ballad, one from Matthew Baker, the old cripple on Lew Down, the other from Samuel Fone. The first is identical with one obtained in Yorkshire by Mr. Kidson.
58. Flora, the Lily of the West. Two versions of this ballad have been recorded, one from Matthew Baker, the old man on Lew Down, and the other from Samuel Fone. The first version matches one collected in Yorkshire by Mr. Kidson.
The words are on Broadsheets by Such, Fortey, Barr of Leeds, etc.
The words are on Broadsheets by Such, Fortey, Barr of Leeds, etc.
In the original the lover betrayed by Flora stabs to the heart the "lord of high degree" who has supplanted him—
In the original, the lover betrayed by Flora stabs the "lord of high degree" who has replaced him right in the heart—
"I walked up to my rival with a dagger in my hand,
And seized him from my false love, and bid him boldly stand;
Then, mad with desperation, I swore I'd pierce his breast,
And I was betrayed by Flora, the Lily of the West."
"I approached my rival with a dagger in my hand,
And took him from my deceitful love, urging him to stand firm;
Then, frenzied with desperation, I vowed to stab him in the chest,
And I was betrayed by Flora, the Lily of the West."
He is tried for murder, but "a flaw was in the indictment found," and he escapes the gallows. And the ballad winds up—
He is put on trial for murder, but "a flaw was found in the indictment," and he avoids the gallows. And the ballad ends—
"Although she swore my life away, she still disturbs my rest,
I must ramble for my Flora, the Lily of the West."
"Even though she swore to ruin my life, she still keeps me up at night,
I have to wander for my Flora, the Lily of the West."
I have thought it well to cut out the murder and the trial.
I think it's best to skip the murder and the trial.
The ballad has clearly an Irish origin, what air is used for it in Ireland I am unable to say. It has been generally accepted that the ending of a phrase on the same three notes is characteristic of Irish music. It is not more so than of English folk airs. "Flora, the Lily of the West" was wont to be sung annually at the Revel at St. Breward's on the Bodmin Moors, and can be traced back there to 1839. There Henry Hawken, sexton at Michaelstow, hard by, acquired it, and from him the first melody was taken down as well by the Rev. W.J. Wyon, vicar of St. Issey, in 1899.
The ballad clearly has Irish roots, but I can't say what tune is associated with it in Ireland. It's generally accepted that ending a phrase on the same three notes is a hallmark of Irish music. However, this is just as much a feature of English folk tunes. "Flora, the Lily of the West" was traditionally sung every year at the Revel in St. Breward's on the Bodmin Moors and can be traced back there to 1839. Henry Hawken, the sexton at nearby Michaelstow, picked it up, and from him the first melody was noted down by Rev. W.J. Wyon, vicar of St. Issey, in 1899.
59. The Simple Ploughboy. This charming ballad was taken down, words and music, from J. Masters, Bradstone. The Broadside versions that were published by Fortey, Hodges, Taylor of Spitalfields, Ringham of Lincoln, and Pratt of Birmingham, are all very corrupt. The version of old Masters is given exactly as he sang it, and it is but one instance out of many of the superiority of the ballads handed down traditionally in the country by unlettered men, to those picked up from the ballad-mongers employed by the Broadside publishers.
59. The Simple Farm Boy. This lovely ballad was recorded, along with its music, from J. Masters in Bradstone. The Broadside versions published by Fortey, Hodges, Taylor of Spitalfields, Ringham of Lincoln, and Pratt of Birmingham are all quite altered. The version from old Masters is shared exactly as he performed it, and it's just one example out of many highlighting how traditional ballads passed down by uneducated people in the countryside often surpass those collected from the ballad sellers used by the Broadside publishers.
A version of the song, "It's of a Pretty Ploughboy," is given in the Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 132, as taken down in Sussex. The words are very corrupt, and they closely resemble those on Broadsides.
A version of the song, "It's of a Pretty Ploughboy," is included in the Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 132, recorded in Sussex. The lyrics are quite distorted and closely resemble those found on Broadsides.
60. Fair Lady Pity Me. Taken down from a labouring man at Exbourne. The melody is ancient and dates from the Tudor period. The words are a fragment from "The Noble Lord's Cruelty," "Roxburgh Ballads," ed. Ebsworth, vi. 681-3. Its date is before 1624. But that was to be sung to the tune, "Dainty come Thou to Me," which is in Chappell, ii. p. 517. A ballad, "The Four Wonders of the Land," printed by P. Brocksby, 1672-95, was set to the tune, "Dear Love Regard My Grief," which are the initial words of this song, and shows that already the long ballad had been broken up.
60. Fair Lady, Have Mercy on Me. Collected from a laborer in Exbourne. The melody is ancient, dating back to the Tudor period. The lyrics are a fragment from "The Noble Lord's Cruelty," "Roxburgh Ballads," ed. Ebsworth, vi. 681-3. It dates from before 1624. However, it was meant to be sung to the tune "Dainty Come Thou to Me," which can be found in Chappell, ii. p. 517. A ballad titled "The Four Wonders of the Land," published by P. Brocksby from 1672 to 1695, was set to the tune "Dear Love Regard My Grief," which are the opening words of this song, indicating that the long ballad had already been broken up.
This song has already been given, arranged by Dr. Bussell, who took it down, in "English Minstrelsie," iv. p. 84.
This song has already been provided, arranged by Dr. Bussell, who recorded it in "English Minstrelsie," iv. p. 84.
61. The Painful Plough. Words and melody from Roger Huggins, mason, Lydford. It is in reality a much longer song. Under the title of "The Ploughman's Glory" it runs to 25 verses. Bell gives 9 in his "Ballads of the English Peasantry." It is found on Broadsides. In the original it consists of a contention between a ploughman and a gardener as to which exercises the noblest profession. Our air is not the same as that to which the song is sung in the Midlands and south-east of England. Dr. Barrett gives the song in his "English Folk-Songs," No. 3, to a North Country air.
61. The Difficult Plough. Words and melody by Roger Huggins, mason, Lydford. It's actually a much longer song. Under the title "The Ploughman's Glory," it has 25 verses. Bell includes 9 in his "Ballads of the English Peasantry." It can be found on Broadsides. The original features a dispute between a ploughman and a gardener about which has the more honorable profession. Our melody is different from the one used in the Midlands and southeast England. Dr. Barrett provides the song in his "English Folk-Songs," No. 3, to a North Country tune.
62. At the Setting of the Sun. This very curious ballad has been taken down twice, from Samuel Fone by Mr. Sheppard, and again by Mr. Cecil Sharp from the singing of Louie Hooper and Lucy White at Hambridge, Somerset, to a different air. Fone had forgotten portions of the song. The man who mistakes his true love for a swan because she had thrown her apron over her head as a protection from the rain is tried at the assizes for the murder—
62. At Sunset. This very interesting ballad has been recorded twice, first by Samuel Fone through Mr. Sheppard, and again by Mr. Cecil Sharp from the singing of Louie Hooper and Lucy White at Hambridge, Somerset, to a different tune. Fone had forgotten parts of the song. The man who mistakes his true love for a swan because she had thrown her apron over her head to shield herself from the rain is put on trial for murder—
"In six weeks' time when the 'sizes came on,
Young Polly appeared in the form of a swan,
Crying Jimmy, young Jimmy, young Jimmy is clear,
He never shall be hung for the shooting of his dear."
"In six weeks, when the 'sizes came on,
Young Polly showed up looking like a swan,
Crying Jimmy, young Jimmy, young Jimmy is free,
He'll never be hanged for shooting his dear."
And he is, of course, acquitted.
And he is, of course, found not guilty.
In Fone's version she appears in dream to her lover as a swan, and comforts him, but the sequel of the story he could not recall.
In Fone's version, she appears in a dream to her lover as a swan and comforts him, but he can't remember what happens next.
The ballad is found in a fragmentary condition in Kent—
The ballad is found in a damaged state in Kent—
"O cursed be my uncle for lendin' of a gun.
For I've bin' and shot my true love in the room of a swan."
"O cursed be my uncle for lending a gun.
For I've been and shot my true love in the room of a swan."
And the apparition of the girl says—
And the ghost of the girl says—
"With my apron tied over me, I 'peared like unto a swan,
And underneath the green tree while the showers did come on."
"With my apron tied around me, I looked like a swan,
And underneath the green tree while the rain started coming down."
This was heard in 1884, sung by a very old man at a harvest supper at Haverstall Doddington, near Faversham.
This was heard in 1884, sung by a very elderly man at a harvest supper in Haverstall Doddington, near Faversham.
The transformation of the damsel into a swan stalking into the Court is an early feature, and possibly the ballad may be a degraded form of a very ancient piece.
The change of the maiden into a swan entering the Court is an early element, and it’s possible that the ballad is a simpler version of a very old work.
This ballad, arranged as a song with accompaniment by Mr. Ferris Tozer, has been published by Messrs. Weeks.
This ballad, set up as a song with backing by Mr. Ferris Tozer, has been published by Messrs. Weeks.
Mr. Sharp has given the song to a different air in his "Folk-Songs from Somerset," No. 16.
Mr. Sharp has adapted the song to a different tune in his "Folk-Songs from Somerset," No. 16.
63. All Jolly Fellows that follow the Plough. This song is very generally known. We have picked up four variants of the tune. Miss Broadwood gives one from Oxfordshire and one from Hampshire, but hers lack the chorus. Mr. C. Sharp has also gathered three. He says: "I-N19- find that almost every singer knows it, the bad singers often know but little else. Perhaps it is for this reason that the tune is very corrupt, the words are almost always the same."
63. All cheerful folks who work the fields. This song is quite well-known. We've collected four different versions of the tune. Miss Broadwood has one from Oxfordshire and another from Hampshire, but neither includes the chorus. Mr. C. Sharp has also gathered three versions. He mentions, "I-N19- find that almost every singer knows it, and the poor singers often know little else. Perhaps it's for this reason that the tune is very mixed up, though the words are usually the same."
In the second verse we have the breakfast described as consisting of bread and cheese and stingo. In Miss Broadwood's version the breakfast consists of cold beef and pork; the drink is not specified.
In the second verse, breakfast is described as consisting of bread, cheese, and stingo. In Miss Broadwood's version, breakfast includes cold beef and pork; the drink isn't mentioned.
64. The Golden Vanity. Taken down, words and air, from James Oliver. The ballad was printed as "Sir Walter Raleigh sailing in the Lowlands, showing how the famous ship called the Sweet Trinity was taken by a false galley; and how it was recovered by the craft of a little sea-boy, who sunk the galley," by Coles, Wright, Vere, and Conyers (1648-80). In this it is said that the ballad is to be sung "to the tune of The Lowlands of Holland," and in it there is ingratitude shown to the poor sea-boy of a severe character. In this version there are fourteen verses. It begins—
64. The Golden Vanity. Taken down, words and air, from James Oliver. The ballad was published as "Sir Walter Raleigh sailing in the Lowlands, showing how the famous ship called the Sweet Trinity was captured by a deceptive galley; and how it was reclaimed by the cleverness of a young sea-boy, who sank the galley," by Coles, Wright, Vere, and Conyers (1648-80). It mentions that the ballad is meant to be sung "to the tune of The Lowlands of Holland," and it depicts the sea-boy's ingratitude in a harsh way. This version contains fourteen verses. It begins—
"Sir Walter Raleigh has built a ship,
In the Netherlands.
And it is called the Sweet Trinity,
And was taken by the false Gallaly,
Sailing in the Lowlands."
"Sir Walter Raleigh has built a ship,
in the Netherlands.
And it is called the Sweet Trinity,
And it was captured by the deceitful Gallaly,
sailing in the lowlands."
It has been reprinted in Child, No. 286, as also the earliest form of the ballad from the Pepys Collection. By writing some of the words as "awa'" and "couldna'," it has been turned into a Scottish ballad. Under the form of "The Goulden Vanity," it is given with an air (of no value) in Mrs. Gordon's "Memoirs of Christopher North," 1862, ii. p. 317, as sung at a convivial meeting at Lord Robertson's, by Mr. P. Fraser of Edinburgh.
It has been reprinted in Child, No. 286, as well as the earliest version of the ballad from the Pepys Collection. By using terms like "awa'" and "couldna'," it has become a Scottish ballad. Under the title "The Goulden Vanity," it appears (with little value) in Mrs. Gordon's "Memoirs of Christopher North," 1862, ii. p. 317, as performed at a social gathering at Lord Robertson's, by Mr. P. Fraser of Edinburgh.
We obtained the same ballad at Chagford as "The Yellow Golden Tree." "Sir Walter Raleigh," says Mr. Ebsworth, in his introduction to the ballad in the "Roxburgh Ballads" (v. p. 418), "never secured the popularity, the natural affection which were frankly given to Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex. Raleigh was deemed arrogant, selfish, with the airs of an upstart, insolent to superiors, unconciliating with equals, and heartlessly indifferent to those in a lower position. The subject of the ballad is fictitious—sheer invention, of course. The selfishness and ingratitude displayed by Raleigh agreed with the current estimate. He certainly had a daughter."
We got the same ballad at Chagford as "The Yellow Golden Tree." "Sir Walter Raleigh," Mr. Ebsworth states in his introduction to the ballad in the "Roxburgh Ballads" (v. p. 418), "never gained the popularity or genuine affection that Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex, received. Raleigh was seen as arrogant, selfish, pretentious, disrespectful to those above him, unapproachable with his peers, and callously indifferent to those below him. The subject of the ballad is fictional—purely made up, of course. The selfishness and ingratitude attributed to Raleigh matched the common perception of him. He certainly had a daughter."
In the ballad in the Pepys Collection the Sweet Trinity, a ship built by Sir Walter Raleigh, has been taken by a galley of a nationality not specified. He asks whether any seaman will take the galley and redeem his ship: the reward shall be a golden fee and his daughter. A ship-boy volunteers and with his auger bores fifteen holes in the galley and sinks her, and releases the Sweet Trinity. Then he swims back to his ship and demands his pay. The master will give golden fee but not his daughter. The ship-boy says, Farewell, since you are not so good as your word.
In the ballad from the Pepys Collection, the Sweet Trinity, a ship built by Sir Walter Raleigh, has been captured by a galley of unknown nationality. He asks if any sailor will take on the galley and save his ship: the reward will be a gold payment and his daughter. A young ship-boy steps up and, using his auger, drills fifteen holes in the galley, sinking it and freeing the Sweet Trinity. He then swims back to his ship and asks for his payment. The captain agrees to give him the gold but not his daughter. The ship-boy replies, "Farewell, since you’re not true to your word."
In the stall copy of the ballad, the master refuses to take the boy on board after he had sunk the galley, and threatens to shoot him, and the boy is drowned. Then he is picked up, is sewed in a cow-hide and thrown overboard.
In the stall version of the ballad, the captain refuses to let the boy on board after he sinks the boat and threatens to shoot him, leading to the boy drowning. Later, he is retrieved, sewn into a cowhide, and thrown overboard.
Mr. Kidson has obtained no less than four different versions from sailors.
Mr. Kidson has gotten at least four different versions from sailors.
A version from Sussex is in Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 104. Another in Miss Broadwood's "English County Songs." It is also in Ferris Tozer's "Sailors' Songs and Chanties." The black letter ballad of "Sir Walter Raleigh Sailing in the Lowlands low ... or the Sweet Trinity" was priced in Russell Smith's catalogue, £1, 5s.
A version from Sussex is in Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 104. Another can be found in Miss Broadwood's "English County Songs." It's also included in Ferris Tozer's "Sailors' Songs and Chanties." The black letter ballad of "Sir Walter Raleigh Sailing in the Lowlands low ... or the Sweet Trinity" was listed in Russell Smith's catalog for £1, 5s.
65. The Bold Dragoon. Words and melody taken down by W. Crossing, Esq., many years ago, from a labouring man on Dartmoor, now dead. The words were very corrupt. We took down the words and tune from Moses Cleve at Huckaby Bridge, Dartmoor. An early version of the words as "The Jolly Trooper," in "The Lover's Garland," N.D., but of the beginning of the 18th century. The original is too coarse for reproduction and is lengthy. I have condensed the ballad and softened it down. The press mark in the British Museum is 11,621, c 5.
65. The Brave Dragoon. Words and melody recorded by W. Crossing, Esq., many years ago, from a laborer on Dartmoor, who has since passed away. The lyrics were quite distorted. We noted the lyrics and tune from Moses Cleve at Huckaby Bridge, Dartmoor. An earlier version of the lyrics, titled "The Jolly Trooper," appears in "The Lover's Garland," N/A, but is from the early 18th century. The original is too crude for reproduction and is lengthy. I have shortened and refined the ballad. The press mark in the British Museum is 11,621, c 5.
In connection with this charming air, I will give Mr. Cayzer's account of taking it down in 1849, which he has kindly extracted for me from his diary:—"This air, together with 'As Johnny walked out' (No. 11), I got from Dartmoor; nor shall I soon forget the occasion. The scene was a lonely one (I think Two Bridges, but it may have been Post Bridge). It had been raining all day. There was not a book in the house, nor musical instrument of any kind, except two hungry pigs and a baby that was being weaned. Towards nightfall there dropped in several miners and shepherds, and I well remember how the appearance of these Gentiles cheered us. We soon got up a glorious fire—such a fire as peat only can make, and drew the benches and settles round. By the friendly aid of sundry quarts of cyder I, before long, gained the confidence of the whole circle, and got a song from each in turn; and noted down two that were quite new to me: no easy matter, considering that they were performed in a strange mixture of double bass and falsetto. The action with which they accompanied the singing was extremely appropriate. They always sing standing."
In connection with this charming tune, I’ll share Mr. Cayzer’s account of how he recorded it in 1849, which he has kindly pulled from his diary:—"I discovered this tune, along with 'As Johnny walked out' (No. 11), in Dartmoor; and I won’t forget the moment any time soon. The setting was quite desolate (I think it was Two Bridges, but it might have been Post Bridge). It had been raining all day. There wasn’t a book in the house, nor any musical instrument, except for two hungry pigs and a weaned baby. As evening approached, a few miners and shepherds dropped by, and I clearly remember how their presence lifted our spirits. We quickly built a fantastic fire—only peat can create such a blaze—and gathered the benches and seats around it. With the help of a few pints of cider, I soon earned the trust of everyone there and got them to sing a song one by one; I even noted down two songs that were completely new to me: no easy task, given that they were performed in a mix of deep bass and falsetto. The gestures they made while singing were incredibly fitting. They always sang while standing."
Many a similar evening have Mr. Sheppard, Mr. Bussell, and I spent in like manner over the peat fire with the burly, red-faced moor men and shepherds, standing to sing their quaint old songs, and very happy evenings they have been.
Many similar evenings have Mr. Sheppard, Mr. Bussell, and I spent in the same way by the peat fire with the burly, red-faced moor men and shepherds, standing to sing their quirky old songs, and they have been very happy evenings.
The same melody was taken down by Miss Wyatt Edgell from an old woman near Exeter, in 1891. The words sung to it related to the same Oxford Tragedy, but were a version different from the stall copy.
The same melody was noted by Miss Wyatt Edgell from an old woman near Exeter in 1891. The lyrics sung to it were about the same Oxford Tragedy but were a different version from the stall copy.
67. The Blue Flame. Melody taken down by Mr. W. Crossing, from an old moor man, to "Rosemary Lane." Roger Luxton and James Parsons also sang "Rosemary Lane" to the same air. The words are objectionable. Moreover, in other parts of England, this Broadside song is always sung to one particular air. We therefore thought it well to put to our melody entirely fresh words.
67. The Blue Flame. Melody collected by Mr. W. Crossing from an old moor man, to "Rosemary Lane." Roger Luxton and James Parsons also performed "Rosemary Lane" to the same tune. The lyrics are inappropriate. Furthermore, in other regions of England, this Broadside song is consistently sung to one specific melody. We thus decided to create entirely new lyrics for our tune.
It was a common belief in the West of England that a soul after death appeared as a blue flame; and that a flame came from the churchyard to the house of one doomed to die, and hovered on the doorstep till the death-doomed expired, when the soul of the deceased was seen returning with the other flame, also as a flame, to the churchyard.
It was a common belief in the West of England that a soul after death appeared as a blue flame; and that a flame would come from the churchyard to the house of someone destined to die, hovering on the doorstep until the person died, at which point the soul of the deceased was seen returning with the other flame, also as a flame, to the churchyard.
68. Strawberry Fair. Melody taken down from James Masters. This is a very old song. It is found with music in "Songs and Madrigals of the 15th Century," published by the Old English Plain-Song Society, 1891. The ballad was recast "Kytt has lost her Key," which is given by Dr. Rimbault in his "Little Book of Songs and Ballads gathered from Ancient Music Books," 1851, p. 49. We have been forced to re-write the words, which were very indelicate. The air was used, in or about 1835, by Beuler, a comic song writer, for "The Devil and the Hackney Coachman"—
68. Strawberry Festival. Melody taken from James Masters. This is a very old song. It appears with music in "Songs and Madrigals of the 15th Century," published by the Old English Plain-Song Society in 1891. The ballad was transformed into "Kytt has lost her Key," which Dr. Rimbault includes in his "Little Book of Songs and Ballads gathered from Ancient Music Books," published in 1851, p. 49. We've had to rewrite the lyrics because they were quite inappropriate. The tune was used, around 1835, by Beuler, a comic songwriter, for "The Devil and the Hackney Coachman"—
"Ben was a Hackney coachman sure,
Jarvey! Jarvey!—Here I am, your honour."
"Ben was a Hackney coach driver for sure,
Driver! Driver!—Here I am, your honor."
I have never found a singer who had any knowledge of Beuler's song, but all have heard "Strawberry Fair," and some men of seventy or eighty years of age say they learned it from their fathers.
I have never come across a singer who knows Beuler's song, but everyone has heard "Strawberry Fair," and some men in their seventies or eighties say they learned it from their dads.
69. The Country Farmer's Son. Taken down from James Woolrich, a labourer, at Broadwood Widger. The original ballad, "The Constant Farmer's Son," is found on a Broadside by Ross of Newcastle. I have re-written the song. The fine, robust tune belongs to the end of the 18th century. See Folk-Song Journal, i. p. 160.
69. The Farmer's Son. Transcribed from James Woolrich, a laborer, at Broadwood Widger. The original ballad, "The Constant Farmer's Son," is found on a broadside by Ross of Newcastle. I have rewritten the song. The wonderful, sturdy tune dates back to the end of the 18th century. See Folk-Song Journal, i. p. 160.
70. The Hostess' Daughter. Taken down from J. Masters, Bradstone. The coarseness of the original words obliged me to re-write the song.
70. The Hostess's Daughter. Adapted from J. Masters, Bradstone. The crude nature of the original lyrics forced me to rewrite the song.
71. The Jolly Goss-hawk. Melody taken down from H. Westaway to "The Nawden Song," which begins—
71. The Cheerful Goss-hawk. Melody recorded from H. Westaway to "The Nawden Song," which starts—
"I went to my lady the first of May,
A jolly Goss-hawk and his wings were grey,
Come let us see who'll win my fair ladye—you or me."
"I went to see my lady on the first of May,
A cheerful Goss-hawk with his wings all grey,
Come on, let’s see who will win my lovely lady—you or me."
To the 2nd of May is "a two twitty bird," then "a dushy cock," a "four-legged pig," "five steers," "six boars," "seven cows calving," "eight bulls roaring," "nine cocks crowing," "ten carpenters yawing," "eleven shepherds sawing," "twelve old women scolding." Mr. C. Sharp has taken it down in Somersetshire. A Scottish version in Chambers' "Popular Rhymes of Scotland," 1842; as "The Yule Days," a Northumbrian version; "The XII. days of Christmas," with air not like ours, in "Northumbrian Minstrelsy," Newcastle, 1882, p. 129.
To May 2nd is "a pair of twitty birds," then "a drowsy rooster," "a four-legged pig," "five steers," "six boars," "seven calves being born," "eight bulls bellowing," "nine roosters crowing," "ten carpenters snoozing," "eleven shepherds sawing," "twelve cranky old women." Mr. C. Sharp recorded this in Somersetshire. There's a Scottish version in Chambers' "Popular Rhymes of Scotland," 1842; as "The Yule Days," a Northumbrian version; "The XII. Days of Christmas," with a tune that's different from ours, in "Northumbrian Minstrelsy," Newcastle, 1882, p. 129.
A Breton version, "Gousper ou ar Ranad" in "Chansons Populaires de la Basse Bretagne," by Luzel, 1890, p. 94. The West of England song has got mixed up with the "Goss Hawk," another song. See "The Fond Mother's Garland," B.M. (11,621, c 5). A companion song to this is "The Bonny Bird," given further on in this collection, No. 106. The song, in Devonshire, goes by the name of "The Nawden Song."
A Breton version, "Gousper or ar Ranad" in "Popular Songs of Lower Brittany," by Luzel, 1890, p. 94. The West of England song has become intertwined with the "Goss Hawk," another song. See "The Fond Mother's Garland," B.M. (11,621, c 5). A companion song to this is "The Bonny Bird," which is provided later in this collection, No. 106. The song, in Devonshire, is known as "The Nawden Song."
72. The Song of the Moor. The melody was taken down at Merrivale Bridge, Dartmoor, from a quarryman named Nankivel, commonly known as "Old Capul." To this air he sang a farcical ballad, "The Infant," quite unworthy of it. I have, accordingly, written fresh words to a really good swinging tune.
72. The Song of the Moor. The melody was recorded at Merrivale Bridge, Dartmoor, from a quarry worker named Nankivel, who was often called "Old Capul." To this tune, he sang a silly ballad, "The Infant," which didn't do it justice. So, I’ve written new lyrics for a truly great, lively tune.
The original began as follows—
Please provide the text you'd like me to modernize.
"O when I was an Infant, to London I did go,
Among the French and Spaniards my gallantry to show.
And when I reached the Eastern shore, I let my head hang down,
I tripped over Baganells (?) and never touched the ground.
Fal-de-ral-de, etc.
"So when I reached the Eastern shore, I met a giant high,
He lookèd down upon me, and bade me pass him by.
He challenged me to dance and sing, to whistle and to run,
I beat him out of all his wits, and kill'd him when I'd done.
"The people in amazement stood, to see what I had done,
They gave me silver plate, about a fifty ton.
I made myself a little box, about three acres square,
I filled it to the very top, with my bright silver ware."
"Oh, when I was a baby, I went to London,
To show off my style among the French and Spaniards.
And when I got to the Eastern shore, I let my head droop,
I tripped over Baganells (?) and never touched the ground.
Fal-de-ral, etc.
"So when I reached the Eastern shore, I met a tall giant,
He looked down at me and told me to pass by.
He challenged me to dance and sing, to whistle and run,
I outsmarted him completely and defeated him in the end.
"The people stood in amazement, watching what I had done,
They gave me silver plates, about fifty tons.
I made myself a little box, about three acres wide,
I filled it to the brim with my shiny silverware."
And so on through a string of absurdities. It is apparently a modernised version of "The Jovial Broomman," by R. Climsall, published by R. Harper, 1635-1642. "Roxburgh ballads," ed. Chappell, i. p. 500.
And so on through a series of ridiculous situations. It seems to be a modernized version of "The Jovial Broomman," by R. Climsall, published by R. Harper, 1635-1642. "Roxburgh ballads," edited by Chappell, i. p. 500.
73. On a May Morning so Early. This melody belongs to the ballad "I'm Seventeen on Sunday." This begins—
73. On a May morning so early. This tune is from the ballad "I'm Seventeen on Sunday." It starts—
"As I walked out one May morning,
One May morning so early,
O there I spied a fair pretty maid
All on the dew so pearly.
With a fa-la-la, with a fa-la-la,
All on the dew so pearly.
"O where are you going my fair pretty maid?
O where are you going my lambie?
Then cheerfully she answered me,
On an errand for my mammie.
"How old are you, my fair pretty maid?
How old are you, my honey?
Then cheerfully she answered me,
I'm seventeen on Sunday."
"As I walked out one May morning,
One early May morning,
I spotted a lovely young girl
All on the damp grass.
With a la-la-la, with a la-la-la,
All on the damp grass.
"O where are you going, my lovely young girl?
Where are you headed, my dear?
Then cheerfully she answered me,
I'm running an errand for my mom.
"How old are you, my lovely young girl?
How old are you, my dear?
Then cheerfully she answered me,
"I'm turning seventeen on Sunday."
For good reasons we could not give the words as taken down, so Mr. Sheppard wrote fresh words to the tune. The ballad was obtained from Roger Huggins, Lydford, and from William Bickle, Bridestowe, but it is known and sung throughout Devon and Cornwall. The original ballad was altered by Burns to "The Waukrife Mammy" for Johnson's "Museum," iv. p. 210, and Allan Cuningham also arranged a song on the same theme, as the original was objectionable. Lyle gives it in his "Ballads," 1827, saying: "This ballad, in its original dress, at one time, from my recollection, was not only extremely popular, but a great favourite among the young peasantry of the West of Scotland. To suit the times, however, we have been necessitated to throw out the intermediate stanzas, as their freedom would not bear transcription, whilst the second and third have been slightly altered from the recited copy." An Irish version (re-written) to the Irish air, by Joyce, "Ancient Irish Music," 1873, No. 17. He says: "I cannot tell when I learned the air and words of this song, for I have known them as long as my memory can reach back. For several reasons [the original words] could not be presented to the reader."
For good reasons, we couldn't provide the exact words as they were recorded, so Mr. Sheppard wrote new lyrics to the tune. The ballad was collected from Roger Huggins in Lydford and from William Bickle in Bridestowe, but it is known and sung all over Devon and Cornwall. The original ballad was modified by Burns to "The Waukrife Mammy" for Johnson's "Museum," vol. 4, p. 210, and Allan Cunningham also created a song on the same topic, as the original was considered inappropriate. Lyle includes it in his "Ballads," 1827, stating: "This ballad, in its original form, was once extremely popular and a favorite among the young peasantry of the West of Scotland. However, to fit modern sensibilities, we've had to remove the intermediate stanzas, as their content was not suitable for transcription, while the second and third stanzas have been slightly altered from the version that was recited." An Irish version (rewritten) to the Irish air, by Joyce, appears in "Ancient Irish Music," 1873, No. 17. He remarks: "I can't remember when I learned the tune and lyrics of this song, as I have known them for as long as my memory goes back. For several reasons, the original lyrics could not be shared with the reader."
Burns, when forwarding the ditty to Johnson, said of it: "I picked up this old song and tune from a country girl in Nithsdale; I never met with it elsewhere in Scotland." The words may be found on Broadsheets, printed by Such and by Bebbington, Manchester. Mr. Kidson has recovered several versions in Yorkshire, and one is given in the Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 92, as taken down in Sussex, and two were in vol. ii. p. 9 noted down by Mr. Sharp in Somerset. Our tune is in the Dorian mode.
Burns, when sending the song to Johnson, mentioned: "I found this old song and tune from a country girl in Nithsdale; I've never encountered it anywhere else in Scotland." The lyrics can be found on broadsheets printed by Such and Bebbington in Manchester. Mr. Kidson has collected several versions in Yorkshire, and one is included in the Folk-Song Journal, vol. i, p. 92, as recorded in Sussex, and two were noted in vol. ii, p. 9 by Mr. Sharp in Somerset. Our tune is in the Dorian mode.
74. The Spotted Cow. Words and air from James Parsons, J. Helmore, H. Smith, and J. Woodrich. Mr. Sharp has also taken it down in N. Devon and in Somerset.
74. The Spotted Cow. Lyrics and melody by James Parsons, J. Helmore, H. Smith, and J. Woodrich. Mr. Sharp has also recorded it in North Devon and Somerset.
The earliest form of the words is found in a garland printed by Angus of Newcastle, B.M. (11,621, c 4). There are later Broadside versions. The words also in Fairburne's "Everlasting Songster," circ. 1825. Mr. Kidson gives the song in his "Traditional Tunes," p. 70, but to a melody different from ours. About 1760 Dr. Berg set the song, recast in a Scotch form: "As Jamie gang'd blithe his way along the banks of Tweed," to be sung at Ranelagh. As sung, the ballad consists of four lines in a stanza, and the two last are repeated; and it is in seven stanzas. To shorten the ballad I have made each stanza consist of six lines. Our tune is not that of Dr. Berg. But it is redolent of the art-music of the 18th or early 19th century, and hardly possesses the character of folk-made song. Still, it is very freely sung by old people in Devon and Somerset.
The earliest version of the lyrics is found in a collection printed by Angus of Newcastle, B.M. (11,621, c 4). There are later Broadside versions. The lyrics also appear in Fairburne's "Everlasting Songster," circa 1825. Mr. Kidson includes the song in his "Traditional Tunes," p. 70, but to a melody different from ours. Around 1760, Dr. Berg adapted the song into a Scottish version: "As Jamie gan'd blithe his way along the banks of Tweed," to be performed at Ranelagh. The ballad, as sung, consists of four lines in each stanza, with the last two lines repeated, and it has seven stanzas. To condense the ballad, I've made each stanza consist of six lines. Our tune is not Dr. Berg's, but it reflects the art music of the 18th or early 19th century and doesn't quite have the character of a traditional folk song. Nevertheless, it's still widely sung by older people in Devon and Somerset.
75. Three Jovial Welshmen. Taken down from "Old Capul," Nankivel, Merrivale Bridge. The song is given in Halliwell's "Nursery Rhymes of England," 290. It is probably a very old ballad, for in a ballad, "Choice of Inventions," printed by F. Coles, 1646-74, in the Roxburgh Collection (ed. Chappell, i. p. 105), is given a pot-pourri of scraps, "several sorts of the figure three," and it begins—
75. Three Cheerful Welshmen. Taken from "Old Capul," Nankivel, Merrivale Bridge. The song is featured in Halliwell's "Nursery Rhymes of England," 290. It's likely a very old ballad, as seen in a ballad, "Choice of Inventions,” printed by F. Coles, 1646-74, in the Roxburgh Collection (ed. Chappell, i. p. 105), which includes a mix of lines, "various types of the figure three," and it starts—
"There were three men of Gotham, as I've heard say,
That needs would ride a hunting upon St. David's Day.
Through all the day they hunting were, yet no sport could they see,
Untill they spide an Owle as she sate on a tree.
The first man said 'twas a Goose, the second man said Nay,
The third man said 'twas a Hawke, but his Bells were falne away."
"There were three guys from Gotham, or so I've heard,
They needed to go hunting on St. David's Day.
They hunted all day, but saw no game at all,
Until they spotted an owl sitting in a tree.
The first guy said it was a goose, the second guy disagreed,
The third guy said it was a hawk, but its bells were gone."
The tune to which it was to be sung was "Rock the Cradle, sweet John," for which, see Chappell, i. p. 189.
The song it was meant to be sung to was "Rock the Cradle, sweet John," for which, see Chappell, i. p. 189.
Another, and more modern version, is that of "The Three Jovial Huntsmen"—
Another, and more contemporary version, is that of "The Three Jovial Huntsmen"—
"It's of three jovial huntsmen an' a hunting they did go;
An' they hunted, an' they hallo'd, an' they blew their horns also,"
"It's three cheerful hunters who went out for a hunt;
And they hunted, they shouted, and they blew their horns too,"
which has been illustrated by Caldecott.
which has been illustrated by Caldecott.
The original ballad is in "The Woody Chorister," B.M. (1162, e 2).
The original ballad is in "The Woody Chorister," B.M. (1162, e 2).
This is one of the ballads Mr. Incledon Johns heard sung on the outskirts of Dartmoor in 1830, mentioned in his book, already noticed, published in 1832.
This is one of the ballads that Mr. Incledon Johns heard sung on the outskirts of Dartmoor in 1830, mentioned in his previously noted book, published in 1832.
A version, "Six Jovial Welshmen," is given in vol. i. p. 128, Folk-Song Journal, from Sussex. It runs—
A version, "Six Jovial Welshmen," is given in vol. i. p. 128, Folk-Song Journal, from Sussex. It runs—
"It's of six jovial Welshmen, six jovial men were they,
And they would all a hunting ride, upon St. David's Day.
Then fill each glass and let it pass, no sign of care betray,
We'll drink and sing, 'Long live the King!' upon St. David's Day."
"When crook-back'd Richard wore the crown, as regent of the land,
No policy could pull him down, nor his proud foe withstand.
A tribute he from them did seek, which they refused to pay,
And in their caps they wore a leek, upon St. David's Day.
Then fill each glass, and let it pass, etc."
"There were six cheerful Welshmen, six happy guys,
And they all went hunting on St. David's Day.
So let's fill each glass and let it flow, showing no signs of worry,
We'll drink and sing, 'Long live the King!' on St. David's Day."
"When crooked-backed Richard was king, ruling the land,
No strategy could take him down, nor could his proud enemy stand against him.
He demanded a tribute from them, which they refused to pay,
And they wore a leek in their hats, on St. David's Day.
So let’s fill each glass and let it flow, etc."
This is probably a re-edition of the older song.
This is likely a new version of the older song.
76. Well met, well met, my own true Love. The words are a cento from the lengthy ballad of the "Carpenter's Wife," which, as we have taken it down, consists of twenty verses. The black letter Broadside, "The Carpenter's Wife," is a peculiarly interesting ballad. It is the story of one Jane Reynolds of Plymouth, who had plighted her troth to a seaman. As they were about to be married, he was pressed and carried off to sea. Three years later, news arrived that he was dead, and then she married a carpenter, and lived with him for five years, and bore him three children. At the end of seven years an evil spirit assumed the likeness of her dead lover, and appeared to her, and induced her to leave with him. He carried her off, and she was never seen again. The husband, in despair, hung himself. Such is the theme of a lengthy ballad in the Roxburgh Collection, ed. Chappell, iii. p. 200. There are copies as well in the Pepys and Ewing Collections. It was printed by F. Coles (1646-1674), Gilbertson (1654-1663), Vere (1640-1680), and W. Oney (1650-1702). It was a sorry composition.
76. Hello, hello, my one true love. These words are from the long ballad "The Carpenter's Wife," which we’ve written down and it contains twenty verses. The old black letter broadside, "The Carpenter's Wife," is an especially intriguing ballad. It tells the story of a woman named Jane Reynolds from Plymouth, who had promised herself to a sailor. Just before their wedding, he was pressed into service and taken away to sea. Three years later, she received news that he was dead, so she married a carpenter and lived with him for five years, giving birth to three children. After seven years, a malevolent spirit took on the appearance of her deceased lover and came to her, persuading her to leave with him. He took her away, and she was never seen again. Her husband, in despair, hanged himself. This forms the premise of a long ballad in the Roxburgh Collection, ed. Chappell, iii. p. 200. There are also versions in the Pepys and Ewing Collections. It was printed by F. Coles (1646-1674), Gilbertson (1654-1663), Vere (1640-1680), and W. Oney (1650-1702). It was a sad piece.
Now, the traditional ballad, as compared with the printed ballad, is superior at every point. It begins abruptly with the address of the sailor to the carpenter's wife, without the long story that precedes his attempt to cajole her to elope. Moreover, there is in it no intimation that the tempter is an evil spirit in the form of the dead lover, and when she has eloped, she pines not for three, but for her one babe, whom she has deserted.
Now, the traditional ballad, compared to the printed ballad, is better in every way. It starts suddenly with the sailor speaking to the carpenter's wife, skipping the long backstory before he tries to get her to run away with him. Also, there's no hint that the tempter is an evil spirit disguised as her dead lover, and when she has run away, she doesn't long for three things, but for her one child that she has left behind.
Thirteen of the verses of the traditional ballad are found in "The Rambler's Garland," B.M. (1162, c 2). A form closely resembling our Devon ballad is in Buchan's "Ballads of the North of Scotland," i. p. 214, but is longer, consisting of twenty-six stanzas. Kinloch, Motherwell, and Laidlaw have also portions of it. Laidlaw, in a letter to Scott, January 3, 1803, says of the ballad, as sung to him by Walter Grieve: "He likewise sung part of a very beautiful ballad which I think you will not have seen.... The tune is very solemn and melancholy, and the effect is mixed with a considerable proportion of horror." See Child, No. 243.
Thirteen of the verses from the traditional ballad are found in "The Rambler's Garland," B.M. (1162, c 2). A version closely resembling our Devon ballad is in Buchan's "Ballads of the North of Scotland," i. p. 214, but it’s longer, with twenty-six stanzas. Kinloch, Motherwell, and Laidlaw also have parts of it. Laidlaw, in a letter to Scott on January 3, 1803, mentions the ballad as sung to him by Walter Grieve: "He also sang part of a very beautiful ballad that I think you haven't seen.... The tune is very solemn and sad, and the overall effect has quite a bit of horror." See Child, No. 243.
The printed ballad that is in the Roxburgh Collection is, I feel convinced, a clumsy re-writing of the earlier ballad, so as to convey a moral, as its title implies, "A Warning to Married Women." James Harris is the demon lover. In the traditional ballad, when the carpenter's wife has eloped, she falls into deep depression—
The printed ballad in the Roxburgh Collection seems to me to be a poorly done rewrite of the earlier ballad, aimed at delivering a moral, as indicated by its title, "A Warning to Married Women." James Harris is the seductive lover. In the traditional ballad, when the carpenter's wife runs away, she becomes deeply depressed—
"I do not weep for your gold, she said,
Nor do I weep for your fee,
But by the masthead stands my baby dead,
And I weep, I weep for my dead babie....
"She had not a-been upon the seas
But six days of the week,
Before that she lay as cold as clay
And never a word, one word did speak.
"They had not a-been upon the seas
Of weeks but three and four,
But down to the bottom the ship did swim
And never was heard of, heard of more."
"I don't cry for your gold," she said,
"Nor do I cry for your fee,
But at the masthead lies my baby dead,
And I cry, I cry for my dead baby....
"She hadn’t been at sea
But six days of the week,
Before she lay as cold as clay
And never said a word, not one word did speak.
"They hadn’t been at sea
For more than three or four weeks,
When down to the bottom the ship sank
And was never heard of, heard of again."
There is another ballad running on somewhat similar lines, "The Undutiful Daughter," who is in like manner enticed away; but the ship will not proceed, and lots are cast who is to be thrown overboard. The lot falls on the girl, and she is cast into the sea, but the body swims before the ship and reaches land first. This ballad we have taken down several times.
There’s another ballad with a similar theme, "The Undutiful Daughter," who is also lured away. However, the ship won't move, so they draw lots to see who will be thrown overboard. The lot lands on the girl, and she’s thrown into the sea, but her body swims in front of the ship and reaches the shore first. We've recorded this ballad several times.
The last verse (six) I have added to make some sort of conclusion to the song.
The last verse (six) I’ve added to wrap up the song.
What the air is to which the ballad is sung in Scotland I do not know.
What the atmosphere is like where the ballad is sung in Scotland, I don't know.
77. Poor Old Horse. Words and melody from Matthew Baker. The song is given in Bell's "Ballads of the English Peasantry," p. 184, as sung by the mummers in the neighbourhood of Richmond, Yorkshire. He says: "The rustic actor who sings this song is dressed as an old horse, and at the end of every verse the jaws are snapped in chorus. It is a fine composition, and is now (1864) printed for the first time." This is not so; it has long existed on Broadside by Hodges of Seven Dials, and Such, etc. The Midland air of the song in Mason's "Nursery Rhymes and Country-N23- Songs," 1877. Mr. Kidston has obtained several versions of the song in Yorkshire and Lancashire. A fine setting was sung at the Folk-Song Competition at Kendal in 1903. It is given in Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. pp. 75 and 260.
77. Poor Old Horse. Words and melody by Matthew Baker. The song appears in Bell's "Ballads of the English Peasantry," p. 184, as performed by mummers in the Richmond area of Yorkshire. He states: "The rustic performer who sings this song is dressed as an old horse, and at the end of each verse, the jaws snap in unison. It’s a great composition, and as of now (1864), it’s being printed for the first time." This isn’t accurate; it has been around for a long time, available on a broadside by Hodges of Seven Dials, and such. The Midland version of the song is in Mason's "Nursery Rhymes and Country-N23- Songs," 1877. Mr. Kidston has collected several versions of the song from Yorkshire and Lancashire. A beautiful rendition was performed at the Folk-Song Competition in Kendal in 1903. It is included in Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. pp. 75 and 260.
In "Sailors' Songs and Chanties," Boosey & Co., the song is given under the title of "The Dead Horse." In Derbyshire, at Christmas, boys and young men were wont, and may be still are wont, to go about, one dressed as a horse, with a horse's skull in his hands or affixed to his head; then this song was sung by the attendants and money asked for the feeding of the beast, and the head was made to snap its jaws. The song is also given in Topcliff's "Melodies of the Tyne and Wear," N.D., but circ. 1815, and is also found on Broadsides by Such.
In "Sailors' Songs and Chanties," Boosey & Co., the song is titled "The Dead Horse." In Derbyshire, during Christmas, boys and young men used to, and perhaps still do, go around with one person dressed as a horse, holding or wearing a horse's skull on their head; during this, the attendants would sing the song and ask for money to "feed the beast," making the skull snap its jaws. The song is also included in Topcliff's "Melodies of the Tyne and Wear," N.D., but circ. 1815, and can also be found in Broadsides by Such.
Mr. Sharp has given a version in his "Folk-Songs from Somerset," No. 27.
Mr. Sharp has included a version in his "Folk-Songs from Somerset," No. 27.
78. The Dilly Song. An almost endless number of versions of this song have been taken down, and have been sent to us. It is known throughout Cornwall, and is, indeed, still sung in the chapels. When a party of amateurs performed the "Songs of the West" in Cornwall, 1890, the Dilly Song always provoked laughter among the good folk at the back of the halls. This puzzled the performers, till they learned that folk laughed because this was their familiar chapel hymn. In the text I have given the version of the words with least of the religious element in them. Here are some of the other versions—
78. The Dilly Song. There are countless versions of this song that have been recorded and sent to us. It's well-known all over Cornwall, and is still sung in chapels today. When a group of amateurs performed "Songs of the West" in Cornwall in 1890, the Dilly Song always made the audience at the back of the halls laugh. This confused the performers until they found out that the audience was laughing because it was their familiar chapel hymn. In the text, I've included the version of the words with the least religious references. Here are some of the other versions—
2. "God's own Son, or Christ's Natures"; or "The strangers o'er the wide world rangers"; or "The lily-white maids."
2. "God's own Son, or Christ's Natures"; or "The strangers who roam the wide world"; or "The pure white maidens."
3. "Three is all eternity"; "Three are the Thrones." The strangers are probably the Wise Men from the East.
3. "Three is everything forever"; "Three are the Thrones." The outsiders are likely the Wise Men from the East.
4. "The Gospel Preachers"; "The Evangelists."
4. "The Gospel Preachers"; "The Evangelists."
5. "The Ferryman in the Boat"; "The Nimble Waiters."
5. "The Ferryman in the Boat"; "The Quick Waiters."
6. "The Cherubim Watchers"; "The Crucifix"; "The Cherrybird Waiters."
6. "The Cherubim Watchers"; "The Crucifix"; "The Cherrybird Waiters."
7. "The Crown of Heaven"; "The Seven Stars."
7. "The Crown of Heaven"; "The Seven Stars."
8. "The Great Archangel"; "The Angels"; "The Daybreak."
8. "The Great Archangel"; "The Angels"; "The Daybreak."
9. "The Nine Delights," i.e. the Joys of Mary; "The Moonshine."
9. "The Nine Delights," meaning the Joys of Mary; "The Moonshine."
10. "The Commandments"; "Begin Again."
"The Ten Commandments"; "Start Over."
11. "The Eleven Disciples"; "They that go to Heaven."
11. "The Eleven Disciples"; "Those Who Go to Heaven."
There are similar verses in German and Flemish; a Scottish version in Chambers' "Popular Rhymes," 1842, p. 50. Also found in Brittany: Luzel, "Chansons Populaires," 1890, p. 88. There is a Mediæval Latin form, beginning "Unus est Deus." A Hebrew form is printed in Mendez: "Service for the First Night of the Passover," London, 1862; a Moravian form in Wenzig: "Slavischer Märchen-Schatz," 1857, p. 295. It is also sung in the Eifel, Schmitz: "Sitten u. Bräuche des Eifler Volkes," Trier, 1856, p. 113. A Greek form is in Sanders: "Volksleben der Neugriechen." See also: Coussemaker, "Chants populaires des Flamands," Gand, 1850; Villemarqué, Barzas Breis, 1846, and later editions.
There are similar verses in German and Flemish; a Scottish version in Chambers' "Popular Rhymes," 1842, p. 50. Also found in Brittany: Luzel, "Chansons Populaires," 1890, p. 88. There’s a Medieval Latin form starting with "Unus est Deus." A Hebrew version is printed in Mendez: "Service for the First Night of the Passover," London, 1862; a Moravian version in Wenzig: "Slavic Fairy Tale Treasure," 1857, p. 295. It's also sung in the Eifel, Schmitz: "Customs and Traditions of the Eifel People"," Trier, 1856, p. 113. A Greek version can be found in Sanders: "Life of the Modern Greeks." See also: Coussemaker, "Chansons populaires des Flamands," Gand, 1850; Villemarqué, Barzas Breis, 1846, and later editions.
The lily-white boys are probably the Gemini, or sign for Spring. In the "Queen-like Closet, or Rich Cabinet," 1681, are instructions for embroidering emblems of the months. "May is to be clothed in a robe of white and green, and his sign must be Gemini."
The fair-skinned boys are likely the Gemini, or sign of Spring. In the "Queen-like Closet, or Rich Cabinet," 1681, there are instructions for embroidering symbols of the months. "May should be dressed in a robe of white and green, and his sign must be Gemini."
"The Ferryman in the Boat" is perhaps Charon. In other versions Five is the Dilly-bird, or the Dilly-hour, "when blooms the dilly-flower."
"The Ferryman in the Boat" is probably Charon. In other versions, Five is the Dilly-bird, or the Dilly-hour, "when blooms the dilly-flower."
Some are obviously merely adopted as rhymes, as "six the crucifix."
Some are clearly just used as rhymes, like "six the crucifix."
In Cornwall and Devon the song goes by the name of "The Dilly Song." What the meaning of "Dilly" is must remain uncertain. Possibly it signifies the Festal Song (Welsh, dillyn, pretty, gay).
In Cornwall and Devon, the song is known as "The Dilly Song." The meaning of "Dilly" remains unclear. It may possibly refer to the Festal Song (Welsh, dillyn, meaning pretty or cheerful).
The song used to be sung by Eton boys. It was introduced by Sir Arthur Sullivan into "The Yeomen of the Guard"; he, I believe, heard it sung by a sailor. His melody bears a certain relationship to ours. The song requires to be sung by at least two persons, a questioner and the responder.
The song used to be sung by Eton boys. It was introduced by Sir Arthur Sullivan into "The Yeomen of the Guard"; I believe he heard it sung by a sailor. His melody is somewhat related to ours. The song needs to be sung by at least two people, a questioner and the responder.
79. Country Dance. This dance tune, called "The Mallard," because of some silly words that go to it relative to the gobbling up of a mallard. It begins—
79. Country Dancing. This dance tune, called "The Mallard," gets its name from some silly lyrics about gobbling up a mallard. It starts—
"Oh, what have I ate, and what have I ate?
I have eaten the toe of a mallard.
Toe and toe, nevins and all,
And I have been to ballery allery,
And so good meat was the mallard."
"Oh, what have I eaten, and what have I eaten?
I have eaten the toe of a mallard.
Toe to toe, nephews and everyone,
And I have been to the ballery allery,
And the mallard was such good meat."
The singer proceeds to eat the foot, then the leg, the thigh, the rump, the wing, the back, the breast, the neck, the head; and then the dance was concluded. A Breton version in Luzel, p. 80. I have written fresh words to the tune.
The singer goes on to eat the foot, then the leg, the thigh, the rump, the wing, the back, the breast, the neck, the head; and then the dance was finished. A Breton version in Luzel, p. 80. I've written new lyrics to the tune.
This tune is in the Dorian mode. As sung by J. Masters, the E was sharpened in the 3rd bar but flattened on the repetition of the same phase in the penultimate bar. Mr. Sheppard, when arranging the song, flattened the E throughout. It must be one thing or the other. Flattened throughout, it makes a charming melody, but the last flattened E was probably due to the singer's memory failing him in the latter part of the air, but serving him at the beginning of the tune. Mr. Sharp has accordingly retained the E natural throughout. The opening phrase is similar to the Plain-Song Easter Carol, "O Filii et Filiæ." This was a melody used in French folk-song for the welcoming in of spring. In fact, a May song. It forced its way into the service of the Church, and was adopted and used for the Easter Sequence. See Tiersot, op. cit., pp. 361, 391. It is certainly curious finding the same in Devonshire folk-music. Neither Mr. Sheppard nor I observed it; it was pointed out by Mr. Sharp.
This tune is in the Dorian mode. As sung by J. Masters, the E was sharpened in the 3rd bar but flattened when the same phrase was repeated in the second to last bar. Mr. Sheppard, in arranging the song, flattened the E throughout. It should be one way or the other. When flattened throughout, it creates a lovely melody, but the last flattened E was likely due to the singer forgetting in the later part of the piece while remembering it at the start. Mr. Sharp has kept the E natural throughout. The opening phrase resembles the Plain-Song Easter Carol, "O Sons and Daughters." This melody was used in French folk-song to celebrate the arrival of spring, essentially a May song. It made its way into Church services and was adopted for the Easter Sequence. See Tiersot, op. cit., pp. 361, 391. It's certainly interesting to find the same in Devonshire folk music. Neither Mr. Sheppard nor I noticed it; it was pointed out by Mr. Sharp.
80. Constant Johnny. Words and melody taken down from Roger Luxton. It was a dialogue, and so Mr. Sheppard had arranged it. Such lover dialogues are and were very commonly sung in farmhouses. Ravenscroft gives one in broad Devonshire in his "Brief Discourse," 1614, entitled, "Hodge Trellindle and his Zweethart Malkyn." Our ballad seems to be based on "Doubtful Robin and Constant Nanny," circ. 1680, in the "Roxburgh Ballads."
80. Johnny on the spot. The words and melody were noted down from Roger Luxton. It was a dialogue, which Mr. Sheppard had organized. Such love dialogues have been commonly sung in farmhouses. Ravenscroft includes one in broad Devonshire in his "Brief Discourse," 1614, called "Hodge Trellindle and his Zweethart Malkyn." Our ballad seems to be based on "Doubtful Robin and Constant Nanny," circa 1680, in the "Roxburgh Ballads."
These dialogue songs between a lover and his lass were very popular. Addison, in The Guardian of 1713, gives snatches of a West Country ballad of this kind, and shows how vastly superior it is to the pastorals of Dresden china shepherds and shepherdesses of Pope and Philips.
These dialogue songs between a lover and his girl were really popular. Addison, in The Guardian of 1713, shares snippets of a West Country ballad like this and demonstrates how much better it is than the pastoral works of Dresden china shepherds and shepherdesses by Pope and Philips.
81. The Duke's Hunt. Words and melody taken from James Olver, again at Stoke Gabriel, again at Mary Tavy, again at Menheniot. This is a mere cento from a long ballad, entitled "The Fox Chase," narrating a hunt by Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham, in the reign of Charles II. It is in the Roxburgh Collection, and was printed by W. Oury, circ. 1650. The ballad is there said to be sung "to an excellent tune, much in request." We suspect that the melody we give is the original tune handed down traditionally, and never before published. Mr. Sharp has noted down the same song and melody from a singer at East Harptree, Somerset.
81. The Duke's Hunt. Words and melody taken from James Olver, again at Stoke Gabriel, again at Mary Tavy, again at Menheniot. This is just a small part of a long ballad called "The Fox Chase," telling the story of a hunt by Villiers, the second Duke of Buckingham, during the reign of Charles II. It's in the Roxburgh Collection and was printed by W. Oury, circa 1650. The ballad is said to be sung "to an excellent tune, much in demand." We believe that the melody we provide is the original tune passed down through tradition, and has never been published before. Mr. Sharp has recorded the same song and melody from a singer in East Harptree, Somerset.
82. The Bell Ringing. Words and air from William George Kerswell, Two Bridges, Dartmoor; sung also by James Down, blacksmith, Broadwood Widger. Broadbury Down is the highest ridge of land between Dartmoor and the Atlantic.
82. The bell is ringing. Words and music from William George Kerswell, Two Bridges, Dartmoor; also sung by James Down, blacksmith, Broadwood Widger. Broadbury Down is the highest ridge of land between Dartmoor and the Atlantic.
83. A Nutting we will go. Taken down from J. Gerrard, an old man, nearly blind, at Cullyhole, near Chagford, from Robert Hard, and again at Menheniot, and also from James Parsons. Bunting, in his "Irish Melodies," 1840, gives the same tune to a fragment of the same words, and says that he took it down in 1792 from Duncan, a harper. Duncan remembered a portion of a tune he had heard, perhaps, from English soldiers, and eked it out with some other tune. Then came S. Lover, and he took this air from Bunting, and wrote to it "The Lowbacked Car." But the original melody is found, not only in Devon and Cornwall, but also in the North, and Mr. Kidson gives it in his "Traditional Tunes," as "With Henry Hunt we'll go," a song sung in Manchester in connection with the arrest of Hunt in 1819. To the same air was set "The Plains of Waterloo." "The Lowbacked Car" has become popular through its words, and the inartistic quality of a patchwork tune has been forgiven for their sake.
83. A Nutting we will go. This was collected from J. Gerrard, an old man who was nearly blind, at Cullyhole, near Chagford, from Robert Hard, and again at Menheniot, as well as from James Parsons. Bunting, in his "Irish Melodies," 1840, features the same tune with some of the same lyrics and mentions that he recorded it in 1792 from Duncan, a harper. Duncan remembered part of a tune he had possibly heard from English soldiers and filled it out with bits from another tune. Then S. Lover took this melody from Bunting and wrote the lyrics for "The Lowbacked Car." However, the original melody can be found not just in Devon and Cornwall, but also in the North, and Mr. Kidson includes it in his "Traditional Tunes" as "With Henry Hunt we'll go," a song sung in Manchester related to the arrest of Hunt in 1819. The same tune was also used for "The Plains of Waterloo." "The Lowbacked Car" has gained popularity thanks to its lyrics, and the unrefined patchwork nature of the tune has been overlooked for that reason.
The words "The Nutgirl" occur on Broadsides by Fortey, Such, etc. See Ballads collected by Crampton, B.M. (11,621, h), and (1875, b 19); but these are without the chorus. The printed Broadside has lost somewhat. For Gerard's—
The words "The Nutgirl" appear on Broadsides by Fortey, Such, etc. See Ballads collected by Crampton, B.M. (11,621, h), and (1875, b 19); but these are without the chorus. The printed Broadside is somewhat incomplete. For Gerard's—
"His voice rang out so clear and stout,
It made the horse-bells ring,"
"His voice rang out so clear and strong,
It made the horse bells chime,"
it gives—
it offers—
"His voice was so melodious,
It made the valleys ring."
"His voice was so beautiful,
It made the valleys resonate."
The Broadside ballad consists of fourteen verses, and is very gross. I have had to considerably tone down the words.
The Broadside ballad has fourteen verses and is quite explicit. I had to really tone down the language.
An earlier Broadside by Pitts has the chorus.
An earlier Broadside by Pitts includes the chorus.
The same air was employed for the ballads, "In January last, on Monday at Morn," for "The Brags of Washington," 1775, for "Calder Fair," and "To Rodney we will go." It is given in the third edition of "Scotch, Irish, and Foreign Airs," Glasgow, 1788.
The same music was used for the ballads, "In January last, on Monday at Morn," "The Brags of Washington," 1775, "Calder Fair," and "To Rodney we will go." It's included in the third edition of "Scotch, Irish, and Foreign Airs," Glasgow, 1788.
A version is in Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 127, as taken down in Sussex. This version begins—
A version is in Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 127, as recorded in Sussex. This version begins—
"And as this brisk young farmer was ploughing up his land,
He called to his horses and bade them gently stand.
He sat himself down a song to begin,
His voice was so melodious, made the valleys to ring.
And as this brisk young damsel was nutting in the wood,
His voice was so melodious, it charmed her as she stood;
She had no longer power in that lonely wood to stay,
And what few nuts she'd got, poor girl, she threw them all away."
"And as this lively young farmer was plowing his field,
He called to his horses and gently told them to stand still.
He sat down to start a song,
His voice was so beautiful, it made the valleys echo.
And as this lively young woman was gathering nuts in the woods,
His voice was so beautiful, it captivated her as she listened;
She could no longer stay in that quiet woods,
And the few nuts she had gathered, poor girl, she dropped them all."
84. Down by a River Side. Taken down from the singing of James Townsend, Holne. He had learned it from his grandfather, who had been parish clerk of Holne for fifty years and died in 1883, over eighty years old. A version, recovered in Surrey, is given in the Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 204.
84. By the riverside. This was collected from the singing of James Townsend in Holne. He learned it from his grandfather, who served as the parish clerk of Holne for fifty years and passed away in 1883 at over eighty years old. A version found in Surrey is included in the Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 204.
85. The Barley Rakings. Taken down from Roger Hannaford, Lower Widdecombe, Dartmoor. The words exist in Broadside versions by Such, Bingham of Lincoln, Robertson of Wigton, etc. Such's version consists of six verses, the others of four. Hannaford's verses 2 and 3 were unlike those of Bingham and Robertson, but resembled 3 and 4 of Such. He had not 2 and 6 of Such. He had a curious line in verse 2: "They had a mind to style and play" (the Anglo-Saxon styllan, to leap or dance), not found in the printed copies. As none of these versions would be tolerable to polite ears, Mr. Sheppard has modified the words considerably. The melody to which "Barley Rakings" is sung in other parts of England is wholly different. Ours is probably an early dance tune, originally in the Mixolydian Mode, which has undergone modification in oral transmission.
85. The Barley Rankings. Collected from Roger Hannaford, Lower Widdecombe, Dartmoor. The lyrics exist in Broadside versions by Such, Bingham of Lincoln, Robertson of Wigton, and others. Such's version has six verses, while the others have four. Hannaford's verses 2 and 3 were different from Bingham and Robertson's, but similar to verses 3 and 4 of Such. He didn't have verses 2 and 6 from Such. A notable line in verse 2: "They had a mind to style and play" (the Anglo-Saxon styllan, meaning to leap or dance), isn't found in the printed versions. Since none of these versions would be acceptable to refined audiences, Mr. Sheppard has significantly altered the lyrics. The melody for "Barley Rakings" sung in other parts of England is totally different. Ours is likely an early dance tune, originally in the Mixolydian Mode, which has changed through oral transmission.
86. A Ship came Sailing over the Sea. This curious song was obtained by the late Rev. S.M. Walker of Saint Enoder, Cornwall, from a very old man in his parish, and it was sent me by-N25- Miss Octavia L. Hoare. We heard the same from old Sally Satterley at Huckaby Bridge, Dartmoor. She was the daughter of an old crippled singing man on the moor. I have told the story of the way in which she as a young bride with her husband took possession of a house built all in one day, in my Dartmoor Idylls, "Jolly Lane Cott." Sally is now dead, and her house has been rebuilt and vulgarised. One verse, running—
86. A ship sailed across the sea. This intriguing song was collected by the late Rev. S.M. Walker of Saint Enoder, Cornwall, from a very old man in his parish, and it was sent to me by -N25- Miss Octavia L. Hoare. We also heard it from old Sally Satterley at Huckaby Bridge, Dartmoor. She was the daughter of an old disabled singer on the moor. I have recounted the story of how, as a young bride, she and her husband took over a house built in just one day in my Dartmoor Idylls, "Jolly Lane Cott." Sally has now passed away, and her house has been rebuilt and made less charming. One verse goes—
"I put my finger into the bush
Thinking the sweetest rose to find,
I prickt my finger to the bone,
And yet I left the rose behind,"
"I put my finger into the bush
Thinking I would find the most beautiful rose,
I pricked my finger to the bone,
"And still, I left the rose behind."
is found in "The Distressed Virgin," a ballad by Martin Parker, printed by J. Coles, 1646-74. Parker seems to have taken the lines into his ballad from one previously existing. Two of the stanzas, 3 and 6, occur in the Scottish song, "Wally, wally up the Bank," in "Orpheus Caledonicus," 1733, No. 34; the stanzas 4 and 5 in the song in "The Scot's Musical Museum," 1787-1803, vi. p. 582. In "The Wandering Lover's Garland," circ. 1730, are two of the verses worked into another ballad.
is found in "The Distressed Virgin," a ballad by Martin Parker, printed by J. Coles, 1646-74. Parker seems to have borrowed the lines from a pre-existing work. Two of the stanzas, 3 and 6, appear in the Scottish song, "Wally, wally up the Bank," in "Orpheus Caledonicus," 1733, No. 34; stanzas 4 and 5 are in the song in "The Scot's Musical Museum," 1787-1803, vi. p. 582. In "The Wandering Lover's Garland," circa 1730, two of the verses are incorporated into another ballad.
We took down the song a third time from William Nichols of Whitchurch, near Tavistock. It was a song of his grandmother's, who seventy years ago was hostess of the village inn.
We recorded the song for the third time from William Nichols of Whitchurch, near Tavistock. It was a song from his grandmother, who seventy years ago was the innkeeper of the village pub.
87. The Rambling Sailor. Words and music from Roger Hannaford. A hornpipe tune. There are several versions of this on Broadsides. Originally the song was "The Rambling Soldier," and so appears at the middle and latter end of the 18th century. Then some poetaster of Catnach's re-wrote it as "The Rambling Sailor," destroying all the point and wit of the original, which wit and point were not very choice. But as in the West, the ditty is set to a hornpipe tune, we have retained the song as one of a sailor, only modifying the words where objectionable. The earliest copy of "The Rambling Soldier" that I have seen was in the possession of Dr. Barrett; a later copy, circ. 1820, by Whiting of Birmingham, Ballads, B.M. (1876, c 2). "The Rambling Sailor," by Disley, circ. 1830, in Ballads collected by Crampton, B.M. (11,621), vol. viii.
87. The Wandering Sailor. Words and music by Roger Hannaford. A hornpipe tune. There are several versions of this on Broadsides. Originally, the song was titled "The Rambling Soldier," and it appeared in the mid to late 18th century. Later, some poet connected to Catnach reworked it into "The Rambling Sailor," losing all the cleverness and humor of the original, which weren't exactly high quality to begin with. But since in the West, the song is set to a hornpipe tune, we've kept it as a sailor's song, only tweaking the lyrics where they're inappropriate. The earliest copy of "The Rambling Soldier" I found was owned by Dr. Barrett; a later version, around 1820, by Whiting of Birmingham, in Ballads, B.M. (1876, c 2). "The Rambling Sailor," by Disley, circa 1830, in Ballads collected by Crampton, B.M. (11,621), vol. viii.
Mr. Sharp has taken this song and air down in N. Devon and Somerset four or five times, in every case with a flattened 7th in the Mixolydian mode. Our version is clearly a modernised edition of the older tune.
Mr. Sharp has collected this song and air from N. Devon and Somerset four or five times, each time with a flattened 7th in the Mixolydian mode. Our version is clearly a modernized edition of the older tune.
88. Willie Combe. This ballad is known throughout the length and breadth of Cornwall, but it is sometimes mixed up with another, "The Alternon Volunteer." We have taken it down at least a score of times. Some of those from whom we have had it are Thomas Morris, parish clerk of Fowey; J. Libby, coachman at Tredethy, Bodmin; Anthony Pascoe, Liskeard; and Anne Painter, East Looe.
88. Willie Combe. This ballad is well-known across all of Cornwall, but it sometimes gets confused with another one, "The Alternon Volunteer." We've recorded it at least twenty times. Some of the people we've collected it from include Thomas Morris, the parish clerk of Fowey; J. Libby, a coachman at Tredethy, Bodmin; Anthony Pascoe from Liskeard; and Anne Painter from East Looe.
The incident referred to in the ballad is the accidental shooting of William Combe or Coome of St. Agnes, at the Revel or Village Feast at Crantock in 1721. In the parish register at this date is the entry: "William Coome of St Agnes, a youth about 20 years of age, who att the ffeast att this Parish recd his death of a shot; buried May 17."
The incident mentioned in the ballad is the accidental shooting of William Combe or Coome of St. Agnes during the Revel or Village Feast at Crantock in 1721. The parish register from that time includes the entry: "William Coome of St Agnes, a youth about 20 years old, who at the feast at this parish received his death from a shot; buried May 17."
Crantock Feast is on May 16.
Crantock Feast is on May 16.
There are a good many more verses in the original than are here given. They have no poetic merit; and the tune is not very original, but has a certain plaintive sweetness.
There are a lot more verses in the original than what’s included here. They don’t have any poetic value; and the melody isn’t very unique, but it has a certain sad sweetness.
89. Midsummer Carol. Words and tune from William Aggett of Chagford. A very early and curious melody of the same date as the "May Day Carol," No. 47; and the words belong to a similar custom. Compare with this "Lemonday" in our "Garland of Country Songs." Originally doubtless an Æolian, perhaps a Dorian tune, that has been corrupted and modernised.
89. Midsummer Song. Words and music by William Aggett of Chagford. This is a very early and interesting melody from the same period as the "May Day Carol," No. 47; and the words are linked to a similar tradition. Check out the "Lemonday" in our "Garland of Country Songs." It was likely an Æolian tune originally, maybe a Dorian one, that has been altered and updated over time.
90. The Blackbird. The melody and words taken down from James Parson, Roger Hannaford, and John Voysey, labourer, Lew Down.
90. The Blackbird. The melody and lyrics recorded from James Parson, Roger Hannaford, and John Voysey, laborer, Lew Down.
I re-wrote the ballad for the first edition, but in this I have restored the original words, only slightly modifying them.
I rewrote the ballad for the first edition, but in this version, I have restored the original words, making only slight modifications.
A Broadside version has nine stanzas, and ends—
A Broadside version has nine stanzas and concludes—
"So here's a health to the bird in the bush,
Likewise to the linnet and thrush;
For birds of a feather will all flock together,
Let their parents say little or much."
"So here's to the bird in the bush,
Also to the linnet and thrush;
For birds of a feather will all stick together,
No matter how much their parents say."
The same ballad in Lyle's Collection, 1827, "From Recollection; air plaintive and pastoral." A Broadside version of this ballad in nine stanzas by Williamson of Newcastle. Song and air are given also in Kidson's "Traditional Tunes," 1891, as taken down in Yorkshire; but that version of the melody is inferior to ours. A Welsh version of the tune comes nearer to ours.
The same ballad in Lyle's Collection, 1827, "From Recollection; tune sad and rural." A broadside version of this ballad in nine stanzas by Williamson of Newcastle. The song and tune are also provided in Kidson's "Traditional Tunes," 1891, as recorded in Yorkshire; however, that version of the melody isn't as good as ours. A Welsh version of the tune is closer to ours.
91. The Green Bed. Taken down from J. Masters. We heard "The Outlandish Knight" sung to the same melody by Richard Gregory on Dartmoor. "The Green Bed" exists as a Broadside ballad in six double verses. Mr. Sheppard has re-written the ballad, and has condensed the story. The air somewhat resembles "The Girl I left behind me." See "Philander's Garland," circ. 1780, B.M. (11,621, c 4). See Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 48.
91. The Green Bed. This was taken from J. Masters. We heard "The Outlandish Knight" sung to the same tune by Richard Gregory on Dartmoor. "The Green Bed" is available as a Broadside ballad with six double verses. Mr. Sheppard has rewritten the ballad and shortened the story. The melody is somewhat similar to "The Girl I Left Behind Me." See "Philander's Garland," circa 1780, B.M. (11,621, c 4). See Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 48.
92. The Loyal Lover. Words and air from Sally Satterley, Huckaby Bridge, again from Anne Roberts, Scobbetor, Widdecombe. The words exist in part in "Collin and Phœbe's Garland," B.M. (11,621, c 5). But this has two verses only. See also The Lover's Magazine, London, 1740, B.M. (11,621, c 26). This air has been harmonised in the Dorian mode, though as the 6th of the scale is absent, it might have been treated as an Æolian tune.
92. The Faithful Partner. Lyrics and melody by Sally Satterley, Huckaby Bridge, additionally from Anne Roberts, Scobbetor, Widdecombe. The lyrics appear in part in "Collin and Phœbe's Garland," B.M. (11,621, c 5). However, it only includes two verses. Also, check The Lover's Magazine, London, 1740, B.M. (11,621, c 26). This melody has been arranged in the Dorian mode, but since the 6th note of the scale is missing, it might also be considered in the Æolian style.
93. The Streams of Nantsian. Properly "The Streams of Lovely Nancy." Taken down by Miss Templer from the singing of harvesters in 1834; also by us from Matthew Ford, Menheniot; Matthew Baker, Lew Down; and James Oliver, Launceston. Matthew Baker said that he learned it, when aged ten, in 1827.
93. The Nantsian Streams. Properly "The Streams of Lovely Nancy." Recorded by Miss Templer from the singing of harvesters in 1834; also by us from Matthew Ford, Menheniot; Matthew Baker, Lew Down; and James Oliver, Launceston. Matthew Baker said he learned it when he was ten, in 1827.
The ballad was printed by Keys of Devonport, circ. 1830, with four verses, of which verse 3 was an importation from another ballad. In other Broadside versions, the short original, consisting of four verses only, has been swelled out with scraps from other ballads to fill available space. Broadsides by Catnach, Whiting of Birmingham, etc.
The ballad was printed by Keys of Devonport, circa 1830, featuring four verses, with the third verse taken from another ballad. In other Broadside versions, the brief original, which has just four verses, has been expanded with bits from other ballads to occupy the available space. Broadsides by Catnach, Whiting of Birmingham, etc.
94. The Drunken Maidens. Taken down from Edmund Fry, Lydford. This old ballad is found in "Charming Phillis' Garland," circ. 1710. It is in a Broadside by Crashaw of York, reprinted in Logan's "Pedlar's Pack," 1869, p. 241. The last verse has had to be modified.
94. The Tipsy Maidens. Taken from Edmund Fry, Lydford. This old ballad can be found in "Charming Phillis' Garland," circa 1710. It appears in a Broadside by Crashaw of York, reprinted in Logan's "Pedlar's Pack," 1869, p. 241. The last verse has been modified.
A Breton version, "Merc'hed Caudan," is given by Luzel, ii. 142.
A Breton version, "Merc'hed Caudan," is provided by Luzel, ii. 142.
95. Tobacco is an Indian Weed. This old and famous song was written, it is thought, by George Withers, as Mr. Collier found a copy of it in MS. of the date of James I., with his initials to it. It is found in "Merry Drollery Complete," 1670, and on a Broadside dated 1672. We give the tune to which it is sung around Dartmoor and in Cornwall; this is entirely distinct from that to which it is sung elsewhere, as printed by Chappell, ii. p. 564, which is the air given by D'Urfey in his "Pills to Purge Melancholy," 1719, iii. 292. A Somerset version was sung at the Folk-Song Competition at Frome, 1904. Snatches of the song are given in "Handy Andy," so that we may assume that it is also well known among the Irish peasantry; another instance of the way in which English songs have travelled into Ireland. We took down our tune from John Potter, Merripit, Postbridge, and from Anne Roberts, Scobbetor, and H. Westaway, Belstone; also one obtained from an old man at Newton Abbot, sent to me.
95. Tobacco is a native plant. This old and well-known song is believed to have been written by George Withers, as Mr. Collier discovered a copy dated from the time of James I., with his initials on it. It appears in "Merry Drollery Complete," published in 1670, and on a broadside from 1672. We provide the tune that is sung around Dartmoor and in Cornwall; this version is completely different from the one sung elsewhere, as printed by Chappell, ii. p. 564, which corresponds to the air presented by D'Urfey in his "Pills to Purge Melancholy," 1719, iii. 292. A Somerset adaptation was performed at the Folk-Song Competition in Frome, 1904. Fragments of the song are mentioned in "Handy Andy," so we can assume it's also well-known among the Irish peasantry; another example of how English songs have made their way into Ireland. We learned our tune from John Potter in Merripit, Postbridge, and from Anne Roberts in Scobbetor, as well as H. Westaway in Belstone; we also received one from an old man at Newton Abbot, who sent it to me.
In the original ballad, reprinted in Bell's "Songs and Ballads of the English Peasantry," there are many more stanzas than we can give here.
In the original ballad, reprinted in Bell's "Songs and Ballads of the English Peasantry," there are many more stanzas than we can provide here.
96. Fair Susan Slumbered. Music taken down from George Cole, quarryman, Rundlestone, Dartmoor. The words were so utterly worthless that Mr. Sheppard wrote a fresh copy of verses to the melody. Cole's first verses ran—
96. Sleepy Susan Dreamed. Music borrowed from George Cole, quarry worker, Rundlestone, Dartmoor. The original lyrics were so completely lacking that Mr. Sheppard penned a new set of verses to the tune. Cole's initial lyrics went—
"In yonder grove sat a lovely creature,
Who she is, I do not know;
But I'll go court her for her feature,
Whether she'll answer me Yes or No!
"O maiden I am come a-courting
If your favour I can gain;
If that you will but entertain me,
Then I'm sure I'll call again."
"In that grove sits a beautiful girl,
I have no idea who she is;
But I'll go talk to her because she's stunning,
Will she say yes or no?
"O girl, I've come to ask for your love,
If I can gain your approval;
If you would just give me a chance,
"Then I'm sure I'll return again."
The original words are to be found in "The Vocal Library," London, 1822, No. 1,421: "As a Fair Maid walked."
The original words are in "The Vocal Library," London, 1822, No. 1,421: "As a Fair Maid walked."
97. The False Bride. Words and music taken down from old Sally Satterley.
97. The Fake Bride. Lyrics and melodies recorded from the old Sally Satterley.
The earliest copy in print with which I am acquainted is in "The New Pantheon Concert," 1773, B.M. (11,621, e 6). A re-writing of the theme is on a Broadside by Such, "When I heard he was married I stood not alone"; it is No. 592. See also a "Collection of Old Ballads," in the B.M., vol. i. p. 490, "The Forlorn Lover."
The earliest printed copy I know of is in "The New Pantheon Concert," 1773, B.M. (11,621, e 6). A revised version of the theme appears on a Broadside by Such, "When I heard he was married I stood not alone"; it’s No. 592. Also, check out "Collection of Old Ballads," in the B.M., vol. i. p. 490, "The Forlorn Lover."
Mr. C. Sharp has obtained a fine air to the same words, and has published it in "Folk-Songs from Somerset," No. 20.
Mr. C. Sharp has created a great melody for the same lyrics and has published it in "Folk-Songs from Somerset," No. 20.
98. Barley Straw. Taken down from the singing of Mr. G.H. Hurell, the blind organist at Chagford, as he heard it sung by a carpenter, William Beare, in 1875. The words were very coarse, consequently Mr. Sheppard re-wrote the song. The air was used by A.S. Rich, without its most characteristic passages, for Hunneman's comic "Old King Cole," pub. circ. 1830. Much the same tune is in Akerman's "Wiltshire Tales," 1853, as a Wiltshire Harvest Home, p. 132. Harmonised in the Æolian mode, though the seventh of the scale is absent.
98. Barley straw. Adapted from the singing of Mr. G.H. Hurell, the blind organist at Chagford, who heard it sung by a carpenter, William Beare, in 1875. The original lyrics were quite crude, which led Mr. Sheppard to rewrite the song. The melody was utilized by A.S. Rich, omitting some of its most distinctive parts, for Hunneman's comic "Old King Cole," published around 1830. A similar tune appears in Akerman's "Wiltshire Tales," 1853, as a Wiltshire Harvest Home, page 132. It's harmonized in the Æolian mode, though the seventh note of the scale is missing.
99. Death and the Lady. This was first sent to me by Captain Hall Munro, of Ingesdon House, Newton Abbot, as sung by an old man there. Subsequently we obtained the same from Roger Hannaford. This is quite different from the "Dialogue of Death and the Lady," found in black letter Broadsides, and given by Bell in his "Songs of the English Peasantry," p. 32. The tune to this latter is given by Chappell, i. p. 167. In Carey's "Musical Century," 1738, is given the air of "Death and the Lady" as "an old tune." But this melody and ours have nothing in common.
99. Death and the Woman. This was first sent to me by Captain Hall Munro, of Ingesdon House, Newton Abbot, as sung by an old man there. Later, we got the same version from Roger Hannaford. This one is quite different from the "Dialogue of Death and the Lady," found in black letter Broadsides, and included by Bell in his "Songs of the English Peasantry," p. 32. The tune for this latter version is provided by Chappell, i. p. 167. In Carey's "Musical Century," 1738, the air of "Death and the Lady" is called "an old tune." However, this melody and ours have nothing in common.
What is the signification of "branchey tree" in connection with Death, I am at a loss to say. "Death and the Lady" was one of the ballads sung by Farmer Williams in "The Vicar of Wakefield."
What does "branchey tree" mean in relation to Death? I'm not sure. "Death and the Lady" was one of the ballads sung by Farmer Williams in "The Vicar of Wakefield."
100. Both Sexes Give Ear to My Fancy. This old song is a favourite with the peasantry throughout England. The words are printed in Bell's "Songs of the English Peasantry," p. 231. He says, "We have had considerable trouble in procuring a copy of the old song, which used, in former days, to be very popular with aged people resident in the North of England. It has been long out of print, and handed down traditionally. By the kindness of Mr. S. Swindells, printer, Manchester, we have been favoured with an ancient printed copy." In the original the song consists of ten verses. The earliest copy of it that I know is in "The Lady's Evening Book of Pleasure," about 1740. It will be found in a collection of garlands made by Mr. J. Bell about 1812, and called by him "The Eleemosynary Emporium." It is in the British Museum. The air is found in "Vocal Music, or the Songster's Companion," 2nd ed., 1772, to the song, "Farewell, Ye Green Fields and Sweet Groves," p. 92. It was taken into "The Tragedy of Tragedies, or Tom Thumb," 1734, as the air to "In Hurry, Posthaste for a Licence," and was attributed to Dr. Arne. In "Die Familie Mendelssohn," vol. ii., is a scrap of music written down by Felix Mendelssohn, dated Leipzig, 16th August 1840, which is identical with the first few bars of this melody. But the earliest form of the air is in J.S. Bach's "Comic Cantata," where a peasant sings it.
100. Both Genders Listen to My Ideas. This old song is a favorite among the rural people throughout England. The lyrics are published in Bell's "Songs of the English Peasantry," p. 231. He mentions, "We faced quite a bit of trouble in finding a copy of this old song, which used to be very popular among the elderly in Northern England. It's been out of print for a long time and has been passed down orally. Thanks to Mr. S. Swindells, a printer from Manchester, we've been provided with an old printed copy." The original version of the song has ten verses. The earliest copy I know of is in "The Lady's Evening Book of Pleasure," from around 1740. You'll find it in a collection of garlands compiled by Mr. J. Bell around 1812, titled "The Eleemosynary Emporium." It can be found in the British Museum. The melody appears in "Vocal Music, or the Songster's Companion," 2nd ed., 1772, accompanying the song "Farewell, Ye Green Fields and Sweet Groves," p. 92. It was included in "The Tragedy of Tragedies, or Tom Thumb," 1734, as the tune for "In Hurry, Posthaste for a Licence," and was credited to Dr. Arne. In "Die Familie Mendelssohn," vol. ii., there's a fragment of music notated by Felix Mendelssohn, dated Leipzig, 16th August 1840, which matches the first few bars of this melody. However, the earliest version of the tune is found in J.S. Bach's "Comic Cantata," where a peasant sings it.
We took the song down from John Rickards, Lamerton, and again from J. Benney, Menheniot. Mr. Kidson prints a Yorkshire version in his "Traditional Tunes," 1891. Miss L. Broadwood has noted it down from the singing of a baker at Cuckfield, Sussex. Dr. Barrett gives our melody to "The Gallant Hussar," No. 13. We have also taken it down to this ballad; so has Mr. Sharp in Somerset.
We got the song from John Rickards in Lamerton and also from J. Benney in Menheniot. Mr. Kidson published a Yorkshire version in his "Traditional Tunes," 1891. Miss L. Broadwood recorded it from a baker's singing in Cuckfield, Sussex. Dr. Barrett attributes our melody to "The Gallant Hussar," No. 13. We've also noted it for this ballad; Mr. Sharp has done the same in Somerset.
101. I Rode My Little Horse. Words and music from Edmund Fry, Lydford, and again from John Bennett, a labourer at Chagford, and from John Hunt, a shepherd, Postbridge.
101. I rode my pony. Words and music by Edmund Fry, Lydford, and again from John Bennett, a worker from Chagford, and from John Hunt, a shepherd from Postbridge.
Compare with this the ballad in d'Urfey's "Pills to Purge Melancholy," named "Jolly Roger Twangdillo," 1719, i. p. 19. A Broadside copy of the ballad exists, printed by Jennings, of Waterlane, London, circ. 1790.
Compare this with the ballad in d'Urfey's "Pills to Purge Melancholy," titled "Jolly Roger Twangdillo," 1719, i. p. 19. A broadside version of the ballad exists, printed by Jennings, of Waterlane, London, circa 1790.
The same theme is used in a ballad in the Pepysian Collection. See Ebsworth, "Roxburgh Ballads," vii. 231. Each verse ends—
The same theme is used in a ballad in the Pepysian Collection. See Ebsworth, "Roxburgh Ballads," vii. 231. Each verse ends—
"I vow I will marry, but I know not when."
"I promise I will get married, but I have no idea when."
102. Among the New-Mown Hay. Bell, in his "Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry," p. 223, gives this song. He says that it is "a village version of an incident which occurred in the Cecil family." Tennyson composed his "Lord of Burleigh" on the same topic. So did Moore his song, "You remember Helen, the hamlet's pride." But it may well be questioned whether either of these compositions comes up to the grace of the little "village version" of the tale.
102. Among the freshly cut hay. Bell, in his "Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry," p. 223, includes this song. He mentions that it is "a village version of an incident that happened in the Cecil family." Tennyson wrote "Lord of Burleigh" on the same subject. Moore also created his song, "You remember Helen, the hamlet's pride." However, it can be debated whether either of those works matches the charm of the little "village version" of the story.
The ballad, however, is probably earlier than the Cecil marriage, and refers to some other legendary mésalliance. Henry Cecil, afterwards Earl and still later first Marquis of Exeter, saw, loved, and married a farmer's daughter named Sarah Hoggins, at Bolas Magna in Staffordshire, in 1790, he under the assumed name of John Jones. She was then aged seventeen, and he aged thirty-seven. Moreover, he was married at the time to Miss Vernon, a Worcestershire lady, to whom he had been united in 1776. In 1791, Henry Cecil obtained a divorce from his wife, Emma Vernon, and then was married in his proper name to Sarah Hoggins, at St. Mildred's, Bread Street, in the City of London. Not fully six years later the "Cottage Countess" died; and after three years the widower espoused a divorcée, sometime wife of the eighth Duke of Hamilton. Happily no question as to the legitimacy of the children arose. Henry, the eldest, was not born till 1793. He died the same year; but his brother, Brownlow, born two years later, lived to succeed his father in 1804.
The ballad is probably older than the marriage of the Cecils and refers to some other legendary mismatch. Henry Cecil, who later became the Earl and then the first Marquis of Exeter, saw, fell in love with, and married a farmer's daughter named Sarah Hoggins in Bolas Magna, Staffordshire, in 1790, using the fake name John Jones. She was seventeen at the time, and he was thirty-seven. Additionally, he was still married to Miss Vernon, a lady from Worcestershire, whom he had married in 1776. In 1791, Henry Cecil got a divorce from his wife, Emma Vernon, and then married Sarah Hoggins under his real name at St. Mildred's, Bread Street, in the City of London. Less than six years later, the "Cottage Countess" died; and three years after that, the widower married a divorcée who was once the wife of the eighth Duke of Hamilton. Fortunately, there were no questions about the legitimacy of the children. Henry, the eldest, wasn’t born until 1793. He died that same year, but his brother Brownlow, born two years later, lived to succeed their father in 1804.
These plain facts take away most of the romance of the story of the "Cottage Countess." Moreover, Henry Cecil did not meet his Sarah among the new-mown hay. He arrived at Bolas in a chaise in a snow-storm, late in November 1788, and was lodged for a few nights in the farm. There he saw Sarah, who with friends was dancing. She was then only fifteen and a half years old. Cecil left, but returned in eighteen months and married her, as already said, under an assumed name, and before he was quit of his first wife. The whole story has been told in Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, part 60 (sixth series), December 1, 1902.
These straightforward facts strip away much of the romance from the story of the "Cottage Countess." Additionally, Henry Cecil did not meet his Sarah amidst the freshly cut hay. He arrived at Bolas in a carriage during a snowstorm, late in November 1788, and stayed for a few nights on the farm. There, he saw Sarah dancing with friends. She was just fifteen and a half years old at the time. Cecil left but returned eighteen months later and married her, as mentioned, under a false name, and before he was free from his first wife. The entire story has been detailed in Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, part 60 (sixth series), December 1, 1902.
Melody taken down from James Dingle, Coryton.
Melody recorded from James Dingle, Coryton.
103. I'll Build Myself a Gallant Ship. The words are a cento from a long ballad. The complete song was taken down from J. Watts, quarryman, Thrushleton. The entire ballad is in Logan's "Pedlar's Pack," p. 23. There are several Broadside versions. A Scottish version in Herd, "Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs," 1776, ii. p. 2. The air to which this is sung in Scotland is that to which Burns composed "Of a' the airts the wind can blaw." Joyce gives an Irish version in his "Ancient Irish Music," No. 68. Besides Watts' ballad, we had the fragment we give to the same air from Richard Cleave, since dead, at the "Forest Inn," Huckaby Bridge. Never shall I forget the occasion. Mr. Bussell and I drove across Dartmoor in winter in a furious gale of wind and rain to Huckaby in quest of an old man who, we had been informed, was a singer. We found the fellow, but he yielded nothing, and our long journey would have been fruitless, had we not caught Richard Cleave and obtained from him this air, which drive cost me a bronchitis attack that held me a prisoner for six weeks.
103. I’ll build myself a brave ship. These words are a compilation from a lengthy ballad. The full song was collected from J. Watts, a quarryman from Thrushleton. The entire ballad can be found in Logan's "Pedlar's Pack," p. 23. There are several broadside versions as well. A Scottish variant appears in Herd's "Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs," 1776, ii. p. 2. The melody sung in Scotland is the same one used by Burns for "Of a' the airts the wind can blaw." Joyce features an Irish version in his "Ancient Irish Music," No. 68. In addition to Watts' ballad, we have the fragment we present to the same tune from Richard Cleave, who has since passed away, at the "Forest Inn," Huckaby Bridge. I will never forget that day. Mr. Bussell and I drove across Dartmoor in winter through a wild storm of wind and rain to Huckaby, searching for an old man we had heard was a singer. We found him, but he offered us nothing, and our long trip would have been wasted if we hadn't caught Richard Cleave and obtained this melody from him. That drive ended up giving me bronchitis that kept me laid up for six weeks.
The song is given under the title "The Lowlands of Holland," in the Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 97, as taken down in Sussex.
The song is titled "The Lowlands of Holland," in the Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 97, as recorded in Sussex.
104. Colly my Cow. This is a portion of an old ballad in the Roxburgh Collection, ed. Chappell, iii. p. 601—
104. Call my Cow. This is a section of an old ballad from the Roxburgh Collection, edited by Chappell, volume iii, page 601—
"Little Tom Dogget, what doest thou mean,
To kill thy poor Colly now she's so lean?-N28-
Sing oh! poor Colly, Colly my cow;
For Colly will give me no more milk now.
Pruh high, pruh hoe, pruh high, pruh hoe,
Pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, tal-dal daw."
"Little Tom Dogget, what do you mean,
To kill your poor Colly now that she's so thin?-N28-
Sing oh! poor Colly, Colly my cow;
For Colly will give me no more milk now.
Pruh high, pruh hoe, pruh high, pruh hoe,
Pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, tal-dal daw."
Printed by T. Passinger (1670-86) at the Seven Stars on London Bridge. The ballad is also found in the Rawlinson Collection and elsewhere. It was afterwards sung in a shortened form at the concerts in Marylebone Gardens, and is printed in "The Marylebone Concert," N.D.
Printed by T. Passinger (1670-86) at the Seven Stars on London Bridge. The ballad is also found in the Rawlinson Collection and elsewhere. It was later sung in a shorter version at the concerts in Marylebone Gardens and is printed in "The Marylebone Concert," N/A
In the heading to the old ballad we have—
In the title of the old ballad, we have—
"A country swain of little wit, one day
Did kill his cow, because she went astray."
"A simple farmer with little sense, one day
Killed his cow because she wandered off."
But it is probable that the song originally turned on a different theme. On the 9th September 1605, a man was killed by a Protestant in the Rue de la Harpe, at Paris, for singing the song "De Colas." This song was composed by a seditious faction, with the intent of provoking the Huguenots, upon the subject of a cow which had walked into one of their conventicles during the performance of divine service. The cow, which belonged to a poor peasant named Colas, was killed by the Huguenots for her sacrilegious act. Thereupon the Catholics made a collection in every town and village in France to raise a sum for the indemnification of Colas. The day after the murder the singing of the song of "Colas his Cow," was forbidden under the penalty of the gallows, and it was even dangerous for anyone to hum the tune in the street ("Concert Room Anecdotes," 1825, ii. p. 230). The song must have been brought to England and adapted to English words after the Restoration, and as the story of the occasion of the killing of the cow was forgotten, it was altered. The tune is very old, and we had it from an aged woman at Kingsweare, who sang "The Abbot of Canterbury" to it. But this has its own tune, given by Chappell, i. p. 348. I have added the final verse.
But it's likely that the song originally focused on a different theme. On September 9, 1605, a man was killed by a Protestant in the Rue de la Harpe in Paris for singing the song "De Colas." This song was created by a rebellious group to provoke the Huguenots, telling the story of a cow that wandered into one of their gatherings during a church service. The cow, which belonged to a poor peasant named Colas, was killed by the Huguenots for this sacrilegious act. Soon after, Catholics gathered donations in every town and village in France to compensate Colas. The day after the murder, singing "Colas his Cow" was banned under the threat of hanging, and it became dangerous for anyone to even hum the tune in the streets ("Concert Room Anecdotes," 1825, ii. p. 230). The song was likely brought to England and adapted with English lyrics after the Restoration. As the story behind the cow's killing faded from memory, the song was changed. The tune is very old; we got it from an elderly woman at Kingsweare, who sang "The Abbot of Canterbury" to it. However, that has its own tune, which was provided by Chappell, i. p. 348. I have added the final verse.
"A fair maid walking in her garden,
A brisk young sailor came passing by;
And he stepped up to her, thinking to woo her,
And said, 'Fair maid, can you fancy I?'
"'You seem to talk like some man of honour,
Some man of honour, you seem to be;
How can you fancy such a poor young woman,
Not fit your servant for to be?'"
"A pretty girl was walking in her garden,
When a cheerful young sailor walked by;
He approached her, hoping to win her over,
And he said, "Hey beautiful, do you think I'm attractive?"
"'You seem to speak like a man of honor,
You seem to be a man of honor.
How can you be interested in such a poor young woman,
"Not cut out to be your servant?"
The ballad is published by Such as "The Young and Single Sailor," No. 126. It is also in "The Vocal Library," London, 1822, p. 525. It was printed on Broadside by Catnach as "The Sailor's Return." We obtained it again from James Parsons.
The ballad is published by Such as "The Young and Single Sailor," No. 126. It is also in "The Vocal Library," London, 1822, p. 525. It was printed on Broadside by Catnach as "The Sailor's Return." We got it again from James Parsons.
106. The Bonny Bird. Always sung as "My Bonny Boy." It is the companion song to the "Jolly Goss Hawk" (No. 71). Words and melody from Mary Langworthy, Stoke Fleming. We have taken this down from two other singers, but not to the same tune; one J. Doidge, of Chillaton, gave us an air characteristic and good. Miss Broadwood has the song in her "County Songs," pp. 146-7, but to a different melody.
106. The Pretty Bird. Always sung as "My Bonny Boy." It is the partner song to the "Jolly Goss Hawk" (No. 71). Words and melody from Mary Langworthy, Stoke Fleming. We’ve collected this from two other singers, but not to the same tune; one J. Doidge, of Chillaton, provided us with a distinct and good melody. Miss Broadwood has the song in her "County Songs," pp. 146-7, but to a different tune.
In all the versions taken down from oral recitation, the word is Boy and not Bird, but Bird is the original word. The ballad was printed by J. Coles, 1646-74, and by W. Thackeray, 1660-1680, and is in the Douce Collection of early Broadsides in the Bodleian Library; also in the Pepysian Collection, and is printed by Ebsworth in the Roxburgh Ballads, viii. p. 359.
In all the versions recorded from oral storytelling, the word is Boy and not Bird, but Bird is the original word. The ballad was published by J. Coles, 1646-74, and by W. Thackeray, 1660-1680, and can be found in the Douce Collection of early Broadsides in the Bodleian Library; it's also in the Pepysian Collection and was printed by Ebsworth in the Roxburgh Ballads, viii. p. 359.
It was originally sung to "Cupid's Trepan," also called "Up the Green Forest," and "Bonny, Bonny Bird." This air is given by Chappell, ii. p. 557, but this differs from our tune entirely, as also from that given by Miss Broadwood. The ballad has not, as yet, been traced earlier than the reign of Charles II. It begins—
It was originally sung to "Cupid's Trepan," also known as "Up the Green Forest" and "Bonny, Bonny Bird." This melody is provided by Chappell, ii. p. 557, but it differs completely from our tune, as well as from the version given by Miss Broadwood. The ballad has not been traced back earlier than the reign of Charles II. It begins—
"Once I did love a bonny brave bird,
And thought he had been all my own;
But he loved another far better than me,
And has taken his flight and is flown,
Bonny Boys,
And has taken his flight and is flown.
"Up the green forest, and down the green forest,
Like one distracted in mind,
I hoopt and I hoopt, and I flung up my hood,
But my bonny bird I could not find."
"Once I loved a beautiful, brave bird,
And thought he was entirely mine;
But he loved someone else much more than me,
And has taken off and is gone,
Hot Guys,
And has taken off and is gone.
"Up the green forest, and down the green forest,
Like someone deep in thought,
I hopped and I hopped, and I threw up my hood,
"But I couldn't find my beautiful bird."
A later version is found, circ. 1780, in Single Sheet Broadsides, in the British Museum (11,621).
A later version is found, circa 1780, in Single Sheet Broadsides, in the British Museum (11,621).
"Cupid's Trepan or Up the Green Forest" was priced in Russell Smith's Catalogue at £1, 11s. 6d.
"Cupid's Trepan or Up the Green Forest" was listed in Russell Smith's Catalogue for £1.58.
107. The Lady and Apprentice. Taken down twice, the tune here given is that sung with-N29- these words by Samuel Fone. We got the melody also from Sally Satterley, but with her the words were in confusion. The ballad runs on the same lines, and is almost identical with "The Lady who fell in love with a 'Prentice Boy," printed as a Broadside by Pitts, 1790-1810; also by Harkness of Preston. A copy in the British Museum (1876, d). This ballad begins like that of "Cupid's Garden," which is well known. But the ballad is a mere cooking up by a balladmonger of the earlier theme, and very badly done.
107. The Lady and Her Apprentice. This tune, which we've noted down twice, is the one sung with-N29- these lyrics by Samuel Fone. We also got the melody from Sally Satterley, but her lyrics were mixed up. The ballad follows the same pattern and is almost identical to "The Lady who fell in love with a 'Prentice Boy," published as a Broadside by Pitts between 1790 and 1810; also by Harkness of Preston. There’s a copy in the British Museum (1876, d). This ballad starts off like "Cupid's Garden," which is quite well-known. However, it's just a poor remake by a balladmonger of the earlier theme, and it’s done very poorly.
The melody is actually the same as that of "Love's Tale" in our "Garland of Country Song."
The melody is actually the same as that of "Love's Tale" in our "Garland of Country Song."
108. Paul Jones. Taken down from a good many singers on and around Dartmoor. The melody is in the Mixolydian mode, and is very early and rugged, far older than the period of Paul Jones himself. Mr. C. Sharp says: "In my opinion the tune should perhaps never be harmonised at all. The whole air is cast in the chord of the dominant 7th, and, in the opinion of most authorities, this chord should end the song; but in view of the popular preference for a concord rather than a discord as the concluding harmony, I have ended with the usual cadence."
108. Paul Jones. Collected from several singers on and around Dartmoor. The melody is in the Mixolydian mode and is very old and raw, much older than the time of Paul Jones himself. Mr. C. Sharp states: "In my view, the tune should probably never be harmonized at all. The entire piece is based on the dominant 7th chord, and most experts agree that this chord should conclude the song; however, considering the popular preference for a harmonious rather than a dissonant ending, I have finished with the usual cadence."
Paul Jones was the terror of our coasts; he was born near Kirkcudbright in 1747. His real name was John Paul. When the rupture took place between Great Britain and America, he enlisted under the Revolutionary flag, and assumed the name of Paul Jones. His daring disposition, and his knowledge of the British coast, pointed him out as a fitting leader in marauding schemes. Towards the end of 1777 he was actively employed, as commander, in fitting out the Ranger privateer, mounting eighteen guns, and manned with a crew of 150 men. We have not the space for narrating his daring exploits; his life has often been written, and a good notice of him will be found in the "Dictionary of National Biography." The fight described in the ballad took place on September 23, 1779. The body of Paul Jones was removed from Paris, where he died, to America in 1905.
Paul Jones was the fear of our coastlines; he was born near Kirkcudbright in 1747. His real name was John Paul. When the split happened between Great Britain and America, he signed up under the Revolutionary flag and took on the name Paul Jones. His adventurous spirit and familiarity with the British coast made him a perfect leader for raid plans. By the end of 1777, he was actively involved, as commander, in preparing the Ranger privateer, which had eighteen guns and a crew of 150 men. We don’t have the space to recount his daring feats; his life has been well-documented, and a good overview of him can be found in the "Dictionary of National Biography." The battle mentioned in the ballad occurred on September 23, 1779. Paul Jones's remains were moved from Paris, where he died, to America in 1905.
The ballad is found on Broadsides. It is given by Logan in his "Pedlar's Pack," p. 32. Dr. Barrett, in his "English Folk-Songs," No. 33, has the ballad to the tune we have given here to "The Bonny Blue Kerchief," to which Paul Jones is quite unsuited.
The ballad can be found on broadsides. It's included by Logan in his "Pedlar's Pack," p. 32. Dr. Barrett features the ballad in his "English Folk-Songs," No. 33, with the tune we've provided here for "The Bonny Blue Kerchief," which is not at all suitable for Paul Jones.
109. The Merry Haymakers. This quaint carol-like song was taken down from John Woodrich, who learned it, about 1850, and he says that it was his father's favourite song, also from James Parsons. Neither knew the words in their entirety, but they may be found in "West Country Garlands," B.M. (11,621, b 11), and among the Broadsheets of Pitts, about the beginning of the nineteenth century, beginning "In the merry month of June." The words also in Bell's "Ballads of the English Peasantry," p. 171. Dr. Brushfield of Budleigh Salterton has kindly sent me a MS. copy of the end of the seventeenth century or early in the eighteenth. The words, however, did not fit the tune comfortably, and I was constrained to re-write the song.
109. The Happy Haymakers. This charming, carol-like song was recorded from John Woodrich, who learned it around 1850. He mentioned that it was his father's favorite song, also learned from James Parsons. Neither of them knew the complete lyrics, but they can be found in "West Country Garlands," B.M. (11,621, b 11), and among the Broadsheets of Pitts from the early nineteenth century, starting with "In the merry month of June." The lyrics are also in Bell's "Ballads of the English Peasantry," p. 171. Dr. Brushfield from Budleigh Salterton kindly sent me a manuscript copy from the late seventeenth century or early eighteenth century. However, the words didn't fit the tune well, so I had to rewrite the song.
"The Merry Haymakers" is in D'Urfey's "Pills," and as a Broadside printed by C.B. (Bates), 1695, was priced in Russell Smith's Catalogue, 1850, at three guineas.
"The Merry Haymakers" is in D'Urfey's "Pills," and as a Broadside printed by C.B. (Bates), 1695, was priced in Russell Smith's Catalogue, 1850, at three guineas.
110. In Bibberly Town. The air taken down from John Bennett, Chagford. In Broadsides the place is "Beverley Town," and is entitled "The Beverley Maid and the Tinker," printed by Catnach, B.M. (1876, c 2); as "The Tinker's Frolic," in a Garland in the British Museum, printed by Swindells, Manchester (11,621, b 14); as "The Tinker and Chambermaid," a Broadside by Harkness, Preston (1876, d). It begins—
110. In Bibberly. The story originates from John Bennett, Chagford. In Broadsides, the place is referred to as "Beverley Town," and is titled "The Beverley Maid and the Tinker," published by Catnach, B.M. (1876, c 2); as "The Tinker's Frolic," in a Garland at the British Museum, published by Swindells, Manchester (11,621, b 14); and as "The Tinker and Chambermaid," a Broadside by Harkness, Preston (1876, d). It begins—
"In Beverley Town a maid did dwell,
A buxom lass, I knew her well.
Her age it was just twenty-two,
And for a man she had in view."
"In Beverley Town, there lived a maid,
A lively girl, whom I knew well.
She was just twenty-two years old,
And she had her sights set on a man."
It is a coarse ballad, and Mr. Sheppard re-wrote it. The first phrase in the melody is apparently a modernised edition of an older one. The rest of the air is ancient, and in the Mixolydian mode.
It’s a rough ballad, and Mr. Sheppard rewrote it. The first phrase of the melody seems to be a modernized version of an older one. The rest of the tune is ancient and in the Mixolydian mode.
111. The Marigold. This ballad was first taken down by Davies Gilbert in 1830 from an old man named John Hockin, in his eighty-sixth year, at St. Erth, Cornwall. The melody, which is very early, was, curiously enough, used by William Aggett for Hook's song, "On board the ninety-eight." Hook was born in 1746, and the melody is probably two centuries earlier than his time. There was another Bristol ballad, "The Honour of Bristol, showing how the Angel Gabriel of Bristol fought with three Spanish Ships, who boarded us Seven times, wherein we cleared our Decks, and killed Five hundred of their men, and wounded many more, and made them flye into Cales when we lost but three men, to the Honour of the Angel Gabriel of Bristol," priced in Russell Smith's Catalogue at £2, 12s. 6d.
111. The Marigold Hotel. This ballad was first recorded by Davies Gilbert in 1830 from an elderly man named John Hockin, who was eighty-six years old, at St. Erth, Cornwall. The melody, which is quite old, was interestingly used by William Aggett for Hook's song, "On board the ninety-eight." Hook was born in 1746, and the melody is likely two centuries older than his era. There was another ballad from Bristol, "The Honour of Bristol, showing how the Angel Gabriel of Bristol fought with three Spanish ships, who boarded us seven times, during which we cleared our decks, killed five hundred of their men, wounded many more, and forced them to flee to Cales, while we lost only three men, to the honour of the Angel Gabriel of Bristol," listed in Russell Smith's Catalogue for £2, 12s. 6d.
We have taken down the ballad, "Come all ye worthy Christian men," to this melody, which is in the Dorian mode. A fragment of this latter ballad is given in Folk-Song Journal, vol. i. p. 74, taken down in Sussex, in five verses. We have had it twice: once from J. Dingle, Coryton, and once as learned in 1820 by George Radford, from a blind fiddler at Washfield, near Tiverton, and "pricked down" by H. Pinkney, gardener, Washfield. Mr. Sharp has also met with it in Rackenford, N. Devon. The air in Sussex is not the same.
We have recorded the song "Come all ye worthy Christian men" to this tune, which is in the Dorian mode. A snippet of this song is found in Folk-Song Journal, vol. i, p. 74, collected in Sussex, consisting of five verses. We've encountered it twice: once from J. Dingle in Coryton, and once as learned in 1820 by George Radford from a blind fiddler in Washfield, near Tiverton, and "noted down" by H. Pinkney, a gardener in Washfield. Mr. Sharp has also found it in Rackenford, North Devon. The version in Sussex is different.
In "Hakluyt's Voyages," vol. iii. (1600), is an account of "The Voyage of the ship called the Marigold of Mr. Hill of Redrife unto Cape Breton and beyond, to the latitude of 44 degrees and a half, 1593, written by Rd Fisher, Master Hille's man of Redriffe."
In "Hakluyt's Voyages," vol. iii. (1600), there's a description of "The Voyage of the ship called the Marigold of Mr. Hill of Redrife to Cape Breton and further, to the latitude of 44 and a half degrees, 1593, written by Rd Fisher, Master Hill's crew member from Redriffe."
So also Hakluyt mentions "the Marigold 70 tunnes in burthen, furnished with 20 men, whereof ten were mariners," which is stated to have "departed out of Falmouth, the 1st June, 1593," commanded by Richard Strong, "bound for an island within the straights of S. Peter on the backe side of Newfoundland to the S.W. in the lat. of 47 degrees."
So, Hakluyt also notes that "the Marigold, with a burden of 70 tons, was equipped with 20 crew members, of which ten were sailors." It is mentioned that it "departed from Falmouth on June 1st, 1593," under the command of Richard Strong, "heading for an island in the strait of St. Peter on the backside of Newfoundland to the southwest, at a latitude of 47 degrees."
In Latimer's 17th century "Annals of Bristol" is mention made of a ship "The Marigold," under the date 1627-8, of seventy tons, owned by Mr. Ellis. It was granted letters of marque to prey upon the enemy's commerce; but no mention is made of Sir Thomas Merrifield. The Redrife above is Redcliffe, Bristol. Bristol was spelled Bristow in maps of the city published in 1568 and 1610, but in one of 1671 it is spelled Bristoll.
In Latimer's 17th-century "Annals of Bristol," there's a mention of a ship called "The Marigold," dated 1627-8, weighing seventy tons and owned by Mr. Ellis. It was granted letters of marque to attack enemy trade, but there's no mention of Sir Thomas Merrifield. The Redrife mentioned above refers to Redcliffe, Bristol. Bristol was spelled Bristow in maps published in 1568 and 1610, but in a map from 1671, it’s spelled Bristoll.
I have been unable to find Sir Thomas Merrifield in any lists of knights; but before the reign of James I. no official record of knights was kept.
I haven't been able to find Sir Thomas Merrifield in any lists of knights, but before the reign of James I, there weren't any official records of knights.
112. Arthur le Bride. Taken down from Sam Fone, Mary Tavy, by Mr. Bussell, in 1892. Sam told us that this was his father's favourite song. He had learned it from his father when he was quite a child, for the elder Fone deserted his family, and was never heard of again. But one day Sam, when aged eighteen, saw a workman standing at a cottage door, talking to someone within, and he had his hand against the door-post, clutching it as he leaned forward. Sam exclaimed: "That's my father's hand!" The man turned about, and without showing his face, walked away. When Sam came from his work in the evening he made enquiries, and ascertained that a stranger had been lodging in the cottage for a few nights, but was gone. He asked the woman of the house about her lodger. "Well," said she, "I don't know his name, nor nothing about him. But he asked me for a tallow candle, and melted it up into his boots." "That was my father. It was a trick of his," said Sam, promptly. And that was the last ever seen of the man.
112. Arthur the Bride. Recorded from Sam Fone, Mary Tavy, by Mr. Bussell in 1892. Sam shared that this was his father's favorite song. He learned it from his dad when he was just a kid, since the elder Fone abandoned his family and was never heard from again. One day, when Sam was eighteen, he saw a worker standing at a cottage door, talking to someone inside, with his hand resting against the doorframe as he leaned in. Sam exclaimed, "That's my father's hand!" The man turned around, and without revealing his face, walked away. When Sam got home from work that evening, he asked around and found out that a stranger had been staying at the cottage for a few nights, but had since left. He asked the woman who lived there about her lodger. "Well," she said, "I don’t know his name or anything about him. But he asked me for a tallow candle and melted it down into his boots." "That was my father. It was a trick of his," Sam replied immediately. And that was the last anyone ever saw of the man.
There was one more verse in the original, omitted to reduce the lengthy ballad to singable proportions.
There was one more verse in the original, left out to make the long ballad a manageable length for singing.
113. The Keeper. This song was taken down from Peter Sandry, St. Ervan's. He had a bad cold, and could not reach the upper notes. But we got the same tune from Mr. Jas. Ellis, Chaddlehanger, Lamerton, and also from Miss Templer, from the singing of harvesters in 1834; but in both these latter cases to the words of "Green Broom." A copy of the ballad will be found in a "Garland," B.M., 11,621, c 3; but this has a chorus to it—
113. The Curator. This song was taken down from Peter Sandry, St. Ervan's. He had a bad cold and couldn't hit the higher notes. However, we got the same tune from Mr. Jas. Ellis, Chaddlehanger, Lamerton, and also from Miss Templer, from the singing of harvesters in 1834; but in both of these cases, it was to the words of "Green Broom." A copy of the ballad can be found in a "Garland," B.M., 11,621, c 3; but this version has a chorus.
"Jack my master, sing you well,
Very well, with my derry down,
With my Down, down, down."
"Jack, my master, you sing well,
Very well, with my derry down,
With my downsides.
I have been compelled to re-write most of the song, which in the original is very gross. It is certainly an ancient composition.
I have been forced to rewrite most of the song, which in the original is pretty crude. It’s definitely an old piece.
114. The Queen of Hearts. Sung by a workman engaged on the Burrow-Tor reservoir at Sheepstor, the water supply for Plymouth, 1894. A quaint little song. It has been printed on Broadside by Bachelar, B.M., in vol. vi. p. 110, of several volumes of Broadsides I gave to the B.M. This begins—
114. The Queen of Hearts. Sung by a worker involved in the Burrow-Tor reservoir at Sheepstor, which supplies water to Plymouth, 1894. It's a charming little song. It has been printed on Broadside by Bachelar, B.M., in vol. vi. p. 110, of several volumes of Broadsides I donated to the B.M. This begins—
"O my poor heart, my poor heart is breaking
For a false young man, or I am mistaking:
He is gone to Ireland, for a long time to tarry,
Some Irish girl I am afraid he will marry."
"O my poor heart, my poor heart is breaking
For a lying young man, or maybe I’m wrong:
He has gone to Ireland, to stay there for a while,
I fear he’ll marry some Irish girl, I’m in denial."
This is obviously an addition to fill out space in the Broadside. The ballad has a flavour of the period of Charles II.
This is clearly just an addition to fill space in the Broadside. The ballad has a vibe of the Charles II era.
115. The Owl. This song occurs in part in King Henry VIII.'s music-book, "Deuteromelia," published in 1609. It was set by Mr. Freeman as a glee in "The Essex Harmony," vol. i. 1767, p. 8. In Beaumont and Fletcher's play, "The Knight of the Burning Pestle," 1635, Old Merrythought trolls out snatches of songs, and amongst others—
115. The Owl. This song appears in King Henry VIII's music book, "Deuteromelia," published in 1609. It was arranged by Mr. Freeman as a glee in "The Essex Harmony," vol. i. 1767, p. 8. In Beaumont and Fletcher's play, "The Knight of the Burning Pestle," 1635, Old Merrythought sings bits of songs, including—
"Nose, nose, jolly red nose,
And who gave thee this jolly red nose?
Cinnamon, ginger, nutmegs, and cloves,
And they gave me this jolly red nose."
"Nose, nose, bright red nose,
And who gave you this bright red nose?
Cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and cloves,
And they gave me this bright red nose."
Mr. Bussell noted down the melody from James Olver, tanner of Launceston, in 1889. Of the words, Olver could not recall the line that follows
Mr. Bussell wrote down the melody from James Olver, a tanner from Launceston, in 1889. As for the words, Olver couldn’t remember the line that comes next.
"And all the day long the Owl is asleep,"
"And all day long the Owl is sleeping,"
and I have had to supply what lacked.
and I have had to fill in what was missing.
I give this song because it is interesting to note the changes that the air has undergone since it was performed as a Three Man's song before King Henry VIII. It will be noticed that Olver has not got all that portion of the song beginning "To whom drink'st thou." Chappell has given "Of all the Birds," in i. p. 75. On the other hand, in "Deuteromelia," only the first verse is given; Olver had three. A re-writing of the song "Of all the Birds on Bush or Tree" in "The Thrush," London, 1830, has two stanzas. The second concerns the lark.
I mention this song because it's interesting to see how it's changed since it was performed as a Three Man's song before King Henry VIII. You'll notice that Olver doesn't include the part of the song that starts with "To whom drink'st thou." Chappell includes "Of all the Birds" on page 75 of volume i. However, in "Deuteromelia," only the first verse is provided; Olver had three. A reworked version of the song "Of all the Birds on Bush or Tree" appears in "The Thrush," London, 1830, which has two stanzas. The second stanza is about the lark.
116. My Mother did so before Me. This song is based on the old English ditty "My Father was Born before Me," as may be seen at once by comparing the first few lines—
116. My mom did it before me. This song is based on the old English rhyme "My Father was Born before Me," which can be easily recognized by comparing the first few lines—
"I am a lusty, lively lad
Now come to one and twenty,
My father left me all he had,
Both gold and silver plenty.-N31-
"Now he's in grave, I will be brave,
The ladies shall adore me,
I'll court and kiss, what hurt's in this?
My father did so before me."
"I’m a passionate, energetic guy
Now I'm 21,
My dad left me everything he had,
Lots of gold and silver.-N31-
"Now that he’s in the grave, I’ll be bold,
The ladies will dig me,
I’ll flirt and kiss, what’s wrong with that?
"My dad did it as well."
The first appearance of this ballad is in Thomas Jordan's "London Triumphant," 1672. It was taken by D'Urfey into his "Pills to Purge Melancholy," vol. i., 1699 and 1707. The air appears in the "Dancing Master" as "Jamaca," 4th edition, 1670, and in those subsequent.
The first appearance of this ballad is in Thomas Jordan's "London Triumphant," 1672. It was included by D'Urfey in his "Pills to Purge Melancholy," vol. i., 1699 and 1707. The tune appears in the "Dancing Master" as "Jamaca," 4th edition, 1670, and in all later editions.
The tune we give was taken down to the song from S. Fone by Mr. Sheppard in 1895.
The tune we provide was recorded from the song by S. Fone by Mr. Sheppard in 1895.
"My Mother did so before Me" occurs without music in "The Nightingale," a song-book published in Edinburgh, 1776, and is given by Logan in his "Pedlar's Pack," 1869, from a chap-book of 1804. It occurs also on a Broadside by Pitts of Seven Dials. It is also in "The Quaver," Lond. 1831. The tune we have taken down is certainly based on the early air as given in the "Dancing Master." It is in Chappell, ii. p. 446.
"My Mother did so before Me" appears without music in "The Nightingale," a songbook published in Edinburgh in 1776, and is featured by Logan in his "Pedlar's Pack," from 1869, based on a chapbook from 1804. It also shows up on a broadside by Pitts of Seven Dials. It's included in "The Quaver," London, 1831. The tune we've recorded is definitely based on the early melody as presented in the "Dancing Master." It's found in Chappell, ii. p. 446.
117. A Week's Work well done. This popular song, relished by married men, was taken down from Richard Hard a little over a month before he died. In the original it is much longer. There are in all eleven verses. The first four are concerned with the happiness of the man previous to his marriage. But I find that most singers begin with the fifth verse.
117. A week's work well done. This popular song, loved by married men, was recorded from Richard Hard a little over a month before he died. The original version is much longer, with a total of eleven verses. The first four focus on the man's happiness before his marriage. However, I notice that most singers start with the fifth verse.
The ballad is found in "West Country Garlands," date circ. 1760, B.M., 1161, b 11.
The ballad is found in "West Country Garlands," dated circa 1760, B.M., 1161, b 11.
It actually begins thus—
It actually starts like this—
"O when that I was a bachelor brave,
Enjoying of all that my soul could have;
My silver and guineas I then let fly,
I cock'd my beaver, and, who but I?
"I roved about, and I roved awhile,
Till all the ladies did on me smile;
From noble lady to country Joan,
Both gentle and simple, were all mine own.
"My rapier it was a Bilboa blade,
My coat and waistcoat were overlaid
With silver spangles, so neat and gay,
As I were a king in some country play.
"Besides, I had such a flattering tongue,
The ladies laughed whene'er I sung;
I had a voice so sweet and fine
That every lady's heart was mine."
"Oh, when I was a dashing bachelor,
Enjoying everything my heart desired;
I spent my silver and guineas freely,
I straightened my hat, and who could compare?
"I wandered around for a while,
Until all the ladies smiled at me;
From noblewomen to country girls,
Both refined and simple, they were all mine.
"My rapier was a sharp Bilboa blade,
My coat and waistcoat were adorned
With shiny silver sequins, neat and bright,
As if I were a king in some theatrical play.
"Plus, I had a charming way with words,
The ladies laughed whenever I sang;
I had a voice so sweet and lovely
That every lady's heart belonged to me."
118. The Old Man can't keep his Wife at Home. The curious rugged melody was taken down from a very old fiddler named William Andrews, at Sheepstor, by Mr. Bussell. The old fellow did not recall all the words, but remembered the story. According to his account this was a dance tune to which the performers sang in accompaniment to the music and tramp of feet.
118. The Old Man can't keep his Wife at home. The interesting, rough melody was recorded from a very old fiddler named William Andrews, at Sheepstor, by Mr. Bussell. The old man couldn't remember all the words, but he did recall the story. According to him, this was a dance tune that the performers sang along with while dancing to the music and the sound of their feet.
I have had to re-compose the ballad from the fragment and the story. It bears a family resemblance to "The Old Couple" given in "The Garland of Country Song," p. 100. In the story the old man locks his wife out. She threatens to drown herself, and throws a stone into the well. The old man, when he hears the splash, descends, opens the door, and goes forth to see whether his wife really has drowned herself. At once she slips in at the open door and locks him out. The story is very ancient. It occurred in the lost Sanscrit book of tales of which Persian and Arabic and Turkish versions exist, and which filtered into Europe through Greek and Latin and Hebrew translations. This story came into Dolopathos and the Seven Wise Masters. The French and Latin versions were made in the 13th century. But the story had already got to Europe through the converted Jew, Peter Alphonsus, who inserted it in his "Disciplina Clericalis," written in 1062. From this it got into some of the versions of the "Gesta Romanorum," and finally into Boccaccio's "Decameron," seventh day, tale 4.
I had to rewrite the ballad from the fragment and the story. It looks quite similar to "The Old Couple" found in "The Garland of Country Song," p. 100. In the story, the old man locks his wife out. She threatens to drown herself and throws a stone into the well. When the old man hears the splash, he goes downstairs, opens the door, and steps out to check if his wife really has drowned herself. As soon as he does that, she sneaks in through the open door and locks him out. This story is very old. It appeared in the lost Sanskrit book of tales, which has Persian, Arabic, and Turkish versions and eventually made its way to Europe through Greek, Latin, and Hebrew translations. This story was included in Dolopathos and the Seven Wise Masters. The French and Latin versions were created in the 13th century. However, the story had already reached Europe via the converted Jew, Peter Alphonsus, who included it in his "Disciplina Clericalis," written in 1062. From there, it made its way into some versions of the "Gesta Romanorum," and eventually into Boccaccio's "Decameron," seventh day, tale 4.
To give the whole story in ballad form would have made the ballad too long; I have therefore reduced it to three verses, and have given it, from the man's point of view, a happier termination.
To tell the entire story in ballad form would have made it too lengthy; I've therefore shortened it to three verses and given it a happier ending from the man's perspective.
The tune is clearly a bagpipe air with drone.
The tune is clearly a bagpipe melody with a drone.
119. Sweet, Farewell. Taken down from Samuel Fone, of Mary Tavy, in 1889, the music noted by Mr. Bussell. Fone had forgotten the two last lines of verse 1 and the two first of verse 2. The air is pleasant, but the words are naught.
119. Goodbye, take care. Recorded from Samuel Fone of Mary Tavy in 1889, the music was noted by Mr. Bussell. Fone had forgotten the last two lines of verse 1 and the first two lines of verse 2. The melody is nice, but the lyrics are useless.
120. Old Adam, the Poacher. This curious melody was taken down by Mr. Bussell from the fiddling of William Andrews, Sheepstor. We saw the old man a little over a year before his death. He brought out and lent us a collection of MS. violin tunes, but all of these were well-known, old-fashioned dance airs. Then he played to us several not in his book that were traditional at Sheepstor. This was one of them, a dance tune; but he could not recall the words, only he knew that they told of the adventures of "Old Adam, the Poacher." Mr. Sheppard arranged this for "English Minstrelsy," but did not perceive that the first four lines of air have to be repeated to complete the tune; and in taking the melody from the fiddler, one could not detect at first, not knowing the words, where the tune precisely ended. It seems, however, obvious that there is a repeat of the first strain. I wrote the words.
120. Old Adam, the Poacher. This interesting melody was recorded by Mr. Bussell from the fiddling of William Andrews in Sheepstor. We met the old man just over a year before he passed away. He shared with us a collection of handwritten violin tunes, but all of them were familiar, traditional dance songs. Then he played several tunes for us that weren't in his book, which were common at Sheepstor. This was one of those dance tunes; however, he couldn’t remember the lyrics, only that they told the story of "Old Adam, the Poacher." Mr. Sheppard arranged this for "English Minstrelsy," but didn't realize that the first four lines of the melody need to be repeated to complete the tune; and when taking the melody from the fiddler, it wasn't immediately clear, without knowing the words, where the tune actually ended. It seems, though, obvious that there is a repeat of the first section. I wrote down the words.
121. Evening Prayer. Some fifty years ago this was the only, or almost the only, prayer used by village children. It was said or chanted far more extensively than the Lord's Prayer. The children had, however, cut down the hymn to one verse. The complete song, as "Prayer of the Week," was obtained from an old woman in the workhouse at Tavistock. Where the passage occurs purporting to come from the Epistles of St. Peter it would be hard to say. The tune, as it stands, is in the Major mode, and is so harmonised. But if the last note were G instead of E♭—as, indeed, it is in the two previous repetitions of the same phrase—the melody would then be in the Phrygian mode. The termination in E♭ is probably a modern corruption.
121. Evening Prayer. About fifty years ago, this was the only, or almost the only, prayer used by village kids. It was said or chanted way more often than the Lord's Prayer. However, the children had shortened the hymn to just one verse. The full song, labeled "Prayer of the Week," was sourced from an elderly woman in the workhouse at Tavistock. Where the passage claims to be from the Epistles of St. Peter is hard to pin down. The tune, as it is now, is in the Major mode and is harmonized accordingly. But if the last note were G instead of E♭—which it actually is in the previous two repetitions of the same phrase—the melody would be in the Phrygian mode. The ending in E♭ is likely a recent alteration.
Something very much like this prayer is found throughout Europe. Here is the Quercy version, sung also in Poitou, Gascony, and Brittany—
Something very similar to this prayer can be found all over Europe. Here is the Quercy version, which is also sung in Poitou, Gascony, and Brittany—
"Father of habit, our Lord salutes you.
He is at the head, He is at the feet;
He is now, He is hereafter.
On the bed, when I lie,
Five angels are me by,
Two to head and two to feet,
The Mother of God in the midst, whilst I sleep.
I need not fear fire and flame and sudden death," etc.
"Father of habit, our Lord greets you.
He is at the head, He is at the feet;
He is now, and he will be in the future.
On the bed, when I lie down,
Five angels are with me,
Two at my head and two at my feet,
The Mother of God in the center, while I sleep.
I don’t need to fear fire and flame and sudden death," etc.
Daymard, "Chansons Populaires," Cahors, 1889. It is probably the "White Paternoster" referred to in "The Miller's Tale," by Chaucer—
Daymard, "Chansons Populaires," Cahors, 1889. It is likely the "White Paternoster" mentioned in "The Miller's Tale" by Chaucer—
"Lord Jhesu Crist, and Seynte Benedight,
Bless this hous from every wikkede wight,
Fro nyghtesmare werye the witte (white) Pater-noster."
"Lord Jesus Christ and Saint Benedict,
Bless this house from every wicked person,
From nightmares, weary the wise Paternoster."
White, in his "Way to the True Church," 1624, insists on "the prodigious ignorance" which he found among his parishioners when he entered on his ministrations. He gives what he calls "The White Paternoster":—
White, in his "Way to the True Church," 1624, emphasizes "the incredible ignorance" he encountered among his parishioners when he began his ministry. He presents what he refers to as "The White Paternoster":—
"White Paternoster, Saint Peter's brother,
What hast i' th' one hand? White book leaves.
What hast i' th' t'other hand? Heaven yate keyes.
Open heaven yates, and streike hell yates:
And let every crysome child creep to its own mother,
White Paternoster, Amen."
"White Paternoster, Saint Peter's brother,
What do you have in one hand? White book pages.
What do you have in the other hand? Heaven's keys.
Open heaven's gates and close hell's gates:
And let every crying child go to its own mother,
White Paternoster, Amen.
This, however, is not the same. But in the Magical Treatise, "Enchiridion Papæ Leonis," Rome, 1660, it runs—
This, however, is not the same. But in the Magical Treatise, "Handbook of Pope Leo," Rome, 1660, it states—
"Petit Pate nôtre blanche que Dieu fit, que Dieu dit, que Dieu mit en Paradis. Au soir me allant coucher je trouve trois anges à mon lit couchés, un aux pieds, deux au chevet, la bonne Vierge Marie au milieu, qui me dit que je me arrette, que rien ne doute."
"Little Paté, our white one that God made, that God said, that God placed in Paradise. When I go to bed in the evening, I find three angels lying by my bed, one at my feet, two at the head, the blessed Virgin Mary in the middle, who tells me to stay still, that there’s nothing to worry about.."
This was to be recited thrice at eve, thrice in the morning, and it would secure Paradise.
This was meant to be said three times in the evening and three times in the morning, and it would guarantee Paradise.
The White Paternoster was proscribed by the Church as superstitious: "Le Tableau de la vida del parfet Crestia," by P. Amilha, 1703, p. 234. See Victor Hugo, "Les Miserables," iv. p. 117.
The White Paternoster was banned by the Church as superstitious: "The Picture of the Life of the Perfect Crestia," by P. Amilha, 1703, p. 234. See Victor Hugo, "Les Misérables," iv. p. 117.
A form used on the Cornish moors, and repeated by a boy at Alternon, runs—
A form used on the Cornish moors, and repeated by a boy at Alternon, goes—
"Ding dong, the parson's bell,
Very well my mother.
I shall be buried in the old churchyard,
By the side of my dear brother.
My coffin shall be black,
Two little angels at my back,
Two to watch, and two to pray,
And two to carry my soul away.
When I am dead and in my grave,
And all my bones are rotten,
Jesus Christ will come again
When I am quite forgotten."
"Ding dong, the pastor's bell,
Okay, Mom.
I will be buried in the old churchyard,
Next to my dear brother.
My coffin will be black,
Two little angels at my back,
Two to watch, and two to pray,
And two to carry my soul away.
When I'm dead and in my grave,
And all my bones have rotted,
Jesus Christ will come again
"When I'm completely forgotten."
The boy was taught this by his aunt.
The boy learned this from his aunt.
In the "Townley Mysteries," p. 91, the shepherds watching their flocks by night repeat a form of this prayer. See also Ady's "Candle in the Dark," London, 1650, p. 58; also a paper in the Archæologia, xxvii. p. 253, by the Rev. Lancelot Sharpe; and Halliwell's "Nursery Rhymes," No. ccxl.
In the "Townley Mysteries," p. 91, the shepherds watching their flocks at night repeat a version of this prayer. Also check out Ady's "Candle in the Dark," London, 1650, p. 58; a paper in the Archæologia, xxvii. p. 253, by Rev. Lancelot Sharpe; and Halliwell's "Nursery Rhymes," No. ccxl.
Songs in the first edition omitted from this are—
Songs in the first edition that are not included in this are—
- Fathom the Bowl.
- The Squire and the Fair Maid.
- My Lady's Coach.
- An Evening so Clear.
- The Warson Hunt.
- The Rout is Out.-N33-
- Why should we be dullards sad?
- Nancy.
- Farewell to Kingsbridge.
- Something Lacking.
- The Wrestling Match.
- Broadbury Gibbet.
- The Orchestra.
- "Fair girl, mind this when you marry."
- Cupid, the Ploughboy.
- "Come, my Lads, let us be jolly."
- A Single and a Married Life.
- The Saucy Ploughboy.
- The Everlasting Circle.
- Hunting the Hare.
- Dead Maid's Land.
- Shower and Sunshine.
The first edition is still kept in stock, so that such persons as desire these ballads, and such others as are retained in this, but treated differently, as duets and quartettes, can obtain them from the publishers.
The first edition is still available, so anyone who wants these ballads, or the others included here but arranged differently as duets and quartets, can get them from the publishers.
PRINTED BY
PRINTED BY
C.G. RODER,
C.G. Roder,
Limited,
Limited
Willesden Junction
Willesden Junction Train Station
London, n.w.
London, NW
FOOTNOTES
[2] I have told the romantic story of the building of her house in one day, "Jolly Lane Cott" in my "Dartmoor Idylls." The old house has recently been pulled down and replaced by an ugly modern cottage.
[2] I shared the romantic tale of how her house, "Jolly Lane Cottage," was built in a day in my "Dartmoor Idylls." The old house has now been torn down and replaced with an unattractive modern cottage.
[3] The Rev. J. Broadwood, of Lyne, Sussex, printed his collection "for Private Circulation only," in 1843. It was reprinted later, with additions, by Miss L. Broadwood, under the title of "Sussex Songs." (Leonard & Co., Oxford Street.)
[3] The Rev. J. Broadwood from Lyne, Sussex, published his collection "for Private Circulation only" in 1843. It was later reprinted with additions by Miss L. Broadwood, titled "Sussex Songs." (Leonard & Co., Oxford Street.)
[9] May be omitted in singing.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Can be skipped in singing.
[10] There is another verse, but it would make the song over long to sing it.
[10] There's another verse, but it would make the song too long to sing.
Tommy a' Lynn had no watch to put on,
So he scooped out a turnip to make himself one;
He caught a cricket, and put it within.
It's a rare old ticker, said Tommy a' Lynn.
Tommy a' Lynn didn't have a watch to wear,
So he hollowed out a turnip to create one;
He caught a cricket and placed it inside.
"It's a unique old clock," said Tommy a' Lynn.
[11] May be omitted in singing.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Can be skipped when singing.
[12] Verses 6 & 7, and there have been others of like moralising nature were added when the character of the May-Day visit was altered from one of lovers to their sweet-hearts into one of children seeking May-Gifts. Then the 'Kisses three' were changed to 'Pennies one or three.'
[12] Verses 6 & 7, along with others of a similar moral nature, were added when the character of the May-Day visit changed from one of lovers and their sweethearts to children looking for May gifts. Then, the 'Kisses three' were changed to 'Pennies one or three.'
[17] May be omitted in singing.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Can be skipped when singing.
[18] Or any other suitable hill.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Or another suitable hill.
[19] May be omitted in singing.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Can be skipped in singing.
[20] May be omitted in singing.
[29] May be omitted when singing.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ can be skipped when singing.
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