Chapter VII: Part II: C.j.s (1)

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[Music]

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.

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.

3[14]

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 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.

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.

6[15]

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.

7[16]

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 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.

'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.

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!

[Footnote 14: In singing, these may be omitted.]

[Footnote 15: In singing, these may be omitted.]

[Footnote 16: In singing, these may be omitted.]

No. 51 THE GREY MARE

C.J.S.

[Music]

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.

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.

"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."

"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."

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."

"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."

No. 52 THE WRECK OFF SCILLY

H.F.S.

[Music]

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

No. 53 HENRY MARTYN

C.J.S.

[Music]

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

No. 54 PLYMOUTH SOUND

H.F.S.

[Music]

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 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.

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.

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.

No. 55 THE FOX

C.J.S.

[Music]

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!

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."

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.

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 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.

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."

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.

No. 56 FURZE BLOOM

H.F.S.

[Music]

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 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.

3[17]

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.

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.

[Footnote 17: May be omitted in singing.]

No. 57 THE OXEN PLOUGHING

H.F.S.

[Music]

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

[Footnote 18: Or any other suitable hill.]

No. 58 FLORA, THE LILY OF THE WEST

C.J.S.

[Music: in D minor]

'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.

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.

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.

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.

No. 58 FLORA, THE LILY OF THE WEST

C.J.S.

[Music: in G Major]

'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.

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.

No. 59 THE SIMPLE PLOUGHBOY

C.J.S.

[Music]

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."

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.

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.

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."

5[19]

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."

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 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.

[Footnote 19: May be omitted in singing.]

No. 60 FAIR LADY, PITY ME

C.J.S.

[Music]

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.

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.

No. 61 THE PAINFUL PLOUGH

H.F.S.

[Music]

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.

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.

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.

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.

No. 62 AT THE SETTING OF THE SUN

C.J.S.

[Music]

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.

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.

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.

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.

No. 63 JOLLY FELLOWS THAT FOLLOW THE PLOUGH

C.J.S.

[Music]

'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.

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.

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.

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 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 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.

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.

No. 64 THE GOLDEN VANITY

C.J.S.

[Music]

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

6[20]

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.

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.

8[21]

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.

[Footnote 20: May be omitted in singing.]

[Footnote 21: May be omitted in singing.]

No. 65 THE BOLD DRAGOON

H.F.S.

[Music]

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.

"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 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."

"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.

"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.

No. 66 TRINITY SUNDAY

H.F.S.

[Music]

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.

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.

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.

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 shall be wed upon Trinity Sunday,
And then adieu to my holiday.
Come frost and frown the following Monday.
Why then beginneth my workaday.

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.

No. 67 THE BLUE FLAME

C.J.S.

[Music]

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.

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.

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.

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.

No. 68 STRAWBERRY FAIR

H.F.S.

[Music]

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

No. 69 THE COUNTRY FARMER'S SON

H.F.S.

[Music]

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.

2[22]

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 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 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.

[Footnote 22: May be omitted in singing.]

No. 70 THE HOSTESS' DAUGHTER

H.F.S.

[Music]

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!

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.

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.

No. 71 THE JOLLY GOSS-HAWK

H.F.S.

[Music]

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

No. 72 THE SONG OF THE MOOR

C.J.S.

[Music]

'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.

'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.

'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.

'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.

No. 73 ON A MAY MORNING SO EARLY

C.J.S.

[Music]

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.

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.

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.

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.

No. 74 THE SPOTTED COW

H.F.S.

[Music]

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.

"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."

"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."

"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."

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.

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."

No. 75 THREE JOVIAL WELSHMEN

C.J.S.

[Music]

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.

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 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 third he was a Miller
Was grinding at his mill,
He swore he saw old Reynard
Run over yonder hill.
With a &c.

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.

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.

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.

No. 76 WELL MET! WELL MET

C.J.S.

[Music]

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.

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 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.

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 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 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.

No. 77 POOR OLD HORSE

C.J.S.

[Music]

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!

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!

3[23]

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!

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!

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!

[Footnote 23: May be omitted in singing.]

No. 78 THE DILLY SONG

C.J.S.

[Music]

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 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, &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, &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 Five, O!
What is your Five, O?
Five it is the Dilly Bird, that's never seen, but heard, O!

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, &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 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 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 Ten, O!
What is your Ten, O?
Ten forbids all kind of sin, from ten again begin, O!

No. 79 A COUNTRY DANCE

C.J.S.

[Music]

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.

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.

3[24]

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

[Footnote 24: May be omitted in singing.]

No. 80 CONSTANT JOHNNY

C.J.S.

[Music]

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.

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.

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.

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.

No. 81 THE DUKE'S HUNT

C.J.S.

[Music]

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

No. 82 THE BELL RINGING

H.F.S.

[Music]

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.

'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.

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.

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.

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.

No. 83 A NUTTING WE WILL GO

H.F.S.

[Music]

'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!

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.

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.

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.

No. 84 DOWN BY A RIVER SIDE

C.J.S.

[Music]

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.

[Music]

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.

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.

No. 85 THE BARLEY RAKING

C.J.S.

[Music]

'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?

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?

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?

"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?

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?

No. 86 A SHIP CAME SAILING

H.F.S.

[Music]

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.

2[25]

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.

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